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Islain examined her fingernails, picking miniscule bits of dirt from under them and asking herself mentally, not for the first time, what had possessed her to accept exile to Arden. The place was pretty, in a rustic, treeish sort of way, but for a woman raised under the waves and grown in cities, it seemed oppressively silent, breath-takingly cheery and supernaturally bright in the mornings. It did not particularly help anything that she had always found trees with roots outside of the ground vaguely creepy, as if those tangled grasping things might detach at any point and propel the tree along - or else wrap themselves around her and draw her into the ground.

The fact that the place was also a military camp, if anything, made it worse. She didn't mind being outnumbered by men, in fact, that part of things she was comfortable with, but she received the distinct impression that the soldiers not only did not understand why she was there, but expected something of her that she was fairly certain she couldn't deliver. Her military expertise was purely tactical. She wasn't about to go out to the drilling fields with the boys and knock a few down to prove she was just as macho as any Ranger. There were many reasons for that, and one was that she probably could have done it.

The worst part was that Julian had been away for the entire three weeks she'd been there. He had made some arrangements for her comfort, of course, but without his presence explaining her presence, she ended up wandering the camp like a ghost. An incredibly *bored* ghost.

Her fingernails cleaned, Islain turned her attention to brushing her hair when there was a quiet clinking sound, and then the flap was drawn back. She was on her feet in an instant, facing the entry. The messenger bowed, holding his sword to avoid tangling it in his legs, and she heard the jingling again.

"Princess," the man said without preamble. "I bring news that Prince Julian will return to camp this evening."

"Good." Islain poured the man a wooden goblet of wine. "Please return or send another to inform me when he has had a chance to settle in and rest a little."

The messenger smirked. "He says you are to attend him at dinner."

Her only reaction was a slight narrowing of her eyes, almost a blink. "Does he? In that case, I shall not fail. Do enjoy your wine."

And yet there was something about her smile now that was far too sweet.

Once she had got rid of the messenger, Islain set aside a few hours for her appearance that evening. For a woman who was naturally beautiful, that usually meant a stunning and elaborate costume.

For Julian, in Arden, it meant something exceedingly simple and elegant which yet managed to be both attractive, demure, and not unsuited to the camp she found herself in. It was light, airy, flowing. And it was white.

A different servant was waiting to escort her, a Ranger dressed all in the dark brown-green that blended so well with the woods. He regarded her with a severe expression, then bowed and beckoned silently to her to follow him.

Arden at night was still and cool and majestic. The trees that rose around them had hints of gold in their thick boles, and the dark green leaves spread wide and thick and gave off a subtle perfume. Underfoot the terrain was carpeted in moss and dry leaves, with the occasional bush or clump of flowers or deer-track heading deeper into the forest.

Above the stars burned clear and cold. Islain looked up and for the first time really noticed how beautiful this place was, and how old...

And then they were outside the tent and she had to put her mask back on, because she was about to meet a man who saw through most illusions.

They came to a small clearing, and Islain saw that it glimmered with light. Torches had been set around a low central area - and a crowd had gathered to watch what seemed to be some contest of skill - a wrestling match between two of the raiders, both stripped to the waist, and displaying to good advantage. All around a crowd of rangers had gathered, cheering on the men, who seemed evenly matched.

And then, seated on the opposite side of the ring, on a simple wooden chair, she saw Julian. Unlike the Rangers, who were dressed in forest greens and browns, he was dressed in white - a simple tunic and loose trews beneath. He was watching the match between his man, his eyes dark, unfathomable.

Then he looked up, and saw her.

And it was as though a lance of light had shot through the clearing.

Islain found herself standing straighter, walking with an unconscious but familiar grace toward him, skirting the combatants without any difficulty, until she was close enough that her offered curtsy was courtesy and not formality.

She found herself regarding her uncle with an uncharacteristic fascination. He had always been handsome, but her fondness for him, before, had been a strange combination of his usefulness and her own perversity in caring most for those who were the difficult to be close to. This evening her eyes lingered on how his white tunic accentuated the line of his shoulders, and the startling intensity of those pale blue eyes.

"My Lord Julian," she said as she curtseyed. "I am glad you've returned."

He rose in his seat and offered her his hand, detaching himself, it seemed, from the contest before him.

"My Lady Islain. I trust my people have cared for you in my absence."

His hand was cool - and yet she seemed to feel the urgent throb of life in his very fingertips.

"I have been cared for very well, my Lord, thank you," she said simply, feeling the flutter of her own heartbeat. "My quarters are quite spacious and the scenery is lovely. Was your foray a success?"

"The city of my people is in ruins and its people enslaved," said Julian. "Does burning an outlying gatehouse count as successful?" He smiled then, a little bitterly. "To see you here reminds me of happier days, days that are lost."

Islain's smile died away as his own bitter one began, and she looked at him with a terrible wistful longing in her eyes. What she said, in contrast to the look in her eyes, was, "And seeing you gives me hope, for it reminds me how strong we are still. Into whatever darkness Amber has fallen, I look in your eyes and I see her ancient light and glory. As long as we are free, we may still regain those happy days."

She turned away from him then, letting her gaze fall to and past and perhaps through the competitors before them. She raised the hand which held her own and brushed the knuckles with her lips. "I would have liked to see you on the throne," she said quietly. "I would have settled for Random, or even for Corwin."

Julian smiled. "Whereas I would have seen you father as King ... and. perhaps one day, his daughter as queen as well. But that is lost now. The Unicorn chose Random at the lip of the Abyss, for all the good that did. When we are rid of Chaos ... "

To Islain, her father had been King, and Julian's comment confused her and caused her brow to furrow slightly.

He shrugged, and then rose to his feet. Most of the Rangers seemed absorbed in the wrestling match, judging by their shouts and cheers - but more than a few were watching their chief and his niece as they stood together.

"When we are rid of Chaos," Islain said softly, "there will be time for many things." She was aware that they were being watched, but her focus had returned to Julian. He was, for the moment, the only thing of interest in the clearing.

He simply nodded, holding out his hand. He seemed unable to take his gaze away from her face.

She took his hand again, this time with her entire palm, not just fingers on fingers. Feeling the warmth of his hand slowly enveloping her own habitual chill, she felt suddenly unsure. Seeing his fascination it ought to be easy to... use it... and yet she felt a strain of worry. This man... if she tried to entangle him she might find herself locked up in the same net.

Strangely, the prospect was not entirely unappealing. Islain smiled.

He led her away from the main clearing, down a quiet, dark woodland path that seemed to take them out of the sigh and sound of the Rangers. It seemed that this was what Julian was looking for - as he now stopped and turned to her.

"Islain ... you cannot stay here. It would be ... impossible."

Truly surprised, Islain turned fully toward him and raised one eyebrow microscopically. "Why, uncle? I know I am not known for my martial skills but I have a good head for tactics and might be able to help you with information or advice."

"I am in now doubt about your qualities," said Julian. "Both from what your father told me and from what I myself have ... observed." The last words seemed almost forced out. "But there are other considerations here. You are ... " He hesitated. "You are a very beautiful woman, Islain. Such a situation could cause problems between the Rangers."

"Oh." Her voice was soft and cool. She looked down at her feet on the moss. If someone had told her this morning he would have said that, she would have been relieved. Now the magic of the starlight and of the evening had allowed her to finally see the beauty of Arden and she found she wanted to stay. The stars had also done something to Julian's hair and made it difficult to look at him. She didn't want to leave him either, and it was half that she saw opportunities here she did not have in Rebma and half that she felt like herself, like Islain of Amber, for the first time in a century. "The last thing I would ever wish is to add to your troubles. But I... don't want to leave your side. There is so much that we could accomplish. Perhaps... if I put on my coldest most unapproachable aspect and baggy boy's clothing and focus entirely on our purpose here that will discourage any interest. Since I will not be causing mayhem by taking lovers among your men, it should not be significantly different from if it were Larissa here. She, too, is beautiful, but would you send her away?"

"No," said Julian. "No, I wouldn't send her away. And clothing ... would make no difference ... for I would still know ... "

He turned away from her suddenly, almost jerking away. "It would be impossible! Surely you see? You understand?"

She was aware that he seemed to be fighting to keep his voice calm and level.

And suddenly she truly did understand. She felt a shock of danger and also of wild joy, and then felt that joy fade as her heart turned cold and heavy in her chest. What he felt at this moment... what they both felt... if she forced it through, if she used it as she would have on any other man... might cause a rift in their friendship that she could never heal. He might grow someday to resent her, as she had come to resent... but that was another matter entirely.

"I understand," she said huskily, taking a deep breath. "I'll make my preparations to return to Rebma in the morning. But before I go, can we not take one meeting so that I may share my thoughts and information with you? It can be... public... if you prefer, so that the Rangers do not misinterpret."

"They will not misinterpret," he said. "Yes. One meeting." Seeming not of his own volition, his hand had sought out hers and was holding it. "One meal together. My brother's daughter ... There should be no less."

He stepped to one side to guide her back to the clearing - where a small pavilion had been set up beside the stream.

Her hand was cool and dry and her step light and graceful, the only sound the rustle of her white dress as they walked.

"It's so beautiful here," Islain said wistfully. "I don't think I ever truly understood why you spent so much time here when... when my Father was King. You know, I don't think I'll ever stop missing him."

She seemed to stumble suddenly and swayed against him and stayed there, her fevered cheek and brow against his shoulder, for just a moment.

And then suddenly - and perhaps not entirely unexpectedly to either of them - she was in his arms, and his dark eyes were gazing down into hers.

"Islain," he said, "we have both lived long with danger. But this .. could be our downfall."

Islain reached up and touched the side of his face, her fingertips gently caressing from his cheekbone down the strong line of his jaw. "I am afraid," she said simply, "but when I weight that fear against even a moment here like this, there is no choice left to make."

"No choice," he agreed. "No choice whatsoever."

And he drew her closer to him in the darkness of the forest ...