"I told you, I am not your Queen. I am not anybody's Queen. Do I have to go all over this again?" She sipped cold water to ease a throat raw from weeping. And she was not certain for whom she had wept more-the Queen, the hundreds of slaves slaughtered in this stupid battle, or herself. "Or do you finally understand?"
"I do not understand, but I know what you want," Xantippe replied, dubiously. "You want someone else to be Queen; you do not care whom, so long as the new Queen leaves you in peace. You even suggested me! You do not want power. You will sign a treaty with the new Queen that pledges you will remain in Pacha lands and attempt to keep this stone you wear from dragging you off to the main crystal-and in return, you wish some trade with the demons, all of Ware's property and gold to be accessible to him so that he may build you and Thesius an estate here, and sanctuary for any slaves that escape and make it this far. I do not understand this, but I think that we can pledge it."
"Good." Xylina sighed, and leaned back in her seat, which was now of fine leather and strong velvet. The only spoils of war she had accepted were the Queen's traveling properties-a luxurious tent and all appointments-and those slaves who wished to remain in Pacha lands and join one of the tribes. She could not grant that wish of her ten dead men-but she could grant it to others. "Xantippe, I wish only to preserve my land and its way of life for as long as I am able. The shard is dangerous. I will not be able to do this forever. Ware tells me that eventually this shard will cause me to turn against you, and on that day, when I cross the border of Mazonia, you must consider me an enemy. But that will be long after you are dead, and probably long after every other Mazonite in this army is dead. For now- just leave us in peace. We will not trouble you, and we will not permit the freed slaves to trouble you."
Her eyes flashed for a moment, and Xantippe stepped back a pace. "And remember always, that if you will not grant this as a wish-it will come as a demand that I can enforce. The shard gives me enormous power. Do not force me to use it."
"Yes my Qu-yes, Xylina." Xantippe could not bow, but she did salute smartly, before turning and leaving. Xylina turned to Ware and Thesius.
"Well?" she asked.
"If you are asking me whether you made the right decision, I cannot tell you," Ware replied, truthfully. "If you are asking me if you made an honorable decision-I would say yes."
"I would agree," Thesius seconded, dropping a fraternal kiss on her forehead. "Now-I must see to all those slaves who have been newly emancipated. It is not easy learning to be a free man. Faro would be the first to tell you that, and he is the farthest along of any of them."
The handsome blond clapped Ware on the shoulders, and took himself out, leaving Xylina and the demon alone.
"Was it worth it, beloved?" the incubus asked, his face mirroring a concern he had not shown the two men. "I know how everything since the challenge has troubled your soul. It was I who urged you to all of this in the first place. If I had not done this, entrapped you, gotten you involved-"
"I would have ended my life a bitter and hateful woman, just like Adria," Xylina interrupted, taking his hand and kissing it. "If not long since ignominiously dead. And with your help-we have given my people some warning, and perhaps some time to adjust to what will inevitably come. Perhaps this time when the change comes, it may come without terrible cost, death and chaos. And no matter what happens-"
She took his hand in hers, and looked deeply into his eyes, smiling for the first time in many days. "We will meet it together."
AUTHORS' NOTES
For biographers, I was born in Chicago, June 24,1950. My father was the Chief Computer Programmer, Systems' Design and Systems' Analyst for first Sinclair Oil then Arco, nearly from the moment there was such a thing as a commercial computer. I have a Bachelor of Science in Biology with a specialization in ethology from Purdue University; I was for many years a computer programmer on the cutting edge of airline reservations programming, and I am firmly a technophile.
My husband Larry Dixon and I live in a lovely, heavily wooded area in Northeast Oklahoma, with rising hills and wonderful views. We keep our home acres and two ponds as wild as possible. We are wildlife rehabilitators specializing in raptors and the corvidae, and apprentice falconers. Larry is my "first editor" on everything I do. We feel privileged to have a "partnership," not only with each other, but with our editors. We believe that the editor and the writer work most successfully when they work together, and we enjoy our editors not only as wise counselors and advisors, but as friends.
Other than that, we are very private people, and while we don't feel we are creating High Art, we hope we are creating enjoyable writing, and we prefer to let our work speak for itself.
I too live in the forest; in fact I live on a tree farm whose pine trees I hope will not be harvested in my lifetime, and whose natural trees will never be cut at all. I am an ardent environmentalist, and in this way I am protecting my bit of the wilderness. We have deer, gopher tortoises, piliated woodpeckers, armadillos, and many other wild creatures, some of whom are becoming unconscionably rare elsewhere. And yes, we have raptors too; large owls and hawks nest near our house and forage in our yard, not seeming too shy; the young will snooze on branches outside our windows. We love it. The outside of our house gets messy with spider webs and wasp nests, because we leave everything alone that leaves us alone. Perhaps my favorites are the dragonflies, green, blue, brown, red, yellow, and two-tone, who will on occasion perch on an upraised hand. They hover marvelously, always wanting to know what I'm doing outside.
But this is about collaboration. Collaborations come in many varieties, and I've done twenty. There is no standard way; each is its own type. Overall, I believe this is my 99th book, so collaborations represent about one fifth my total, and I'm still learning from them.
This particular one was like an arranged marriage. Collaboration, it has been said, has the problems of wedlock, without the benefits. That's why most writers avoid it. But sometimes the vagaries of situation can force such a merger. In effect I went to Jim Baen of Baen Books and said, "Here's my notion, but I don't have time to do it myself; can you find me someone to write it?" He checked his prospects and found Mercedes (Misty) Lackey. "But I'm too busy too!" she surely protested. But he had an answer: "You're the best possible writer for a notion such as this. I wouldn't give it to just anyone." So she reconsidered, and concluded that she would have to make time. Thus it came to be. No, I never met Misty; remember what I said above about no benefits? My daughter Penny did, however, at a convention, so there was a tenuous connection. Daughters are marvelous creatures. I can't think why anyone would want to have sons. So Misty wrote it, and then I went over her text. This was no rubber stamp effort; anything with my name on it must meet my standards. I did a complete job of copy-editing and spot revisions and additions, exactly as I do for my own drafts, polishing the novel to my satisfaction and expanding it by ten thousand words. Those who are conversant with Misty's writing and mine will see aspects of both here, just as both of our ideas are represented. Thus I did the top and bottom of it, the summary and the revision. Picture a sandwich: I'm the two slices of bread. Most of the nourishment is in the center, but without the bread it wouldn't exist.
This particular notion had a considerable history. It started in 1979, as an offshoot of my earlier research in the Arabian Nights Tales for another novel. I'm a Nights fan; I have several multi-volume editions. In one of those tales a highborn woman incurred a debt, and the man to whom she owed it suggested that there were ways other than monetary to expiate it. She caught his meaning perfectly, and declared-ah, yes, I see you understand. Thus the title and heroine of this novel. The project had a thirteen-year history as I considered doing it for another publisher. But by the time I had figured out how to organize it, my relations with that publisher had soured, and I had gotten caught up in so many projects that I was writing and selling more than half a million words of fiction a year and still barely keeping up. Thus the compromise, and this is the result.