Kesley grinned imperceptibly, catching Miguel's faint, involuntary wince at the _sire_. "It was an accident, Father. I was fleeing hastily; I didn't see you." "Time wastes," Miguel said. "Santana, swear this young man quickly into my service. I have work for him." The priest began to raise his crook, but Kesley shook his head. "No, Don Miguel. I told you I'm a vassal of Duke Winslow." Miguel smiled. "But Duke Winslow's oath is no longer binding upon his vassals, you know." "I didn't know. When did this happen?" "It hasn't, yet. But it will shortly--when Duke Winslow is assassinated." "But--when--" "Soon," Miguel said. His cold smile was painful to watch. "And your hand," the Immortal continued, "will be the one that strikes him down." "You're crazy," Kesley said shortly. Miguel paled, and Santana crossed himself rapidly several times. "You don't talk like that to your Duke," the Archbishop said. "_My_ Duke? But--" Don Miguel regained his composure and put one hand on Kesley's shoulder. "I ask you to join me and perform this service. I am prepared to pay well for it." "The price?" "My daughter," Miguel said. "Kill Winslow, and she's yours." "Your _daughter_? But I thought--" "_Adopted_ daughter," Miguel said smoothly. "My ward. The girl is but twenty-two, and lovely. Kill Winslow, and she's yours." Kesley felt perspiration dripping down his body. Kill Duke Winslow? Upset the balance of the Twelve Empires, break the fragile harmony on which the world depended? It was impossible! But-- He realized suddenly that he was a totally free agent, detached and uninvolved. Van Alen had led him forth from Iowa Province, and van Alen was dead. He owed nothing to van Alen, nothing to Iowa. He stood alone, unknown and unwanted in the world of the Twelve Empires, able to shape his own destinies. And Miguel was offering him a title, a home, an allegiance, at the cost of an assassination. _Well, why not?_ he asked himself. _My hand is free. Why not strike down a Duke?_ He moistened his lips. "I'll consider it," he said. "But first--let me see the girl." * * * * * Alone, waiting for Miguel to return, Kesley tried to think. Kill Winslow? Kill a Duke--an Immortal? The idea seemed incredible, almost obscene. It was like saying, "Snuff out a star," or, "Destroy a world." The Dukes were centers of their universes, and one did not kill them. Yet-- Kesley's self-searching in the past few minutes had revealed one jarring fact: he did not have the qualms he had supposed he would have. Assassinating Winslow would not be star-snuffing; he knew he could do it as casually as van Alen had blasted the blue wolf, back in Iowa Province. He knew he should be quaking at the thought of murdering his own Duke, but the necessary quaking refused to come. _What's wrong with me?_ he asked himself desperately. _Why am I different?_ A man was supposed to feel loyalty to his Duke. Kesley did not. _Why?_