Thanks so much to my reviewers! It's heartening to know I'm not the only one who likes this. I've been without internet for the past four weeks but I'm hoping to get a decent updating time going now that I've got it back. I hope you enjoy this installment! -Y.

Valentine had seen enough movies to know that when strange foreigners were taken prisoner, they were shackled up in a dank cell in a deep dungeon, occasionally accompanied by seedy tax evaders or skeletons. So he was surprised when the guards led him to a small, furnished room in the palace proper with a window overlooking the city. He did a lap, inspecting the furniture and opening the adjoining door to reveal a bathroom.

"No way," he said to himself. "My grandmother doesn't even have indoor plumbing."

"Our system was an invention of the king himself when he was eight years old," said a quiet voice behind him. Valentine turned to see the hooded high priest, Aster. The guards were making a discreet exit, closing the door behind themselves as they left.

"Really?" Valentine asked, genuinely interested and more than a little glad that the guards had left.

"It's a pump system," Aster explained. "Someone gave him a pig bladder to play with one morning to keep him from getting underfoot while the women were doing laundry at the mouth of the river, and apparently that gave him the idea. He drew up the plans in the mud of the riverbank with a twig, and then transferred them to paper when one of the women noticed what he was doodling. His father had the royal engineers look over it, and they implemented it immediately."

"Wow." Valentine whistled through his teeth. "He must be some kind of genius."

"Mortvedt is a city of scholars," Aster said. "King Algernon receives respect as a scholar among scholars as much as by birthright."

Valentine thought he recognized pride in Aster's voice, and looked up to confirm it in the high priest's face.

"Anyway," Aster said, clearing his throat. "The king asked me to ensure you are settled and have everything you need."

Valentine looked around. "I guess so," he said with a shrug.

"You will not be allowed to leave this room," Aster told him, "but if you think of anything you need to make you feel more welcome, talk to one of the guards posted outside your door. Someone will be standing guard outside your room at all times."

"I miss Barley a bit, but I suppose you can't do anything about that," Valentine admitted. "Of course, it sure is quiet with her gone."

"Is Barley the loud woman?" Aster asked kindly.

Valentine nodded, grinning. "Yeah. She is loud, huh?"

"She won't be harmed unless she tries to return to Mortvedt," Aster tried to reassure him. Awkwardly, he got up and cleared his throat again. "I should get back to my duties. Don't hesitate to call for me if you need anything."

"I won't," Valentine said, and lay on the bed, testing its softness. He thought after Aster had left that he should have asked the high priest if he knew how to get them back to East Texas, but the events of the very long day had taken their toll on him, and he slipped off to sleep with the trailing thought that he would call for Aster as soon as he woke up.

“Well, well,” said a very large, very cheerful voice.

Barley jerked from where she'd been dropped, her arms and legs bound with rope, her eyes covered by a blindfold. “Who is that?” she called.

“Helen,” answered the big voice. “Would you like to be freed? That doesn't look very comfortable.”

“Yes,” Barley said, sagging against the dirt. “Please.”

Large fingers tugged at the ends of the ropes, which fell away from Barley's skin. Barley stretched, shifting to her knees as she pulled off her blindfold. She blinked against the sun until her eyes adjusted, and then looked up at her rescuer... and up, and up.

“Hi there,” said Helen brightly. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, and her straw-yellow hair piled high on her head silhouetted against the sky twenty feet in the air, glowing like a bright halo.

“Oh good lord Jesus Christ,” Barley muttered.

“Hey!” shouted a burlap bag, lying on the ground nearby. “Let me out, too!”

Barley blinked and turned to grab the bag. She fumbled to untie the twine holding it shut. “Good grief,” she said as Xanthe flew out of the bag. “What kind of fairy are you if a potato sack is all it takes to put you out of commission?”

“A gay fairy,” Xanthe snapped, advancing through the air toward Barley and whacking her on the nose with the triangle wand. “For your information, I was simply caught off-guard.”

Rubbing her nose with two fingers, Barley glared at Xanthe. “I'm just saying. You're pretty useless, aren't'cha?”

“Excuse me,” said Helen politely. “I don't mean to interrupt, but can I help the two of you with anything? You don't seem to be from around here.”

“Oh yeah,” Barley said, looking around suddenly, seeing their surroundings for the first time. “Where the heck are we?”

Xanthe looked around, too. They were on a slope filled with wild grasses and flowers. In one direction, mountains rose high into the air. In the other, a view stretched for miles. She turned to Barley. “I would assume these are the southern mountains Cat was talking about. Where the giants and dwarves live.”

“Right!” Helen agreed brightly. “The humans call them the Black Mountains so that they'll sound scary, I suppose, but really they're rather nice. We don't get too many human visitors, at any rate, other than the ones the soldiers bring. Would you like to come into my house and stay a spell?” she added.

“Well, we don't have anywhere else to stay,” Barley pointed out, looking at Xanthe, who was looking back.

“Just until we figure out what we're going to do next,” Xanthe conceded, and flew upward to look Helen in the eyes. “Thank you so much for your kind offer.”

“You're welcome,” Helen said, and turned to head toward her home, taking tiny steps which still spanned twice Barley's entire height. The ground shook slightly as she walked. “I have a pallet on the floor for visitors. I'd offer you the bed but it's taller than the little bride.”

“Little,” Barley repeated pointedly to Xanthe.

“That's probably best,” Xanthe agreed with Helen, ignoring Barley just as pointedly.

Ahead of them and far above them, Helen remained oblivious. “Would you like food first, or sleep?”

“Food,” Barley answered at the same time as Xanthe said, “Sleep.”

Helen paused to glance back at them in confusion.

“Now listen here you,” Barley said, pointing and glaring at the fairy. “I'm hungry. This morning I was too nervous to eat breakfast and my beautiful Texas T-bone buffet burst into flames before I could eat it.”

“Well, then, by all means, eat,” Xanthe replied exasperated. “But my day hasn't exactly been typical either. It started out with your big arse landing on my house.”

“MY ARSE-- ASS IS NOT BIG,” Barley bellowed.

“Excuse me,” Helen said. “Why don't I just find you something to eat and leave it next to your pallet? That way you can do whatever you feel like at the time.”

“That would be nice,” Xanthe said, glaring at Barley, who was glaring back.

“Well, here we are!” Helen announced, her voice even more loud and cheerful than before. She'd lead them to a cottage build into the side of the mountain. She pulled open the heavy wooden door, revealing a large, single-room cottage. She bustled around for a moment, pulling a straw mattress from its hiding place near the gigantic bed and lying it on the floor. “Feel free to sleep here,” she told them, heading toward the kitchen area. For a giant she moved remarkably fast, and before long she'd set a stone plate as big as a chair next to the straw mattress, filled with a slice of cheese the size of Barley's forearm and several apples.

Barley wasted no time tucking into the food. Stubbornly, Xanthe lay down on the mattress and closed her eyes. She shifted a few times, but found the straw too uncomfortable against her skin to be comfortable.

Sighing, she gave up on sleep for the moment and sat up, only to find that Barley had left a generous fairy-sized helping of food near her. She glanced at Barley, only to find the girl looking back at her. They both looked away immediately, concentrating on their meal.

Once Barley could eat no more, she set the leftovers aside and stretched out on the mattress, pillowing her head in her arms. “I don't think I've ever been so tired,” she said with an exaggerated yawn, and stilled.

After a moment of hesitation, Xanthe flew to Barley's skirt, making a bed in the singed tulle. Barley opened one eye, but said nothing, and after a bit, closed at again. They lay in silence for a few moments, each discovering that she was too tired to fall asleep immediately.

Finally, Xanthe decided to pass the moments before bed in the way that girls who share sleeping accommodations do. “Barley, would you mind if I ask you something?”

“That never stopped you before,” Barley replied. “Shoot.”

“How did you and Valentine become... a couple?” Xanthe asked delicately.

After a moment of silence, Barley shrugged. “I dunno. We just started going out, pretty much from the moment Val moved to Smokey Pines from... whatever it's called. Not-Texas.”

“Ah,” Xanthe said wisely. “Not-Texas. Good thing he moved away from there.”

“Yeah, I hate that place,” Barley agreed. “Anyway, I always knew I'd probably end up marrying Valentine. All our friends said we should, and so one day we just decided, why not?”

“Why not indeed?” Xanthe agreed, her comment punctuated by a gentle yawn. “But Barley... do you ever consider passion?”

Barley shifted uncomfortably, jostling Xanthe a bit. “Passion? That doesn't last. Val's... you know, predictable. That's all a girl needs in a husband.”

“I suppose so,” Xanthe said unconvincingly.

“Anyway, I'm beat.” Barley closed her eyes, cutting off any further conversation. “Night night, fairy.”

“Night,” Xanthe returned more softly, but she stayed awake until Barley's deep, even breathing lulled her to sleep.

He was wakened in the middle of the night by a clatter and a series of shouts outside his door. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, trying to gage the time from the darkness outside his window. He gave up rather quickly, climbing out of bed and crossing the floor to peek outside and see what was happening. As he cracked the door, his guards clamored together as though afraid he was try to escape.

“What's going on?” Valentine whispered.

The guards ignored him, but another voice answered, “Would you like to see?”

Valentine's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked around, trying to place the smooth, familiar voice.

Aster stepped into view wearing his High Priest's robes, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Did they wake you up, too?” Valentine asked, although Aster looked as though he didn't need any sleep to begin with.

“No.” Aster shook his head slightly. “This concerns me as High Priest.”

“Oh,” Valentine said, and then shrugged. “Okay, sure. Why not? I'll come watch.”

“Good,” Aster said simply. “Guards, escort our guest to the audience chamber.” With those parting words, he strode off down the corridor, his hard shoes clicking against the concrete floors.

The guards obeyed immediately, taking Valentine by both arms and dragging him through the door in his nightshirt. He stumbled along as they brought him up stairs and through corridors, emerging finally onto a balcony overlooking a large, wood-paneled hall. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls, and a long carpet stretched down the length of the room. At the end, the red and black crest of Mortvedt hung above a dais, where King Algernon stood in robes reminiscent of Aster's. The high priest was entering the room as Valentine settled on the balcony with his guards. Aster walked the carpet, stepping up on the dais and positioning himself to the right of and slightly behind the king.

The hall was silent for several moments before Algernon spoke. “Enter,” he said, his voice calm but carrying easily throughout the room.

Two pairs of guards burst into the hall, each dragging a man. They stopped halfway to the dais abreast of each other, dropping their prisoners at the same time.

One of the prisoners was a dashing young nobleman with sleek black hair and a slight paunch. He stood immediately upon his release, dusting off his expensive clothing before leveling a calm gaze toward the dais, waiting. The other was younger, wearing only a nightshirt and an indolent smirk, and he remained where he had been dropped on his knees.

The king, for his part, looked dangerous, but his posture and his expression remained carefully relaxed. Only his eyes betrayed any emotion, and they put Valentine in the mind of a panther with a rabbit already between its jaws. He was far from the line of fire and relatively safe up on the balcony, but his bladder still felt loose from fear.

“Baron Adelberg.” The king's deathly calm voice cut through the room, and got right to the point. “I am disappointed that a descendant of my own ancestor seems to disregard the laws of this kingdom.”

The baron opened his mouth, but closed it when he was unable to come up with a response that would not self-incriminate.

“Well?” King Algernon asked expectantly. “Haven't you got anything to say for yourself?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Baron Adelberg answered. His posture was not deferential, but his voice was respectful. He seemed to sense he was in trouble.

“Aster. Remind the baron what laws he has broken.”

Pulling a scroll from his long robes, Aster unrolled it and read in his melodic voice, “'It is unlawful for a descendant of Mortvedt to forsake the flesh of the goddess and find pleasure in the bed of another man.'”

“I had a bit too much to drink tonight, Your Majesty,” the baron said, finding an excuse at last. “Surely you can see how Laurel here might be mistaken for a woman in the haze of too much wine.”

“Laurel.” The king's gaze transferred to the young man still kneeling on the floor. “How many times have you graced the baron's bed?”

Valentine swallowed. Laurel's gaze radiated sex. He didn't understand how the king and High Priest could remain so calm on the receiving end of such heat.

“Nine,” Laurel said at last. His eyes flickered toward the baron as he answered, the smirk still firmly in place.

The baron's face turned white. “King Algernon-”

“You obviously are not fit to carry the blood of Mortvedt in your veins,” Algernon continued calmly over the baron's attempt to speak. “You will be stripped of your title. Your lands will be turned over to the church.”

“Your Majesty-”

“You are also forbidden to reproduce,” the king added. “Should you father any children, they will be property of the crown from birth.”

The baron bowed his head, obviously upset at the harsh punishment, but resigned.

“Piety is of the utmost importance in Mortvedt,” Algernon reminded him, allowing a note of kindness and pity to seep into his voice so that it was one of a humble servant regretfully taxed to carry out the laws of a higher power.

“Wait!” the baron protested in one desperate final attempt. “You may have my future children and a full third of the earnings from my lands. But please, allow me to pass my title to my sister. I can't allow her children to suffer for my sins.”

Algernon raised one delicately arched eyebrow. “You won't allow?” he repeated, but waved an arm magnanimously in dismissal and acquiescence. “Very well. Half the earnings from your lands directly to the church once per year and your sister may take your title. Guards, remove the sinner from this holy palace.”

Two of the original guards complied immediately, dragging the baron away from where they'd come. This time, the baron hung limply from their arms like a deflated balloon.

“Brother Laurel,” Algernon addressed the boy once more after the baron had been cleared out “See that Father Markus disciplines you for leaving the monastery.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Laurel answered, his voice unrepentant but respectful. “May I go?”

The king nodded once, wordlessly dismissing the boy. Laurel stood and bowed before walking out of the main hall. His original escorts watched him go, and made no effort to catch up to him.

“You may go as well,” Algernon told the guards.

Valentine's two escorts took this as their dismissal as well, tugging Valentine off the balcony and back to his room where they dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and locked him in.

For his part, Valentine barely noticed the return trip. He was too confused by what he'd witnessed, and why the High Priest had wanted him to see it in the first place.