reached the age of nine." He laughed hollowly. "Out of eternal life, nothing but death. No, I have no children, young one." "I—see," Kesley said. He peered closely at the Immortal, feeling a strange flow of pity for the timeless man. Immortality was a costly gift, he saw. Suddenly, Kesley wondered how many other Immortals there had been beside the Twelve—Immortals who, once they realized the terrible nature of their breed, had taken their own lives. More than one, he thought. And how often did Miguel himself consider suicide? Had he had some hidden protection against Kesley's knife, moments ago downstairs, or had the Duke been half-hoping the blade would strike true? Perhaps. "Why do you keep me here?" Kesley asked. Miguel looked up slowly. His eyes, deep and piercing, bored into Kesley's. "You amuse me," Miguel said. "When one is more than four centuries old, one is hard put to find amusement. I am amused by the possibility that you might strike me dead at any moment." "It's really very funny," Kesley said. "I'm amused by the fact that you're not afraid of me. Awed, yes, but not servile. How many times a day do you think I hear that hateful word 'Sire'? Sire! Me, who has sired eight dead babes and nothing more." Kesley looked away, embarrassed. "Sire also means ruler," he pointed out in a muffled voice. "That, too," Miguel said. "I rule, and it is my life to rule. I have ruled four hundred years, and I will rule four thousand more—or four thousand thousand, or four million. But I can never stop ruling. It is a burden I can never put down. Who would fill the vacuum I would leave?" "There were rulers before the Twelve Dukes." "And they destroyed the world! Destroyed it—and in so doing, brought us into being. No, stranger, my Dukedom I can never put down. But it wearies me to make always the petty decisions, to govern the lives of petty—" "Why are you telling me all this?" Kesley burst out. "Mere amusement," Miguel said evenly. "I enjoy talking to you. What is your name?" "Dale Kesley."
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