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?

He had had a chance to kill Miguel. Perhaps that had all been illusion; perhaps he would have been struck down by an invisible guard the moment the knife's tip approached the Immortal's flesh. Perhaps not. He had drawn back, only because he had nothing to gain by killing the Duke.

And now he was asked to kill another. Dale Kesley, Hired Assassin. We Kill Dukes. He grinned mirthlessly.

The faint hum of the sliding panel sounded behind him. He turned.

"Have you reached any decision yet?" Miguel asked, stepping into the room.

"You know what I'm waiting to see," Kesley said.

"Of course."

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