As she often did, she was struck with the possibility that she was on the Taqar again; that all this had been a dream. She clung to it for a few moments longer before, inevitably, she needed to breathe in. The scent of Glamourvine and its pervasive sorceries dispelled all illusions. Hool rolled to her feet. The hedge maze was still closed to her. Somewhere, not too far away, she heard the gardener clipping the funny little trees that lined some of the paths. She did not remember falling asleep. At the edge of the pool, sitting in a mageglass chair before a small table, Lyrelle Reldamar was sipping tea and paging through an old, iron-bound book. She wore a great, wide sun-hat and a dress of warm hunter green and white lace. On her nose were perched a pair of orange-tinted spectacles. Hool’s hackles rose. “You betrayed your own son.” Lyrelle glanced at her and then back at the book.
