The battlements of Castle Keening were mysteriously quiet, the ever-present wind that gave the high fortress its name in a rare respite. The cause of this calm was unnatural, and the night itself seemed to sense this. It was as if the night, and nature, had recoiled from the grim fortress, pulling away so as not to be corrupted by what was transpiring within.
The symbol inlaid into the floor was decorated with mother-of-pearl and gold, and it represented the three mystical forms of protection for Wizardy. A pentragram rested within a concentric circle, which was itself contained inside a thaumaturgic triangle. The threefold defense was necessary for the conjuring of the most powerful forms of extra-dimensional entities, such as Demons, for the power of only one was pitifully inadequate to contain such mighty entities. Nine Wizards stood within the large chamber, illuminated by a trio of braziers at the points of the triangle, three to a side of the triangle and with hand upraised from their voluminous black robes. They chanted in a discordant, ugly language, but the harmony of their speaking gave the chant an eerie choral quality that reverberated from the walls. Kravon stood at the center of the side considered to be the strongest of the triangle, his arms down, though his voice was raised with the others in their chanting.
Two burly, mailed guards dragged a third man into the chamber, a large, muscular man with dark hair and fair eyes. He has nude, and his body showed the marks of someone who was tortured into compliance. They had to carry the semi-conscious man to the edge of the triangle, where, at a nod from the this, cadaverous Wizard, he was cast into the triform symbol. The man lay there, groaning, though his groans were drowned out by the voices of the Wizards around him.
And then they stopped. Kravon stood alone when the other eight stepped back, and his voice alone suddenly thundered through the chamber. Arcane words of power flowed from his lips smoothly, flawlessly, and the three fires within the braziers suddenly began to flare and wane in concordance with the power of his voice. He pointed at the man laying within the symbol and spoke a single word, and the braziers suddenly flared, sending flames high into the arched chamber, bringing the brilliance of the noontime sun into the dark gallery.
The man on the floor screamed. He writhed, got to his knees, held his head between his hands, and screamed a scream that only the dying could emit. Kravon watched with stoic interest as the man's body began to shudder, and then it suddenly turned gray. The man's spirit was cast from its mortal shell, and the body quickly dessicated, shriveled, flesh putrifying and eyes melting away. The body stopped shuddering and stood, and an ornate, archaic suit of armor simply appeared around the body. Red light appeared within those empty eye sockets, and a shield appeared on the figure's left arm.
"Why have ye summoned me?" Jegojah, Doomwalker, demanded in a dry voice, a voice from the grave. "Our bargain, it was fufilled, yes."
"No," Kravon said calmly. "The Were-cat still lives. You have failed."
"The Were-cat, he is a Weavespinner," the dead figure said in a hissing voice. "This you did not tell Jegojah. Had Jegojah known, A better battleground Jegojah would have chosen. Battling a Weavespinner that close to a Conduit, it is suicide, yes. No fault of Jegojah caused Jegojah to fail, yes. The bargain, it is fulfilled. Now release Jegojah to rest, as was promised!"
"You failed me," Kravon said. "And you forget who holds your soul." The wizard held up a small diamond amulet, an amulet which throbbed with a soft light not unlike the rhythm of a man's beating heart. "You have little choice in the matter. Go out, and find the Were-cat Tarrin. Then kill him."
"No," Jegojah hissed. "A bargain, we had struck one, yes. A bargain fulfilled! A ten year's rest you have promised Jegojah, and a ten year's rest Jegojah will have!"
"That was then. This is now."
The Doomwalker growled in rage, then rushed forward. But he rebounded off the mystical shield created by the symbols separating the Doomwalker from the Wizard.
"I see you need persuasion," he said coldly, and pulled a small silver gong from his robe. He held up a small gold baton, then struck it. The gong gave out a discordant twang, and the very sound of it made Jegojah scream in agony and writhe on the floor. The gong had been made specifically to disrupt the natural harmony of the Doomwalker's captured spirit, and its sound made the throbbing pulses of the amulet's core to fluctuate and dim. The gong quieted back to silence, and the Doomwalker stopped spasming on the floor. It got up instantly and glared at the Wizard, its glowing red eyes promising tortures beyond human imagination should it find a way to breach the prison in which it was contained. "I could continue, and the gong will destroy your soul, Doomwalker," Kravon said in a cold, emotionless voice. "But you can serve me better this way. Find the Were-cat, Jegojah. Find him and destroy him. Bring me the Were-cat's head, and I will release your soul to eternal rest. Fail me, and you will suffer the gong for a thousand years."
"Your word, what good is it to Jegojah?" the Doomwalker hissed. "Once already you have broken it. What trust does Jogojah show an oathbreaker now?"
"You have no choice," Kravon said. "I own you, Doomwalker. Be glad that I am willing to give up your services after you succeed in your mission. If you refuse," he said in a trailing voice, holding up the gong.
"Jegojah will do it," the Doomwalker said in a deadly voice. "But be warned. Should you betray Jegojah again, for you Jegojah will come next, yes. A promise, that is."
"Save your threats. You have a mission to perform. Begone."
And with a wave of his hand, the Doomwalker simply vanished from the triform symbol.
"Is this entirely wise, my Lord?" one of the Wizards asked curiously. "I bow to your superior skill and intellect, but your logic escapes me. If you anger him enough, Jegojah will break free of our control."
"It is simple, adept," he replied. "The Were-cat cannot be stable, not after the way he went insane in Suld. We will attack him, and attack him, and attack him. We will kill everyone close to him, and then we will keep coming after him until he goes mad. We will drive him mad, and when he is mad, he will no longer be a threat. I have already sent men to Dala Yar Arak, and more groups wait at every possible crossroads and port. We will make the Were-cat destroy himself. Jegojah will be a part of that."
"But after what happened in Suld-" the Wizard said, cutting himself off. That had been a tremendous setback to them. All of their operations in Sulasia were now compromised, as were many in Tykarthia, Daltochan, and Shace. Three hundred years of careful planning and work had been destroyed, and they had lost a good many good people in the destruction of their complex. "Great Lord, the Were-cat is much too deadly for a man to easily kill."
"They don't have to kill him, Marek," Kravon explained. "They just have to keep pushing him. They've been ordred to hire every thug and cutpurse they can find to go after the Were-cat, so sheer force of numbers will eventually overwhelm him."
"But he'll kill them by the hundreds."
"That's exactly what I want him to do," Kravon said in a hollow voice. "The Were-cat was once human, and a young one at that. The reports I have on him don't make such activities good for his sanity. His mind can't rationalize such slaughter. Every man he kills will help us that much more. We'll throw men at him until he goes mad. No matter how many it takes."
"It seems a very dangerous plan."
"True, but sometimes dangerous plans are the best ones."
Jervis was in a strange mood.
He had never been boonswoggled before, and he wasn't quite sure how to take it.
Keritanima. Just the name made him want to laugh. What a ride she had given him! Oh, she was a clever one, she was. Clever and good. Jervis had never considered her to be anything more than an empty-headed brat, and now he knew that it had all been an act. An act that had misdirected an entire kingdom.
How had she done it? It would be impossible for her to keep something like that a secret! Certainly Miranda was in on it. If so, that explained a great deal of why Miranda was so enigmatically loyal to Keritanima. Binter and Sisska, Keritanima's bodyguards, also absolutely had to know. But they were Vendari. If she forced them to swear never to reveal her secret, they would take it with the to the grave. But outside of that small circle, who else had known the truth? If Keritanima did things right, not many. With Miranda to act as her front, to pretend to be the boss, she could easily and effectively run her operations from behind Miranda's skirts with absolutely nobody suspecting a thing.
Miranda was good, but now it was apparent that Keritanima lay at the center of the web of intrigue that had always been credited to her serious, cute little maid. She had played them all like lutes, and after looking back through the torrid past within the Palace, everything began to fit into place more and more. Yes, Keritanima had indeed been at the heart of things. And she had managed to keep herself hidden, keep her secret safe, even while absolutely surrounded by hostile agents and enemy spies. That was truly remarkable.
But why? That was the part that he couldn't quite figure out. Or at least he hadn't been able to before the letter arrived. She had no real reason to pretend to be an egocentric witch, yet she maintained the illusion of incompetence, even when it put her life at risk. But the letter explained everything. It made all of her activities come together into a grand plan with a single goal. And when he looked at that plan, at her actions, he was astounded. She had orchestrated a huge, massive, complex multi-layered plan to confuse her enemies, mislead them, eliminate those too dangerous, raise up incompetents that would help create an atmosphere of chaos, trick others into doing what she wanted them to do, and then separate herself from her father. And it was all done so she could run away, with an excellent chance of succeeding, and leaving nobody behind in Wikuna that would care. She had maneuvered the entire nobility of Wikuna just so she could turn and flee from her responsibilities.
And he had to admit that she had done a very thorough job of it. She was gone. She was nowhere in Suld. After banding together her Marines and the Knights and attacking the Cathedral of Karas, she had simply vanished. He had been totally at a loss, and then the letter arrived.
It was from her Highness, and it was terse, short, and to the point. It proved that Keritanima was indeed good, but it also proved she was a rash youth. It was a mistake. Yet something in her had forced her to carry out with it, even though she knew it was a mistake.
It was why he was standing in the small, windowless room that held nothing but a magical glowglobe illuminating the room and a large mirror resting on a brass stand. It had been enchanted by the priests of Kikalli, the Wavemistress, patron goddess of the Wikuni, so that he could see and hear whoever looked into the mirror's counterpart. That mirror was in the Royal study in Wikuna, and Jervis was waiting for his Majesty, Damon Eram, to arrive so he could personally deliver his report.
Damon Eram was going to explode. Jervis could see that already. But what Jervis wasn't sure about was what he would do about it. Damon Eram's feelings for Keritanima were well known in Wikuna. He despised her, felt she was weak and unfit to be queen, and Jervis suspected that the ruthless monarch had tried to put an end to her more than once. Jervis didn't like Damon Eram, but he was king, and Jervis was duty-bound to serve.
He appeared in the other mirror, dressed in a white silk shirt and riding pants. Damon Eram was a lion-Wikuni, a large and imposing and intimidating figure that radiated power and authority like a fire radiated heat. His mane was carefully combed and tended, his left lion-ear was pierced and holding a gold loop, and his more-human face stared at Jervis with a cold annoyance plain on it. Hot gold eyes stared at Jervis for a moment, and Jervis bowed smoothly in front of the mirror. "What is it, Jervis?" he asked. "Make it fast, I'm busy."
"I bring news to you, your Majesty," Jervis said calmly. "It's rather bad."
"What happened?"
"Well, to tell the truth, we're still not entirely sure," he said. "But the short of it is that the Princess has turned up missing."
"Is that all? Well, it's not the first time she's run away, Jervis. No doubt some Sorcerer didn't bow deep enough, and she went into a snit. Just send some men out and find her."
"I'm afraid it goes a bit farther than that this time, your Majesty," Jervis said. "This morning, Keritanima rounded up her Marines, and somehow convinced the Knights and some katzh-dashi to aid her. She led them into the city, and used them to assault the Cathedral of Karas."
"She did what?" he said in a strangled tone.
"Oh, that's not the half of it, Majesty," Jervis told him. "It turns out that a friend of hers was being held in a secret underground complex under the church, a complex that nobody knew about. The attack was to recover him."
"I can't believe this! Erick is going to be screaming for reparations!"
"Actually, Erick really had no idea what was going on," Jervis said. "Things are very tense here right now, and they go very deep. Your daughter has managed to destabilize the political structure of the entire city, possibly the entire kingdom."
"How does she do these things?" he said in an exasperated voice.
"Well, your Majesty, I dare say she plans them," Jervis said.
Damon Eram gave him a flat look.
"It's true, your Majesty," he said in a calm voice. "I'm afraid that we all have been led around by the nose by her Highness. She's not the whimsical, self-centered little brat that she pretends to be. I have solid reports that she led the attack on the Cathedral, and her strategy was flawless. For her to convince Colonel Manx and the Lord General of the Knights, Darvon, to accept her flag is a statement in and of itself. Those two are reputed to be some of the best military men in the world, and they fell under her banner immediately."
"Are you joking with me, Jervis?" Daman Eram asked.
"I wish I were, your Majesty," he said. "She also managed to eradicate the presense of enemy agents hindering her operations, and quite effectively managed to wrap the entire Tower around her little finger while she was here. And she did it all while my men were watching her, men that will swear under oath as to what they saw."
"It had to be Miranda."
"No, Miranda is Keritanima's puppet, your Majesty," he said calmly. "Miranda capitulated to Keritanima immediately before the attack, and it was clear that it was Keritanima doing the leading. Everything we have contributed to Miranda in the past actually came from Keritanima. She has used Miranda as a front to hide her own secrets, and it seems that Miranda was going along with it. I don't doubt that Miranda is good, but it's only because Keritanima trained her."
"I can't belive any of this," Damon Eram said hotly. "Keritanima is a half-witted little brat. She couldn't possibly do anything you've just said."
"Well, I think Keritanima felt that you'd feel that way, so she left me a letter. It just arrived about an hour ago, and it specifically demands that I'm to read it to you."
"Well? What does it say?"
Jervis unfolded the letter from where had put it in his pocket, then cleared his throat. "Dear Jervis," he began, giving Damon Eram a quick glance. "If you're reading this, then you're standing in front of the mirror talking with my father, just wondering what in the nine hells is going on. No doubt my father is very angry, and he can't believe a word of anything you just said." He looked up at Damon Eram's image. "Well, the truth of things it that I've beaten all of you. I survived my family's attempt to get rid of me, I survived the noble's desires to see Jenawalani on the throne, and I survived you, father. I've beaten you all, and now I'm free of you.
"So consider this a goodbye. I never thought it would thrill me so much to say that, but it does. I've worked for years to get to this point, where I could walk away from my family and never have to look back over my shoulder. And it's all because I left behind a kingdom that doesn't care if I come back or not. They don't want the Brat, they want that brutal little bitch Jenawalani. Well, I'm tired of dodging daggers thrown by her men, so I'm leaving. I've dotted my i's and crossed my t's, and made sure that nobody in Wikuna would be very happy if I ever returned to the Palace. I've undercut your position, father dearest. In just a few short days, you're going to find most of your trusted nobles and advisors dead. You'll be too busy protecting yourself from your enemies to worry about me."
"That little bitch!" Damon Eram suddenly exploded. "She did this?"
"Did what, your Majesty?"
"Jervis, there was a large round of assassinations last night. Alot of my best men are dead, and it's caused chaos in the administration. I'm still trying to get things under control."
"Well, I dare say that should prove to you that I'm not joking," he said mildly, then he continued to read. "Consider this an abdication of my title. Actually, consider it a resignation from the family. I don't want anything to do with any of you, so just leave me alone. I have a new life now, with people who love me, and what I have there could never compare to it. I know how happy this makes you, father. Now you don't have to worry about me anymore. Now you'll be able to play your games of intrigue without having to worry about who takes the throne when someone finally gets you. I'm sick of it, I'm sick of Wikuna, and I'm sick of all of you.
"I loved you, father. I really did. I loved you until you tried to have me killed. Now I want nothing more of you, and if we ever stand face to face again, I'm going to kill you. Remember that if you send people to try to find me. I am what you made me, and that means you know that I mean it. Goodbye father. I hope I never see you again.
"That's it, your Majesty," Jervis said.
"I can't believe it!" Damon Eram raged. "Keritanima did all of this! And I never suspected her capable of it!"
"She's fooled a great many people, your Majesty," Jervis said.
"Find her, Jervis!" Damon Eram snapped in fury. "I want her standing in front of me before the summer solstice! She's not getting away with this!"
"Is that wise, Majesty?" Jervis asked. "She's already demonstrated how dangerous she can be. I don't think chasing her would be the best thing. She has cut her ties. It is best if you just let her go."
"Oh, no," he said in a seething fury. "She's coming back and she's going to answer for this. And she is not abdicating her position," he hissed. "If she doesn't want to be Queen, then she's going to have to cut her own throat."
"That is a strange position to take, Majesty."
"No, it's not," he fumed. "If she's good enough to do all of this, then she's obviously good enough to be Queen. I'll want to kill her when I get her back here, but I have to have a competent successor for the Eram line to hold the throne. This qualifies her."
"She is hated among the nobility, Majesty. There will be friction."
"Not after everyone who opposes her is too terrified to gainsay it," Damon Eram said grimly. "Find her, Jervis. I don't care what it takes. You have my entire fleet at your disposal. I want her back in the Palace by summer."
"It will be done, Majesty," Jervis said calmly.
The mirror winked out, leaving Jervis with his thoughts. It was a mistake. Keritanima was good, and that made her dangerous. If Damon Eram took her back to Wikuna, he would have more than he bargained for.
With luck, she would kill him and take the throne. If she was leaving because she found love, then that meant that she wasn't as heartless as the other Erams. Maybe she could restore the dignity of the throne.
But he had orders, and a duty to perform. He would find Princess Keritanima-Chan Eram, whether she liked it or not. And the letter was the only clue he needed. She would have been almost impossible to find if she left alone. But a Wikuni travelling with a Were-cat and a Selani were very distinctive, and that would lead him right to her.
They were the only ones with whom she had enough contact at the Tower to form any bonds of love. And she had exposed her secret to rescue the Were-cat. If that wasn't an act of love, Jervis didn't know what was.
Though it was winter, the Grove of Talbon the Druid was a vibrant, lush place, full of bloom and life, sustained by his natural magical powers. Most Druids had such groves, for it was a direct link to their powers of the land, their magic of nature, and it enhanced their magical abilities. Nestled in what many called the Frontier, the vast forest separating Sulasia from Arkis, it stood as a rallying point for many of the woodland kin who laired nearby. The Fae-da'Nar respected Talbon, and his gentle nature and calm smiles made many of them feel at ease. He was relatively new to the Frontier, having been at his grove for only twenty years, but in that short time his grove had become a meeting place for many of the woodland folk, and many of them sought out Talbon for his wisdom and healing. Just as a priest was the caretaker of his flock of believers, a Druid was the caretaker of the beings of Fae-da'Nar, providing for their needs and making them feel more comfortable. Because they were beings of nature, tied to the land, Druids did not mind this duty at all. After all, when a Druid needed help, they were magically compelled to come to his aid. It was always best for the Druids to ease that compulsion by being friends with the beings they summoned, so as not to create friction. Talbon was especially liked among the humans who came to the Frontier, be them Druids, wanderers, hermits, or lone hunters, because he was a very personable and considerate fellow, and he was handsome. Many female Were-kin had secretly considered turning him Were just to have him, but such an act would be a terrible transgression against the laws by which they lived. Talbon radiated calm and assurance, and it echoed through his grove to soothe all who came to visit him.
That calm didn't do all that much for Jesmind. Talbon was the only Druid she really knew, for he wasn't too far from her den, and she'd been forced to travel all the way to him to send out her call. She had been waiting there for several days, as her message slowly managed to find her mother, and her mother responded to it. Talbon was a gracious host, keeping the Were-cat comfortable and entertained, learning what she had to bring in news from the lands outside. But it was obvious that the Were-cat was agitated, and Talbon was wise enough not to press her too far. Were-cats were especially volatile among the Were-kin, and their kind had a very nasty reputation. Talbon really didn't see why they had earned such a dark reputation, for he had never seen one that was deserving of it. True, they had tempers, but no more than a Were-boar. The only thing that made the Were-cats different from their cousins was that they couldn't hold a fully human shape without discomfort. But Talbon couldn't see why this would make the rest of them not like them.
And so Talbon abided with the distraught Were-cat in relative silence, waiting for Triana. That in itself would be something of a special occasion. All of Fae-da'Nar knew that name, for Triana was the oldest of her kind. She was a thousand years old, and she was a Druid of high caliber. But what was most important, Triana was respected by all of Fae-da'Nar. Even other Were-kin, who had a universal dislike for their unusual cousins, respected Triana for her age, her experience, and her wisdom. Talbon had met Triana twice before, and he had been impressed by her. He very much looked forward to speaking with her again.
She appeared at the edge of the grove silently, and Jesmind stood quickly and rushed to her mother. The physical similarities were striking. Jesmind was truly her mother's daughter, for they shared the same high cheekbones and narrow nose, the same beautifully sharp features. But Triana stood almost a head taller than her daughter, towering over almost everyone around her, and her face had a maturity about it that made everyone who looked at her realize that she was not as young as she looked. Triana had tawny colored hair that was almost perfectly matched by her fur, something of a rarity among Were-cats, and those green, vertically slitted eyes looked down at her daughter with curiosity when she embraced her fiercely.
"I'm happy to see you too, daughter," Triana said in a rich voice, a voice that was strong and sharp and deceptive for a female her size. "Now what can be so serious that you would have the Druids track me down? I was busy."
"You're always busy, mother," Jesmind said accusingly. "I need your help."
"For what? You're a grown woman, Jesmind. At least you should be."
"I don't know what to do, mother," she said immediately. She led Triana back to the log on which she'd been sitting, and as Talbon listened, she explained everything that had happened to her. It was obvious to Talbon that Jesmind was torn. She had done what she was supposed to do. She tried to kill a Rogue. But Talbon suspected that she wasn't quite so overmatched as she led her mother to believe. "I can't kill him, mother. Actually, I don't want to. The Tower did this to him. If we can get him out of there, he should be alright, and there are few enough males as it is. He's a good boy, mother. He just needs to get out of that place. It's killing him bit by bit, because he can't be himself. They won't let up on him. And I can't convince him to leave. He's so afraid of his magic, that he thinks they're the only ones that can help him keep it under control. I promised him I'd send someone in my place, because I couldn't risk getting into another fight with him."
Triana gave her daughter a long, steady look. "I, see," she said, which made Jesmind blush. "Is that how it is?"
Jesmind nodded emphatically.
"Then I'll go have a look at this Tarrin," she said. "You did the right thing, daughter. I'll go see him, and if I think he's worth salvaging, then we'll go from there. If he's too far gone, we'll have to put him down."
"Mother!"
"It's the law, daughter," she said in a voice that brooked no dispute. "I don't care how you feel about him, the law is the law."
"It's not fair," she said. "It's not his fault!"
"You spend a night with him, and you're attached to him?" Triana said in surprise. "That's not like you, Jesmind."
She looked away from her mother, staring at the ground.
"Look at me," she demanded, and the red-headed Were-cat was compelled to obey. Nobody disobeyed Triana. She met that penetrating gaze sheepishly, her cheeks reddening.
And Triana laughed. "No wonder," she said. "It's about time, girl. I was starting to give up on you."
Jesmind blushed even deeper.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do. But that's no guarantee."
"I didn't think it would be, mother."
"Talbon, you're looking well," she finally managed to say in greeting. "I'm sorry we didn't greet earlier, but my daughter here wasn't giving me the chance to put in a word."
"That's quite alright, Triana," he said with a disarming smile. "After hearing what she has to say, I don't really blame her. With a Rogue out there, it makes things uncertain."
"Not just any Rogue, Talbon," she sighed. "This one is a Sorcerer. That makes this a bit of a tight situation."
"Do you want me to call together a cadre?"
"Not yet," she said. "Let me take a look at him. I'll let you know how we're going to deal with him after I'm certain of it."
"As you wish, Triana," he said calmly. "It must have been a long trip. Would you like some tea?"
"Ever considerate," she smiled. "Yes, I would, thank you. Did you ever enlarge your cottage?"
Jesmind remained on the log as her mother and the Druid stood and walked towards a small cottage with stone walls, and ivy covering the outside. Her tail was lashing behind her, and her mind was full. Where was Tarrin now? What she felt from him, through the bond, it was powerful. She didn't mention it to Triana, because it was Tarrin at his worst, and that would have hardened her mother to him. Someone had done something terrible to him, and she was very worried. He was unsettled, unsure, afraid. She felt so much pity for him that it was breaking her heart, because he had nobody there to help him through it, to help him deal with what every Were-cat had suffered through at least once in their lives.
The realization that they were never fully in control.
Tarrin was so desperately alone, and he was too young to be able to deal with it himself. He needed Jesmind, but she couldn't be there to help him. Her instincts cried out to be there for him, but other, equally powerful instincts were forcing her to stay away from him, because he was much too dangerous for her to handle in her condition. She hoped that Triana could take up that role, because of all their kind, she would be the best at recovering her tormented bond-child and returning him to a life of relative peace.
She believed in her mother, and had the feeling that if anyone could help Tarrin, Triana could. She just had to reach him before he was too far gone. She wanted to do it herself. Tarrin was her bond-child, and he was special. She wanted to be there for him, to help him, to ease him through things, but she just couldn't. His Sorcery made him dangerous, and she couldn't risk getting caught between him and his anger should he use his powers while in a fury. She had other duties, other responsibilities, and they were just as powerful and immediate as Tarrin's. It had been a hard choice, but it was a choice that she had been forced to make.
She had been forced to decide between two children, both of which needed her. And she had made her choice. She placed her hand on her belly, her thoughts grim and foreboding.
She only hoped that it was the best one.