"This is not a game, Julian. This is my life. I have a husband, I have a home. I am never coming back."

His temper was buried deep, but she still knew how to put a hook in it and drag it to the surface. She watched him battle to maintain his smirk, and fail. "You will," he whispered, with a new edge to his tone. "I will see to it. You cannot run off with a third of the property and think you'll get away with it."

Shaking now with exhaustion and irritation, Elizabeth pulled herself up to her full height. "I have only what was rightfully mine. And listen to me now, carefully: I will keep what is mine."

On Julian's face a flickering of anger. His mouth, narrowed down to a spiteful line. "You don't believe that Nathaniel Bonner really wants you, do you?" His eyes traveled slowly over her face, and his lip curled in disgust. "Now that he's got your father's land, what makes you think you can keep him, you with your books and your lectures. You can't breed him any children—did Richard ever tell you that, that your husband's sterile? Didn't bother to mention that, did he? But then I doubt the thought has even occurred to him—why would it, after all, when there's a woman like Many-Doves in the next bed."

The bile that rose in her throat would choke her, if she let it. It tasted of the things she saw in him now: the consuming selfishness, the bitter loneliness that had turned this man into a creature that she did not recognize, and wanted no part of.

She said: "It is very strange that you should mention Many-Doves , Julian. Just earlier today she was talking to me about you."

If she had slapped him, he could not have looked more stunned. It gave her pause enough only to catch her breath.

"Many-Doves said, "A man with no center will try to fill the void that rules him." She calls you He—Seeks—in—the—Dark."

He let out a rush of air that was half gasp, half awkward laugh. "Mohawk nonsense," he said hoarsely, his eyes flickering away from her."What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you have no soul. You know that to be true, which is your second curse. And the harder one to live with."

Nathaniel appeared suddenly out of the darkness; she felt his presence like the shadow of the mountain itself. He put a hand on her arm, and she touched him with a finger, asking for his silence for one more moment.

Julian blinked at her, as if he could not quite focus his eyes. Then he turned his back to both of them, and disappeared into the night.

* * *

They walked home in silence, but they were not alone on the path to Lake in the Clouds. Three young River Indians overtook them in the strawberry field, alive with waves of fireflies under the horned moon. Another, larger group of Kahnyen’keháka came out of the forest a mile farther on. Many-Doves had started the word moving in Barktown, and from all over the territory men would come to be near when Chingachgook walked the path. Nathaniel's pace quickened, and Elizabeth pushed herself to keep up.

The cabin was crowded with strangers. Onandaga from upriver. More Kahnyen’keháka, standing quietly. A couple of white trappers were cleaning their guns by the hearth. Her father sat talking to John Glove and Galileo. She felt his gaze on her as they passed.

Hawkeye was crouched next to the cot where his father slipped further into his death dream. The only things alive about him were his eyes, fixed on Chingachgook's face, and his voice, hoarse and vaguely crackling. He was singing under his breath in Mahican; Elizabeth did not understand the words, and she did not need an interpreter.

She picked up Chingachgook's hand off the blanket, fever hot. Cradled in her own two hands, it was like a piece of driftwood, deceptively light for all its strong, polished form. She had the sense of his bones, leached hollow and pale, as if they had lain for all of his many years in the direct light of the sun. The same sun that had given his people their own particular rainbow: copper and bronze, amber and sienna.

There was a subtle shifting in the deeply fissured face. His eyes opened, aflicker of awareness, and then closed again. The snake that coiled over his cheekbones shimmered in the lamplight and disappeared into the sparse white hair at his temple.

The door opened and there was the distinctive rattle of bone and silver. Elizabeth had last seen Bitter—Words this morning at Barktown, and now here he was, standing over the cot to look at Chingachgook with his eyes as black and expressive as the night. Hawkeye rose to talk to the faith keeper, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to slip away and look for Hannah.

Outside, a huge fire was burning, and around it, more people, mostly men. Maybe a hundred of them, talking among themselves while they made camp. They were roasting deer; she counted three, and a small bear, the bones of which had been tossed to the dogs. These men would hunt to feed themselves, as they must. Billy Kirby could hardly drag all of them off to gaol.

But he could, he would, come looking for Hawkeye, and soon. And he would find half the Hode'noshaunee nation here, as they had feared would one day be the case. She put the thought away from her—what they had done tonight, and what it would mean tomorrow—because now she was tired, she was tired to the bone and she would think of her child first. Nathaniel came out on the porch behind her.

"Go sleep," he said, his arms coming up from behind to encircle her, his chin resting on the crown of her head. "I'll come fetch you when it's time. You did good, Boots. Thank you."

She nodded, leaning back against him.

"Your father—”