Zoisite's dark-energy bolt hit the pyramid of oil drums that towered over them. Mamoru-Kamen cried out as he tried to dodge, but one of the drums knocked him to the pavement. Zoisite would finally spill the blood of the man he hated even more than his enslavement to the Dark Kingdom--the enemy who (among other things) had stolen his crystals and cost Zoisite the favor of his queen.

With his ice-crystal katana raised high into the air, Zoisite threw his head back and laughed. He would enjoy slicing his nemesis into two bloody halves.

"Try robbing me now!"

Suddenly, he felt the hot sting of magic piercing him just below his middle. Zoisite staggered back a step and looked down to see one of Kamen's red roses stuck firmly in his flesh. His mouth fell open. Hadn't the bastard already used them all? And this was no mere nick to the face or hands. Mostly, Zoisite felt foolish, and nervously tugged at his pony-tail, until the rose started to do its work.

The tremors began at the points of each thorn inside him, spreading ripples of light and terror that bubbled up into Zoisite's throat, forcing a strangled cry. The ice katana shattered on the concrete at his feet as an unexpected weakness washed over him, drowning every nerve.

He would have pitched forward on his face had the rose's power of life-force not twisted his slender body into the air. The energy bent Zoisite back, seizing every muscle with a paralyzing spasm that was too frightening for pain. Somewhere within, a tiny spark began to glow--Zoisite's energy answering Kamen's, joining it to create something new.

Then he was gently lowered to his knees on the concrete. He stared up at Kamen, who was panting and leaning against a stack of wooden pallets, clutching his shoulder through a rip in his cape. Kamen's Japanese eyes were now as round and white as two moons.

"You were supposed to aim for my heart, you fool!" hissed Zoisite.

Overhead, cracks of thunder hailed the sound of chopper blades as search lights from the Tokyo police swept over the docks.

A portal to Zoisite's dark world ripped open the air like a black wound just a few steps to his left.

"Zoisite!" shouted his mentor, Kunzite, from within. "Hurry!"

Zoisite crawled on his hands and knees toward Kunzite-sama's voice and glowing, silver eyes, but when he reached the portal, the dark energy threw him back. His right shoulder struck the ground, shooting pain through his arm.

"Zoisite! Get in here!" Kunzite leaned half way out, stretching forth his hands, which were both still bleeding from his own skirmish with Kamen. Two choppers were right over their heads, trapping them in a blinding cone of blue-white light that illuminated the platinum shimmer of Kunzite's long hair.

As Zoisite crawled back again, the loudspeakers of the police authorities boomed out their warnings. Kunzite grabbed his wrists and tried to pull him in, but it was like trying to join two powerful magnets at their identical poles; some strange repulsion would not let Zoisite enter his portal to the Dark Kingdom. Zoisite screamed in pain as Kunzite's large hands tightened around Zoisite's smaller hands, forcing him against the gaping blackness. He felt as if his slender wrists were pulling apart while the repulsion snapped his head back.

"What's wrong?" said Kunzite through clenched teeth. "Why can't you . . . " Then Kunzite's eyes dropped to where the rose was still embedded, although the crimson petals were now starting to completely absorb into Zoisite's flesh. Zoisite turned his face so he wouldn't be tortured by Kunzite's expression. He only felt a shudder loosen his lover's grip, and heard Kunzite say, "Kamen, if you let the police get him . . ."

Then Kunzite was wrenched away by the forces in the portal, swallowed back into the depths of his world, where Zoisite could no longer follow.

The loudspeakers bellowed their final warnings: On the ground, arms over head, or they would open fire.

Zoisite collapsed where sand and bits of ground-up glass scraped his cheek. He was still crying out for his lover when he felt Kamen's arms seize him roughly around his waist and yank him to his feet.

"I can get you to Crystal Yedo!" snapped Kamen over the deafening noise of the chopper blades.

"What? Let me go!"

Kamen's arms squeezed tighter as he pinned Zoisite to his chest and struggled to hold him in his field of teleport.

"Never!" screamed Zoisite, but his breath was violently knocked out of his lungs in the cold flash of indigo that swallowed them both. The first round of police bullets was chiseling the concrete where their feet had just been.

PART I

The first thing Zoisite felt, as consciousness gently led him back into the world, was the bathing warmth of sunlight. He especially felt it on his left hand, which rested above a down featherbed. Light wasn't something he was used to. Such soothing, yellow heat was hardly even a memory. Zoisite's fingers opened and spread as if yearning to be healed by the sun. His eyelids fluttered, trying to crack the seal of sleep, but quickly squeezed shut against the painful brilliance.

He shifted slightly, enough to feel that he was lying on a futon, shrouded in the softest silk he could ever imagine. Sandalwood and cloves mixed with the intoxicating perfume of lilies, and it took a moment for Zoisite to realize that he was smelling an herbal oil that had been rubbed into his own skin.

Somewhere, a breathy sounding flute was playing a slow, mournful melody in some room beyond. Only the echoes reached Zoisite's ears, sending pleasant shivers up the back of his neck.

"He's awake," said a voice above him, suddenly wrenching Zoisite from his reverie. He knew that voice . . . too well. Ami of Mercury! Oh, Gods! he panicked. Where was he?

Zoisite tried to jump up, but was so weak it only took someone's small hand pressing on his chest to hold him down.

"I don't understand how this could've happened," said another voice that Zoisite recognized as Makoto of Jupiter. "Even with the rose's generative powers, how can a man--"

"Zoisite is both man and woman," said Ami. "Didn't you know that?" There was a strange edge to her words.

"I didn't know," said Makoto. "But then why are we calling Zoisite 'he?' Isn't that absurd for someone in, uh, such a condition?"

There was a pause, then Ami said, "Yes. You're right. Of course."

"Will she be able to carry it to term?"

"There's no reason she can't, but she'll have to be delivered by blade; her hips are too narrow." Ami gave an odd stress to the words "she" and "her," as if her tongue had trouble pronouncing them.

Zoisite's eyes opened a little more and looked straight up from the bed. He took a deep, sharp breath. It was Ami's hand pinning him down. The senshi's face was shielding the harshest of the sunlight, which framed her heavy, dark hair like an aureole. Her complexion was pale, almost as blue-white as the kimono she was wearing, and she bore an expression that could've been either concern or judgmental scorn, possibly both. Zoisite could only look into those deep, dark eyes for a moment before he had to blink and turn away.

But Ami's other hand was now cradling the back of his head, easing him upright. In silence she held a small cup of dark red sumac tea to his lips. It was bittersweet and not too warm. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until after the first swallow. Wanting to beg for more, the words caught in his throat and allowed only a soft, pitiful sounding cry, like that of a kitten. Ami refilled the cup and pushed it back under his nose. Half of the tea spilled down the front of Zoisite's sleeping gown, looking not unlike blood stains on the white silk.

From the futon, Zoisite could see that he was in a large chamber where delicately cut facets of crystal grew between the lintels and timbers. Sunlight streamed in through prisms of color ranging from scarlet to light green to midnight purple. Zoisite himself was bathed in gold where he lay.

Along the window screens, long, silk banners honored the planetary colors, and vines heavy with opalescent blossoms wound their way down cedar pillars to the fine, straw mats on the floor. From the long tokonoma recess, three fountains trickled into a low pool.

Then he noticed that the flute had stopped. The pleasant comfort of his awakening began to sour his stomach with feelings of unbelonging. A group of five court attendants filed toward him from behind the rice paper screens. The purple and gold silk of their embroidered robes floated through the air as they moved, and their smooth faces all radiated the serene kindness of a blessed existence.

Remembering how he had come to this place--the shipping docks, the copters, his Kunzite-sama struggling to pull him back to his realm, and Kamen . . . Zoisite's anger and hatred started to return. Like the sharp thorns of Kamen's rose, which was now part of Zoisite's flesh, the beauty of his new surroundings pierced him inside, making him bleed where these strangers couldn't see. His hands balled up into fists as he pushed Ami away and cringed.

"He's so beautiful," said one of the strangers.

"I never imagined arch demons could look like such angels," said another, bending down to touch Zoisite's long, golden-red curls. Zoisite lashed out at her like a cornered cat. With his anger and hatred came renewed strength.

"Careful," said the first attendant, pulling her companion back. "He may look like the fairest lily blossom in the pool, but don't forget how this monster attacked Naru's beloved, the demon who turned."

"How could such a cherry blossom be the foot of our most murderous enemy, Beryl?" said the second attendant, looking at Ami, whose face was turning even more pale than before.

"I . . . I think we should all give our patient plenty of space," said Ami.

Suddenly, Emperor Mamoru-Kamen appeared with four guards from behind the screens, flute in hand, his perfect posture and bearing as dignified as his newly elevated station. He wore a red tunic, lined with gold, that fell to just below his knees, and dark blue pants with the stripes of his military rank.

While the attendants lowered their heads, Zoisite forgot about the music that had soothed him just minutes before. His thorns of hatred sparked and flamed up into a heart-consuming fire. He could feel his familiar globe of dark power heating the pit of his stomach. Hate was Zoisite's strength.

All the fury igniting Zoisite's soul sharpened like needles that gathered into his fists. With a cry that could almost shatter the great, Imperium Crystal itself, Zoisite's hands shot a bolt of sharpened ice petals at the young emperor. The blast would've killed Mamoru had he not jumped from its path. The attendants screamed and dropped to the floor.

"His hands!" shouted Ami. "Makoto! Get his hands!"

In a flash, Ami and Makoto seized Zoisite's wrists and pulled them back behind his head. Zoisite fought like a wild animal, but Mamoru's four guards were on him like hunting hounds. He felt a braided sash, such as those used to tie a kimono, lash his wrists together to the wooden frame of his futon. He tried to roll up and kick, but three of the guards were now securing his feet as well.

Molten anger bubbled and seethed under the intense pressure of Zoisite's restraints. His panting breath foamed at the corners of his mouth. When Mamoru approached, Zoisite's every muscle strained to break the bonds, but they held fast, cutting into his skin. He lay helpless under the open-jaw stares of everyone present. And the thorns of Mamoru-Kamen's rose flared up as the young emperor drew close for an appraising gaze, until the pain was almost unbearable. Zoisite clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. He would not give his enemy such satisfaction.

Mamoru knelt down on one knee and smiled. "How is my--"

Zoisite spat at his face.

"Demon!" screamed Makoto, raising her hand to strike Zoisite. "I'll teach it some manners!"

"Makoto!" cried Ami, reaching over to stay Makoto's fist. "No!"

Mamoru stood up with a nervous sounding laugh. "It's all right. I should know better than to come within spitting range of this one."

Zoisite's rage abated just enough for him to wonder if anyone else noticed the slight tremor in Mamoru's hand that was still holding the flute.

Suddenly there was a gasp, followed by murmurs of respectful greetings from the attendants. Zoisite blinked and looked across the chamber, where smoke and dust was still settling over the charred screens Zoisite had destroyed. As if emerging from a silver cloud, Empress Usagi walked through the smoke. The Attendants and guards dropped to their knees. Mamoru, Makoto and Ami all lowered their heads in silent bows.

Zoisite recognized the princess warrior who had single-handedly defeated the second awakening of Beryl. But he had never seen her dressed in so radiant a costume. The folds of her ceremonial robe fluttered and swirled like splashes of a deep blue ocean against a crimson sunset. Her sleeves, which hung to the floor, were shimmering rays of gold, as was her train. Her hair was braided with pearls and pinned up around a jeweled headdress that scattered sunlight like a nimbus over her brow. She approached without guards, and her only personal attendant was a black cat that kept in step at her right side.

Zoisite forgot to lower his eyes as the empress drew to his bed. He stared in open wonder and awe. Then he began to tremble. The pain was still stabbing his insides, but it was tempered by Usagi's presence. Zoisite couldn't define the feeling; it wasn't exactly fear, yet he was now shaking uncontrollably. She was kneeling beside him, regarding the dark, red tea stains that ran from the middle of his chest down to the space between his legs. Her cat had jumped up onto the futon and was sniffing at his hair. He could feel the pressure of tears starting to build, and he bit his lip to hold them back.

As if Usagi sensed all his emotions, she whispered, "Shhh. Zoisite, I know it hurts." Then she drew her hand from the folds of her robe and rested it on Zoisite's stomach. The stabbing pain immediately melted under her fingertips, and Zoisite could no longer hold on. He threw his head back with a groan that broke into long sobs. This was not how he wanted to show himself--weak and without a shred of dignity in front of Mamoru-Kamen.

But every nerve was being consumed by the warmth flowing through Usagi's touch. The pain had vanished, leaving only the trembling gratitude of Zoisite's body.

"Zoisite," said Usagi, her voice still gentle yet more firm. "You carry the blood of our blood. And since the presence of an innocent within your body will not allow you to return to the Dark Kingdom, you'll remain with us until after you give birth. We'll do what we can for your comfort here.

"However--" Usagi's voice rose to the strength of an imperial command beyond her youth. "I won't have dark magic in my palace. The attack you just made on Mamoru will be your last in Crystal Yedo."

Then her right hand reached up to her throat and took hold of a curious brooch that bore an enamel rabbit. She pressed her left palm over Zoisite's brow. Zoisite knew what was happening. He knew he was helpless to stop it, but he lay still under her hand without protest. Perhaps he had already spent all his available violence and anger on Mamoru. Now he only felt a warm, slightly sorrowful resignation at the draining of his magic powers. The guards and attendants watched the minutes pass with hushed whispers.

Then Zoisite knew that Usagi had finished; his energy paths were racing in blind circles, and he could hardly tell which way was up.

"You'll be a little dizzy for a day," said Usagi. "But don't be afraid; we won't take advantage of you." Then Usagi did something Zoisite never could have expected; she leaned down and kissed his forehead. Her court gasped, sounding almost as shocked as Zoisite felt. Zoisite stared, mouth open, as the young empress called the attendants and guards to follow her out of the chamber.

In the sunlit corridor, Usagi and Mamoru walked ahead of the others, well beyond hearing range. Mamoru touched Usagi's sleeve.

"Gomen nasai," said Mamoru. "I'm really sorry about this unfortunate accident. I'll take a quiver of roses to the target range today and practice my aim."

Empress Usagi smiled. "How do we know it's unfortunate? Sometimes accidents turn out happy. And besides--" Usagi patted her belly, which was not quite beginning to swell yet. "A new child is always welcome in Crystal Yedo."

Back in the chamber, Makoto tightened her chestnut-brown pony-tail, wiped the sweat from her bangs and asked, "What do we do now?" after the others had left her and Ami alone with Zoisite. "Do we untie him? I, I mean . . . her?"

"I don't know," said Ami, clutching the folds of her kimono. Then Ami took Zoisite's pointed, fae-like chin and said, "Well? Should we untie you?"

Her face was too close. Zoisite squirmed and turned his head away. There were some memories he didn't want to invoke just yet.

"I think that means 'no,' " said Ami.

"I don't understand why Usagi's making you take care of her," said Makoto. "Why does this demon deserve the care of our chief court physician, when all the lower healers would do just fine? I know it's supposedly Mamo's child, but . . . this is Zoisite!" Ami walked slowly across the mats, eyes cast down. "I know. It's going to be a long nine months."

Zoisite squeezed her eyes shut. Her face felt as pinched as a tight knot, fighting to hold her tears.

Kunzite knelt with his elbows on a low table in his bedchamber, head in his hands. He should feel relieved, he told himself. Had Mamoru-Kamen's aim been true, Zoisite would've died. A chill passed through Kunzite's body at the thought of his love, the only light in his dark existence, being extinguished forever.

And death was not all that awaited every servant of Beryl. Once the physical body was killed, the soul still belonged to the ruler of the Dark Kingdom, who would feed off its energy and keep it in eternal torment in her garden of hate. The only servant ever known to have escaped this fate was Nephrite, the one who had tempted the human, Naru. Why he had been spared remained a mystery.

So Kunzite should've felt grateful, he told himself again, that Zoisite was not dead. He was only banished for a few months from Kunzite's arms. But the demon general's gaze slid across the chamber to his large futon, where the second pillow would no longer be necessary. His throat tightened almost to choking.

Although Zoisite's ambiguity made it physically possible, Kunzite could never give Zoisite a child himself, for Beryl would've killed them both. With the exception of lying to Beryl, there were few crimes more serious in Jigoku than the creation of new life, so they had always been extremely careful.

Kunzite pushed himself from the table and stood where the organic rock formations that molded his ceiling were almost too low for his unusually tall frame. Beryl would not wait any longer for his report. He straightened the peplum of his severe, gray uniform, fastened the cape to the epaulettes on his shoulders, and strode out into the dark, narrow corridor that led to Queen Beryl's audience chamber.

He couldn't tell Queen Beryl the truth, even though Zoisite was out of her reach in the palace of Crystal Yedo. At least Kunzite's love would be safe for nine months in the hands of Empress Usagi and Emperor Mamoru. Certainly, they would defuse Zoisite's powers, restrain him, and make him furiously mad (Kunzite smiled slightly, imagining the temper tantrums), but Usagi and Mamoru would not hurt him. That was not Crystal Yedo's way.

And who knows? thought Kunzite as he coursed along the dark passages. Maybe Beryl would eventually forget Zoisite and leave him to a new life of freedom on Earth. If that ever happened, Kunzite, of course, would have to keep his distance and never hold Zoisite again, or Beryl would find out. But it would be worth it. He would sacrifice his only light for Zoisite's freedom.

Taking one last, deep breath behind the framed scrim at the entrance to Beryl's audience chamber, Kunzite prepared to lie.

He threw back his shoulders and his long, metallic-looking hair and started across the obsidian floor, which was polished like a black pond. The groans of youma hanging from the stalactites high above Beryl's atrium were unusually pitiful, and the ferric stench of flowing blood was strong. Shadows of souls filled the spaces and far corners around the chamber with liquid black, spilling over the shiny floor in puddles that clawed at the stone.

Beryl had a youma kowtowing at the foot of her dais--a hideous lower demon that might've looked like an insect before its wings had been torn off. Now it was more like a giant, red maggot with a few remaining legs scattered here and there. Its eyes (if Kunzite was correct in identifying them as such) were adorning the tip of a pike that one of Beryl's eleven guards was holding.

"Come forward, Lord Kunzite," said Queen Beryl.

Kunzite stepped forward and dropped to both knees, kissing the floor. "Your servant humbly requests the favor of your patient audience, Most Honored One."

"Rise, and tell me why your deshi does not accompany you tonight."

Kunzite rose and straightened, careful not to let his eyes climb above the hem of Beryl's long, blue gown.

"Zoisite is dead," said Kunzite. "Tuxedo Kamen killed him with a direct hit."

"Is that so?" The questioning tone of Beryl's voice held the luring sweetness of a Venus Flytrap. Kunzite didn't dare look up at her face, but in his mind he could see the stretch of her thin lips and the fork of her tongue flicking over a pair of fangs.

"You seem to be taking it very well," she said. "And I always thought you were fond of that little rat. But even I can occasionally misjudge. Are you absolutely certain Zoisite is dead?"

Kunzite could sense Beryl's eyes burning into his soul. He felt naked and transparent. "Y-yes, Honored One."

"You would never deceive me."

"Never."

"Because I would know." Beryl turned to the youma clutching its remaining body parts at her feet. "You have deceived me."

"No!" cried the youma through the hooked jaws of its worm-like mouth. "Nev-vv-er! M, m, most hon, hon, honor, grac--ioussss"

Beryl's nearest guard silenced it with a kick. A sick, green fluid oozed from where its appendages had been ripped off. The youma's putrid smell was enough to make even Kunzite nauseous, and he wondered how Beryl could stand to be so near it. She was leaning forward, close to its "head."

"Now," she said in her most gentle whisper. "Tell me why you lied."

"I s-swear I, I, I didn't!" stammered the youma.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Beryl turned to her guard. "Take this lump of slime down below."

The guard nodded, and suddenly the youma rolled up into a spasmodic ball. "No! Please! I'll confess! Whatever it was, I'll confess!"

Beryl wrapped her spiny fingers around the globe of her scepter and waited for the guard to drag the screaming creature away. "They can be articulate when it's urgent," she said, more to herself than to Kunzite.

Kunzite cleared his throat as Beryl directed her attention once more to him. It was time to raise his eyes and meet her face. Not the easiest thing to do.

"When had we planned to initiate our strike against the palace of Crystal Yedo?" said Beryl.

"We attack in twelve months, Honored One."

"My sources have been assessing our holdings on Earth and speculating on prime opportunities to seize the middle realm. But we must clear the road. So I've decided to move our strike on Crystal Yedo forward by several months."

Kunzite blanched, and then hoped Beryl hadn't noticed. "I . . . I cannot advise it," he said as steadily as he could. "Our troops are far from ready, and Empress Usagi's wards are very strong. There's not enough energy to subdue them. We need at least nine . . . or ten months."

"If I say we must move the attack forward," hissed Beryl, "you will find a way, Lord Kunzite." The yellow slits of her eyes narrowed.

Kunzite swallowed. "How much forward?"

"We will attack in seven months."

"Seven!"

"Are you questioning my judgment, Lord Kunzite?"

"N-no, Honored One." Kunzite dropped his gaze to the steel toes of his boots. "We will attack in seven months. I . . . will see to it."

"Good." Beryl leaned back on her dais and smiled, looking almost casual. "I'm so sorry about your star pupil, Zoisite. Such a waste."

Kunzite bowed with his right fist pressed to his heart. Perhaps, he thought, if he could press hard enough, he could keep it from breaking.

"We dismiss you, Lord Kunzite."

"Your grace exceeds your humble servant's worth, Most Honored One." Kunzite crouched down and kissed the floor before turning to leave.

He was half-way across the polished obsidian when Beryl said, "Wait."

Kunzite froze. The smoothness of Beryl's voice stopped the blood cold in his veins.

"Your pupil, Zoisite, was very ambitious. Ambitious and promising."

"Yes, Honored One."

"He had a most admirable lust for power, along with a gifted talent for magic, and could've risen to a high rank. We should avenge his death in a way that will pay tribute to him. Something fitting."

"Have no doubt, Honored One," said Kunzite. "Emperor Mamoru will lose his life."

"He will," said Beryl, "by the hand of his own child."

Cold sweat beaded behind Kunzite's knees and between his shoulder blades, but he kept his face like stone.

"Mamoru has no child," he said. His heart was pounding so hard, he could hear it.

"Not true," said Beryl, toying with the globe of her scepter. "Usagi has only been married for two seasons, and the rabbit is already three months along. By word of the stars, she carries a daughter. Do you know what that means?"

Kunzite quietly exhaled. "A first-born daughter will strengthen Usagi's line."

"But not if I get the little whelp first. Zoisite was developing a spell to help me do just that. Were you familiar with it?"

"Zoisite has always had many projects, Honored One. I, I cannot recall the one of which you speak."

"When this spell is placed over the palace at Crystal Yedo, at the time Usagi gives birth, but before the whelp is completely severed from the womb, it will turn Usagi's child into my servant. Then all the energy possessed of the rabbit's offspring will belong to me! I believe we will then be able to attack with no trouble."

"But our timing must be so exact!" said Kunzite.

"True. If we cast the spell too soon--before the rabbit litters, the unborn child will simply turn into a youma within the womb, devour its host, and both will die. I want that child alive, so there will be no room for error, Lord Kunzite."

"A very curious spell, Honored One. What about . . . others in the palace?"

"Other little brood mares? Zoisite's spell is not very particular. All unborn creatures within the palace will turn into youma and devour their hosts. It will get very messy. But that shouldn't interest you, Lord Kunzite. Should it?" Beryl's eyes held more amusement than inquiry.

Kunzite said nothing.

"Prepare to cast Zoisite's spell in six months," said Beryl.

Kunzite rubbed the bridge of his nose with his knuckle. "I do seem to recall this spell. But if I remember, it's development was never completed. It doesn't work."

"Not yet, Lord Kunzite. But it wll after you are finished with it."

"My Queen?" Kunzite blinked.

"I am dismissing you from several of your other duties, so that you may devote your time and energy to completing and perfecting Zoisite's project. It will be a fitting way for you to pay tribute to your lost, little rat."

"Please!" cried Kunzite, forgetting to act disinterested. "I, I'm not the one to do this! I mean, there are others who are much more adept at this kind of spell--"

"Are you refusing my orders?"

Kunzite's knees buckled as he dropped to kiss the floor at the foot of Beryl's dais. "I would never disobey you, Honored One--"

"Good. Because if you ever do, my servants below this chamber would love to play with you, Lord Kunzite. Groveling slugs with their legs already torn off, like that youma my guard just took down, aren't nearly as amusing."

"I will do as you say," whispered Kunzite.

"And you will not fail me." Beryl drew her legs up and curled them under her gown. "Now you are dismissed."

Kunzite didn't know how he managed crossing the floor, but as he finally reached the framed scrim behind the exit, Beryl called out, "Six months!"

Zoisite would be just moderately swollen in six months.