She gave him a narrow-eyed look, twisting her head so she could see over her shoulder, and said with mock affront, aThanks. Maybe we should have sent you here on your own. All that Iave managed to learn today is that Iam out of shape.a aTouchy arenat you?a he protested with a hint of laughter. aI thought a hold of this size might have some work for a journeyman woodcrafter.a Abruptly his features sharpened, and his beard disappeared; his clothing changed, becoming heavier to keep out sawdust. Tris never paused in his speech, but his accent vanished. aIt seems that the old one died last season and his apprentice left for the city. I spent the day repairing cabinets in the kitchens. The cook likes to gossip, especially with a near equal.a Rialla eyed him with some respect. If she hadnat seen it herself, she would have sworn that she was talking to a middle-class Darranian craftsman.

aHow did you explain your lack of tools?a she asked.

He looked sad. aI was stopped by bandits on my travels. They took everything I owned. Isnat it miraculous that the old woodcraftsman died without heirs, so his tools were left here?a He dropped the illusion and continued, aI also accidently hit my thumb with my hammer; even the best craftsman does so occasionally. I swore, using a certain godas name, and was hushed by a number of horrified people, including the spit boy.a Rialla stilled. aI thought I was insane when it first occurred to me that there might be a connection. But I canat imagine another household in Darran that would be worried if a stranger used Altisas name as a curse.a She looked at Tris. aDonat look so smug, it doesnat suit you.a He laughed and went to work on her legs.

aTris?a she asked.

aHmm?a he grunted absently, working on the back of her bad leg.

aDid you say something about there being a lot of cats here?a aHmm,a he said again. aYes, not just in the lower floors, but all over the castle. Why do you ask?a She shook her head and closed her eyes. aI donat know . . . but one of the slaves was thinking about cats today. It was in an odd context . . .a She shrugged. aIt was probably nothing, but it seemed strange.a THE NEXT DAY was more of the same. When Rialla returned from the long day of workouts, Tris told her what he had learned as he loosened her muscles. He was much better than the masseuse that had a turn at all the slaves before they bathed. Part of that was because, although he never commented on the various bruises acquired from the dancemasteras staff, he healed them partially, so they were much less painful.

Tris had spent most of the day listening to servantsa gossip. Head found that, though Lord Winterseine had earned a great deal of money from training slaves, he brought back even more from his trips east. The exotic dark-skinned slaves were in demand, and in Darran they brought in two or three times more gold than other slaves.

For her part, Rialla had learned nothing new. Working slaves might be a good source of information, but dancers in training had limited exposure to the world outside. The dancemaster might have known something, but his emotions were spared for his obsession with dance, and his unemotional thoughts on other matters were his own.

When Tris finished with her massage, Rialla felt like a boneless mass of relaxed muscles resting facedown on the straw. Tris seated himself against one of the walls and snatched an apple, biting into it with obvious enjoyment. At the sound, Rialla sat up and took a hard roll from the basket out of which Tris had gotten his apple.

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Tris finished the apple and threw it down the corner grate.

He slanted Rialla an oddly solemn look and then said, aI havenat spent much time among the nobility in Darran, much less around slaves. You have an expression that you use when you are impersonating a slave, but it is different from the expression that the slaves in the keep use.a The bread in Riallaas mouth was fresh and sweet, but she had to force it down to talk. She bowed her head and knew that the slaveas mask that head asked her about was frozen on her face. Finally she said, aWinterseine would tell you that there are two kinds of slaves in Darran. The first is a pleasure slave, a bedmate. Most men prefer to have their longtime bedpartners compliant and smiling, acting as if their duties are pleasurable. Force is fine occasionally, but it takes energy. Pleasure slaves are punished if they do not at least feign enjoyment of their duties.a She swallowed, feeling Trisas focused attention. aDancers, like me, are usually not owned by an individual for his personal use; the term that slave trainers use for them is aexotics.a Dancers are expensive because they take time to train and require a certain amount of ability. They are owned by taverns, clubs and brothels.a Rialla looked at her half-eaten roll without interest and continued to speak. aSlave trainers believe that a slave that has been turned into a pleasure slave has no spirit, no individuality. A dancer requires a certain amount of independence and arrogance.a aYou said that slave trainers believe that. What about you?a Rialla shrugged. aA slave has no spirit, no individuality. It doesnat matter if she is a dancer or a pleasure slave. A slave feels what she is told she feels, and does what she is told to do. Dancers follow the pattern established for them just as the pleasure slaves do. The pattern is no better or worse, just different.a aIam sorry,a said Tris softly.

Rialla tossed him a lopsided smile, and took another bite of the bread. aDonat be. Itas hardly your fault.a AFTER A COUPLE of days of working out, Rialla found that she wasnat quite so worn out at night, but Tris continued to act as masseur. Under his ministration, the stiffness was leaving her bad leg, until she could stretch it out almost as far as her good leg. They had been discussing what he found while he kneaded and pulled until she was as limp as a lump of bread dough left to rise, but this night he was quiet.

aWhatas wrong?a she asked finally, keeping her face in her arms. She could feel his distress at the edge of her awareness, but didnat want to pry without permission.

aNothing,a he said. aThis place oppresses me. The cold stone keeps out the sunas warmth and light.a He paused. aI thought about what you told me last night.a aDo your people own slaves?a aNo,a he said. aBut we knew about it. A slave came to the enclave once, seeking sanctuary. I understand that some of the religious communes offer a hiding place for slaves. Mine did not. The slave was held until the owners could collect her.a aWas that your decision?a questioned Rialla, trying to get at what bothered him. She could sense his guilt, that head violated his sense of right and wrong, but she didnat know how to help.

aNo. I opposed the decisiona"for the wrong reasons.a Straw rustled as he moved away. aI felt that the commune had come to its decision from fear of discovery rather than out of any reasoned discussion. I was right, but too young to understand that there was never any other motivation for what the enclave did. The elders had offended my belief in them. I was more concerned with that than with the poor girl who rode off in chains.a That bothered him, she could tell, but it wasnat the cause of his disquiet.

aYouare doing something about it now,a she said, finally sitting up so she could see him. aEven if slavery continues for another five centuries, you are doing something about it.a He stood with his back to her, in the faint area of fading light.

aAm I?a he said in an odd tone. aYes, I suppose I am.a He swung around and approached her, gesturing for her to take her former prone position. aIall loosen that muscle in your back and tell you about what I learned today. Do you know the ideograph that belongs to Altis?a Rialla rolled facedown again. She could feel his pain, guilt and remorse churning strong enough to make butter; but she didnat know what to do about it. She wasnat sure that he knew how easily she read hima"it wasnat deliberate on her part. She didnat want him to think that she was impinging on his privacy, so she allowed him to change the subject.

aI donat know anything about Altis, except that he was one of the old gods.a aShame on you,a he reprimanded in his best healer voice. aAltis was the lord of the night. Itas in his shadows that the hunted escapes the hunteras dinner table. He was one of the benevolent gods. Not only did he refrain from tormenting humans when he was bored, as a fair number of them did, but he actually was known to interfere with other gods at their sport.a aWhat of the folk that werenat humana"the shapeshifters, the selkies, and the . . . the silfs.a aSylvans,a corrected Tris dryly, as he started to put pressure on the muscle in her lower back. aWe were the children of the gods themselves, and better able to defend ourselves. We could call more readily on our parent god. Naslen, the lord of the forest, fathered the sylvans; Torrec, the huntress, bore the shapeshifters; Kirsa, goddess of the waves, bore the selkies. All of them minor powers, but strong enough to keep the others from lightly playing their games with us. Now, where was I . . .a aAltis,a said Rialla, in a voice that was more of a moan as he caught just the right place.

aYes, Altis. His ideograph is that of a stylized cat sitting on its haunches with its body in profile, and its head full face and lowereda"a aWith a five-pointed star in the middle of its forehead, and in the center of the star a large emerald,a interrupted Rialla.

aI donat know about the emerald,a said Tris, abut there is a five-pointed star. Where did you see it?a aOne of the slaves,a said Rialla. aShe was thinking about it.a aOne of the slaves you dance with?a asked Tris.

aYesa replied Rialla, smiling at the floor. aIt was easy to pick up since she remembered it with some . . . er . . . fervor.a aThe slave was a follower of Altis?a Rialla laughed despite herself. aNo, actually Iam not sure how the cat came into it; she was remembering a glorious night of passion. I can assure you that it had nothing in common with religious devotion.a Tris snorted. aYou obviously havenat met the same sorts of religious zealots that I have.a aYou did have something in mind when you brought up this cat?a asked Rialla.

aYes, though it has lost what little import it had. I was asked to evaluate the chances of saving a wooden screen in one of the rooms on the upper floor of the castle. Once past the public rooms, there isnat a room in the castle that is free of that cat.a Rialla thought, then said, aTo convince the servants? As with Tamasas broken arm?a aThen why would they be only on the private floors?a aI can answer that,a said Rialla. aAs a slave trader, Winterseine deals frequently with Southerners, merchants who would sleep in the guest quarters on the first floor. There is a new religion in the South; it was beginning to evolve when I traveled there with my clan. They worship someone they call the All-Mother. I donat know much more about them, except that they would certainly not do business with a heathen who worshipped dead gods.a A peaceful silence descended, and Rialla relaxed into the rhythm of Trisas movements as he loosened her tight legs. aTell me something about your people, Tris.a She could feel him hesitate. aIt is forbidden for one of us to tell an outsider about . . . Ah, well now, I suppose that I no longer have to listen to the dictates of the elders.a He thought for a moment.

aLong time past, humans were only a minor part of a world ruled by green magic.a His voice took on a classic story-telling rhythm, though a bit hesitant, as if he were translating as he spoke. aThere were the little folk: the butterfly-winged people who played over the winds, and the stone workers who preferred the shadows of evening to the light of day. The forest people, sylvans, dryads, shapeshifters, haunted the woods and fought for territory. They all spoke to the spirits of the trees and the animals.

aThe green folk, though, like the gods whose children they are, do not propagate well, and humans began to overrun their part of the world. As they spread into our territories, the dryads welcomed them as they did all things, while the other folk retreated and watched. First came the traders, then the wizards who sought to learn the secrets of our magic, but it was the farmers who spelled the end of the reign of green magic.

aThey tore up the land and cut down the forests; the spirits of the trees cried out, crippling those tied too closely with earthmagic. They settled the land, driving the little folk underground and forcing us further and further into the forests of the far north, where green magic ruled the strongest. There was not enough room there for all. The earthmasons retreated below ground. The shapeshifters retreated into themselves. The sylvans hid where no one would think to look: among the humans themselves. Only the dryads remained, the few the rape of the land had left. For them came the slavers, and the dryads disappeared into the East.

aWhen the human wizards began to vie with one another for power and Nevra Forest became the glass desert, the last of the dragonkind vanished in the winds.a Tris allowed his voice to darken dramatically. aBut sometimes, empath, among the humans is born the legacy of the dryads. Green-eyed or amber-eyed like their distant kin, these can touch the spirits of the trees and the beasts and the deepest souls of mankind.a Rialla turned and narrowed her clear, green eyes at his gray-green, innocent gaze.

He laughed, unimpressed.

Something that had been nagging at her for a while chose that moment to crystallize.

aTris?a she asked softly. aIn your story you said it was the Wizardas Wars that destroyed the dragons. Is that true?a aI donat know . . . not having been there myself. The legends say that dragons are creatures of magic rather than just users of it. The wars disturbed the flow of magic and dragons were no more . . . or so say the legends.a There was something in his voice that prompted her to ask further, aYou donat seem convinced that the legends are true.a aWell, you see,a began Tris, starting on her other foot, aI saw a dragon once.a LATER THAT NIGHT, Tris stood alone in the darkness of the forest that stood near Winterseineas keep. He leaned his forehead against an oak, but could draw no comfort there, for the oak couldnat change the impulsive action that caused the cold breath of guilt on his conscience.

EIGHT.

The labyrinth that served as the government building in Sianim was deserted at this hour of the night, but when Ren stepped inside his office, he waited until the door was shut behind him before removing the shade that muted the light from his lantern.

Pushing aside a few books, he cleared space on his desk for the lantern. Before leaving this evening at the usual time, head taken the precaution of pulling the heavy curtains across his window so that no one would see the light from the outside. He wasnat really concerned with secrecy or he never would have chosen his office as tonightas meeting place, but it was his nature as well as his profession to keep as much information to himself as possible.

A disturbance in the air currents, and a whiff of sweet perfume informed the Spymaster before he turned around that his visitor was here.

Kisrah aeaMagi, once a minor Rethian lord and now the Archmage, made an impression upon everyone he met. Ren had never actually seen the Archmage before, but he had heard enough about him that he wasnat unduly surprised by the magicianas distinctive appearance.

Kisrahas hat was a deep purple that contrasted neatly with the light pink of the long fluffy feather that curled from the hatas brim to his shoulders. The sleeves of his lavender overcoat were heavily embroidered with gold thread, as were his shoes and gloves. A gold-and-amethyst earring pierced his left ear.

He looked young to Renas jaded eye, too young to hold the power he wielded, but many of the more powerful wizards were that way. Someone less observant than Ren might have dismissed the Archmage as an overdressed fop, overlooking the keen intelligence that lurked in his dark eyes. Lord Kisrah had made good use of his power in the decade head been Archmage.

aLord Kisrah,a said Ren in a welcoming tone. aIt is most kind of you to agree to come here.a aSpymaster,a replied Lord Kisrah with a touch of humor in his voice. aHow could I refuse when your invitation was so unique? I had no idea that my mistressas gardener was a Sianim spy until he invited me to meet with you here. Not that I am offended by it. I had begun to worry that you did not deem me important enough to spy upon.a Ren smiled at him, a remarkably open expression on the Spymasteras face. aI do have other spies in your household; otherwise I would have found another method of getting a message to you. The wizardsa council would not have called you as aeaMagi if you could be so easily disregarded.a aI am flattered,a returned Kisrah, with an answering smile. aI suspect that you had another reason for asking me here.a Ren nodded and gestured Kisrah to a chair that he had cleared of debris earlier in the day. The Archmage ignored the dust and sat, crossing his extended legs at the ankles. Ren pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat facing Kisrah.

aAre you familiar with what is happening on the other side of the Great Swamp?a questioned Ren.

Kisrah nodded. aYou are not the only one with spies. Unfortunately, I did not become aware of the situation until someone started expending a great deal of magic at the Swamp with the intention of clearing the old road.

aMy sources say that there will be an invasionary force through the road by next spring at the latest. There was some thought that the wizardsa council should force a confrontation before the road is cleared, but I vetoed it.a The magician leaned forward. aI reminded them of the Wizard Wars and the destruction that they caused. Whoever is opening the Swamp is very powerful. A direct attack on him before we know what he is capable of could have disastrous results.a aWhat do you know of the Eastern magician?a asked Ren.

Lord Kisrah shook his head. aNot much. He claims to be the speaker for one of the old gods and uses religion to ease his conquests.a aThen I might be of some service,a offered Ren.

Lord Kisrah leaned back in his chair and said, aHow much will it cost?a aNothing,a answered Ren in slightly affronted tones. aIf you can take care of the wizard, you are welcome to all the aid that I can give you.a The Archmage raised his brows in mock astonishment. aThis must be a new policy. Weall be paying Sianim for cleaning the Uriah out of the aeaMagias castle for the next twenty years.a Ren shrugged. aThat was different. The Voice of Altis is a threat to us all.a aAnd Uriah arenat?a muttered the Archmage, but head regained his smile. aSo, what knowledge do you possess regarding this man?a aHeas from this side of the Swamp,a said Ren. aMy informants in the East have confirmed it. I didnat contact you then, because I had no idea who it was. Yesterday, though, one of my people returned from a mission in Darran. While he was there, he inadvertently ran across some information indicating that the sorcerer we are looking for might be Lord Winterseine.a aIsslic?a asked Lord Kisrah incredulously, then he nodded his head more thoughtfully. aHe is powerful enough in his own right, and Iave heard rumors that he dabbled in forbidden magica"the only thing that kept him out of the council was those rumors.a aI had heardaa"Ren coughed discreetly: the wizardsa council was infamous for its obsession with secrecya"athat if you knew who the renegade wizard was, you, as Archmage, could control him.a aNow, I wonder where you heard that,a commented Kisrah, but with no real offense. aI am sorry that in this instance your information is incorrect. The Master Spells might have allowed me to control him, but they have been lost.a Ren drew in his breath in shock. aWhat?a It had been a long time since someone had managed to shock the Spymaster.

Lord Kisrah shrugged, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes wearily. aIn the spellbook of the aeaMagi there are symbols that cannot be redrawn. These are necessary to the spellsa castings. After Geoffrey, my predecessor, died,a Kisrahas voice echoed with remembered sorrow, awe found the Archmageas spellbook, but someone had been there before us and removed the pages that held the Master Spells.a The Archmage opened his eyes to look at Ren. aIt is possible that Isslic, Lord Winterseine, took the pages. He was a friend of the late Archmage, and would know where to look.a Ren drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair and swore softly to himself. aWhat you are saying is that someone else, possibly Winterseine, could cast the Master Spells and hold all the wizards under his power?a Kisrah shook his head. aNo. Not yet, at least. The council holds the method of working the spells in another grimoire. As soon as we found that the symbols were missing, we hid the rest of the spells in a safe place. No one can get to them now without alerting the council. Itas been ten years and no one has tried to get to the second book.a aWhy not destroy the second part of the spell?a asked Ren softly.

aThe spells were developed to keep magicians from each otheras throat. Without them, there is no check on the behavior of the mages. I donat think that we need another glass desert,a replied Kisrah.

Ren snorted. aI think you magicians exaggerate the importance of the Wizard Wars. It can be more dangerous to have the wrong person command absolute control of all magicians than to have the possibility of a battle between wizards.a a aYou magiciansa?a queried the Archmage softy. aDonat you mean awe magiciansa?a Ren stared at him for a minute, then smiled reluctantly. aSo thatas why you chose to tell me so much. How did you find out about it?a Lord Kisrah returned the smile. aOld Aurock used to brag about you. She said that you were one of the few apprentices shead ever had who knew when to quit. I will see what can be done to confirm Winterseineas involvement. The council will then decide what to do about him. Iall keep you informed.a He was gone with the slight disturbance of air that accompanied magical teleportation. Alone, Ren looked into the shadows in the corner of his office for some time, before he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

RIALLA LAY FLAT on her back, pretending to be more winded than she was. No one would bother her if they thought she was resting, and she could tap into the emotions around her without worrying that she would be interrupted.

Shead been here long enough that some of the other slaves had made overtures of friendship, though nothing obvious enough that the dancemaster would see: a wink while she listened to the dancemasteras impatient scolding, a hand helping her find a towel to wipe her face in the bathhouse. Shead forgotten how warming such small acts of support could be; shead wanted fervently to forget everything about slave life.

Though in most respects the classes were not as bad as she had expected, in some ways they were worse. The hardest memory of slavery that Rialla had to bear was not the lack of freedom; it was the lack of desiring freedom.

By the time that Rialla had been a slave for a year, she lived for the dance, and practiced far into the night. Shead known that she owed obedience to any freeman, but among the society of the slaves shead been special. Shead been the best of the dancers that Isslic owned, and shead taken pride in it.

Lying on her back with the sweat drying slowly in the heat of summer, Rialla supposed that she owed a debt to Lord Jarroh. If she had not felt his slaveas painful death on the night of her escape, she would probably still be dancing in one of Winterseineas clubs. A wry smile twisted her lips: now she was a spy dancing at Winterseineas home estate. The sound of the dancemasteras hands clapping together brought her to her feet before she opened her eyes.

The dancemaster was working one of the standard dances that the slaves would be expected to learn. It was common fare, something that even the Darranian ladies could watch. It was also impressive and, with the right costuming, highly erotic; a useful addition to any slave danceras repertoire. Head been teaching sections of it all week; today he called on Sora to dance it from beginning to end.

Sora reminded Rialla more than any of the others of the slave she had been. Like Rialla herself, Sora had the advantage of being tall and willowy, allowing her to appear more graceful. She was very good, and driven to be even better. Her competitiveness drove her to conquer more and more difficult moves as she labored diligently to please her masters.

It made Riallaas skin crawl with unwanted memories. Shead tried to forget that she had been like that: driven to exceed the expectations of her master, to be a good slave. It made her almost physically ill to watch Sora strain for the perfect motion of her hand.

She had been careful not to appear to be a challenge to Sora; the girl didnat need any more encouragement in her effort. Rialla used the dancemasteras permission to go easy on her leg to restrict herself to lesser moves.

Rialla knew the dance already, but she stood with the rest while Sora performed it from beginning to end. The younger slave was good, but not quite quick enough on the turns, and she didnat have the experience to bring out the implicit eroticism.

When Sora was finished, the dancemaster nodded at Rialla. She understood his reasoning for having her dance second. Although Rialla knew the dance, Sora had proven herself the better dancer and would give the others something to strive for.

Rialla began her dance, making sure that her gestures were a touch cruder than Soraas, her moves more hesitant. Because she deliberately held herself back, she was far into the dance before she lost herself to the beat of the drums. She didnat see the blow that knocked her off her feet.

aIf,a said Lord Winterseine, looking down at her coldly, aI had not seen you dance at my nephewas hold, I just might believe you had lost the talent you had in the seven years you were gone. I might have believed that you were as stiff and unpracticed as you appear. Get up.a Impassively Rialla got to her feet, wiping the blood off her cut lip with one hand, ignoring the sweat that dripped down her temple. She had the sick feeling that she wouldnat like what was coming. She instinctively tightened the barriers that she used to keep out of Trisas mind.

Lord Winterseine strode up to the line of watching slaves and grabbed one of them, pulling her back to Rialla.

aYou are valuable,a he purred to Rialla. aI wonat mar your skin by whipping youa"but this one will never be worth much as a dancer.a He held out his free hand, and the dancemaster gave Lord Winterseine the staff that he used to keep discipline. The dancemasteras face was as impassive as Riallaas, but she could all but taste his fury. aJust in case you donat believe Iam serious, I think that a little demonstration is in order.a He pushed the girl facedown on the mat and swung the staff. The slave screamed when her ribs collapsed under the blow. Forewarned, Rialla had blocked out most of the girlas pain.

Winterseine turned to the dancemaster. aTake her to the side and wrap her ribs, but I want her here until this one,a he patted Rialla gently on her cheek, where the skin was already starting to turn purple, afinishes her dance to my satisfaction. I hope she wonat need another demonstration, but it is always better to be certain.a This time there was no question of favoring her bad leg. Rialla knew her master well. She knew that there was a good chance that Winterseine would have the other girl beaten to death no matter how well Rialla danced. So she danced to surpass her best, to keep from living with guilt of the girlas death. If she danced as well as she could and Winterseine still killed the girl, the guilt would be his.

Her spins had the extra snap that separated excellent from merely good. Knowing that what the master wanted from the dance was not just excellence, but arousal, she emphasized the erotic movesa"dancing with more fire and less grace. She managed to make the simple practice costume into something much more erotic. The drummer was better than she had thought. He added the last touch of spice that turned the dance from esoteric and airy into something that belonged only in the most private of clubs or bedrooms.

When Rialla stopped dancing, there was silence. Breathing heavily, she looked at Winterseine, and was reassured by the satisfaction on his face.

aI want her, Father.a Terranas rasping voice broke through the silence. Rialla had been so focused on Lord Winterseine, she hadnat seen that his son was with him.

aNo,a replied Winterseine. aSheas been Laethas slave for who knows how long. You know as well as I do the loyalty that a slave can develop for her owner. Iam not letting her run loose in the keep until I am sure that she is properly retrained.a Terran looked away from Rialla and focused on his father. aI want her,a he repeated.

Rialla turned her impassive gaze to Winterseine. A strange expression crossed his face, and it took a moment for her to recognize it as fear. It was such an odd reaction that it distracted her from her distress at having attracted Terranas attention.

Lord Winterseine turned to the dancemaster and said curtly, aSee that she is taken to my sonas chamber this evening after baths. Iall send a guard to escort her.a He turned and left. With a last look at Rialla, Terran did the same.

The dancemaster bowed his head in submission and gestured for Rialla to wait with the others, while he made sure that the injured slave had been properly treated.

Rialla stood where he placed her and closed her shaking hands over her arms, not bothering to wipe off the sweat that crept down her face. There would be more there before the day was done. She had made the dancemaster look bad and hurt one of his students. He was not going to make the rest of the day easy. Rialla tried to forget what would come after that.

WHEN RIALLA EMERGED from the baths, it was Amas, Winterseineas manservant, who waited for her. The thin silk shift that the bath attendants had given her didnat cover much, and what it did cover was clearly visible through the fine fabric. Seven years a slave had left her largely uncaring about her state of dress or undress, but Tamas made her wish for a blanket to cover herself with.

She kept a bland expression on her face when his hand wrapped around her arm, but the emotions that he was forcing on her by his touch made her ill; so did the thought of what was in store for her.

He led her into the keep and up a back staircase. On the third floor, they walked down a long corridor to a locked door that Tamas opened with a gilt-edged key.

The room she was led into was large and open, larger than the suite that she and Laeth had been given at Westhold. The floor was covered with soft woven carpets in dark colors. The stone walls were whitewashed to make the room look even bigger than it was.

aStay here and wait for his lordship.a She heard the key turn in the lock as Tamas left.

With resignation that just barely covered her panic, Rialla walked around the room. It didnat appear to be a bedroom; there was no bed or cot anywhere. Two long, yellow velvet benches provided seating on Riallaas left and right, drawing attention to the wall opposite the door shead entered.

A stylized cat was scribed from floor to ceiling in blue so dark that it was almost black. It was bracketed by two doors that were the same shade of blue. In front of the cat figure was a raised platform that extended from one door to the other. A small rose-colored marble altar occupied the place of honor on a small rug in the center of the platform. Terran, at least, seemed to be taking the worship of Altis seriously.

Next to the bench on her right was a low table on which was a neat row of books between two black bookends. Rialla knelt in front of the table and slipped one of the thin volumes out and opened it. Script Darranian was almost beyond her power to decipher, but she read enough that she could tell that she held a journal in her hands.

Menas voices echoed from the outer hall.

a. . . there are other things more important.a aWith the mages behind us, it will be much easier.a aI told you. It doesnat matter if the mages bow to our whim or not. There are other things to be done and I will not waste power on trivialities.a She slipped the journal back in place and ran to the door. The distortion from the hall was so great that she couldnat tell who was speaking, but she recognized the touch of Winterseineas mind. Since she couldnat feel anyone else in the hall, she had to assume that the other man was Terran.

When Terran entered the room, Rialla was sitting on the floor with her head properly bowed. He ignored her at first, walking directly to the platform before the altar. He knelt on the rug and bowed his head in apparent prayer. Riallaas neck grew stiff as she waited.

Finished, he got lightly to his feet and walked back to stand before her.

aStand up,a he said.

Rialla stood. Terran walked around her once, stopping directly in front of her.

aI remember you, when Father first brought you here. You were frightened of everything.a He reached out and touched her chin.

She shuddered visibly. Even when her empathy had been crippled, she had an awareness of other living creatures that was missing with Terran. Being touched by someone she couldnat feel on more than a physical level made her feel as if she were being caressed by a corpse. She felt a rising desperation, a need to leave that was fast becoming irresistible.

aEasy,a he said softly. aI know youave been with Laeth for a long time now, but I will give you time to adjust. Come, there is a better place for this.a THE DEEP BLUE carpet was soft under Riallaas calloused feet as she shifted carefully off the bed. Silently she picked up the shift that shead worn to the room and put it on. Without looking at the man sleeping on the bed, Rialla left the bedchamber and slipped into the outer room, emerging on one side of the raised platform.

Rialla walked quickly to the table that contained Terranas journals, sparing an uneasy glance at the cat on the wall behind her. If anyone knew what Winterseineas plans were it would be Terran, and he might have written them in his journal. Rialla would rather have had the dagger to prove Winterseineas guilt, but she couldnat go through this again, not even to ensure that slavery in Darran would be ended.

She looked at the books, but knew from her earlier perusal that they were not obviously dated. As she hesitated, she heard a faint rustle in the bedroom.

She snatched the first book on her left, hoping that it would be the most recent one, and strode quickly to the door. To her surprise and relief, it was one of the guardsmen, not Tamas, who waited just outside to take her back to her cell.

With a subtle use of her talent that shead almost forgotten, Rialla turned the guardas attention from the book she held. Because of her intervention, he saw nothing unusual in a slave taking a book from Terranas room. If no one questioned him about it for a day or so, he probably wouldnat remember head ever seen it.

TRIS PACED THE cell restlessly. She was late. Much later than could be easily explained by normal delays. Head checked the baths and they were empty. Shead been blocking her thoughts since early in the day and he couldnat break through. He stilled and cocked his head when footsteps sounded in the corridor. He slipped quickly into the shadows when the key was turned into the door.

Mutely, with head bowed, Rialla walked to the center of the cell. The light coming through the window surprised her and left her slightly disgruntled. It felt as if several days had passed since this morning: it could at least be dark.

She knew that Tris was standing in the shadows, but he didnat say anything. She didnat know if it was the guardas presence that kept him back or if something showed in her face. She stood for a while after the door closed, finally exchanging the silk shift for the clean white tunic that had been left for her by the door. She set her discarded clothes carefully over the book; Tris could find something to do with it before morning. With nothing more to keep her busy, she sat on the clean straw.

He didnat come up behind her and begin rubbing her neck as he usually did, and she was grateful. She didnat think that she could stand to be touched for a while, not even by Tris. She wished theyad let her take a bath before bringing her back, though she knew from experience that water wouldnat make her feel clean again.

After a very long while, she curled her legs up against her chest and hid her face against her knees. The healer was very patient; she could hear him breathe and knew that he hadnat moved since she came in. Rialla knew she ought to tell him something, but she was afraid if she spoke she would shatter the fragile shell that guarded her tears.

Instead she lowered the tight barriers that shead placed around the part of herself that was linked to Tris.

Tris, I . . . Even in her thoughts she couldnat form the words, so she pulled him into her memories instead.

Rialla waited numbly for his reactiona"though she wasnat sure what that would be. Anger, perhaps, or even disgust; sorrow would not be unthinkable for a healer to feel at rapea"even if the victim consented to it.