He smiled. aNo. In the forest, there are other ways opened to those who know how to use the doors.a aMagic?a asked Rialla, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

aIndeed,a he nodded.

THE SUN WAS just up when a pair of guards came and escorted her to Isslic of Winterseineas unoccupied study. They attached her leash to an elaborate bronze ring set in the wall and left her alone.

She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. As with the holding cell, shead been in this room before. When a slave was misbehaving, Winterseine had her brought here to his room for sentencinga"but first he made the slave wait.

The sounds of advancing footsteps woke Rialla up from her napa"she had stayed up too late talking with Tris. She was thankful that she awoke before Winterseine had come into the rooma"the wait was supposed to make her nervous, not sleepy. She didnat want to enrage him pointlessly.

She was on her feet when the door opened to admit Winterseine. Docilely she kept her eyes on the floor and her hands at her side.

aWell,a said Winterseine, his voice almost a purr, aitas nice to have you back, Dancer. Tell me, why did you run away in the first place? You knew that I would find you.a Rialla answered meekly, aYes, Master. I knew that you would find me. I am sorry that I rana"I was frightened.a aWhat frightened you, Little One?a Again his voice was soft, like a predator stealing up on its prey.

Rialla felt the first twinge of feara"but it was a slaveas fear and she was here by choice. The thought steadied her. Just as she started to answer his question, Tris attempted to contact her.

Rialla, where are you?

Later, she snapped at him, and closed her mind tightly to his presence.

To Winterseine she said hesitantly, aOne of the other slaves there, in the upper rooms of the tavern in Kentar . . . she was killed that night. I saw them bring her body out.a She paused and framed her words carefully out of truths. aThe day before, the man who owned her was asking the barkeeper how much it would cost to buy me.a It had been idle speculation, a common question rather than serious intent, but the thought of being sold was frightening to a slave. Better the known evil, which one has gotten used to, than the unknown. Slaves are taught to be afraid of the unknown.

aSo you ran away, killing one of my people.a aHe startled me,a Rialla said tremulously, remembering the shock of the manas death. aI pushed him and he hit his head on something on the floor. It was dark and I couldnat tell what it was.a She had hit him as hard as she could with a mallet that had been left in the stables. Shead set the mallet near the body, and left. But Winterseine would expect her to lie and she had to stay in character.

There was a squeak as Winterseine settled himself into the big, leather-covered chair behind his desk. aYou killed him with a hammer.a Rialla shook her head and looked frightened. A slave would never admit such a crime and Winterseine knew it. aNo,a she said. aHe hit his head.a aYou killed him,a said the voice of the Master implacably. He might know that she wouldnat admit it, but he still needed her to realize that she couldnat get away with lying to him. He didnat wait for her reply again. Instead he asked a different question. aWhere were you going?a Rialla shrugged helplessly. aI donat know. Away, anywhere.a That was true enough.

aLaeth said that he picked you up in the South. How did you get there?a aAfter a few days, I donat know how long exactly, a man found me hiding under a bush. He took me and sold me to a merchant who smuggled me out of Darran and sold me to another merchant who worked the countries in the Alliance.a Though selling an escaped slave was illegal, it was commonly done.

aI canat have slaves escaping, Dancer.a Winterseineas voice was stern, but there was regret in it as wella"a father talking to an errant child. It made Rialla want to retch.

aNo, Master,a said Rialla submissively, and the slave master sat back to contemplate her punishment.

THE GUARD LED her through a maze of hallways until he came to a place where there were two half-sized doors set into the wall at waist height. Rialla could hear soft sobbing sounds coming from behind one of the doors, and she watched apprehensively as the guard slid the bar off the other one. The door opened to reveal a dark hole even smaller than the door itself. A cobweb covered one corner and the guard brushed it aside.

aIn with you,a he said. His manner wasnat threatening, but Rialla had no doubt that he was willing to enforce his command.

She entered the darkness as slowly as she could, wanting to give any insects the chance to get out of her way. The opening wasnat quite tall enough for Rialla to crawl on her hands and knees, so she had to squirm forward until her feet slid through. The guard closed the door behind her and threw the bolt. Rialla stretched out her hands and felt the end of the cell; it was little bigger than the coffin the Darranians used to bury their dead.

For a normal human, such confinement would have been frightening. Riallaas awareness, though, wasnat limited by the stone around her. She could tell when the guard left to find lunch, she could touch the terror of the slave occupying the other cell, and she could feel Trisas impatience as he waited for her to tell him what was happening.

Rialla!

Yes, she answered.

Are you all right? Where are you?

She caught his worry and sent back reassurances as she responded. Iam in solitary. Itas not so bad; he had to do something for discipline and he doesnat like damaging his slaves if he can help it. I thought that it would be worse.

Iall take your word for it, Tris answered, I feel trapped inside these stone buildings humans like to build; I wouldnat care to be enclosed in a smaller area. I think Iall go exploring today and see what I can find outa"call me if you need some company.

Where are you going to explore? Rialla asked curiously. His face was known to Winterseine and a fair number of his guards. If someone saw Tris wandering through the castle, his presence might be questioned.

Illusion is a simple enough magic, replied Tris, apparently having little trouble following her thoughts. Not many people notice one more bench or decorative plant. A picture formed in her mind of a plant, similar to those scattered about Westhold, and a battered bench.

What if someone tries to sit on you? questioned Rialla, still feeling uneasy at Trisas ability to read thoughts that she wasnat actively projecting.

Thatas why I prefer the plant when I can, but the bench has a rotted leg to discourage anyone who might want to rest.

Luck to you, Tris, Rialla said. Be careful.

I will, he assured her, withdrawing to a less intimate level.

The other slave was beginning to get frantic in the enclosed dark space. Out of a latent sense of compassion and a desire to test her empathy further, Rialla decided to see if she could help her fellow penitent.

Patiently she worked through the fear of the other slave, sending peace and reassurance. Gradually rid of her fear, the woman was rocked by another emotion: hatred. Her emotion was strong, and it gave Rialla a clear picture of the focus of her hatred: Winterseinea"hardly a surprise.

Unable to bear the contact any longer, Rialla withdrew and struggled to rid herself of the residue of the slaveas fear and hatred. When she was calm, she steadied herself and projected the soothing peace that would allow the other woman to sleep. Gradually the other slave allowed herself to be pacified and fell into a light stupor.

IT WAS LATE in the afternoon when Winterseine and two guards came to get her out. She crawled out of her hole and stood blank-faced for his inspection. He narrowed his eyes at her thoughtfully before leaving her with the guards.

Rialla watched as Winterseine slid out the bar that held the other slave captive in the coffin-shaped hole. In the relative light of the hold hallway, Rialla could see that the otheras skin was so dark it looked as if it were carved from oiled ebony. Her features were fine-boned and her thick copper-colored hair hung past her waista"another Easterner.

As Rialla looked at the other slave closely, she realized what Winterseine had seen to make him look so thoughtful. Though the other slaveas face was as blank as Riallaas own, it was lined with exhaustion and her hair was matted with sweat. Slight tremors shook her shoulders as she struggled to maintain the passive stance that Rialla had adopted. Rialla knew that she herself looked as if shead been sleeping in a cot all afternoon.

aTake them to the baths and have them cleaned. Return the dark one to her classes in the blue room. Take the dancer back to her cell,a ordered Winterseine briskly, and the guards led the slaves away.

In a clean tunic and freshly washed hair, Rialla found herself back in the little cell shead spent the night in. There was a meal of bread and fruit waiting for her. She left the food where it was, waiting for Tris to come and eat with her.

Daylight came in from the high window, and the bars left their shadows on the walls rather than the floor. Rialla paced for a while before retreating to the accustomed discipline of the exercises that had become second nature to her as both dancer and horse trainer.

If she were going to have to dance very often, she might as well be in shape for it, she decided ruefully. Her bad leg was tight and she babied it through, hoping that she wasnat doing it more harm than good.

When she was finished, there was sweat running down her back, but she wasnat overly tired. Into her right hand she poured a little of the cool water from the ewer that had been left with her food. She splashed the water on her face and dried it off with the bottom of her tunic.

Bored, she sat beside the fresh straw and began to braid it as her mother had taught her to fashion horsehair rope. The straw was bulkier and not so strong, and the rope kept breaking before she got very far, but it was something to do.

She was beginning to eye the bread wistfully, when she realized that Tris was very near. She noticed a change in the stone near the top of the cell by the window. It looked at first as if the stone were growing. The granite blocks and the mortar between them bulged out in a lump roughly the size of a manas body. The lump slid gradually lower until the bottom of it rested on the ground. Slowly Tris pulled free of the rock, his body and features became distinct. The color of the stone gradually left his skin and clothing, and Tris stood brushing dust off his tunic and breeches.

aBetter you than me,a commented Rialla.

aWhat? You mean passing through the stone? Itas not that bada"graniteas kind of scratchy, though. I prefer marble or obsidian, but graniteas more common.a Rialla laughed at his serious tone.

aSo,a she said, ahow did your explorations go?a aFine,a he replied, rubbing his beard as if it itched. aI didnat see anything unusual except the number of cats here.a Rialla nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit. aMost castles have a lot of cats. They keep down the rat population.a She bit into the tart apple and sighed with appreciation. Sianim was too warm to get really good apples.

aNo, I mean a lot of cats. Someone here really likes them.a Tris sat with his back against the wall. aHow was your day in solitary?a Rialla gave a rueful shrug. aNot bad, better than tomorrow will be. There was another slave from the East there, but I didnat get any useful information out of her.a aWhat do you mean better than tomorrow?a Tris hadnat been moving before, but now he was still, like a predator who has scented his prey.

Rialla finished the apple and put the core back on the tray. aDo you want something to eat?a Tris shook his head without losing his air of intensity. aIam fine. What about tomorrow?a She tore off some bread and stood leaning against the wall. When she was through with her piece, she said wryly, aIam in for it. I was stupid and forgot that I was supposed to look abused after a day in solitary. Now heas got to find another punishment.a She sighed drolly, trying to soothe him as she felt his anger rise. aI guess I was never meant to be a spy.a aWhat will he do?a asked Tris again, grim-voiced.

She shook her head. aI have no idea. Donat worry, it probably wonat be anything too painfula"he doesnat want to ruin his slave. He has to maintain a fine balance: too little discipline is disastrous, but too much discipline will break the spirit and ruin a dancer.a Tris looked down at the floor and asked, aDoes it bother you to be a slave again?a Rialla glanced at his hands, which were clenched around his left knee. He was having a harder time with her enslavement than she was. She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she answered, hoping that she could make him understand. aI would have thought it would, but it doesnat. I guess it makes a difference that it was my decision to come back. I choose to act like a slave, so they canat make me feel like one. Does that make sense?a He looked a bit baffled so she added, aA slave has no power to make decisions; I do.a Thinking about tomorrow, she smiled with little humor. aI have to live with the results too.a THE NEXT MORNING, when the guards came, Rialla was awake and ready for them. She wasnat taken to Winterseine this time, but to the castle punishment chamber.

The chamber was in a light and sunny area in the corner of the main floor of the castle. Both of the windows were low enough to get a nice view of one of the walled gardens behind the castle. Clear glass was expensive, so the windows were barred and open to the air.

Rialla supposed that the windows were there to remind the prisoners that there was a world outside, and to keep them from succumbing to the hopelessness that made them die too soon under the tortureras knife. From the despair she read in the few moments before she pulled her shields all the way up, she could have told Winterseine that he was wasting his windows.

The guards attached her tether to a wall and left her alone with the other prisoners, none of which were slaves. She had never been in this room; Rialla had been a tractable slave before she escaped.

The leash was a formality without the arm restraintsa"she could have taken it off with very little efforta"but she was supposed to be a good slave. There were no guards, just the prisoners attached to the wall with heavy manacles.

Heavy canvas curtains blocked off the business end of the chamber. Rialla was just as glad not to have to look at the arcane devices responsible for the human wrecks that moaned pitifully where they hung like so many carcasses at a butcheras shop.

As she waited, Rialla became more and more agitated. The unpleasant emotions that pervaded the chamber were so strong she couldnat block them completely. They served to reinforce her apprehension. She got to her feet and paced back and forth to relieve her tension and keep her from tearing her collar off and running to Sianim as fast as she could.

Several men entered the chamber talking and laughing. One of them came up to her and unfastened her lead from the wall. He stank like sweat and other peopleas terror, and couldnat keep his hands to himself.

Rialla didnat struggle, and eventually he tired of his fun and blindfolded her with a strip of cotton cloth stained with dirt and dried blood. She followed the tug on her leash, stumbling blindly over the uneven floor. She hit her shin against a piece of wood and decided that it must have been a stair, because she was lifted up a short distance and put back on her feet on top of some sort of platform.

He pushed her backwards until her shoulders pressed against a bar of wood that moved slightly when she touched it. She felt the jerk at her neck as he attached her collar tightly to the bar. Her arms were pulled up over her head and tied to another bar that seemed to be both higher and farther away than the first. A thick strap was secured around her waist.

Rialla heard a groaning sound as the bars took her weight and her feet were slowly drawn off the floor. As her back arched against her support, she realized that she was tied to a large wheel. It stopped turning and her legs were pulled back and attached to another bar on the wheel.

When the man was satisfied that she was secure, he groped her one last time and went on to his next job. She couldnat close her ears to the noises in the chamber nearly as well as she could close her mind to the suffering that spawned them. She found herself wishing that they would punish her and get it over with.

Finally, there was a creak as the mechanism that turned the wheel was unlocked. Slowly she was pulled up and over the top of it. The wheel made an odd noise, but before Rialla was able to figure out what the sound was, her head was immersed in cold water.

The shock made her gasp, and she came out of the water choking and spitting out the fluid shead swallowed. She was disoriented, and her head hit the water again before she was ready. She was underwater the third time when she realized that the wheel wasnat being turned at a steady rate that she could gage. She gagged and spat out the water that she had tried to breathe. The distraction caused her concentration to fail, and the strength of the shield that kept out the emotions flooding the chamber faded.

As soon as her barriers weakened, Rialla got a full dose of the torment of the other victims in the cell. She started to scream and her head was forced underwater again. This time the trip through the water was so slow that she started to black out before her nose broke the surface again. The wheel stopped to let her catch her breath, and she managed to close most of her barriers again as she choked and fought frantically for air.

Tris. She didnat really expect to be able to touch him without dropping her shields more than she could in this room. She was surprised when she got an answer.

Rialla? She could read the concern in his reply as he caught the edge of her desperation.

The wheel began to move again, and involuntarily she struggled against the ropes that held her. She started to tell him what was going on, but she couldnat form any coherent messages before she was under the water again.

Rialla! The demand in his tone brought her back to herself, and she struggled to communicate what she needed.

Talk to me . . . The struggle to keep from breathing the icy water grew more difficult. Please . . . I need you to give me something to concentrate on . . . Her face was numbed by the cold, and it was getting hard to tell when she was out of the water.

It wasnat until her forehead started under again that she realized that shead held her breath too long. She managed to grab a quick breath before water closed over her mouth.

Rialla? What . . . He stopped, and she could feel him forcibly restrain himself. Slowly, as if he were reciting out loud, he sent her what shead requested. Black cherry root, otherwise known as nightshade or belladonna, can be used as a sedative or pain reliever in small enough doses . . .

She grasped onto his words like a lifeline, using them to calm herself, much as a monk chants himself into a trance. She didnat care what he said, as long as he kept talking.

He seemed to sense what she needed and kept up a steady flow of information. She found that she could use him to block out the feedback she was getting from the other occupants of the chamber. Once she was calmer and not feeling other peopleas emotions, Rialla could tell when she was about to be submerged.

Tris kept talking, but she didnat really hear the words. Gradually, she was able to sense the water before it touched her. There was something odd about that, but she was in no state to decide what that was. Once she thought that Tris warned her, but that was ridiculousa"she could tell that he was somewhere in the upper levels of the hold.

When they finally pulled her off, she was too dizzy to stand up, and the guards carried her back to her cell. She didnat stop Trisas steady voice in her mind, drawing strength from his presence. There was a towel and dry clothes waiting for her on the straw. Shaking with cold, she rubbed herself with thick cotton material until only her hair was damp, then put on the dry tunic.

. . . acids that the flowering coralis uses to digest its prey can also be used to dissolve warts and . . .

Tris? Rialla interrupted wearily as she stumbled to the pile of straw. Thanks. You can stop now. Iam back in the cell.

To her surprise he didnat ask anything, just said, Iam coming.

Rialla drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, resting her cheek against her knee. She couldnat seem to get warm. She didnat watch this time when Tris came through the walla"once was enough.

aAre you all right? Is this the end of it?a Trisas voice sounded soft and dangerous, but when he touched her shoulders, warmth flowed from his hands.

Rialla turned her head to give him a tired smile and said hoarsely, aI think so. Thereas no reason for anything more. Thanks for the help.a aGood,a he said, ignoring her thanks.

As she quit shivering, he pulled away and began pacing restlessly. Rialla could feel his agitation, but only distantly through the curtain of her exhaustion. She lowered her head to her knees and closed her eyes. Somehow it wasnat worth the effort to open them again. She fell asleep and woke up alone early in the morning.

SWEAT GATHERED IN the small of Riallaas back as she worked with fourteen other slaves to perform the combinations called out by the dancemaster. This man was new to her, although he seemed experienced. When the slaves were through with his workout, they would be warmed up and limber, but not overly tired.

Deliberately taking deep, even breaths through her nose, Rialla pulled her good leg behind her, until the heel touched the back of her head, and counted the drumbeats silently, trying to ignore the burning in her bad thigh as it supported her weight.

She switched legs, but couldnat make her bad leg stretch the few extra inches to touch. The burning increased and she was afraid that she would tear the wound open, so she let it relax a little further, aware that the dancemaster stood near her. When the combination was finished, the master called for a rest and the slaves dropped to the mats.

He examined the narrow red line that marked her leg where the swamp beast had slashed her.

aBend it,a he said shortly.

At his command, she flexed her leg as far as she could and released it.

He grunted, aWinterseine says that you are already a fine dancer. That being the case, I would keep you off that leg for another month, but he has decided that you are to dance with the advanced group. I want you to take it easy, but if Winterseine is watching youad better not be favoring it. He doesnat believe in giving wounds time to heal; says that it makes for easy excuses.a Startled that the dancemaster would criticize Winterseine to a slave, Rialla merely nodded. She watched him walk to the center of the wooden floor and clap his hands once, and the workout resumed. Minding the dancemasteras words, she babied her left leg and kept a sharp eye out for Winterseine.

The other girls were wary of her and made no move to greet her on the rest breaks. Rialla sat quietly a little apart from the others, but close enough to listen to the other slaves gossip softly together.

Most of what they said was unimportant; they were too conscious of Rialla to talk about Lord Winterseine or anything else interesting enough to get them into trouble should the Master hear about it. If she continued being unobtrusive, they would forget her, but it was going to take time.

With a sigh, Rialla relaxed and closed her eyes. Carefully she lowered her defenses and reached out lightly. As she did so, she heard one of the slaves giggle. She focused on that one and caught a picture of Terran, altered by the slaveas perception of hima"Rialla knew he wasnat that good-looking.

The slave had seen him recently in intimate circumstances and enjoyed every minute. Rialla withdrew hastily before she received a touch by touch outline of the slaveas experiences at the hands of Winterseineas son. Just before she pulled back completely, she caught something, an image . . . of a cat, a blue cat.

It was dark when she was returned in a clean tunic to the holding cell. Although practice was done in a one-piece garment that left most of the body bare, it was too cold to wear all the time, so a clean tunic was also supplied daily. Her hair was freshly washed and braided neatly, brushing the top of her shoulders.

As soon as the guard left, Rialla lay face down on the cool stone floor.

aTired?a asked Tris in a voice that didnat carry beyond the room.

She didnat bother lifting her head, just slid it back and forth against the floor. aIam too old for this. The other girls are just babies, and theyare in much better shape than I am. Letas go back to Sianim and Iall sit in a rocking chair and embroider tablecloths.a Two hands touched her back and caressed the sore muscles there. She moaned weakly and folded her arms to cushion her face as the stiffness eased with magical swiftness.

aDo you embroider?a Tris asked with interest.

aNo,a she replied, aand maybe, just maybe, if you keep that up I wonat have to learn.a He laughed, started on her lower back and said in conversational tones, aI found out some interesting information today.a He stopped kneading and began thumping her with the sides of hands instead.

aFrom what Iave overheard,a he continued, aLord Winterseine has indeed been traveling to the other side of the Swamp. He keeps a ship at a small harbor near the Southern Sea that he uses to sail to the East. For the past six years he has spent at least four months a year there, except last year, when his son made the journey alone. What was that?a aMmpft,a she said obscurely, then managed, aTri . . . hiss . . . sstop . . . it!a He quit pounding on her and sat on his heels.