"Haven't you gotten over your shyness yet?" Bluefingers asked. "You've been in Hallandren for months."

Siri eyed him, but didn't relax her concealing posture, even if she did let the serving women continue to work on her hair and scrub her back. "Won't it seem suspicious to have the serving women making so much noise?" she asked.

Bluefingers waved a hand. "They're already considered second cla.s.s servants by most in the palace." She understood what he meant. These woman, as opposed to her regular servants, wore brown. They were from Pahn Kahl.

"You sent me a message earlier," Bluefingers said. "What did you mean by my plans?"

Siri bit her lip, sorting through the dozens of ideas she had considered, discarding them all. What did she know? How could she make Bluefingers willing to trade?

He gave me clues, she thought. He tried to scare me into not sleeping with the king. But he had no reason to help me. He barely knew me. He must have other motives for not wanting an heir to be born.

"What happens when a new G.o.d King takes the throne?" she asked carefully.

He eyed her. "So, you've figured that out, then?"

Figured out what? "Of course I have," she said out loud.

He wrung his hands nervously. "Of course, of course. Then you can see why I'm so nervous? We worked hard to get me where I am. It isn't easy for a Pahn Kahl man to rise high in the theocracy of Hallandren. Once I got into place, I worked so hard to provide work for my people. The serving girls who wash you, they have far better lives than the Pahn Kahl who work the dye fields. That will all be lost. We don't believe in their G.o.ds. Why should we be treated as well as people of their own faith?"

"I still don't see why it has to happen," Siri said carefully.

He waved a nervous hand. "Of course it doesn't have to, but tradition is tradition. The Hallandren are very lax in every area but religion. When a new G.o.d King is chosen, his servants are replaced. They won't kill us to send us into the afterlife with our lord-that horrid practice hasn't been used since the days before the Manywar-but we will be dismissed. A new G.o.d King represents a fresh start."

He stopped pacing, looking at her. She was still naked in the water, awkwardly covering herself as best she could. "But," he said, "I guess my job security is the lesser of our problems."

Siri snorted. "Don't tell me you're worried about my safety over your own place in the palace."

"Of course not," he said, kneeling down beside the tub, speaking quietly. "But the G.o.d King's life... well, that worries me."

"So," Siri said, "I haven't been able to decide yet. Do the G.o.d Kings give up their lives willingly once they have an heir, or are they coerced into it?"

"I'm not sure," Bluefingers admitted. "There are stories, spoken of by my people regarding the last G.o.d King's death. They say that the plague he cured... well, he wasn't even in the city when the 'curing' happened. My suspicion is that they forced him to give up his Breath to his son and that killed him."

He doesn't know, Siri thought. He doesn't realize that Susebron is a mute. "How closely have you served with the G.o.d King?"

He shrugged. "As close as any servant considered unholy. I'm not allowed to touch him or speak to him. But, Princess, I've served him all my life. He's not my G.o.d, but he's something better. I think these priests... they look upon their G.o.ds as placeholders. It doesn't really matter to them if one person is holding the station or another. Me, I've served his majesty for my entire life. I was hired into the palace as a lad and I remember Susebron's childhood. I cleaned his quarters. He's not my G.o.d, but he is my liege. And now these priests are planning to kill him."

He turned back to his pacing, wringing his hands. "But there's nothing to be done."

"Yes, there is," she said.

He waved a hand. "I gave you a warning and you ignored it. I know that you've been performing your duties as a wife. Perhaps we could find some way of making certain that no pregnancy of yours comes to term."

Siri flushed. "I would never do such a thing! Austre forbids it."

"Even to save the life of the G.o.d King? But... of course. What is he to you? Your captor and imprisoned. Yes. Perhaps my warnings were useless."

"I do care, Bluefingers," she said. "And I think we can stop this before it gets to the point of worrying about an heir. I've been talking to the G.o.d King."

Bluefingers froze, looking directly at her. "What?"

"I've been talking to him," Siri admitted. "He's not as harsh as you might think. I don't think this has to end with him dying or your people losing their places in the palace."

Bluefingers studied her, watching her to the point that she flushed again, ducking a little more down into the water.

"I see that you've found yourself a position of power," he noted.

Or, at least, one that looks powerful, she thought ruefully. "If things turn out as I want them to, I'll make certain your people are cared for."

"And my side of the bargain?" he asked.

"If things don't turn out as I want them to," she said, taking a deep breath, heart fluttering. "I want you to get Susebron and me out of the palace."

Silence.

"Deal," he said. "But let us make certain it does not come to that. Is the G.o.d King aware of the danger from his own priests?"

"He is," Siri lied. "In fact, he knew about it before I did. He's the one who told me I needed to contact you."

"He did?" Bluefingers asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes," Siri said. "I will be in touch on how to make this turn out well for all of us. And, until then, I would appreciate it if you'd let me get back to my bath."

Bluefingers nodded slowly, then retreated from the bathing chamber. Siri, however, found it hard to still her nerves. She wasn't certain if she'd handled the exchange well or not. She seemed to have gained something. Now she just had to figure out how to use it.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Vivenna awoke sore, tired, and terrified. She tried struggling, but her hands and legs were tied. She only succeeded in rolling herself into a less comfortable position.

She was in a dark room, her face-gagged-pressing awkwardly against a splintering wood floor. She still wore her dress, one of the expensive foreign ones that Denth had complained about. Her hands were tied behind her.

Someone was in the room with her. Someone with a lot of Breath. She could feel it without even concentrating. She twisted, rolling on her back in an awkward motion. She could see a figure silhouetted against a starlit sky, standing on a balcony a short distance away.

It was him.

He turned toward her, face shadowed in the unlit room, and she began to squirm with panic. What was this man planning to do with her? Horrible possibilities appeared in her mind.

The man walked toward her, feet thumping roughly on the floor. He knelt down, pulling her face up next to his. "I'm still deciding whether or not to kill you, princess," he said. "If I were you, I'd avoid doing anything more to antagonize me."

His voice was deep, thick, and had an accent she couldn't quite place. She froze in his grip, trembling, hair bleached white. He appeared to be studying her, eyes reflecting starlight. He dropped her back to the wooden floor.

She groaned through the gag as he lit a lantern then pushed closed the balcony doors. He reached to his belt and removed a large hunting dagger. Vivenna felt a stab of fear, but he simply walked over and cut the bonds on her hands.

He tossed the dagger aside, and it made a thock as it stuck into the wood of the far wall. He reached for something on the bed. His large, black hilted sword.

Vivenna scrambled back, hands free, and pulled at her gag, intending to scream. He whipped the sword toward her, making her freeze.

"You will remain quiet," he said sharply.

She huddled back into the corner. How is this happening to me? she thought. Why hadn't she fled back to Idris long ago? She'd been deeply unsettled when Denth had killed the ruffians in the restaurant. She'd known, then, that she was dealing with people and situations that were truly dangerous.

She should have run. She'd been arrogant to think that she could do anything in this city. This monstrous, overwhelming, terrible city. She was nothing. Barely a peasant from the countryside to these people. Why had she been so foolish as to get herself involved in their politics and schemes? The worst part was, she hadn't even really tried to save Siri. She'd gotten caught up in the glory of helping against the war, of being a princess to the Idrians in the city.

The man, Vasher, stepped forward. He undid the clasp on that deep, black sword, and Vivenna felt a strange nausea strike her. It seemed that a thin wisp of black smoke began to rise from the blade.

Vasher approached, backlit by the lantern, sheathed tip of the sword dragging against the floor behind him. Then he dropped the sword to the ground in front of Vivenna.

"Pick it up," he said.

She untensed slightly, looking up, though she still huddled in the corner. She felt tears on her cheeks.

"Pick up the sword, Princess."

She had no training with weapons, but if she could take it from him... She reached for the sword, but felt her nausea grow far stronger. She groaned, her arm twitching as it approached the strange black blade.

She shied away.

"Pick it up!" Vasher bellowed.

She complied with a gagged cry of desperation, grabbing the weapon, feeling a terrible sickness travel like a wave up her arm and into her stomach. She found herself ripping away her gag with desperate fingers.

h.e.l.lo, a voice said in her head. Would you like to kill someone today?

She dropped the horrid weapon and fell to her knees, retching onto the floor. There wasn't much in her stomach, but she couldn't stop herself. When she was done, she crawled away and huddled down against the wall again, mouth dripping with bile, feeling too sick to yell for help or even wipe her face.

She was crying again. That seemed the least of her humiliations.

Through teary eyes, she watched as Vasher stood quietly. Then he grunted-as if in surprise-and picked up the sword. He clicked the clasp on its sheath, locking the weapon back inside, then threw a towel onto the stinking bile.

"We are in one of the slums," he said. "You may scream if you wish, but n.o.body will think anything of it. Except me. I'll be annoyed." He glanced back at her. "I warn you. I'm not known for my ability to keep my temper."

Vivenna shivered, still feeling hints of nausea. This man held even more Breath than she did. Yet, when he'd kidnapped her, she hadn't felt anyone standing in her room. How had he hidden it?

And what had been that voice?

They seemed silly things to distract her, considering her current situation. However, she used them to keep from thinking about what this man might do to her. What- He was walking toward her again. He picked up the gag, his expression dark. She finally screamed, trying to scramble away, and he cursed, putting a foot on her back and forcing her down against the floor. He tied her hands again before forcing on the gag. She cried, her voice m.u.f.fled as he jerked her backward. He stood, then slung her over his shoulder and carried her away from the room.

"Colors-cursed slums," he muttered. "Everyone's too poor to afford bas.e.m.e.nts." He pushed her into a much smaller room and tied her hands to the doork.n.o.b. He stepped back, looking her over, obviously unsatisfied.

He knelt beside her, unshaven face close to hers, breath vile. "I have work to do," he said. "Work that you have forced me to do. You will not run. If you do, I'll find you and kill you. Understand?"

She nodded weakly.

She caught sight of him retrieving his sword from the other room, then he quickly rushed down the stairs. The door below slammed and locked, leaving her alone.

An hour or so later, Vivenna had finished crying herself dry. She sat slumped, hands tied awkwardly above her. Part of her kept waiting for the others to find her. Denth, Tonk Fah, Jewels. They were experts. They'd be able to save her.

No rescue came. Dazed, drowsy, and sick though she was, she realized something. This man-this Vasher-was someone that even Denth had feared. Vasher had killed one of their friends some months before. He was at least as skilled as they were.

How did they all end up here, then? she thought, her hands rubbed raw. It seems an awful coincidence. Perhaps Vasher had followed Denth to the city and was acting out some kind of twisted rivalry by working against them.

They'll find me and save me.

But she knew that they wouldn't, not if Vasher were as dangerous as they said. He'd know how to hide from Denth. If she were going to escape, she'd have to do it herself. The concept terrified her. Strangely, however, memories from her tutors returned to her.

There are things to do if you are kidnapped, one had taught. Things that every princess should know.

During her time in T'Telir, she'd begin to feel that her lessons were useless. Now, she was surprised to find herself remembering sessions that related directly to her situation.

If a person kidnaps you, the tutor had taught, your best time to escape is near the beginning, when you are still strong. They will starve you and beat you down so that soon you will be too weak to flee. Do not expect to be rescued, though some people will undoubtedly be working to help you. Never expect to be exchanged for a ransom. Most kidnappings end in death.

The best thing you can do for your country is try to flee. You may escape. If you don't, the captor may be forced to kill you. That is preferable to what you will be forced to endure as a captive. Plus, if you die, the kidnappers will no longer have a hostage.

It was a harsh, blunt lesson-but many of her lessons had been that way. Better to die than to be held captive and ransomed against Idris. That was the same lesson that warned her that the Hallandrens might try to use her against Idris once she was there. In such a case, she was told that her father might be forced to order her a.s.sa.s.sination.

That was a problem she didn't have to worry about anymore. The kidnapping advice, however, seemed useful. It frightened her, made her want to cower back and simply wait, hoping that Vasher would find a reason to let her go. However, the more she thought, the more she knew that she had to be strong.

He'd been extremely harsh with her-exaggeratedly so. He'd wanted to frighten her so that she wouldn't try to escape. He'd cursed not having a cellar, for that would have been a good place to dump her. When he returned, he would probably move her to a more secure location. The tutors were right. The only chance she had to escape was now, when she was still strong.

Her hands were held tightly. She'd tried pulling them free several times already. Vasher knew his knots. She wiggled, rubbing more skin off, and she cringed in pain. Blood began to drip down her wrist, but even that slickness wasn't enough to get her hands free. She began to cry again, not in fear, but in pain and frustration. She couldn't wiggle her way out.

But... could she perhaps make the ropes untie themselves?

I don't know how to use the Breath, she thought. Why didn't I let Denth train me earlier?

Her stubborn self-righteousness seemed even more flagrant to her now. Of course it was better to use the Breath than it was to be killed-or worse-by Vasher. She thought she understood Lemks and his desire to gather enough BioChroma to extend his life. She tried to speak some Commands through her gag.

That was useless. Even she understood that the Commands had to be spoken clearly. She began to wiggle her chin, pushing on the gag with her tongue. It didn't appear to be as tight as her wrist bonds. Plus, it was wet from her tears and saliva. She worked at it, moving her lips and her teeth, wiggling the bond free. She was actually surprised when it finally dropped below her chin, loose.

She licked her lips, working her sore jaw. Now what? she thought. Her apprehension was rising. Now she really needed to get free. If Vasher returned and saw that she'd managed to work her gag off, he'd never leave her with such an opportunity again. He might punish her for disobeying him.

"Ropes," she said. "Untie yourself."

Nothing happened.

She gritted her teeth, trying to remember the Commands that Denth had told her. Hold Things and Protect Me. Neither seemed all that useful in her situation. She certainly didn't want the ropes to hold her wrists more tightly. However, he had said something else. Something about imagining what you wanted in your mind. She tried that, picturing the ropes untying themselves.

"Untie yourselves," she said clearly.