AN: My sincere thanks go out to zgirl16! Thank you so much for your review. I literally almost cried because I was sure no one would be interested in this story. I've had Chapter Two written for a while, but I was waiting for some feedback before I posted it. Don't worry, I have some great plans in store for this story and I'll be seeing it through to the end! Once again, thank you. ^.^

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

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Though it was one of the more comfortable beds she'd been in, Sikeen slept fitfully. There was no hope in escaping the tower herself, she'd realized. She would need either one of the mage's help to get through the Grove, or something with which to fly over it. At the moment, neither of those seemed within reach. She'd fallen asleep wracking her brain, trying to come up with a new way to attain freedom.

She awoke just before daybreak, with sunlight barely fading in over the horizon. The sky was still deep blue, and it seemed like as good a time as any to begin the day, considering staying asleep in this nightmarish place was a bit of a feat. Slowly, willing her headache to end, she pushed herself to her feet and entered the washroom.

Surprisingly, it was fully stocked, but there was a layer of dust on the surface of the bathtub. After rinsing it out, she took a quick shower and pulled on what she'd been wearing before underneath her cloak – loose black pants and a simple white tunic. The cloak, still bloodstained, she left to soak in the sink for the time being. Hopefully the stain would come out. If not, well… it didn't seem as if she were to be going outside anytime soon, anyway.

Her reflection caught her eye and she instantly froze. Horrified, she leaned in closer to the mirror and regarded the dark half-moons under her eyes, undoubtedly from the stress of no real trial, as well as how horrendously plain she looked without her usual jewelry, which the Conclave had kept, and the slight makeup she always wore. The Conclave had also taken every one of the fifteen knives she generally hid on her person, which left her feeling bare and defenseless. Sighing, she realized there wasn't much she could do about her looks right now.

What was it the mage had said? Tea, at dawn. She looked out the window. Already late. Yawning, she made her way into the hallway and wondered which way the kitchen might be. Down, probably, since from what sense she could make of the twin stairwells last night there was only one room above hers – Raistlin's.

After several wrong turns, she found herself in the kitchen, and after nearly ten minutes of hunting, she found a massive reserve of the foul-smelling tea leaves in a large paper bag in one of the cabinets. After locating a teapot as well, she heated up the water and waited as it brewed. Nervously, she sat at the thick wooden table. She was never any good in the kitchen, and getting on her Shalafi's good side was absolutely imperative right now, if she ever wanted out of here.

When the tea was done, she poured it carefully into a mug and prayed he didn't take anything else in it as she made her way up the many flights of stairs. Making tea, of all things, felt wrong to her – never before had she been in anyone's service. Until now, she'd had a fairly solid business venture going. Unfortunately, killing a mage had apparently been too much for her, and here she was now after the mercy of the Conclave.

Still, she wondered about the circumstances surrounding her sentence. She knew why they hadn't put her to death, but still it was hard to believe. Paladine himself had stood in her favor. But why? What would the god of all that is lawful and good want with her backwards, crime-ridden life?

Finally faced with the doors to Raistlin's chambers, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. After several knocks, there was no reply. She knocked harder and finally there was a hoarse response from the other side.

"Come in," he said. Not knowing what she might find, she slowly pushed open the door.

There, by the fire, was the Raistlin she had heard of. Covered in a thick velvet cloak of black, he sat huddled by the fire on the floor, staring into the flames as if looking for something or waiting for an answer. As she drew closer, she noticed how sunken his strange eyes were. Maybe she was just now seeing him in the light, but he hadn't seemed so weak the night before. As she approached, he let out a cough so dry it made her own throat ache. He then reached out a bony hand, in which she placed the mug.

She couldn't help but think he wouldn't be such a difficult target right now, if she had to take him out to escape. But who, then, would allow her passage through the Grove?

"You may go," he said after taking a sip. Though the fire made it unbearably warm in the room, she noticed him pull the cloak closer around himself, still not looking up at her.

"That's all?" She asked, raising a brow. He looked like he could use another blanket. Or maybe an ale.

"You may go," he repeated, his voice stronger after several sips. Without another word, she exited and made her way down the stairs with the intention of retreating into her chambers to attempt sleep once more. Unable to see in the darkness, however, she soon found herself colliding with the only other resident of the Tower.

"Late with the tea, Sikeen," said Dalamar tauntingly, watching her through the darkness as she used the railing to pull herself off the ground.

"He'll survive," she said, brushing herself off. She was thankful he couldn't see her haggard appearance. If there was one thing Sikeen cared for, it was her looks. "What're you going up there for?" she asked in a desperate effort to make conversation. It would be best, after all, to have at least one friend around here. Perhaps he would speak to Raistlin on her behalf and convince him to let her leave.

"Checking on the fire. Why?"

"Trust me, the fire's fine," she said sarcastically. "It's an oven in there."

"He's been having fevers in the morning," said Dalamar, maneuvering around her. In seconds, he'd disappeared into the mage's chambers. So making friends with the apprentice wasn't going to be easy, either. Obviously, he either didn't trust her or didn't like her. Or was he just very busy? Sighing miserably, she made her way back to her room and fell asleep almost instantly.

It was barely two hours later when she awoke. Two hours, she noticed, seemed to be the longest she could manage staying asleep in this place. Groggily, she once again made her way into the kitchen to make tea and bring it up stairs. Beginning to feel more and more like a housekeeper, she knocked on the mage's door for the second time.

"He's not in there," said a voice behind her. Dalamar's taunting was becoming familiar, and this time it had come from the stairwell. "Downstairs, in the study." She drew in a frustrated sigh and marched back down the stairs. Too proud to ask for directions, she walked past Dalamar and aimlessly entered some other chamber. It was another fifteen minutes before she found the study, by some stroke of luck. Hoping he would stay here until at least her next tea delivery, she swept across the room and put the tea on his desk, where he was hunched over several books in another language.

He seemed significantly less sick now, just two hours later. This time, he turned to look at her as she approached. As he took a sip, he regarded her thoughtfully.

"I believe you're ill," he said simply. She realized her tired appearance probably affected how "ill" she seemed to him.

"It's a chronic condition," she said casually before turning on her heel.

"I haven't dismissed you yet, Sikeen," said Raistlin, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. She stopped in her tracks, reluctantly turning back around.

"My apologies, Shalafi," she said, forcing a rueful smile.

"What sort of chronic condition?" he demanded.

"The sort that makes me want to kill people for money." Her sarcasm was so dry that if he hadn't known better, Raistlin may have taken her remark seriously. Instead, his lips twisted into a tiny, barely discernable smile.

"You may go," he said, turning back to his books. He could afford to put his curiosity on hold. After all, she was stuck here. He had no intention of sending a known murderer back into the world. Not necessarily for the sake of his conscience, but more so to keep the Conclave from harassing him further.

Back in her room, she collapsed once again on her bed. All this work and hunting out Raistlin every time she had to deliver the tea was wearing her out after her night of erratic sleep. Annoyed, she tried desperately to close her eyes once more, but now it was truly daytime, and sleep would not come. But what else was there to do around here for someone who didn't practice magic? Dalamar didn't seem like he wanted her company, and neither did Raistlin. Her only option was finding something else with which to entertain herself.

She'd come across a library downstairs while hunting for her Shalafi just now – maybe that was a good place to start? Retracing her steps, she entered the dark, crypt-like room. Until now, she'd been under the impression that libraries, at least, were a place of light. Apparently, she'd been wrong. Squinting to read the titles, she was dismayed to find that nearly all the books pertained to magic and its methods of practice. Sighing, she picked one at random and curled up under a candelabrum to read. It was dreadfully boring, and she soon found herself reading the same few lines over and over again. Thankfully, Dalamar interrupted her misery.

"Having fun?" he asked, catching her by surprise. She jerked up to look at him, frowning.

"Loads," she replied simply, forcing herself to go back to her book. After he'd brushed her off in the stairwell earlier, she wasn't in the mood to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was bored.

"I'm sure." He quickly scanned the shelves before locating the one he needed and then approached her, peering over her shoulder. "Properties of Maggots in Magical Brewery?" he asked, reading the chapter title. "That seems relevant to your life," he teased. She turned around to glare up at him.

"Dalamar, isn't it? You ought to let me know when there's something better to do in this godforsaken tower," she hissed. He paced around her, resisting the urge to say something crude. "What do you do for fun?" He was silent for a moment, assessing her as she glared mercilessly.

"Recently? Taunt the prisoner," he said, snatching the book from her hands. He sat before her on the floor, pulling a deck of cards from his pants pocket. "And this." Sikeen was slightly taken aback. He was actually offering to play a game with her? Now? So maybe he hadn't hated her right off the bat.

"You don't have anything else to do right now?" she asked suspiciously.

"Unless Shalafi calls for me this very second, then no," he said, dealing out the cards. Seven for her, seven for him. He explained the rules to the game and they played in silence for several turns. Surprising even herself, Sikeen was winning.

"When was the last time you left the tower?" she asked. Perhaps she could figure out a way out from him.

"Three days ago. The plants in the back were looking dry," he said casually.

"So you never go beyond the Grove," she added.

"Can't, without Shalafi's permission." Her heart sank. So it really was a matter of gaining Raistlin's permission.

"You honestly call him that even when he's not around?" He looked up from his hand, raising a brow at her.

"Unlike you, I actually respect him. I'm an apprentice, not a prisoner."

"He's not very endearing," she said, rolling her eyes.

"He's my teacher," he replied with a shrug.

They continued in silence until it occurred to Sikeen that she probably had to go deliver more tea soon.

"I believe I need to get to my duties," she said, standing. Her legs were stiff from being crossed for so long, and the bony joints cracked loudly as she straightened out. Dalamar gave her another curious look.

"Are you ill?" he asked, echoing his master. She had to resist rolling her eyes at him.

"No," she said curtly before turning to leave. At least with Dalamar, she didn't have to worry about being dismissed before she was allowed to leave.

"I'll wait," he said as she trotted back into the stairwell. When the tea was brewed, she decided to check the laboratory first for Raistlin. When she walked in, a cold shudder flicked down her spine. There was someone here. But as she paced slowly into the dark room, Raistlin was nowhere to be seen. She'd heard the Tower was haunted, but hadn't given the rumors any merit until now, when she turned quickly to escape the laboratory. Outside, she leaned against the wall, annoyed. Was she supposed to wander the whole place until she came across him?

Deciding a reasonable place to check was his bedroom, she began climbing the stairs once again. The knowledge of her servitude damaged her pride with every echoing step. When she reached his quarters, she didn't bother knocking.

"I'm not sure how you expect me to do this if you move around all day," she said, spotting him back at his desk. With as much violence as she could expend without spilling, she slammed the tea on his desk. He didn't look up when he replied.

"Allow yourself some time to hunt for me, then," he mumbled, furiously writing on a piece of parchment. She craned her neck to see what was so important. Unfortunately, it was in a language she didn't recognize. When he was done with the sentence, he leaned back in his chair to look at her. "Have you anything better to do?" he asked, taking a sip. It was all she could do not to make an attempt on his life with the saucer he left on the desk. He and Dalamar had quite a bit in common, she realized. They both seemed to derive satisfaction from taunting her. Had Dalamar learned his derisiveness from his master, or was it just a coincidence?

"Regardless, I'm not interested in spending my entire day searching for you," she said, trying her best to maintain an even, respectful tone. Her contempt, however, leaked into the words anyway.

"Shalafi. You're not interested in spending your entire day searching for me, 'Shalafi,'" said Raistlin. He truly was just as insufferable as the stories dictated, she decided, detecting a slight mocking beneath his otherwise serious tone.

Her blood boiled, lips trembling with the instinct to say something caustic. In an effort to avoid doing so, she made a beeline for the door, only to hear Raistlin's voice once again.

"I haven't dismissed you, Sikeen," he said. It was the same, slightly sardonic tone. Once again, she stopped in her tracks.

"Sorry," she muttered, still not turning around. Her own heartbeat was echoing in her mind in her rage.

"'Shalafi.'" This time, she could hear the taunt in his voice. She whipped around, pacing back toward him.

"You're just as controlling as they say," she said sweetly, her lips twisted into a cold smirk. He didn't react, instead gesturing toward something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, finding a chair she could have sworn wasn't there before.

"Have a seat," he said, taking another sip from his tea. She noticed how his voice gained some strength whenever he began drinking.

"With respect, Shalafi, I'd rather stand," she said, an icy glare fixed on the hourglasses in his eyes. Like the one she'd felt the night before, but smaller, a force pushed her backwards, leaving her without choice in the matter. As soon as she was settled, the chair lurched forward, uncomfortably close to Raistlin's. Instinctively, she crossed her legs and threw her shoulders back, careful not to show any sign of fear.

"You will obey when I ask something of you," he started, leaning back in his own chair. "I don't want you here any more than you want to wish to be here, but the Conclave obviously insists that you remain here until your eventual death." He paused, waiting to see if she would reply. Instead, her glare morphed into an expression he could only describe as "bored". He raised a brow at her. "Your insolence will not win you freedom, nor will your servitude. You'll find that I can be very patient."

She cocked her head, slowly uncrossing her legs and leaning on one armrest to draw closer to him. In the candlelight, the hourglasses glinted gold.

"So I am to obey your every command?" she asked, suggestion creeping into her voice. Even if this didn't work, it was the closest thing to entertainment she'd have all day. "Never to leave, locked away in this tower with you for the rest of my long life?" Raistlin nearly rolled his eyes before responding.

"If you grow lonely, I trust Dalamar is more than capable of providing companionship." Sikeen was surprised – despite being bound to the Tower, Raistlin didn't react at all to her advances.

"Dalamar doesn't interest me," she sighed, twirling a long tendril of black hair. "We spent all day playing cards and he's just not intriguing." She did her best to look into his eyes, beyond the bizarre pupils, but they demanded too much attention. She hoped he'd mistake the curiosity in her look for something more.

"If Dalamar does not yet intrigue you, then perhaps you don't intrigue Dalamar, which is unfortunate." He turned back to his parchment, leaving Sikeen disappointed. "You may go." She blinked, surprised. The mage probably hadn't even seen a woman in years, yet she couldn't seduce him? She knew her looks were unconventional, but she'd never had trouble with men before. Without another word, she stood up, sighing.

"I'll be here for the rest of the day," he added just as she was about to leave. Ignoring him, she trotted back down the stairs to continue her card game. Escape would take more planning than she thought.