Another chapter for you. Thanks once again to all my kind reviewers, and I suppose to you too, Bladvak the Long-Winded. I appreciate all your comments, I really do, and I know I say this every chapter, but it's true! (Oh, and I suggest, if you've forgotten it, to reacquaint yourselves with a conversation pertaining to trees back in Chapter 22. Of course, you wouldn't have to if I didn't let myself get so distracted! Damn life.)

Daine, Numair, Ozorne, Kaddar, and Alanna are all the creation of the one, the only, Tamora Pierce. I just like to get them out and play with them from time to time.

Chapter 24

"Would you stop squirming?" Numair told Daine for the umpteenth time since she had announced that someone was on their way to them under half a bell ago. He sat back down, having just allowed their mysterious visitor on the unknown horse to pass through the protective shield. "It's incredibly distracting," he said as he skimmed his current text, searching for where he'd left off. "You'll find out who it is in a few minutes. Patience, magelet."

Over the top of his book, he saw her stick her tongue out at him. "I apologise," she retorted, her tone in no way sincere. "It must be such an inconvenience for you, my wanting to find things out."

Numair sighed theatrically. "You have no idea." Returning to his large tome, he scrawled down some interesting points he'd found on defensive shields, and possibilities for adapting them so that allies in possession of certain charms would be able to pass through them unhindered without the necessity of a mage to alter it for them. He glanced up again from his reading as someone entered the room, and smiled broadly. "Alanna! What a pleasant surprise!" Daine jumped up to greet her friend first, clinging to her in a long hug. She shot him a guilty glance as she released the knight and he realised she'd known all along who was coming. No wonder she'd fidgeted so. The mage snorted a soft laugh and stood up to kiss Alanna on the cheeks, welcoming her embrace.

The knight smiled, though there was a curious look in her violet eyes that was almost assessing. "Daine, do you mind if I have a word with Numair in private? It's just a magical matter."

Daine shrugged, and Numair could feel a knot of dread growing in his stomach as his student left the room, closing the door behind her. Why would Alanna want Daine out? Unless it was a serious matter. Had something happened? Something that could only be passed verbally, or physically? He braced himself for bad news, feeling his body tense in apprehension.

As soon as she had gone, the knight turned to him. "Numair, what's this?" Alanna handed him a small package, a grim expression on her face.

"Is it –" he broke off and waved his hand at her, a flash of glittering magic accompanying the movement.

"You tell me," she replied forbiddingly.

Expecting some strange and dangerous magical object, Numair opened it nervously, his Gift primed. Inside lay one of the most realistic portraits he had ever seen. It captured Daine from the determined glow in her eyes to the stubborn curl of her hair. He lifted his finger to gently touch the porcelain oval, intending to run his finger over its smooth surface and trace the line of her face before a sharp cough drew him back to reality.

He cursed under his breath and composed his face.

"Explain," Alanna said drily.

"It's for a focus," he told her, wrapping the disk up quickly before shoving it roughly into his belt purse.

"A focus?" she repeated. "You don't need a picture for a focus."

"No," he conceded. "But it makes it easier."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm no green mage, Numair, fresh into training. It's a completely unnecessary addition that has no effect on the working at all."

He cast around for an excuse. "It helps me to visualise," he told her weakly, trying not to wince at the lie as he carried on boldly. "I took the idea from the miniature that I gave Daine for Midwinter. Ozorne may use some of Daine's possessions that she lost in Carthak as a focus, so there may be a need to protect her quickly – or retaliate."

She folded her arms, her face set in her determined way. "So that's why you were looking as if you've just found the love of your life?"

Numair felt his face tighten and his hands clench. Before he could control his reaction or hope to conceal it though, she gasped. "You have, haven't you? You've fallen in love with Daine!"

"Not so loud!" he hissed. He didn't want the whole house knowing. Certainly not Daine.

"I notice your lack of denial," Alanna pointed out as she sent her Gift to seal the room. Numair made a face and began to walk back and forth across the floor. There was no point denying anything to her, and they both knew it. "I take it you haven't told her, then?"

"No," he agreed. "And you won't either."

"Far be it from me to spread rumours." She sat down, eyebrows raised, watching him as he paced. "So when did all this happen?"

Numair sighed. "At Midwinter."

"That long?" the Lioness exclaimed softly. Her voice would have sounded pitying if he'd allowed himself to think it.

He nodded grimly. "I tried to stop it, but I can't help feeling the way I do."

She tilted her head to one side, fiddling with the ember stone at her neck. "Numair, you can't stop love. If you feel it, then you feel it. It won't just go away at the blink of an eye." Suddenly, she laughed wryly. "Trust me, I know. I tried to stop being in love, and it doesn't work." The Lioness folded her arms and stared at him shrewdly. "What about that argument you had?"

"Which one?" he muttered before Alanna glared at him. "It was mostly my fault. I'm informed it was down to my propensity for hypocrisy and general irrationality."

She snorted. "That sounds about right. What happened? Do I need to hear much more than what Daine wrote to me?"

Numair frowned and shrugged. "Not really. There's not much to tell. I – I may have warned off one of her friends – suitors, I suppose – in the Own in a manner that she didn't deem at all necessary. I also –" he hesitated, not wanting to see her reaction to his next words. "I told her that Kaddar was only interested in seducing her, to stop moping about whilst her guard friend wasn't here, and that he was intent on sex."

Alanna raised her eyebrow. "Irrationality seems a bit of an understatement, doesn't it?" Numair didn't answer. "It's amazing what the mind can do to cover up what the heart wants, isn't it? You're quite sure it's genuine? Not just some fleeting fancy of yours?"

He nodded grimly as she considered him. He knew her approach towards love – that it wasn't something to be taken lightly – and that she had disapproved of his attitude to sex in the past, so he was almost relieved when she nodded finally at what she found.

Almost. "It's not right," he told her firmly.

"Who said love was ever right and fair?" She chuckled at the expression on his face. "Numair, there's no need to look so panicked. Let it run its course." She stood up to stop the man as he paced, catching his arms and holding them firmly. "You might be pleasantly surprised."

"I will not capitulate to these feelings, Alanna!"

"Is that what you think love is? Capitulation? Surrender?"

He changed tack. "What if it isn't? What if I'm mistaken?"

"If you are," she said deliberately, "you're more stupid than I thought."

He crossed his arms in annoyance. "Thanks ever so for your words of advice, Alanna. I'll remember to come to you next time I need to seek counsel upon matters of the heart."

She sighed heavily. "Moments ago you were convinced, Salmalín. Knowing you, you've probably spent the best part of the past few months deliberating over it." The Champion gestured towards his belt purse. "Especially if you had time to order a miniature from Volney Rain." She raised an eyebrow, her expression piercing. "If I didn't know you better, Numair, I'd say you were scared."

In the brief silence that ensued, they both knew that she had pinpointed one of the reasons he refused to tell Daine. Numair brushed past it, changing his approach again. "I'm her teacher!" he hissed.

Alanna shook her head. "And? You're also her friend." She led him to a chair and forced him to sit. Gently she placed one sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Tell her," she urged simply.

"No! I can't." He hated the pleading quality his voice had assumed. He swallowed heavily and tried to remember all the logical reasons he had compiled over the months since Midwinter. "She's my student. As her instructor it is my duty –"

"Numair, stop talking about your duty as a teacher," she said sharply, cutting him off. "Think about your duty to her as a friend. Wouldn't she want to know? What if she feels the same?"

Numair shook his head. "She won't. She can't. She already has someone she likes. She told me herself."

"And what if that's you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You haven't spent any time with her in months," he pointed out irritably. "What position does that put you in to predict her moods and feelings?"

"You're right," she replied, apparently unfazed by his outburst. "That's why you're in the best position to know."

"Sorry." He met her eyes, and he knew he couldn't hide the fear he felt as he whispered quietly, "I can't lose her friendship, Alanna, I just can't."

Alanna was silent for a moment, and Numair didn't think he liked her air of sympathy. Finally she stood, patting his shoulder gently. "And you won't." She crossed the room to the table and began to leaf through the book Numair had been reading when she arrived. "She's pretty," the woman commented softly as she flicked pages.

"She is," Numair nodded, tensing in his seat. He should've known Alanna wouldn't have allowed a change in subject so quickly. Persistence was one of her virtues, or failings, depending on whether you were on the receiving end of it.

"Not in the conventional way, but she is very pretty."

Numair snorted. "Nothing about Daine is conventional."

"No," she agreed, nodding her head slowly. "But I'm sure that's part of the attraction."

Numair knew prying when he heard it. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

"She'll have no problems finding a husband either, looking as she does," Alanna said quietly, glancing up at him. "I've seen more than a few men at Court give her a second glance."

"Don't you think I know that?" he hissed.

Violet eyes studied him closely. "Very easily."

Numair wondered exactly what kind of reaction Alanna was trying to push him into, or conclusion to leap to. "I don't need reminded of that, Alanna. I've seen them too; even half the men here. I –" he broke off and sighed. There was little point discussing it, he decided. He would only torment himself more, and in the process gain even more pity from his old friend. "How's the injury coming along?" he tried eventually.

Automatically, Alanna clasped her hands behind her back and pulled upwards, wincing at the crack of muscles. "It's getting there," she replied. "I don't heal nearly as well as I used to. Anyway, don't change the subject."

The mage scowled. He hadn't expected it to work anyway.

Alanna pushed on. "What if she does find someone else? What will you do then? Just sit back?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "No. I don't know. I couldn't." He sighed. "I'm not ready to lose her to some gallant knight or some such yet. It's been hard enough to adjust to this – new development."

Alanna nodded consolingly. "Numair, if you told her all this, you might not have this problem."

He shook his head vehemently. "No. If I told her –" he broke off, searching for the words. "If I told her," he began again, "she might feel obliged to stay with me, because she might want to save me pain. She's such a loyal friend, she might sacrifice her own happiness for someone she cares enough about. She might trap herself into something unwillingly because she has some feeling of debt to me, or loyalty owed, because I've been her teacher all these years." He shook his head once more. "And I think it would hurt more to know she was doing that for my sake than it would to see her find happiness with someone else."

"Do you think she would?"

"She has very strong ideas of loyalty," he pointed out.

"Surely that's a good thing."

He made a face. "This is the problem with discussing loyalty with knights and their oaths. She's loyal to a fault. It isn't always good, Alanna. Especially when it involves sacrificing love and lifelong happiness for the sake of a friend."

"And she'd sacrifice her life for you. She's shown that already," the knight pointed out.

Numair nodded grimly. He was silent for a while, before reaching down to run his fingers over the scars at the top of his shin. "I can't threaten each of her suitors away either," he said practically. "So a young, gallant husband for her it is."

Alanna slapped his hand away. "Leave them be. She won't find one immediately, you know, Numair."

He shook his head. "She won't. She doesn't want to – she even told me as much. The Great Mother grant me that wish, for now, at least. Can we – can we talk about something else, please? How are George and the children? Is Aly still intent on becoming a spy?"

Now it was the knight's turn to sigh and shake her head despairingly. Seeing her reaction, Numair allowed some of the tension in his shoulders to dissipate. "I swear that girl is set on sending us both to an early grave. And George is no better, encouraging her as he does. Last week, he took her to meet one of his Carthaki agents in Pearlmouth, which ended in a scuffle with some Tyran merchants who blamed the Carthaki for their lack of trade recently, and them having to fight their way out. It's lucky they haven't made it back yet, because I have a thing or two to say to my dear husband, and none of them are 'welcome home'."

Two days after Alanna's brief and, as far as Daine was concerned, unexplained visit, the young woman was woken by the pounding of war drums in the air. The house ate breakfast in silence, the noise becoming gradually more and more oppressive. Finally Abigail got to her feet, beginning to clear the plates from the table.

"Look at us, sitting here working ourselves into a panic," she laughed nervously. "It's not as if we're not safe under here."

Daine and Numair exchanged glances as Ùisdean responded, his normally calm voice angry. "Perhaps it's because we're worried about what will come and what happens already. Perhaps it's because we're scared for our family and friends."

"Do you think I don't have family out there that I worry about?" Abigail retorted, her voice an angry hiss.

"Then why joke about it?" the soldier demanded.

"Because sitting here fretting is going to do us no good at all!"

That afternoon, the sound of wagons rolling in and out of the city increased. The streets seemed to fill with people who were rushing about their business; many passed with arms filled with food supplies. Squads of soldiers patrolled the streets, and the sound of marching feet and hooves was almost constant. The hive of activity outside the building made the quietness inside it seem all the less bearable to Daine.

"They must have made further inroads," Numair murmured to her when Kaddar left them alone for a moment.

"Maybe they've just mobilised another regiment," she said hopefully, although she knew that wasn't the case.

Numair's raised eyebrows indicated that he knew it too. "Troops must be spread throughout the countryside now, for them to be using the drums. I wish I knew what they meant!"

"What do you think –" She broke off as Kaddar came back in.

"Are you ready to go on?" Numair asked the Prince smoothly.

Kaddar nodded. "Where are we? Ogres next?"

The anxious mood of the house turned into increased frustration as the week continued. She and Numair were both chomping at the bit, even more impatient to get out of Golden Wood and into the field. All day they could hear the wagons rolling, the soldiers marching, the cheers of crowds as they watched the brave young men and women leave the capital to defend their homeland. Trumpet calls and their answers joined the drums, and the screeches of message birds flying to and from the Palace drifted past in the spring breeze. The rest of Tortall was preparing for war, and they were just… sitting. Static. Stagnant.

Never had Daine felt more useless, and never had she seen Numair more agitated. Much of the time, the mage could be found by the window in his room overlooking the street, reading and fidgeting, his attention focused on watching the road for signs of movement; for messengers, she supposed. He dedicated most of his time, however, to drilling her and Kaddar endlessly on different types of immortals, their strengths, their weaknesses, even their previously known alliances. Kaddar received practical lessons too, practicing defensive shields and attacking spells. Many times, the men of the Own joined them for their lessons. Their combined knowledge of field medicine was refreshed, and, strangely for Numair, discussions on battle tactics held. Even stranger, Numair had taken to reading the works of military strategists, fidgeting anxiously as he did so. Daine had considered stopping him – he seemed simply to be agitating himself more each time – and had even 'misplaced' one or two of the volumes in the study, but she knew that he was just trying to prepare himself for what was to come; trying to prepare her. Time and time again, he stressed what she was to do if they became separated, if one of them was injured, if one of them - expressly him, in his lessons – died. He reiterated his plea to her, and she her response.

"You mustn't linger, Daine. If I'm dead, then I'm gone. It won't be a simulacrum; it won't be like Carthak when I can come back, unless I tell you otherwise. If anything happens to me, I don't care what, you must run. Get to safety rather than try and come back for me. You must promise me."

"Only if you'll do the same for me."

The mood amongst the Own was similar. They talked of friends in other squads leaving to fight in the war, the Riders and Regulars that they knew. They spoke in hushed voices about the Kraken, cleaning and polishing their unused weapons. At dawn, the house would wake to the shouts and ringing clangs of weapons training in the courtyard. Slowly but surely, the mass recruitment that the Own had done began to show itself in the house as the more experienced and trusted soldiers were posted out to the field. There was one rotation where Daine hadn't known a single guard, and of Ùisdean's squad, only he, Lachann, and two others remained. The rest were all relative newcomers, though she recognised some of their family names as those of prominent merchants or minor nobles.

News of the war itself had almost petered out all together, and they received little word from the Palace. Abigail began to take more frequent trips to the market to discover what she could amongst the traders and old friends in the Rogue. There was word of an uprising here, a Stormwing attack there, plague in the south, then the east, and then none at all. The Own had won a battle on the border and prevented a Carthaki invasion through Tyra, then Carthaki regiments had been spotted on the Great Road East. Stories changed from one person to another, and eventually Daine stopped listening to them; they only made her more worried, more frustrated, and news of actual events muddled and confused. News of injuries and fatalities began to filter through as well, making events all the more distressing. The Seventh Riders had lost one, Third Company had lost fifteen in a battle against winged apes, and one battalion of infantry had been decimated by a combined force of Stormwings, hurroks and centaurs. And then came the worst news of all: Port Legann had fallen.

Surrounded on sea and on land, Carthaki agents had entered in the guise of a food wagon coming through the one remaining open gate. Somehow, their horses had become untethered, and the portcullis had, by some means, been closed with the cart underneath it. Left open, the enemy forces outside had managed to breach the gate and overrun the town and castle. Quartered inside were a few regiments of the Own, two Rider groups and a small detachment of infantry; their fate was unknown, and war was officially declared.

Daine had a sick, nervous feeling in her gut; one that had been present since she decided she would ask him this in the middle of last night. They were alone, for what felt like the first time in days. The sun had long since set, and the study was lit only by a few candles and a mage globe, hung low over the table. "Numair," she said slowly.

He glanced up at her, giving her a small smile.

She tried to ignore the sudden thrill in her stomach; it did very little to help with her current nausea. "Can I ask you something?"

He placed his quill carefully on the paper, ensuring the ink would not mark his work, and pushed it away. "Of course."

Daine took a deep breath, and made sure to ask her question slowly and clearly, forcing it out before she could stop herself. She didn't think she could repeat it. "What's your favourite type of tree?"

He tilted his head in contemplation, and Daine knew he was actually considering the question. She could see when the sudden understanding hit him; he jolted his head back and his mouth opened slightly.

She felt coldness flush through her as she waited for a response.

"Are you sure you want to ask that question, Daine?"

There was something impelling in his eyes that she knew was asking her to be sure, and something else she couldn't quite make out.

"As I can be," she answered.

He hesitated. "I'm not sure it's suitable for me to answer that." He leaned back in his chair, one hand pulling his nose. Daine knew he was thinking hard, although she wasn't sure she wanted an academic, well thought-out answer to this particular question. "It's not suitable for so many reasons, and I'm not sure I deserve to be asked. Not by you."

His response took her by surprise. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn't that. "You don't 'deserve' to be asked? By me?"

His hand hovered on the tip of his nose. "Not really, no."

Daine could feel confusing growing inside her even as she felt dread flowing hotly through her icy veins. "Why?"

He grimaced. "I don't think we should be having this discussion, Daine." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I really am."

Daine broke eye contact with him, staring intently at her book instead. She pulled it closer to her and tried to focus on the text and hand-written notes. She heard Numair sigh once more, and the scratch of his quill began again. After a few moments of silence, he quietly said, "I quite like the Rowan myself. Especially at Beltane when it's flowering. It is the apple tree, however, that provides my favourite fruit."

Growing up the life she had, Daine knew her plant lore well. Rowan, a sacred tree, to protect, which decorated houses at every major festival, "especially at Beltane," he'd said, his possible allusion to which did not escape her notice, and apples, the fruit not only used to predict future loves, but to indicate interest in another. She could swear she was blushing to the ends of her hair, and the letters in front of her swam before her eyes, but his writing never faltered.

"Have you finished the section on wyverns yet?"

She scattered sand over her notes as he spoke. "Done," she smiled tentatively at him.

He glanced up at her, his face colouring as he met her eyes, and looked back down at his page immediately. "I think you should call it a night then."

He didn't want to talk to her? He didn't want to confirm or deny her thoughts?

"Right," she said, her throat tightening, as she stood. "I'll see you in the morning then?"

"Good night, Daine," he said softly. As she reached the door, he called, "Daine." She stopped suddenly, all too aware of her heart pounding in her chest. "Sleep well, magelet."

He hadn't even turned to look at her. "You too." She hurried out of the room before she lost all control of her emotions. She clearly had of her head.

It was a troubled sleep Numair had that night, his head still reeling from Daine's question. Did she honestly mean… Could she? For a moment, he'd allow himself to sink into the fantasies that had filled his mind for months, until he would become convinced that he had imagined it all. He drifted in and out of sleep, thoroughly occupied by the situation that had presented itself into the evening. If he noticed any more movement throughout the house than was usual for the middle of the night, he assumed the guards were restless, and even permitted himself to entertain the thought that Daine could be just as preoccupied as he.

Shortly before dawn, he heard a soft scrabbling in the hall. Assuming it was Abigail, up for the morning already, or the guards changing shifts, he thought nothing of it, instead stretching and then shuffling for a second until he was comfortable again.

He woke up when something very sharp and very cold pressed against his throat.

"Wakey-wakey, Salmalín," a sneering voice instructed.

Eyes taking a moment to focus, he took a sharp breath. The one who had spoken was a mage, who Numair knew had been in the house for little more than a week. The other, the one holding the knife…

"Lachann."

Lachann shifted uncomfortably, the knife pressing closer against Numair's throat. "Get up," he ordered, his voice less than convincing.

Where his tone failed though, the dagger succeeded. Numair sat up slowly, incredibly aware of the sharp itch against his neck. "What do you want?" He was aware of his heart thumping in his chest, and blood rushing past his ears, but tried as much as he could to remain calm. Overriding almost all this, though, was shock. He hadn't liked Lachann, and yet he hadn't expected this. He thought it was simply because of his closeness with Daine that he disliked the man.

The mage was far more forceful than the young soldier's. "Take the shield down." He gestured at Lachann, who pressed the knife so tightly to his throat that Numair felt the skin tear. "Don't try anything, because my friend Lachann here will kill you before you can utter a word."

"I won't." Numair put enough of a tremor into his voice to make it believable, and, instead of suppressing nervous shaking, let it show through instead. If this mage had anything to do with Ozorne, he would've been told that Numair wasn't capable of much defensive magic anyway, and it would only be to his advantage to let his assailants believe it.

As he stood, he racked his brains for information on the mage. When he asked the man about his training last week, he had been told that he was a northerner who, like Numair, had studied at the Imperial University in Carthak. Kaddar had, of course, recognised him, which Numair now realised was simply a convenient corroboration of his story. Not liking the Emperor's stance towards the north, he had left before the peace conference and returned to his home country of Tortall without completing his mastery. Joining the Own six months ago as a competent war mage as much as a soldier, he had been delighted at the prospect of guarding the famed Master Salmalín himself, and looked forward to learning from him at every possible opportunity. Or so he'd told Numair, anyway.

Now he cursed himself for every kind of naïve fool. Maybe Ozorne was right; perhaps he was too trusting, too passionate about magic to allow himself a moment's thought. The minute he was provided with the prospect of sharing knowledge and learning more, he forgot Rikash's warnings and allowed himself to be swept along in his own enthusiasm. He had fallen straight into Ozorne's trap. Worse, he'd let his jealousy of Lachann to prevent him from truly assessing the soldier.

The strange mage was distracted. "What's this?" Before waiting for an answer, he wandered over to Numair's table. The scrolls Numair had been reading the night before were still there. "You have Thangi's Shield spells?" he asked incredulously. "The shield that can't be counteracted?" Then his face broke into a grin. "My Emperor will reward me finely when I present him with this. You won't be able to break through any of our defences. We could protect the entire army, and attack from inside it."

Numair tried not to acknowledge the nauseous feeling in his stomach at the thought of the risk that would bring to the Tortallan armies. He wouldn't have to worry about that, because the mage wouldn't be getting out to take them to Ozorne. He needed to think clearly, to make a plan, not to panic. "Can you take the knife away, please? Think how disastrous it would be to have gone to all this effort, only to accidentally kill the only mage capable of removing this shield. And you know that I am, because I explained the theory of it to you only yesterday." Fool, he levelled at himself again.

The Carthaki made an impatient gesture, and returned to reading the scrolls. Lachann lowered the dagger warily, allowing Numair to move again.

Standing over the model of the house, black, sparkling Gift flowed around Numair's hands. Once again, Lachann pressed the blade to his neck. It dug into the base of his throat. Numair tried not to swallow too deeply. The young soldier looked uncertain and nervous; it clearly wasn't him that was in charge.

"Daine told me about your family," he murmured.

He could feel the man shaking next to him. Numair prayed to Mithros, the Goddess, to anyone who'd listen that it wasn't anger. Please let it be fear. Let it be regret. "I don't see what that has to do with it."

"She told me how much you love them. She told me that you'd do anything to protect them."

The soldier hesitated for a moment. "I wouldn't hurt her. Not if I could avoid it."

His stomach clenched. "Please tell me –" he broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to concentrate on the matter at hand; as much as it pained him, Daine wasn't it. The Carthaki was still engaged in his find, making delighted noises as he uncovered more. The mage decided not to think about what information and magic he could find in there. "You don't have to do this, Lachann."

The man gave a soft, desperate laugh. "Do you think, if I had any other choice, I would be?"

Numair made a few meaningless gestures with his hands over the model, his voice a quiet murmur that could easily have been the words of a spell. "We can find a way to protect you; just put an end to this now."

"It's too late!" came the hissed reply. "Daine told me what it was like for you, on the run from Ozorne for years. Or what else? Would I stay locked in a little house like this one, unable to leave? The King might as well put me in a cell and leave me there!"

The crescendo of his voice roused the strange mage from his reading. "What are you talking about?" he enquired suspiciously.

"Your accomplice here is reminding me of my disabilities and the many activities that I am incapable of doing."

The knife pressed closer into his throat and Numair winced. "Hurry up, you cursed mage," Lachann growled loudly. "The sooner you're finished, the sooner we can get on to your lovely student upstairs."

Hope surged in Numair's chest. Daine was, so far, safe. "Are you certain?" he whispered.

"My father's land will be sown with salt for his traitorous son. My brothers will be mocked and forever under suspicion, for something that was my mistake and not theirs. What option do I have but death?"

Numair hesitated, his hands faltering in drawing their pretend runes. "I'll speak for your family."

The knife at his neck shook. "Thank you."

"Hurry up, Salmalín." A hand tinged with yellow Gift clamped firmly on his shoulder. Heat emanated from it, but Numair couldn't shift from under it without risking impaling himself on the knife in front of him. It was only so long before the pain began to burn, and he knew he would have very little option. "Now, Salmalín."

The knife at his throat pressed sharply, the stinging intense. "Do it," came Lachann's steady command.