Chapter 36

Randor looked up at the sound of Adam's voice raised slightly in distress. He saw that his son had his arm around Mekanek's shoulder, and they both seemed to be crying. Duncan faltered to a stop in his explanation of the issue that Jenkins was concerned about, and looked over his shoulder to follow the direction of the king's gaze.

Marlena put a hand on Randor's knee and tapped Duncan on the hand. "We were discussing the guild conflict." He looked over at her and gestured with his eyes toward Adam and Mekanek. "They seem to be fine, Randor," she said more quietly. "Let's continue our conversation."

He nodded, and Duncan took up the thread again, but Randor kept an eye on the pair at the table. At first it seemed as though Adam were comforting Mekanek, but gradually, the master put his arms around the boy and held him. Adam buried his face on his friend's chest, and Mekanek made soothing noises.

"Randor?" Duncan said. "What do you think?"

The king looked over at his man-at-arms, startled. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying much attention."

"I think Jenkins has the right of it," Marlena said, squeezing her husband's knee. "I think we can safely leave it up to him."

"Well, whatever Marlena thinks is bound to be right," Randor said, looking back over at his son. He dimly heard the other two wrapping up the issue in terms that would satisfy Jenkins. Randor tried to pay attention, but he was so worried about Adam that he found it impossible. What had Mekanek said? What had Adam said?

Duncan touched his arm, and he jumped. "What?"

His friend blinked at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just distracted," Randor said. "After the attack last night and this morning, I have difficulty not worrying about Adam."

"What happened this morning?" Duncan asked.

Randor sighed. "He asked for weapons to enable him to protect himself. Specifically he asked for his sword."

"And you said no." It wasn't a question, but Randor answered anyway.

"After two suicide attempts, I can't in good conscience allow him any weapon," he said. Duncan nodded, and Randor closed his eyes. "Besides, I don't want him engaging in any kind of battle with someone whose goal is to capture him. I hate to think what would have happened if Adam had rushed Skeletor last night as he seems to think he should have."

Both of the others stared at him in shocked horror. "Rushed him?" Marlena repeated, her face white.

"By the Elders . . ." Duncan shook his head. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that if he's ever in a position of confronting Skeletor head on like that, he should flee immediately. No stopping and trying to do battle." Randor shuddered. "If Skeletor had gotten his hands on him last night, all he'd have had to do was leave and he'd have had what he wanted in the first place."

No one said anything for a long moment, then Duncan cleared his throat. "I agree," he said. "It will not come easily to him to run, however."

Randor gave him a startled look. Adam runs from nearly every battle, he though perplexedly. There is something more here that I do not know . . .

"Regardless, he must," Marlena said. "For we can't permit him weapons –"

"Edged weapons," Dorgan said, walking up and sitting down. "You can't permit him edged weapons. I doubt he'd try to kill himself with a club."

"True," Marlena said dubiously. "But we really do need to encourage him to run."

"I know that," Dorgan replied irritably. "But the boy will fight if he thinks someone else will be hurt if he doesn't, or if he's cornered. Last night, if Marlena had been in the bedroom with you two, it –"

Marlena let out a sound of dismay. "You're right," she said. "I've been glad all day that I fell asleep in the sitting room. If I had been coming from the direction of the bed, I have a feeling things would might worked out quite differently." She shook her head. "I hate to think what would have happened if I hadn't taken him so much by surprise."

"Well, if he'd taken you out as well," Dorgan said, "I would not have been in time to stop him. And Adam –"

"Adam was rummaging in my armor and weapons," Randor said. "He wasn't going to run."

"But if he'd run," Duncan said, "if he'd run, there might have been other problems, because they managed to lower the drawbridge."

"And the conditioning agent –" Dorgan shook his head. "If he'd fled, leaving both his parents helpless and vulnerable to whatever Skeletor might choose to do . . . what would that have done to him?"

"I –" Randor shook his head. "I don't know."

"It would have killed him," Duncan said very quietly. Randor cast a quick glance toward Adam and Mekanek, who seemed to be very focused on their own conversation. "If he left either of you in that state, he wouldn't be able to cope with himself afterwards, no matter whether you had told him to do it or not."

"Then what do we do?" Marlena asked. "I don't want him closing with Skeletor."

"A staff," Duncan said. "I will give him a staff, like Teela's. That will permit him to fight, but it doesn't require him to close with his opponent." Randor started to shake his head – that was still far too close for comfort – but Duncan grimaced at him. "He won't leave you, Randor. He won't, and it's no good you telling him to. He will need a weapon to protect himself should such an eventuality arise."

Randor felt his wife take his hand and squeeze. "Very well," he said. "You're quite right."

"I don't have anything with me," Duncan said. He pursed his lips. "And I must ask permission to take someone off their usual duty to come here and visit with Adam."

"Who?" Randor asked curiously.

"Raon," Man-at-Arms said. "I thought it might be a good thing for him to have some time off from what he's doing, and I also thought it might be good for Adam to have someone his own age to visit with, someone who knows exactly what he's been through."

"That's a good thought, Duncan," Randor said. "It would no doubt be good for both of them."

Marlena shook her head. "I think we'd better let Raon tell Adam what happened to him, though, or tell him ourselves. Raon will not be able to have a pleasant day with Adam if he's still having to keep that a secret."

Duncan nodded. "And the reasons for keeping it a secret from the boy are no longer relevant since he knows he's a well and he knows that's why Skeletor wants him." He looked into Randor's eyes. "Do you want me to tell him that Adam will already know when he gets here?"

Randor exchanged a look with Marlena, then glanced at Dorgan. "I think that's probably a good idea," he said. "I'll tell him tonight."

They were silent again, and then Duncan stood up. "Well, I think Mek and I had better be heading back."

Looking over his shoulder, Randor saw that Adam and Mekanek had broken apart and were now talking quietly. He stood as well and they walked over to the table. Both Mekanek and Adam stood as they approached, and Adam gave him a hug.

"Thanks for coming, Mek," he said. "You've given me a lot to think about."

"Anytime, Adam," the older man said, resting a hand on the prince's shoulder. "I'm not kidding when I say that you matter a whole lot to a lot of people."

Adam flushed, but he nodded before he looked down at his feet. As Mekanek walked away, Randor put his arm around his son's shoulders. Adam leaned in against his side and watched the others leave.

Jeclarren finished his push ups and stood up, catching up a towel and wiping his neck with it. Locked into this small space he might be, but he wasn't going to lose his strength if he could help it. Sanviro was still asleep, and Jeclarren suspected that his friend was seeking the only refuge left to either of them. He had his back to the door as he wet the towel and started to wipe his face down with it, so he didn't realize he had an audience until she spoke.

"Very nice." His shoulders tensed as his hands clenched into fists. He leaned against the counter where the sink was and closed his eyes. "Very nice indeed," she said, her voice a caress. He could guess what she meant. With only one set of clothes, he had not wanted to exercise in them, so he had stripped down to his shorts, forgetting that she could peek in on them at any time she chose.

He turned, wondering just how long she'd been there as he'd exercised, his back to the door. He could imagine her standing there for quite awhile, enjoying the movement of his body, and the thought made him feel ill.

"Good morning, sweet thing," she said. "I see your fellow is yet abed. I don't suppose you know how to cook?"

Blinking, Jeclarren opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, "Cook?"

"Yes," she said with exaggerated patience. "Cook. The art of putting raw ingredients together in a manner pleasing to the palate."

He swallowed. "I know how to cook a little, though not anything fancy. I've taken care of myself most of my life."

"And very good care you've taken," she said, eyeing his form.

He looked away from those avid eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't looking at him. She's mad, she has to be. And mad people make mistakes. This isn't forever.

"Dress yourself and come to the door," she said, her voice suddenly all business.

After a moment of internal struggle, he followed her instructions. Don't anger her. She has control for now. He walked over to the door and waited.

"Hold your hands out."

He lifted his wrists to the window and waited as calmly as he could while she caused the rope to snake inward and bind him. Once he was bound, she led him out of the cell and across the room just outside it, heading on into that hallway down which she'd led him to fetch the games and books and furniture.

"What can you cook?" she asked. "Breakfast foods for now."

"I . . ." He shook his head, more than a little bewildered by these questions. "Eggs, bacon, porridge. Very simple, basic stuff."

"Well, I have the makings for such," she said. "The supplies were laid in over a century ago, but we have eaten all the prepared food that was left behind."

"The food we've been eating is more than a hundred years old?" Jeclarren asked, mildy stunned.

"It has been in stasis," she replied off-handedly. "I have pulled out some staples from the stores. Make breakfast for three."

The door she opened led into a room that was clearly a kitchen. It was a large room, obviously meant for comfort as well as utility. There was a table that could seat six or eight men, and a large stove on the wall opposite the door. On the table were papers, a book and a strange piece of apparatus that he didn't really understand.

She led him across the room to the stove and dropped his hands. "This is the cold store," she said, opening a cupboard that allowed icy chill to wash into the room. Closing it again, she opened another said, "This is where I put the dry staples." He nodded. "And the dishes are in here."

When she had shown him where to find things, she turned to him and looked up into his eyes. "I expect that you probably view this as an opportunity of some kind, for escape, for mayhem against me, but it is not." He could feel a muscle twitching in his jaw, but he remained silent. She reached up and stroked down the line of his jaw, and he forced himself not to pull away. "You are not the first young man to be brought into my service, and you will not be the last. Your position in my household depends greatly on your abilities, which have yet to be tested. But all of my young men have duties apart from the ones that you and Sanviro have been fulfilling thus far."

"Those are duties?" he asked involuntarily.

"Does that disturb you, sweet thing?" she asked. "You are at my service, Jeclarren. Whatever I need of you, you will do. Being my bed partner is no small part of your role, but it is not by any means the only task I have needing done."

He glanced aside from her, not liking that some part of him wanted to agree with her and go along with whatever she asked. What's wrong with me? She dropped her hand from his cheek to his shoulder, the movement calling his attention back to her face.

"Obedience is not so very hard, and isolation is difficult to bear. I have used it as a tool when necessary in the past, and I have seen its results." Her expression was serious and he believed what she said. "It is not pretty, but it is most effective." Her fingers strayed to the bare skin of his neck and he closed his eyes, wishing her gone. "Additionally, if you force me to inflict it upon you, it will fall harder on Sanviro than upon you, for he will not know why it has happened nor whether you will be coming back."

She paused, clearly waiting for some sort of response. He forced the words out past the constriction in the muscles of his throat. "I understand."

"Good," she said, leaning up and kissing him lightly on the lips. He pulled away then, without intending to, but she ignored the movement. "Then, it is time for you to make breakfast." She turned and walked over to the table where she settled down with whatever task she had set herself. Pointing at him, she released the rope bonds from his wrists. As he turned toward the stove and the food cupboards, she spoke again. "Oh, and if you were contemplating killing me, I would not recommend trying." He froze. It was almost as if she had read his thoughts. "You would find it harder than you imagine, and you would not like the consequences of your inevitable failure."

After a few moments, he managed to get himself moving again, and began evaluating his ingredients. As he prepared a simple meal, he tried to remember how many days it had been since they'd been imprisoned by this surprisingly lucid lunatic. It was difficult, for the days had no real markers to them. Each day was much the same as all the rest, and he thought the drugs had some kind of effect on his ability to think clearly. It had been at least a week, though, he thought.

He wondered if anyone was looking for Sanviro. He had family, even if adopted, and people who cared about him. Not that it was likely that anyone in Yalin had the resources to mount the kind of search it would take to find them, but there might yet be people searching for the boy. Whereas his own associates probably simply thought that the itinerant carpenter had elected to move on in search of greener pastures. What they would think when they found his room with all his clothing and tools still there, he didn't know, but it was unlikely anyone would spare him a thought beyond the selling of his belongings to pay for his lodgings.

She muttered as she worked, but he paid little attention, lost in his own miserable thoughts. When he finished making breakfast, he turned and wondered if he should speak. His very stillness must have attracted her attention, for she looked up after a moment and smiled. "Is it ready?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. "Excellent. Please, sit down," she said, gesturing toward a chair. Gulping, he sat, and she magicked restraints around his ankles, binding him to the chair. She then placed one of the plates he'd prepared in front of him with flatware and another bottle of cider. Taking up a tray, she took a similar meal out of the room, presumably to Sanviro.

Jeclarren pushed himself out from the table and bent to his legs to see if he could free himself, but this wasn't rope. It was some kind of energy, and when he touched his hands to it, he felt a strange tingling. Frustrated, he turned his attention to his plate and ate his breakfast. Neither escape nor the murder of their captor would be a possibility if he failed to keep himself fed.

She returned within moments, collected her own plate and settled down to eat. He was mildly surprised that she had fed them first. She had very much struck him as the sort to worry first about herself and leave others as seconds. Maybe she cares more than she shows, suggested a treacherous part of his mind. He set his teeth firmly. Or maybe she wants me to think that. Or maybe she just wasn't hungry yet.

When he had finished, he sat quietly, waiting for further instruction. He didn't particularly want to draw her attention to him by speaking, and he had nothing else to do. She looked up after a few moments and gestured. The bonds on his ankles vanished. "Now, make something for lunch and dinner. I have a way of storing it so that it will be fresh when the time comes." He nodded, and she reached out and touched his hand. He met her eyes automatically. "And you won't be up to cooking it later."

He pulled his hand away and rubbed it, then returned to the cupboards. Searching out foods, he started cooking again. Is there anyone who would actually like this? To whom this would seem a blessing? He shook his head and tried not to think too hard. The self-pity he'd indulged in earlier seemed stupid and pointless, and he wanted to avoid it. For one thing, self-pity led too easily into despair, and in despair he feared Daviona's efforts would take sure root.

He was chopping up some sausage to use in a casserole when he missed and the knife sliced his finger. Or rather, it should have sliced his finger, but the blade, which had passed easily through the tough skin of the sausage, slid off his finger without making the smallest impression. Looking back warily, he saw that Daviona was focused on her own work, so he made a quick test of his discovery. Laying the blade against his finger, he tried to slice through the skin, and once again, it failed to cut. It felt as if he were pressing something smooth and not at all sharp against his skin.

He had wondered, when he saw the knives, why she had been so rash as to give him access to weapons, but if the blades would not cut human skin, they were no more than blunt objects. Sighing, he returned to cutting sausage and trying to keep his mind empty of thought.

She had started muttering again, but now that his own thoughts weren't preventing him from hearing them, her words penetrated and made sense.

"I could halve the time any of these wretched spells would take if I only had Adam!"

Adam? Adam who? Jeclarren kept working, now slicing tomatoes.

"But of course, I need to do these spells to secure Adam. It's a vicious circle." He worked and kept his ears open, realizing that he should have done that before. Who knew what he might have learned if he'd been paying attention earlier. "Damn, I'm going to run short of ogroba root before long," she said. "And going out isn't the best of options just now. Not with this bloody search."

Search? I was right! Someone is looking for her. He truly hoped she wouldn't notice that his attention was now focused on her, though it wasn't as if he could do anything with the knowledge he gained this way.

"Six drams of . . ." He heard a scratching sound that suggested she was writing as her words tapered off. "And four pints of caflianc. That should be enough till I can risk a supply run." He heard her flip through pages. "When the time comes, Randor is going to discover whole new worlds of pain. I've been meaning to explore that more thoroughly, and he will make a perfect test subject."

Jeclarren froze briefly, then forced himself not to behave stupidly, dropping the cut tomatoes into a bowl and reaching for a couple of tubers. Randor? Could . . . the combination of those two names . . . she couldn't mean Prince Adam, could she? He shook his head. Probably no connection. It's not as if either of those names is all that uncommon.

"I need more sources of power," she muttered. "But I daren't go and fetch them. The Ancients only know how far those rumors the king's men are spreading about me have reached at this point. All I need is for some idiot boy to announce that I'm a plague bearer loudly in a tavern somewhere."

Jeclarren managed to conceal his reaction better this time, but now it was definite. She was talking about the king, and that meant she was talking about the prince. How old is the prince again? And why would she want him in particular? He'd be an awfully dangerous person to abduct, I would think. And what has she got planned that would enable her to introduce the king to 'whole new worlds of pain'? None of it made sense.

"Once I have Adam back, though, once he is bound to me, I will no longer have to worry about such petty concerns as Randor or Skeletor."

Petty concerns? Jeclarren mixed the meat and vegetables together and buried them under a layer of cheese, then opened the oven and placed the pot inside, then started work on an evening meal. The king and the master of Snake Mountain are 'petty'? What in the hell . . . ?

After seasoning them with salt and pepper, he put three cuts of meat with three potatoes in the oven next to the casserole and prepared a salad of greens for their dinner. As he began to cut the vegetables for the salad, part of what she had said sunk in. Once she has Adam back? When did she have him before? She had him before . . .

And it all fell into place. The search was for a woman who had held the prince captive. And if Daviona had ever had hold of a young man, Jeclarren would lay odds that she'd . . . used him, the way she was using both him and Sanviro, and he was sure that the prince was pretty young. He found himself shaking with suppressed rage at the thought of some fifteen-year-old boy in her clutches.

For awhile after that her muttering was completely meaningless to him, references to magic, he thought, but not to anything he recognized. He cleaned up the tools he had used, and the plates he and Daviona had eaten off of while he waited for the food to cook. Then he started looking through the cupboards and wondered how much cooking he was going to wind up doing.

By the time the casserole was done, however, her thoughts had clearly wound around to her future plans again. "I must have Adam's power. With that, I will be able to achieve anything I desire." Jeclarren set the casserole down on the top of the stove and carefully closed the oven. Dinner was already tucked away in the cupboard, so he opened the door again and placed the final dish within. She was paying him no heed as he worked. He put his hands flat on the countertop and closed his eyes, willing himself not to imagine some poor, undoubtedly sheltered child in this woman's grasp. What power could she mean? If she wanted political power, the king would be a better choice, surely. And what did Skeletor have to do with anything?

Unaware of his thoughts or his questions, Daviona continued speaking. "He is mine, and I will have him!"

Over my dead body.

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