Hi Everyone! So, this is the last chapter of part one, and I want to thank everyone for reading my story. I plan to start posting the second part, A Season in Hell, in early October. If you're interested in specific dates for that, shoot me a message on here and I'd be happy to let you know the day before I release it. Thanks again! I hope you all enjoyed it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"A brilliant idea, my lord." Likud moved from the corner of the room, eyes glowing with excitement. "Finally, an end to the prattling and whining of the Bards. Let us end the reign of their insufferable Light on this world."

"A new era," agreed the Nameless One wistfully. "An era of fire and shadow stretching forth for a thousand thousand years. The very history of the Bards will be forgotten in the Silence, not even a memory of their lives shall remain."

Nelac was shaking his head. "You can't destroy the Speech, Sharma, for even you draw your power from it. The Song is-"

"You know nothing of the Song, old man," spat the Nameless One with a vehemence that shocked the room. "You could not begin to understand its power. The Song is eternal, the Speech will die."

"But the Balance!" Nelac persisted.

"Curse your Balance!" Sharma snarled. "There is no Balance, there is only power. Shall we match the power of the Bards against mine?" He gestured to the dark pool in the center of the room. "Would you like to see Lirigon? Innail? Turbansk? Would you see how the Light faired against my power?"

The Bards stared up at the Nameless One aghast, unable to comprehend what he had said. The Speech was the Gift of the Bards, their nature, their biology. To destroy it would be to rip away an integral part of their being. Was a Bard truly a Bard without the Speech? Could a Bard live once it had been taken from them?

Vaclal found his voice, though it shook with anger. "What good will we be to you if you take the Speech? Bards will make poor slaves if they cannot cast charms for you."

"I did not let your people live because I expected them to make good slaves. In my experience, your people wither like reeds under my dominion. No, I let them live because it amuses me to see them miserable."

Vaclal hissed under his breath. "You will kill them all."

"Slowly, I hope."

"You have no idea what it will do to the world," Cadvan said in a dangerously soft voice. "You think it will destroy us, but who knows what else you might do. You will upset the balance of all things."

"How exceptionally arrogant you are, Cadvan, to assume that the Speech matters to all living things. Did the plants and animals not exist before your ancestors came to this land? Was the world not alive before your people brought the Speech? The world just wasn't suitable to creatures such as yourselves until the Speech came."

Sharma was, Maerad thought bitterly, right in some ways. The Bards brought the Speech with them to Edil-Amarandh, but this place existed long before the Bards. The Elementals lived here, singing the Song. She stared at Sharma, confused. Was he ending the Speech because it truly offended him and he took pleasure in the destruction of the Bards, or was he doing it because it was an offense to the Song? The Speech had captured the Song, bound it in runes so that it could be used. Was this its revenge? She glanced back at Cadvan, keen to have him alone and ask him what he thought.

"You will all help me in this," The Nameless One announced, eyes moving from face to face. "I will gather the most powerful Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms and we will cast a spell together that will rip the Speech from the mouth of every Bard. That is why I have brought you all here, that is your great purpose."

Malgorn took a step forward from Saliman. "No. We won't help you destroy everything we are. You can threaten us, threaten the people we love, but we will not help you in this."

The Nameless One's eyes flicked over Malgorn's face. "Malgorn," he said clearly, a polite smile on his face, "I am going to rip your mind into so many pieces that when I stitch them back together, you'll forget the face of your daughter."

Maerad saw Malgorn go pale, and he stumbled back a step so that only fast action on Saliman's part prevented him from falling. The Nameless One stood, stretching and rolling his shoulders before clapping his hands together. There was a cruel light in his eyes, a hunger that Maerad recognized, the look of a cat that had tired of playing with its mouse.

"So, would you like to go first, Malgorn? I tell you, it's exhausting work, breaking minds and souls, but I am refreshed and ready to begin. Do you volunteer yourself to be the first to join my ranks?"

Malgorn licked his dry lips. "I would rather rot in your dungeon."

"That's what they all say," the Nameless One said to Likud, laughing like it was a private joke between the two of them. "None of them have the wit to vary the tune."

Saliman tightened his grip on his arm. "Be brave, try to relax."

Malgorn's breath rattled out of him weakly. He had expected this after his conversations with Cadvan and Saliman, but seeing it coming for him with that horrible grinning face was too much. Though he glanced back at the other Bards, there didn't seem a point in putting them between himself and the Nameless One. They would all meet the same fate in the end.

"Malgorn is injured," Cadvan said blandly as the Nameless One descended his throne. He stopped to stare at Cadvan's rigid face, confused. "You need to be careful."

His hand shot out and gripped Cadvan's chin, his nails digging into the soft flesh. The Nameless One inhaled the smell of his fear and leaned close. Cadvan recoiled from the touch like he'd been burned. "Have no fear, I won't kill your friend. I'll merely take a look at his mind, peek through those memories of his. When I'm done, who knows, perhaps he can join you and Saliman as honored members of my Circle."

The Nameless One threw Cadvan back and glanced at Malgorn. "Tell me, Malgorn, what is your Gift? Are you a Reader? I have much use of them." He gestured to Cadvan and Saliman, but Malgorn shook his head. "A Maker then? You can craft a crown for me to wear, a mighty scepter for me to wield."

When Malgorn didn't answer, Likud said smoothly, "He is of the Tending, my lord. It is said that no one knew more of beasts of the north than Malgorn of Innail."

"The Tending," the Nameless One said with disgust. "The Bards for which I have the least use. Healers and farmers and gourmands, the lot of them. What do I do with a First Bard whose knowledge is limited to animals?"

Malgorn lifted his chin. "I am no use to you. Send me to your dungeons."

"Come now, Malgorn," said the Nameless One, approaching him slowly, enjoying the nervous brilliance in his eyes. "Don't sell yourself so short. You are the First Bard, most Gifted in all of Innail. You have worth. Tell me, can you cook?"

"I think not, my lord," Likud supplied. The Hull was leaning forward, looking like a dog ready to spring on a poor rabbit. The memory of Malgorn being whipped, his pain and fear, excited the Hull and this seemed the perfect opportunity to see it again.

"You are no healer either," the Nameless One mused, standing before Malgorn now with his hands on his hips. He blinked slowly like a snake before snapping his fingers under Malgorn's nose. "No one knows more of birds and beasts than Malgorn of Innail? Then you shall be my master of horse! You can live in the stable with the rest of the animals." His laughter rang out and the Bards shivered.

Malgorn's eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

The Nameless One used his knuckle to lift Malgorn's chin up so he was forced to look into his dark eyes. "You will like that, yes? It will be just like home, rolling around in the dirt with the beasts?"

"If it keeps me away from you," Malgorn said in a low voice.

A fission of anger worked through the Nameless One's face: his lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth and his eyes flashed. The muscles in his hands tensed and Saliman thought that the Nameless One was going to strike him. Then he breathed out and smiled widely.

"Then thank me for being so generous."

Malgorn's face dropped. "What?"

"Thank me for allowing you to live with the animals. Show me how grateful you are, prostrate yourself before my throne." The Nameless One glanced at Saliman, looking utterly pleased with himself. "Tell me I'm a merciful master."

When Malgorn still didn't speak, the Nameless One lifted his hand threateningly. "Speak!"

Malgorn bared his teeth in a snarl. "Thank you for letting me care for your animals."

"That's not what I said," the Nameless One said icily.

Malgorn was quaking with rage, but Saliman's hand on Malgorn's arm offered a steady reminder. "Thank you for letting me live with your animals. You are a merciful master."

"I am, aren't I?" agreed the Nameless One, looking between the other Bards. "I am a merciful lord and you are all lucky to be my subjects. You will be made to understand this. Likud," he said suddenly, "take these Bards away - put them somewhere quiet and dark. I'll need time alone with Malgorn."

Cadvan drew a breath to speak but the Nameless One whipped around to face him. "You think it wise to question me, Cadvan, with your lover here? You think it wise to disagree with me?"

"I think you might consider letting them recover from their trip. Destabilizing someone's mind after trauma could do irreparable harm." Cadvan's words hung in the air as the Nameless One continued to stare at him. "If you want your servants to be useful, you might as well keep them whole."

"I'll treat my servants how I see fit," the Nameless One said before raising his hand, palm out to Malgorn. The Bards in the room felt a pulse of energy and Malgorn was jerked forward by an invisible lead. He stumbled to his knees and landed with painful gasp at the Nameless One's feet. "You see how he obeys me, he wants to join my ranks, and you, Cadvan, will not prevent him. Now, get your woman, and get out of my sight."

Maerad, who was kneeling by Hem, hissed. She wasn't going to leave Hem alone with the Nameless One without a fight. Hem, though, stirred under her hands. When the Hulls had dragged Maerad into the throne room Hem had been cursing the Nameless One because he'd forced Nelac to watch the progression of his people from Lirigon to Dagra and the old Bard had wept. The Nameless One had found the boy amusing at first, but when Hem called the Nameless One an old, weak, coward who wouldn't dare leave the safety of his tower because he was unfit for battle, he'd struck the boy in the stomach hard enough to bruise his ribs. He and Maerad made eye contact as he doubled over and crumpled to the floor. Now, coming back to his senses, Hem wanted Maerad away from the Nameless One.

"No, Maerad, no get out of here. I can find you later but it's not safe." His eyes moved to the Nameless One who was studying Malgorn's upturned, horrified face. Hem knew that he would be satisfied for a time, but as soon as Malgorn's mind had been broken, the Nameless One would need a new plaything and Hem feared it would be Maerad. "Go with Cadvan."

"I can't leave you," she whispered, her hands running over his face.

"I'll be fine," Hem managed a faint smile. "I've been here all along, no one knows how to handle Sharma better than me." When Maerad hesitated, he grasped her hand tightly. "Maerad, please, you've only just returned, I don't want to see you hurt."

The desperation in his voice shook Maerad and she looked away. "You will come to me before the week is out. Promise me this."

"I swear on the Light." Hem felt strange mentioning the Light in such a Light-forsaken place, but it was the only thing he could swear on. "Within the week."

Maerad kissed his forehead once before standing to face Cadvan. Though it had only been a few months, she was still in shock of seeing him standing before her. It was almost like the past months had fallen away and he'd never left for war and she'd never lived in the brothel, like their world hadn't fallen apart. She leaned forward to swipe a lock of his hair from his face then stopped herself, aware of the Nameless One watching them both. She gestured to the door.

"If the Nameless One wishes us to leave, perhaps we ought to."

Maerad's voice was tight and Cadvan suspected she was keen to be away from the throne room and whatever horrors the Nameless One would unleash on the Bards. He didn't want to leave Malgorn, but Cadvan knew there was little he could do to defend him. "I've been away too long," Cadvan agreed. He turned to face the Nameless One, who was smiling graciously at him, and made a stiff bow. "By your leave?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"By all means, Cadvan, go enjoy yourself. I trust Maerad will treat you well." His dark eyes gleamed in her direction, and he laid a casual hand on Malgorn's shoulder. "Don't worry about us, we'll get on swimmingly."

Cadvan took Maerad by the arm and led her away. Saliman followed them, Hekibel trailing him, staring curiously at Maerad. She thought the other girl quite lovely, if dressed a little wantonly. From all she had heard of Maerad, she had expected a young, shy girl, and was surprised to find this woman who moved with provocative grace, like she own half the place. Hekibel considered her as they navigated the many halls to find their respective rooms.

At the door, Saliman looked sheepishly between them. "As much as I would love to sit with you a while and speak, I am too tired for it. A bath and bed are first and foremost on my mind, perhaps I can wash away this war."

Cadvan smiled ruefully. "Tomorrow we'll speak. For now, I couldn't agree more, a bath and bed."

Cadvan bowed his head slightly and turned away, holding the door to his room wide for Maerad. Saliman led Hekibel a short way down the hall to his rooms. Hekibel checked on the threshold, shocked to find handsome, spacious rooms, decorated in thick rugs, cushioned chairs and low tables laid with books. Someone had come in earlier and lit a fire, for the hearth popped and crackled merrily, throwing its light on a table set with a spread of bread and meat. Hekibel entered slowly, waiting for something terrible like a Hull to emerge. Saliman shut the door, testing the lock before turning to the room and heading for the food.

"It's rather extravagant, embarrassingly so, really. But the Dark ever was excessive and gluttonous." He tossed his stained cloak on a chair and dropped to the couch, taking a slice of bread and buttering it. "You should make yourself at home. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you to wear…Tomorrow we can find some servant or something to send for clothes." He tried, and failed, to smile, and finally said, "You'll be safe here."

Hekibel joined him, sinking slowly onto the couch and hooking her arm through his. "This is strange place, I don't like it. I thought the Hulls were bad but…but that man-"

"The Nameless One is not a man," Saliman said sharply. "Not anymore. He's a monster in his own right now."

"I don't like the way he looks at things, like he's hungry. It almost reminds me of men when they leer at you, you know?" She made an inarticulate gesture with her hands. "I can't explain it, but it just feels like he's one breath away from devouring you."

"That seems right," agreed Saliman.

"What's going to happen to Malgorn? He was kind to me when I came to Innail."

"He isn't going to be killed, if that's what you're wondering," Saliman said quickly. "But he will become like me and Cadvan. It's better you don't see it, it can be hard to watch."

Hekibel mulled this over. "I'm surprised the Nameless One let you go so easily, I thought you and Cadvan were special to him?"

"He didn't let us go, and I was loathe to leave Hem with him," Saliman said slowly. "I'm sure in a few days, when he's done with the First Bards, he'll call for me. And you will not come."

"But Saliman-"

"No, you'll stay with Maerad where it's safe."

Hekibel looked away, resisting the urge to argue, and said, "I was surprised to see that girl was Maerad. She was different than what I expected."

Saliman glanced at her quickly. "How do you mean? She doesn't favor her father, like Hem, but she's very much like Milana."

"It's nothing like that. Everything you and Cadvan and Silvia said…I just expected a shy young woman, maybe someone a little awkward or uncertain."

"You didn't find her so?" Saliman asked, confused. She had seemed little changed to him.

"I certainly understand why Cadvan was taken with her," she laughed. "She has the look of a woman who would inspire desire in a man."

Saliman blinked. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Did you not notice?" Hekibel asked baldly. When Saliman continued to stare, Hekibel tried to find the words to describe what she had seen. "She's very beautiful, very..." It seemed inappropriate to call her sensual, and finished rather lamely, "She moves like a woman who is sure of herself."

Saliman flashed a true smile. "I will have to ask Cadvan about these things."

"You'll do no such thing," Hekibel said sternly. "I won't have you asking after other women."

"Ah, but now you've piqued my interest. How can I not?" But when Hekibel continued to glower playfully, he threw up his hands in defeat. "Mercy, Hekibel, please? I swear I will have eyes or thoughts for no other woman but you. Maerad can be as sure of herself as she likes, for there can be no one I am surer of than you."

"Pretty," Hekibel sniffed delicately. "You say there is a bath?"

"Perhaps even large enough for us both."

"It will have to do. I am as tired as you look, and a bath and bed sound lovely."

Saliman stood, holding out his hand to her. "And never more lovely than with you in them."

Maerad tipped a bottle of lavender into the steaming bathtub and inhaled the relaxing aroma. She thought a moment, watching the water ripple, then returned to the cabinet and dug around until she found chamomile and added a few drops. She turned to rifle through a shelf of towels, shaking one out and heading for the hearth in the common room.

"Cadvan, I've run a bath for you, get in before it cools." She pushed a chair close to the fire and draped the towel over it.

Cadvan was leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, watching Maerad work and admiring the domestic image she presented. He was reminded of his own people, simple folk who ran a house and tended their small gardens and weren't caught up in the affairs of great wars. He thought for a brief moment how much he would have liked to build a home for her, take care of her, love her like a country wife. She straightened up, sensing Cadvan's eyes on her, and cast a glance at him over her shoulder.

"Cadvan," she said softly, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of her lips. "Watching me warm a towel won't get you cleaner any faster."

He held up his hands in defense. "Forgive me, mistress, I am loathe to leave you here."

Before, Maerad would have laughed and shooed him away, but after months with Lyla, she viewed conversation through the lens of a proper mistress. "I will join you, have no fear. Someone will have to make sure you don't fall asleep and drown." Cadvan's eyebrows shot up, but Maerad quickly said, "Silvia sat with me the first night I was in Innail, and thank the Light she did, I almost fell asleep in the tub."

Cadvan took a moment to assess his own state. He did feel properly exhausted, ready to fall over on his feet, but he didn't want to make Maerad uncomfortable. "I'll heed your gentle tyranny and take myself to the bath."

"I'll be their shortly," Maerad rejoined, and watched him closely as he crossed the room to the bath. She waited until the door was shut before taking a deep breath and giving herself a shake.

Don't be a coward, it's just a bath. You're not getting in the water with him! she ordered herself. If Lyla can do this, I can. But then, Lyla was beautiful and charming and practiced, and Maerad had lived most her life in fear of men. She gave Cadvan time, picking over the tray of food, selecting delicate white cheeses and cool cuts of meat, and brushing off a bottle of rich, red wine. She teetered to the bath, balancing food and drink in her arms and cracked the door open a little, letting Cadvan know she was there.

"Not dead then?" she asked when she heard splashing and backed into the room.

He's already seen you naked, idiot, stop blushing. His back was to her, his arms resting on the sides of the tub sunk into the floor, and from the door, Maerad could see the bruises and scars that decorated his shoulders and back. His hair was damp, he must have submerged himself as soon as he'd gotten in, and small rivulets ran down his neck and shoulders, and Maerad had to suppress the urge to trace their path. She approached the bath slowly, making sure Cadvan heard her, and was relieved to see that he was sunk fully into the bath so bubbles obscured everything below his waist.

"Is the water to your liking?" she asked politely.

Cadvan turned slowly to look up at her and it was the first time since they were reunited that he noticed her appearance. She was wearing a gown of dark red that fit her surprisingly curvaceous frame. The bodice was laced tightly, her hips rounded invitingly, and Cadvan had a sudden urge to take her by the waist and pull her onto his lap. It was cut low so the halfmoon globes of her breasts rose noticeably with each breath and exposed her long, pale throat where her nervous pulse throbbed. Her dark hair hung loose and long and framed her face and fell over shoulders to curl at her waist. She smiled playfully when she saw Cadvan studying her, and he thought with surprise that in three months she had grown into a sensuous woman.

"The oils are a nice touch, though I'm not surprised you thought to add them," he said, smiling crookedly.

She returned the smile and sank as gracefully as she could to the floor beside him. He watched her the entire time, pleased to see her uncork a bottle of wine and fill a glass. She proffered the glass. "I imagine you didn't get much wine on the journey?"

Cadvan thought briefly of the wine he'd had with Likud, the wine distilled by Iris's father, and he wondered what had become of the girl. Had Likud already sold her off to a Grin? Certainly, if she was of the Gift, he'd have to keep her in Dagra with the rest of the Bards? "Little and of poor fare. I found the company ruined the taste."

Maerad watched Cadvan drink, acutely aware that he was quite naked beside her. She was overcome with a sudden memory of Lyla showing her an image of a man and woman making love, the woman seated on the man's lap. She ducked her face and focused on arranging food on a plate so Cadvan wouldn't see her blush, but the thought lingered and she wondered what it would be like. When she looked back up, Cadvan was looking with determined interest at the images that decorated the walls.

"I wonder that the Nameless One chose to retain the art from his people. See the geometric patterns on the wall? They make a radiating sun. This is the stuff of his people from another age, no one alive today save us has seen its likeness. It's passing strange to think that the Nameless One is three thousand years old, his memories of Bards stretch back longer than anyone else. It's strange that he alone has had the fortune to see the passage of time and the history of our people. Or, maybe ironic, because he hated it all."

There was a wistfulness in Cadvan's voice that stirred Maerad from her thoughts. "I never really think of Sharma as having a love for art or history."

"No, neither do I. But think. He is the only man alive today who saw the wonders of Afinil. I wonder if, locked in his bitter, dark memories, are secrets of our people lost to time. Imagine what he could tell us."

Maerad studied the pattern on the wall again. "I think he has forgotten such things."

"But has he? He must have ordered the bath to be decorated in such a fashion. Does a part of him still exist that yearns for life?" Cadvan gave himself a shake, laughing hollowly. "Forgive my nonsense, Maerad, it is pointless to wonder if the Nameless One still admires art."

Maerad shrugged. "It's not pointless. It just leaves a strange feeling in my stomach. Someone could be so lucky as him to see the passage of ages of the world and be so small and petty that he wouldn't even marvel at its beauty. It makes me sad."

"Me too."

The conversation came a lull and Maerad cursed her ineptitude. Lyla had said not to discuss sad and dark things because it would ruin the mood. She offered the plate and Cadvan looked down at the arrangement, surprised.

"You're rather more attentive than usual," he remarked, not unkindly. Close to Maerad, it was hard not to see the rise and fall of her chest. He took a piece of bread and chewed it thoughtfully and was grateful when Maerad stood and moved to find a stool and cake of soap.

"Someone must take care of you," Maerad said airily. "You were only gone three months, but it looks like three years. How did you get so many bruises?" She set the stool behind him and sniffed the soap appreciatively.

"It was a war, Maerad, not a vacation." A thrill raced down Cadvan's back when he sensed her so near him. Cadvan hadn't really known what to expect upon his return, and he feared that while he was gone, she would have been put to poor use. Maerad, though, seemed almost distractingly cheerful, if not distractingly beautiful. He certainly hadn't expected her to join him in the bath.

"Lean back," Maerad ordered gently, tapping his shoulder. Cadvan tipped his head back, wetting his hair again, and Maerad lathered the soap in her hands before running her fingers through his hair. Cadvan sighed contently as Maerad washed and rinsed the grime out of his hair, enjoying the sensation of her nearness, her oddly domestic behavior.

"If you got in bed beside me and I smelled your hair, I wouldn't be able to sleep for the smell," she said, and Cadvan could hear the smile in her voice. "You smell like horse."

"Darsor would take offense," Cadvan returned, took a deep breath when Maerad dunked his hair again, then said, "But you're not wrong, I slept in stables on the road."

"By choice?" she asked sharply.

Cadvan turned to face her, his smile like a razor. "Obviously not. But the Hulls didn't want Saliman and I about, and, in case you didn't notice, our friend Likud was overseeing my stay."

"I heard, but I wasn't sure I believed it," Maerad said in a hard voice. "How did he survive?"

"He slipped into the shadowplains, escaping the blast. He's not happy with you, though, and I warn you to stay away from him." Cadvan caught her eye. "I'm serious, Maerad. He gave me no end of trouble on the journey, but he remembers you. I don't want you anywhere near him."

Maerad sighed. "I have no love of Likud, and I imagine after our last encounter I'm not his favorite person, but if he comes searching for me-"

"Don't engage him. I made an oath for a reason, Maerad, to keep you safe." Cadvan settled back in the bath. "Please, Maerad, I've just gotten back from one war, I don't need to fight another one here."

Maerad rubbed sandalwood oil on her hands and began to rub Cadvan's shoulders. She could feel the muscles like a knot and used her thumbs to work them. Cadvan made a strange yelping noise when she got one loose. "Cadvan, I've faced Sharma and come out alive. There is nothing Likud can say or do that would give me cause to fight him." Unless he attacked someone I loved, she thought, eyeing Cadvan's injuries with chagrin.

"So be it," Cadvan said tiredly. The wine, food and bath conspired to make Cadvan drowsy. There seemed much more the two should have been saying, but for the life of him, he didn't have the energy to think about it. Besides, after months thinking about her, Maerad was suddenly at his side, touching him, laughing with him, so pleasing to look at in a red gown. He stretched lazily and thought longingly of his bed.

Maerad suspected that this lull in the conversation was what Lyla had meant as a signal for them both to retire, but she wasn't sure she was ready. She felt a stirring of trepidation. Would Cadvan, having been apart from her all this time, expect her to give herself to him? This thought was quickly followed with curiosity as to whether she wanted to make love. She missed him touching her, and she thought that now she knew a bit more than before, at least now she could navigate his body adeptly. She eyed the bottle of wine, thinking that a glass taken quickly would ease her nerves. Instead, she poured Cadvan another.

"You must be tired indeed if you have no long-winded reprimand for me," Maerad said easily. She went once more to the shelves and returned with a bowl, shaving soap, a brush and razor, holding them a little uncertainly. She'd only practiced the motions twice before with semi-willing participants in the brothel, but Lyla assured her it was a very intimate art that a man appreciated.

Cadvan's eyes widened when she produced the razor. "You know how to use that?"

Maerad gave him a haughty look. "I'll be gentle."

He stared at her a long moment, fighting back the exhaustion that was gripping him. It was Maerad, yes, but there was something strange about her. He felt like she was putting on a show, like she was trying to convey something to him without speaking. "Where did you learn to shave a man's face?" he asked slowly.

He saw, in an instant, the flash of guilt in her eyes: something she couldn't-or wouldn't-say lingered there. She lowered her gaze to the tools in her hand. "You were away for three months, I had to do something with my time."

Unbidden, the Nameless One's parting words came back to him: By all means, Cadvan, go enjoy yourself. I trust Maerad will treat you well. That had been a taunt, an unspoken joke, something had happened here but Cadvan didn't understand what. He stared at the razor that flashed in the low light. "Hem needed a shave?"

Maerad smiled despite herself. "Don't say that. My little brother is not old enough to be a man yet. I'd rather him stay young and small forever." She sank down to her knees, holding out the materials. "If you don't want me to, I will leave you to it. I suppose, after seeing me swing a sword, you have good reason not to trust me with a blade at your throat."

It was a smooth joke, and, for a moment, Cadvan relented. He took the razor, inspecting its edge, before handing it back to her. "Careful around my cheeks. I've already got enough scars there."

Maerad set to work carefully. She filled a small bowl with saving soap, twirling the brush in like a dancer while Cadvan finished his wine. She then ordered him to rest his head back on her lap and applied a generous coat to his cheeks and neck. She kept her eyes from his, sure that if she looked directly at him she'd lose her nerve, and tried to think of the men she'd practiced with. They hadn't been nearly as intimidating as Cadvan.

When she took the first stroke, her hand was steady and the shave smooth. She moved with practiced grace, shaving a line, wiping the soap and hairs on a towel, and repeating the process. Cadvan admired her openly, impressed by her acquired, if mysterious, ability. She finally paused, hovering the razor over his throat.

"Don't breathe," she murmured, and in one easy stroke, shaved his Adam's apple. She sat back, looking pleased.

Cadvan straightened up, feeling his face, before smiling recklessly at her. "Do I look like Cadvan now?"

Maerad laid the razor aside and took his face in her hands. "I don't think any amount of beard could confuse me. I'd recognize you anywhere." Then she leaned forward and kissed him luxuriously. Cadvan growled low in his throat, pleasantly surprised by her forthright behavior. She leaned forward, her arms resting on his shoulders, and Cadvan deepened the kiss. He only pulled away when Maerad was as risk of falling in the bath.

"I missed you so much, Cadvan," she said earnestly. "Every day, I was so alone, I hated my life here without you."

Alone? Cadvan wondered, but the thought was driven from his mind when Maerad kissed his forehead and stood.

"You look in danger of falling asleep in the bath. I'll get you a towel then see you safely to bed." She gathered up what was left of the food and wine and left the bath. Cadvan watched her hips swing appreciatively as she went.

In the sitting room, Maerad poured out a full glass of wine and drank as quickly as she could, cringing at the burn of the tangy tannins. She debated a second glass, but she knew it would make her giddy, and returned to the bath with the fire-warmed towel, saying, "I'm going to see to the fire in the bedroom and the blankets warmed. Take your time."

In the bedroom, Maerad stoked up the small fire in the hearth, throwing rushes onto the logs so the room filled with an earthy smell that would hide the must of three months. She turned the blankets back invitingly, running her fingers over the soft sheets. The wine was stronger than she expected and she felt dizzy. She unlaced the gown with unsteady fingers, letting it fall in a pool at her feet, and found the trunk of her clothes sent up from the brothel. She slipped into a pale silken gown with small flower petals beaded into the neck and cuffs, breathing with relief as her body expanded without the corset. She caught a glimpse of her pale reflection in the dark window and found she didn't recognize herself.

"Have you seen a ghost?"

Maerad spun about and found Cadvan lounging in the door, tapping a staccato with a glass half full of wine against his leg. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the hungry look in his eyes, then he smiled sheepishly, and he looked like an innocent boy who didn't quite know what to say. She bowed her head.

"A ghost is the least of our worries in this place, think you not?"

"True enough." Cadvan slouched in, balancing the glass of wine on a small table, and noticed a fine layer of dust had settled on it. He sniffed the air, nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of rushes. "I see you've kept this place fresh."

"I've kept it warm and comfortable." She gestured to the bed.

Cadvan blinked, trying to focus on anything but Maerad. There was too much dust, the sheets looked stiff…the room hadn't been slept in for weeks. And there was Maerad, looking small and pale, for all her acting as a woman. There was something wrong.

"A minute more than I'll gladly curl up in bed and sleep like the dead." Cadvan approached her calmly and she offered him a tight, nervous smile. "Maerad, when was the last time you slept here?"

She stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

"This place has been empty a while." Cadvan studied her closely. There seemed no diminution in her Light, but she was hiding from him. "Where have you been these past months?"

Maerad felt words surging up her throat-curtsey of Cadvan's Truthtelling Gift-but she pushed them back determinedly. "I've been in Dagra, just as Sharma promised, untouched and unharmed." She was obfuscating and she knew Cadvan sensed it, but she realized that she didn't want Cadvan to know where she had been. She knew she shouldn't take shame in it, but for some reason she felt guilty and shy.

Cadvan forced himself to clear his mind of the wine and lifted Maerad's chin up to look into his eyes. She held his gaze stubbornly. "But you haven't been here."

Maerad smiled ingratiatingly, mimicking one of Lyla's more charming behaviors and clasping his hand warmly in her own. Cadvan swallowed. "But I am unharmed, and I have missed you sorely since the day you left. Don't worry where I was sleeping each night, just know that I thought of you."

That was well played, Maerad thought proudly. Lyla would have been proud of that.

Cadvan squeezed her hand tighter. The thought of her thinking of him was, admittedly, appealing, but he was more concerned with her safety than his desires. "Why won't you speak freely with me, Maerad?"

She turned away, pulling her hand free and holding herself tightly. "I do not want to ruin this night with sadness. I think we've had enough of that, don't you?"

Cadvan hesitated. She wasn't wrong. "I fear that you are in pain, and seeking to hide it from me for my own comfort brings me little joy. I would rather have your sorrow than an empty smile."

You knew he wasn't like the men Lyla paraded around. He's far more introspective than that. "I am happy to see you. Believe me, Cadvan, after all this time, I have wanted nothing more than to have you back. This place is awful without you."

"Please, Maerad." Cadvan examined her back, the tension in her shoulders. "I fear that the Nameless One will use these secrets to his advantage. Like he did with my feelings for you."

Maerad blinked slowly. This was something she hadn't considered. Last time, Sharma's knowledge of their feelings had led to ruin. What would this do? She turned about to face him and Cadvan was surprised to see red splotches in her cheeks. She walked past him, picking up the half full glass of wine and took a long draw on it as she sat in one of the chairs arranged before the fire. She gestured vaguely to the chair opposite her, drawing her feet up protectively under her.

"It's not a long tale, but it is a tiring one." Cadvan joined her apprehensively. He noticed how white her fingers were from gripping the glass stem, and he fought down the urge to take her hands in his.

Maerad sighed. "It should come as no surprise that Sharma isn't happy with me and Hem. Even after the Singing, even after I gave him everything he wanted and was forced to serve you, he was furious. As soon as you and Saliman left, he came and found us in this very room. He told Hem and I that since we hadn't died, he would put us to the best use he could."

Cadvan thought of Hem, lying chained on the floor in the throne room. "And what use did he deem fit?"

"He wanted to shame us. He said he wanted history to remember that the House of Karn died in shame and humiliation. Hem, he's made into his…jester. It amuses him to make Hem sit by his side and watch the horrors of his reign. He thinks Hem's outbursts are funny. For me, he was particularly vindictive."

"He swore to me that he wouldn't harm you," Cadvan said tersely.

"And so he hasn't," Maerad answered swiftly. "But he has shamed me to no end. He said all the daughters of the House of Karn were whores. My mother lay with my father, who was of the Pilanel, and so brought shame on our house. And I," and here Maerad glanced up with an ironic smile, "I gave myself to a cobbler's son."

Cadvan's face had gone very still, but the corner of his face quirked up bitterly. "Well, it's not a lie."

Maerad laughed emptily. "I told Sharma I wasn't your whore, but he said that I had sold myself to you. In exchange for your protection, I had obviously promised you my body in return. Whether or not we had lain together didn't matter, only that I had allowed myself to be bought." Maerad's hands clenched into fists. "He said I would have to go learn my trade so that when you returned, I could serve you properly."

"Your trade?" Cadvan demanded, fear stirring in his stomach.

"What else?" Maerad asked sharply. "He sent me to a brothel to be apprenticed to a whore. He wanted me to learn their skills. I've been there since you left."

Cadvan didn't speak, he didn't trust himself to. His first thought was to storm back to the throne room and attack the Nameless One. How dare he send Maerad to some whorehouse? Cadvan could feel himself shaking with rage but, logically, he also knew it was no use. He couldn't kill the Nameless One, no matter how much he longed to. He switched his gaze up and saw Maerad's pale face turned to look out the window. Brothels weren't common in Annar, Cadvan had never been to one, he had no idea what she might have seen or done. He wanted to gather her up in his arms and comfort her, and he wanted her to understand he didn't blame her.

"What happened?" he managed to ask when his temper was under control.

Maerad shrugged helplessly, smiling sadly at him. "Nothing untoward. Your oath was honored, and I am still a maid."

"I don't care about that." Cadvan shuddered angrily. "Maerad, you don't have to be a maid for me to love you-"

Maerad held up a hand. "I don't think you care, but I want you to understand that I wasn't harmed. I don't need you jumping to conclusions and doing something reckless that will get you hurt." She caught his eye. "It was a simple thing. I lived in the brothel, I learned the skills of a proper courtesan, and not just the…bedroom ones. I can dance, and I can write stupid letters, I can walk about gracefully, I can even have witty conversation meant to entertain men." She titled her head to the side, considering all the things Lyla had taught her. "I learned how to shave a man's face, how to serve him food and drink with so much tact he thinks of nothing but me while he eats."

Cadvan chose to overlook her admission that she had learned something about pleasing a man, and thought of her dressed in the daring, red gown, smiling at him, serving him food and wine and tending to his needs with exaggerated grace. She had been acting, playing the role of dutiful mistress. That hurt a little.

By the Light, is that what she thinks you want? he asked himself unhappily. She thought you wanted a beautiful version of her that would wait on you hand and foot.

"I don't need those things," Cadvan said softly. "I want you as you are."

Maerad's twisted smile cut him to the quick. "I don't have a say in that. Sharma made quite clear that I will have to put my new knowledge to use. You might have noticed he keeps Hem close by?"

Cadvan frowned. "I don't need a mistress. I don't need you like-" he waved a hand at her flimsy nightgown "-like this. Do what you must in public, but for me, I don't want it. I just need you, Maerad."

She finished the wine, staring into the glass contemplatively. "You have me, but…but I also have to be this."

Cadvan put his face in his hands. "Maerad, know that I've loved you since-" Since I saw you milking that cow and I've just been a blind idiot for the last year. "Since the night on the White Owl. And know that the Nameless One might demand things of you, but I won't."

Maerad was watching Cadvan and felt a stab a surprise at his words. "Cadvan, I don't think that you would-you would make me do something I don't want. I trust you more than that."

He looked up at her, smiling sadly. "I have no idea what the Nameless One would have ordered you to do. If he sent you here to do something you don't want-as punishment-I won't have it." Cadvan's face was unmoving when he said, "I won't have you in my bed unwillingly."

"I wouldn't let you." Maerad's voice was sure, but she knew that if the Nameless One ordered her to it, she couldn't refuse. She set the glass aside and breathed out loudly. "Come, Cadvan, I'm tired of sad talk. I'm tired of everything. Let's go to bed." She stood and looked down on him imperiously, and he felt his lips quirk up at the small woman who looked at him with such authority and presence.

"I've been waiting months to hear that," Cadvan admitted.

Maerad moved smoothly across the room and crawled up onto the bed, pulling the covers over her. She watched Cadvan stand and stretch and fiddle with his shirt sleeves, purposefully taking time for her to get comfortable. When he came across the room, he grinned shyly, waiting by the edge of the bed.

"Get in," Maerad said, exasperated. "I suspect that we'll be up early tomorrow."

The bed enveloped Cadvan and he sank back on the pillows, relaxing for the first time in months. Beside him, the unmistakable presence of Maerad was overwhelming: the heat radiating off her, the sweet smell of her skin, the feel of her hair on his shoulder. He took her hair in his hand and began to meditatively wrap it around his finger.

"Maerad, I've had many dark nights since leaving you, but not a day has gone by without thinking of you." He turned to look at her and found that she was staring up at him, her blue eyes bright with some emotion he didn't quite understand. "I saw terrible things in Annar, and only thinking of your made it any better. I began to doubt in the Light, I wasn't sure until just now that it still existed."

You must make your own Light. Ardina's words rang in her mind, but they didn't bring her the warmth and hope she needed. It seemed to her there was a great struggle left and they had just barely begun. It scared her that already she and Cadvan and all their friends were pushed to the brink, and so much more would be expected of them.

"I think we must remind ourselves that the Light still exists. This Darkness will pass."

Cadvan's arm came up slowly, wrapping around her waist and pulling her against him. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her pressed against him for the first time in months. The knowledge that she was there, she was safe in his arms and she wasn't going anywhere was overwhelming. She was his. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that she had closed hers and tucked her face against his chest. Tonight, unlike their last night, she didn't remind Cadvan of Ardina, she didn't look like the moon-fae creature with vibrant eyes and a wild face. She looked like a young woman, innocent and vulnerable in her own flesh. While the former version of Maerad excited Cadvan, the latter was comforting and familiar.

By the Light, this feels right, Cadvan thought, rubbing her back. Maerad shifted in his arms, but he didn't loosen his grip. I can't lose this again. Cadvan rested his chin on the crown of her head and drifted off to the sleep with the sound of her heartbeat in his ears. Perhaps the worst had come and gone, perhaps he could spend the rest of his life like this.

Sharma watched Malgorn twitch on the floor, his pale skin made whiter by the cool, black stone beneath him. His breath came in harsh, short gasps. With a cry, he rolled onto his back and clutched his hair tightly. Like a curious child, Sharma's head tilted a little to the side; he blinked slowly. He had not meant to handle the Bard so cruelly, why he had not exerted himself any more than he had with Cadvan. Of course, that was before the Song.

"You would like it to end, yes, Malgorn?" he asked.

Malgorn had been rendered inarticulate from the pain of continued contact with Sharma's consciousness and instead uttered a guttural cry. Sharma wrinkled his nose in response. In his day, there was a deference due to your lord. In his day, slaves that didn't act with proper respect, even in extremity, were dealt with harshly.

"Malgorn, you must use your words. I cannot help me if you don't tell me what you need."

At the foot of his throne, Hem made a small, frustrated noise, and Sharma switched his gaze to the boy. He was staring out the window as if fascinated by the red sun rising on the horizon, but Sharma knew his attention was focused on Malgorn. He wasn't good at hiding his feelings, Sharma observed mildly, he lost his temper too easily, let his anger overpower him. He stared a little closer, admiring the stern jut of his chin.

He'll look like Dorn when he comes to manhood, Sharma thought. If he comes to manhood at all.

Sharma would have happily seen Hem and his sister dead, but now, cursed with their continued existence, he had no choice but to suffer his presence. He hoped that the boy might crack, lose his mind, but it seemed he kept most of his wits about himself. But, of course, Sharma knew he could do better: he could make Hem witness to far more horrible scenes than breaking Bard minds. If he could not kill Hem, then he would trample his innocence, destroy any feeble hopes the young man might have of the Light and truth and goodness in the world.

"Have you something to say, Cai?" Sharma asked politely.

"No," Hem said thickly.

"Come now, I see the anger in your eyes. You must find me monstrous, my methods atrocious. Speak, for it is your right as one of those who gave me the Song. Of all the Bards, you have been given leave to speak to me freely and know I will not kill you."

Hem drew his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. "I've nothing to say to you. Do as you deem fit."

"Does it bother you to see how I treat these Bards?" Sharma waited, watching a muscle work in his jaw as Malgorn moaned. "Is it because you fear that Saliman's fate was much the same? It was, Cai. He lay on the floor in agony, begging for me to release him, hoping against hope that it would just end. You see, I saw his mind even then, I knew what he was thinking. Oh, he thought of Turbansk and its tumbled ruins, he thought of the pathetic woman whom he loved, and he thought of you. Part of him even hoped you could cure him. But you couldn't, could you?"

Hem lost his temper then, snapping around like a wounded dog. "I will! I haven't forced you out yet, but I swear on the Light that I will heal Saliman. You haven't won yet, Sharma!"

Sharma's eyebrows twitched together; Maerad and Hem were the only ones who insisted on calling him by his use-name and it irked him. "Bold words from a boy who's currently chained to my throne."

Hem's eyes flashed. "This isn't over, and you know it. You know the Song isn't yours yet."

Sharma's mocking smile dropped from his face, his eyes darkened. "Are you threatening me, boy? You dare think to turn my own magery against me?" Hem felt Sharma's anger like a physical force, bending his head forward into a bow. He grappled with it, but Sharma's will was stronger. "Shall I break your will in the old way? Shall I make you witness the horrors of my might, the most terrible things I can dream of, so that year after year you are ground down and forget even the word Light? Shall I make your life one long nightmare from which there is no reprieve?"

Hem, to his own horror and shame, was one his knees, bent double so that his nose brushed the floor at Sharma's feet. He tried to press back against the force, but it felt like trying to move a mountain-no, worse than a mountain-it felt like trying to turn the ocean tides by forcing the moon from her orbit. He tried to call on that inner fire that lingered in his blood, the same fire he'd called up to threaten the Hull, but he was screaming on deaf ears.

"I shall make you privy to all the most horrible punishments in my domain. You can be an audience for the most exclusive show." Sharma stood, examining the small patch of exposed skin at the back of Hem's neck, and thought how easy it would be to rip out his spine. The thought of Hem's vulnerability brough him immense pleasure.

Hem was visibly shaking with the effort of throwing off Sharma's will, but he couldn't move. After a moment, Sharma stamped his foot down and Hem felt a line of fire race down his back like he'd been whipped. He wanted to curl into a ball, but Sharma held him still. He brought his foot down again, and another red line of pain laced down his spine. Hem gave a sharp cry, his pain and confusion rendering him afraid. The third time Sharma's foot fell, Hem thought he felt something wet on his back. He continued to kneel, quaking in pain, and Sharma gestured for him to rise. Hem's face moved up, but the rest of his body remained kneeling on the ground.

"You will never speak to me like that again," Sharma said so softly Hem almost missed it. He drew a shallow breath but said nothing. "Say it, dog."

Hem felt his jaw moving against his will. "I won't speak to you like that again."

Sharma smiled graciously at him. "So, you can be taught. After what I saw in Saliman's mind, I feared it would be difficult to train you, but I see you are biddable in the right circumstances. This is a good lesson for you, Cai, obedience is a virtue."

The position Hem had been forced into bent his back at an odd angle and his muscles ached. He could see droplets of blood on the floor around him and his flesh felt torn, like some animal had raked claws down him. But he wouldn't beg for Sharma to release him. "Obedience should be earned."

"I couldn't agree more," Sharma said pleasantly. "Shall we begin your education in earnest now? I'm not half done with Malgorn, but his thrashing has torn his stitches. He'll injure himself and be utterly useless to me in the coming months. You're going to heal him for me so I can finish my work."

"I won't heal him just so you can torture him." The idea repulsed Hem, made him sick to his stomach.

"Yes, you will." Sharma turned and strolled away to stand over Malgorn, who was gasping for breath. He snapped his fingers and Malgorn's eyes opened, focused with strange intensity on Sharma. He began convulsing, pitiful little sounds escaping his locked jaw, and still his eyes were fixed on Sharma's hungry face. Hem saw that his body slid about in his own blood, all of his stitches were torn open, he must have been in terrible pain.

Sharma looked up at Hem, still kneeling at his throne. "If you don't, Malgorn's muscles will tear, his flesh will be flayed from his bones. He'll die a terrible, terrible death and I'll have to replace him with his wife, Silvia."

Through the pain and madness that had consumed him, that name meant something to Malgorn, and he groaned. Hem cringed at the sound, but he couldn't look away. Sharma curled his pointer finger at Hem, and Hem felt his legs jerk upright. He tottered on unwilling feet down the steps and to the middle of the room where Malgorn was. Up close, Hem saw the sweat on his face, flecks of vomit on his lips, he could smell blood and urine and something else that left a bad taste in his mouth-fear.

He looked up pleadingly at Sharma. "Just leave him be."

"I need the First Bards, and as pitiful as he is, Malgorn is First Bard of Innail. I have to do this, I have to know that the First Bards obey me. If he is not fit to bear the might of my will, he will be killed and a suitable replacement found."

Hem didn't know Silvia, though he knew Maerad loved her like a mother, and, by the desperate look in Malgorn's eyes, he didn't want his wife taking his place either. As much as Hem abhorred the idea of healing for the purpose of continued torture, this seemed the only choice. He knelt beside Malgorn and the other Bard held his gaze with fearful concentration. Hem grasped Malgorn's hand tightly.

"I'll need needle and gut and alcohol."

Sharma bowed his head sardonically. "Of course, Master Healer." He spun about and returned to his throne, intrigued by the young man's authority. Healing was of no interest to Sharma, but watching another work was fascinating: if a doctor could take pain away, then they knew how to give it as well.

"A painkiller would be useful as well," Hem said, levering Malgorn onto his stomach so he could inspect the torn stitches. A long silence stretched between them before Hem realized he had just asked Sharma for something to ease a man's pain. He could have laughed.

After a time, a servant appeared with the medical supplies and Sharma relaxed back on his throne.

"A needle and gut," he said. "You may begin."

Hem shuddered at those words. To him, they sounded like nothing so much as a threat, a promise of torments to come. Still holding Malgorn's hand tightly, Hem bowed over his body and began his work under the light of the red sun.

End of Part One

Part Two will continue in A Season in Hell