Hi everyone and welcome back! Apologies for this coming out a little later than I originally thought. I'm hoping that, like part one, I can get a chapter out once every 7-10 days. Also, like part one, this story will start with a T rating, but will mostly likely be moved to M as I do plan to address some fairly mature material and topics, so make sure to expand your search to include M! Hope you all enjoy it, and, as always, reviews and critiques are welcomed and appreciated!

I pass you these few foul pages from the diary of a damned soul

-Arthur Rimbaud

Chapter One

"In the north, Innail, Lirigon, Ettinor, Desor. To the south, Turbansk. In the west, Enkir rallies his forces and makes for Ileadh."

"Then Il Arunedh has fallen?"

Elenxi looked squarely into Nerili's grey gaze. "Yes. There is some power that travels with him, something that lends strength to his forces. He will conquer the seven kingdoms at this rate."

"Not us," Nerili said sternly, but her soul withered within. She looked down at the dark wood of the table in the council room rather than meet the eyes of her Circle. She said softly, "Is there word of the First Circle in Innail? Malgorn and Silvia, at the very least?"

"Little and bad." Elenxi glanced at the other Bards assembled there and saw shadows on their faces. Malgorn and Silvia were known by many in Busk, and news of their defeat, the possibility they had been taken captive, had been hard. "They say the Black Army conquered Innail in a matter of days. The School was razed, its people wither slaughtered or captured. They say that the First Circle was taken hostage. I've heard other, nastier rumors, but I put no store by them."

Nerili glanced up at her uncle curiously but didn't ask and turned to Kebeka. "Any bird news?"

"A little." She pressed her hands together, deciding whether to say more. "They say that the Schools of Annar burn and the Bards are being marched south. It sounds as though the Nameless One is making slaves, not just corpses."

A shiver raced through the table: there could be no worse fate than being a prisoner of the Nameless One. Nerili lifted her face, her expression impassive. "The Nameless One presses his advantage then. If the north and south are fallen, and Enkir will soon take the west in his name, we will stand alone. We must be ready for battle. It will come for us."

The First Circle nodded grimly. "There's food enough to hold out for a season," Kebeka said. "We can send the common folk into the mountains for safety."

"Yes, we should think of evacuating them," Nerili mused. "The hammer will fall the hardest in Busk at the School. We ought to do everything in our power to deter the Black Army before it goes scouring the hills for our people."

The Bards of the First Circle shifted uncomfortably at this, for it seemed that Nerili expected them to lose and it hurt to hear her desolation. "There is time yet," Elenxi said. "They come for us, but it will still take time for Enkir to take the west and open the road for them. We probably have months before the Nameless One can bring his troops here."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean we should be lax. His army will come, perhaps he himself will be at its head. We must make ourselves ready." Nerili glanced from face to face sternly. "I will not lie to any of you, I will not offer false hope. Some of the greatest Schools in Annar and the seven kingdoms have fallen, I fear for us. If what the birds say is true, the Nameless One comes, not to kill us, but to take us captive, and though the thought terrifies me, I will not turn away from our cause."

"We're not afraid of him," said Elenxi boldly, admiring the image his niece projected against their impending doom. "When the battle comes, we will face the Darkness at your side." The other Bards of the First Circle nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.

Nerili stood, bowing her head to them in return. "It breaks my heart that we must prepare for this battle, but I am proud defend Thorold alongside such brave and admirable Bards. Begin the preparations for defense, make announcements to the people that they should gather their things and prepare to evacuate."

The First Circle spent a short time dividing up the tasks before parting. Soon, only Elenxi and Nerili remained, and the older Bard shook his head dismally. "I've heard other news, Neri, and I fear it may be true."

Nerili moved to pour herself a glass of wine. "Worse than the fall of Annar? Worse than Bards as slaves of the Nameless?"

"There are rumors circulating that Maerad and Cadvan are prisoners of the Nameless One."

Nerili closed her eyes, taking a long draw on her wine. She had feared this was a possibility since the nightmare of the Nameless One burning Busk. How else could he have returned to power? He must have the Song. "Who is saying this?"

"Word spread to Norloch and then came here, and there were…sightings of a Bard matching Cadvan's description in Lirigon during the battle."

"Rumors and sightings are not proof." Nerili spun away, looking out on the School drenched in sun. She felt no warmth, though, only bitter cold in her blood. The idea of Cadvan as a prisoner in Dagra- "But if this is true, it they really are captives of the Nameless One, then he may be returned to full power."

"I fear that."

Nerili bowed her head. "I fear for them if they are his captives. I cannot imagine the horrors they would suffer at his hands."

Elenxi helped himself to a glass of wine. "It is best not to think of it when we have a war coming our way."

There will be time for private grief later. "You are right, obviously. This does mean, though, that the Nameless One himself may arrive on our shores in months. Do we have any defense?"

Elenxi thought of the reality now facing them: the might of the Black Army falling down on them. "We can weather work, shroud the island in fog. Try to call the mountain down."

"Can we send our people away? Do you think ships might reach Annar?" Nerili toyed with the rim of her glass, her thoughts still on Maerad and Cadvan. "Not the Bards, they will be hunted down in Annar, but the common folk?"

"We could try, but it'll have to be soon," Elenxi said thoughtfully. "I think the Black Army will move on us soon."

Nerili massaged her temples. "Send word to Owen and see if the sailors can be rallied to get the people off the island. The least we can do is get the innocents away from this war."

Elenxi finished the glass of wine, studying Nerili sympathetically. "Don't lose hope yet, Neri. It seems impossible now, but even if this war ends in tragedy, we will not bow to the Dark so easily. We will not just give him our necks."

Nerili smiled narrowly at Elenxi's fierce scowl. She had no doubt that, when the time came, her uncle would not balk at murdering soldiers of the Dark. "I do not think any of us will, but the thought of war always sits hard on me."

To this, Elenxi had no comforting words, but he did place his empty glass down and cross the room to tightly clasp Nerili's hand. "Take heart, Neri. We will stand by you to whatever end." Nerili offered Elenxi a wane smile and he kissed her forehead before leaving.

Nerili watched Elenxi leave the room and waited until the sound of his footsteps faded before she crumpled against the table, a dry sob escaping her. The nightmares had gotten worse since that first, the sleeplessness, the distraction…she could barely focus on anything anymore. She was terrified of a battle because she wasn't sure anymore that she could defeat the minions of the Dark. And then there was the whisper that Maerad and Cadvan were prisoners of the Nameless One.

By the Light, it cannot be. Please, don't let the Nameless One have them.

Nerili closed her eyes and, unbidden, the memory of her farewell to Maerad and Cadvan returned to her. Maerad had seemed so small and scared in her traveler's clothes, Cadvan had just looked sad. She wished now that she had been a better person, she wished she could have set aside the bitterness in her heart and embraced him warmly.

If they're in Dagra, I'll never forgive myself.

Nerili lifted her face to look up at the empty room and recoiled from the loneliness. Slowly, she straightened and gave herself a shake. They were poised on the edge of destruction, this was no time for tears and regrets. She needed to gather herself and prepare for the oncoming war.

Pale blue light filtered through the grilled windows of the tower room heralding the sunrise. Maerad, who was curled up against Cadvan's chest, sighed and rolled on her back. Cadvan, though, shifted closer, filling the space between them. She smiled faintly, enjoying the sensation of Cadvan's hands on her waist.

Two weeks, two weeks of his hands and his smiles and the sound of his voice. She inhaled his familiar smell: he was real and he was here in her bed.

Or perhaps she was in his bed. Her status in the dark tower wavered depending on who she was around. Among servants of the Dark, the Hulls and petty Grin, she was no better than a whore who lived on the good graces of Cadvan. They made snide remarks whenever she passed, wondering loudly what she was doing out of Cadvan's bedroom. On more than one occasion, as she ran small errands about the tower, Maerad had been roughly handled by other men. Sharma treated her with mocking contempt, calling her Cadvan's woman, and declaring her shameful and an embarrassment to her kin. He always feigned surprise when he saw her, insinuating she must be exhausted from all her hard work about Cadvan's rooms. Maerad bore the taunts at her name and family with feeble control, but, no matter what she said, one thing remained true of her status: by virtue of Cadvan's oath, she was at his service.

However, among the Bards held prisoner in the pits of the dark tower, Maerad was a beloved friend and honored member of the Light. The First Bards and their respective circles had been locked in miserable cells, cut into the stone roots of the tower, and it was Maerad, Cadvan, Saliman and Hekibel who cared for them. Sharma had interest in keeping them alive, but not in seeing to their wellbeing. They were often left without food or water for days, they were given nothing to sleep on but piles of damp, molding hay. If they were injured, their wounds were left to fester. The Hulls delighted in tormenting them, dragging them from their cells to be tortured. And always, one by one, the First Bards were forced before Sharma, who bent his will on breaking their minds. They were left in semi catatonic states, slumped on the floors of their cells with unseeing eyes and blank expressions. These were the Bards Maerad helped care for now, though she had spent almost all of her time with the Bards from Innail, desperate for Silvia's love and attention.

In the bed, she shivered unhappily recalling the last time she had been down to the pits, and been forced to care for the prisoners. She rolled on her back, staring up at the canopied ceiling, trying to make sense of the world. How had she, the mortal enemy of Sharma, ended up in rooms fit for a queen, while innocent men and women who were simply caught up in the storm, were trapped in the lowest, most miserable dungeons? It made her feel guilty, like she was personally responsible for their condition. Of course, she felt guilty about a lot of things she had seen in Dagra recently. From the ghettos surrounding the tower where the Bards were kept, to the dead bodies left out in the sun to rot, and the whispered rumors that the war in the west was going in favor of Sharma, Maerad felt accountable for the destruction of Annar and the seven kingdoms, but, frustratingly, there was no one to confess to, no one to ask forgiveness.

Except for Cadvan, but he would grant it in a breath. Maerad glanced at Cadvan, admiring the innocence of his restful face. She wanted to reach up and brush her hand along his cheek, kiss the purple bruises under his eyes, but it would have woken him. And he needs sleep.

Maerad carefully unwound Cadvan's arms from her and slipped out from under the blankets. She was always surprised that in Dagra, it was bitingly cold before dawn, and she hurried to cover her thin chemise with a thick robe. She left the dark room quietly, nothing but the rustle of her long robe dragging along the floor in her wake as she went, and closed the door softly. There was another hour before the sun rose properly and Cadvan would be up, but she rose in the fading light of the moon to ready the rooms for the day.

Not two days had passed after Cadvan's return that Sharma had sneeringly informed Maerad that her presence was only needed in the evening if he wanted music. She was to the spend the rest of the day keeping Cadvan's household running smoothly and herself available should he require diversion. Sharma had taken particular pleasure in that announcement, smiling at the laughter of the Hulls, Cadvan's bright red face and the confused looks of the few other Bards that kept Sharma's company. Though Maerad had yet to explain to Saliman what had happened while he was gone, it was becoming impossible to ignore his curious looks when Sharma made such innuendos. Personally, she had smarted at having been reduced to Cadvan's mistress, but she knew that without that slim veil of protection, Sharma would have destroyed her. Or worse.

Then again, that's what you spent the last three months learning, she mused as she crossed the sitting room for the fireplace.

Maerad sank down to her knees and tossed her long hair back so it wouldn't burn as she worked the fire up into a crackling blaze. Once it was burning, she added scented rushes and waited while the room filled with the relaxing aroma. She went next to the windows and threw open the shutters off the cold iron grating. The moon had gone now, but the sun still lingered below the horizon and the purple pre-dawn light looked eerie and foreboding. The breeze ruffled her hair off her shoulders, but it smelled like iron ore and Maerad turned away quickly for the bathroom.

Though Maerad loved baths, she took hers once Cadvan had left for whatever business Sharma used him. In the mornings, she sufficed with a spartan wash of her face and arms while filling the tub for Cadvan. She'd linger in the bathroom, however, and inhale the heady scent of whatever oil she had added to the water and watch the steam rise in the cool air. By the time the tub was full, the sun had finally peaked over the horizon and she called for a servant to fetch breakfast from the kitchens before going to rouse Cadvan.

"Wake up." Maerad purred in satisfaction when she finally pushed the hair off his face and stroked his chin. "Wake up, I've a bath waiting and food on the way."

Cadvan grumbled something in his sleep and his eyes slowly opened. Seeing Maerad in the pale light drew a faint smile to his face, and for a brief moment, Cadvan forgot that he was in Dagra. "Those things can wait. Get back into bed."

Maerad looked wistfully at her place under the sheets. It was hard to refuse him. "I can't. There's far too much work to do. I'm planning to go check on Malgorn this afternoon."

"Just Malgorn?" Cadvan raised an eyebrow, sitting up and tousling his hair.

"Malgorn and Silvia." Maerad amended with a flash of a smile. "Malgorn is still weak and Silvia is overwhelmed with care."

Cadvan threw back the blankets and swung his legs around. "He'll need a proper healer, Maerad. Saliman needed Hem to set him straight."

"You didn't," Maerad pointed out, studying his profile. He looked exhausted, though Maerad hoped it was just the morning light making his face pale.

Cadvan glanced over at her. "I suspect the Nameless One wasn't quite so…vicious with me." He stood, stretching before Maerad and her eyes dropped to the gap between his shirt and trousers, the patch of muscle and smooth skin. Cadvan caught her looking and smiling wryly. "It's not polite to stare, mistress Maerad."

Maerad smiled slyly. "You take time from your day to stare."

Cadvan laughed as he passed Maerad for the sitting room. "You must forgive me, but looking like you do, I'd be a fool to do anything else. It's an unfair comparison."

"Flattery will only get you so far," Maerad said, shooing him toward the bath.

Cadvan vanished into the bath, and Maerad waited, listening for the splash of water before rummaging through the wardrobe and laying out fresh clothing. It wasn't long before the serving girl Maerad had sent to the kitchen knocked on the door, returned with a large tray of food. As she took the tray, Maerad spared the girl a sliver of a smile and watched her narrow, malnourished face light up. It had only taken a few days of seeing the girl before Maerad had learned how to charm her, offerings of leftover food, fresh water, a few bright ribbons to tie in her hair, small things to win her favor. Now, she brought Maerad anything she asked for, in this case, scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, thick toast and a steaming carafe of coffee.

Set between two windows, a round, mahogany table balanced on spindle legs. Maerad laid out the meal, and then settled on a chair, watching the coffee steam and the food cool. She was ravenous, of course, but Lyla had driven into her head that she should wait and serve her guest.

When Cadvan emerged, dripping with scented water, he sniffed the air appreciatively. "How did you charm this from the kitchens?"

Maerad offered Cadvan the same narrow smile Lyla always wore, and she poured a cup of steaming coffee from a silver carafe. She served food like she'd been trained, bent at the waist to emphasize her curves, displaying her long neck and pale arms and wrists through the generous gap in her sleeves. Cadvan, though, watched her face. He was still uncomfortable with this version of Maerad the Nameless One saw fit to force on them both.

"So, you will go visit Silvia again?" he asked while Maerad buttered slices of toast for them both. "You don't tire of that place?"

Maerad's hand slipped and she placed the butter knife carefully aside. "I hate it. I hate what he does to the Bards. I hate how they look at me when I come, dressed in finery fit for a princess and they are in rags. I hate the smell of death. But, what else can I do? Let them go on like that?

Cadvan frowned. "Maerad, I love Malgorn and Silvia as much as you, but I like not the idea of you down in that horrible prison. It worries me when you are there alone and I can't protect you."

Maerad bit her lip. "Cadvan, if you order me not to go-"

"I'm not doing that," Cadvan said sharply.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Maerad played the role of dutiful mistress because Sharma commanded it and because he held her brother prisoner at his feet, but there were aspects of her servitude they both found grating. Sharma told Maerad that she was meant to obey Cadvan, his word might as well have been law. Maerad had rolled her eyes at that, and Sharma politely reminded her that Cadvan's thoughts were open to him, and if he found her expressly disobeying something Cadvan had said, he'd hurt Hem. She stared blankly, unsure if Sharma was lying, but his bright, sharp smile suggested otherwise. Cadvan was particularly unhappy with the arrangement, and took no pleasure he being able to order Maerad. If anything, he felt like it alienated him from her, that she resented him his thin power over her.

"I'm not telling you no, but it worries me when you're in a place like that."

Maerad sipped her coffee, enjoying the bitter taste. "Everything worries you when I'm not in your direct line of vision."

Cadvan chuckled despite himself, and took her hand, squeezing tightly. "I told you, did I not, that I was a jealous man? Am I wrong for wanting to keep you to myself?"

"Not wrong, but I can't live in this room forever." Maerad studied his hand holding hers, the scars and calluses that made it rough to the touch. "I'm not a delicate flower, Cadvan."

"That," Cadvan said pointedly, turning his face so the scars on his cheek showed, "I know. After the Nameless One, you might be the most treacherous company I've ever kept. And despite that, or perhaps because of it, I would like to keep you safe."

There was a painful honesty to his voice that made Maerad blush. She knew that the war in the north had gone hard on Cadvan. In the weeks since his return, he was dour and quiet. He didn't like to play his instrument, though Maerad often asked him to accompany her singing. He rarely smiled. She sensed his sadness like a physical thing, a mantle that he always wore. But Cadvan smiled for her, he laughed at her jests, he watched her move about the room with a gentle, admiring look, he held her at night with a desperate intensity, like he couldn't bear to lose her. She didn't think he lied about wanting to protect her.

"It is never my intention to worry you."

Cadvan arched an eyebrow sardonically. "Oh, really?"

"You can't blame me for all those times we were trying to find the Tree Song!" Maerad protested laughingly. "That was beyond my control. But, remember that here I am to make your life easier."

"Perhaps I worry overmuch," Cadvan admitted ruefully. "But I'm not foolish enough to think this palace is safe for you because I struck a deal with the Nameless One. What have you seen of Likud?"

Maerad scowled. "Down there just a few days ago, saying awful things to the Circle of Lirigon. I meant to see them after but…" She trailed off. She was loathe to leave Silvia for anything, though she was meant to be tending to them all.

"Nelac is with the Lirigon folk," Cadvan said thoughtfully. "Likud has a special hatred for Nelac since their last encounter." When Maerad looked up at him questioningly he made a vague gesture. "Nelac cast the Likud out of the First Bard of Lirigon."

"Vaclal was possessed by Likud?"

"No, there was another before him. Likud's possession destroyed her." Cadvan flinched at the memory of Bashar, and he shook himself. "I'm not surprised that Likud is hounding Nelac. He's not a First Bard, but he is of their quality, and still the Nameless One has not touched his mind. I think Likud grows anxious to see Nelac's mind destroyed."

Cadvan said the words without inflection, but his eyes were dark. Maerad knew how deeply he loved the old Bard, and how much it pained him to think of him having his mind torn apart by Sharma. "I will see him today. I'll bring him food and water and whatever else you think best."

Cadvan looked a little brighter at that. "Take him one of those hundred cloaks that sit in that wardrobe. For all the miserable heat, it's freezing down there. And wet."

"I'll see him wrapped up tight." Maerad nibbled a forkful of eggs. "And where will you be today?"

"The Light only knows." Cadvan stabbed a piece of bacon with unnecessary force. "Last time, Saliman and I were set to watching Hulls interrogate Bards, they wanted us to help." Cadvan shuddered. "Some days, he likes to have us try our skill with blades to keep him entertained. Last week, we had to watch Vaclal…"

"Did you see my brother? Maerad asked, turning the subject away from Cadvan's darkening mood.

"Aye, he sits bold as ever at the Nameless One's feet." Privately, Cadvan was impressed with the boy's stamina. He alone of all the Bards was in the constant company of the Nameless One. He watched every horrible crime committed, saw every punishment doled out. On one memorable occasion, Cadvan had seen him curse the Nameless One, throwing a bowl of soup vaguely in his direction. Cadvan felt his mouth hanging open at the nerve of Hem, staring daggers at the most powerful creature in the world. He didn't know if there would ever be tales of bravery again, but if songs were ever written, the boy deserved a ballad to his courage.

"I've barely seen him since returning," Maerad said contritely. Aside from Cadvan, she had missed Hem sorely during the three months she'd been sent away.

"He's well enough, though he's got a temper," Cadvan hedged. He took a long draw on his coffee. "I think he's given Saliman a few grey hairs, though."

"And how is Saliman? Occupied with Hekibel?" Maerad reflected a moment on the woman who had arrived with Saliman a few weeks before. She was so beautiful that Maerad sometimes felt awkward speaking to her. "I trust he's not so worried about her as you are me?"

"Worse," Cadvan said, rolling his eyes. "Saliman pulled her from the ruins of Lirigon himself, he's not leaving her anywhere without someone to watch her."

"She and I are going to rise up against our captors," Maerad teased gently. "You will wake up one morning to no breakfast and no bath. She and I will have run wild."

"I don't think the world could handle it," Cadvan mused, finishing his coffee.

"You fared well enough," said Maerad airily, offering the coffee again. When Cadvan nodded, Maerad poured another cup, saying, "But if you don't let me have a bit of freedom, I'll go mad in here. That could be even worse."

Cadvan held up his hands helplessly. "I give you your freedom. I don't stop you wandering the castle, I don't stop you going down to care for our friends. If I could let you outside, believe me, you would have the freedom of that pathetic little courtyard the Nameless One maintains."

Maerad dropped the issue, no point worrying it like a dog with a bone. "Is there any news of Annar? How goes Enkir's war in the west."

Cadvan sighed. "Enkir moves swiftly. The destruction of the Schools in the east and north have made the Bards fearful. I think more Schools are giving way to Enkir with the hope he will defend them against the coming Dark."

"And Thorold?"

"There is no word. The island has effectively shut its boarders. If any servants of the Dark managed to get in, it seems they have not gotten out. The Nameless One is furious."

Though it heartened Maerad to hear of Thorold's continued resistance, she worried all the same. They were going to lose their battle, there was no doubt, and those Bards would be brought back to Dagra. Sharma was as petty as he was cruel-Maerad could testify to that at length-and she feared what he might do to the Bards who had opposed him: the First Circle and First Bard.

"His anger will linger," Maerad said softly, thinking of Nerili. "He does not easily brook resistance."

Perhaps Cadvan was thinking the same thing because he leaned back in his chair and looked out through the grated window. He saw the red light of Dagra reflected in the low hanging clouds and cringed: this was no place for children of the Light. The food in his mouth turned bitter. "No, I think I can attest to that. But when the times comes, perhaps there is something we'll be able to do."

Maerad looked up at him questioningly, but he was still looking out over Dagra. "Have you been down to the ghetto where they keep the Bards?"

"No." His voice was hard and bitter and Maerad suspected that he'd heard bad things. "The Nameless One hasn't seen fit to let me leave the tower. He probably thinks I'll stir up a rebellion." Cadvan laughed, but it was short and faded quickly on the air.

The truth was that, since their return, word had spread among the Bards that Cadvan of Lirigon (who had always flirted a bit too much with the Dark) and Saliman of Turbansk had helped the Black Army in their conquest. Cadvan suspected this rumor was spread in part by the Hulls who oversaw the Bards, but knowing that didn't stop the whispers. None of the Bards were allowed to leave the ghetto, but the ones that were brought before the Nameless One and saw Cadvan and Saliman seated in the throne room, spared them both very dark looks. Saliman seemed to care little, saying the important people knew the truth of the story, but it was hard for Cadvan to look at people who should have been his friends, and see their dislike written clearly across his face. It reminded him painfully of his youth after he'd been exiled from all the Schools and turned out of his own home. He doubted any of them would trust him to lead a rebellion, even against the Nameless One.

A knock on the door jerked Cadvan from his thoughts, and someone called to open the door. Saliman stood on the other side, Hekibel slightly behind him, her arms crossed huffily. Maerad and Cadvan exchanged a quick, humorous glance at the sight before rising to greet them.

"To what do we owe this pleasure so early in the morning?" Maerad asked, tipping her head.

Hekibel, who found Maerad as distractingly pretty as Maerad found her, blushed faintly. "I can't stand another day in that room. If I don't get out, I'll go mad."

Maerad angled a look at Cadvan, who was fighting to keep his composure. "I am going down to the cells to tend to the Bards there. You can come with me."

Saliman looked appalled. "Hekibel isn't a Bard, she shouldn't be there."

"I'm not helpless!"

Saliman opened his mouth to argue, but Maerad moved forward, slipping her arm through Hekibel's in much the same way Lyla did with her. "Of course you're not, and Saliman knows that. He worries too much. It's a fault all men have when it comes to lovely women."

Hekibel blinked at the young woman's ingratiating smile and felt her lips turn up a little. "I would like to come with you. I haven't seen Silvia or Malgorn in weeks."

Maerad turned bright eyes on Saliman. "A deal, then. I will take Hekibel with me and swear to protect her from all the Hulls and creatures of the Dark, and you will try to convince Sharma to let my brother visit me here?"

Saliman looked helplessly at Cadvan, but the other Bard offered no guidance but a shrug. "The Nameless One isn't in the habit of making deals with me anymore."

"Try you're best. I, on the other hand, will ensure nothing untoward happens to Hekibel." Maerad tilted her head a little to side and Saliman saw a brief glimpse of Milana. Except, of course, that Milana had been a stern and austere First Bard, and Maerad chatted and flirted prettily as a maid in the Ernani's court. "I'll swear on the Light, if it makes you feel better?"

"You drive a hard bargain. I, too, miss your brother's company."

"I only gamble when I know I'm going to win," Maerad rejoined promptly.

"Just-" Saliman shook his head. "-just be careful. There are plenty of dark corners of this castle that might make a meal of the two of you."

Maerad's thin smile had no humor to it. "Come now, the only person in this tower who might make a meal of me is Sharma, and we all know he prefers to play with his food before he eats it."

Hem lifted Finlan's chin so he could look at him directly. The First Bard flinched when the other looked at him, there was something unnerving about the boy's eyes. Hem noticed and tried not to take it personally.

"Have your headaches gotten any better?" Hem asked evenly. He felt Finlan's pulse just below his cheekbone. It was sluggish.

Finlan closed his eyes tiredly. "A little. I'm still sensitive to light."

"Where's the pressure?"

"Behind my eyes."

Hem nodded, turning his attention to the man's wrists. He rolled up the ragged sleeves of Finlan's tunic and examined the bruising on his wrists and arms. "These are new. How did you get them?"

Finlan stared blankly at the purple bruises covering his arms. "I was chained-chained upright so the Hulls could see me."

"How long?"

"I don't know."

Hem scowled. It would have been days of hanging by his wrist to get bruises so deep and dark. He had warned Sharma before that if he wanted to keep the First Bards alive, he had to go easier on them. Finlan was old and injured, stringing him up could have dislocated one of his arms. Hem murmured some words in the Speech and heard Finlan sigh as gentle warmth raced up his arm and loosened the tight muscles in his shoulders. The bruising faded a little. Hem inspected the Sick Moon burned into his wrist.

"Does this still hurt?" he asked.

"Only when there's pressure on it."

Poor blood circulation, Hem thought nervously. Probably from hanging on wall for days at a time. "I'll see what I can do for it."

Finlan watched the boy work curiously. Since his imprisonment, he'd heard stories from the other Bards about the Pellinor boy with extraordinary healing powers. He'd been told that Hem lived in the shadow of the Nameless One himself, that the boy frequently challenged him fearlessly. The Bards of Turbansk who were held occasionally in the tower spoke of his amazing defeat of the Death Crows with the help of the birds of Turbansk. He was a hero and healer in the south, he was a courageous dissident in Dagra. But he was also a strange child with fey blood.

"Thank you," Finlan said after a beat, watching Hem trace the brand carefully. "I think the last thing I expected to find Dagra was a healer."

Hem flashed him a kindly look. "You bring all the Bards to Dagra, they're bound to be some. Something Sharma didn't think of, I guess."

Finlan flinched at the Nameless One's use-name. "I'm grateful for it. Not that I'm glad to find you here," he added quickly.

"Unfortunately, I think this had been my fate for a long while." Hem murmured something and the brand stopped aching. When he looked up, Finlan was watching him sadly. "My sister and I…we were bound up in this."

"I've heard," said Finlan gently. It was a strange impasse, this conversation with a boy whose claim to kindred, only months before, Finlan would have sought to undermine. He felt guilty, watching the young man heal him when he doubted he would have done the same.

"Fate is a strange thing, isn't it?" Hem continued, not quite noticing the change in Finlan's tone. He pulled the neckline of Finlan's tunic down and began inspecting the joints at his shoulder, massaging the sore muscle. "It's how my sister found me, she just knew where I was and rescued me from the Hulls. Like it was meant to happen."

Finlan sighed in relief when Hem managed to loosen a knot. "The prophecy you and your sister fulfilled is an old one. Only a few Readers even remember it."

"Doesn't matter much now, I guess." Hem shrugged. "I can't do much better for you without medical supplies right now. You should be able to rest a little easier, though. The sleep may help the headaches."

Finlan turned with an ironic smile, because they both knew what was really causing the headaches, and opened his mouth to make a joke, but low laughter filled the room around them. Hem's back straightened and Finlan shrunk back.

"I doubt that very much," came the voice of Sharma. It was sharp with rebuke at Hem's words. "I could probably ease your pain, Finlan, if you would continence my presence again."

Finlan turned away, looking to the grilled windows and the sky. "I would rather not."

Sharma brought his foot down loudly on the stone floor and both Bards turned in attention. He was seated on his throne, dressed in handsome dark robes, his amulet of the Sick Moon gleaming on his chest. His dark hair was tied off his face and reminded Hem of how Saliman wore his own. A circlet of silver sat on his brow above his brown eyes. He leaned forward, and both Hem and Finlan felt a pulse of energy brush against them.

"That is not how you refer to me, Finlan," he said softly.

"I would rather not, master," Finlan said quickly, is face averted.

Sharma continued to stare at the First Bard until Finlan lowered his face to stare at his hands, then he switched his gaze to Hem. "Cai, you've done well with these Bards. I think they might live to see my reign. You deserve a reward."

"Let me visit my sister," Hem said at once.

"You haven't done that well," Sharma rejoined at once, eyes glowing merrily. "Besides, I imagine your sister is kept quite busy with her current duties."

Hem scowled at the insult. "I somehow doubt it takes all her time."

Sharma leaned back, smirking. "Cadvan isn't as young as he looks, you mean? I suppose a man gets tired after a while." When Hem's eyes flashed angrily, Sharma gestured vaguely. "I suppose you wouldn't know about that, would you? Poor Zelika died before you could come into manhood. Perhaps you would like it, though? I'm sure there are plenty of beautiful women who could be brought here. That is a just reward, no?"

Hem's glower deepened and Finlan marveled at the boy's temper in the face of the Nameless One. "I am satisfied with my current situation." Sharma raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

"Forgive me, master, but if you wish to keep the Bards of the First Circle alive, you're going to have to give us food and water," Finlan said into the deepening silence. He didn't particularly like speaking to the Nameless One, and he detested calling him master, but his people were starving in their cells. "I came here to ask if you might provide us more than one meal a week."

Sharma turned his attention away from Hem regretfully. He liked toying with the boy. "Your people have not earned the right to food. I know you and yours spite me in your cells."

Finlan sighed. "Perhaps you could be merciful?"

"Mercy?" Sharma hissed, and his voice was like a whip for Finlan, who recoiled like he'd been struck. "You ask me to show you mercy when you curse my name? When you feebly plot against me and mine? You are lucky I have not fed you to my dogs!"

Hem noticed that each word spoken by Sharma seemed to cause Finlan great pain, and he tried to catch his eye. "I meant only that you wish to keep us alive until you silence the Speech, and food may help that."

Sharma snorted, rolling his eyes expressively before sitting back. Hem thought he looked like a spoiled, petulant prince, not the most terrifying creature of the Dark ever known. "Your kind is pathetic. What would you do if I just left you down there?"

Finlan bit back the sharp reply that he'd be significantly happier, and said, "Forgive us, but we are slaves to our flesh."

"Perhaps I ought to strip your flesh away?" Finlan's face went white and he shook his head wordlessly. Sharma laughed, amused by the look of terror in the old man's face. "Finlan, your plight has moved me. I shall feed you and your little Bards twice a week. Will that suit?

"Yes, thank you," Finlan said stiffly.

Sharma eyed him closely. His eyes were bright with fever, his face pale and covered in sweat. He looked like he would die soon. Unable to bear my mark, unable to survive my consciousness. This one is unworthy of life in my new world. The sound of footsteps approaching drew Sharma's attention away from Finlan.

"Cadvan and Saliman come. Finally." Sharma preferred them to the Bards brought back from Annar. Those two had backbone to challenge him, they had the strength to keep him entertained. "You can go back to your cell, Finlan."

Finlan levered himself onto his feet but stumbled. Hem caught him and was shocked by how light he felt. "I'll make sure Sharma sends more food," he murmured, catching the Bard's eye.

Finlan smiled shakily. "Thank you, Cai."

"Hem," he said firmly. "My name is Hem."