Sneaking back into the slave quarters wasn't too hard. Farrah picked her way through the other slaves to her place next to the wall. She sat down, arms around her knees. Closing her eyes, she leaned back, letting her head bump against the wall. She could remember being free. Thirteen years as a free Tortallan, two years as a slave; it wasn't hard to figure what she remembered most. She remembered being allowed to do as she wished, go where she wished. That wasn't a choice here. She had to be told she could before being able to go anywhere, do anything. Since her village had been conquered, her owners had tried to break her. Always. They would hit her, beat her till she couldn't stand. But nothing could break her. She would always be free, so long as no one could shatter her spirit. But she was afraid now, afraid as she had never been for the to years she had been in Carthak. She was owned by the Emperor now; he would not stand for an unbroken slave. And she shuddered to think what he would do in order to break her. He hadn't had her ordered to keep her hair for no reason. She knew he was not a gentle man; she would be hurt – badly – if ever he felt bored. He had the power. And he knew it. Farrah was scared that tonight might have been her last act of defiance.

Sighing, Farrah laid down. She would think of the future in the future. Until then, she would rebel against this slavery.

She had just fallen asleep when a guard opened the door.

"That one," a voice whispered, pointing. He pointed to Farrah's sleeping body.