Chapter Twenty

When Hema woke the next morning, she felt an initial shock not seeing her familiar bedroom. She stared a moment at the canopy above, reflecting on the night's events. Her wedding seemed a distant memory and the wedding night, a vague dream of heat, and panting and the strange pungent odor of a man. Her hand slid to her belly and she wondered if even now life was stirring in her. Much of her hoped she was with child, since it would mean she could stop laying with her loveless husband. But a small part of her mind was curious, hopeful even, that it would happen again.

These thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, and Hema sat up. "Yes?"

"Daughter," her mother shouted though the wood. "I've come to see how you do." Hema felt a small prickling of annoyance. Was she not her own woman now? She was married and brought to bed, could her mother not leave her alone? "Hemalatha, let me in."

But old obedience died hard, and Hema rose from bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and went to the door. "I'm well, mother," Hema said evenly as her mother stormed in with a flurry of maids. They rushed about, setting the room to rights. She saw, in the greeting chamber, her husband was lounging carelessly on a couch, drinking coffee and reading a letter. If he cared that his mother-in-law had invaded his own personal rooms, he didn't show it.

"Yes, well." She turned and closed the door to the bedroom with a snap, directing Hema to a chair. A maid served them hot tea and a light meal of toast with fruit. Sonja surveyed her daughter closely. "I've come to see how you are this morning." Her implied intent was clear.

Hema waited for the maid to retreat to sorting the bed. "Very well. Well rested, content."

"Not too rested I hope," her mother said dryly. "Let us be frank. Did he have you?"

Hema took the time to sip her tea, thinking about the brief lovemaking. "It's rather private."

"Not for you," Sonja said coldly. "You might be married to the Ernani but that doesn't make you queen. If you can't produce an heir, our lord will see the marriage annulled and a new girl in your place. There are plenty of young, fertile Grin's daughters waiting for the opportunity to rise." She sat back, face set in a firm frown. "You need to make a son, only then is your position secured. So, did he lay with you?"

"Yes," Hema said softly.

"More than once?"

"No." Sonja eyebrows twitched at that. "I think he was exhausted from the day's events," she added hurriedly.

"Perhaps," her mother said. "But it's your job to keep him interested in you. If he's barely bedding you, you'll never get a child from him."

"I can't make him share my bed," Hema said petulantly.

"You can try being a desirable woman," her mother snapped. "You must do better, Hemalatha. Your father will be displeased by this."

Hema's long-standing fear of her father was enough to quiet her complaints. "Once we're in Turbansk I think it will be easier. We'll have a normal life there."

"Indeed," her mother agreed. "You will need to prepare for travel. We leave soon for the Suderain."

"We?" Hema looked up curiously.

"For now, just you and I, and your brothers. Once your father can set the estate in order, he'll join us." Sonja sat back and ate her toast. "I think you'll quite like the palace-once it's been fixed. For now, we'll stay in a nearby city while the castle is rebuilt."

Irritated that her family didn't trust her alone, but ever obedient to their whims, Hema shrugged carefully. "I'm sure we'll all be comfortable."

"Better than this place, infested with slaves and witches." Sonja scrunched her nose. "I can smell the dark magic. It's putrid."

Hema thought of the strange, pale-skinned men and women she had seen the night before. They had not seemed evil. She thought there was a profound sadness to them. "It does ruin the mood."

"It certainly does." Sonja studied the room with cool curiosity, content for now. "You are kept very nicely, I see. He does you that kindness at least."

Hema smiled for her mother's benefit. "I'm sure this is very surprising for him, mother. In time, he will be a perfect gentleman."

Sonja took a bite of her toast. "If he's not, it's just a matter of time before he can be set aside."

Hema looked at her mother curiously and she smirked. "A baby boy is a future Ernani. What use is the current one?"

"Unless he does us the favor of dying, it's not a question of use," Hema said, shocked by her mother's plotting.

Sonja merely smiled tightly. "Of course, daughter. It is merely wishful thinking."

Hema returned to her meal, finishing it over light conversation from her mother. They discussed the rest of the wedding celebration. Sonja seemed not to remember the madness that had ensued toward the end, and described the antics of the Bards in great detail. She did little to hide her dislike, particularly with regard to the women, which she thought were living outside their station. She took the opportunity to emphasize to her daughter that no good came of women living beyond their means.

"They tried to rise, and look how far they fell," Sonja said firmly. "These Bard women don't know their places."

Hema nodded gravely. "They would have been served better to just keep to their husbands."

Sonja hummed in agreement. "Or fathers."

With breakfast complete, Hema's maids prepared her for the day while her mother oversaw. She presented herself to her mother dressed in a lovely green and gold gown, and Sonja took a few moments to fix her hair, but nodded approvingly. When they entered the sitting room, Ir-Ytan was pouring over a map of Turbansk. Sonja marched over to him, Hema in her shadow.

"And what are you reading, my lord?" Sonja asked rudely.

Ir-Ytan's eyes moved up. He stared a moment, long enough for it to be petulant, but then smiled brightly, slamming the map down. "Lady Sonja, what an unexpected surprise."

She didn't fail to miss his tone. He had said unexpected but she suspected he meant unwelcome. "I came to see how my daughter did on her first day as a married woman."

Ir-Ytan inspected Hema belligerently. Hema blushed. "She seems well, fine enough not to merit your attention."

Sonja picked up the map. "And not fine enough to merit yours?"

"I would happily give her my attention, but you are otherwise preventing that." Ir-Ytan leaned back, a quick smile at the ready.

"Married life does not just pertain to my daughter, my lord. It is her family."

"I had one mother, no need to go looking for a second. Your services are not needed." He stood to his full height which was quite a bit taller than Sonja. "Do see yourself out of my rooms."

The dismissal was so sudden Sonja might have missed it, but Ir-Ytan had his own servants, and at his word, they opened the doors to the hall. Sonja stared after them, her face rigid. "You might take care to endear yourself to this family. We are, after all, going to assist in your rule."

Ir-Ytan had little patience. "I would sooner endear myself to a two-headed snake than your ill-begotten family. See yourself out, Lady Sonja, or I will."

His rudeness was so blatant that Sonja didn't know how to proceed. Hema, seeing that dark look in husband's eyes, caught her mother by the arm and led her to the door. "Mother this is not the time to go picking fights," she said in a harsh whisper. "I will speak to him about his words, but you must leave."

"He's an ungrateful, little brat," Sonja snarled, throwing off her daughter's hands. "Make sure he understands that I won't accept that behavior again!"

"Yes, yes, mother," Hema said hurriedly, directing her over the threshold. "Just make yourself calm. Go have tea with your ladies." She bowed curtly before her mother could get in another jab at Ir-Ytan and closed the door.

When she turned back around, Ir-Ytan was staring at her. "You shouldn't speak to my mother that way," she finally said.

"And she should not speak like that to me," he responded starkly.

Privately, Hema agreed, but her mother still deserved a modicum of respect. "My mother is used to overseeing a household. She likes to see me in the morning going about my business."

Ir-Ytan looked horrified at the prospect. "She just barges into your room? What if you're indecent?"

Hema rolled her eyes. "I'm her daughter."

"And my wife," Ir-Ytan said rather provocatively.

Hema bit her lip, trying to decide whether to brush Ir-Ytan off or excuse herself when a soft knock came at their door. "Mother," Hema said, spinning about, "can you please let me and his majesty finish our coffee in peace-"

But Sonja was not on the doorstep when Hema flung the doors wide. There was a pale-faced man staring at her gravely. He was dressed extravagantly in the fashion of Den Raven, and wore an amulet with a sickle moon. Hema recognized him as one of the Dark Lord's advisors and sank into a deep bow. When she came up, she noticed he had his hand on the shoulder of a young man.

"My lord," Hema said deferentially, stepping wide. "How can we help you?"

The man's face barely moved when he spoke. "I've come to deliver this boy to his brother."

"Brother?" Hema frowned, but Ir-Ytan pushed past her.

"Har-Ltan!" He snatched his brother from the grasp of the Hull, drawing him into a tight embrace. "By the Light, I've missed you! Are you alright, you're not hurt?" He pulled back, looking his brother up and down frantically. He took his chin in his hand and searched his face. "They haven't done anything to you have they?"

"Our lord sends his regards, Ernani, and reminds you of your oath," the man said in a dead voice.

Ir-Ytan dragged his brother behind him. Though he did not have the Gifted sight of Bards, he could recognize a Hull when he saw one. "Let him know I keep it," Ir-Ytan said coldly, and vanished into the room, taking his brother with him.

"Are you well? Did they hurt you?" Ir-Ytan asked again, taking his young brother to a chair. He knelt before him, looking up at him imploringly. "I'm so sorry this happened."

"I'm fine," Har-Ltan said earnestly. "They've been keeping me in a tower. No one touched me."

Ir-Ytan sighed in relief. "When they took us, I thought I would never see you again. And after Menika…"

"What happened to Menika?" Har-Ltan asked quickly. His young face showed his shock and fear, though is swiftly covered it.

Ir-Ytan looked up at his brother. He was young, barely a man at the age of thirteen, he didn't need that story in his head. "She's dead. The Nameless One killed her."

Har-Ltan winced. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better," he admitted. He saw his brother's eyes move over him, searching for wounds. He smiled widely, "But we're going back to the Suderain, Har-Ltan. I've arranged it with the Nameless One. I've been crowned the Ernani. We'll go back to Turbansk and be safe there."

"He made you the Ernani?" Har-Ltan gasped. "Even after everything? After the war and the rebellion?"

Ir-Ytan jumped to his feet, rushed to the bedroom and returned with the jewel the Nameless One had given him. "Look! See, I have the crown jewel. The one mother had in her crown."

Har-Ltan took the jewel and squeezed it tightly. "You really are the Ernani?"

"Yes, and you're coming with me. You'll be on my council, you're my heir." Ir-Ytan took his brother's hands in his own and pressed them. "We'll defend Turbansk together."

There was a soft cough and Ir-Ytan looked over his brother's head. Hema was standing rather awkwardly behind them. She must have heard everything he had said, and her face was set in an unhappy frown.

"Husband, who is this?"

Har-Ltan's face dropped at her words and he gaped at his brother. "Lady Hemalatha, this is my brother, the prince Har-Ltan."

Hema came around the chair and smiled blandly at the young prince. He didn't stand to greet her as he should have done, and she realized in that moment that she was nothing to these two young men. She had been born a rich Grin's daughter, but these were princes with a linage that stretched back millennia. When the prince stared at her with a distant, cold politeness, she felt terribly small. Out of habit, she bowed to him.

"I am sorry I could not have met you at the wedding feast," she said kindly.

Ir-Ytan nudged his brother sharply and the younger prince smiled tightly. "I regret I could not have been there to help you celebrate such a happy occasion. Tell me, how did you and my brother meet?"

It was a barbed question and Hema hesitated. "Through our parents," she finally said.

"That is remarkable," Har-Ltan said ironically, "seeing as our mother is dead."

Hema swallowed tightly and glanced at Ir-Ytan, but he was not inclined to help her with his brother. "I consider myself lucky. Your brother is a perfect gentleman."

Har-Ltan raised his eyebrows at his brother. "A perfect gentleman?" Then he dissolved into laughter.

"Forgive us, lady Hemalatha," Ir-Ytan said after a moment. "I suppose, to my brother, that is the farthest thing from the truth."

She smiled uncertainly. "He is not the perfect older brother?"

"One time he slipped a giant worm into my bed, and I thought it was a snake. I screamed so loud the Royal Guard burst into my room, swords at the ready. When they found the horrible thing squirming around under my sheets, even they could not keep a straight face. I was the laughingstock of the palace."

"Yes, but mother had me soundly whipped," Ir-Ytan said quickly.

"Hardly whipped," his brother said. "She took a belt across his hands."

"It still hurt," Ir-Ytan muttered, smiling sheepishly.

Hema laughed, grateful for a distraction. "I shall have to sleep lightly then."

"He deserved it!" Ir-Ytan said resolutely. "He snuck beetles into my dinner the night before."

"I must watch my food as well?" Hema asked.

"Of course not, lady wife," Ir-Ytan said swiftly. "That sort of vengeance is reserved for family only."

Hema didn't miss the distinction that she was not considered family. She was not worthy of the warmth and love they shared. "Well, I am grateful for that," she said seriously. "It was nice to meet you, Har-Ltan, and I suspect we will see much of each other if you are to accompany us to Turbansk, but I must excuse myself. I promised my little sister that I would take tea with her."

Har-Ltan dismissed her with a vague wave of his hand and Hema felt her insignificance anew. "Yes, we shall have to agree on some sort of joint custody of my brother."

Hema doubted there would be such a thing. Ir-Ytan would choose his brother over her every day. "Indeed. Good morning to you both."

When Hema had left to find her sister, Har-Ltan stared openly. "What are you doing with that idiot girl? Don't tell me you've taken her to wife on my account?"

Ir-Ytan sighed, pulling a chair over. "Not only you. It was a condition of my assent to the throne that I marry the girl. She's the daughter of a favored Grin, and her father and brothers have been appointed to the city council."

"But why take the throne at all?" Har-Ltan demanded.

"And what do you think would happen if I had refused? I'll tell you. He would have killed me and put you in my spot." Ir-Ytan said quickly. "And besides, I spoke to Saliman, and he recommended it. He said-and I think he is right-that as Ernani, I can try to protect the people from the Dark. Perhaps this Grin will be on my council, but I will be able to control the laws that are passed."

Har-Ltan cringed. "But…this girl?"

"She's pretty," Ir-Ytan offered embarrassedly.

"You can't take three steps in court without falling over a pretty woman," Har-Ltan snapped. "And she's going to take our mother's place?"

"No," Ir-Ytan said firmly. "I am taking our mother's place. I will be Ernani, and I will lead the people of the Suderain. The girl can just-"

"Bear your children?"

Ir-Ytan winced. "By the Light, I hope not." Har-Ltan chortled. "No, so long as I have no children, you are my heir, and I plan to keep it that way."

Har-Ltan smiled tremulously. "Her father won't like that."

"That's kind of the point." Ir-Ytan briefly glimpsed the night before: the lovemaking that had felt almost medical in nature. "She's certainly not interested or even passionate in such matters."

"Just passionate about tea," his brother chuckled. "So, when do we leave for Turbansk?"

"Soon, perhaps a few weeks. We'll stay at the manor house in Baladh, though, while the city is rebuilt."

Har-Ltan smiled wistfully. "It'll be nice to be home. This place is…"

"Horrible," Ir-Ytan finished. He looked up and caught his brother's eye. "Everything will be fine. You and I will lead Turbansk together, and no Grin, no Hull, not even the Nameless One will stop us. We are the sons of Har-Ytan, the greatest Ernani of the age. We'll protect our people."

"We'll do her memory justice," Har-Ltan said resolutely.

Ir-Ytan took his brother's hand firmly. "Together, we will make this right."

In the upper reaches of the dark tower, a chamber had been prepared for the council of Turbansk to meet. It was a circular room that allowed a sweeping view of Dagra through the many windows that lined the wall. Saliman, who stood beside one of these windows waiting for the meeting to begin, stared through the intricate grille that barred the window, making the room seem like a prison cell. He looked beyond the black walls of Dagra and could see the dirt road that wended north through the desert. He strained his eyes and could almost imagine that he could see the walls of Turbansk rising up to meet the bright blue sky.

Of course, those walls are gone now, he thought after a beat. No wall will bar the Nameless One's passing.

"Saliman, you wouldn't mind pouring me a wine, would you? This is thirsty work."

Still with his back to the table, Saliman rolled his eyes at Dharon, Rikesh's youngest son. That boy hasn't known a day of work in his life. Saliman turned about and held his hands wide in a gentle gesture. "Apologies, but we're out of wine."

"Boy!" Rajat snapped at Hem, who was attending Saliman. "Bring more wine at once."

Saliman came to the table, laying a hand on Hem's shoulder to stop him going. "Hem must remain here. He will take notes for me."

Rajat looked displeased to have his command refused, but went to the door, found a page, and sent for more wine. "Where is the Ernani?" he said, dropping into his seat anxiously. "The boy is keeping us late."

"He is the king," Saliman said mildly. "We wait on his pleasure."

"Besides," Soron said, "he's just had his wedding night. Can't blame a young man for rising late after that." He chuckled good-naturedly but Rikesh, Dharon and Rajat looked on darkly.

"I'm sure your daughter is taking him in hand," Narbila said, catching Soron's eye.

"The least he could do it be on time to speak with his father-in-law," Rikesh muttered. "A king he may be, but we will run the city."

The Bards of the First Circle looked uncomfortably between each other. The idea that a Grin and his lowly sons would be controlling the city didn't sit well with any of them. "Perhaps we can begin now, and when Ir-Ytan arrives, give him a quick summary?" Saliman suggested.

Rikesh shrugged. "Our architects say that the foundation of the city is mostly undamaged, and that this will be particularly useful in its reconstruction. I'm told, too, that the palace has survived most of the destruction. With an appropriate workforce, we could have part of it livable in under a year."

"And what is the appropriate work force?" Nimikeri asked pragmatically.

Rikesh smiled toothily. "Thousands."

"You plan to use Bards, I assume?" Saliman asked. His even voice belied his anger.

The page had returned with a bottle of wine. Rajat gratefully poured a glass of wine for himself and brother. "Slaves, yes."

"We are…limited in number," Saliman said slowly. "I do not know that there are thousands of Bards available."

"The population of Turbansk has been conscripted and will aid in the work. They will not, of course, be receiving salary, but we will offer food and small shelter."

"Even then, I do not believe that the Nameless One will empty his ghettos and send all the Bards in Annar and Seven Kingdoms to rebuild your city," Irisanu said softly. She was staring a scrap of paper where she had scribbled basic calculations. "Perhaps, if all the Bards of Turbansk were to be sent, you might have a thousand. The common people, another two. But that leaves you awfully short, and remember that Turbansk is the largest School in all the seven kingdoms. Should the Nameless One send the Bards of next three largest, you would only just have one, maybe one and half thousand."

"What are the next three largest Schools?" Saliman wondered aloud.

Irisanu shrugged. "Lirigon, Gent, Il Arunedh."

Saliman cringed inwardly. Cadvan will be less than pleased. "What of the southern Schools?"

Narbila shook her head. "It's difficult to say. Baladh and Zimek were small. Jerr-Niken might have provided almost five hundred, but the School was sacked years ago."

Saliman looked unhelpfully at Rikesh. "I would wager you'll get three thousand in total. The Schools of the south and the common people of Turbansk. Do not expect the Bards from the northern Schools to help."

"And why not?" Dharon snapped. "They are slaves, are they not?"

"Already they are spread thin," Saliman said evenly. "Some will be used throughout Den Raven, others I'm sure will go north to rebuild those Schools. It is better to plan for less than hope for more."

Dharon didn't seem impressed with the argument, but Rikesh held up his hand. "We will take our concerns to the Dark Lord. As for the progression of the rebuild, we start with the palace."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Soron said in low voice. "The roads need to be cleared and repaved, else how will you move materials and supplies? The aqueducts, too, must be set to rights if you plan to have fresh water for drinking. Perhaps you can clear a path to the palace and have a small team working there, but the majority of your forces must clear away the debris from the city first."

Rikesh looked outraged that he would be denied a palace. "The king-"

"Does not need his castle." Ir-Ytan had arrived, sliding silently through the door. He glanced around the table, relieved to find Saliman present. He smiled tightly. "Forgive me, I was a bit occupied this morning and forgot the time."

The Bards stood respectively and bowed. Rikesh didn't see the need, so he and his sons remained firmly in their seats. "We were discussing the reconstruction of your city."

"I gathered." Ir-Ytan snatched up the bottle of wine from Rajat's hand and ambled to the last empty seat. Hem hurried over, a glass in hand, and poured for Ir-Ytan while he situated himself. "Thank you, Hem," he said in a soft voice. "I agree with the First Circle, the palace is the least of our concerns right now. The roads and aqueducts must be our primary focus."

"And where will we live?" Rikesh asked acidly.

"Baladh," Ir-Ytan said simply. "There is a rather large manor house there. When my mother went on progress in the south, we stayed there quite comfortably. It's perhaps on hundred miles from the School, and well equipped to host the royal family."

Rikesh raised an eyebrow, but saw no reason to argue. "If you wish, my lord."

"Excellent." Ir-Ytan glanced around the table. "I'm to understand that slaves will be used to rebuild the city? Both the Bards and the common folk of Turbansk? In this case, I propose an emancipation."

"Excuse me?" Rajat said icily.

"I understand that the Bards cannot be freed." He looked apologetically to the First Circle. "But the common folk can be. When the city is rebuilt, I suggest we free all the men, women and children who assisted."

"Are you insane?" Dharon said. "Thousands of them free? And who will work in the city then?"

"Slaves do not contribute to the economy. If we wish to fix the city, it must have commerce."

"No," Rikesh said sharply. "The council will not agree to this."

Ir-Ytan shrugged. "I'm the Ernani. My word is law. I do not need your agreement on this matter."

Dharon and Rajat looked at their father. All their lives he had been the source of authority, and to flout him was to be punished severely. He stared at Ir-Ytan, a king yes, but a young king. Rikesh didn't suffer young men to order him about.

"You will, of course, have to take this matter to the Dark Lord."

"I'll take it for you," Saliman offered brightly. "He and I speak often enough."

Ir-Ytan raised his glass to Saliman. "My thanks."

Rikesh's hand clamped into a fist around the stem of his wine glass. "We will set a thousand of our workers to clearing roads, another thousand to assessing the damage to the aqueducts. The final thousand will begin work repairing the districts along the wall. As soon as the palace is reached, we will shift a thousand of our force there."

"That sounds fair," Ir-Ytan said, still staring at Rikesh. He sensed the other's man mounting anger.

Rikesh suddenly smiled. "After all, Baladh might sport a nice manor house, but I imagine it'll be quite tight on space. Myself, my sons, my wife, and you and Hemalatha, of course. We'll be practically tripping over each other."

"And Har-Ltan."

Rikesh looked mildly surprised and smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid not, my lord."

Ir-Ytan went very still. "The Nameless One promised my brother to me in exchange for marrying your daughter. He travels with us."

"My understanding is that your brother was allowed to live in exchange for the marriage. Nothing was promised about him living with you."

Saliman's eyes narrowed. "The prince should be in his city, serving on the council. Should something happen to Ir-Ytan, the prince will be heir to the throne. Certainly you cannot believe he is best suited living somewhere else? How will he learn his trade as a courtier, as a prince?"

"He is a second son," Rikesh said venomously. "He will not take the throne."

"He's my heir!" Ir-Ytan said hotly.

"My grandson will be your heir," Rikesh replied arrogantly. "We've already made arrangements for the little prince to go to Zimek. No reason to keep him around, especially not after your sons come."

Ir-Ytan bared his teeth in a snarl, and Saliman reached out to calm him, but the Ernani swatted his hand away. "And what sons are those? I'll not have any with your whore of a daughter."

Rikesh slammed his hand down on the table just as Rajat jumped to his feet. "You'll not disparage the name of my daughter!"

Ir-Ytan was up, hands tight around the wine bottle. "Hardly an insult. She crawled into my bed as quickly as she crawled onto the throne. Perhaps she doesn't trade in money, but she certainly sells herself!"

"Ir-Ytan!" Saliman said sharply. He grabbed the young man by the shoulders and forced him back into his seat. He shot a dark look across the table and a shadow of his power passed over the Grin and his sons and they sank back gradually.

Hem, standing quietly behind Saliman, carefully removed the wine bottle from Ir-Ytan's hands. He didn't blame the young Ernani for his outburst. Hem knew the sharp, burning desire to be with his sister, and it was hard to be forgiving when he remembered that Ir-Ytan had been forced to marry the girl. And yet, he remembered people calling his sister a whore for accepting Cadvan's protection in exchange for being his mistress. She hadn't had a choice in that, and neither had Hemalatha.

"Ir-Ytan, Hemalatha is your wife." Saliman eyed him severely. "Whatever disputes you have with her family, it is singularly graceless to sully her name. What would your mother think if she heard you saying such things about a woman?"

Ir-Ytan looked away. "Until my son is born, Har-Ltan is my heir."

Saliman said calmly, "That's as may be, but once you have a son, Har-Ltan will not stand to inherit. He is still a prince, still a lord. He deserves his own principality to rule over. Zimek is a fine territory. With you in the north and he in the south, we can build a strong, stable empire." Saliman was gripping the back of Ir-Ytan's chair. "He would be a week's ride away, and you could visit often."

"Fine," Ir-Ytan said bitterly. He turned an ugly look on Rikesh. "But I won't live apart from him. I will visit often to see that the ruling of Zimek is going well."

Rikesh looked ready to argue, but Soron spoke over him. "That seems fair enough."

"As you'll have it," Rikesh agreed, a tight smile back on his face. "My understanding is that he shall be placed in wardship of a servant of the Dark Lord until he is old enough to take on the duties of his station."

A Hull, Saliman thought regretfully, but put it aside. The prince was in no real danger so long as he kept a cool head and obeyed the edicts of Dagra. "Then we are in agreement regarding the reconstruction of Turbansk?"

"Yes," Ir-Ytan said thickly.

"Indeed," Rikesh agreed.

The silence lingered a moment before Ir-Ytan stood up suddenly. "Then, if you'll excuse me, I will go see to my brother. I've little time left with him, it seems." Ir-Ytan drained his glass, and kicked his chair in before storming out of the chamber.

"The boy has a temper," Rikesh said to Saliman.

"He's a young man," Soron said carelessly. "What more do you expect?"

"Respect," Rikesh said darkly, turning to the door where Ir-Ytan had just been.

After the cruel bit of political play Rikesh had engaged in, Saliman was feeling less than diplomatic. "Respect, Rikesh, must be earned."

"What was it like?" Delia asked in a hushed whisper. She and Hema had drawn the curtains on her great four-poster bed and were kneeling among the blankets, heads bowed together in conversation. "When you two were…together? Did it hurt?"

Hema giggled, abashed. "He was very gentle and polite. He even helped me take my hair down before bed!" When her sister stared at expectantly, she bit her lip. "It all happened so fast, I barely realized what was happening. At first, he was just kissing me-"

"Kissing you?" Delia cried, then had to bite her knuckles to stop from yelling. "He kissed you!"

"Yes." Hema blushed, thinking of it. When she closed her eyes she could still remember his hands in her hair, his hot lips pressing against hers. She remembered his knee between her legs, his hands on her thighs. "He was sort of…on top of me."

"He'd crush you!"

"No, no. He held himself up. Then he-well he put it in me, and moved around a bit and-" She covered her face, laughing, and her sister leaned closer it. "It was so messy. He kept kissing me, and moving his hips around, and then he-he grunted. And it was so wet and all over my legs."

"Is it always like that?" Delia asked with intense interest.

"I think so," Hema said sagely. "He went and got me a towel to clean up. Then…we slept."

Delia stared in awe of her older sister. "Are you pregnant?"

"I don't know," Hema said softly, her hands moving to her belly. "I don't know if it takes more than one time."

"Do you want to do it again?"

Hema looked thoughtfully at her younger sister. "I want to be a good queen and wife," she said simply.

Delia nodded seriously. "He's handsome, for a Turbanskian, and he seems kind to you. Maybe he's not all bad."

Hema smiled tentatively . "Maybe."

A sudden crack as the doors to the sitting room were thrown open made both girls jump. Angry footsteps stomped to the bedroom and crashed though the closed doors. A beat later Ir-Ytan flung aside curtains to the bed. The girls sat back, terrified of the stormy look on his face.

"And who are you?" he snapped, eyeing Delia unhappily. "Another little Grin strumpet crawling into my bed?"

Hema's flushed, embarrassed. "This is my sister, Delia."

Ir-Ytan snapped his fingers at the younger girl. "Get out," he said shortly. Delia flung herself from the bed, bobbing the briefest of curtsies before running from the room.

Hema watched her sister go regretfully before looking back up at her husband. His eyes were bright with anger. "That's no way to speak to your sister-in-law," she said stoutly.

"It is a way to speak to a whore," he said flatly, and Hema drew a sharp breath.

"You can't call my sister that!" she said shrilly, scrambling out of the bed to stand to her full height. "Who do you think you are?"

"Your king," he growled in a low voice. "And marrying me doesn't make you a queen. You can have a crown and a throne, but you'll never be worthy of the title. You're just some petty Grin's daughter, snapping up whatever prizes you can with your greedy little hands! And your sister is just as bad."

Hema's face had gone pale and her mouth hung open. "I didn't-I didn't marry you for that."

"No, of course not. You married me because your scheming father told you to, and you're too much a pathetic coward to tell him no!"

Hema felt tears brimming her eyes. "That's not true."

Ir-Ytan laughed mockingly. "You do whatever your father tells you to. I wonder, did he coach you how to lay with a man too? Tell you all the things to do when you're lying with your husband?"

"How dare you-"

Ir-Ytan's smile was like a razor. "No, I suppose that's not possible, given how you just laid there like an imbecile."

Before she knew what she was doing, Hema's hand snapped across his face. A stark silence fell between them and Hema covered her mouth with her hands. Ir-Ytan didn't move a muscle, staring out the window of the bedroom. A gasp escaped him and he placed his fingers to his cheek where she had hit him.

"I-I'm sorry," Hema stuttered. Having been an obedient daughter all her life, Hema had no familiarity with being struck, but she had seen her father lose his temper with her brothers before and was terrified of his riding crop. Staring up at Ir-Ytan, she waited for him to lunge for her.

His dark eyes searched her face a moment, and she saw something in him flinch. "No. I'm sorry, Hemalatha. I should not speak to you like that. My anger is misplaced." He held up his hands apologetically. "Excuse me."

He turned abruptly and left the room. Hema watched after him, utterly confused. She had yelled at him, struck him, and he simply left. She took a few hesitant steps, debating going after him, then covered herself in a robe and hurried into the sitting room. He was standing before the hearth, his face in his hands. She inched along the edge of the room, to where a pot of tea was still steaming. She poured two mugs full and came to join him before the fire.

Slowly, Ir-Ytan dropped his hands and Hema saw that his face was distraught. She bobbed a little curtsey. "When I am upset, I like to drink tea. It calms my mind and helps me think clearly. Perhaps that is what you need?"

Ir-Ytan took the mug carefully but said nothing.

Hema clutched her mug with both hands and smiled apprehensively. "It's hot, don't drink it yet. Just hold it and let the warmth fill up your hands. It's like holding a fire." She gestured to one of the couches, and after a moment he sat in the seat across from her. "My nanny used to make me drink sweet tea every morning, she said that was why I never gave my parents any problems. Boys are much more work, she said. No amount of sugar makes a boy sweet." Ir-Ytan still did not speak, and Hema tilted her head, smiling ruefully. "It doesn't make men sweet either. If it did, I would have slipped it in my father's whiskey every night."

Ir-Ytan glanced up at her and she rolled her eyes. "I take it your meeting with my father did not go well?"

"We had a few disagreements," Ir-Ytan said stiltedly.

"He can be a disagreeable man," confirmed Hema. "Anything in particular?"

Ir-Ytan looked into his tea and the warm steam eased the lines from his face. "My brother is not coming with us to Turbansk."

Hema frowned. "I'm sorry, I saw how pleased you were to be with him."

Ir-Ytan was beginning to feel like a complete idiot for shouting at Hema. What would your mother think? By the Light, I've been fool. "I'm…afraid for my brother."

Hema's eyebrows knitted together. "Why? Just because he's not with us doesn't mean his guard can't protect him?"

"It's not that simple," Ir-Ytan murmured. "Hema, we promised to be honest with each other. You know I was compelled to marry you, do you know what would happen if I had refused?"

Hema had the feeling she didn't want to know.

"They would kill my brother. They'd kill him like they killed my mother, my guards, my friends. They're all dead, he's the only person I have left. I have to protect him, I have to keep him safe and how-and how can I do that when he's hundreds of miles away?" Ir-Ytan's hands were shaking. "He's my little brother."

Hema bit her lip. She knew that Ir-Ytan had been ordered to the marriage, but she didn't realize that his brother was being held over his head. She thought of the young man she had seen, a small, perfect prince who had bowed and told her how happy he was to see his brother married. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry my family sees fit to keep you apart."

"It is cruel," he said raggedly. "They sent him away just to punish me. Just to check my power. And then I see you, you with your sister and your mother, your brothers and father all there to support you, and by the Light, it's not fair!"

She saw how upset he was and felt a pang of regret. Her family would spend the rest of their lives making him miserable, and she would be just one tool in their retinue. "No, I suppose it's not." She wanted to reach out and brush Ir-Ytan's hair back, but she thought he might not appreciate such a gesture from her. "My father has never been one to accept challenges to his authority. His sons learned long ago to obey him. You must be particularly difficult for him to act with such dispatch."

Ir-Ytan glanced at her. "He wants to rule my country."

Hema looked away. She knew as much. "You are still the Ernani, still the warden of the Suderain. My father cannot take those things from you no matter how hard he tries. You will always be a king and he will always be-" she smiled a little "-a petty Grin."

Ir-Ytan raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm sorry, Hema. I said things I should not have. You are not guilty of your father's crimes, and certainly not the one threatening my brother. I had no business calling you names."

Hema nodded. "It's true, you shouldn't say things like that to me. And I accept your apology." She paused, looking at his red cheek. "And I apologize for hitting you."

Ir-Ytan waved her off. "You had a every right."

Hema finally sipped her tea and sighed with pleasure. "Perhaps it was not the best way to start our marriage, but we can only do better from here."

"No more name-calling between us," Ir-Ytan agreed, trying his tea as well. It was surprisingly sweet. He smiled tiredly. "Does your mother always wake you up? I admit, I'm not always presentable in the mornings, and having her storming in might result in some unwelcome situations."

Hema laughed. "No, usually she sends a maid. I think this time she wanted to speak to me directly."

"Of course," Ir-Ytan said softly. "I suppose she wanted to make sure you were unharmed."

"Not exactly," Hema said uncomfortably, thinking that her mother wouldn't care a wink if Ir-Ytan had hurt her, so long as she was with child.

Ir-Ytan sensed her discomfort. "I can tell my guard to keep her out, you know? I am still the Ernani, we can spend our mornings just with ourselves."

Hema's eyes sparkled with delight. "Could you? It's not that I don't appreciate her attention but…she can be exhausting in the mornings. We could take our coffee and tea privately and away from them all."

Ir-Ytan made a dramatic bow of the head. "My lady, I would be happy to oblige."

Hema giggled sweetly and drained her tea. "Our mornings," she said warmly, "Just ours."

Night settled over the ghettos and, as was their custom over the last few weeks, Camphis and Mara took their meagre dinner on the roof of their dorm, and waited patiently for the older Bards to gather below. Camphis cursed softly when he accidently stabbed at a bean too heard and it shot off his plate. Laughing to herself, Mara offered up a bit of her own. The nights spying on the other Bards had deepened their camaraderie and there was an unspoken bond between them that Camphis was not willing to question but was so desperate to pursue.

"Did you hear about the Ernani?" Mara asked softly after a while. "Married to some Grin's daughter."

"Light's sake," Camphis spat. "What a nightmare."

"Marriage or the girl?"

Camphis smiled wryly. "Both."

Mara laughed low in her throat. "The eternal bachelor."

"Well, unfortunately I've fallen on hard times. I've got very little to offer a wife. Perhaps a bit of bean and rice, maybe some broth."

"If you didn't go dropping your beans everywhere you might have more to offer." Mara held up her own plate. "Myself, I could afford two, maybe even three, doweries with my beans."

"I have bean envy," Camphis admitted, wagging his eyebrows.

Mara covered her mouth to stop her laughter. "I might be willing to give you a few."

Camphis grinned openly. "My deepest thanks." They looked out over the roof tops in companionable silence for a while, and Camphis finally twisted to face Mara directly. "Have you given thought to what would happen if the Bards are successful? If we are freed from our slavery?"

Mara glanced at him, trying to discern his meaning. "I don't know. For so long now I've thought only in terms of survival, it barely gives one time to think about more than that." She saw Camphis look away and she said hurriedly, "And I realize that even if we do escape, the journey before us is long and hard, and we may have to go even farther north than the ruins of Lirigon. But there is a chance to make a new life."

"I'd be willing to go as far as Lirigon with you," Camphis admitted. "Of course, I'll expect half your beans."

Mara's eyes glittered. "I think I could find it in my heart to share."

Camphis was about to respond when the sound of voices drew their attention once more. They remained hidden behind the edge of the roof but listened to the terse conversation below.

"Busk arrives tomorrow, are we ready?" It was Ell.

"As ready as we can be. We've enlisted as many from the tower as we can. Among the ghettos, we've arranged strategic checkpoints. Very few know of our plans, a precaution to keep any probing Hulls out of the loop." A long pause on Gaz's part. "We tried to contact the First Bards and their Circles, but the Nameless One keeps them locked in the lower dungeons. It is too closely watched."

"So, we do this alone?" Peter asked nervously.

"If we can free the Bards in the tower, it would go a great deal to helping us," Gaz pressed. "A First Bard is more than a match for a lowly Hull."

"Yes, but we've no idea what condition the First Bards are kept," Faja hissed. "For all we know, the Nameless One turned them. Surely, he hasn't let them just continue on as they were, opposing him?

"We get little word from the tower about them. Our bird cannot go flying all over." Gaz chuckled at something. "We won't need them. Less than a hundred Bards is all it should take to break the Hulls' grasp tomorrow, then we storm the city, break the gates, and make for Turbansk."

"And leave Malgorn?" Ell asked grimly. "Leave Saliman?"

"There's nothing for it. We try to break into the tower, but if we can't manage it in time, we must flee."

Camphis's eyes widened in shock. Leave their First Bard? When he glanced at Mara, she looked equally appalled.

"And our little bird will keep the tower informed?"

"Cleverest damn bird I met," Gaz chortled. "Though he spends half his time chasing after bits of tin and copper and anything flashy."

"And do we have a signal for tomorrow?" Faja asked keenly. "How will we know when to strike?"

"Look for him," Gaz said wryly, gesturing up.

Camphis swore, dragging Mara back into the shadows, but too late. Something pale shot through the air overhead, screaming at the Bards below.

Spies! Spies! Spies on the roof!

The Bards on the street lurched into action. While magery was forbidden and the oppressive power of the Nameless One served to curtail most of the Bards' powers, an accomplished Bard with a strong will could cast a charm if they wished, and the Bards on the street threw their hands up, summoning White Fire. It flared brightly, illuminating the two pale faces that cringed back. Ell was the first to see their eyes, bright and scared, and gave a shout half anger, half relief.

"Hold!" he cried, throwing out his arms to the other Bards. "It's our own!"

The flames that had burst to life above suddenly dimmed, and the Bards sunk down, wondering if their sudden outburst had drawn any unwanted attention. Ell stared up at the roof, waiting for the two faces to reemerge. When he saw Camphis and Mara, he swore and ordered them down. They hurried out to join their fellow Bards, feeling like scolded children under their dark gazes.

"You know these two?" Gaz asked Ell sourly.

"Two very young Bards who live here," he said shortly.

"We're not young!" Mara started, but Camphis caught her wrist.

"And how long have you been listening?" Gaz asked, looking between them.

Up close, Camphis saw Gaz was older than Ell, but his eyes were alright with a kind of inner fire Dagra seemed to extinguish quickly. "A little over a month now."

"Then you know our plans for the rebellion? You know we have help from inside the tower? You know we've been siphoning weapons?" They nodded silently and Gaz turned to Ell. "We can't just send them on their merry way then. The Hulls are constantly glancing through our minds. If they come across these two, we're good as dead."

"It's a miracle of the Light we're not already," Feja said darkly.

"They're too young for this," Ell murmured. "We can charm their memories-"

"We're not too young," Mara said swiftly. "We want to help. We can help fight the Hulls."

"Two young Healers?" Peter said derisively. "A fine pair you'd make. Tell me, young lady, have you ever even held a sword?"

She knew his words were meant to discourage her, not insult her, but Mara took it with no grace. "You're not exactly in a position to deny recruits, are you? At least not any recruits who can actually run without breaking their hips."

Peter's mouth fell open in shock at her sharp response, but Gaz cut across him. "There's a reason for that. What we're doing is dangerous, and, if recent events teach us anything, it's that people who get caught breaking the law of the land pay with their lives. Better the older Bards go than the young."

Camphis nudged Mara before she could argue. "We weren't trying to spy on purpose. It just happened. We were up on the roof one night taking air and we heard you all whispering."

"And you decided to stay for a listen?" Faja snapped.

"What would you have of us?" Camphis said passionately. "This place is a miserable Hell, and the thought of rebellion-of a chance at freedom-was too much to pass up. So, yes, we listened, and Mara's not wrong, we want to help." He caught Ell's unhappy look. "But we understand if you don't want us."

Faja and Peter looked like they didn't want them, but Ell and watching Gaz. A great white crow had settled on his shoulder and was eyeing the two young Bards keenly. Gaz stroked the bird's wings and he wiped its beak on his chin.

"They're heard too much," he said decidedly. "We can't exactly put the genie back in the bottle, as they say. And another pair of hands never went awry."

Mara looked up with a blaze of joy, but Ell spoke in a low voice. "Don't look too excited, there's very little hope this will work. And we could all pay for it with our lives."

"Our lives are forfeit anyway," she said stoutly. "How bad could it be?"

Ell seemed to think differently, but Gaz gave her a narrow, amused look. "Well, you've got nerve at least. And that might serve where skill or knowledge is wanting." He glanced at the crow, which must have said something to him and he winked. "He says you're brain-twisted, but in a good way."

Some compliment, Camphis thought, but felt a shiver of excitement rush through him. He felt a wide, toothy smile pull at his lips, and was sure he looked half-mad. "It takes all kinds."

"This must be difficult for you to watch, or am I wrong in believing that Cadvan is your favorite student?" The Nameless One laid a firm hand on Nelac's shoulder and pulled him closer so he could whisper in his ear, "How horrible, to watch the young man you protected and trained, practically raised from boyhood, be so utterly destroyed. Is it unbearable, watching him?"

Nelac didn't move when the Nameless One touched him. "I have had many students in my time. It pains me to see Cadvan brought to this, but you might have put Saliman or Norowen there."

"I don't believe you for even a minute," the Nameless One whispered. "I can see in your mind, despite those impressive barriers you've erected, how dear he is to you. From the moment he rode raggedly into the courtyard in Lirigon and collapsed in your arms, you have held him like a son." The Nameless One touched Nelac's arms. "You can still remember it, can't you? The feeling of the young man curled against your chest, dry sobs shaking him so violently you had to support him into your house."

"Cadvan was a young man like any other, and I was a healer."

"But this was different, wasn't it? Then you went to his father, the stubborn, ignorant cobbler who sent you away. You were angry then, though you hid it well, because you saw the jealously with which he viewed his son. You saw the smallness of his soul and the desperate, grasping desire to possess his son, and you hated it. Because-" the Nameless One laughed softly, as if noticing a great joke for the first time "-because you wanted Cadvan for yourself. You saw the innate power in the boy and you wanted it. You knew you could shape it, shape him, into the perfect Bard. Like a son you never had."

Nelac felt a flare of anger. He loved Cadvan like a son, but he did not wish to take the place of his father. "I never coveted Cadvan as my own son. He had a father to love him."

"But he didn't really love Cadvan, did he? Not like you. You understood his struggle, his Gift. His father was such a small man in such a small world, and you knew Cadvan was going to be great."

"All of my students have been successful in their own right, that is not why I chose them." Nelac leaned away from the Nameless One.

"Then I will leave him as is."

Nelac returned his attention to Cadvan. He was trying to summon a minor creature of the Abyss using the enchantments the Nameless One had shown him. It was considerably more difficult than the time he had summoned the Bone Queen, not the least because of his broken mind, but because the Nameless One wanted him to learn to properly summon such a creature. When Bards tried to call creatures of the Abyss they almost always lost control of them, and this was because, according the Nameless One, they didn't understand how to bind the creature. Unfortunately, the charms were painful to perform.

"How goes it, Cadvan?" the Nameless One called from his place beside Nelac.

Cadvan's lips were numb, the tips of his fingers and lips turning blue, he shivered uncontrollably. "P-po-poorly."

"You must bend the thing to your will."

"I a-am," Cadvan stuttered.

"No, it bends your will. You are weak." The Nameless One inspected him with professional curiosity. "Push it down."

Cadvan was shaking, but he felt for the creature. It was on the other side of veil, having been called but not pulled through to the other side. Cadvan tugged but was horrified when he felt icy fingers wrap around his wrists and force him down. He was muttering a string of commands, but a pair of icy lips pressed against his and the words stopped in his throat.

Keep my name out of your mouth, your grasping hands off my heart, the thing whispered in his ear. Leave me to the silence of the void, mortal.

Cadvan jerked violently and Nelac took a tremulous step forward, but the Nameless One caught him sharply. "No, you leave him as he is. If he fails in this, it is because of your training, not mine."

Come, Cadvan managed to spit out.

The feel of icy lips pressed against his throat and Cadvan gasped. The muscles in his throat were insensate. I'll bleed the living warmth from you unless you release me. A single, icy finger touched the small of his back, but the cold went to his spine.

Before their eyes, Cadvan crashed back onto the floor, seizing sharply. His mouth didn't move, he was gasping for air, the world was going dark. He might have died if a sudden, unbearable heat had not radiated from the middle of forehead. It passed his throat and he drew a sharp breath, it washed over his chest and his heart stuttered to life, and when it laced down his spine, the seizures eased and he lay still.

"That was poorly done, Cadvan," the Nameless One groused. He towered over Cadvan, feet on either side of Cadvan's head. "The creature would have killed you if I had not interceded."

Cadvan swallowed and tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue when he seized. "I am not f-f-" he cursed the chill that lingered "-fit for this."

"Yes, you are," the Nameless One said. He turned to Nelac who stood by the throne looking stricken. "You see what your training does, Nelac? You made him weak. I will make him strong."

"I do-don't want to," Cadvan said petulantly.

The Nameless One rounded on him. "You want what you're told to want, and I say you want this."

Cadvan scowled at the rebuke, but was struck with another bout of shivering and had to curl up tightly in a ball until it passed. The Nameless One watched him, unamused by his lackluster performance.

"You see what Bard training does? We shall have to work so much more." The Nameless One returned to Nelac. "You were a poor master to him. He needs a firm hand, think you not? If he would have learned the cost of failure at a young age, he would not be so willing to give up now."

Nelac hesitated, not missing the threat that was clear in the Nameless One's tone. "If I am a poor master, than it is me who should pay the price."

"Nelac!" Cadvan hissed, but the Nameless One silenced him with a word.

"I couldn't agree more. So, what shall it be? Shall I have you lashed? Beaten? Shall I make you walk on white hot coals until the skin burns away and leaves nothing but your bones? Or, shall I finally break your mind?"

"Don't!" Cadvan cried from the floor, but the Nameless One ignored him.

"If your fingers weren't already bent, I'd break them again." The Nameless One eyed Nelac closely. "Pain does not frighten the old and frail like it does young men. Only your mind and soul remain."

It had to happen, Nelac thought tiredly. You knew he would not spare you forever.

"But to break your mind with just Cadvan to see is a crime. But your soul?" the Nameless One chuckled. "Now, that would be entertaining, yes?"

"Stop!" Cadvan had managed to sit up in his knees, and had wrapped his cloak tightly around him. He glared at the Nameless One. "It's me you want."

"So desperate to protect you, like a son to a father," the Nameless One mused and Nelac wished suddenly he would stop teasing him and just let his judgment fall. Perhaps a bit of this exhaustion was clear, for the Nameless One snapped his fingers. "I shall take someone from you, Nelac."

"Who?" he asked with trepidation.

"I don't know." The Nameless One leaned closer until their eyes were even. "Let us see your memories. From them, I will take one person."

Nelac's eyes widened in horror. To break the body was one thing, but to steal his memories was another. He took a tentative step back, but the Nameless One's hand shot out and grasped a hank of his hair. Forcing his face forward.

"Let's just see."

A burning arrow of consciousness launched itself at Nelac and he threw up whatever mental shields he could in a desperate attempt to stop it. It was a useless defense, and they shattered like broken glass. Nelac felt the Nameless One's presence as unbearable heat, searing the ends of his nerves and sending lines of fire through his mind. Suddenly, a spattering of images rose to his mind's eye in no particular order: his father and mother, smiling tremulously when he began his education as a Bard, a bird he chased around the courtyard of his parent's home as a toddler, a young Cadvan and Saliman, laughing over a glass of wine, the council of Norloch when Enkir had him imprisoned, Ceredin's face furrowed in concentration when he questioned her about some reading, Maerad set alight with White Fire during her instatement.

Pretty, but not good enough.

The Nameless One pushed again and finally a face emerged. Larla.

Nelac gave a cry of horror. Her face came to the fore of his mind. She was younger, with a round face, rosy cheeks, and watery blue eyes that gleamed mischievously. She'd let her hair loose, and it hung around her face in messy brown strands. Her mouth was too large, but when she smiled, it filled her face out nicely. Nelac's heart gave a sudden lurch and the Nameless One preened with pleasure.

Who'd have thought the old, great Bard ever took a lover. The Nameless One pushed forward and a memory emerged, the two of them kissing in the shadow of the School gates at Lirigon. Such a plain girl for such a great lord.

Another memory, this time Larla was older, her face was lined with age, her hair shot through with grey. Nelac was still young, he was drinking tea in her house and rubbing her hands that were just beginning to show her age. She wasn't even a proper Bard! What a disgrace, to sully your fine blood, laying with some common woman.

Nelac clung desperately to the image of Larla. It had been years since he had thought of her, especially given she had died almost thirty years ago, but suddenly it was vitally important that he keep those memories. Larla was a part of him, one of the many tools that had shaped him into the man he was. Maybe she wasn't a Bard, and maybe their brief affair had been decades ago, but she was integral to his being.

"Don't do this," Nelac rasped, and Cadvan, watching from the floor, flinched at the sound of his voice. He had never heard Nelac sound so small or so scared.

This is a shameful thing. A filthy liaison. Let us protect your reputation, Nelac, and remove this scandalous memory.

Nelac grasped frantically at the imagine of Larla, but the burning touch of the Nameless One seared through his consciousness and Nelac watched the image flicker and vanish. He reached for another memory of Larla: stirring tea leaves in her small kitchen, smiling at him in a lazy sort of way, a hint of desire still in her eyes. But the Nameless One took that too. Another glimpse of Larla in the market in Lirigon, examining a pot crafted from red clay. But that was taken too.

Larla, the pretty barmaid

Bit by bit, the images of the Larla went dark and she vanished from his mind.

Larla, roasting a chicken, waiting for your return from the School.

Nelac pushed back against the Nameless One, but it was like pushing against a wall.

Larla, her tangled brown hair tumbling around his face when she leaned over to kiss him on the bed. She whispered the words: I love you.

Nelac feebly struggled to find some sign of her, maybe the faint traces of her voice, but it was gone.

Larla…lara…laral…then nothing. Just nothing.

Nelac was standing before the Nameless One, blinking, confused. The Nameless One leaned close and smiled blithely. "You said something?"

"What did you do?" Nelac asked sharply. "What did you do to me?"

"You don't remember?" the Nameless One asked, delighted. "Well, it must not have been important." He turned and ambled over to Cadvan, who looked up at him from the huddle of his cloak.

"What did you do?" Nelac demanded raggedly.

"Your mentor has finally cracked," the Nameless One told Cadvan with unmuted joy. "Listen to him, ranting like a madman. You'd think I'd made him summon the un-creature."

Cadvan studied Nelac. "You didn't break his mind, but you did something to him."

"He'll never know," the Nameless One teased, taking Cadvan by the chin and lifting his eyes up. "Now, what am I to do with you? You have once again failed to summon a creature for me."

"I am not suited to this work," Cadvan spit out.

"I refuse to accept that. You are a spectacularly Gifted Bard, you are capable of this spell."

Cadvan's eyes moved to Nelac, who was staring at his hands like they would explain what had been done to him. "You are wrong. I am nothing but a failure of a student, an example that even the tutelage of great masters cannot improve my skills. Leave me to my small feats, my music and my singing."

The Nameless One followed his gaze to Nelac. "You will try again in a week's time. If you fail then, I will take another person from the old Bard. And we will continue on like this, Cadvan, until there will be no need of breaking him. I will destroy every memory he has of every person he ever loved and leave him an empty shell, a mindless, wandering lout." Cadvan gasped at the vehemence of the threat. "And he will look on you, and he will not recognize you. You will be a ghost to him."

"Don't," Cadvan whispered. "Please, don't."

The Nameless One jerked him back to attention with a whisper of his Name. His fingers dug into Cadvan's chin. "Then do better."