Chapter Twelve

"She's gone."

Saliman blinked, obviously confused by the plain statement. "What do you mean?"

Hem made a vague gesture, trying to articulate the immensity of the occasion. Saliman continued to stare at him, nonplussed. "Orona. She's…dead." The words felt supremely inadequate and Hem wished he'd paid more attention to his lessons. Words were powerful tools to a healer, they could ease a desperate mind, make calm a soul in turmoil.

"That's not possible. We healed her." Saliman's voice was firm, unyielding.

For lack of better words, Hem simply stated the medical facts. "No, we didn't. She must have succumbed to the blood poisoning. Or perhaps the mental wounds overwhelmed her. I cannot tell unless I were to perform an autopsy, but that it beside the point." Hem glanced to the corpse of the woman, wrapped in a dirty sheet. "She's not in pain now."

The emotion in Saliman's voice indicated to Hem that he was quickly becoming desperate. "Hem, she can't be dead. We drove the blood poisoning out, she was getting better. She must live, she's on my First Circle-"

"She's dead." Hem nodded to the body. "Look, Saliman. It is the only way to understand. She died in the night, fell asleep and never woke up."

Saliman refused to look at Orona. If she was dead, if a member of his First Circle was dead…You promised the Nameless One that you would have a Circle. He will call you disloyal, he will call you a traitor. The punishment for that failure was unbearable. "You must wake her."

Hem took Saliman's hand gently and looked down at it. "There is no waking her now."

"Hem, you don't understand." Saliman still had not looked at the corpse. It was a rebuke to him. "If she's dead, then I don't have a Circle. The Nameless One said I need a Circle…"

"Perhaps you can find a replacement? What of Cadvan, he can certainly be a member-"

"I gave my word to the Nameless One that these men and women would be on my Circle." He waited for the meaning to hit Hem. "He will call me a liar."

Hem's mouth went dry. The Nameless One delighted in such failures because they meant there would be punishment to deliver. Saliman was barely healed and Hem's first thought went to him. He worried that Saliman would not be able to physically survive whatever torments the Nameless One invented. Of course, there is more to punishment than a beating.

Hem realized suddenly that the Nameless One would target Heikbel. His teeth snapped together. "Well, you didn't fail," he said quickly. "I did. I'm the healer you asked for and I'm the one who couldn't keep her alive. We'll tell him it's my fault."

Something in Saliman seemed to stir. His face contorted in horror. "You'll do no such thing, Hem. You think I'm going to throw you to the mercy of the Nameless One?"

"It's not your choice," Hem returned stoutly. "I'm going to tell him I failed to keep her alive. He'll believe it." Hem paused, looking Saliman up and down before saying derisively, "You're in no condition to do any healing and he knows it."

Saliman's face darkened. "You won't disobey me-"

"Disobey you?" Hem smiled narrowly. He knew Saliman was only trying to protect him, buthe refused to offer up Saliman once more to the Nameless One. "You're not my teacher anymore, I'm not beholden to you." Saliman opened his mouth to protest, but Hem's hand shot out and he grabbed Saliman firmly by the wrist. He tugged the older Bard-perhaps harder than he intended-and Saliman stumbled forward onto his knees. "Look at you. You can't go seeking more trouble. Sharma will destroy you," Hem hissed, purposefully using his Name and watching Saliman wince from it. "Or worse, he'll hurt Hekibel. I love you both too dearly to let that happen."

"Hem-"

"No!" Hem's voice rang out and it was a commandment. Saliman felt the force of his will like a fierce wind and slouched his shoulders. "No more, Saliman. You've risked everything for our journey, I won't let you do it again." Hem's face softened and his grip on Saliman's wrist loosened. "I've scarce few family and friends left, and you are among the closest. Please, don't do this."

Saliman studied his face gravely. "Hem, it is fear for you that drives me to this. You are brave, but this…this will be different."

Hem snorted, a brief mischievous glow in his eyes. "I spent months living beside his throne. I think I can bear whatever punishment he gives me." He sighed. "Besides, I am bound to him by the Song. He can't kill me."

"That's what I'm worried about," Saliman sighed. He finally looked over at Orona's body. Her skin was grey and stretched tight over her cheekbones. He thought she looked frail, like a mummified corpse. "The only release now is death."

Hem saw him looking at the dead Bard and bit back a sharp sob. "She didn't deserve the end she got, but at least she is free now."

Saliman was about to say a blessing when a harsh voice spoke from behind them. "She didn't make it then?"

Saliman and Hem turned about to find Soron sitting up. His eyes were fixed on the body. "She's gone," Hem confirmed.

"Went in her sleep? Peaceful, was it?" Soron said this last bit hopefully.

Hem hesitated. He recalled when he and Saliman had tried to heal her, only to find that the Hulls had torn her mind apart and left her in a constant state of agony, even in her sleep. "Yes," Saliman said firmly. "It was blood poisoning. We tried to wake her, but she was too far gone. She seemed…she was at ease. She didn't respond to us when he reached for her, but we sensed her. It was like sleeping."

Soron nodded thoughtfully, giving no indication as to whether he believed them or not. "And yet, we live on. What work is there for us, I wonder. What work for the newly minted First Circle of Turbansk? Another war?"

Saliman's face crumbled. "A greater crime yet. He plans to cast a spell that will destroy the Speech."

Looks of blank horror transformed the Bard's face. "But how is that possible? The Speech isn't a thing, it cannot be besieged or broken."

"I do not know." Saliman looked down at his hands. "But the Tree Song, the magic of the Elementals, was a thing that could be written down and broken. Perhaps the Speech is much the same? Hem, have you any thoughts on this? You were a part of the Song, and you spent much time in the Nameless One's company."

Hem stood, distilling tea. It had painkilling and anti-inflammatory properties, and he had been feeding it to the Bards until it leaked out of their ears. "It is hard to explain. I don't think the Song was meant to be a thing, that was the first great crime committed. But that was not Sharma's doing, it was Nelsor." Hem searched for words to explain, but nothing seemed appropriate to communicate what Nyanar had told him. "He put their Song into words, capturing it and so making the Speech. This is what Sharma broke, the second crime."

"The Speech comes from the Song?" Soron asked sharply.

"I think. But the Song was made whole, righting Sharma's crime." Hem looked suddenly uncertain. "And…and now he will destroy the Speech-"

"Righting the first wrong." Saliman's brow furrowed. "But why would the Nameless One has any interest in fixing Nelsor's mistakes? Or does he do this to simply punish the Bards?"

Hem shrugged, nonplussed. "I don't pretend to know why Sharma does anything. He is cruel and spiteful and takes joy in seeing our people brought low, but I know that his power is bound to the Song."

"Whatever the reason," Saliman said sharply, "he has said that when the First Bards and all the First Circles of all the Schools are brought back to him, they will join their power to his and together we will destroy the Song."

Saliman had adopted an affectation of indifference, but when he glanced up, Hem saw that he looked sick for his words. No doubt the thought of helping the Nameless One in any way, but especially in aiding in something so wrong, did not sit well with him. All the same, he suddenly stood and helped Hem to distribute the tea among the Bards.

"But it is a long way off," he said suddenly. "The First Bards and First Circles of all the Schools is no small feat. It will take time, I'm sure."

"I suppose that is some comfort," Soron finally said. "Do we simply await our summons?"

"Rest, is what you will do," Saliman said firmly.

Soron coughed, spitting out a little blood. "There's no rest in this miserable place."

There was no argument for it. Hem and Saliman resigned themselves to wrapping Orona in the sheet and set her body as far away as the cell would allow. There was no food, but Hem summoned a small fire and the three of them sat around it, tending to the others when they stirred, or enjoying the fragile human warmth they created. In due course, a Hull arrived, and, upon seeing the body, chuckled.

"This one couldn't cut it, hmm?" it asked, nudging the body with the toe of its boot. "Pity, she could have been fun."

Hem felt a growl grow in his chest. "Is there no dignity even in death?"

"Death is not a dignified process, idiot Bard. Only the weak and pitiful succumb to it." The Hull's eyes took on a nasty glowing light. "You must be powerful to escape its confines. She was weak and is deserving of nothing. Her body will be given to the crows and they will eat her eyes and tongue."

Soron's face paled and he lunged for the body. He was weak though, and his movement was uncoordinated, and he stumbled and fell like a foal to his hands and knees. "Stay away from her!" he howled. "You've no right to touch her!"

The Hull watched Soron, amused. "You are pathetic." It kicked the corpse again, a firm, furious blow that rolled her over. "This is what you demean yourself for? This useless, empty body?" Before Soron could stop it, the Hull attacked the body, kicking her skull again and again until there was a terribly cracking sound. Hem was on his feet at once, Saliman with him, but the Hull threw up its hand and the two were thrown backward. It continued to stomp on the skull until the shape beneath the sheet was flattened and lumpy, certainly not a face anymore. Soron had tears in his eyes.

"There. Are you happy now?" the Hull snarled. Soron said nothing, just stared at the bloody, misshapen sheet. "Shall I take the body to the crows, or would you prefer she stay here?"

Hem slammed his hand against the stone floor, furious. "Get out of here! Take it and go, you filth!"

The Hull grinned widely. "I thought that might do the trick." It made a strange gesture with its hands and Orona's body rose up off the ground, floating upright so her toes brushed the floor. The blood stained place where her face had been stared at them, a red oval. Saliman retched. The Hull waited until he had wiped the vomit from his mouth before making a brief bow. "You should know that the envoy from Gent has arrived. You've been summoned by our master to greet them."

Hem glanced at Saliman's pale, sweating face. "Give us an hour to make ourselves ready. I do not think the Nameless One wants us before him looking like this."

"Your First Bard is looking…ragged," observed a Hull, eyeing Malgorn with a certain amount of pleasure.

Silvia felt her anger like vomit in her throat. Aye, and who is to blame for that? "He's well enough without your bad mood about."

The Hull's lips quirked with the hint of a smile. "Of course, it is not my intention to bring the mood down."

Indik stirred, glowering at the Hull. "Could have fooled me."

The Hull snapped about, smiling tightly. "Perhaps it is you, with your bitter words and pathetic bearing that has brought him so low."

Indik opened his mouth to spit a curse, but Malgorn slammed his hands down, making a weak but noticeable slap. "I have a headache. If you've come for a bit of wordplay, Hull, come again another time."

Siliva flinched. In the weeks following the Shika summoning, Malgorn's mental condition had deteriorated. He slept fitfully for long hours, muttering and moaning in his sleep, and when he woke, he was exhausted. He barely ate, he took little water, he didn't move much. Siliva had checked him for wounds, and while he didn't have any, he behaved as though he had suffered a painful injury. She suspected that the summoning of the Shika had hurt him deeply, and he seemed resentful that he had survived it.

"That's hardly a way to greet an old friend," the Hull said with an edge to its voice. A slight warning, a remainder that for all his use in the destruction of the Speech, Malgorn was still a slave and enemy of the Dark, and the Hull was well within its rights to punish him. "You were once famous for your hospitality and eloquence. Where is Malgorn, First Bard of Innail, keeper of the Light?"

Malgorn's eyes darkened. "Well, there is no Innail, so I suppose there is no First Bard of Innail. I am just Malgorn."

"Well, Just Malgorn, your presence is requested. You would do well to smarten yourself up."

Malgorn didn't seem to register the request, in fact, nothing about him changed in response to the announcement. Instead, he looked down like he was surprised to find himself in such a state. He was wearing an old, grey tunic. It was ripped at the neck, and Malgorn fleetingly recalled that the Nameless One had, in a fit of annoyance that he hadn't called him Master, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and flung him across the room. There was a blossoming blood stain on the chest, and Malgorn wondered if he had injured himself. His gaze switched slowly to the trousers, and he felt the mounting anger of the Hull as he continued to ignore it. The end of the pants were in tatters just above his ankles, and he fingered the stray strings.

Finally, Malgorn looked up at the Hull and he saw with bitter pleasure that its eyes were bright and angry. "I don't know," he said mildly. "I think I look completely appropriate for a meeting with our esteemed Master."

The Hull blinked then lunged forward, grabbing Malgorn by his hair. "Get up, you absolute waste of space. On your feet, now!"

Malgorn, who wasn't in the habit of getting up, wobbled and fell against the wall. The Hull was still holding him, and it pressed him against the stones then spit in his face. "You're pathetic. You should have died when our Master broke your mind." The Hull pulled Malgorn away from the wall, then slammed him against it. He saw bright spots of light, and his head hurt even worse. "You don't deserve to live."

Siliva had struggled to her feet. "Don't-"

"Your wife would be a better First Bard." The Hull spun him so Malgorn had to look into its glaring face. "Do you deny what you are?"

Malgorn was lightheaded from the blow and his mouth didn't seem to want to form words. "I-I-"

"Stuttering imbecile!" The Hull tossed him toward the entrance to the cell with enough force that he crashed into the door. Before Malgorn could gather himself, it had him by the hair and dragged him through the door.

Malgorn breathed the smallest sigh of relief as he saw Silvia's retreating face. Keep her there, away from the Nameless One and his Hulls. Keep her safe.

"When this is done, I'm going to petition the dark lord to kill you," the Hull was saying, towing him down the hall. Malgorn saw other Bards ahead and realized that the First Bards were being taken as well. This was no private meeting, no personal conversation between him and the Nameless One, it was another display of his power.

Which School has fallen now? he wondered. Whose left to oppose him?

"…your corpse can feed the death crows. Would you enjoy that? It would certainly be the most useful service you could provide."

Malgorn managed to find his feet and was stumbling forward toward stairs that led out of the cells. "If that is true, then see me sent there now. What's a few months difference?"

"Believe me, I agree, but our Master thinks you have one spell left in you."

They approached the stairwell and paused while Hulls were gathering other Bards. Malgorn's eyes landed on Nelac, who was rubbing his hands gingerly. The broken fingers had been set by Hem, and he'd placed a strong healing charm on them, but that had been weeks ago, and they had received little attention since then. Nelac saw Malgorn watching and waggled his fingers stiffly in greeting. He alone seemed undimmed by his imprisonment in Dagra, and Malgorn thought, not for the first time, if there was some flaw in himself that made him so weak, so breakable, while other Bards persisted.

"This one is a mess," a Hull muttered, dragging Norowen to join the crowd.

She had not fared well since the night of the feast. With three front teeth missing, Norowen's mouth formed a jagged, black hole. Her jaw was swollen and tears seemed to form permanently in her eyes. Her long hair had grown dirty and tangled, and she walked with a limp. When she saw Malgorn, she tried to smile, but the movement hurt and she cringed instead.

"They're all looking particularly worn," the Hull holding Malgorn said. "The sooner we end this war, the sooner we can be rid of them."

"But where to put them?" mused another Hull. "They're far too dangerous to join the rabble in the ghettos, they'll stir up trouble."

"Ah, but a bit of trouble could be a lot of fun," another Hull murmured. "A little rebellion to quash. Prisoners to be interrogated…a bit of sport after the fun of the war dies down."

The Hulls laughed, but Malgorn hunched his shoulders. He sometimes wondered what would happen to him when it was all over. The Nameless One needed him for one more service, one more spell. After that, would he be executed? Would his death be mercifully quick?

Now, now, Malgorn. You are a traitor of the highest order, and your punishment will be a long life under my rule. As always, Malgorn recoiled from the Nameless One's touch. We shall find you a place in my court. Something visible, for your Bards to see.

Just my luck, Malgorn thought dryly.

I think you might even enjoy it, Malgorn, the Nameless One whispered. I'll make you enjoy it.

Malgorn focused on the pattern of stones on the floor, willing the Nameless One to leave him. After a cursory glance of his most recent memories, the Nameless One's presence vanished.

Small respite, Malgorn thought.

It wasn't long after that the Hulls had gathered the First Bards and made their way up through the levels of the tower. Malgorn found it passing strange to only take the First Bards, and he guessed that whatever they were about to be witness to wasn't going to be nearly as entertaining as the previous feast. That meant that either the School he had captured was of little consequence, or there was no fight to be had from the First Bard. Malgorn wasn't sure which he hoped for.

They exited the stairs into the bright torches of the tower and Malgorn flinched a little from the light. The Hull holding him noticed his reaction and laughed, twisting his hair to elicit a small gasp. When they reached the entrance to the throne room, the Bards trembled in such close proximity to the Nameless One and the Hulls had to push them onward. When the doors opened, the shadows seemed to spill out into the hall and the torches flickered.

Inside, they were surprised to find Saliman and Hem were kneeling at the base of the throne, the Nameless One bent over them. When they entered, his face snapped up, and his eyes twinkled with sadistic glee.

"Welcome and thrice welcome, my Bards." Malgorn turned away instinctively. The Nameless One gestured widely to the room where seats were arranged along a table. There were empty glasses set before pitchers of red wine, soft loaves of bread with hard crusts, and light cheese and meats. Not a feast, by any measure, but a modest lunch. Far more than the Bards had been treated to since they had arrived. "Please, come in, take a seat. You look…weary."

Their natural response was to flee, but as usual, the Bards didn't have that choice. They filed in along the table silently and fell into their seats without comment. The Nameless One watched them, avidly curious. He had expected more anger, more emotion, more…something. These Bards seemed utterly defeated.

Waste of breath. "Norowen, how do you do?"

The older Bard shrugged.

"You should smile more," the Nameless One recommended, and offered her a toothy grin. "It would do wonders for your temperament, let alone your appearance."

Norowen did not fail to notice the command in his voice. She lowered her gaze and pulled her lips back into a jagged grimace. She didn't speak, but after a moment, lifted her eyes and glared at him, her face turning into a wolf's snarl.

The Nameless One considered reprimanding her, but thought better of it. There was a pace one had to take in breaking a prisoner. He couldn't completely crush her, not so soon. There was a certain finesse to it. Instead, he returned his attention to Hem and Saliman and gestured vaguely at them.

"You two can stop your groveling, it is unbecoming." Hem's eyes flashed up, annoyed, and the Nameless One felt a thrill of anger at the boy's attitude. "You have something to say, Cai?"

"It is passing strange to hear you speak of indecency, is all."

"It is amusing to hear a filthy Philanel Bard try to say what is and is not respectable." His eyes gleamed. "Your father's people are not even human. They trace their ancestry back to rabid, snow beasts of the northern mountains."

Hem flushed. "They do not!"

"They certainly did not come to this land with the Bards of Afinil. They are not descendants of the ancient Singers." The Nameless One placed the tip of his finger under Hem's chin and then pulled him up to stand. "In this, I am sure, Cai. Remember, I am thousands of years old. I studied the histories of your people, I alone know the ancient past."

Hem was trembling with anger but couldn't move. "My father's people are ancient and honorable-"

"Animals," finished the Nameless One. "It's abhorrent that your mother laid with a beast. More proof that your people are undeserving of your Gifts."

"Stop speaking of my parents!" Hem snarled.

Saliman cringed at his ferocity, but the Nameless One was delighted. "You do not give orders here, little Bard. I'd be careful with my words."

"I'm not afraid of you," Hem growled.

"No, I see you are not, but…" his eyes moved to Saliman. "But what of the others? Do you fear for them?"

Hem made a point of not looking to Saliman. "This is between us."

Sharma laughed at his nerve. "Nothing is just between us. Everything you touch, every person you know stands between us. I will destroy them all if it means breaking you."

Hem's eyes dropped. There was no point getting Saliman in any more trouble when he had already failed to save his First Circle. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice.

"What's this?" Sharma's golden eyes narrowed. "The beast boy can be tamed?"

"Apparently," Hem said ironically.

The Nameless One released Hem from his hold and the boy fell back to his knees beside Saliman. "And yet, I think you are merely lying in wait." He studied Hem closer before looking back to the Hulls. "Where are the Gent Bards? Why do we wait on them?"

Iris crept into Cadvan's room and carefully closed the door, making sure she didn't make any noise. She pressed herself against the door, loathe to go any further. Sharma had sent her to wake the two Bards, and though she had some memory of Cadvan, the previous months had taught her that every turn, every dark room, every unknown place was unsafe. She'd seen too many horrors in the tower to trust that any task, no matter how small, was easy.

You should have stayed in the kitchen. Mariska would have given you stew and bread. She glanced around the room and saw the dead fire, the shuttered windows, the low touches, and wondered if the room was even occupied.

Perhaps they've gone, she thought hopefully. She debated leaving, returning and tell the Hulls that she hadn't seen the two Bards, but the thought of speaking to the Hulls was worse than exploring the room. It made her stomach hurt, and the last time, she'd thrown up violently.

Search the room If they're here, wake them up. She took a step but nothing around her stirred. If they're hurt…She paused, thinking of the last time she'd come across a Bard that had been beaten. There had been so much blood, and the sounds of wet gasping had made her hair stand on end…If they're hurt, find another servant to fix them.

She pressed on, first going to the fire and arranging the logs in a small tower. She then held her hands over the logs, thinking to herself: fire, fire, fire! It was a crude methodology, and one she had learned in secret for fear the other servants would see and report her to Hulls, but it worked all the same. The fire burst to life and threw a warm glow across the dark room. She smiled briefly at it before going to open the shutters and let in the dying light.

Iris had come into her Gift in secret over the months since leaving Eleve. At first, she thought she was going insane, the great lords who had arrived at Eleve and slaughtered her family would shift and change, their faces melt away, and she would see terrible monsters with white skin and red eyes and sharp, jagged teeth. She heard whispers in the night, small voices that told her to run and hide. When she arrived in Dagra, she was violently ill for the first month and couldn't stand to be near the creature that lived in the throne room. One day, after one of the kitchen staff beat her for dropping a bowl of flour, she'd run and hid in her bed, rubbing the welts on her arms and legs. When she woke the next morning, the welts were gone and the Speech was on her tongue.

She knew now that the voices she'd heard were small animals, urging her to escape the Hulls. She had the Sight now, and the Hulls were revealed to her in full. So too were her fellow Bards, many of whom glowed with soft, yellow light and who radiated a familiar warmth. While she was drawn to them, she also feared them. She had seen what became of Bards in the dark tower, and had no desire to be sent to the ghettos in the city. She had heard whispers and rumors that the Bard children were being kept apart, going through some special training that the Hulls oversaw, but she had seen nothing to confirm this. So, she hid her Gift, coaxing it in secret, playing with strange words that came to her tongue and making small magic when no one noticed.

Iris heard a low thump and jumped. Her gaze darted around the room, but there was no one, and she cursed her skittishness. With the shutters open and the fire lit, the room wasn't nearly so scary. The couches looked comfortable and soft, and she saw a streak of tile in the bathroom, bright and clean in the darkness. There was a tray of food on the table, and a wine bottle, half empty. She also saw the double doors opposite the fire that must have led to a bedroom, and supposed that was where the two Bards were hiding.

She poked her head into the room and saw a mess of a bedroom. There were clothes and sheets draped haphazardly on chairs, empty wine bottles and glasses, a cloak piled on the floor before a low fire, a robe flung carelessly over a changing screen. And two figures, hidden under a pile of blankets, on the huge, four poster bed. Iris watched them closely, casting out her new hearing and listening to the steady breathing that indicated deep sleep.

She approached the bed quietly at first, studying the two figures. One was Cadvan, the man she had met briefly on her journey to Dagra. He seemed mostly unchanged, though there were deep bruises under his eyes and his cheeks looked hollow. He murmured something in his sleep in a language Iris didn't recognize and she was reminded of her own father and the night she had slipped into her parents bedroom when she was scared. But memories of her father were painful and she recoiled as if she'd been stung.

She left Cadvan's side of the bed like she'd been scolded and went to Maerad. Iris had vague memories of the girl. She'd seen her almost always in the company of the Nameless One, and so naturally, avoided her if she could. Asleep, though, Maerad looked young and exhausted, and, Iris thought, very small and unassuming. A strand of her dark hair fell in her eyes and Iris instinctively reached out to pressed it back.

At the touch, Maerad's eyes snapped open. Iris jumped back, angled to run for the door, but she saw Maerad's face soften with a small smile. "I've seen you before," Maerad said, not sitting up. "You're the girl who brings wine to Sharma."

Iris blinked. "The Nameless One," she said automatically. She'd seen enough Bards taken to task for not calling him by his preferred title.

Now Maerad did sit up, gathering the blankets around her so the girl wouldn't see her naked body. "You don't have to call him that here."

"He can listen to my thoughts."

Maerad laughed a little sadly at that. "He can, but I assure you, he doesn't." The girl reminded Maerad of someone, though she could say who, and she gestured to the robe hung on the dressing screen. "Would you give me that? Then I'll call for food and coffee, you look hungry."

The desire for food was overwhelming and Iris almost flung the robe at Maerad in her hurry. She turned politely while Maerad slipped from the blankets and covered herself, and Maerad took the moment to study the girl closely. She was a Bard, that much was obvious. A soft glow hung around her like dew on flower petals, and her eyes, when she turned back to face her, were bright with light.

"Should we wake master Cadvan?"

"You know Cadvan?" Maerad asked, though she was not entirely surprised.

Iris nodded slowly. "He was there when the Dark army came to my home. He was kind to me. So was the other Bard, Saliman, from the south. Did he live?" She asked that last thing with an almost disinterested air, like his life or death was of little consequence. Maerad thought the girl must have seen too much death to speak of it so casually.

"Indeed, he did." She glanced at Cadvan, sleeping restlessly under the covers. "We'll leave him till coffee arrives, Light knows he barely sleeps anymore." She ushered the girl out into the sitting room and went to the door. Iris watched curiously as she summoned a servant to her, who went running for the kitchen, then returned with a lazy smile. "So, you say you met Cadvan and Saliman when the Dark army came to your home. Where is that?"

Iris was standing by a couch as she hadn't been told to sit. Maerad gestured and the girl hesitantly took her seat. "Eleve."

"I've never been to that School," Maerad said kindly. "Though I've heard it was quite beautiful."

"It was." Iris looked away, thinking of her home before the Black Army razed it.

Maerad sensed the girl's sadness but pressed forward with the hardest question. "And your family, are they with you?"

"They're gone," she said in a small voice.

"Were they Bards too?"

Maerad's question had a strange effect on the girl. Iris's eyes snapped up and she trembled violently. "I'm not a Bard!" she hissed. "I never went to the School."

"Surely," Maerad said gently, "you must be. It's written all over your face."

"No! No, I'm not a Bard! No one in my family was either. We're just common folk. My father was the mayor, he didn't serve at the School."

Maerad was about to push harder, but an echo of Cadvan's voice came to her. Perhaps more tutored, you would now be dead, and your lack of knowledge has protected you from the sight of those who otherwise would have done you harm. She looked down at her hands, realizing that Iris reminded Maerad of herself when she was living in the Cot, small and terrified, home torn apart, hiding her Gift so the servants of the Dark would not find her.

"You don't need to be afraid here," Maerad whispered at last. "No one, not I, nor Cadvan, will tell the servants of the Nameless One what you are." Her hands clamped into fists. "Though it is a shame that anyone should be kept in the dark about their own nature."

Iris swallowed. "No one can know," she said blankly. "I can't-I can't go down to the ghettos with the other Bards."

"You won't," sighed Maerad, though she knew it was an empty promise. If Maerad could see Iris's Gift, then Sharma most certainly did. What he hoped to accomplish, keeping a small girl ignorant and terrified of her own Gift, was lost to Maerad, but she also knew that if the fancy took him, Sharma would send her to join the rest of the Bards. "And I give you my word, I won't tell a soul."

Iris bit her lip. "It's not all terrible being up here. I mean, being around the Nameless One is awful but…well, I like to work in the kitchens. The old ladies there give me extra food when no one is looking. And I have a bed behind the oven that stays warm all night." She glanced around the richly furnished room. "It's not much, but it's comfortable."

"How pleasant," Maerad said politely. There was a knock on the door and Maerad retrieved a small tray of coffee and warm bread. She poured out two steaming mugs and offered the bread and a little butter to Iris. "For your lost meal," she said with a knowing smile.

Iris fell on the food ravenously and her nervousness subsided. Maerad watched her a little bit until Cadvan emerged from the bedroom and joined them. When he saw Iris, he started with surprise, but said nothing and took his seat beside Maerad. It was a while before the girl looked up. When she saw Cadvan, a shy smile flickered across her face.

"Cadvan," she said softly.

"Hello, Iris," he said gently. "It's been a long while since I've seen you. How have you been?"

It was a pointless question, but the observation of niceties seemed to ease the girl. She shrugged looked at her bare feet. "Busy, I suppose. I work in the kitchens."

"Checking the wine?" Cadvan smiled and Iris glowed with pleasure. Cadvan took Maerad's hand and kissed the knuckles. "Iris's father was an expert wine maker. I had the distinct pleasure of enjoying a bottle of his own supply. Iris, naturally, has her father's aptitude."

"We should introduce her to Malgorn," Maerad said pleasantly. "Apprentice to a master of the craft is no small thing."

"Malgorn?" she asked. The name was vaguely familiar.

"First Bard of Innail," Cadvan supplied. "He's a fine man, a fine Bard. You might have seen him about, he's got a mess of blond hair and a ridiculous smile that…" Cadvan paused, feeling foolish. Malgorn didn't smile anymore. "Well, it might be a bit hard to see him. He's kept busy by the Nameless One."

Iris didn't bother pressing for more information. She understood. "I've been sent on account of the First Bards," she said after a moment. "The Nameless One has summoned them and requests your presence as well."

Cadvan glanced swiftly at Maerad. "What has happened now?"

Iris considered his question. She was not unfamiliar with the activities in the tower, though she was thoroughly sick of them. "I don't know. There was a lot of activity in the courtyard last evening."

Cadvan leaned back, his gaze drifting to the windows. Not Busk, they are too recently captured and too far to have arrived. He added more coffee to the mug and took a moment to stretch luxuriously. After weeks of sitting with the Nameless One, his muscles ached. Perhaps the Ernani of Turbansk has been found? News had been slim on the boy made Ernani who had escaped the ruins of Turbansk with his mother's jewels and authority. Cadvan wondered how the young man planned to avenge his people, was there a rebel force even now gathering in secret? Or perhaps he has gathered an army?

Cadvan gazed up at the ceiling of the room. It's tiled, geometric pattern was relaxing. Too much to hope for, I think. Better to suspect the worst. Perhaps the Ernani, perhaps another School? But which are left? Lirigon, Innail, Desor, Ettinor, Carfedis, Amocen, Turbansk. He counted them out. Norloch? Has Enkir finally come to pay his respects to his new master?

A filthy traitor to the Light. The man who imprisoned Nelac. His gaze drifted to Maerad who was looking at the steam rise off her coffee. Her mother…Poor Milana.

It had been years since he had seen her, but the memory of Milana lingered in his mind, perhaps more so because of his proximity to Maerad. He remembered the firm look on her face, the proud tilt of her chin that made her seem far taller than she was. He'd been a young man when they met, accomplished, a full Bard, but young. She practically burned with power, he'd felt it in her gaze when she watched him, in the troubled frown, in her every gesture. She, like Maerad, was a descendant of Ardina, and perhaps some of that power lived in her too.

She was impeccable, she was the very image of what a Bard of the Light should be. Cadvan thought for a moment. Just like Ceredin had been. Just like so many Bards who were destroyed by the Dark.

Milana had been broken by Enkir and he deserved to pay for that crime. If Cadvan ever saw him again he wasn't sure he would let the man live. I wonder if the Nameless One would let me kill him.

The blackness of the thought was shocking even to him. He hadn't wanted to kill another Bard since…Since Dernhil.

Surely this was different, though? Enkir deserved to be punished for what he had done. The thoughts rested uncomfortably with Cadvan and he rubbed at his arms roughly.

"Whatever the cause, if the First Bards are gathered, it'll have to do with the Schools." Cadvan slapped his hands on his knees. "And we're to go soon?"

"As soon as you can be dressed."

Maerad sighed, running her hands through her hair. "We've barely had a couple days…"

Cadvan glanced at her sharply. "You know how the Nameless One is when there's something to celebrate. He won't notice us."

Maerad stood, stretching her arms out in front of her. "I hope to the Light you're right. I can't stand another night with him, not after Busk."

Iris looked curiously between the two. The name evoked little memory for her beside the faint image of a map of the seven kingdoms, and a coastal city, tucked on the craggy shores of Thorold, but the tone by which the two Bard spoke indicated its importance.

Cadvan smiled tightly. "I'm sure he'll be too busy torturing small animals, or whatever it is he does in his free time. Let's just enjoy the wine, Light knows he keeps the table well stocked."

Maerad smirked at that and then waved to Iris. "Would you help me, Iris? The laces on my gown can be tricky."

Iris beamed, hurrying to Maerad's side. In the bedroom, Maerad flourished gown after gown for Iris, who tried to suppress a smile. It had been months since Iris had done anything as domestic as choosing what to wear. Maerad waited while Iris chose a green gown with black detailing. She stepped into the folds of the gown and waited while Iris dragged a chair over and crawled up it to begin lacing the back. Maerad turned to face her when she'd finished.

"You look lovely," she said shyly.

Maerad curtseyed like Lyla had shown her. When she came up, she winked at the girl. "You would too, in the right dress."

Iris glanced down at her work dress. "I used to have a pretty red dress I wore for high days. My mama made it for me."

Maerad lifted her chin and stared directly into her eyes. "I'm sure you were beautiful in it. You must have made your mother so proud."

She spoke with such tenderness and gentle understanding that Iris trembled and felt tears welling in her eyes. "She wanted me to be brave, not beautiful."

"And you are. More than you could possibly imagine." Maerad glanced around the room. "Will you be missed much in the kitchens?"

Iris smiled ironically. "No one notices me but the old grannies."

"Of course. Then why don't you stay here? There is food and a warm place to sleep. You can even have a bath if you like." When Iris hesitated, Maerad glanced at the closet. "You could try on these dresses. Light knows, I couldn't wear them all in a lifetime."

"I'll have to be back by morning," she hedged.

"Cadvan and I rise early. We'll get you back before anyone notices." She saw her eyes go to the bed, the dresses, then back to Maerad.

"I could sleep here tonight," she finally said.

Maerad called for more food while Cadvan dressed and found a cozy shift for Iris to wear that night. She watched Iris wash her face and scrub her arms and neck. She felt a strange maternity, an urge to brush the girl's hair and tie it back, like Silvia had done with her a year ago. When Iris looked up, though, Maerad saw an alien face, a stranger. She gave her a brief nod and went back to the sitting room.

"Back to work, then?" Cadvan asked, coming to join her, dressed in a flattering white shirt and black trousers. He heard the water splashing. "For all of us?"

"Iris can sleep here tonight," Maerad said decidedly. "It's not like we'll be back early."

"Unfortunately, no." Cadvan pushed the hair off her face and kissed her primly. "Shall we make our way?"

"Maerad poured out one more glass of wine and downed it smoothly. "If we must."