Chapter Twenty-Four

The city still stank of burnt hair and flesh a week later and Cadvan crinkled his nose as the smell drifted up the battlements of the black tower. He couldn't see the pile of corpses from his vantage point, but here and there, dotted among the tenements, were the charred remains of the dormitories the Hulls had burned. They looked like festering wounds on a dying man.

"It is disturbing."

Cadvan turned, astounded at the Nameless One's sudden sympathy. "I agree," he said, and his voice cracked from the dry air.

The Nameless One raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Do you?" When Cadvan nodded wordlessly, the Nameless One smiled narrowly. "How good of you to take my concerns seriously. What do you propose I do?"

A strange entreaty. "You can make it right. It is in your power."

"Indeed. But which of them is it?" the Nameless One clasped his hands before himself in deep thought. "And even if I were to find the culprit, how could I punish them without starting a mutiny?"

Cadvan turned away. Clearly, he had misunderstood the Nameless One. He shrugged, rather to appear aloof than wrong.

"One of my Hulls betrayed me, I know it." The Nameless One gripped the edge of the parapet and Cadvan saw a little dust drift down the side of the wall where his hands dug into the stonework. "Someone gave those Bards weapons, someone turned the other way when the rebellion started."

"I didn't think your Hulls had such freedom of will."

"Of course, they do," the Nameless One said carelessly. "They are not slaves to my will, they simply borrow my power. They are inexorably tied to me, but they are not enslaved to me." He smiled wryly without looking at Cadvan. "Not like you."

"I find it difficult to believe a Hull would risk such torments."

"And, yet they do." The Nameless One's eyes rested on the black hole of a burnt barrack. "Imank rose up against me, you know. He was always a jealous man, even before the Song."

Cadvan's eyes flickered unwillingly to the Nameless One. It was sometimes hard to remember that the Nameless One's memory stretched millennia back, and that all the mysteries he and Maerad had endeavored to solve, he knew the answer to. How strange to know Imank as a man.

"Was he at Afinil with you?" Cadvan asked.

"No," The Nameless One said after a moment. "He was content to remain in the south. He trained in Turbansk, of all places. He thought the secrets we were looking for were hidden there. But I knew better. There was no way those filthy Suderains could have the knowledge I wanted. The Song did not live there."

The question was on the tip of Cadvan's tongue before he could stop himself. "You were at Afinil a while?"

Now the Nameless One did turn his bright gaze on Cadvan, and it was full of mocking light. He waved a finger at Cadvan, and he noticed how black his nails were. "Come, Bard, speak plainly to me."

Cadvan licked his lips. What was the use feigning indifference? "What was Afinil like?"

"Ah." The Nameless One turned and began to stroll down the ramparts. Cadvan didn't move, feeling both annoyed at himself for such a childish question and annoyed at the Nameless One for knowing the answer. "Come, my young, minor Bard."

It wasn't a command, but it didn't need to be. Cadvan lolled after him. "I am, by the standards of my own people, a full Bard." He frowned. "And a grown man."

The Nameless One gleamed at him. "But, by my accounting you are but a young boy nipping at my heels." He chuckled at Cadvan's mute outrage. "Put aside your youthful pride and attend me." He looked out over the courtyard far below. "What was Afinil like? Beautiful, after a fashion. Myself, I found it rather underwhelming, but I was ever exceptional in that. There were great towers made of white stone and singing halls whose walls were crafted of perfectly cut glass. There were small parks and pools of water so pure a woman could bathe in them. The streets were lined in cobbles that ran in concentric paths, and at their center was a great library where the wise and curious would come to meet. In the library was the knowledge of ages, thousands of years of your peoples' history, the story of their arrival in Edil-Aramandha, the ancient past they carried with them. Such things are mostly lost now."

Against his better judgement, Cadvan allowed himself to wonder at the description. "Mostly lost?"

"There were some things worth keeping." The Nameless One preened under Cadvan's intense gaze. "If you want to read those books, all you must do is ask. Of course, I suppose you do not speak the language, I would have to help you there."

"I am adequately versed in many lost languages," Cadvan demurred.

"I'm afraid not in this case. You see, the vast majority of the library I cared very little for. It was the books that came before, the stories that predate Afinil that I was most intrigued by. Those were the secrets I needed, more even than I needed the Song."

It was too tempting. "Histories before the founding of Afinil?"

"The ancestors of the Dhyllin. There was knowledge there I needed to successfully break the Song." When Cadvan stared openly, the Nameless One shrugged. "I am not the first to go seeking immortality, though perhaps I am the first to do it this way."

Cadvan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "There were others? Other…nameless ones?"

"Not like me," the Nameless One said firmly. "And don't bother asking, even I'm not foolish enough to go whispering those secrets to you." His eyes flashed and Cadvan felt a light but firm pressure on his throat, like someone had wrapped their fingers around his neck.

"Where did the Dhyllin come from?" Cadvan asked instead. "Why did they leave?"

"They left because of war, and as for where they came from, it doesn't matter now. It's gone." The Nameless One's gaze turned inward and Cadvan knew he was recalling some ancient tome. "This was long ago, when the world was a different shape. Even I could not tell you the full history, because even I do not know it. It was ancient when I came to Afinil." When Cadvan continued to stare he waved his hand vaguely. "It's the same story you hear everywhere. Something was stolen, or broken, or created. There was a great and terrible king that made war. He wanted revenge, he wanted justice, he just wanted to kill. It's always the same."

Cadvan knew vaguely that even among Bards it was believed there was a greater evil than the Nameless One. Somewhere trapped in the shadowplains was a creature so terrible and Dark and powerful that the Nameless One was merely a servant. "Your powers are but a finger of his?"

The Nameless One jerked to a sudden stop and rounded on Cadvan. "I'm not a slave to anyone." His voice was icy and Cadvan felt himself so still as if held in place by an iron vice. The Nameless One reached out and Cadvan saw that his dark nails had elongated into razor sharp claws.

"Those are new," Cadvan said through clenched teeth.

The Nameless One smiled, amused, and ran each claw on his right hand over Cadvan cheek, catching on the pale line of the scar from Likud's whip. "You like them?" When Cadvan didn't speak the Nameless One took his chin in a tight grip. "Don't ever say that again, Cadvan. Or I'll rip your tongue out."

Cadvan felt the tips of the claws digging into his cheeks. "I understand."

"Good." The Nameless One threw him back and he fetched up against the battlements.

They moved on, Cadvan sensing the Nameless One's attitude turning sour. He said quickly, "I'd be keen to see those books."

"You do for me, and I'll do for you," the Nameless One said without looking at him. "You master those spells and maybe I'll translate a few pages for you."

Cadvan glared after him. He had an urge to lunge at the Nameless One, just to prove that he wasn't weak, but he almost immediately put the thought aside. He knew how poorly that would end. After a moment, he followed obediently after the Nameless One.

"But I digress," the Nameless One said, now his gaze turning back to his fastness, studying the spiers like an engineer planning a new project. "We have traitors in our midst, and we must seek them out."

"I doubt the guilty parties will speak to me," Cadvan said dryly. "I am not a favorite of Hulls."

"Likud would disagree," the Nameless One said, a smile quirking his lips.

"Likud hitched his star to your wagon, he's not about to break the axel," Cadvan said tonelessly.

"You misunderstand. You are my sworn enemy, yes? A Hull seeking to supplant me would need to rally any army, and who do you think would be first on their list? A great Bard with an axe to grind, no?"

"So, you think I have been in talks with Hulls?"

"I would know if you did." The Nameless One fixed him with a hard look and Cadvan felt an arrow like consciousness pierce his thoughts. "But, I imagine a Hull might give you more consideration than usual? Perhaps paying you undue attention?"

Cadvan's hand gripped the edge of the parapet tightly to stop them from shaking. The Nameless One's casual lance of his memories was a painful violation of in his inner self he was still unaccustomed to. "You seem to be the only one interested in me these days."

A low hum seemed to indicate his agreement. "Disappointing. After questioning the First Bards and finding no hint of insurrection there, I hoped you might be more forthcoming. Perhaps I will have to turn to the Turbansk Bard…"

Cadvan frowned. "You questioned the First Bards?"

"Oh, yes." The Nameless One's eyes gleamed with pleasure and he smiled so wide his eyeteeth flashed at Cadvan. "But, have no fear. I do not force their minds like I do you. It takes a certain touch with them. The old ways work better."

"What did you do?"

"Worried for your friends?" The Nameless One moved closer and Cadvan could smell the strange metallic odor that hung around him. "How do you go on, Cadvan? Afraid for Maerad, afraid for Saliman and Cai, afraid for those bumbling First Bards you call friends…afraid for yourself." He reached out again, and this time, his hand on Cadvan's face was a gentle caress. It was worse than his claws, it sent tremors of apprehension down Cadvan's spine.

"I manage," Cadvan said thickly.

"It must be so exhausting." The Nameless One gripped him suddenly by the back of the neck, pulling him closer so he had to look up. "You could give it to me, Cadvan. Your fear, your exhaustion, lay them at my feet and let me free you. I know you're afraid, I feel it in you, a coiled tremulous bundle of nerves, fraying at the ends. Every day you wake and you know this fear, so foreign to a man like you. It threatens to destroy you, drive you mad. Let go of your fear and trust me to care for you. Just do as I say and know you will be safe."

"Stop." Cadvan managed to jerk back, breaking the Nameless One's hold on his neck. He waited for the blow to follow his insolence, but it didn't. The Nameless One just continued to watch him, grinning horribly.

"Why won't you trust me?"

"Because you're a monster. Everything you touch turns to ash. Nothing good will ever come of knowing you." Cadvan was shaking properly now, and he didn't care that the Nameless One saw. "I'd rather live with my fear than in your confidence."

"That's hurtful," the Nameless One said mildly. "You should know how pathetic your friends were in the end. It barely took three days for most of them, crying and pissing themselves, groveling at my feet in their desperation to please me. Honestly, when all this is over, I don't know what use most of them will be. They are such broken things."

Cadvan drew a sharp breath. "You still need them-"

"Barely!" the Nameless One snarled. "I am done waiting, Cadvan. The First Bards are here, the time is upon us. Together we shall finish this." His eyes moved up and through the low clouds he could see the sickle moon beginning to rise. "Any day now. When the moon is dead."

Cadvan watched him closely, sensing a strange, dark energy building up around him. "And then? When you've finally destroyed everything worth saving in this world will you be satisfied?"

"Oh, Cadvan, we have just begun. I see a future, a world of peace and plenty, just waiting for me to build it." The Nameless One looked out over the dead, barren wastes of his kingdom. "From these ashes will come a new, beautiful world, and I will be the lord of all."

"You can't think that." Cadvan balked. "You can't believe you are truly our savior."

The Nameless One smiled and curled his long, clawed finger so Cadvan was forced to stand by his side. "When the Speech is gone and the powers of the Bards with it, only I will be able to guide these poor people. I will be all that is left."

Despite his rather light tone of voice, Cadvan could feel anger radiating off the Nameless One. His hatred of the Speech bleeding into his voice. "I don't understand why."

"I could not possibly begin to explain to you, young Bard, what an affront the Speech is to the natural order of the world. But its destruction is necessary. It's the only way to finally be free."

Not feeling particularly free at the moment, Cadvan said, "Free from what?"

The Nameless One merely laughed, but it was without any humor. "You'll see in time that I am right. The Speech should not live in you as it does, it does not belong to you." He turned to Cadvan and his eyes blazed furiously. "You'll know I am right, and if you still disagree when all is said and done, it won't matter. I will make you see."

Maerad watched the shadows from the grilled windows length along the wall of her bedroom, looking more like the bars of a prison than the artful design of a clever metalworker. She turned away, rolling onto her back to look up at the canopy above her bed. "How long, do you think, before Sharma destroys the Speech?"

Hem was laying beside Maerad on the great bed. His eyes were closed and if he hadn't been drumming his fingers on his chest, he might have passed for sleeping. "I'm not sure. I thought as soon as the Busk Bards came, but it seems he's taking his time."

"You think he'd want it over and done with."

"Do you?" Hem asked. He opened his eyes at his sister's strange tone and turned to look at her. Hem hated the way the Nameless One paraded his sister around, even now, alone in her rooms, she dressed outrageously provocatively. She didn't look like his sister, she looked like some foreign woman.

"I don't know," Maerad admitted after a moment. "Sometimes, I want to stay like this, knowing it's coming but knowing there's time. But then other times, I just want it over. I want it to end and see what's left."

Hem squirmed uncomfortably. "Saliman was talking about it just the other night. He's afraid."

"They all are," Maerad said softly. "As well they should be. Who knows what will become of the Bards when the Speech is gone."

"You're not afraid?"

Maerad snorted. "Afraid? I'm terrified. But, how can be I terrified when I've already seen the worst done?" Maerad frowned, looked at Hem. "I know it can be worse, but I don't know how."

Hem's thoughts moved irrevocably back to Iris. Despite his talk with Saliman, and the promise that he was still a Bard of Light, Hem was haunted by her. "Do you think it will be different for us?"

"Why?" Maerad peered at her brother.

Hem shrugged lazily. "Sharma seems unconcerned for himself, and like as not, our Gift and his are both tied to the Song. We share the same power. If Sharma isn't worried, maybe it won't affect us the same way."

A small burst of hope spread through Maerad's breast. "If you're right, that means there's a chance we can stop him."

Hem eyed her dubiously. "You really think so? We're no closer to figuring out where that place is. We don't even know what to do once we're there."

"We make the Song anew. But we do it right," said Maerad firmly. "We need to find it. Just like the Elidhu said in your dream: the Song is lost."

Though Hem had his reservations, it was hard to doubt Maerad when she looked at him with such a blaze of fierceness. He smiled. "Don't suppose you've told anyone beside Nelac?"

Maerad sighed heavily. "It's not safe in the minds of our friends. They are open to Sharma."

Hem bit his lip, thinking how much he would like to ask Saliman about the dream. "Where's Cadvan?" he asked instead.

Maerad made a face. "With the Nameless One," she said distastefully.

"They spend much time together?"

"More than I would like." Maerad gave Hem a helpless smile. "The Nameless One delights in making Cadvan study horrid Dark spells with him. It is a small torment, but wearisome. Cadvan's in a foul mood for days after.

Hem nodded sympathetically. "I could go the rest of my life without seeing Sharma after that last dreadful display."

On a whim, Maerad took Hem's hand in hers and squeezed tightly. The two siblings rarely had time alone together nowadays, and she felt a rift opening between them. At first, Maerad had thought it was some bitterness or anger at her for preferring Cadvan's company to his. But now she had realized that it was simply the distance that formed between brother and sister as they grew and became independent people in their own right. Looking at Hem, Maerad saw that he was almost a man and perhaps didn't want to be coddled and protected by her. She felt a tendril of sadness, the loss of something she could not name.

He's not dying, she thought irritably to herself. He's becoming the man he would always have been. Just as you became a woman. But her maturation into womanhood had been fraught with confusion and uncertainty at herself, her body and her desires, and she hoped Hem had been guided easier than she.

Beside her, Hem stretched, perfectly unaware of her melancholy. "I heard he was terrible to the Bards in the ghettos, too."

"All the more reason to renew our efforts to stop him."

"We can't bring on visions, and that seems to be the only way forward. We will just have to wait."

But Maerad sat bolt upright, looking excited. "But that's it! We must try to force ourselves to have visions." She glanced quickly at Hem, shaking off his suspicion. "No, it's true, think about it. Every secret, every hint at the origins of the Song have come from dreams. We must focus our Gift and try to bring about a vision."

Hem didn't sit up. He couldn't bring himself to much excitement. "I don't think it's possible."

"It's an Elidhu magic, I'm sure. I've seen Ardina do it before. I asked her once to find you, and she cast out herself…what did she say?" Maerad mumbled, trying to recall the words. "She looked in different places for you. I think she was summoning a vision, focused on you. And, when I fought the Landrost, I had to cast out my sense of self as well. That time, I was just looking through a single place for a person, but perhaps we can look for other places?"

Now Hem laughed. "You sound half mad."

"You know what I mean." Maerad's eyes glittered. She was sure this could work. "If we can focus our Elidhu powers, we might be able to seek out the place where the Song was made."

Hem finally sat up, running his hands through his hair. "Do you know how?"

"I made myself very big," Maerad said seriously.

"Well, I don't think Sharma is going to give us any more food."

Despite herself, Maerad smiled. "There's a way to become large on the outside, so large we can scan the entire continent. And it doesn't involve stuffing our face full of food."

"That's too bad," Hem said mulishly. But he shook his head slowly. "Maybe you're right. At least, it's the only plan we've got. We'll have to find a way to practice without Sharma knowing."

"We can do it here, while Cadvan is away with the Nameless One. Sharma will be busy toying him and we'll have the room to ourselves, no one will notice." Maerad was seeming more and more sure that this was the solution, and swung around onto her knees, clutching her brother's hands. "It'll be perfect. Sharma is always so distracted by Cadvan, he won't even think to look at us. But we need to practice. As often as we can, every day if it's available."

Hem was less than enthusiastic but managed a watery smile. "You'll have to teach me."

"I can," Maerad said, much more confidently than she felt.

They heard the door to the outer room open and knew Cadvan had returned. Seeing the bathroom and sitting area empty, he wended his way to the bedroom and checked on the sight of the two, seated on the bed.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked, offering an attempt at a smile despite the foul mood he was in.

Maerad gave him a pleasant look that appeared as superficial as a mask. "Not at all. Hem and I were just discussing this new edict, banning Bards from reading and writing. It is a bit of a conundrum, isn't it? How do you continue your studies under the Nameless One if you're not allowed to read?"

Cadvan waved at Hem to remain on the bed and instead took a chair. He leaned back and stretched his long legs out before him. "Perhaps he'll call our lessons to end? It is the law, after all."

Maerad left the bed, and headed for the closet, where she dug through the frippery and finery until she found loose linen trousers and a shirt. She held them out to Cadvan, who eyed them blandly and shrugged. She left them by his chair and then went searching for a brush and comb. She gestured imperiously at him and Cadvan tipped his head back so Maerad could comb and untangle his hair.

Hem watched her display of silly domestic duty, fascinated. "She runs a tight ship, I see."

Cadvan glanced at Hem. "You're telling me. Last night she practically chased me into the bath with a soapy washcloth."

"And yet," Maerad mused, working her fingers through Cadvan's tangled hair, "you come back every evening smelling of smoke and iron and some other foul thing."

"Saliman doesn't let Hekibel touch his hair. He says she doesn't know how to braid it properly." Hem flashed a mischievous smile. "He said the last time he trusted a hairdresser outside the Suderain, he came away looking like a poodle."

A deep laugh rumbled out of Cadvan's chest, saying "I would've liked to see that," but yelped when Maerad pulled a particularly difficult knot. "Light's sake, Maerad, are you trying to pull my hair out?"

"Have you ever seen a brush before?" Maerad said defensively. She picked at the knot again, finally managing to work it free. She went back to combing his hair with her fingers. "I didn't know you had curly hair?"

Cadvan stirred. "I don't."

Maerad pointed forward over his shoulder. Opposite them was a large mirror mounted against the wall beside the clothes cabinet. In it, Cadvan saw with surprise that his hair had grown out past his shoulders and the ends were curling tightly. He blinked. "I've never grown my hair out," he said absently, watching Maerad's small hands now pulling all the hair on the crown of Cadvan's head back.

"Saliman is being dramatic, braiding is as easy as breathing," she said to Hem. She parted Cadvan's hair into three sections and began to twine them around each other. When she reached the end, she gave a sharp tug and Cadvan looked up at her and smiled lazily.

Hem made a noise that sounded mildly disgusted.

Maerad pointed the comb at Hem in a threatening manner. "You're next, little brother."

The look of shock and fear that crossed Hem's face was so comical, the two older Bards chortled. "My hair is fine the way it is."

"You look like a ragged stag," Maerad said, prowling around Cadvan's chair. "Here, come, I'll put you to rights."

"Stop!" Hem howled, vaulting off the bed. Maerad followed and the two dashed out into the sitting room, Hem's protests and Maerad's demonic giggles echoing around the chamber. Cadvan shook his head.

"Try not to hurt yourselves!" he called after them. Hem yowled suddenly and Cadvan suspected Maerad had caught him.

He changed gratefully into the easy clothes Maerad set aside for him. He hated the fine silks and cottons the Nameless One insisted he wear, they were suffocating. Cadvan caught another glimpse of himself and frowned. He never let his hair grow out long, not because he was opposed, just because long hair in the wild didn't fare well. He fingered the curling ends, discomforted. How long had he been in Dagra?

When Cadvan came out, he found Hem lying on his belly on the couch, Maerad sitting on him. She was tearing a comb through his hair, occasionally pinching his side to make him giggle. "Cadvan, call her off, call her off!" Hem cried desperately.

"She's a harsh enough master as it is. I'll not risk her displeasure," Cadvan said, hands held up in defense. Cadvan took a seat opposite them and propped a book open on his knee, ignoring Hem's cries for mercy. But he found himself reading the same line over and over, and thinking more and more about his own siblings. His parents had had a hoard of children, and though most of his brothers and sisters were dead, he had nieces and nephews. He wondered where they were now, and if they had escaped the fall of Lirigon.

They might be better off dead, he thought darkly, thinking that the Nameless One would find nothing more amusing than torturing and murdering his only family.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and the three Bards froze. "Saliman?" Maerad asked.

Hem shoved his sister ungracefully off himself and hurried to the door. When he opened it, though, his face fell. Likud was leaning against the door frame, looking annoyed at having been kept waiting even a moment.

"That explains the chill," Maerad muttered.

"Why don't you make yourself useful, mistress Maerad, and go wait for Cadvan." He nodded to the door to the bedchamber. "On your back."

"I don't recall inviting you in," Cadvan said sharply, standing now and gesturing Hem back to his sister.

Likud caught Hem by the shoulder before he could move more than a few paces. "Afraid not, young man. You're coming with me."

Now Maerad came forward, her face stormy. "On whose orders?"

"Whose do you think, you idiot?" Likud tugged Hem and he stumbled back. He tried to pull himself free of Likud's grasp, but the Hull clutched him around the back of his neck with an iron grip. "They'll be none of that, boy."

Maerad made a distinctly wolfish growl and moved forward, but Cadvan caught her sharply by the wrist. "Stop," he said in a low but firm voice. His bright, angry gaze turned on Likud. "You'll forgive me for not believing you. I think I'll escort Hem to our master."

Likud's lips pulled back. "You were not invited, and you will stay here."

Cadvan felt the muscles in Maerad's arm tense, and he felt a searing shame. Likud may not have command of his Name like the Nameless One did, but in Dagra, he had immense power and it was unwise to test him. Cadvan met Hem's eyes regretfully and a look of shared helplessness passed between them.

I know you're afraid, I feel it in you, a coiled tremulous bundle of nerves, fraying at the ends. He felt small and angry with himself and had the urge to hit Likud.

"If Hem comes to harm, I will know of it."

Likud sensed his power over the Bards and preened like smug cat. "I'm sure you will. Now," he gave Hem another tug, "this way, little Bard boy."

Maerad watched in mute fury as Likud left with Hem. She hurried after them and stood in the hall, watching until they turned a corner a were obscured from view. Cadvan took her by the shoulder and pulled her back in roughly.

"Cadvan, we can't just let him-"

Cadvan took a deep breath. "I don't want you leaving these rooms anymore, Maerad."

She froze mid-rant. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. This palace was never safe for you, and now, with the Busk Bards being here and the rebellion…the Nameless One is in a perilous temper. His Hulls sense it."

"As he's always been," said Maerad sharply, stepping out of Cadvan's reach deftly. "What has changed that suddenly I must stay locked away?"

Cadvan caught her eye severely. "The First Bards, they were in bad form when I saw them at the execution."

"All the more reason for me to leave. They will need my help."

"No," said Cadvan firmly. Every day you wake and you know this fear. "Maerad, I will tell you the truth, though it shames me to do so, and it is simple: I am afraid."

Maerad frowned. "Afraid?" It seemed a strange admission. They had spent months in Dagra, navigating Sharma's temper, and had been living in fear that entire time. What had changed now? "Afraid of what?" she asked softly.

Cadvan couldn't hold her gaze. I know you're afraid.

"He is furious, and in his anger, he is unpredictable. The city stinks of the dead. And the First Bards have been…interrogated." Cadvan flinched at some thought. "I do not want you leaving this place."

"So, I shall be your prisoner now?" Maerad hissed before she could stop herself. "It is not enough that Sharma keeps me locked up, you are now my keeper?"

Cadvan's eyes flashed. "Maerad, this is nothing to do with keeping you. We have been lulled into a false sense of security. He's allowed us the illusion of freedom, but I think he is done with that. And now that he has the Circles, he will destroy the Speech."

"We knew he would-"

"And what comes after?" Cadvan demanded suddenly, turning a look of black anger on her. "For so long we were focused on just surviving to this point, but what will happen once he's finished." Cadvan thought he knew.

Maerad sat silent a moment. She suspected that Cadvan's fear for her was a manifestation of his fear in general. The Nameless One would, indeed, have no more use for the First Circles, and he would be as likely to dispose of them as he had the others. She felt a leaf of apprehension unfurl in her belly: what would the future be? All the wars were over, all the people subjugated, all the Bards mastered. Would they just continue on as they had done? How could they?

"Cadvan, I understand your concern, but keeping me here will not protect me."

"On the contrary, that's exactly what it will do. In this place, at least, I have dominion." Cadvan's face was set but Maerad was still prickling with anger.

"I'm not in need of protection," Maerad finally said, softer than before. "Hate me as he will, Sharma cannot kill me, just like he can't kill Hem."

"I'm not worried he'll kill you," Cadvan said seriously. "He's far more cunning than that."

"Please, I can't bear the thought of these rooms being my life!" Maerad felt childish, begging with Cadvan for freedom, but now there seemed to be nothing else for it. "My friends, even my brother, will be kept from me."

"I will take you, if you've any desire to go," Cadvan stipulated.

"An escort?" Maerad said derogatorily. "I do not need you looking after me, Cadvan."

Cadvan shook his head, turning from her. "I've said my piece, Maerad. You can be unhappy with me, but I'll not change my mind."

The way he simply turned his back on her was like a slap in the face. Maerad had never felt so dismissed. "No. I don't care what you say, I'll-"

"You'll do nothing." Cadvan fell heavily into a seat. The memory of claws stroking his face surged up. "Last I checked, the Nameless One gave you to me to command as I see fit. I'm ordering you to stay here."

"And what if I leave?" Maerad was thinking of her brother, dragged away by Likud. She couldn't fathom such a thing happening in the future.

"You won't," Cadvan said in a dark voice.

Maerad stormed around the chair, forcing him to look at her. "Oh? Will you tell Sharma?"

Cadvan flinched at the name, but it only darkened his mood. "Don't make me do that."

Maerad swallowed back a curse. "Light's sake, why are you suddenly so afraid?"

"Why?" Cadvan snarled, coming to his feet. "Why? How thick do you have to be to ask me such a thing? Why!" Cadvan loomed over her, but Maerad crossed her arms. "It's not safe. It never was, but now? Now the Nameless One is paranoid, furious. He's a danger to anyone near him, especially you! Here, at least, I can keep you safe."

"I'll not be some locked in some tower-"

Cadvan felt a terrible anger rise up in him. What could she possibly know of danger? He was the one who protected her from the Nameless One, he was the one who attended the Nameless One, he was the one who executed his commands. Her flippant disregard for what was so clearly a risk was an affront to his already frayed nerves. "You'll do as you're told, Maerad."

She searched his face, dismayed. Would Cadvan really tell Sharma that she was to be confined to her room? If she left, would that expose her to punishment if she defied him? She turned away suddenly, and threw herself across the room. Cadvan watched her go, slamming the door to the bedroom louder than necessary. He didn't blame her, but he wouldn't relent on this.

His previous conversation with the Nameless One was still lingering in his mind. The Nameless One had commented on the one thing he had tried so desperately to control: his fear. And even more frustratingly, the Nameless One was right, he was exhausted. He couldn't manage his emotions, and it left him agitated. Knowing Maerad was here and safe, knowing she couldn't be snatched up like Hem had just been, would at least keep him in senses until things settled down.

She'll understand, Cadvan thought, throwing himself down angrily against the couch and dropping his face in his hands. She'll think about it and realize I'm right.

Hema welcomed Jarla with a pleasant smile and a clumsy bow, but the other woman rolled her eyes and pushed past. "No need for formalities between us, sweeting." She looked around the spacious rooms but her gaze was dark. "Do you have a courtyard or a balcony? Somewhere outside?"

Hema nodded, directing her toward a set of double doors that opened onto a spacious balcony. "I don't use it often. There's always a smell in the air…"

"Yes, well, we'll have to suffer the stench for the sake of conversation." Jarla said nothing more until they were both outside, a carafe of wine before them, the doors back to the room shut. Hema thought Jarla looked particularly well, with a pleasant flush in her smooth cheeks and a set of new jewels braided into her hair. She poured out half a goblet of wine for Hema, then added water. For herself, she kept the wine pure.

"My mother suggested I speak to you."

Jarla raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what did she say you should ask me?"

Hema faltered. As friends went, Jarla might be the only woman Hema considered herself close to, but this was different. This was her marriage, her husband, her personal life. She looked down and took a long draw on her wine. "I am…trying to get myself with child."

"Yes, I believe we had this discussion in the garden." She looked out over the city and down into the ghetto where the Bards were kept. She frowned and Hema wondered what she was thinking.

"I am having a difficult…well, it's been hard to-" she broke off, searching for words.

"Just say it as it is, sweetheart," Jarla said. She gestured around. "We speak out here because no one hears us over the sound of the wind. No one will know."

Hema shook her head helplessly. "I can't get pregnant."

Jarla's eyes widened with mingled concern and disgust. "You're barren?"

"No!" Hema said at once, thinking of the gossip already stalking her footsteps. "No. My husband does not come to my bed."

"Is that all?" Jarla asked, relieved. "Well, that's certainly much easier to handle." Jarla drank off her wine and sat back. "In normal circumstances, a husband would simply come to your bed to at least do his duty, in this case, we'll have to do a little playing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you must be forward with him." When Hema simply balked Jarla chuckled. "You're acting his friend, not his lover. Put aside these silly, heavy dresses, wear silks that cling to you, let your hair loose, invite him to join you."

"I do invite him! We have breakfast together, sometimes we sit and have tea."

Jarla raised an eyebrow ironically. "Breakfast and tea won't put a baby in your belly. Do you kiss him?"

Hema reflected on his usually cool demeanor. "I don't think he likes being kissed."

Jarla gave an unladylike snort. "That's ridiculous. He's just barely a man, I imagine it's what he thinks about half the day."

Hema swallowed tightly. "Am I not pretty enough?"

Jarla stared at her starkly. "Hema, have your parents explained nothing to you?"

"I understand that our family's safety depends on me having his child." She looked down at her hands, then said, slightly annoyed, "I would think that my husband would want that too."

"Oh, you silly girl," Jarla said heavily. "Do you not realize what will happen when you have a son? When you finally bring the bouncing, little baby prince?"

Hema frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Do you really think it's as simple as that?" Jarla shook her head and turned a very unfriendly look on Hema. "Your son will be the next Ernani, and, should the current Ernani die, you will be the reagent."

Hema blinked. "Why would my husband die?"

"Aye, and does your father seem like a patient man, ready to wait and watch while his son-in-law flouts his authority, challenges him at every turn? Or, do you think your father the type of man to see an heir-a veritable puppet on a string-and kill your husband so as to take the throne in his grandson's name?"

Hema gasped at the viciousness of her tone. "My father wouldn't."

"This is exactly your father's plan."

"To kill the Ernani-"

"He already killed one, what's another?"

Hema sat back, her hand going automatically to her belly. "But I don't want them to kill him."

"It's not about what you want." Jarla gave Hema a secretive look, almost like she was trying to convey something silently between them. "Is it?"

Hema furrowed her brow. "I do not know."

Jarla studied her gravely, then shrugged it off. "Well, now you know what is intended."

Hema sat uncomfortably, staring, unseeing at the wine before her. She knew her family was vicious, but were they so conniving as to murder her husband? "Does Ir-Ytan know this?"

"Of course," Jarla said slowly, as if Hema was dimwitted. "Why else would he avoid you like the plague? If he ever gets your pregnant, he knows your family will kill him."

"But, then, he will never…"

"Well, in this, your family holds the winning hand, don't they? Little Har-Ltan."

Hema goggled at her. "They wouldn't hurt his brother?"

"Oh, yes they would, and who would stop them? The Nameless One wants control of the Suderain, your family is loyal, his is…not." Jarla delicately rearranged her shawl. "But the people of the Suderain will not bow to a foreign king easily. They will want Ir-Ytan's heir. So, you get his child, and the Nameless One gets a new Ernani, half Suderain, half Grin."

"I just-" Hema broke off, she wasn't sure she could find the words that captured her confusion of emotions. "I just wanted him to like me."

"He won't," Jarla said blandly. She got to her feet and strolled easily to the edge of the balcony, looking out over the city. "You two are enemy combatants. You could be the most beautiful girl in the world and he still wouldn't like you. You are his death sentence."

"I don't mean to be," she said softly.

Jarla spun about, fixing Hema with a bright-eyed stare. "Stop this!" Hema gaped at her. "You cannot be innocent in this, Hema. You are not. Perhaps you did not choose this life, but you are a player in this game now. He will not like you more because you are a clueless, wide-eyed doe. You are the queen consort of the Suderain."

"But I don't know how to be!"

"In this case, ignorance is not an excuse." Jarla crossed her arms. "So, now you see. He will not come to your bed willingly, so you'll have to tempt him there."

"And if he still won't come?"

Her face was hard. "Remind him of his duty, honor and family."

"You're growing, boy," Likud said appreciatively, marching Hem down the tower. "I hardly recognized you from the starving, little scrap we took from the orphanage."

Hem breathed out loudly. "You've not changed much."

Likud chortled. "One of the many benefits of being a Hull. As I recall, you could have had such privileges, but you chose to cry in your bedroom instead."

"If you're trying to goad me, it's not going to work." Hem cast an unfriendly look at Likud. "I serve the Nameless One personally, and he thinks it's great sport."

"Of course, not. I was merely commenting on what a man you're becoming. You look like your father, he'd be proud of the man you are." Likud glanced at Hem, eyes glittering with excitement. He could see a muscle working in Hem's jaw. "I knew your father, you know? I possessed him once. After Cadvan had released the Bone Queen, we took our battle to Pellinor, and your mother and father tried to challenge me. Your father, despite his illustrious lover, was himself a Bard of no great skill. I slipped into his mind as easily as a fish in the river. I had fun playing with him."

Hem swallowed loudly, fighting back the vitriol surging up his throat. "Couldn't have been too much fun seeing at they ran you out of the School."

Likud's sneer slipped. "Fun while it lasted."

They were heading down, Hem recognized the path that led down to the cells that held the First Circles. "Has the Nameless One been careless again?"

"Hardly. But the hour is late. Our master has decided: it's time." Hem stuttered to a halt and Likud pushed him on. They came to a cell at the end of the hall. Inside, a poor-looking assortment of First Bards were slumped on the floor. Hem stared at their filthy condition. "And these folk don't look ready to do their part."

Hem had to agree, the First Bards looked ragged. His eyes rested on Vaclal, who was clutching his arm against his chest. It was hanging loosely in the socket and Hem guessed it was dislocated. "If our master took a little more care with the Bards, I wouldn't have to waste half my time stitching them together."

Likud shoved Hem forward. "Better to keep you busy than have you up to no good. Get them in working order. And be quick about it."

Hem looked around, saw the meager pile of bandages, stints, utensils and scowled. "This isn't much to work with."

"They're not much to work on." Likud stepped back, his eyes lingering on Norowen. "I'll be back in a few days."

Hem waited until Likud's footsteps vanished before approaching the Bards. A smell of blood, sweat and urine lingered in the room and gagged Hem. The Bards just looked up at him, a silent plea in their eyes. "I'll help you," he said urgently. "I just-I just-" Memories swam up of Iris dying in front of him, the Turbansk Bards with their festering wounds, the First Bards after the Nameless One broke their minds. He felt his throat tightening, his hands getting clammy.

So much suffering, he thought. What can one person do against so much suffering?

Hem jumped when someone's hand brushed his. He looked down and saw Malgorn, smiling a little up at him. "Tell us what you need, Hem."

"I need-" he paused trying to force himself to think pragmatically like a proper healer. Triage. Assess the patients, determine urgency of injuries. "I'll need to inspect you all."

Malgorn nodded his head obediently and the other Bards sat up straighter. Hem went first to Vaclal, whose arm was indeed dislocated. He felt along the shoulder, massaging the tendons. When he pressed on his shoulder, Vaclal moaned. "It's tender, Hem."

"I need to set your arm back in the shoulder," Hem said in a low voice. "It'll hurt, there's nothing for the pain."

Vaclal barked a laugh. "Please, boy, I am used to pain by now."

Hem lifted his arm, braced against his shoulder, than pressed his body weight against the arm. After a moment, it shifted back into place with muted thump. Vaclal gasped and cradled his arm. "Thank you, Hem. I haven't been able to use my arm in days."

"What happened?"

Vaclal glanced at the other Bards and described the strange, kneeling position he and the rest had been kept in, the lack of food and sleep, the water. Hem scowled but said nothing. With Vaclal stable, Hem moved between the Bards. Norowen had a torn ligament, Gahal's knees were purple with bruising and his back was in knots, Finlan couldn't stop shaking and his words came out in broken stuttering. Malgorn twitched when Hem looked into his eyes then smiled apologetically.

"I haven't slept much," he said as if that explain the bruising on his wrists, the strained muscles in his back. "Here to patch us up for the very end?"

Hem nodded slowly, feeling for Malgorn's pulse. It was sluggish. "You'll be okay," he said automatically. He knew very little about Malgorn, but he was aware of the depth of love Maerad felt for Silvia, and that alone was reason to keep Malgorn in good shape. "I swear it by my Name."

"You don't need to make such promises." Malgorn closed his eyes. Hem's hand pulsed with soothing warmth, lulling him to sleep.

Hem eyed him sternly, but his eyes were closed. After taking stock of the Bards, treating wounds that needed immediate attention, he set to work making all assortments of poultices, salves, disinfectants. He stirred bandages in boiling water dropping in oils that would be absorbed into the skin and soothe inflammation and aches. While the medicines simmered, he boiled water and then, one by one, took the First Bards and cleaned them. It was a strange sensation, cleaning off these men and women. They were some of the most powerful people in the world, and yet they sat, patient and helpless, allowing Hem to slowly peel away their filthy rags and wash them of the blood and muck like they were children.

Gahal smiled ironically at him when he lifted his arm to wipe down his ribcage. "Light's sake, but I feel like an old man needing a sponge bath."

"You've lost a lot of mobility in your shoulders. It's faster if I do it." Hem wrung out the sponge and glanced up. "But if it bothers you that much, consider a trade. You can give me a sponge bath and a massage the next time Sharma decides I need a whipping."

"Fair enough," Gahal chuckled.

While their clothes bubbled away in a great pot, Hem set to working with proper healing. It took a long time to get the Bards cleaned up. Tender muscles, inflamed skin, a few broken bones, frost bite, open sores…the list was long. Hem felt his eyes burning with exhaustion, and Malgorn insisted the boy rest. He slept fitfully, but woke to find that the First Bards had washed their clothes, wrung them out, and were huddling around his fire.

"You would have been master healer in no time," Finlan said, a little begrudgingly.

Hem was manipulating Norowen's ankle, trying to find the sprain. "I'm afraid not. I've the skills of healer who's only seen war. We treat what we can with little thought for pain or comfort. If a person ever came to me for something as mundane as a flu, I'd be at quite a loss."

"Those things come easy," said Gahal, watching Hem's hands articulate the toes with surprising dexterity. "Yours are a far more valuable set of skills, I think."

He muttered words over her ankle and she sighed in release. She made a thanking gesture with her hand, still self-conscious of her slurred speech. Hem turned to the motley crew of Bards, noticing for the first time that Nerili was absent.

"No one from Busk?" he asked in a voice of forced disinterest. A part of him was keen to see her again, at the very least to confirm the Nameless One had not done something horrible to her.

"They're down the hall. Apparently, the Nameless One saw fit to handle Nerili on his own."

Hem paled noticeably but Malgorn waved him off tiredly. "I wouldn't worry too much about Nerili. Thoroldians are terrifying," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I'm sure she's more than a match for wits with the Nameless One."

"It's not her wits I'm worried about," Hem said dryly.

"Malgorn is right," Gahal said after a moment. "Besides, despite what you see here, the Nameless One needs his First Bards in working order, doesn't he? I'm sure Nerili is alright."

Hem nodded and rubbed a lotion that smelled strongly of peppermint into the muscles on Gahal's shoulders, using the heel of his hand to massage the sore place. He yowled like a cat when Hem threw his weight behind it.

"Light's sake, Hem! Gentle, gentle." He smiled mischievously. "You're thinking of Nerili too much, eh?"

Hem's face went bright red as the Bards chuckled. He scowled at Gahal, but then noticed that there was real merriment in his eyes. He didn't remember the last time these Bards had seemed anything other than miserable.

"No! Nothing like that. I-" He looked sheepishly between the Bards. "Well, I've seen what he does to First Bards and just worried."

Gahal twinkled up at him. "Aye, I understand, boy. Just don't let your mind wander too far when you're working on my back."

Vaclal was inspecting his shirt. It seemed dry, if not clean. "So, it's time, is it? The Nameless One has everything he needs to finish us off." He shimmied into his shirt. "I'm about ready to be done."

Hem didn't know if this merited a response, but Malgorn saved him the trouble of developing one. "You know, I wonder if he really is going to make me his horse master? I wouldn't be terribly opposed to it now. It would even be a relief."

"Lucky you," Finlan groused. "I believe the last time we spoke, he said I'd be corpse."

"Not if I have something to say about it," Hem muttered.

"If you're taking the horses, I'll manage the chickens, fair?" Gahal laughed.

Malgorn's eyes cracked open. "Oh no, I'm not sharing a workspace with the master of birds. I'll accidentally kick a rooster crossing the yard and have you squawking after me."

"Oh, don't be dramatic!"

"Bawk bawk," Malgorn clucked, and the First Bards burst into laughter.

In time, the Bards were pieced back together and Hem helped them all maneuver back into their clothes. He risked the ire of the Nameless One and summoned more fire for them. One of the soldiers brought watery broth and bread, which they fell upon like rabid beasts. Afterward, they dozed on and off, Hem keeping a close watch to make sure they didn't sleep wrong.

At one point, Hem found himself closely studying Malgorn. The last few months in Dagra hadn't treated him well. Of course, he had not been brought to Dagra in fine form, but now he looked like a ragged stable hand. His blond hair had lost any luster and hung in lank blond curls around his chin. He had uneven scruff on his cheeks and chin that made the hollows under his eyes stand out even worse.

"It's not polite to stare, young man," he said not unkindly.

Hem immediately looked elsewhere. "Sorry."

Malgorn looked at him and after a moment, offered him a lazy sort of grin. "I was teasing you. I imagine a close inspection from a healer is what I need."

"How's Silvia?" he asked instead.

Malgorn shrugged. "Better than me." When Hem said nothing, Malgorn sat up properly, his face fixed in a thoughtful expression. "Hem, this may seem out of place, but you spend much time with the Nameless One. Do you think we will die doing this?"

Hem's eyes widened in shock. "I hope not."

"Hem, I'm serious. Do you think this spell will kill us?"

"I don't know. The Nameless One seems to be preparing for our lives after. He speaks as though we will continue to see much of each other." Hem never considered what the Nameless One would do to him after, he had simply assumed that he wanted him alive. "Sometimes I think he doesn't know what he will do with us."

Malgorn nodded slowly. "If I die, I don't want Silvia to take my place."

Hem stared. "Is she next in line?"

"It doesn't work like that," Malgorn said. "The First Circle picks from the current members. Silvia would be a natural choice but…" He caught Hem's eyes with a severe look. "Please, if something happens to me, make sure that Silvia doesn't replace me. I can't imagine her here."

"I'll do what I can."

Malgorn raised an eyebrow. "I should have you take my request to your sister. She'd bend over backward for Silvia."

Hem snorted. "You're probably not wrong."

Malgorn sat back, clearly having gotten out what he wanted. He felt waves of exhaustion washing over him, but before he dozed back off, he gave Hem the gentlest look, but he wasn't sure the young man saw.

In the shadows of his throne room, Sharma sat unmoving on his throne. His eyes were closed, they didn't move beneath his lids. He might as well have been carved of stone. But the motionless visage belied his stirring consciousness: it uncoiled like a snake, expanded, moved outward from his physical body.

He moved through the corridors like a sudden icy breeze, and the torches wavered as if they felt his presence. He brushed against servants who turned with a strange expression, as if a shadow had passed into their minds and left a whisp of dark smoke. He moved outward, consuming the tower in slow progression. He flickered through the dungeons, where the Bards curled around meager fires. They were weak now, but they were ready. He passed by Cai and the First Bards, lingered for a moment with the boy, who seemed to have recovered some of his former strength. That was annoying. When he reached Nerili in a cell with her Circle, the memory of her bloody lips pressed against his made him buzz with pleasure.

At the top of the tower, his consciousness glanced off Saliman, who was sitting alone, hiding from Hekibel, because he was weeping. A name. Oslar. Sitting together in the peace and quiet of the Healing Houses in Turbansk, a buttery light filtering in through grilled windows, falling on the gentle hands of Oslar. He was cleaning out scrapes on the small hands of a dark-skinned boy, rubbing the knuckles tenderly.

"These hands are wasted on such silly fights," he said, not unkindly. "These are the hands of a healer." Oslar pressing his hand against his chest.

Pathetic.

Beyond the room, another presence, one he enjoyed. Cadvan was slouched in a chair in his bedroom, staring sightlessly at a book. His thoughts were…everywhere, confused. He was thinking of their conversation from earlier, and the hint of ancient knowledge even the Bards didn't have. Such things excited a man with Cadvan's intellect, his hunger for knowledge. Be he was angry, too. He was thinking of Maerad and their argument, how she had accused him of seeking to control her. How he had confined her.

The Nameless One shivered. Finally.

For months he had been seeking to drive a wedge through them because their love was a weapon against him. But he knew he could poison it, transform it into some parasitic and painful. It was slow, and there was so far yet to go, but this was the start.

Let your frustration fester, Cadvan, the Nameless One thought. You know what's best for her, what's safest. She is reckless, careless with herself. Cadvan twitched as if sensing the Nameless One's thoughts. If you don't protect her, I'll hurt her. You are right to take a firm hand.

The Nameless One lingered just long enough to sense Cadvan's righteous anger. He was stubbornly sure he had done the right thing. He recoiled before any of his anger at Maerad could infect Cadvan. The Bard was clever enough to know if he was directly attempting to influence his feelings.

And Cadvan would sense him and his anger. Because he hated Maerad.

He could sense the burning light that emanated from her. The power of the Song lived in her just like it did him, and he could feel it turned against him. Maerad did that. Without even trying, she could command the Song. Her existence was an affront to him. He wanted her dead-no, wait…he wanted her to suffer, then he wanted her dead.

I should have done it, I should have destroyed her before I made that deal with Cadvan. In the throne room, the Nameless One's eyes snapped open and a snarled ripped from his throat. I should have taught her to respect my power.

He had a vision of her, crying, begging, pleading with him not to hurt her anymore. He wanted to tear into her with claws and fangs, rip the sinew, taste her blood. No! He wanted more than that. First, he wanted her, to hold her down and force his way into her body and mind, to feel her squirm and thrust, and to use his strength to show her once and for all that she was weak and he was powerful. To dominate her.

Damn her! The Nameless One stood suddenly and the torches on the walls snapped out. The glass in the windows shattered, but no air came in. His hands clamped together and cracks raced along the smooth stone floor. Damn her and the Song! I should have destroyed her in front of them all, made them watch while I tore their savior apart. Made them listen to her desperate cries for mercy.

He stood in the darkness for a long time, relishing the idea. It woke a sudden need in him, a hunger for flesh and blood and pain. Nerili would do. He turned, looked out the window into the darkening sky. Besides, Maerad would expect it if I did it. It would be horrible, yes, but it wouldn't undo her. It is in my nature to hurt her. No, I must be patient…poison Cadvan against her.

Excitement bloomed in his stomach. Then, it will truly destroy them both. For how could she love the man who betrayed her? How could he forgive himself for hurting her? He slouched back to his throne, the anger fading away. Let Cadvan do it. Yes.

He licked his lips, tasted Nerili's blood. She'll do for now.

It was a while before the Nameless One looked out the window and saw the black space where the moon should have hung in the sky. He bowed his head, as if acquiescing to a silent command. In due course, Likud arrived. The Hull bobbed a brief bow as it entered.

"My lord, you summoned me?"

"Bring the Bards," he said without turning away from the window. "It's time."