Chapter Twenty-Six

Hema was standing on the balcony, admiring the city. A breeze briefly rustled her green silken skirts so they billowed out behind her, and she sighed, enjoying the brief respite from the oppressive heat. After careful consideration of Jarla's words, she had her gowns recut, and now they draped over her body after the manner of fashionable Den Raven women. She wore a green shirt made of light cotton, printed with a gold geometric pattern, and cut above the navel. A long swath of bright green silk with fine gold knots dangling along the edge was wrapped around her waist, over her shoulder and across her bust. She allowed the tail to drape over her arm and toyed with it nervously.

She had asked Ir-Ytan to join her for a private dinner. He'd consented, though he had not seemed thrilled with the idea, and told her he would join them in their rooms at half past five. She had not seen him all day and had heard he was off with his brother. After her conversation with Jarla, Hema understood his stark avoidance of her, but that didn't dissuade her from her task. Her mother's bright, fearful eyes were burned into her mind.

But he'll see reason. He knows we have no choice. She turned back into the rooms and saw that it was almost six. He was late. She glanced at the table and considered taking a seat, but when he came, she didn't want him finding her waiting like a lapdog. Instead, she served herself a little wine with water and went to sit before the fire.

It was another ten minutes before Ir-Ytan arrived. He tossed off his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and came over to join Hema. He kissed her hand and helped himself to a glass of brandy, barely noticing her appearance.

"Apologies for my tardiness, lady wife. My brother and I were having the most consuming game of cards." Ir-Ytan smiled politely at her. "Dinner isn't cold, is it?"

Hema sniffed and delicately arranged her silk the way she had seen Jarla do. "I have not called for it yet. I waited for you, husband." She modulated her tone to something between cool courtesy and annoyance.

Ir-Ytan didn't seem to notice. "Excellent. I'll call for the serving girl then." He was up in a moment and Hema felt her mouth open. Her mother used that tone when she was annoyed, and everyone in the house, from the slaves to her own father, gave pause.

"I did ask them to prepare quail for us," she said, rising up.

Ir-Ytan was speaking in a low voice to the serving girl, who smiled shyly up at him. He said something to her and winked, and she giggled before turning away. Hema bit her lip, he never smiled for her like that. "Quail is such a heavy meal on such a hot day, don't you think?" he asked, going now to the table. "I hope you don't mind, but I've called for a light salad, some fruit and nuts, bread and cheese. Of course," he added seriously, "if you prefer the quail I'm sure it can be made for you."

Hema pressed down her displeasure at having her request overturned but turned her lips up in a small smile. "Not at all. I simply asked because, in my home, meat at the table is a virtue of wealth."

"Indeed? How curious. On particularly hot days, the only thing I could stomach was cold soup."

Hema smiled, delightfully puzzled. "Cold soup? I'll have to try it once we're in Turbansk."

Ir-Ytan managed a faint smile. He wasn't keen to share anything of his home with her. "And, how did you spend your day, wife?"

Hema shrugged. "I had tea with my sister, we spoke for quite some time. She is anxious to be on her way to Turbansk."

"We'll be in Baladh," Ir-Ytan said automatically. "The city is, unfortunately, not suitable for your family yet."

Hema blinked. "Is it terribly different?"

"Smaller," Ir-Ytan said. "And have you seen much of your parents?"

"No," Hema said slowly. "They seem quite distracted. I think it's something to do with the witches. My father is trying to negotiate for more help, but our master seems busy."

Ir-Ytan stared at her baldly. How did she not know what was going on with the Bards? "The Nameless One is preoccupied of late," he agreed emptily.

"You said you played cards? I didn't know you were a gambling man." Hema shifted the conversation to something she knew. "My father taught my brothers, but I used to watch."

"Ah, so you're a shark?" he smiled for her, a true smile that reached the corners of his eyes, and she felt herself relax. He did have a handsome smile. "I shall be careful with my money around you then."

"No need," Hema said quickly. "Afterall, my fortune is yours. Perhaps we could play for something else."

Had this been Turbansk, and Hema a different woman, Ir-Ytan would have flirtatiously and suggestively responded, but this was none of these things. "Fools is a difficult game to master, I'm afraid."

"Fools?"

"That's what we call it, though it has plenty more names besides." Ir-Ytan ran his finger along the edge of his plate and briefly described the rather convoluted rules that led to a person winning by disposing of all their cards.

Hema realized she had not been able to follow the description at all but offered an airy shrug. "Well, I'm sure you would have plenty of time to teach me."

Ir-Ytan wanted to tell her that, no, as he would be running his kingdom, he would not have time to waste teaching her a game. But chose instead a bland, "I'm sure your parents wouldn't thank me for teaching you to gamble."

Hema's stomach clenched like Ir-Ytan had raised his hand to strike her. Why did he always have to remind her that her parents controlled her life? She was saved from responding by a gentle knock at the door. The serving girl had returned, carefully balancing a large tray piled with food. Ir-Ytan came to his feet at once, hands out to take the great bowl of salad. "Please, let me help with that."

Hema balked as her husband - the Ernani - busied himself helping set a table. The serving girl was staring at her feet while Ir-Ytan took dish after dish from her tray. Hema's mouth closed into a thin line when her husband made some joke about fetching the meal for himself next time and sparing the girl the effort. She glanced up, saw Hema's unhappy look, and dipped into a deep curtsey.

"Here, my dear," Ir-Ytan said warmly, offering her a hunk of bread. The girl accepted the bread, still not looking at Hema, and then she hurried from the room.

"Is it common, my lord, for nobility in the Suderain to do the jobs of servants?" Her face was hard and Ir-Ytan sensed her frustration like a physical thing.

To her great anger, Ir-Ytan smiled widely. "She is a child, Hemalatha."

"A child servant."

Now Ir-Ytan's eyes narrowed, though his smile remained fixed and rigid. "In the Suderain, we do not make children do the work of adults. Light knows, the girl should be home right now taking her own dinner, not hurrying about so you can have a salad."

"It's her duty."

"You speak of duty?" Ir-Ytan said quietly. He lost his temper, but in an effort not to scare Hema, kept his voice soft and even. A far more frightening thing. "What of the duty of a queen to her people? A queen should be beloved. You should be generous and kind and loyal, to the highest lords and the lowest of servants. Or, perhaps you have no desire to be loved?"

The venom of his words stung Hema's pride and, even worse, spoke to her secret fears that she wasn't suited to be queen at all. She pressed her lips together in a tight line, but her eyes dropped.

Ir-Ytan hoped she felt the weight of his displeasure. He stabbed at his salad, but managed to rearrange his features into a grin. "There's no reason you should treat servants like they're less than human. And certainly no reason to be cruel to a child." He paused, still feeling particularly vindictive after learning that her father would enlist more Bards as slaves. "Surely, as a woman so keen to bring a child into this world, you know that?"

Hema gasped at his malice. "I didn't mean to be deliberately cruel."

"Just accidently?" Ir-Ytan asked casually, picking up an almond and inspecting it before popping it in his mouth.

Everything was going completely wrong. Hema cursed herself, Ir-Ytan, and the whole miserable arranged marriage. He was determined to be unhappy with her, no matter how hard she tried to be a dutiful wife.

"I was not raised like you," Hema said at length.

"That much is obvious." Ir-Ytan began buttering two slices of bread and offered her one. She stared at it, confused by his ability to turn so quickly between harsh and polite. "But it would be so nice if you could, for one moment, set aside that cold, rude mask of yours and just act like a sensible woman."

Hema took the bread. "It's not a mask."

"That's a shame," Ir-Ytan said dryly.

"That's not what I mean," Hema said in a hard voice. "I meant only that this is how I was taught to act. It's not a mask. It's propriety."

"You will find, little wife," he said softly, "that, regardless of propriety, more people will love you if you show them kindness."

Before she could stop herself, words surged up Hema's throat. "Would you at least like me if I did?"

Ir-Ytan stared, nonplussed. "I like you well enough."

Hema's eyes sparkled angrily. "You avoid me like the plague."

"I am spending time with my brother. The brother your family is sending away from me."

"How long do I have to atone for my family?" Hema asked passionately. "I thought, perhaps, we understood each other. I thought we could be friends-"

"Friends, yes. Anything else, I do not know," Ir-Ytan said quickly. "Hemalatha, believe me when I say, if I had not forgiven you for your family's spite, I would not be here now."

Hema searched his face. "Is there nothing I can do to make you happy?"

Ir-Ytan felt her words like a blow to the stomach. "It's not your job to make me happy."

"Then you would rather be miserable?" Hema asked softly.

"Hema." He sighed, rubbing his face. "Please, understand. I would like very much for us to get along, but it does not come simply or quickly. I want to make this work, but it is difficult when I am reminded how much I have lost. Can you not understand that?"

"I understand." Hema looked away. "But I also want more for us than mere friendship."

Ir-Ytan titled his head. "What do you want from us? Surely, you do not crave intimacy? You do not desire me. You flinch away from me when we are alone, you practically lock the doors to the bedroom, so we do not have to share a bed."

Heat rushed to Hema's face. "You-" she paused, searching for words "-you are my husband. Of course, I desire you."

Ir-Ytan snorted. "Desire me as a man or as your husband?" Hema wasn't aware of any difference, and Ir-Ytan smirked. "Speak plainly, Hema, what do you want from me?"

Her throat was dry and she swallowed. "I want to be a good wife to you. I want you to think of me as a respite from your misery, not the cause of it."

"That is all you desire?"

Her eyes dropped again. "I would like to do my duty as queen and give you an heir."

"I do not think you desire that," Ir-Ytan said gently.

"I would like to," she said carefully, wondering why it bothered him so much that she didn't seem to like him. Her mother and father seemed to be friends, was that not what he wanted?

Ir-Ytan studied her closely. He had thought she would simply parrot what her mother told her, but she seemed to be sincere in this. "Do you mean that?"

Hema's eyes fluttered up to him. "Yes," she said earnestly.

Ir-Ytan rested his chin in his hand, considering her with a professional curiosity. "Alright."

"Alright?" Hema asked.

"Alright." Ir-Ytan shrugged. "I would very much like for us to enjoy each other's company, both in public and private. I realize it may not be a common practice in Den Raven, but, if you are willing…" He smiled rakishly. "Who am I to refuse a beautiful woman?"

Hema bit her lip to keep her smile down. She knew it was just empty platitudes, but it was reassuring to know her husband thought she was beautiful. "You're too kind."

They returned to their meal, and Hema, relieved, kept up a steady stream of nonsense conversation. Ir-Ytan listened attentively, providing the necessary responses, but privately, he was thinking about what Saliman had said on his wedding, that if he could make Hema love him, perhaps she would come to prefer him over her family. He didn't want to manipulate her but…could it hurt if Hema came to love him?

When dinner was done, they both enjoyed a stiff glass of brandy, and Hema fetched a pair of dice for them to play. Ir-Ytan sat forward in an armchair while Hema sat opposite him on the floor, her feet tucked under her. She looked up at him, he felt a lazy smile pull on his lips: she was lovely.

When Hema yawned Ir-Ytan stretched and said, "Perhaps we should call it an evening, little wife?"

Hema pinched the fabric of her gown nervously but smiled faintly. "A fine idea."

When Hema made for the bathroom, though, Ir-Ytan frowned. "A bath at this hour?"

"Oil for my hair," she said with an embarrassed smile.

"Nonsense, bring it to the bedroom," Ir-Ytan said easily.

Hema fetched a bottle of citrus scented oil and joined Ir-Ytan. He had let his own braids down from the bun he wore them in and was seated in a chair by the fire. He waved her over to the settee before him. "Come, let me help."

Hema sank onto the cushion before him and Ir-Ytan took the oil from her. He lathered his hands with it and began to work the oil through her hair. She leaned back automatically, reveling in the sensation of his fingers in her hair. It was such an intimate gesture, and so unlike anything she was used to by her family or friends, that she sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes. It went on for a while, Ir-Ytan was thorough, and he wanted to make sure Hema was comfortable with him – his touch – before he went any further.

"Does it take longer with your hair?" Hema wondered after a while. "Because of the braids?"

"Longer," Ir-Ytan laughed affably. "But I think you're quite done." He took a length of her hair and twisted it around his fingers. It shone in the firelight.

Hema rose up, but her legs felt wobbly and useless: the brandy and food had exhaustion had left her uncertain on her feet. Ir-Ytan gave her his arm and she righted herself before drifting over to the bed. She toyed with the laces of the gown, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor, before crawling up into the bed. By unspoken agreement, Ir-Ytan dowsed the lights before joining her, and when he got into the bed, only the dark shape of her was clear in the fragile moonlight. She began to lean back, but his hand found her hair and pushed it back from her face.

"Perhaps, we could go a bit slower?" he asked, as if he were the nervous one who needed to prepare.

Hema smiled a little. "Whatever you like."

"I'd like to kiss you then," he said in a low voice Hema rarely heard. It wasn't angry or exhausted, it was the purring of a great lion, low and resonating. When he pressed his lips against hers, she tasted the spices from the brandy. After a moment, he deepened the kiss and his tongue glanced over her teeth.

Hema shifted, a little uncomfortable, and Ir-Ytan began to kiss the juncture where her cheek and neck met. "Is this okay?" he asked gruffly.

The heat of his breath, and feel of lips pressing the tender skin of her neck, made Hema shiver. "I-Yes," she managed. Her hands, which had been previously tangled up in the sheets now moved to his legs. When his teeth nipped her skin, her fingernails dug into him.

Ir-Ytan felt her resistance to him in the slight stiffness of her spine and the almost pointed pressure of her fingers on his legs. He knew pushing her further wasn't fair, and instead nudged her so she laid back. He wished she didn't insist on having the lights low, he would have liked to see her and have her see him, but that was a conversation for a much later date. Besides, in their current position, he could see her face outlined in moonlight. She was watching, fascinated, as he toyed with the waist of his trousers.

"You can undo the laces if you like," he offered provocatively. A small part of him hoped she'd say yes, just to give him any indication she was enjoying herself.

Hema's eyes skittered away. "I wouldn't know how."

"Of course," he said softly. He shimmed out of his pants quickly and waited to see if she would look at him. Afterall, there was nothing wrong with his form, most women who'd seen him in some state of undress were overall satisfied, but his own wife? Hema, though, was now looking out of the window.

He shifted his weight, wriggling between her legs. She had gone oddly still, and would move to accommodate him, but seemed terrified of moving on her own. Ir-Ytan cringed a little and was glad she couldn't see his face. He touched the inside of her thigh with two of his fingers.

"Are you alright, Hema?"

She seemed to respond to her name. "Yes, of course." She felt that tension growing in her belly again, and she wasn't sure if she was scared or something else entirely. She opened her legs a little wider, hoping he understood it was an invitation to continue.

Ir-Ytan hesitated. He wanted to do this right. He wanted Hema to do more than simply allow him to use her. "Do you want me to continue?"

Hema's eyes moved to his face suddenly, almost like he'd sworn at her. "Of course, I want you to."

Ir-Ytan cupped her cheek in his hand and Hema felt the warmth of him smother her nerves. His thumb rubbed her cheek gently and she marveled at the sensation. No one touched her like that. "Do you want me because you desire this, or because it is your duty?"

Hema knew the answer, even though it was, in part, a lie. "I want you. I care not for my duty."

Whether Ir-Ytan believed her, she didn't know. He bent over and kissed her, and spared her the job of looking up into his face when his fingers began flitting over her. She gasped sharply but he continued to kiss her. After a time, he paused, breathing rather raggedly. Despite his general coolness, Hema's body moving under him was enough to push him to his limit.

"I'll keep going if you want."

Hema kept her eyes carefully looking away. The truth was, she had long since decided duty was merely a mask for desire. The way he made her feel when he touched and kissed her was enough to drive her mad, but she didn't have the words to explain it, and she didn't want him to think she was a wanton.

"Keep going," she said in a husky voice she didn't recognize as her own.

Ir-Ytan entered her with a sigh. He already knew after the first few minutes this was going to be a bad performance. He was at the limit of his control and though he tried to go slowly, it was driving him mad. When he glanced down, he saw what might have been a smile on Hema's face, took that as a sign to continue, and quickly finished.

He cursed himself, but bent and kissed her. Her lips were warm and swollen from kissing, and he wanted to promise her he'd try again soon, but she was already turning away from him. He disentangled himself from her and went to get a cloth. She was used to his usual departure, but instead, he settled down in bed beside her.

"Was that…good for you?" he asked uncertainly.

Hema was lying on her back, taking stock of her body. The thrumming in her belly was still there, but she didn't know how to make that go away. She took his hand and kissed the knuckles. "Very good," she said sincerely, looking up into his eyes.

Cadvan watched Hem checking Nerili's pulse from his huddle of blankets on the couch, a bone deep tiredness pulling at him. He struggled with it, determined to stay awake. It had been a few days since he'd come to, and though he managed to stay awake a few hours a day, black waves of exhaustion would drag him down and he would sleep for hours. And he hated sleeping.

Like a disease, nightmares plagued him. He had thought before, after the Nameless One had broken his mind, he had lost his Gift. He realized it had merely been sleeping, and now, with the Speech dead, his Gift was gone. Without its protection, his mind was completely bared to Dark forces that infested Dagra. He had vivid nightmares: Hulls, the Shika, faceless armies, burning Schools and the screams of children. And when the nightmares reached such a terrible pitch that Cadvan thought he must surely wake, he remained trapped. A Hull would catch him and drag him to the waiting jaws of a dog soldier, and it would tear into his belly, or a Shika would pin him to the ground with a jagged blade and he would watch as blood bubbled out of his belly, or a fire would consume him, licking up his feet and legs to his chest. He wouldn't wake until someone shook him, and he would cringe, embarrassed by his helplessness.

"You need to rest, Cadvan."

He glanced to the side, where Saliman was sitting, sipping a steaming mug of tea. "Sleep is little help to me."

Saliman eyed him a little sadly, uncertain what to say.

Cadvan drew his blankets up higher. "I find this powerlessness doesn't suit me well."

Saliman nodded thoughtfully. "I thought I understood helplessness when the Nameless One commanded my Gift, now I realize it could be worse."

"It's a strange world now," Cadvan mused. "All of the magic is gone. It merely lingers in the hands of the few."

"Indeed," said Saliman, and his eyes rested on Maerad who was assisting her brother. She waved her hand vaguely over a cold bowl of soup and it began to steam. "Do you think the Nameless One knows about Maerad and Hem?"

"How could he not?" Cadvan asked in a muffled voice. His eyes were closed, slouched over a little on a pile of pillows, but he seemed tense. "I think he knows everything that goes on here."

"Do you think he's afraid?"

Cadvan shifted, he tried to relax. "I doubt it."

Nelac was ambling over, walking carefully like he nursed a tender injury. He fell into a seat opposite Saliman and Cadvan and smiled tiredly. "I ache in every bone in my body, but I can't sleep."

"Perhaps Hem can make you tea for sleep."

"That boy is running himself ragged trying to keep the other Bards together. I'll leave him to his work."

"It's just a pot of tea," Saliman urged gently.

Nelac smiled vaguely at Saliman, and felt a strange tenderness come over him. It had been many years since he had thought of Saliman as his student, really his in any way, but now, looking at the man across from him, he felt a deep affection. "Please don't worry overmuch about me, and perhaps worry a little about yourself." He glanced down at Saliman's shaking hands.

Saliman flushed and looked away.

"And are our friends on the mend?" Nelac asked.

"It seems like it," Saliman said, looking around. "Nik and Beljan are taking the loss of Gahal hard, and his daughter cannot be consoled. Finlan died, and his Circle mourns him, but they are few."

Nelac watched Hem circle the room, draw his sister to the side and whisper to her. A line formed between her eyebrows, the crease of a small frown. She seemed to argue with him, but he sternly pointed to the bedroom, and she sagged visibly. Hem took her hand and pressed it before she left the room. "Our Pellinor Bards seem to be carrying most our weight."

"I suppose we're fortunate," Saliman agreed. He was thinking of Hem's ears cut to jagged points and thought that Hem and Maerad would indeed bear the brunt of the Nameless One's wrath.

"And we are to attend the Nameless One today?"

"He would like to address the Bards. Light only knows what he has to say now." Saliman shivered, recalling the last summons and the fallout of the rebellion. "They must realize by now what has happened."

"I'm sure he doesn't mind rubbing a little salt in the wound," Cadvan muttered, eyes still closed.

Nelac glanced at Cadvan, concerned. "I wonder how the rest of our people have faired since. Were they also induced to comas?"

Cadvan shook himself a little, opening one eye, "Perhaps they are still asleep? Perhaps they are fortunate enough to never wake up."

Saliman considered this. "Our master will be beside himself with rage if they don't."

"Not just the Nameless One," Cadvan said, the faintest smile on his face. "Imagine how annoyed that miserable Grin will be without his workforce."

"A terrible tragedy," Saliman confirmed.

"We will know today, anyway." Nelac frowned. "This will be the first time they see the Nameless One. It could cause a revolt."

Cadvan and Saliman looked up, discomforted. "We should do our best to stay calm before them."

"Indeed," Nelac agreed.

Saliman's eyes moved sharply to the door and he grimaced. "We should do our best to stay calm now."

Likud had arrived and was taking in the general misery of the room with usual delight. The few Bards there stiffened at the sight of the Hull. Malgorn looked particularly unhappy with its appearance and unashamedly shifted himself so he hid behind the couch. Likud's eyes moved to Hem, who had straightened up.

"Do not stop your work on my account, boy. This Bard bitch is going to have to be up and about in a few hours."

Hem placed himself carefully before Nerili. "Have you come for a purpose, or just to torment my patients?"

"Can it not be both?" Likud asked sweetly.

Hem's jaw clenched.

"I cannot say I am glad to see you all back on your feet." Likud's eyes flickered over the Bards on the couches. "I had hoped you might die in the process." His eyes landed on Nik and Beljan. "Unfortunately, we only lost a few. The weak, it seems."

Beljan made a guttural noise and jerked forward. "Don't you dare." Nik snatched him back, eyes gone wide at the sight of the Hull. It didn't matter how many times they encountered a Hull, Nik still recoiled from them.

Likud prickled with pleasure. "Something to say, boy?"

Cadvan and Saliman both opened their mouths, but Hem had moved first. He stepped directly before the Hull, eyes flat and dark. "He has nothing to contribute to this. Why have you come?"

"There is defiance in his eyes," Likud murmured, "and that must be quashed."

Beljan sensed the anger of the Hull sharpened to a point, and directed at him, and he felt himself wither. He wanted to be brave, he wanted to be a great Bard like his father had been, but now there was nothing between him and the wrath of a Hull, and when he reached for his Gift, nothing happened. He knew the magnitude of his own helplessness and was horrified.

"Defiance in the eyes is nothing to worry about." Hem crossed his arms. "Why has the Nameless One sent you?"

Likud felt a stinging annoyance at Hem. He was becoming irritatingly brave and the Hull preferred him obedient. "I come with orders from your master."

Hem raised his eyebrows.

"At midafternoon, the Bards, with the exception of you and your worthless sister, will present yourselves to him in the throne room. You will accompany him when he addresses your people for the first time. And when he gives them a full display of his supremacy of them and you." Likud shivered with glee, red eyes moving across the room to where Cadvan, Saliman and Nelac sat. "The time has come, Nelac. You will be destroyed."

Cadvan and Saliman jerked to their feet, ready to argue, but the Hull raised a finger.

"Not so fast, my eager Bards. There is more." Likud held his hands up, as if fending off praise. "The Nameless One has deemed that, with the Speech dead, you are of no use to him anymore, Nelac. You will not have your mind simply broken, it will be undone. You shall be rendered utterly senseless, left to your driveling rambling."

"No," hissed Cadvan. "You can't."

"You will find, Cadvan, that the Nameless One can do as he likes with his slaves. Nelac has proven too much trouble for his liking. It is time he was put in his proper place."

Cadvan opened his mouth, but Nelac caught him by the arm with a surprisingly firm grip. "If our illustrious master has decided that I am to be driven mad, then I shall not contest his will."

"Nelac," Saliman said softly, but the older Bard did not look away from the Hull.

"And I will not have any of my friends stand in the way." Likud's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "I shall make myself available in due course."

"What a noble gesture," Likud said dryly. He was clearly unhappy with Nelac's calm acceptance of his fate and exhaled loudly. "For the rest of you, the Nameless One sends this."

Likud gestured and a line of servants filed in, carrying boxes, who were directed to lay them out on the table. The Bards looked on, curious as to what new torment the Nameless One had sent them. When the Hull pulled back the lid of one box, however, they saw only fabric: gowns, shirts, pants, boots, all in black and red.

"You must be presentable when you attend our master today." The Hull flicked its gaze around the room and snapped its fingers on the way out. "Hurry up about it."

Cadvan stared after the departing Hull, shaking with rage. He tried to find words to express the growing sense of fear and frustration, but he was so unaccustomed to the feeling that he mouthed mutely. Nelac seemed to accept his fate, though, and sighed, resigned.

"I should have expected this," he said, and his tone was light, almost curious. "I could not be allowed to continue at such liberty. We knew this."

Cadvan blinked, staring blankly. "This is unusually cruel."

"I am an unusual case, I suppose." Nelac looked around, as if trying to gather his thoughts. "It's not the end of the world, Cadvan. I will…survive this."

"But what will become of you?" Cadvan demanded, his face haggard. "He wants to destroy your mind. He wants to drive you to madness."

Something sharp and painful passed over Nelac's face, but then he sighed. "I have had a long life, Cadvan, and if this is how it ends, then I can endure this."

"Nelac-"

"No, Cadvan." He took the other Bard by the shoulder and pulled him close. "We cannot fight this, we can only survive this."

"He just wants to shame you."

"No doubt," Nelac said shortly. "But shame is something I can suffer. You must not challenge him, it's what he wants."

"This is how he destroys us."

Nelac shook his head. "We can withstand this."

"Survive him humiliating you and destroying your reputation? Survive him tearing down our most Gifted and greatest Bards?"

"Learn to endure, Cadvan." His face was full of gentle understanding and Cadvan couldn't bear it.

Finally, his rage took shape. Cadvan was shaking in fury, and if he had even the slightest bit of his Gift left, he knew his hands would have been burning with White Fire. "I have endured!" he snarled. "I have endured his games, his torments, his authority. I have endured him destroying my home, torturing the people I love. Endured him touching my soul. He has ruined me, but now-" Cadvan drew a ragged breath "-now you ask me to lose you? Not lose you, no, just watch you sink into madness?"

Nelac held Cadvan was surprising strength, dragged him back to face him. "You must learn to endure indignity."

A dry sob rose up in Cadvan's throat like bile. "I can't anymore."

"This is how we survive, Cadvan," Nelac said softly. He pressed Cadvan's hair back, looked into his eyes. "There is no other choice now."

"There must be something we can do."

Nelac gestured around the room of incapacitated Bards before giving him a long, ironic look. "I do not think there is much recourse available at the moment."

The fight seemed to leave Cadvan, and he wanted to collapse. Nelac pulled him sharply. "Not yet, Cadvan. I'll need your help when it's all done."

His eyes flickered up. "Whatever you want."

"When he's done, just get me somewhere safe, somewhere away from the Hulls. I admit, I have no desire to be left to their mercy."

Cadvan sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He was too tired to argue anymore. "There are very few places that are safe now."

"Then a room not shared by a Hull," Nelac stipulated. He seemed to be done with the discussion, or desired to think of anything else, and began looking over the black and red robes. He shook out one of the cloaks, examining the rich fabric. "A fine bit of work, these."

Saliman, who had listened to the exchange with angry resignation, took out a black shirt made of the same soft black fabric, and noted the intricate detailing stitched in red thread into the cuffs and the deep neckline. "Why would he want us looking so fine?"

Cadvan frowned. "We are to address our people. I'm sure he just wants them to see." His mind suddenly made up, he gathered up a set of clothes and went to his room to dress.

Maerad was taking a brief moment to relax, but she smiled vaguely when she saw Cadvan. "Come to rest?"

"Afraid not," he said, stripping off his tunic and slithering into the black shirt. Maerad watched appreciatively when he kicked off his loose trousers and slipped into the tight, high-waisted black pants. "I want to speak to the Nameless One privately before we go about our business with him."

"But surely you could speak to him after?" Her smile broadened and she gestured to the bed. "I was hoping to take a nap before the meeting. I always sleep better when you're here."

Cadvan shrugged on the surcoat and did up the red buttons. It fit snugly, almost too much for Cadvan's taste, and he tugged on the collar. "No, I must go now. I want to ask after Nelac."

Maerad straightened. "What's wrong with Nelac?"

"Nothing yet," said Cadvan shortly. He held out his arms for Maerad's inspection. "Do I look like a proper lord of Dagra?"

Maerad came to Cadvan and ran her fingers over the coat. "Handsome as always," she said softly, knowing that Cadvan had no desire to be in such finery. "I'm sure it will satisfy the Nameless One."

"If it makes him happy, it can't hurt." Cadvan caught up her hand and kissed the knuckles. "I'll have to set aside what's left of my pride, but Light knows, I've had enough practice."

Maerad leaned forward, resting her head on his chest. "Go easy on yourself, my love."

Cadvan stroked her hair and kissed the crown of her head. "I'll see you in a little bit."

He left the room, passing the other Bards in the sitting room. Saliman glanced up at him, frowning slightly in confusion, but Cadvan waved him off and headed for the door. He slipped out of the room and hurried down the many halls until he was at the throne room. He paused briefly outside the door, pulling nervously on the coat. A cold sweat broke out on his face as he recalled the last time he had been there.

Calm yourself, he said firmly. You need your wits about you.

Cadvan stared up at the doors, wondering if they would open on their own accord, but it seemed the Nameless One was waiting for Cadvan to call. He pounded on the door and finally it creaked open. He clenched his fists tightly and pushed onward.

The room had been cleaned since their breaking of the Speech. The floor gleamed, reflecting the light of the torches, and the dark pool that dominated the center of the room stood perfectly still. The Nameless One was relaxing on his throne, his fingers drumming a beat on the arm rests. His eyes glimmered as he followed Cadvan's slow march across the throne room. When the Bard stood before him, he raised his eyebrows in mild interest.

"I come to ask you to show Nelac mercy," said Cadvan without preamble.

The Nameless One's lips quirked. "That's how you greet your master?"

Cadvan stared into his gleaming eyes. "I've come to ask you to show Nelac mercy, master."

"Will you beg for him?"

Cadvan didn't flinch. "Yes. Yes, if that is what you want of me, I will beg."

The Nameless One inspected Cadvan with his usual sharp intelligence. Cadvan was beginning to fear that look. It was worse than his angry frowns or mocking smile, it was clever and cutting and saw straight into his soul. "No," he said slowly, "I'd rather not let them see you that way."

"And how would you have me be seen?" Cadvan demanded before he mastered himself. "I am your slave. Why not show them the truth?"

"Ah." The Nameless One pushed off his throne and stood before Cadvan. He swept Cadvan's hair back so he could see into his eyes. "To me, and the Hulls, and the other First Bards, yes, you are indeed a slave, and they will see just how low you can sink under my power. But, for the others? For the commoners? No, I will not demean you for their entertainment."

Cadvan's frustration welled up. "Why? You say again and again that I have common blood! Show them it."

"Common blood, uncommon power." The Nameless One used the claw on his thumb to tug on Cadvan's lower lip. "I told you, I had such great plans for you, and it will be completely undermined if I let the people see you begging at my feet. No, if you are going to be my servant, they must fear you."

"Please," Cadvan urged softly. "Please, spare him this torment. He could be of use to you! Surely, if you think my services have value, a Bard like Nelac does."

"That is exactly the problem," the Nameless One said dryly. "You, despite your illustrious past, are not as respected as he. He is symbol around which rebellions will continue to be born." The Nameless One eyed him sardonically. "No one will rally to your cause."

He's right, no one would come to my call. Cadvan became hyperaware of the Nameless One's hand on him, not hurting him, but gently caressing him. Especially not now.

"If Nelac were to be seen swearing fealty to you instead-"

"If I offer him the choice, others will take it as well." When Cadvan drew a breath, preparing his next defense, the Nameless One clamped his hand over his mouth. "Shut up. I told you, I don't want to see you begging."

Cadvan felt his jaw snap shut, but his eyes flashed angrily.

"Besides, we must discuss another matter: your future." The Nameless One returned to his throne and stretched luxuriously, his hands gripped the arm rests tightly a moment, then he waved Cadvan forward. "Kneel here."

Cadvan's knees protested the movement, but after a tense moment, the Nameless One's will won out and Cadvan sank down. Learn to endure indignity.

"I begin to think more and more that my Hulls move against me. The Speech is dead and the last bastions of magic in the world shrink. Now, power lies in my hands."

And Maerad and Hem's, Cadvan thought mutinously.

"The Hull's draw their strength from me, and they know it. They resent me for it."

"Most people do not appreciate being subjugated," Cadvan observed dully.

The Nameless One smiled broadly. "Not you, surely?"

Endure this. "I enjoy what you tell me to."

"And that is key," the Nameless One said pensively. "I suspect this frustration will only grow as the power of my Hulls is checked. But you do not resent me."

Cadvan felt a bitter smile pull at his lips. "Of course not."

"It occurs to me that it might be useful to empower my less hostile servants." His eyes glowed, anticipating Cadvan's surprise and excitement. He said nothing, but a flicker of hope passed through Cadvan's face. "Do not lose your head, Cadvan, I am not freeing you from your service."

"I didn't think you would," Cadvan returned with a shrug.

"But, I see fit to bring you into my confidence, and from now on, you will serve as my personal assistant and liaison between my throne and my lords."

Cadvan's stomach clenched in panic. Light's sake, if they don't hate me now, the Bards will despise me as the attendant to the Nameless One. "You honor me."

"No, I don't," the Nameless One chuckled. "I know exactly how this will be received, both by your fellow Bards and the Grin: traitor to the Light, arrogant slave, feared and abhorred by all. They won't forgive you."

His eyebrows raised. "If it worries you, you certainly don't have to use me."

"Nothing worries me."

"Your Hulls will not appreciate this choice," Cadvan said, thinking of Likud.

"They will once they see how miserable you are." The Nameless One moved Cadvan's face from side to side like he was searching for flaw. "You suffer so beautifully."

Too much. Cadvan flinched back from the touch. The Nameless One's eyes flashed at his small display of impertinence and he grasped the back of his head by his hair. "Don't flinch from me."

Cadvan fixed his eyes on the Nameless One's boots rather than look into his face. "My apologies, my lord."

"We must present a unified front. You cannot be seen to be anything less than completely aligned with my interests. From now on, you are going to demonstrate a level of…fondness for my company. Do you understand?"

The fingers in Cadvan's hand twisted and sharp pain knifed down his spine. "I understand."

"Good boy." The Nameless One sat back, releasing Cadvan carelessly. "Now, pour me some wine."

Cadvan jerked to his feet, grateful to be away from the Nameless One. As he served the wine, the rest of the Bards arrived, dressed in black and red. Cadvan stared, for they looked like nothing so much as a battalion of Hulls. They clustered before the throne.

"I think we can do better than this," the Nameless One said succulently, accepting his wine from Cadvan and then pointing him to join the others. "From now on, we're going to have order upon arrival. You will arrange yourself in your Schools, and kneel, hands flat before you, face down, and you will not speak. Do it, now."

The Bards didn't bother fighting. They fell into their Schools, dropping to their knees, and waited while he admired them. "I have a surprise for you all. A gift."

I'm not sure we can take any more of his gifts, Cadvan thought. Something on his face must have caught Saliman's attention because his eyes glimmered with the smallest bit of amusement.

He waved his hand and a wooden box sitting at the foot of his throne skid across the floor, skidding to a halt before Norowen. She didn't move to take the box, afraid of what might be inside. "Open it."

She plucked the lid off with the tips of her fingers. Inside was a pile of glistening medallions so dark it was difficult to see their shape against the dark wood of the box. She carefully removed one and held it up. It was the shape of a crescent moon, which, given the placement of the pin, would hang so the tips pointed down. Norowen passed the box to the side so the others could take one.

"It seemed only fitting that you bear the sigil of my reign. There are no more Schools, no more signs that you may bear. Now you will identify by my fastness." He watched while Saliman fingered it, a look of mild distaste turning his face. "You are all of Dagra now."

The Bards carefully fixed the medallions to their fronts. Most seemed to regard the pins with a measure of disdain and were carefully looking anywhere else. The Nameless One delighted in their discomfort.

"You will all attend me today when I address your people." His eyes moved to Nelac who looked somewhat ill. "And when I destroy Nelac."

Cadvan's eyes moved up to his face, but the Nameless One's eyes snapped at him in warning. Do not beg, Cadvan.

"The Hulls are bringing your people now."

"What then?" It was Nerili, proud as ever, furious at the news of Nelac. "When you are done with this farce, what becomes of us?"

"Ah, just curious, or afraid?" When Nerili didn't answer, the Nameless One merely shrugged. "Then my eternal reign begins, as does your service."

Cadvan was thinking of a time months ago when the Nameless One had told him he and Maerad would remain with him forever, and he went cold. Eternal service. Eternal indignity. He looked at Nelac, kneeling and exposed to the wrath of the Nameless One. Eternity.

"Do not burden yourselves with these worries," the Nameless One said empathetically. "Rest assured, you all have a future in my glorious empire. For now, let us go to the Bards. They are in need of guidance, their First Circles, their king."