He led her into the keep and up a back staircase. On the third floor, they walked down a long corridor to a locked door that Tamas opened with a gilt-edged key.
The room she was led into was large and open, larger than the suite that she and Laeth had been given at West-hold. The floor was covered with soft woven carpets in dark colors. The stone walls were whitewashed to make the room look even bigger than it was.
"Stay here and wait for his lordship." She heard the key turn in the lock as Tamas left.
With resignation that just barely covered her panic, Rialla walked around the room. It didn't appear to be a bedroom; there was no bed or cot anywhere. Two long, yellow velvet benches provided seating on Rialla's left and right, drawing attention to the wall opposite the door she'd entered.
A stylized cat was scribed from floor to ceiling in blue so dark that it was almost black. It was bracketed by two doors that were the same shade of blue. In front of the cat figure was a raised platform that extended from one door to the other. A small rose-colored marble altar occupied the place of honor on a small rug in the center of the platform. Terran, at least, seemed to be taking the worship of Altis seriously.
Next to the bench on her right was a low table on which was a neat row of books between two black bookends. Rialla knelt in front of the table and slipped one of the thin volumes out and opened it. Script Darranian was almost beyond her power to decipher, but she read enough that she could tell that she held a journal in her hands.
Men's voices echoed from the outer hall.
"… there are other things more important."
"With the mages behind us, it will be much easier."
"I told you. It doesn't matter if the mages bow to our whim or not. There are other things to be done and I will not waste power on trivialities."
She slipped the journal back in place and ran to the door. The distortion from the hall was so great that she couldn't tell who was speaking, but she recognized the touch of Winterseine's mind. Since she couldn't feel anyone else in the hall, she had to assume that the other man was Terran.
When Terran entered the room, Rialla was sitting on the floor with her head properly bowed. He ignored her at first, walking directly to the platform before the altar. He knelt on the rug and bowed his head in apparent prayer. Rialla's neck grew stiff as she waited.
Finished, he got lightly to his feet and walked back to stand before her.
"Stand up," he said.
Rialla stood. Terran walked around her once, stopping directly in front of her.
"I remember you, when Father first brought you here. You were frightened of everything." He reached out and touched her chin.
She shuddered visibly. Even when her empathy had been crippled, she had an awareness of other living creatures that was missing with Terran. Being touched by someone she couldn't feel on more than a physical level made her feel as if she were being caressed by a corpse. She felt a rising desperation, a need to leave that was fast becoming irresistible.
"Easy," he said softly. "I know you've been with Laeth for a long time now, but I will give you time to adjust. Come, there is a better place for this."
* * * *
The deep blue carpet was soft under Rialla's calloused feet as she shifted carefully off the bed. Silently she picked up the shift that she'd worn to the room and put it on. Without looking at the man sleeping on the bed.
Rialla left the bedchamber and slipped into the outer room, emerging on one side of the raised platform.
Rialla walked quickly to the table that contained Terran's journals, sparing an uneasy glance at the cat on the wall behind her. If anyone knew what Winterseine's plans were it would be Terran, and he might have written them in his journal. Rialla would rather have had the dagger to prove Winterseine's guilt, but she couldn't go through this again, not even to ensure that slavery in Darran would be ended.
She looked at the books, but knew from her earlier perusal that they were not obviously dated. As she hesitated, she heard a faint rustle in the bedroom.
She snatched the first book on her left, hoping that it would be the most recent one, and strode quickly to the door. To her surprise and relief, it was one of the guardsmen, not Tamas, who waited just outside to take her back to her cell.
With a subtle use of her talent that she'd almost forgotten, Rialla turned the guard's attention from the book she held. Because of her intervention, he saw nothing unusual in a slave taking a book from Terran's room. If no one questioned him about it for a day or so, he probably wouldn't remember he'd ever seen it.
Tris paced the cell restlessly. She was late. Much later than could be easily explained by normal delays. He'd checked the baths and they were empty. She'd been blocking her thoughts since early in the day and he couldn't break through. He stilled and cocked his head when footsteps sounded in the corridor. He slipped quickly into the shadows when the key was turned into the door.
Mutely, with head bowed, Rialla walked to the center of the cell. The light coming through the window surprised her and left her slightly disgruntled. It felt as if several days had passed since this morning: it could at least be dark.
She knew that Tris was standing in the shadows, but he didn't say anything. She didn't know if it was the guard's presence that kept him back or if something showed in her face. She stood for a while after the door closed, finally exchanging the silk shift for the clean white tunic that had been left for her by the door. She set her discarded clothes carefully over the book; Tris could find something to do with it before morning. With nothing more to keep her busy, she sat on the clean straw.
He didn't come up behind her and begin rubbing her neck as he usually did, and she was grateful. She didn't think that she could stand to be touched for a while, not even by Tris. She wished they'd let her take a bath before bringing her back, though she knew from experience that water wouldn't make her feel clean again.
After a very long while, she curled her legs up against her chest and hid her face against her knees. The healer was very patient; she could hear him breathe and knew that he hadn't moved since she came in. Rialla knew she ought to tell him something, but she was afraid if she spoke she would shatter the fragile shell that guarded her tears.
Instead she lowered the tight barriers that she'd placed around the part of herself that was linked to Tris.
Tris, I… Even in her thoughts she couldn't form the words, so she pulled him into her memories instead.
Rialla waited numbly for his reaction—though she wasn't sure what that would be. Anger, perhaps, or even disgust; sorrow would not be unthinkable for a healer to feel at rape—even if the victim consented to it.
What he felt was white-hot rage. It was strong enough that Rialla pulled her head away from her knees to look at him. He stood where he had for so long, his face still. Without the link she wouldn't have known that he felt anything.
She didn't know what to say in the face of his fury. It surprised her that she could think of saying anything at all. If it had been Laeth, standing quietly in the darkness of the little cell, she'd have been cowering in the opposite corner.
"I found some journals of Terran's," she said finally, pleased that her voice sounded calm. "I thought he might have known about Karsten's murder and recorded it. I'm not sure if I got his oldest journal or the most recent one; I didn't have time to check."
"You found it in Terran's room?" She felt his rage focus, and realized he must not have picked up who it had been.
There was too much. I couldn't catch everything. He told her, apparently catching her thought.
"Yes," she said. "I found it in Terran's room."
"He just let you take it?"
She shook her head. "No. He was asleep in another room. I don't think that anyone will notice that it's gone until Terran tries to write in it again. I… umm… suggested to the guard who escorted me back that there was nothing uncommon in a slave taking one of Terran's journals."
Tris grunted.
"Even if I took the wrong one, he might have written about Winterseine's use of magic," she added.
The shadows in the cell deepened with the lengthy silence, until the only light came from the stars.
Rialla cleared her throat, uneasy because Tris's rage wasn't abating. "What happened is just part of being a slave, and not the worst part either. He was clean and didn't go out of his way to hurt me. I don't think that he was impressed enough with my performance to want another one." She knew that she wouldn't cry now, because slaves don't, and she felt more like a slave right now than a horse trainer or spy.
"Is ending slavery in Darran still so important to you?" he asked, his head turned away from her. "The slaves here don't appear to be fighting nearly as hard for their freedom as you are."
Rialla nodded her head wearily.
"Even after this?"
"Yes."
"Tomorrow," asserted Tris heavily. "Tomorrow we will leave."
Rialla stubbornly shook her head. "The journal isn't going to be enough by itself. We need something—" Her breath caught as the answer came to her. "We need Winterseine's spellbook. All wizards have one… I think. Can you find where Winterseine's study is?"
Slowly, Tris nodded. "It's somewhere on the upper floors. I can try to break in tomorrow."
"Then we leave," said Rialla, feeling a wave of relief at the thought of being away from this place.
They talked a while longer, discussing ways of leaving the keep. There were several possibilities, depending on the time of day and how many guards they met. But, eventually, they lapsed into silence.
It was strange how much Terran's demands bothered Rialla. Sex had never been something that she enjoyed, but it was a part of slavery. She hadn't liked it, but she didn't remember the revulsion being so strong it was difficult not to fight back.
The time when Tris usually left for the night came and went. She'd reestablished some of the barrier between them, but it was more difficult to do this time than it had been the last. She found his presence comforting.
Rialla curled up on her side in the straw and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, but couldn't sleep. After her fourth or fifth attempt to find a comfortable position, she heard a polite murmur at the edge of her awareness.
Sweetheart.
She hesitated, then, reluctant for any kind of intimate contact, she spoke out loud. "What is it?"
Come with me, Tris invited, his mind tugging gently at her.
Where? she asked, curious despite herself.
Here. He pulled her into his dreams.
She stood on a boulder and looked down at the immense waterfall, its thunder vibrating the very rock she rested on. The chilly mist that rose from the water settled on her clothing and darkened the rock under her feet. She glanced up to see mountain peaks looming on all sides; the ridges were white with new fallen snow, but the lower slopes were the rich blue-green of conifers.
The rushing sound of water falling onto the rocks far below deafened her, and she looked down, but the rising mist blocked her view of the bottom. She took a deep breath of the air and felt it again, that disturbance which had brought her to this place.
A narrow path wove along the damp stone cliff face, and she found herself striding down it as if it were a broad highway. As she put her hand on the rough bark of the cedar tree that clung precipitously to a narrow ledge just above the one she walked, she was aware of the slow migration of nutrients from its roots and the nourishing warmth of the sun from above. She paused for a moment, recognizing the peaceful triumph of the gnarled cedar. As she lingered, her insight grew and encompassed the growing things around her.
The broader awareness stayed with her as she continued her descent. There was something waiting in the mist, something special; Rialla could feel the tingling currents of magic in the rocks and air.
The trail she'd been following ended abruptly as the cliff sloped down into the water a stone's throw from where she stood. She squinted, but couldn't see anything through the dense fog of the waterfall. Moving water created powerful magic currents; there was enough magic in the gorge to have called a thunderstorm over a desert. With a wave of her hand, Rialla used some of that magic to dismiss the fog.
In the center of the roiling water, a large black stone protruded; the strange whisper of inner understanding designated the rock as a fire-stone, formed deep in the molten heart of the earth. On this stone something slept. If it hadn't been for the faint rise and fall of its breathing, she might not have seen it. As she distinguished first the side and then the back of the creature, she realized that most of the upper surface of the stone was actually a giant black lizard.
It was beautiful. Rialla searched for the inner knowledge that allowed her to know that the tree was cedar and that rivers held magic—but it wasn't there.
I'd never seen one before, said Tris unobtrusively. I'd been out walking when I felt the disturbance in the forest.
That's not a wyvern, stated Rialla, staring at the creature, not wanting to say anything further for fear of being wrong.
What do you think it is? replied Tris, with a touch of amusement. I didn't think that my carving was so far from the real animal. An image formed of the intricately carved game piece that resembled the sleeping lizard.
Even as Rialla questioned Tris, a jeweled green eye opened warily and the graceful head and neck uncurled and lifted, until the creature had as good a view of Rialla as she had of it. As it moved, the pattern of color on its scales shifted to match the white and blue of the rushing waterfall, then continued through a range of colors.
"Ah," said the dragon, in a voice rich with music and rustling scales, "I had thought that all of the children of the forest were gone."
Tris waited until he was certain she was asleep. He shifted her clothes aside and picked up the book she'd taken. If it were discovered with her, he was sure Winterseine would find an appropriate punishment.
It was harder leaving through the stone than it was coming in, when gravity aided his descent. He emerged outside the keep on his hands and knees in the dirt.
Rising, he shook the dirt off his clothes as best he could. He used his magic to summon the darkness and muffle the sounds of his movements. So concealed, it was a simple matter of stealth for him to arrive unseen at his small hut, nestled in the outer court like one of so many beehives. He'd been offered accommodations in the servants' hall, but he'd chosen a domicile that offered more privacy—even if it was less than impervious to the weather.
Rape in any form had always enraged him. It was a violation of the male's protective role—even among the humans—but this anger went deeper. Rialla was his, whether she knew it or not.
Guilt struck him at that thought. Rialla was his because she hadn't understood what the bond between them meant.
Despite the appearance of stolidity that his size and usual manner lent him, Tris had always been impulsive, even rash. He acted on the moment, without thought for the consequences—and he very seldom rued his actions. Even when he had been banished from the enclave, he hadn't regretted helping the girl. But this… this was different. This time he wouldn't be the only one to suffer for his impetuousness.
He'd done it on impulse: initiating the link between the fire-haired dancer and himself. He could have figured out a better way to keep in contact if he'd wanted to—but he wanted her… a human. He hadn't intended to bind himself to a human at all, though he had more tolerance for them than most of his kind. Even when he realized that she was the one Trenna had meant in her vision, he had no intention of bonding to her; Tris was not one who believed in fate. But he had known she was his. He would have recognized it even without Trenna's vision.
Rialla had intrigued him from the first, and not just because of her appearance, spectacular as it was. He relished her humor, her reluctant courage and her ability to play Dragon and win by fair means or foul. He hadn't known her long before he realized that the only way she was going to trust him enough to let
him close to her was if he refused to allow any barriers between them.
There were not many among his people who were so joined anymore. Most had fallen into the simple marriage ceremony the humans used. Too often a perfect mate could not be found and the link waned rather than strengthened with time. But he had known it wouldn't be that way with Rialla, known it before he established the bond between them.
The connection was strong enough now that he couldn't break it. It had been too late once she inadvertently used his magic to find the water when Winterseine had "disciplined" her.
She could still block him out if she tried hard enough, but he didn't think that she could do that indefinitely— then she would find out what he'd done. He wondered if she would prefer slavery. He wondered if she'd see any difference between him and Winterseine. With a sigh, he closed his eyes.
It was the sound of the guard's key in the lock that woke Rialla the next morning. Tris was gone, of course, but it would have been nice if he'd told her what he planned to do before he'd left. She glanced casually at yesterday's clothes, but the journal she'd taken was gone too. She hoped Tris had been the one to take it. With a slight shrug, she followed the guard out to the practice floor.
The raised platform that served as a dance floor could also serve as a battleground. Even as Rialla worked to rid herself of the night's stiffness, she could feel the hostility of the other slaves.
Of course they blamed her for the injury Winterseine had inflicted on the other dancer. The slave who had been hurt had been a comrade; Rialla was an outsider. She couldn't expect them to blame Winterseine: they were too well trained to object to their master's actions. Rialla had shirked her duty, something that a good slave never does, and it had hurt of one of their own.
The other dancers' hostility didn't upset Rialla, but it served as an unpleasant reminder that once she would have reacted the same way.
As the first moves of the dance began, the girl next to Rialla waited until the dancemaster was looking away before she extended a foot too far. Rialla took a short step and avoided falling, having read the girl's intention an instant earlier. After that, Rialla used her empathy to avoid most of the mischief, and simply ignored the rest of it.
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