“But I don’t know if he’s strong enough, Master,” Ilar murmured. Seregil couldn’t see his face but caught a distinct hint of hesitation.

“Nonsense. A little bloodletting won’t hurt him. And do I need to remind you that until I see fit to free you, both you and he are mine to do with as I choose?”

“No, Ilban!” Ilar replied, obsequious again. “Kheron, take him up at once!”

“Wait.” The man in black, who’d remained silent until now, looked more closely at Seregil. Nudging him with the toe of his boot, he asked, “This is the one who killed Duke Mardus?”

“So I’m told.”

“He should be executed, though I suppose he did us all a favor in the end. Ambitious fools like Mardus always end up as liabilities. He did have his uses, though.”

“I assure you, Your Grace, the fate of this ’faie will not be an easy one.”

“See that it isn’t.”

“Take him up!” the master ordered, and one of the guards hoisted Seregil in his arms and carried him upstairs to the workshop. Seregil cast a last desperate look back at Alec, cursing his own helplessness.

Once upstairs, he was placed facedown on a slate-topped table, with his left arm over the side. The guards held him, and the alchemist nicked a vein in Seregil’s wrist and held his hand over a bowl, collecting his blood. While this was going on, he and Ilar talked casually over Seregil, as if he weren’t there, still speaking Plenimaran.

“He stinks, Khenir.” Apparently Ilar’s master didn’t know his real name. “I thought you’d been taking better care of him.”

“It’s part of his punishment, Master, for attacking me.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I suppose it’s more humane than the prescribed flogging.”

“I hate to mark him, Master.”

“He is a particularly fine-looking specimen, even for a ’faie. You could set yourself up quite nicely, contracting him to the breeders.”

“Perhaps when I’m done with him, Master.”

The master bent to look at the back of Seregil’s hand. “Hm. Another simple tattoo. The boy has one as well. What do you know of these?”

To Seregil’s surprise, Ilar replied, “Nothing, Ilban. My clan didn’t use such marks. How fares the rhekaro?”

You lying bastard! Seregil nearly laughed. As usual, Ilar was playing his own game, even against the master he professed to worship. And he’d changed the subject nicely, too. He’d probably have made a good nightrunner.

“As you saw, it quickens nicely,” the master replied, none the wiser. “I expect it will be complete by tomorrow. The moon phases have been more of a factor than the treatises led me to believe. Or perhaps it’s the boy’s mixed blood. Whatever the case, I’m glad, for he isn’t as strong as I’d hoped. He’s not stirred in over a day.”

Seregil closed his eyes, feeling more desperate than ever. They were killing Alec, and for what? He’d never heard the word “rhekaro” and had no idea what it meant, except that it was probably whatever unclean thing was moving about under the dirt, fed with his talimenios’s blood. Given the presence of the nobleman here, this wasn’t just some minor experiment and yet the bastard spoke as calmly of it as Nysander might of some interesting spell he was working on.

“Do you know yet if the rhekaro will yield what you hope, Master?”

The alchemist chuckled at that. “Are you really in such a hurry to leave me?” When Ilar said nothing the man patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Something has quickened, and I will keep my word. If all goes as we hope, I will emancipate you.”

Ilar stroked Seregil’s hair. “And this one will truly be mine, Master?”

“Yes, though why you should want such a wild and dangerous creature as that is beyond me, especially one that has betrayed you in the past.”

“I look forward to breaking him, Master.”

Seregil bit the inside of his lip. Oh, I will kill you slowly!

“Hmm. You know, Khenir, some wild things are meant to be tamed, rather than broken.”

The alchemist wrapped a bandage around Seregil’s wrist, then sniffed the blood in the bowl and dipped his finger in it. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, like he was testing silk, then the smear burst into a bright blue flame. “Yes, that’s good strong western blood in those veins. A Bôkthersan, you say? They make very strong dra’gorgos, I hear. I know of several necromancers who’d pay well for a flask of this. You might make a bit of a profit on him that way, until he’s manageable. I will give you letters of introduction.”

“Of course. You are the kindest of masters, and the greatest of alchemists.”

So I was right! thought Seregil. That explained the tidy workshop. He’d always understood them to be benign, like wizards, but what he’d seen in that cellar spoke of darker workings. He hoped Ilar and his master would speak more of Alec and whatever this rhekaros thing was, but it seemed they were done with him for now. The alchemist looked down at him for a moment with something like pity in his dark eyes. Seregil marked him for death, too.

“In the meantime, I think I will try a few experiments of my own with this.” He set the bowl aside and covered it with a white cloth.

“Of course, Master. He is yours, to do with as you please.”

For now, thought Seregil, sensing something other than abject respect in Ilar’s voice again. Perhaps the deal between them wasn’t such a sure thing, after all.

“If I may, Master, might I have some more of the rosefish elixir? It’s a very great help in handling him.”

The alchemist took a small flask from a shelf and handed it to Ilar. “Mind you don’t use too much on him. Only in small doses is it safe. I do hope you will remember what you have learned here in my house. In the end it is only kindness that wins them over-though a firm hand is necessary, as well.”

Ilar bowed deeply. “In you, I have had the best of teachers, Master.”

“Perhaps. But remember, too, that some can never be broken, and sadly, they must be put down to preserve the public safety. The penalties for harboring a dangerous slave are severe, and more so for freedmen.”

“I will be careful, Master. Thank you for your concern. Martis, Kheron, bring him back to his chamber. I will be there in a moment.”

Seregil’s keepers had names, now, though he had no idea who was who.

The elixir was wearing off. He had strength enough now to twist in their grip, looking for Ilar, who was following close behind. “What is he doing to Alec?” Seregil wanted to ask what a rhekaro was, but that would tip his hand.

“A great work. He is creating something beautiful and useful from that half-breed of yours. You should be proud.”

“Liar!”

Ilar smiled. “Not this time, dear Haba.”

They carried Seregil back to his cell under the house and deposited him on the pile of quilts.

Ilar had them unhook the chain from Seregil’s collar, then hold his head steady as Ilar forced a few drops of the elixir between Seregil’s clenched teeth. “Come now, it will be so much easier for you, this way.”

“It” was probably going to involve the horseman’s crop Ilar was holding under one arm, Seregil decided with a certain weary resignation.

The numbness spread through him, different than what he’d felt earlier. He couldn’t move, but unfortunately, he could still feel perfectly well as Ilar drew his head into his lap and stroked the hair back from Seregil’s eyes. “I must admit, I had begun to have thoughts of taming you nicely, as my master suggested. When you were asleep all those days, I was taken in by that face of yours, just as before. But you’ve shown your true colors again, haven’t you? I should thank you for bringing me back to my senses.”

“’r welcome,” Seregil whispered, trying to summon a decent sneer. His lips wouldn’t cooperate.

Ilar laughed. “Do you know what I dreamed of, through all these years of shame? I hoped that one day you would suffer as I have suffered, and, my dear Haba, that day has come.” He smiled and stroked Seregil’s cheek again. “You’re lucky I don’t want to mark that fine skin of yours any more than it already has been.”