“Because he is our master,” Khenir replied, dragging him the rest of the way across the packed earth floor.

“Don’t be afraid, Alec,” Yhakobin said, drawing out the hated bodkin. “I only need a drop.” He gave Ahmol an order. The slave grabbed Alec’s clenched left hand, pried the forefinger loose, and then held it steady. Yhakobin stabbed the tip and pulled the bleeding finger down toward the white creature’s mouth.

Alec struggled harder, but it was no use. Those colorless lips closed around his finger and sucked, like an infant at the breast. It had felt just like this when Luthas had sucked on his finger for a pacifier.

The thing’s eyes opened wide, and Alec was stunned to see that they were the same dark blue as his own but empty as a doll’s. “What is it?” he gasped.

“A rhekaro, Alec. A being created through alchemy.”

The rhekaro thing released Alec’s finger and he wrenched his hand away in disgust, clutching it to his chest. The rhekaro slowly uncurled and wobbled to its feet.

It was no larger than a five-year-old child, perfectly formed in every way, except for the white skin and matted mass of white hair, and the lack of genitals between its thighs. Once on its feet, it just stood there beside its creator, without the slightest hint of animation in its expression.

“Why would you create such a thing?” Alec asked, aghast. There was something horribly familiar about that blank mask of a face.

“That is not your concern. You can take him to the bedchamber now, Khenir. See that he’s properly bathed and fed. I won’t be needing either of you tonight.”

Khenir got Alec on his feet and tried to help him limp away toward the stairs. After a few steps, however, Alec’s legs gave out under him. One of the guards carried him up the stairs.

Alec suffered the indignity, staring back over his shoulder at the strange white thing that had been fashioned from his own essences.

You shall father a child of no woman…

“No,” Alec whispered brokenly. O please, Illior, Dalna, don’t let this be the meaning! He knew why that thing’s face had looked familiar. The same visage had looked up at him from the washbasin when he was small. The thing looked like him!

They reached a landing and stopped at a door there. More stairs led up to an open door. Through it he could see the dried carcasses and bags hanging from the workshop ceiling.

Khenir took out a key and opened the door. Beyond lay a room very much like the one Alec had been kept in all these weeks, one that must be directly under some part of the workshop upstairs. This cell had a proper bed against the far wall and a small bathing tub full of steaming water.

Khenir had the guard carry Alec straight to the tub and lower him into it. “You don’t smell very good, my friend.” He handed Alec a rough cloth. “Wash yourself. I’ll go fetch your supper.”

He and the guard went out and Alec heard the key grate in the lock.

The tub wasn’t large enough to stretch out in. Huddled there with his knees under his chin, he dipped the washcloth and scrubbed weakly at his face and chest, then squeezed it over his greasy, tangled hair, longing for a sliver of soap. A little lantern on a hook by the door cast a warm glow over the room. Alec was glad of that; he couldn’t have stood being locked away in the dark.

It was no use. He didn’t have the strength to do any more. Leaning back against the side of the tub, he tucked his chin to get a look at the wound on his chest.

It was tiny, and seemed to be healing well. The skin around it wasn’t even bruised. He wondered if the golden tap had gone all the way to his heart, and if Yhakobin’s strange purifications had aided the healing.

He turned and scrutinized the door. This one had a keyhole! Alec’s lips stretched in a thin, slightly crooked grin as he looked around again at the host of new possibilities the sparse little room offered to a trained eye.

His gaolers were getting careless.

Khenir returned with a tray, towels, and a large book under one arm. He set them on the bed and locked the door from the inside, then knelt by the tub.

“Is that more meat?” Alec asked hopefully.

“Yes. Do you need some help?” Khenir asked, noting the abandoned washcloth.

Alec colored and glanced away. “Yes. What did he do to me? I can hardly move!”

“He bled you. We gave you what nourishment we could but he kept you asleep, to make it easier on you.”

Alec grimaced. “How thoughtful. So, do you know what that creature is, or what it’s for? I thought he said he was going to make some kind of medicine, not a monster!”

“I’m a slave, just like you. Ilban does not confide in me.” He scrubbed gently at Alec’s back. “But he did agree to let me care for you here.”

“You asked him?”

“Yes. And look!” Khenir rose and went to the tray, lifting a bowl for Alec to see. “Boiled chicken and turnips! And he’s sent you a new book to pass the time.”

“He must be very pleased with me.” Alec’s mouth was already watering again, in spite of the broth still warming his belly.

Khenir finished with Alec’s bath and helped him into a clean robe. When Alec was settled in bed with his back to the headboard, Khenir lifted the tray onto his lap.

Alec let out a small moan. Besides the chicken dish, there was warm bread, a wedge of blue-mottled cheese, and a mug of cider, too. But he didn’t dare eat any of it. “What if it’s drugged again?”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Khenir assured him. “I watched the cook myself as he prepared it. As Ilban said, he doesn’t need you at the moment.”

“But when he does?” Alec cocked an eyebrow at the other man. “Will you tell me when the drugs go in again?”

“I swear to you, I didn’t know!”

Alec shrugged, then grabbed up the horn spoon and dug in. Food had never tasted so good.

As he mopped the last precious drops of gravy from the bowl with the bread, he said without looking up, “You have the key to this room.”

“Yes.”

Alec let the pause that followed ripen.

Khenir’s eyes filled with fear. “By the Light, Alec, don’t ask that of me!”

“But I can get away, if I get the chance. I could help you, too.”

Just then they heard the sound of footsteps crossing the workshop overhead, then the low murmur of a deep voice.

“Keep your voice down! He’ll hear you,” Khenir whispered, trembling now. “I’ve survived this long with both my feet, Alec. I mean to keep them. There are slave takers out there, just waiting for fools like you. Not to mention the common, everyday folk who’d grab you in a heartbeat, for the bounty. I told you before; you won’t get half a mile with that face of yours, and that yellow hair. And even if you did, all you’d have to do is open your mouth and they’d know what you are. No, don’t think of it. You’re too weak to get out of bed, much less out of the house.”

“So you’ve just given up?” Alec hissed back. “I can’t! There’s someone…” He caught himself and held his tongue. “You have the key in your pocket, right? I can make it look like I attacked you, overpowered you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Khenir replied miserably, unable to meet his eye. “I’m sorry. So sorry. Go to sleep.” He hurried from the room, locking the door securely behind him.

“At least you left me the lamp,” Alec muttered. With light, he could make a thorough search, take the bed apart if he had to, to find something to work the lock. He tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness overtook him, and he fell back against the pillow. Yhakobin’s foul blood magic had left him too weak to move.

His eye fell on the tray Khenir had left behind. The horn spoon still lay in the empty soup bowl! He grabbed it and tested its strength between his hands. It was thick and sturdy.

Had it been an oversight, or was this Khenir’s way of helping him? It didn’t really matter to him. Alec found a loose seam in the side of the mattress and slipped the spoon inside. A little sleep and I’ll be fine, he thought, eyelids already slipping down.