He slept deeply and dreamed that the door swung open and Seregil was outside, grinning that crooked grin of his and gesturing for Alec to hurry. He started awake, expecting the door to be open, and felt crushed when it wasn’t. He had no idea what hour it was, but the tray was gone. His throat and mouth burned with thirst, and he was glad to find a fresh pitcher of water beside the bed. He took small sips until his belly was steady enough, then drank half of what was left in long, thirsty gulps.

Feeling a bit better, he climbed stiffly out of bed and began a search, looking for anything that might help him get out of this wretched room. The bed was solidly pegged and the bed ropes were too thick to get free without a knife. He gave the frame a frustrated yank, then stopped, heart missing a beat.

The spoon. Did I dream that, too? He hurriedly felt along the side of the mattress, looking for the loose seam, and found it. With a shaky sigh of relief, he felt the spoon’s hard outline through the coarse ticking.

“Thank the Light!” he whispered, leaving it there for now.

Other than that, he had a covered toilet bucket and the water pitcher.

Further searching only left him frustrated. He used the bucket, and then settled on the bed with the spoon, trying to break it lengthways into usable splinters.

He was still at it when the sound of a key in the lock startled him badly. He hadn’t heard anyone coming. He managed to stuff it back into the mattress and pull a quilt down over the rent just as the door opened. He threw himself back against the pillow and tried hard to look as if he’d just woken up.

Khenir came in, carrying a covered tray. “Ah, you’re awake at last.”

“It’s morning?” Alec asked.

“You missed morning by a long shot and the sun’s down again. You slept the day away, my friend. I tried to wake you earlier, but you were too deeply asleep. I have supper for you, if you’re ready.”

Alec’s belly let out a very loud grumble as he caught the scent. A thick slice of brown bread was covered in melted cheese, sharp and tangy. And there were two apples, and a mug of tea slaked with cream.

He fell on the food like a starving dog again, too hungry to be embarrassed. Khenir sat on the end of the bed and smiled, watching him. “I can bring you more. Ilban said you’re to have all you want. But you must drink all the water in the pitcher first, then more. You gave him quite a lot of your blood.”

“Gave? What will he do with me, now that he’s got his-what is it called?”

“A rhekaro. And I’m sure I don’t know. But he’s been locked in his shop with it since the unearthing and hasn’t eaten or slept. Whatever it is, he seems enchanted by it, even if it doesn’t have wings.”

“Wings? Oh yes, he said that, didn’t he?” Alec rubbed at his eyes. “It all seems like something I dreamed.”

“It’s real, Alec. Here, give me the tray and I’ll fetch you some more food.”

“No, I’m full for now.” Alec lay back and threw an arm over his eyes. He wondered if he should thank Khenir for leaving the spoon. But what if it had only been an oversight? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “If he’s got what he wanted from me, do you think he’ll sell me to someone else?” The thought had haunted him since he’d woken up.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You’re far too rare. That’s good, though, really. You’re lucky your first master is a kind one. Be satisfied with that.”

Never, thought Alec, but he didn’t feel like arguing with Khenir right now.

They talked a little, then Khenir wished him good night, giving him a quick kiss on the brow. Before Alec could react, he was out the door.

Shaking his head, Alec levered himself out of bed again. He was still unsteady, but too rested to sleep anymore. After a few turns around the room, he settled down to read the book while the lantern burned, and shut his eyes when it finally failed.

He did sleep then, and dreamed of Seregil again, coming to save him.

“You always find me,” he said, throwing himself into his lover’s arms.

“Not always, talí. And when I don’t, you take care of yourself,” Seregil whispered in his ear.

Suddenly a scream ripped the air around them. Seregil was gone, and in his place stood Alec’s father, maimed and bloody as he’d been the day Asengai’s torturer finished him off.

“Father!” Alec cried out, fifteen again.

Another cry woke him and brought him bolt upright in the bed. It was coming from the workshop overhead. Terrified and disoriented, Alec shuddered uncontrollably as the cry came again, a high-pitched, ragged screech, like the sound of a wounded rabbit. But it was no coney Yhakobin was tormenting up there; it was the pale creature.

He lay back against the pillow, heart hammering under his aching wound. It’s not a person. It’s a monster. An abomination. It doesn’t matter.

As the cries grew louder and more frantic, he pressed the pillow over his ears and curled into a ball, trying to stop the rising rush of horror and pity the sounds wrung from his heart.

Unnatural the thing might be, but hearing anything suffer like that was unbearable! And what monster made sounds like that?

The cries subsided gradually to childish sobbing, overlaid by Yhakobin’s low, dispassionate voice.

Is it over? Please Dalna, let it be over!

Another scream dragged Alec from the bed. He stumbled to the door and beat on it with his fists. “Stop hurting it, you bastard! Leave it alone.”

Mercifully, the cries did stop. Alec slid slowly down the locked door and came to rest with his head on his knees, unable to stop shaking. He sat there on the cold stone floor, feeling more miserable and impotent than ever.

Since I listened to my father dying…

“No,” he whispered miserably. “It’s not human. It’s not even real-”

But the whisper of the oracle stole into his mind again. A child of no woman…

He pressed his fists to his temples, shaking his head. “No! No, no, no!”

All went silent upstairs, but he stayed where he was, straining his ears for any sound. Presently he heard footsteps approaching and a key thrust into the lock. He crawled away as the door swung open. It was Ahmol.

“Ilban say come.”

Alec went cold all over, but he was too weak to fight as the man lifted him effortlessly and climbed the stairs to the workroom.

The pale creature lay on the slate table, its slight body bound down with wide leather straps. The alchemist was washing his hands in a basin at the end of the table, still clad in his leather apron. The duke was there, too, looking rather ill. Two warders stood guard at the door.

“Ah, Alec. I need you. I’ve had some unexpected complications with this one.”

Alec approached slowly, apprehension growing with every step. He’d reached the edge of the table before he could make himself look down at the creature. When he did, all his worst fears were realized.

At some point, Yhakobin had washed the filth from it. Its pale skin was a dull, dust grey. The matted white hair had been cleaned and raggedly shorn. What was left wasn’t white, after all, but the palest silver, like moonlight on sea mist.

But Alec only noticed those details in passing, focusing instead on the atrocities that had been practiced on that little body. Where the left eye had been there was only a slanted, empty socket, weeping yellow fluid. Three fingers were gone from the left hand, and strips of skin had been flayed from its arms, legs, and chest. There was no blood, just torn white flesh, like that of a fish, and a little white fluid. Alec’s stomach turned over as he noted the neat row of covered jars arrayed on a small table beside the alchemist.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, unable to look away from the ravaged little body. And it was gazing back at him with its single remaining eye. Alec thought he saw a sort of hopeless beseeching there, though otherwise the rest of the face was a masklike as before. But that eye! It was so much like that of a real child’s that it broke his heart.