“He is not mine to save, you know.”

“But your master listens to you. As long as Alec survives, I will serve you.”

“You will serve me anyway, one way or another.”

“I will serve without resistance.”

“A very interesting proposition, Haba, and one I will consider.” He released Seregil and shoved him away, then stood abruptly. “Get away from me. You stink.”

Seregil crawled backward, to all appearances a craven, broken man.

Ilar stood a moment longer, and Seregil could feel the man’s gaze traveling over him, suspicious, but intrigued. “Well, we shall see.”

Turning to the men, he spoke in their language. “Clean him up, and the room. If anything untoward happens, I’ll have your guts on a trencher.”

The men watched sullenly until Ilar was out of sight, then one growled to his partner, “That arrogant little dog’s prick! Who does he think he is, ordering us around? By Sakor, I’d like to put him in his place once and for all.”

“So you keep saying,” the other one sighed, pushing past him to roll up the soiled bedding. “Count Yhakobin would have you flogged and sold if you so much as laid a finger on his precious pet ’faie, and you know it. And the lickspittle will be free soon, too, and of better standing than either you or me. So just hold your temper and wait. He’ll be gone soon enough.”

He leaned over Seregil and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “This one doesn’t seem too high and mighty, does he?”

The other chuckled as he came over and yanked Seregil’s head up by the hair.

Seregil was getting tired of this sort of treatment, but remained limp and passive.

“Not bad, for a ’faie. Look at those eyes!”

“And that mouth,” the other rumbled, scratching suggestively at his crotch. “What do you think? Would he squeal to Khenir?”

Seregil carefully kept himself in check, not betraying that he understood every word. When one of them began to unlace his breeches, however, the meaning required no words. Neither did Seregil’s answer. He bared his teeth and snapped them together a couple of times, glaring a challenge.

The other man laughed. “Give it up. He’s not worth the beating, and I do believe he means it. Get that old bitch down here to clean him. She’s been all in a lather over him since they put him down here.”

They got their petty revenge, taking the bedding and leaving him naked and shivering on the cold floor. He chafed his arms and legs as he waited. He’d have to be careful with them. As much as they might hate Ilar, they clearly enjoyed tormenting Seregil more.

They returned in short order with Zoriel and several servants. Seregil was glad to see they were carrying a small tub and buckets of water, as well as fresh bedding.

The water was icy, but any bath was welcome and he endured it happily as Zoriel scolded him.

“I had you well again, and look at you now, young son! You’re nothing but bones and bruises.”

“My master isn’t as kind as yours,” Seregil replied with a wry grin, wincing as she scrubbed his back with a rough cloth.

“You tried to throttle him, I heard.” Leaning close, she whispered, “Some of us had a good laugh over that, and not just the slaves.” She dumped a can of cold water over his head and started on his hair with the soap, saying loudly, “Don’t you know who Khenir is? He’s the master’s favorite, and soon to be a freedman. You’ll belong to him, so you’d best learn some manners.”

Seregil sniffed and said nothing. He glanced at the guards to make sure they weren’t paying attention, then murmured, “Did you send the Khatme woman to me?”

“I did. I heard at first that you’d been killed, but she said she saw you being dragged down here. She has the run of the house, more than I do.”

“She’s your friend?”

“I suppose you could say that. It takes a Khatme a while to warm up, as they say. Cold as their mountain fai’thast, most of them, and crafty. But she soon learned she’s no better than the rest of us, when he came.”

“Khenir, you mean?”

“Who else? He’s a sly dog, that one. Smooth as silk with Ilban, and never a word to the rest of us that doesn’t suit his ends.”

“He was always like that.”

She paused in her washing and whispered, “He said he knew you in the past, but I didn’t believe him at first. So he’s dragged you into slavery with him, has he?”

“To get himself out. It’s not me your Ilban wanted, but my friend. Have you seen him?”

“The yellow-haired boy? Only a glimpse now and then when they’d take him through the house to the workshop, but not since they started keeping him there.”

“And you’ve heard nothing more of him since?”

She hesitated, then shook her head and helped him from the tub and into a large towel. He locked eyes with her. “You have heard something. Please, tell me!”

“Well, a few nights ago the most pitiful sounds came from the master’s shop.”

Seregil gripped her wrist as she tried to dry his hair. “What kind of sounds?”

“Cries,” she whispered. “Like someone was being murdered. It could have been an animal, but it sounded like…” She pursed her lips and blinked. “It sounded like a child! But no slave that young’s been brought in, or any animal of late. Not that I know of, and I don’t miss much that happens in the house. Rhania hadn’t heard of any, either.”

Seregil sank slowly to the floor and pulled the towel around him. “A few nights? When I was brought back here?”

“Yes.”

“Bilairy’s Balls. Is that why he laughed at me?”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Thank you, old mother. I’m grateful for all your care.”

She shook her head, then bent and kissed him on the top of the head as if he were a child. “No one’s called me that but you, young one. Come and sit up so I can comb out that mess of hair of yours.”

Seregil allowed himself to relax as she worked through the tangles and helped him into a clean woolen robe. As she tucked him into bed, he even caught himself wondering fleetingly how he could take her with him when he got out. That was ridiculous, of course, but he did feel a bit guilty at the thought of deserting her.

Alec wouldn’t leave her.

Zoriel retrieved the tray that had been brought earlier and set it across his legs. It was nothing more than the same old lentil soup, bread, and a sliver of hard cheese, but he was so famished it looked like a feast to him. He ate the meal one item at a time, expecting to end up drugged sooner or later. By the time he finished, though, he was still awake and clearheaded.

Zoriel carried the tray out, and the servants cleared away the bath things and took the lantern with them.

Seregil listened to the bar fall into place, then turned on his side. The new pallet and blankets were warmer than the last, but smelled only of fresh air and herbs, with no trace of Alec. They’d left him his pillow, and he pressed his face into it, seeking the lingering traces of Alec’s scent.

The cries Zoriel had reported had sounded like a child or an animal, she’d said. He clutched the pillow closer and prayed it had been the latter.

The following day he was moved back to his upstairs room, with the view of the garden. No one came to beat or drug him, but he knew better than to get his hopes up yet.

At Ilar’s command, Seregil sat by the window that afternoon and saw him walking in the garden with Alec, arm in arm as before. Ilar was holding the chain attached to a collar around Alec’s neck, as usual, but Alec seemed completely at ease with him. Every smile Alec gave the bastard was a knife in Seregil’s heart, but at least it was proof that he was still alive and well.

And he looked very well, indeed. It was difficult to tell at this distance, and it was probably only the longing of his own heart, but Alec seemed to have a certain glow about him. Seregil had always found him handsome, but he looked even more so now-a far cry from the filthy wreck Alec had been in that cage only a few days earlier. Now and then, though, Seregil saw his hand steal to his chest, where the tap had been, and the smile disappeared.