As he watched, overcome with yearning, Ilar suddenly turned to the window and waved up at him, instructing Alec to do the same.

Seregil caught his breath and waved back. Alec waved again, then turned away, unconcerned.

Seregil’s heart broke a little at that, and at the way Alec suffered it when Ilar slipped an arm about his shoulders and led him to the fish basin. He sank back in his chair, for the first time wondering if Ilar was seducing Alec, as he had Seregil so long ago. He pushed the unworthy thought away as soon as it arose, but he couldn’t shake off a sense of foreboding.

It hurt his pride to call it jealousy, so he didn’t.

“Who is that?” asked Alec, waving up at the indistinct figure behind the thickly glazed window.

“I think it must be Rhania,” Khenir replied. “That is her room.”

“Oh.” Alec waved again and thought he saw her wave back. Khenir took his arm and they resumed their walk. “You know,” said Alec, keeping his voice low. “I can hear what goes on in the workshop from my room.”

“I don’t doubt it. It’s right over your head.” Khenir patted his arm. “It must have been very hard for you, hearing the rhekaro cry out.”

“It was horrible!” He walked on a little further, gathering his courage, and wondering how much he could really say to this man, friend or not. “I wish there was some way to get free, before he can make another. Wouldn’t you…”

Khenir clasped Alec’s forearm, and ran his thumb over the shiny pink skin of the brand. “This is all you are now, or ever will be, Alec. Accept that, and save your worry for yourself. That’s what the rest of us do.”

“You wouldn’t even try to get away?”

“I told you before, Ilban is a good master. He takes good care of all of us, as long as we know our place.” He looked down ruefully at his own brand. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“Not even back to your clan?”

Ilar went very quiet, then said very softly, “I’d die first.”

CHAPTER 27 The Pale Child

ALEC BIDED HIS time over the next few days, looking for a chance to get free. But Yhakobin was in the workroom constantly, and others with him. Alec could hear the sound of them moving about every hour of the day and night. The alchemist even brought his tinctures to him down here. When Alec was alone again he stuck his finger down his throat and vomited them up again, but it didn’t do any good. Every time Yhakobin did the flame spell, the color had changed.

There were no more walks, either, and no more invitations to tea. He was left on his own, anxious and frustrated. When they finally dragged him back into the cellar, he fought harder than ever but of course, it was no use.

Thankfully, Yhakobin drugged him again, and when he woke a few days later, weak and sore and sick, Khenir was there to comfort him.

He held a cup against Alec’s lips. Alec tasted water, took it, and drank in slow, careful sips, not wanting to lose a precious drop.

As he watched, Ahmol helped Yhakobin dig up the new rhekaro and place it on a cloth. It stayed curled up, helpless as a newborn babe. The hair and skin looked white through the filth, just like the last one, but this one was a little bigger. And just like the last one, it had no wings. Alec was almost sorry; he’d wondered if they were like a bird’s, with feathers, or just skin, like those of a bat or the tiny dragons he’d seen in Aurënen.

Yhakobin gave a terse order and Ahmol brought him the silver tincture cup. The alchemist gently pried one of the rhekaro’s hands from its chest and pricked one small fingertip. Something oozed out, but it didn’t look like blood. Instead, it was almost clear, like water or new sap. Alec thought of the wounds on the previous rhekaro. For all that they looked nearly human, they had no more blood than an oak tree.

Yhakobin caught the drop in the cup and peered in. Whatever he saw pleased him, judging by the smile that broke across his face. Khenir said something hushed and excited. The alchemist clapped him on the shoulder, then wrapped the rhekaro in the cloth and carried it over to Alec, still huddled in his corner.

“You know what is required,” Yhakobin said quietly, unable to take his eyes from his new creature.

Alec held out his hand-the left this time, since the fingers of his right hand were all sore and scabbed-and let the alchemist prick him and place the bleeding finger to the rhekaro’s lips.

Like a questing infant, it made a few false tries, then found the finger and sucked hard.

Alec nearly pulled away from that hunger. It felt like the thing was sucking the life from his body. His arm went numb to the shoulder.

“Steady,” Yhakobin warned, clamping a hand on Alec’s elbow to keep him in place. “This one is stronger than the last-a good sign.”

The rhekaro took one last pull, then opened its eyes and looked up at Alec. This one’s eyes were not dark blue, but a silvery grey, hardly darker than the whites around them. Like the last one, though, it wore his own younger face, but with a stronger ’faie cast to it. Alec touched its moist, cool cheek and thought again of salamanders. It gazed up at him placidly.

Yhakobin chuckled. “Even you are moved by it, aren’t you?”

“Please, Ilban, don’t hurt this one.”

“You really are far too sentimental. I’ve told you before, it’s not a person. And you have nothing to fear, for now. It has passed the first test.”

Alec looked over at Ahmol, who still held the cup. Something dark was floating in it, but the slave turned and carried it upstairs before Alec could tell what it was.

The rhekaro’s cool eyes were still fixed on Alec, and he looked in vain for some sign of intelligence there. All the same, he couldn’t bear the thought of that little body being ravaged and tormented.

A child of no woman.

His child. Looking into this rhekaro’s face, remembering the screams of the other as it had been torn to pieces, his chest ached with sorrow and guilt. He thought of his picks, still safely hidden in his mattress.

It was time.

Khenir helped him down to his room, where supper had been laid out. The tub had been made ready for him, too. After hanging in that cage, Alec was almost glad to come back here to such simple comforts.

Neither spoke as the slave gently cleaned and dressed him. Alec was too tense to enjoy it, straining to listen for any sound of pain from above. But none came.

“Something different happened this time?” he asked, sinking gratefully into bed and starting on the cold meat and cheese laid out for him.

“I do hope so, for your sake. Perhaps he’ll leave you alone if it is what he wants it to be.”

“Maybe.” Alec took another bite of the meat. “What was in the cup?”

The other man didn’t answer, just smoothed the blanket over Alec’s legs.

“You saw. Tell me!”

“The color of the water changed. I don’t know what it means,” Khenir replied, not looking at him.

And Alec knew that Khenir had just lied to him. The realization weighed like a stone in his belly.

The door was closed; the guards were outside. “What’s to stop him from making more if they’re so important to him? How many times do you think I can go into that cage and come out alive at the end of it?”

“Don’t talk like that, please!” Khenir begged. “If he has what he wants, then I’ll beg him to make you a house slave, like me. It’s not so bad, really.”

Alec caught his wrist and pulled him closer. “I am no one’s slave! Have you been here so long you’ve forgotten what it is to be free?”

“Perhaps I have. But what can we do? Accept your lot and make the best of it, like the rest of us.”

Alec wanted to tell him about the horn picks hidden in his mattress. He wanted to ask for his help, and somehow find Seregil and offer Khenir his freedom in return, too, but the lie earlier made him hold his tongue and Alec said nothing as Khenir kissed his brow and took his leave.