He held up a hand and his eyelids fluttered closed as he concentrated. He was becoming almost gaunt, though the work had begun to raise ridges of muscle on his arms, shoulders, and torso. He opened his eyes when he could hear again.

“There is someone waiting to see you,” Krista said, her voice even and polite.

Maxian caught the hint of ice under the genteel tone. An eyebrow arched.

“One of the handmaidens of the dark woman. She is in the anteroom.”

The Prince nodded and went to the other door, weaving around tables thickly strewn with parchments and papyrus scrolls. Every space on the walls and floor was covered with drawings, books, and tiny models crafted from wood and clay. At the center of one wall, a great drawing, pains takingly etched by Krista on a sheet of copper with a steel needle and then rubbed down with charcoal, showed the apparatus in all its feral glory. Maxian smiled when he looked upon it.

What might men achieve, he thought with a sense of deep satisfaction,;/ they could but raise their heads up and dream?

He paused at the door to the outer rooms and looked back at her. She still stood by her drawing table, leaning on it with one long-fingered hand. She was looking away, staring at the papers and long scrolls. To his eye, attuned to her nature and moods, he could see deep anger in the line of her head and shoulders.

“Do you still have your spring gun?” he asked quietly. Her head turned slowly, her eyes heavily lidded and opaque.

“Yes,” she said.

“Let me see it.” He held out a hand turned dark by coal dust. She paused for a moment, then it appeared like magic in her right hand. Maxian raised an eyebrow again and took the heavy metal tube. He had never seen it up close before, and he turned it over in his hands. It was eight inches long, with a copper central tube and wire grips welded to the outside. There was a slide on one side that had a thumb-sized ring on it. The ring, currently, was at the top of the tube. Inside the tube was a ring of folded steel that ran in two grooves. He could barely make out the shape of a spring inside the central tube. The grips were well worn with use.

“Can I see one of your darts?”

A dart-six inches of burnished steel with a point shaped like a cone at one end and three small fins at the other- appeared in her hand as well. It was heavy, lying in his hand like a lead weight. He handed the spring tube back, but kept the dart for a moment, cupping his hands around it. There was a flicker of light between his fingers and he muttered something to the missile.

Krista took the dart back without expression or comment. She slotted it into the tube and slid the ring back with a practiced motion. The dart sank into the tube, and there was a clicking sound as the ring locked into a snap at the base. The whole assembly disappeared into her sleeve again. Maxian watched carefully but could not make out how she had secreted it.

“I’d like you to come with me to meet this person.”

“Why?” Some interest leaked through in the cast of her eyes.

“I trust you at my back,” the Prince said, ruefully, “particularly with one of these women in front of me.” Krista shrugged and untied her sleeves, letting them fall to her wrists. When he turned away she smiled, a secret thing that suffused her face for a moment and then was gone.

Maxian entered the room, bending his head a little to pass under the lintel. He had put on a new shirt, this one a deep-green cotton, and had made some attempt to get his hair, grown ever longer now, back under control. There was more color in his face too.

The woman rose, her dark robes falling around her like the wings of night. It was the blond one who had looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was loose and very long, a shimmering cascade down her back. The cloak covered her shoulders, but her breasts, creamy white, threatened to spill out of the tight leather bodice that contained them in criss-crossed leather ties. She bowed deeply as he entered, allowing her dress to slither away from a long smooth thigh and firm calf. Her sandal straps oozed up and around her leg almost to her knee, snug to the flesh. Her eyes were a tremendously deep blue, a clear winter sky over bare trees and fallen snow.

“I am Alais,” she said in a husky voice. Maxian’s nostrils twitched; there was a musky smell in.the air around her like a waiting noose, filled with the rich smell of spring and freshly turned earth. Her lips trembled, a dusky red like dying roses, showing tiny white teeth. The Prince could feel his body quiver in reaction to her. Behind him there was a very quiet laugh from Krista, who had drifted silently into the room. The sound was an anchor for him, keeping his thought from drifting to Alais’ smooth thighs and breasts.

“Welcome, Alais.” His voice was even and quiet, though it was a struggle to keep from stepping even closer to her. “What brings you to our house this night? A message from your mistress, perhaps?”

The blue eyes flickered and the pouting lips firmed at the mention of the lady in black. “I come on my own accord, my lord. Though we all hold the Matron in all honor, she is not our master. I heard your generous offer when she spoke to you. Would you offer another the same trust?”

Maxian cocked his head to one side and regarded the woman. He was centered again. The balance in the room changed, and he felt it. For all her glamour, the woman was an echo in an empty room. “You desire respite from pain?”

She bowed her head, the long tresses falling around her face. “Yes, lord. I and others will serve you and earn your trust if you will give us the elixir.” Her voice trembled, a ragged edge creeping into it.

“You understand that until you have won my trust, I will not reveal to you the mechanism of its manufacture?”, “Yes, lord. I… we… understand.”

“You will swear an oath to me, to follow my will and accept my protection? To do my bidding and to execute my desires in exchange for surcease from pain?”

“Yes.” She knelt on the floor at his feet and the air in the room subtly changed. Krista felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. The lamps flickered and dimmed, casting an odd gold light into the room. Her skirts and cloak puddled around her like a lake of ink, broken only by the long white trails of her hair. “I will be oathbound to you.” A hand crept out, trembling, to touch the toe of Maxian’s shoe.

The Prince stared down at the woman. He moved his boot and the hand withdrew.

“Your Matron has withdrawn her favor from you.” The statement hung in the air.

“Yes,” the woman whispered. “I… some of us protested her decision in the matter of your offer. We begged her to accept your patronage and let us be free of the pain. She refused to see reason, content to maintain the ancient traditions and usages of the people. She says that our freedom in pain is worth more than a delicious servitude. I protested too much, and she declared that I would be without her favor.”

“You are an exile, then. Without a home, without what protection she could offer you. In pain. Denied the Hunt. Suffering from the affliction that is upon your people.”

“Yes.” The woman sobbed, still kneeling, her head pressed to the floor at his feet. “Please help me, the hunger is like acid…”

“Then rise, swear to me, and you will know peace and ease and there will be no more pain.”

Alais rose, her face turned up to Maxian. It was pale and vulnerable, her eyes haunted. The Prince took her hand and helped her up. Her face was thinner now, touched by gaunt-ness. Krista pursed her lips, seeing the fabrics of the cloak frayed and thin in places. Maxian folded her hands together on her breast and tilted her head up a little. A capsule, swimming with ruby fluid, was drawn from inside his shirt. He raised it above her forehead.

“Close your eyes, Alais.”