“All right. But what does it do?” she insisted. “It couldn’t have had dragon eggs as the main ingredient in the beginning.”

“No. I’ve told you. We have no native dragons on Ithin’carthia. The addition of a dragon’s egg was the Akkad-Dar’s suggestion. I believe the potion was made by the Keena originally as a way to increase virility.”

Linsha’s eyebrows rose. “And what does the egg do?”

He gave a dry, raspy chuckle. “Adds its innate magic to the brew. It changes the nature of the drink to a kind of general tonic. It is supposed to improve one’s natural abilities-strength, stamina, virility.”

“No wonder the warriors crave it,” she said and wondered if a talent to use magic was one of those abilities that could be enhanced by this potion. That could explain much about Lanther. “The dragon eggs are hard to come by, so the Tarmaks have made a religious ceremony out of the preparation.”

Afec stared. “Did they give you any?”

She made a face that answered his question clearly. “I doubt they share that with women. I think Lanther just wanted me there to show what he can do to the eggs if I don’t obey.”

“What was the dragon doing during the ceremony?”

Linsha hid a secret smile. She had captured his full attention. Now she wanted his sympathy and cooperation. Afec was an old man and a slave, yet he knew the palace well, and while he was not a priest, he seemed to know much about healing and medicines. He did not have a great regard for the Keena or the Tarmaks either. He could be her best ally. With that in mind, she told him everything she could remember about Sirenfal, the dragon’s condition, and what the priest used against her.

When she finished, he stayed quiet for a long while and concentrated on cleaning her hand and the slash on her stomach. He checked her bruises and her black eye. He rubbed a cream on her wounds that tingled with the same heat as the blue paint.

“What do you plan to do?” he said at last.

“Why do you think I’m going to do anything?” she asked.

For the first time the old servant lifted his eyes to look directly into hers and gave her a knowing smile. Linsha was charmed. There was a sparkling vigor to his gaze and a depth of intelligence she realized he had kept camouflaged behind his subservient bows and lowered lids.

“I have watched you, Lady,” he said. “You would not be here, alive and preparing for a union to the great Akkad if you were not strong, resourceful, and tenacious. You are named the Drathkin’kela for good reason. I don’t believe you will let this young one languish in misery if there is something you can do.”

Linsha knew without a doubt that he meant what he said. She could only hope that he had the courage to help her and remain silent. “I need to talk to the dragon without the Tarmaks listening to every word,” she told him. “You said the dragon was in a sea cave. There must be an entrance somewhere out on the cliff face.”

She paused, tilted her head. Through the window she could hear insects buzzing in the bright sunlight and the faint rustle of the wind through the slender trees in the garden. Then she heard the sound again that had caught her attention-the slap of sandaled feet on the stone paving.

Afec patted her arm and switched subjects without a moment’s hesitation. “Rest today. Let your muscles recover. Tomorrow we will discuss the marriage rites and your duties as a Tarmak wife.”

The sandaled feet paused at his door and a knock shook the door just as it was shoved open. Two of the Akeelawasee guards and a stricken-looking slave woman hurried into the room. The slave woman’s linen shift was dirty with sweat stains and blood, and she carried a wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Afec,” the woman said in Tarmakian. Tears trembled on the edge of her lashes. “Loruth’s babe was delivered a short while ago.”

Neither Linsha nor Afec had to ask if the birth had gone well. The grim faces of the guards and the woman’s distress were clear enough. Linsha hopped off the table and watched with interest while the slave laid the bundle down and unwrapped it. Inside the woven blanket, a large Tarmak infant startled at the sudden exposure to light and cool air and began to cry lustily.

Linsha studied the baby, a little boy, and could see nothing wrong. It had been hastily cleaned and its umbilical cord was still attached.

Afec pointed to the small foot. “What did the midwife say?” he asked the slave woman.

“He is marthtok,” she sniffled.

The old healer sighed. Linsha looked puzzled. Marthtok? What did that mean?

“I am forced to agree.” Afec picked up the squalling baby. “A pity. And the mother?”

“She is resting. Once the midwife pronounced the infant marthtok, she refused to look at it. It is her second loss. There will be no more.”

Linsha grew even more puzzled. Why were they talking as if the baby was dead when he was right in front of them crying noisily? She watched astonished as Afec cut the umbilical cord, dropped it in a jar of alcohol, and pulled out another smaller jar. He slathered a liberal amount of a greenish cream on the baby’s umbilical wound and handed him to the guards. The woman began to cry softly. While the guards carried the naked baby away, the slave snatched up the blanket and hurried out in the opposite direction.

“What was that about?” Linsha asked, watching Afec wipe his hands thoroughly on a cloth. “What does marthtok mean?”

“It means the babe is deformed. He will not be allowed to live.”

“What?” she gasped. “He looked fine.”

“He had a clubbed foot. To the Tarmaks any deformity or defect in a baby is a death sentence. A child with a clubbed foot does not become a warrior, therefore he has no value. He is a blight on society and must be disposed of.”

“And the mother went along with that?” she exclaimed, shocked by such a thought.

“She is Tarmak. She has no choice. Nor would she want it.” Then his voice chilled with a cold Linsha had not heard before. “And I do not try to stop them because the fewer Tarmaks there are the better.”

Linsha strode to the window and looked out, but the guards had already disappeared. “What will they do to him?”

“He will be left on a high hill to die. The goddess will take his spirit and perhaps send him back in a better body.”

Linsha shuddered. “That’s barbaric. What are these Tarmaks?” she cried. “They eat dragon embryos and murder their own young.”

The old healer nodded. “Among other things. But at least that little fellow will not feel anything.” He moved around the room putting things away.

She turned around and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The cream. You put something in that green cream.”

“It has a heavy numbing sedative. I usually use it on adults before I have to cut into the body or make stitches.”

Linsha shot a look at the red umbilical cord floating in the liquid and decided not to ask what other potions and medicines he knew that might require something like that. Her shock and anger slowly subsided, leaving a mental aftertaste in the back of her mind that left her slightly queasy. There had to be way off this island and away from these people. There had to be!

“Now, Lady, if you will return to the sleeping quarters and rest. We will meet to discuss your marriage this afternoon.”

A pang went through Linsha’s heart-whether of fear or anger she couldn’t decide. She clamped down on it and banished it to the back of her mind. She still had four days-much could happen in four days-and there were other things to think about. Sirenfal lay ill and mistreated. If that wasn’t enough to occupy her mind, she could kill any thoughts of self-pity with the memory of the small dragon embryo lying in the pool of it own blood or the infant boy being carried out by Tarmak warriors to die alone on an empty, heartless landscape.