"Where are we? Do you know how far we've come?"

"No. I was asleep when we came through that."

Shaylar pointed to something behind him, and he turned, then blinked. A portal. Gods, he really was a scattered, distracted mess to have missed seeing or even sensing a portal literally right behind him. It led into the forest their survey crew had discovered just days ago, but it clearly wasn't the one they'd used to enter that forest. This pestilential swamp was nowhere near the cool, rainy universe on the far side of their portal, and this portal was tiny compared to theirs.

"They took us out in the middle of the night," Shaylar murmured. "On a … dragon."

She hesitated over the word, but Jathmar glanced at the hideous creature and grunted in agreement. If there was a better word for that monstrous beast, he couldn't think of it.

"They put all the most critically wounded on its back," Shaylar continue. "They rigged up a special platform, like an ambulance, or a hospital car. Only this hospital car can fly. I tried to contact Darcel, but something's wrong inside my head. I can't hear anyone?not even you. There's a roaring blackness where my Voice should be, and I have a terrible headache. It never stops."

"That's what I sensed when I tried to touch the bond," he muttered. "When I first woke up, it was all I could hear. I … I thought it meant you were gone."

He met her gaze, saw the pain burning behind her brave eyes, saw it in the furrows that never quite smoothed out between her brows and the tension in her neck and face, where the bruises and swelling so cruelly disfigured her.

"Why the hell haven't they healed you?" he demanded again, much more harshly this time.

"I told you," she said, her tone clearly an explanation, not an excuse for their captors. "Their Healer has his hands full, Jathmar. And as decent as Gadrial and their commander have been, I'm glad their hands are full. I wish they were fuller."

The bitterness in her normally gentle voice shocked Jathmar. He'd never seen such cold hatred in his wife. He wouldn't have believed she was capable of it, and the discovery that she was appalled him.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was sharp as steel. "But what they did to us … I may never be able to forgive them for that. I'm trying, but I just can't."

"Who the hell wants you to?"

"I do," she whispered. "My soul hurts, feeling this way."

His heart twisted, and the look he turned on the enemy commander who'd ordered their massacre could have frozen the marrow of a star.

There's not enough blood in your veins to make up for what you've done to her, his icy eyes told the other man.

The officer looked back, meeting that hate-filled glare squarely. Whatever else he might be, this wasn't a weak man, Jathmar realized. His regret for what had happened appeared to be genuine, but he met Jathmar's steely hatred unflinchingly. They shared no words, couldn't speak one another's language, but they didn't need to in that moment. They looked deep into one another's enemy eyes, and Jathmar could actually taste the other man's determination to do his duty.

Whatever that duty was; wherever it led. Whatever the consequences for Jathmar . . . and Shaylar.

There was no hatred behind that determination, no viciousness. Jathmar was sure of that. But there was also no hesitation, and so Jathmar bit down on his own hatred. He held it in his teeth, knowing he dared not loose it, dared not let it tempt him into even trying to strike back.

He knew it, but as he stared at that enemy's face, he realized that the other man recognized the depth of his own hatred.

Jasak Olderhan looked back at the kneeling prisoner with the eyes of icy fire. He understood the causes of that lethal glare only too well, although he doubted Jathmar would have been prepared to accept how well Jasak understood … and how deeply he sympathized.

But understanding and sympathy might not be enough. Unconscious, barely clinging to life, Shaylar's husband had been an obligation, a responsibility. Jasak's duty?both as an officer of the Union and as a member of the Andaran military caste?had been to keep him alive, at all costs. Everything else had been secondary.

But Shaylar's husband, awake and conscious, was another kettle of fish entirely. And from the look of things, a dangerous one.

"Is he a soldier?" Gadrial's question broke into his own brooding chain of thought, and he glanced at the slim magister. She, too, was looking at Jathmar, and her eyes were worried.

"Why do you ask?"

"He doesn't seem to be afraid. Not the way I'd expect a civilian to be, anyway. That look of his … that's not the kind of look I'd expect from someone who's frightened."

"No," Jasak said slowly. "It's not. But that's because he isn't 'frightened.' He's terrified."

"He's what?" Her gaze jerked away from Jathmar, snapping up to meet his.

"Terrified," Jasak repeated. "And in his place, that's exactly what I'd be, too. I don't know, at this stage, whether he's a soldier or not. I'm strongly inclined to think he isn't, but he knows we are, and he knows we've slaughtered his friends. That gives him a very clear notion of our highest priority."

"That being?" she asked uncertainly.

"Getting them safely back to Arcana so we can learn everything we possibly can about their people. I won't abuse them, but he can't know that. He'd probably face the possibility of his own abuse with courage, even defiance. But he's not alone. If I'd ever doubted that you were right about their relationship, I wouldn't now. That's his wife, Gadrial. You can see it in the way he's holding her, the way he looks at her, touches her. The idea of someone abusing her, possibly even torturing her for information, terrifies him. He already hates us for what we did to the rest of his friends. That's bad enough. But he also hates us for what we might do next. He knows he couldn't stop us if we tried to hurt her, but if it comes down to it, he'll damned well die trying, and that's something we can't afford to forget. Ever."

Gadrial frowned, then looked back at Jathmar and Shaylar and realized just how accurately Jasak had read the other man.

"So how can we convince him that we won't hurt them?" she asked, and Jasak sighed in frustration.

"Honestly? We can't. Not until we've learned their language, or they've learned ours. And not until enough time's passed for us to demonstrate our good intentions. Until then?"

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced at Gadrial again.

"Until then, that's one damned dangerous man," he said. "I hate to put you in the dragon's mouth, so to speak, but I really need your help."

"Of course. What can I do?"

"I want you to be our official go-between. If any of us," a tiny flick of the fingers indicated himself and the men of his command, "try to talk with them, his defenses will snap into place so strongly we couldn't possibly actually communicate. He'll be too busy worrying about an assault on his wife, and we'll be too busy worrying about an attempt to grab a weapon, or a hostage, or something else desperate."

"Whereas I wouldn't threaten him as much?"

"Exactly," he said, and she looked him straight in the eye.

"He might try to use me as a hostage," she pointed out, and he nodded slowly.

"It's a possibility, yes. I won't pretend it isn't. But if he's smart enough to realize how hopelessly outnumbered he is, and that he has no idea how far he is from their portal, with a wounded wife and no supplies, he won't try it."

"If," she repeated dryly, then snorted and gave him a wry smile. "Somehow, I can't imagine Shaylar marrying anybody that stupid. Not marrying him voluntarily, anyway," she added, realizing they knew nothing of the marriage customs among Shaylar's people.

"And I can't imagine that lady marrying anyone involuntarily," Jasak said even more dryly. "Besides, it's obvious how devoted to one another they are. So even if her people are as 'enlightened' as, say, Mythal, these two seem to have adjusted to each other quite nicely, wouldn't you say?"