Prism

By J. Leigh Bralick

In a world that blames her for something she didn’t do...

...Merelin must take on a new identity.

But how long will it take for the truth to come out?

Merelin wants nothing more than to bring Arah Byen into some kind of balance...

...but nothing is going as planned.

The High King raves like a mad man. Merelin’s allies scatter and turn on each other, and the man she loves more than anything stands on the edge of a darkness she cannot comprehend.

Things couldn’t get any worse...

...until they do.

When a terrible crime forces Merelin to flee for her life, she realizes she is not a victim of a horrible plot, but a pawn in a deadly game she never understood.

In the coming fight Merelin cannot stand alone...

...but can she unite her allies before it is too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Leigh Bralick
• Release date: Jul 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476308852

J. Leigh Bralick

J. Leigh writes primarily fantasy and YA fantasy novels. She has made one foray into science fiction, and enjoyed it so much she may eventually publish that experiment, if she survives the effort. Her favorite thing about writing fantasy is the excitement of exploring new worlds and experiencing exciting adventures — all on a very low-cost budget! All you really need is coffee.When she isn’t writing, J. Leigh loves her other job as an ER nurse (most of the time). (Except at 3AM.) She spends the rest of her non-existent spare time wrangling her three big dogs, acting as glorified tree branch for her little parrot Pippin, attempting to not murder garden plants, and taking care of her husband.

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Prism

Book III of the Lost Road Chronicles

by

J. Leigh Bralick

Published by Vorona Books

Copyright 2012 © J. Leigh Bralick

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, existing locations, or real people, living or dead, are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are the creation of the author, and any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

For my dear friends whose pestering

(and encouragement) made this book a reality.

Special thanks to E., Jen, Kristin, Natalie, Reagan, and Valerie,

who have always supported me with such enthusiasm!

Chapter 1

For that one moment, I almost believed we had won.

It was that moment when the crowd deafened the plaza of Emeya, hailing Zhabyr their High King. When the sikhir, the petty kings, stooped to pay him homage. When I felt Yatol’s arm around me, holding me quietly in the background. For just that one moment, I almost let myself draw a sigh of relief. I almost let myself believe that life would return to normal.

And then, everything changed. Two black eyes smiled up at me from the chaos, and I felt the world shatter around me.

The crowd milling below took a sudden unsettled, bewildered feel. A strange hostility swept over the seven sikhir standing in state to my right. And it felt as if all the energy in the plaza had been sucked away, leaving only a suffocating void in its wake. Even the sounds came muffled, like I stood somewhere at a far distance. Only the scent of smoke from a coal brazier and Yatol’s hand clasping my arm grounded me in reality. Then, always so attuned to my thoughts, he bent his head to mine.

Merelin, he murmured. What’s wrong?

I jolted. My gaze snapped back to the spot where I’d seen it standing—the doppelgänger-like being that Lohka had called the entaka. I caught no sign of it now, just people milling around aimlessly. I could feel their uncertainty, their confusion. Or maybe it was just mine. Maybe they weren’t uncertain at all.

Did they look happy? Was anyone smiling?

I tried to fix my gaze on the swirl of faces, but they all passed like turbid smoke, vague and unformed, a spectrum of paints swirling away under running water. But there—was that the entaka, there? Or there? Everything swam in the void. Even the figures of my friends here on the dais blurred…faded away…

I spun around, throwing a desperate glance up at Yatol’s face. When my eyes met his, radiant and concerned, I buried myself in his arms. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He just held me close while I shook like a child.

I can’t see, I whispered. I can’t see anything.

His arms tightened around me. He still didn’t have much strength, but at least he was conscious and upright. It was the first time in almost three weeks that we’d really been together, and of course I had to pick that moment to feel like I was losing my mind.

Maybe because your eyes are closed? Yatol asked, gently.

No! I said, managing a feeble laugh. I just… Did it feel like something changed just now?

He put his hands on my shoulders, pushing me a step back so he could look me in the eyes. Like what?

I have this strange feeling that we’re not finished here.

I glanced over my shoulder. Still the crowd swirled in a wild whirl of color and light, dizzying.

I can’t see! I said again, desperate. All I feel is confusion…all I see is the void… I looked up at him, and wished I hadn’t when I saw the alarm in his eyes. Am I going crazy?

Can you see me? he asked, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine.

Yes, I whispered.

His thumb brushed my cheek. I wondered why, until I realized I was crying. Either that or I was going blind, and my eyes were watering all on their own. I blinked rapidly, trying to force back the terror.

I’m going crazy, I thought, calmly enough. That’s it. I’ve finally snapped. Then, a little more rationally, But don’t they say that if you’re crazy, you don’t wonder if you are? So maybe I’m all right. Maybe I’m just tired…

A movement on the dais caught Yatol’s attention, and he withdrew his hands from my face to turn toward Zhabyr and Toval, the sikh of Emeya. Technically the formality of the moment hadn’t ended. We were still supposed to be all in state while the crowds dispersed below us. I forced my gaze to follow Yatol’s, but winced at the sight of my friends’ wavering, blurring forms. Zhabyr looked half a ghost, the band of his scarab-winged crown glaring like one of those white glow sticks they give out on the Fourth of July. Aniira beside him was little more than a wisp of smoke. And behind them—

Oh God, no! I cried, stumbling back, raising my arms.

But nothing could hide me from those shallow black eyes, that mocking smile.

Merelin! Yatol cried. What’s wrong?

Him, I gasped, pointing. "It. It’s right there, look!"

The entaka just grinned sympathetically and shook its head, and all the blood rushed from my face. Why could I see it, but couldn’t see my friends? Every detail of its body flashed in bright clarity in my vision. The straight white-gold hair, the lean, catlike grace of its muscles. The flawless pallor of its skin, coral lips still smiling.

I watched, feeling sick, as it turned to study the people close by. It walked up to Sikh Toval and stood just at his shoulder, surveying him up and down with disconcerting scrutiny. Then it passed to Zhabyr, peering into his eyes, its own face not inches from the King’s. It shot a meaningful glance back at me, then shrugged and shook its head again.

Zhabyr! I screamed.

My knees hit the wooden dais, hard. And with the shock of the impact everything came rushing back. I could see everyone. I could see their bewildered faces, their disapproving gazes. I could see some of the people down below stopping to stare up at the dais again, only to turn away disappointedly when they realized nothing had happened. But I couldn’t see the entaka anywhere.

Zhabyr spun away from the edge of the platform and strode over to us. He was frowning, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell if it was from concern or irritation.

What is the matter?

Don’t be angry with her, Yatol said, warning.

Indignation sparked in Zhabyr’s eyes, then it faded as he turned back to me. This time I could see his compassion, and wondered if I’d just missed it there before.

Counselor? he asked.

"The entaka," I whispered, too low for Zhabyr to hear.

He reached down and helped me to my feet. What did you say?

I saw it again.

I didn’t need to specify what it was. Zhabyr released my arm, turning to scan the crowds carefully.

You’re certain?

Yes.

I wanted to tell him that it had been standing right next to him, closer than we were standing now, but the voice just died in my throat. He hadn’t seen it. What sort of creature was the entaka, that it could approach so close to a person without them even sensing its presence? Had it ever done that to me? And those eyes, those horrible black eyes…

Sikh Toval stalked over to us, scowling at me like I was a kid misbehaving in a museum.

This is insulting! he seethed. You permit your counselors to make such a scene, my liege? Here, on my dais, in my city? It’s hardly becoming for someone in your Court to behave like this in public.

My temper flared. Before I could take a step toward him, though, Yatol caught my arm and held it.

Your own behavior is a disgrace, Zhabyr said, facing the older man with a furious pride that made me relieved to be his ally. You have no right to judge her. She is worth more than all of you combined, and I will be the judge of what is acceptable in my own Court.

Toval nodded scornfully at me. The very fact that you’d appoint a child as your Counselor makes me question the seriousness of your rule, my liege. Is this all just a game to you?

Yatol’s hand flashed to the knife strapped to his back.

Wait, Zhabyr said.

Unless, Toval added, trying too obviously to ignore Yatol, "you think you are being serious? But I can only think of one person… His voice died, and his gaze snapped to my face, the blood draining from his cheeks. No, he said. You wouldn’t…"

I don’t believe you’ve met my Counselor, Zhabyr said, interrupting. Her name is Prism.

I barely avoided jumping in surprise. How did Zhabyr know about that name? I remembered when Shan had given it to me, in the cavern below the Academy when Toval’s troops were descending all around us. It was supposed to be a silly nickname, like Sniff, but apparently I was wrong about that. Zhabyr gave it to me now without hesitation, and I stood straight and still and accepted it.

Toval narrowed his eyes, skeptical. After a moment he took a step closer to Zhabyr.

Do you think your pretty speech resolved all their doubts? he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "A few sentimental words, and the people would be eating out of your hand? They’re still afraid, my liege. They still…hate. Hate what they don’t understand. Shenakha should know she will never be welcome in this world. It would be better for her to stay away, or to stay hidden and out of the public view. And if you know where she is, you’d better pass the warning on to her. Because she can’t stay unknown forever, and her life is still very much in danger."

His eyes flickered briefly toward me, but I just met his gaze evenly. Then he shifted to study Yatol standing beside me, and a faint venomous smile touched his lips.

And tell her to be careful whom she trusts.

Have you finished? Zhabyr snapped. "Where’s your hospitality, sikh? How long do you intend to leave the High King and his Court standing on a dais?"

Toval bristled, then stooped in a low bow. "Please, my liege, accept my humblest apologies. We had a feast prepared for Khalith, but now that he’s not here…"

You prepared a feast for the High King, Zhabyr interrupted, and held out his hands. I suppose we can make do with whatever you’ve got. So stop making a scene and do your duty.

Toval paled, his flaccid face looking ghastlier than ever.

"Listen to me, boy, he said, voice low. Just because I hailed you High King doesn’t mean you’ll find me licking the boot you crushed me with. I’ve—"

Before he could finish Yatol interrupted him, taking one stride forward and flicking his knife free of its scabbard. Toval didn’t recognize the danger in time to step away before he found the blade pressed against his throat. After a second I noticed Aniira’s sword out too, aimed ominously at Toval’s chest.

Call off your dog, he hissed, craning his neck away from Yatol’s razor-sharp blade.

Release him, Zhabyr said. Aniira, sword.

Aniira complied immediately, and after a moment Yatol backed away from Toval, still holding the knife bared at his side. Toval eyed it warily.

"Keep your onekh in line, my liege."

"I’m not his onekh," Yatol said, quiet.

Toval and Zhabyr both glanced at him in surprise. I did too. I knew Yatol had been training all his life to be the Guardian known as the King’s Defender, and something about his protest made me strangely uneasy. His eyes met mine for a moment, then he bowed his head to Zhabyr.

Not yet, he added.

Toval smirked. Good to know your snake still has divided loyalties, then.

The only person here with divided loyalties is you, so stop playing the hypocrite, I flared.

"Ah, your Counselor is the paragon of elegance and diplomacy, Toval said, voice like silk. Then he added under his breath, This land has inherited a madman for a king."

A blush rushed to my cheeks and I dropped my gaze, mentally kicking myself for running my mouth off at a sikh. I’d be no help to Zhabyr if I couldn’t get my brain-mouth circuit working.

"My apologies, sikh," I said, quietly.

I thought about adding an explanation but realized it would only sound like an excuse. So I left it at that, hoping it had sounded dignified enough, and risked a glance at Toval’s face. He just measured me in silence. Then, when I didn’t do anything else to provoke him, he nodded once. Zhabyr folded his arms. I could tell from the set of his mouth that he hovered right on the edge of his patience. It amazed me that he hadn’t totally lost it the way the rest of us already had.

Toval, he said. We’ve had a very long journey. Do the honorable thing and show us into your stronghold. He stopped abruptly, raising his hand to his eyes as he surveyed the bizarre three-building fortress brooding on the hill behind us. "Actually, my stronghold, I should say. I like it. Central location, close to the Academy…I think I’ll keep it."

And that, finally, silenced Toval. He stood staring at Zhabyr like he’d seen him slaughter a puppy. His lips twitched. I suppose he was trying to say something, but it just made his chin quiver like he was on the verge of tears.

Zhabyr snapped a finger and a young guard came running, all ungainly in a leather cuirass and helmet that fit far too big for him. He stopped short in front of the two rulers, eyes darting back and forth from one to the other. I could almost feel his confusion. Finally he met Zhabyr’s gaze, and he swallowed visibly as he came to attention and saluted. Zhabyr nodded.

What’s your name?

The guard’s mouth flapped and he shot a nervous glance at Toval. Zhabyr shifted his weight, just barely, and the man saluted again like a wet-eared Marine recruit and shouted,

Pattik, my liege.

Title?

"I’m a house-guard, my liege. I attend the sikh’s personal security."

Very well. You will now help oversee his departure.

Dep—

Yes, you idiot, Toval snapped. He’s evicting me from my own city.

But—

There’s nothing to discuss, damn you. Didn’t you see what just happened? He’s High King. He can take whatever city he wants as his Seat.

But—

Zhabyr caught Pattik’s gaze and the young guard stopped mid-syllable.

Take word to the steward of our guests’ arrival, Toval said, voice dripping with sudden ironic grace. They will need to be lodged in the temporary quarters until my household and I have departed. You have a good memory, don’t you?

Excellent, sir, Pattik said.

"Then take these names to the steward. The High King Zhabyr. General Yanik. Lady…Prism."

As he turned to Aniira to hear her name, I glanced up at Yatol, and a sick anxiety washed over me. Yatol seemed a little pale, one faint line creasing his brow. He had to be worrying about the same thing as me. What name would he give for himself?

Many people would remember the name Yatol from the heroic sacrifice he had made at the Judgment of the Ungulion. And Toval, along with everyone else, knew that this man standing here had once been the deadly assassin employed by Khalith. But it suddenly occurred to me that nobody connected the two. Nobody had a reason to. And I was determined that it would stay that way.

I racked my brain for something to offer him, some name he could use. It had to sound like it belonged among the other Ylturian names I’d heard. Something...

I laid my hand on his arm. Astor, I murmured. He met my gaze, puzzled. I always liked that name.

He smiled, and as Toval turned to him, he repeated the name softly. Toval narrowed his eyes again, studying Yatol intently. Finally he turned back to Pattik.

Can you remember?

The young guard nodded.

We’ll also need lodging for my escort, Zhabyr said, before Pattik could make his escape. I brought a company of thirty. Six of them will need quarters. The others can stay in a dormitory.

Pattik saluted sharply, and dashed off toward the fortress.

Toval stooped in an obsequious little bow. My steward will be prepared to receive you by the time you reach the fortress. My servants are at your disposal. If any of them can assist you with your belongings, simply ask. And now, I have business of my own to attend to. Good day, my liege. Lady.

He bowed to Zhabyr and me, then nodded to the rest of our group. I blushed, uncomfortable at being singled out above the others. Maybe it was Toval’s way of insulting me. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him.

The other sikhir filed off the dais after Toval, and I watched them go uneasily. My first thought was that they must be going somewhere to conspire against Zhabyr, to figure out a way to get him off the throne again. But even that didn’t worry me half as much as the image of the entaka peering intently into Zhabyr’s eyes. And the blindness. Oh God, that blindness. I shouldn’t have seen what I did. But I did, and it knew. Somehow the entaka knew that I could see it…and did what it did because it knew I was watching.

I closed my eyes and tried to find calm.

Merelin.

Zhabyr touched my shoulder. I realized he was gesturing toward the wooden stairs of the dais. Yanik, the born-immortal leader of the Watchers, had already gone down with Aniira and Enhyla. They stood at the base of the fortress steps with Tyhlaur, Shan, and Lohka, along with the full escort of Watchers. I finally managed to uproot myself, and headed down to join them. Zhabyr followed, with Yatol bringing up the rear.

As we joined our friends, Shan clapped Zhabyr on the shoulder, nodding at his crown and giving him a dead-pan stare without the faintest trace of a smile.

Finally, he said. Don’t lose it this time.

I glanced over at Lohka as the others kept talking. The red-headed former rebel stood a little apart from our group, as if he felt like he still didn’t quite belong. I frowned, and wondered how he’d react if I told him that I’d seen the entaka. After all, he was the one with a death-sentence hanging over his head. I remembered seeing the entaka destroy the double of Lohka’s body that it had been using. The image still made me shiver, and brought to mind Enhyla’s ominous warning to Lohka: He will be coming to claim the rest of your blood.

I must have been staring at Lohka, because after a moment he shifted and made his way over to me. I wanted to back away, or turn aside and ignore him, but somehow I managed to stand still. Twice-turned traitor. I wondered now and then why Zhabyr let him stay near us. After all, he’d been the one to suggest that Lohka’s actions were still somehow being controlled by the doppelgänger. Maybe he just liked having Lohka where he could see him.

Something troubling you? Lohka asked.

I shook my head. Just thinking, sorry. I wasn’t actually looking at you.

He gave me a strange glance, muttering, How flattering.

I rolled my eyes.

Look, have you still not forgiven me—

This isn’t the time, I said. We’re all right. We’re not enemies. Just don’t come around thinking I’m your new best friend.

Lohka’s eyes darted in Yatol’s direction briefly before he shrugged and turned away. I caught Tyhlaur watching me with a little frown of disapproval, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him either. I just jerked my hands in an impatient shrug. As we all started to head up the steps toward the fortress, I hurried to catch up with Zhabyr.

Prism? I asked.

Shan told me, he said. I thought it fit. I’m sorry if it offended you. I should have asked beforehand if you had a preference.

Why—

I cut myself off. It was idiotic to ask why I needed a new name when Toval’s words were still ringing in my ears. My life could still be in danger if the people found out my real identity. And much as I hated to admit it, I saw that the sikh was right. One little speech wouldn’t be enough to blot out a year’s worth of hatred and blame. I couldn’t have believed otherwise, not if I was being honest with myself.

We climbed the steps in silence for a few moments, Zhabyr and I, with Yatol and Aniira close behind us and the others following at a distance. Finally Zhabyr glanced over his shoulder with a visible shudder.

Did you really see it? he asked.

I hesitated. "Yes. Zhabyr, it was…it was smiling at me. I think it wants something from me, I added, dropping my voice to a whisper. I met his gaze briefly, trying to find the answers there, but all I found was confusion that matched my own. What if I told you it was standing on the dais with us?"

He flinched, stride faltering. "It was what? Is that why you screamed?"

I nodded. I’m afraid of that thing, I said. More than I was ever afraid of Khalith. More than I was afraid of the Ungulion. Afraid…because I can’t understand it.

Chapter 2

It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of the Hall of Statues. For a sickening moment I feared that the blindness had returned, but gradually I could make out the massive pillars and the geometric pattern of rose-colored marble under my feet. I’d almost forgotten how surreal that outer rectangle of the fortress felt, with all its grotesque, leering sculptures of vaguely man-shaped forms. At least this time some light slanted in through the clerestory windows, breaking up the hall’s overbearing gloom.

Still, it was a creepy, dismal place. Some part of me wished Zhabyr hadn’t been so quick to pick this fortress as his Seat, without even an attempt at forethought. Compared to the light and grandeur of the palace at Alcalon, this place felt like a tomb. The only remotely good thing about it was how close it sat to the Academy. Maybe now the Academy would get a much-needed facelift, and I could get away with spending more time there than here at the fortress.

The others stood in a loose ring under one of the columns. Zhabyr was talking to a man in a flamboyant red robe with a silver choker around his neck that looked more like a dog collar than anything. I drifted into the group and listened to the conversation long enough to find out that the man was the steward of the fortress, and that his name was Stranan.

A handful of servants hovered in the shadows behind him, watching us with quiet curiosity. Deeper in the shadows and even farther behind them, I glimpsed the awkward guard, Pattik, watching the whole scene with more than idle interest. I frowned and glanced at Yatol, and found him studying the guard with a stone-steady stare. Pattik’s eyes shifted toward him, and he gave a little start when he realized he’d been seen. A moment later he turned and hurried away, fading into the fortress gloom with a feeble attempt at stealth.

If you please, my liege, Stranan said, drawing my attention back to the conversation. We can show you and your party to your chambers, so you can rest and refresh before the feast.

Zhabyr turned toward me, but I had no idea why. Was he looking for affirmation? A reason to say no? I just met his gaze evenly, trying not to look confused.

Take a few moments, he said, directing the comment at all of us. Then come to my chamber. We have things to discuss.

He nodded briefly at Stranan, and the steward snapped his fingers at the waiting servants. Most of them were men, but a few women stood among them. I studied them curiously. They were bareheaded, but the bottom half of their heads had been totally shaved. The hair on top had been left to grow long, bound into a braid segmented three or four times with wooden clasps. Like Stranan, all of them wore silver or wooden chokers. It almost made them look more like slaves than servants.

One of the girls moved toward me. She had to be my age or a little older, and she stood a good three inches taller than me, but the way she watched me from under her fringe of golden lashes, she still seemed to be looking up at me.

Lady Prism, she said. Please follow me.

I winced a little inside. Somehow I hadn’t quite wrapped my brain around the idea that I was Prism now, that I couldn’t be Merelin Lindon. I’d never really understood what it meant to lose your name, to suddenly have no identity. And Yatol… I glanced over at him, standing apart with arms crossed, and wondered what it had been like to live for a year without any name at all, even a made-up one. What did it do to a person to be anonymous? Really anonymous?

My lady? the girl asked.

That would take getting used to, too. I watched the others moving away, led off to the guest chambers by the servants. Yatol lingered a moment, measuring the twitchy bald man in front of him so steadily that the servant got twitchier than ever.

Just a moment, I told the girl, and walked over to Yatol, whispering, Are you all right?

I won’t be caged up, he said, never taking his eyes from the servant’s face.

Caged? I echoed. I think he just wants to show you your room.

He shot me a quick glance, smiling somewhere behind his dark eyes. Yes.

My lord, please, the bald man said, face turning a pasty shade of white. "You don’t have to stay there. But it would be discourteous of me not to give you a room for your use."

Stone walls never suited me, he said softly, to me, then to the servant he just gave a wordless gesture of resignation.

It hit me, then, like a flash. I knew why he shied away from being surrounded by stone walls. I couldn’t look at his arms, and their white lacework of scars, and not understand. How many days had he spent imprisoned in the Gorhiem Bolstoed? How many tortures had he suffered there? And now…and now he could remember every single one of them.

I let out a sigh before I could swallow it back. More than anything I wanted to tell both servants to get lost, so I could spend a few minutes talking to Yatol. Alone. Like, five minutes. That’s all I wanted. I must have looked annoyed, too, because Yatol’s mouth quirked in a little smile. But he didn’t say anything. He just turned away, his fingers brushing mine as he left.

I pursed my lips and wandered back to the girl. Her gaze was riveted on my hand, but then she glanced up and literally jumped. She flushed a deep red, and I arched a brow in surprise.

Something wrong? I asked.

Her eyes widened, the blush draining from her cheeks. I had to fight the sudden urge to run away.

I’m not an intimidating person. Why is she staring at me like I might pull a dagger on her?

Oh, the girl said. Oh, nothing, miss. I mean, my lady. Lady Prism. Nothing at all.

I grimaced mentally and gave her my best encouraging smile. Where is my room?

She bobbed a terrified curtsey and turned away, waving me after her. This way, my lady.

Please, just call me… I hesitated. Prism.

The girl hurried ahead of me, head bent, sandals rapping nervously on the stone floor. I followed her across the Hall of Statues and the garden ring, into the oval building that Zhabyr had once called the King’s Keep. As we passed through the huge doorway, the girl turned to the left and led me toward a thick, rather monstrous stone stairwell. Deep shadows concealed it, and I couldn’t see any light from the upper floor at all. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t remember noticing a second story during my last clandestine visit.

We climbed up in silence, until I was sure we’d gone further than one flight’s worth of stairs. When we finally reached the top, I realized why I hadn’t seen this level from the ground—the corridor was completely walled off from the pillared hall below. It was brighter than I’d expected. Fading daylight drained in through high, narrow windows, and torches placed every few feet along the walls gave a steadier copper light.

The girl led me past about a dozen plain wooden doors until we reached one standing open.

In here please, my lady.

She still doesn’t get it, I thought, and muttered, Thanks.

She flinched. I could literally see her face turning grey.

What’s wrong now?

And at that her eyes started to well with tears. She couldn’t speak at all. I desperately wanted to run into the room and slam the door in her face, but I forced myself to calm down and lose the attitude. Apparently something about it was scaring the poor creature to death.

I’m sorry, I said. Really. Did I upset you?

Now she just looked confused.

You apologize…to me? she whispered.

I tipped my head back and let my breath out slowly through pursed lips, mentally counting to five.

Will you show me my room, please? I asked, and slipped through the doorway.

With the afternoon waning, the room was dim and cool, with no candles or fire lit anywhere. Through the watery gold light I guessed the chamber was fairly large, but I couldn’t gauge its size until the girl came in with a torch. She lit a brass brazier in one corner and several candles and small torches scattered around the room, and as the flames flickered to life I actually took a step back toward the door.

Spacious would be an understatement. It felt like one of those luxury suite rooms in the ritziest hotels, the kind you see in the movies. A huge bed stood on a raised platform, dressed in wool blankets and too many pillows. A cold hearth lay between the foot of the bed and the wall, surrounded by bruhvir, and in between the floor-length, narrow windows stood a few chests and a low table. Near the brazier was one of those narrow, backless couches covered in sunshine-gold silk. Fine silk curtains the color of dying flames billowed in and then relaxed with the pulse of the cool breeze.

The other servants will be bringing your belongings shortly, Lady Prism, the girl said.

That’s all right, I said softly. I don’t have much.

She gaped at me. But you’re…you’re…

Look, come here, I interrupted.

She hesitated, then shoved the torch into a wall sconce and crept toward me.

Can I be perfectly honest with you? What’s your name?

Kima.

Kima. All right. Listen, I’m not used to people treating me like this. Up until a couple of months ago I was just a regular person, doing regular people things. I’m not entirely sure who or what you think I am, but I would really like not to be treated like a…like however you’re treating me.

I’ve displeased you then, in how I’ve treated you?

How was that totally not the reaction I was expecting?

No, that’s not what I meant. I just don’t want to be treated like some kind of…noble. I’m just a girl like you.

But you’re…

I managed to turn away before she could catch me grimacing. This was turning out to be harder than I imagined. I’d thought I would be able to tell her to chill out and act like a normal person, and she would do it. Instead I’d only succeeded in freaking her out even more. Brilliant work, Merelin.

I heard her shifting her weight and glanced back at her. To my surprise, I saw something in her eyes besides subservient terror. Curiosity. I smiled in spite of myself. Gotcha. More to my surprise, she actually spoke without me prompting her.

"Lady Prism, was that man…the one you were with…was that really Khalith’s rhesep?"

He was, I said, sighing. Not any more.

She shuddered visibly. I don’t know how you could let him… Her voice trailed off, and she shot me an alarmed glance. That’s to say…

Kima! That was a good start, I said. "I’m not going to get mad at you for talking to me. Actually, please talk to me. I need a normal conversation right about now."

I flopped onto the bed as I said it, landing face first in the blankets. After a moment I rolled over and found her grinning in surprise. She edged toward the bed, hugging one of its square wooden posts.

He looked at you as if he actually cares about you, she whispered. "As if he…loves you. I thought the rhesep cared for no one. Honestly, I was going to say I’m almost afraid to be alone. An assassin? Here in the fortress? With no one to keep him in check?"

Now, wait, I said, sitting up. The little terror flickered into her eyes briefly, but I rushed on before she could freak out. He serves Zhabyr. And he can govern himself perfectly well. He’s not a mindless killer.

My heart twisted strangely at the words. Some people really thought that way about Yatol? Like he was some kind of rabid dog cut off his leash? And now he would know why. He would see their fear and hatred, and he would remember.

Kima relaxed a little. Then, looking rather abashed, she murmured, Please, my lady, I hope you won’t send him after me if I make a mistake.

Do what now? Is that why…

That’s why she was so terrified. She thought I’d send Yatol to assassinate her if she displeased me. Unreal.

I think he’s kind of past that sort of thing, now, I said.

She nodded, a smile of relief flashing over her face. Well, is there anything I can fetch for you? A new robe? Some water for washing?

I glanced down at my midnight blue gown. Zhabyr had given it to me as a sort of gift before we’d left Alcalon, saying it was the formal style for women who served in the Circle. Apparently he still believed I could actually help him as a Counselor, even though I’d kind of been hoping that he would forget the whole matter after Alcalon.

I think I’d better keep this on, I said. Sounds like this feast will be an official sort of thing…

Oh yes, Kima said. All the highest government officials and some of the nobles and their families will be there.

Sounds thrilling.

She grinned a little. What about a bath, my lady? I could draw up some water in no time.

"A bath?"