Chapter 19

With the departure of the guests came a greater freedom to move through the castle undetected. So, as soon as she was able to get away two days later, she headed to the chapel. It was late and most of the servants had retired for the night, exhausted after two weeks of preparation and the aftermath of Eliam and Livea's house party. Daelia herself stifled a yawn and tried to ignore her aching body as she made her way quickly through the kitchen. It had been three days since she had last been able to bring Rouen food; his supplies were certainly running low. She knew for sure that his firewood had run out at least a day ago. It frustrated her that he was in the same building as she, yet it was difficult to get him what he needed regularly.

Well, she reminded herself, that wasn't the only problem, nor the most important. She still had to figure out a way to get him out of the castle.

She mulled briefly over whether to take a leftover chunk of venison or roasted goose, but finally took both off the platter and wrapped them in a clean cloth. On the way out of the cool cellar she also seized several current-honey cakes off of a covered tray. They had been made especially for the governor's spoiled son, but now they could be enjoyed by someone who actually deserved them. Daelia tried to stop the uncharitable--well, that was putting it nicely--feelings that sprang to mind at the thought of Aurelian Severus's smug face. Briden's earlier suggestion that someone ought to do away with both father and son sprang to mind and she smiled a little. In truth, he was no different than the other men who had sat around the feasting tables night after night. Well...he was, perhaps, a little more handsome than the others. She shook her head. That was beside the point.

But he did rescue you, came the small voice.

Yes, but probably with the idea of keeping me for himself.

But he hadn't, nor had he punished her for her disrespect.

He's still a pig. And remember what his father is doing to people like Briden's family.

Daelia sighed. The internal argument wasn't making the matter any clearer to her. Aurelian had rescued her from an awful situation, but that hardly made up for his many other faults--of which his parentage was, indeed, his chief offense.

It wasn't as if he could help who his father was. But he's not exactly doing anything in opposition to his father is he? She sighed again, unhappy that her thoughts lingered on someone who irked her so much. A loaf of bread, some cheese, two meat pies, and three pears joined the other items in the basket she carried under one arm. As quietly as possible, she crossed into the laundry room and added a clean blanket and linens to the load, then slipped out the door into the courtyard.

To her utter dismay, there was a guard standing directly in front of the door which led to the castle's wood supply. Quickly weighing her options, she decided not to attempt it--Rouen would simply have to do without for now. She couldn't risk drawing attention to herself--out after hours--nor to the basket of goods she clutched with whitle knuckles. Careful to remain in the shadows, Daelia tip-toed across the yard to the doorway of the North Hall.

"Who's there?" the guard's voice echoed through the dark. Daelia froze, flattened herself against the wooden door, and prayed. Don't let him see me, don't let him see me, please, please, please--she could hear him moving closer, his boots making squishing noises in the mud--make me invisible. He was almost to the doorway now. Just then there was a sound on the far side of the courtyard, like metal hitting stone, and the guard spun on his heels and started back the way he had come. Heart beating wildly, Daelia couldn't move for several seconds. She waited until the sound of the guard's boots had disappeared before lifting the heavy latch and slipping inside the castle. With weak legs she hurried up the stairs, down the empty hallway, through the door, and down the steps to the quiet chapel.

"Is that you, Daelia?" Rouen called from his place beside the fire; he was stacking pieces of wood against the wall. Daelia stared at the wood and roaring fire in confusion, forgetting to answer. Rouen stood up straight "Daelia?" he asked again, sounding alarmed.

"Yes. Sorry. It's just me." Rouen relaxed and went on with his work. Daelia looked around in the flickering light and noticed that several of the wooden benches were missing, while another lay sideways on the floor, partially dismantled. "I see you found wood," she commented ruefully, setting the basket on the floor.

"Yes, and almost broke my other leg acquiring it." He was equally rueful as he pulled up his trouser leg to reveal his injured shin, black, blue, and slightly swollen. "I really should look where I walk." Daelia laughed when she saw the grin and realized that he was making light of his own blindness. It was good to see him smile. "Sit down and let me see it."

He sat obediently on the bed while she examined the area. As she had suspected, it was mostly bruised; a mild scrape ran the length of his shin. "You'll heal just fine," she assured him, rolling the trouser carefully back over the wound, "Did you hit yourself with a plank of wood or with the hammer?"

"No, I stepped in a hole. I almost fell in, but managed to catch myself--this leg caught the edge of the floor going down."

"Hole? What hole? This floor is solid stone!"

"I'll show you," he replied, walking towards the front of the chapel, hand outstretched for each pillar as he went. She followed closely behind. The altar had been moved several feet to the right, revealing a large dark cavity in the floor. At first glance it appeared that one of the large stones was simply missing, but as she walked closer, the remains of a wooden trap door about eight inches down became visible. "I was at first going to use the altar for firewood, " Rouen remarked from where he stood several feet behind her, "But since I didn't know how deep the hole may be, I just left it there and took some of the benches from the back instead. Can you see what's down there?"

"No," she replied, peering into the darkness, "There was a door on it at one time, but very little remains beside the hinges."

"The altar has been in the place for my whole life, and probably much longer. I had no idea!"

Daelia took a sliver of wood from the stack and lit the end in the fireplace. Returning to the edge of the mysterious hole, she got down on hands and knees and dropped the crude torch into the void. The flame fell through the air and landed on a stone floor about ten feet below the chapel floor. Rouen waited impatiently, arms folded across his chest, leaning against a stone pillar, "Can you see anything? Is it deep?"

"It isn't very deep at all. Actually, I think there may be a room or tunnel down there." On one side of the square opening a wall ran all the way down from the floor above to the floor below, while rectangular stones jutted out of the wall to form a crude ladder. Unfortunately, the bottom of the shaft was damp--the moss and slime glistened in the brief firelight--and the torch soon began to sputter, then died, leaving the hole once again in inky blackness. "Well, I have no idea what you have uncovered, Rouen," she stood, brushing her hands on her skirt, "but I think it would be worth exploring further."

"Does it appear to lead towards the outer wall of the castle? If so, it could be a tunnel leading out, under the wall. We may have found our means of escape!" Rouen was becoming excited, "I cannot believe that, after the years I have spent in this cursed place, I have walked circles around it every day!"

Daelia tried to visualize which direction the underground room seemed to lead. Yes, it appeared to go in the direction of the outer wall, though until she could actually go down into the space, she couldn't be sure. Her heart leaped at the prospect of an alternative route out of the castle. "I will try to come back sometime in the next couple of days, Rouen, and I'll bring a proper torch so I can try to go down into the tunnel. If there really is a secret passage, we need to know where it leads."

"Could you come back tomorrow?"

Daelia almost replied that she would try, but something stopped her. "I can't promise anything. I will be back as soon as I am able." Seeing the look on Rouen's face, she added, "And please don't try to go down there alone--the last thing we need is for you to break your neck."

Rouen snorted, "I know my own limitations--every day is a constant reminder. I've waited this long, I can wait a few more days if necessary."

"I was just making sure. You've acted rashly before, remember."

"I do remember, thank you for mentioning it," he responded in mock annoyance, "You sound like my mother."

"I'm sorry; I suppose it's a habit from twenty-three years of being the eldest daughter. I know I can be overbearing at times."

"Don't be sorry; it's nice to have someone care about my well-being for once."

As she walked back to the spot where she had left the basket of food, Daelia considered Rouen's words. She did care--cared a great deal. Rouen and she had become good friends; she was his only friend and, except for Briden, he was hers. The thought of something further happening to him, and the thought of losing him before he came to terms with his disappointment in Deus, kept her determined in their quest for freedom. Reaching into the basket, she took out a few items and set them on the pew that Rouen had placed before the fire. As he ate what she had laid out for him, Daelia unfolded the blanket and linens from the basket and silently began replacing the coverings on his bed. She had no idea when they had last been cleaned, but if the color and smell of them was any indication, it had indeed been a long time. Which brought her to another matter. "Next time I come I will be bringing soap, a razor, and shears; the Master of Caerlock appears more as a beggar on the street than a Lord."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing that I am not the Master of Caerlock then," he retorted, but didn't argue with her general assessment. The chapel had a plentiful supply of water from the trickling font on the eastern wall, though it would be a cold way to bathe, and it was obvious that Rouen had long opted for warmth over cleanliness. This brought a brief smile to her face--nagging and threats had often been necessary to get her brothers to clean themselves after days spent hunting and cleaning game. "You will have to made do with this one blanket for now, Rouen. I will take your old one for Briden to wash, but I'm afraid I will be burning the rest."

Rouen nodded in acknowledgment of both points, "Thank you for this. I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you have done to help me. I feel a bit like a child who has to be looked after, but one day, when we are away from here, I swear to you that the debt shall be repaid."

"You owe me nothing, I assure you. Your company has done much for raising my spirits. I don't doubt that I was meant to be here for this season of time, but my year in Parsaena has not been a joyful one. When I'm here in the chapel," she gazed over at the crucifix sitting atop the altar, "I don't feel so far from home."

She suspected that he might ask her more about her home, but his face had turned solemn, and his head was turned away. The remaining food lay on the bench forgotten as Rouen stared into the flames intently. "I can see the fire you know," he said abruptly after sitting silent for some time. "Well...not exactly; I can see the orange glow fading in and out. And sometimes, when the sun shines through the windows very brightly in the morning I can see a light."

Daelia wasn't sure how she ought to respond, so she said nothing. "At times I stand under the window and look up at it. If the sun is bright enough, I can almost make ou the shape of the window - black," he traced the shape of the pointed arch window in the air with his hands, "and yellow."

"When did you lose your sight?" She wasn't sure why she hadn't asked before and she wasn't sure that he would want to talk about it now.

But he didn't hesitate to answer, "About a month after I was left in here I fell into a deep depression - I just lay on my bed as my leg healed, cursing Deus, wondering why He didn't free me. I didn't eat or sleep for days and soon became ill with a bad fever. Serina the chamber maid brought me food and water, but no doctor was sent for. I eventually began to recover on my own, but the longer I lay there, the worse my sight became. By the time my strength was almost fully returned, I could see nothing but the brightest light. Since that day I have neither prayed, nor believed, nor hoped." He stopped and turned his head towards her. "Not until the day you appeared, that is. For the first time in years I am allowing myself to hope, to think that the future may hold something different, something good. I can feel the old fire beginning to burn again and the old concerns consume my thoughts daily."

"Concerns about your brother?"

"Responsibility, duty, opportunity lost. I was someone - the eldest son of one of the most important families in Parsaena." His voice was anguished, "There are thousands in this city who know nothing but the tyranny and oppression of Severus and his predecessors - and the ruthless, gluttonous greed of my class, my family. The nobles continue to enable the governor and the people are too ignorant and disheartened to join forces against them."

"But why? Why is everyone so willing to be enslaved"

Rouen paused before answering; it was a question he had asked himself many times before. "Because they have forgotten. The more time that goes by, the more history is lost and the precepts of the city's forefathers disappear - as does their identity as a people. What is not convenient to tend is easily neglected."

Daelia understood what he was saying, but she also recognized the inconsistency in his words.

"So, you believe in the morals and basic principles as taught and practiced by the Beata, but not in the God upon whom those principles are based."

"I don't deny His existence, only his relevance. My conclusion is that He has very few dealings with our world. It is up the the morally superior among humanity to ensure that order and virtue is maintained."

"And so, in your opinion, the troubles in Parsaena are strictly physical, not spiritual - a matter of insufficient education about the Beata's history?"

"That may be a bit too simplistic of an explaination, but yes, that is the only rational answer I have been able to formulate."

Rouen's theory was incomplete, but Daelia knew that it would be useless to try at that moment to convince him of the reality of the spiritual disease consuming the city and its people. Not could she persuade him that Deus was not an absentee landlord, viewing his land from afar, caring too little to intercede on his people's distress. He would have to learn the truth for himself.

Chapter 18

Her rescuer was none other than the boor who had assaulted her at the feast the night before: Lord Severus.

As she turned to flee, the young man jumped in front of her to block her escape. “Don’t touch me!” her fright caused the words to sound slightly hysterical.

Aurelian put his hands up in a gesture of feigned surprise and non-aggression, “I promise, I won’t touch you—only don’t run away!”

He stood there looking completely innocent, even nonchalant—as though she had no reason to be angry with him. She didn’t have to suffer his company or advances just because he was the spoiled son of a governor!

“Get OUT of my way! I’m warning you.”

“You’re warning me?” he snorted as his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t budge.

“Yes, you have no right to detain me.”

“I happen to have every right—I can do anything I like with you. Do you not know who I am? I could have you killed for speaking to me in such a manner.”

“I don’t care, only get out of my way.” Even as she spoke Daelia knew what the consequences would be. Once she opened her mouth, however, she couldn’t stop the torrent of sharp replies from being unleashed upon the shocked young lord. A certain level of frustration, anger, and exhaustion had been reached, overcoming her better judgment. The servile mask which she had tried so hard to keep in place for the last year was quickly cracking, while the real Daelia—the one who could hunt bear, climb mountains, and survive for weeks alone in the woods—refused to be ignored any longer.

“You are not afraid of me?”

“Why should I be? You are just an ill-bred fool, masquerading as someone important.”

“I saved you! Maybe I should have just left you alone with him.”

“I could have gotten away by myself, thank you, and would have been spared seeing your unsightly face again.”

Aurelian took a surprised step backwards. Insulted by a servant—and after he had rescued her from certain degradation. Neither had he ordered her immediately beaten for her response to him at the feast earlier that evening. Ungrateful!

And scared.

The girl was shaking visibly beneath her too-large serving dress, the same one that she had been wearing at supper. Her eyes were wide, breathing fast, and fists clenched—ready for a fight should he move any closer.

He should have been angry, even furious. In such a situation his father would have ordered a disrespectful servant immediately flogged or put in the stocks, and this girl he probably would have killed on the spot. But the last thing he wanted to be was his father.

“Please, my lord,” the girl sighed as though she’d suddenly lost her will to fight him, “Just let me return to my quarters. The day has been long and difficult, made far worse by what just happened. I have only a few hours to sleep before I must be back in the kitchen preparing for the departure of you and the other guests.”

The words struck Aurelian’s conscience, and the prick felt a little bit like guilt. There was also, perhaps, an equal portion of dismay over realizing that he might have been partly to blame for the girl’s distress. The urge to apologize, however, was quickly dismissed; she was, after all, a servant.

Without a word, he stepped aside. With the path now clear, the girl immediately brushed past him and disappeared down the corridor.

------------------------

Aurelian re-entered his bed chamber, closing the heavy, wooden door behind him. Another servant had been there earlier to build up the fire, and the flames still burned brightly, adding some warmth to the drafty room. He sat in a straight-backed chair for a while, sipping a goblet of watered-down wine and staring thoughtfully into the fire.

After a time, though, he arose, undressed, and settled into the comfortable bed. It was late and he was tired, yet sleep managed to elude him. With hands behind his head, he stated up at the fabric of the bed’s richly embroidered canopy, thinking.

Very few things had bothered his conscience in the past—at least not matters of an ethical nature, and especially matters not directly affecting him personally. So many thoughts had been bothering him over the recent months, and there they were again, all trying to crowd in at once. It was difficult to keep so man loose ends untangled in his mind, but recent events were beginning to fill in some of the missing links. Now, finding himself with time on his hands, he began to sort through the pieces.

Perhaps his first mistake had been assuming that the matters troubling his mind had nothing to do with him. For instance, whatever Father decides to do with the city now will eventually be something I have to deal with myself.

The thought of the Governor’s inevitable appointment with mortality usually cheered him up a little, but this time it didn’t. As the only child of Deveral Severus, Aurelian would be expected to continue his father’s legacy and uphold the laws and standards established by the elder governor during his reign. As straightforward as the concept was, the thought of serving as a mere continuation of his father left a sour taste in his mouth.

First, he wasn’t sure he agreed with the way his father had chosen to handle the peasantry, or for that matter, the nobles. The executions on trumped up charges, the forced slavery, the endless increase in taxation, the diversion of public funds into the ‘nobility allowance”—it just didn’t sit well with him. Yet, the system seemed to be firmly established and his future job would be to preserve, even increase, its power.

Second, this arrangement of marriage to Livea Vitalis made very little sense strategically. Her brother was wealthy and respected, yes, but an alliance between the houses of Severus and Vitalis held no obvious advantage for Severus politics. “Why her?” he wondered out loud, frustrated at the discovery of yet another missing detail, “What does Father know that I don’t? He never does anything without first determining how it might benefit him.” Unless…maybe it hadn’t been the governor’s idea at all.

That brought Aurelian directly to his third concern: the High One. His skin crawled at the mere thought of the governor’s personal priest and advisor. He had grown up watching the High One. The old man often stood beside governor’s seat during private court councils and led the divining rituals in the dark, smoky halls of the temple. His white robes denoted him as a member of the druid priesthood, as did the shaven head and strange tattoos.

Aurelian had learned at a young age that his father did nothing or made any decisions without first seeking the council of the High One. At times it was difficult to know whether the governor’s thoughts and deeds were his own or those of his advisor. The High One holds, among many other powers, the ability to divine the future, his father had once told him. Only a druid has a thorough knowledge of the magic arts, so to have one as my advisor is to benefit from that knowledge. Such power can be used to our advantage, and only a fool would ignore it.

The memory was of a twelve-year-old Aurelian, who had just finished expressing his discomfort in the druid’s presence and his even greater displeasure with his father’s expectation—order, really—that his son would also seek out druidic power in his own future governorship. To Aurelian’s eventual realization and relief, however, druids were few and far between. They were also, despite their alleged power over nature, subject to an ordinary lifespan, and the High One was not young.

Severus made his respect and implicit trust in his advisor a well-known fact, but his Aurelian saw and recognized the evil in the druid’s cool eyes. Evil and something else: confidence.

Chapter 17

Daelia was dumbstruck. Rouen was a Vitalis? Elian’s brother?

“How could you possibly be related to those…those…?” She managed in a strangled voice, though the word that correctly described what she thought of Elian and Livea escaped her. Suddenly she was picturing her friend among those at the feast that evening—a thought she found faintly repulsive.

“They are not my family!” Rouen growled, “They betrayed me—Elian and my father.”

“Your father? You’ve never mentioned him.”

“Elian was always my father’s favorite. If he ever did really care for me at all, he certainly didn’t after…” He stopped mid-sentence, “Let’s just say he was all too pleased when I gave him a reason to lock me up and hand the Lordship over to my brother.”

“Your own father locked you up here? I thought that was Elian,” her head was spinning. What else had he been holding back from her?

“No, my father convinced everyone, even my own mother, that I had gone insane and kept me confined to my chambers for months before I managed to evade the guard posted outside my door. I made it as far as the armory. When they caught me, my father ordered the guard to break my leg to keep me from running again—then he locked me up here.” Rouen shrugged and took his seat again on the bed, “I supposed justice was served in some capacity; he died only a year later.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“No, she died shortly after my father. Elian told her that I was also dead. Since then his only concern has been to make sure that I stay here, out of his way.”

Sorrow enveloped Daelia; her heart ached for the betrayal that Rouen had known from his own family. Such a thing she could hardly comprehend. What sort of monster would commit against his own son the crimes that the elder Lord Vitalis had been guilty of? What father would encourage such hatred between his children?

She could feel the pain emanating from him—it mixed with her own. The injustices they had both faced were overwhelming. She tried unsuccessfully to stop the tears from forming and clamped both hands over her mouth to silence the sobs that threatened to escape. Crying wasn’t something that she allowed herself to do very often, especially not in front of another person.

Despite the efforts, Rouen must have sensed her reaction, “Don’t cry for me. Those tears were shed long ago.”

Taking deep breaths, Daelia tried to compose herself. The sorrow wasn’t just for Rouen, it was for her as well—for her family, her parents, and her loneliness. She wanted to tell him about Duard, about everything, but she didn’t. It wasn’t the right time; he needed encouragement, not more burdens.

For the first time in a while, Rouen sat perfectly still, buried deep in his thoughts. So many secrets were hidden behind those eyes, too much pain lay masked in their sightless gaze. She looked at him, seeing not the son of a lord, but a man who had lost all that was dear to him, just like her. But what could she do to help him? I couldn’t even help myself.

Suddenly the room fell away from view in a familiar cascade of strange half-pictures and whirling colors. There were no sounds, only words like verses on a page:

Night nears its end.
One becomes two,
Two becomes three,
Three to secure the freedom of many.

Those words disappeared and were replaced by others:

The exile shall soon be set free,
And shall not die in the dungeon,
Nor shall my provision be lacking.

Though the vision had lasted only a matter of seconds, as the room came back into normal view, the words imprinted themselves in Daelia’s memory. The detail of the vision was far greater than any other she had experienced, and the authority behind the words, though their meaning was cloaked, left a pressing weight on her. Three to secure the freedom of many…What could it mean?

Trembling a bit from the powerful vision, she left her place on the pew to sit down next to Rouen and took his large hand in hers. Oblivious to what had just occurred, but still solemn, he turned his body to face her, leaving his hand cradled in her grasp.

“Rouen, I care not whether you believe that Deus can help us or not. I know and believe that He will get us both out of here, and when He does, you will know that what I say is true. What you have suffered, what I have suffered, will not be in vain. I cannot say how I know, I just do. You were born the eldest son for a reason, and you have been brought here for a reason. So have I, though I certainly don’t understand the purpose of it yet.”

Night-blue eyes roamed over her face, trying, straining to see what they could not, “When you say that, I can almost believe you.”

“You should. You will.”

His mouth twitched upwards, “You have become quite sure of yourself all the sudden. Are you always this direct?”

“Well…only sometimes.” Then she remembered his position in contrast to her own, “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you like this—as though we are the same.”

“Daelia, how are different? We are both prisoners, trapped behind stone walls, and denied the freedom we want by a life neither of us wished for. We are equals—in intelligence, in the desire for knowledge, and in the depth of our loneliness. Now we share a common danger in Elian, and I would dare say even in Livea.”

She sat very still as Rouen’s free hand raised, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping around her face. Soon the hand she held left her grasp to join the other. Ever so slowly they felt out the lines of her cheekbones, eyes, nose, mouth, and ran over her hair, held up loosely in its combs. After a long moment they dropped back into his lap.

“Thank you,” his voice was just above a whisper.

“For what”

“For letting me see you.” He didn’t mention that it was the first physical contact he’d had with another human being in…well…longer than person should be forced to live without.

But she had noticed the roughness in his voice and for a moment was grateful that he wasn’t able to see the blood that had flooded her cheeks at his touch. “But what do you look like?” she forced a light laugh in an attempt to clear the tension, “I can’t tell under that beard! And how long has it been since your hair was cut?”

A bit of a smile appeared at the corners of Rouen’s eyes. Standing to his feet he held out a hand to her, “Come, enough has been said for one night. You’d best get some rest; the guest’s will be leaving tomorrow.

---------------------------

It was late, long past midnight, when the latch on the chapel door clicked loudly in the silent hallway where all the guests had retired to bed. As quiet as she had tried to be, she was sure the sound would have roused someone. Standing motionless in the shadows of the doorway, she listened for movement. Nothing, only faint snoring came from behind the nearest chamber door.

Her visit to the chapel could have waited; she could have gone when the sun was up and the guests were gone, but she was very glad that she hadn’t. What she had learned made the loss of sleep worthwhile.

Just as she came upon the first two side-by-side chamber doors, a shadowy figure stepped out from one the shadow of one of the doorways. The person, a large man, stood directly in front of her, blocking the hall. Nothing except the doorway to the chapel lay behind: she was trapped. Instinctively, Daelia’s body tensed up, ready to either run or fight. The man stepped forward, close enough that she could see his face in the weak light emitted by a single torch halfway down the passage.

“Where are you off to at this hour?” asked the familiar man in low tones, a slight smirk on his face.

She recognized him as one of the rowdy lords from the feast. “Please, let me pass, my lord,” she replied firmly, her heart pounding

“Why the hurry?” He stepped closer and placed his hand against the wall to block her path.

Daelia attempted to duck under his arm, but he grabbed her belt and swung her roughly against the wall.

“Let go of me! If you don’t, I swear I’ll…” but his hand clamped over her mouth before she could finish her threat. Both of her arms were pinned to the cold stone, and though she kicked and struggled to get loose, he was much stronger than she.

“You’re coming with me,” the man hissed.

Just then a figure appeared behind him. A large hand clasped the brutes shoulder, spinning him forcefully towards the dark form. The young lord seemed about to send his fist into the face of the other person, but stopped suddenly.

“Let the girl go, Tanen.”

“But Milord, I was just about to…”

“Do as I said! You have no right to detain the wench I sent for. Now go!”

Reluctantly, Lord Tanen released his hold on Daelia’s mouth and arm and pushed her away roughly. “Forgive me, my Lord. I had no idea this one was already spoken for,” he sneered.

She and the shadowed figure watched as Tanen took the few strides to his chamber door and angrily slammed it shut behind him. “Don’t worry, he shouldn’t bother you again,” the man said quietly but firmly.

“Thank you, sir. I…” Suddenly the man stepped forward into the dim torchlight where she could see his face more clearly, “You!”