questioned, but trying to second-guess the patriarch was impossible.
As she surveyed the crowd, she kept an eye on her guard. The woman was caught between her duties and her interest. That was as Sharissa wanted it. She moved nearer the crowd, always walking away from her shadow. The guard also moved nearer, which only made her curiosity grow. The Tezerenee’s eyes lingered on Lochivan and Dagos, who were discussing something animatedly.
Sharissa, the chaos shielding her, slipped away toward the elfin prisoner.
She felt no great victory for outfoxing the sentry; the woman would find her. What the sorceress wanted, however, was a few moments of private conversation so that she might take the measure of her fellow captive. If he still had any will left, there was a chance he could aid her in truly escaping. If not, he might still be able to give her some idea about the surrounding territory and where she might go.
Another reason, and one she would not admit to herself, was that, like her father and Gerrod Tezerenee, she had an overactive curiosity about new things… or people.
She entered the building where he was held. There were no guards. They had joined the others, an indication of how important the purpose of the expedition had been to the clan. Sharissa made her way down a short corridor and peered through the first cell door she found. Being the sole prisoner incarcerated there, Sharissa was not surprised to find him on the first attempt.
It was doubtful that the elf even needed guards; after more than one thorough questioning and little food or water, he was more of a shell than a living creature. His wrists and ankles were chained, and the chains resembled her collar, which explained why he had tried no magic. His head hung forward, as if he slept, but the moment she put a hand to the bars of the cell, he looked up.
The fire was still in his eyes. They had beaten his body, but not his will.
“I remember you.” Though a bit hoarse, his voice was smooth and correct. “You look so innocent compared to the others. I suppose it works to your advantage.”
“I am not one of them.”
“You… you look like one of them, although you dress more like a woodland spirit than living death. You also walk around freely.”
She leaned forward, inspecting him with a different perspective now. “You don’t sound as beaten as you appear.”
He laughed, but it turned into more of a croak. “I am very well beaten, mistress!”
“No, I think you’re holding out better than you pretend.”
“You think I want this to go on and on? You think I enjoy this pain?”
His lips were chapped, and it was clear he was suffering from dehydration. Sharissa searched the area, but she could not find any water. Nor did there seem to be a key to his cell. She would have to talk to him from here.
“Listen to me! I’m not one of them! We’re part of the same people-”
“Which makes you a Vraad.” He took no pains to hide his distaste.
“We are not all the same! Look at this!” She nearly put her hands on the collar, but restrained herself at the last moment. Sharissa hoped he would recognize her predicament, else she would be forced to prove herself to him in a more painful manner.
He stared at her neck, but said nothing. She waited, always fearing that someone would, in the next breath, enter the building and deprive her of a chance for private conversation. After a time, the elf closed his eyes. The sorceress tried to ready herself for a demonstration that would, she hoped, convince him before it killed her.
“You could be a trickster,” he commented without opening his eyes. “The collar could be nothing more than display for my benefit.”
“I can prove it to you easily enough.” Sharissa began to tremble. It would not be an easy thing. She was brave, but no one liked the thought of accidentally choking themselves to death.
The elf’s almond-tear eyes opened, burning into her own. He shook his head as best his bonds would allow him to do. “That will not be necessary. I think… I think I will trust you on this.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “Thank you. I was willing to prove myself, but this is hardly an experience I’ve come to enjoy.”
“I know the feeling.” He rattled his chains and pointed at his own collar. “My name, mistress-the one I give you, that is-is Faunon.”
“I am Sharissa Zeree. Definitely a prisoner like yourself.”
“I’ve seen how they treat you, mistress, and I wish they would treat all their prisoners so!”
She reddened. “I didn’t mean to downgrade what they’ve done to you! It’s true I’ve been pampered, but only because they think I will become one of them.”
His smile unnerved her. “Perish such a horrible notion! That would be like turning a flower into a weed!”
Time had to be running out. “Listen, I only came to see if you still have the will to escape. I know only tales about this region, and I’ll need your help!”
“How fortunate for me.”
“I would help you regardless of whether I needed you or not!” Ariela had never been this difficult to talk to! Still, she could not blame the elf for his rather cynical attitude. “Are you interested?”
He managed to give her a dry chuckle. “Do you think I would prefer to stay here?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back yet. There’s… there’s another who has to come with us, but I have to find where they’ve hidden him.”
The elf gave her a quizzical look, but she had no time to explain about Darkhorse. “Never mind! I promise I’ll be back soon!”
“I am in your hands. Thank you for giving me something to think about.”
For some reason, his last statement, coupled with his expression then, made her redden. The sorceress rushed to the door leading out of the building and quickly listened for any sound of movement. It had long ago occurred to her that she had been extremely fortunate so far. Was it possible that they had wanted her to meet with Faunon? It was the sort of devious plot that Barakas appreciated.
So much the better. If they were willing to give her the opportunity, she would find a way to make them regret it.
There were a few Tezerenee in sight, but none of them was facing her direction. Sharissa slipped out the door and hurried away, trying to put as much distance between her and the elf as possible. They might be watching her at this very moment, but she could play the game. If it turned out that she was incorrect and that no one knew where she was, then her precautions were appropriate.
Sharissa had a sudden desire to return to the days of her childhood, when things had been much, much more simple and straightforward.
Lord Barakas summoned her later that day. It was a formal audience, meaning she would stand and listen, speaking only when required. Her bodyguard informed her of this latter part as they walked to the audience. Sharissa hardly paid her any attention. She would not change. The patriarch expected her to be defiant, and she had no plans to disappoint him.
They were nearly there when a tall, dragonhelmed warrior stepped out of a side corridor and blocked their path. “I will escort the Lady Sharissa from this point on. You may retire for a time.”
“Yes, my Lord Lochivan.”
Neither said anything until the other Tezerenee had departed. Then, before the sorceress could build her bitterness up for a sufficient verbal volley, Lochivan removed his helm and said, “I apologize for bringing you to this place. I tried my best to leave you out of all of this, but you were too willful.”
“You mean I saw through your treachery!”
“Too late, if you recall. It was not treachery, either. You know my first loyalty is to the clan. I did succeed in convincing my father that, if you were left behind, there would be less support for Master Zeree if he chose to follow us. For you, the other Vraad would rally; for Darkhorse, they would be less inclined. You and your father were the only danger to the success of our plan.”
His manner was companionable, as usual, but Sharissa had no faith in appearances. “Whether you tried to help me or not hardly excuses what you helped to do to Darkhorse! Where is he? Again and again, I’ve asked the patriarch about him! He promised to let me see Darkhorse, then refused later!”
