attacking Sundell troops. Shaul believes they were more frightened than dangerous. Given their youth, I intend to be merciful but not overly so.
I also want to share my good news. I think we're going to have a child. Think of it, Peto, an heir for both our lands. I know it's too early to be sure, but I have many of the first signs. If this news turns out to be only wishful thinking, I know we'll be together soon to try again. In the meantime, we have the duties of our lands to keep us apart.
So far, things go well here, though I wish the people would look to me rather than Jorani for advice. Jorani supports me, but they are so used to him that it is difficult for me to take charge. Though it pains me to mention it, he is feared in this land; it is difficult for me to pacify the people with him here, and because of our years together I don't want him to know I need him well away. I'm hoping you can think of some reason for him to leave-either for Argentine or Shadow Castle-and word the request as if it were your idea. It only need be for a few months at most; then I want him back, for I have always valued his advice.
With the most important news out of the way, she went on about more trivial matters, mentioning the primitive conditions at Nimbus Castle and the changes she hoped to make. Perhaps she should not have written him so quickly; the news might make him rush to her side. Nonetheless, it was better for him to think she was with child early rather than write later when she was certain. Better he be disappointed than suspicious. She also requested that he ask Sagra to come to Nimbus Castle. 'Now that Greta is gone, I have no one whose company I enjoy as well,' Ilsabet wrote. 'But please ask her if she wishes to come. She may be a bondwoman, but we will get along much better if she has a choice.'
Now that the awe of being in this bed, this room, and inside the castle walls had worn off, Emory considered the reasons for his being here and decided he didn't like them.
Jorani and the servants were far too kind, too ready with answers he wanted to hear. He was also beginning to doubt he would be released, especially now that he was ill. He'd just begun wondering if Jorani had done something to him when servants carried in his breakfast and a second plate for the baroness.
Her hair, falling loose over her shoulders, was white against the deep blue of her gown. As they ate, he could not help noticing her perfectly oval eyes, the delicate hands that covered her mouth each time she laughed.
She did not seem to be thinking of her impression on him. Nonetheless, she often watched him so intently that he began to wonder what she expected of him. When she poured him a glass of cider, he looked down at it without drinking.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'I fear Lord Jorani.'
She frowned, then broke into laughter. 'Ah, poisons! No, we would not go to such trouble if we meant to kill you,' she said.
'To experiment?'
'Jorani outgrew that need long ago.' She sipped from her own glass, then held it out. 'If you're concerned about the cider, drink mine.'
He flushed. 'No,' he said and picked up his glass. He'd taken no more than a sip when the dizziness he'd felt yesterday returned. This time his hand went numb and the goblet fell, splattering the juice across the brocade tablecloth.
'Baroness,' he whispered, staring at her in horror as a triumphant smile grew on her thin lips.
'Jorani has no need to experiment. I do,' she said.
As he fell backward, he opened his mouth to scream, but she was beside him in an instant, her hand covering it so even the croak that managed to escape his throat was muffled. In a moment, he stopped struggling and lay faceup on the floor, his eyes raised toward the ceiling, though they focused on nothing.
'Your life depends on your answers,' Ilsabet said. 'Try to blink.'
Though it took effort, he did as she asked.
'Try to move.'
His limbs were dead, save for his eyes, which blinked furiously until even that stopped. He feared going blind, losing one of the last holds he had on the world. Her lips moved close to his face. He could smell her perfume as she said, 'I'm going to kill you now. It will be painful but brief.
Though he could not move, his fear made him tremble. She raised his head, laying it across her knees. He heard her sigh of pleasure, her soft laugh. Then her hands covered his mouth, pinched his nose shut. Paralyzed, he could do nothing as his lungs began to fight for air.
She broke her promise, letting in a bit of air each time he lost consciousness until finally his body was unable to fight the inevitable any longer, and he died.
His spirit floated in a soft darkness that seemed neither frightening nor comforting. He had not been judged, he thought, and wondered what the fates would decide for him. As beams of light, bright and beautiful, began cutting through the dark veil around him, he felt warmth, life, and found himself pulled back into his body. He opened his eyes and cried out at the pain of the bright sunlight.
'So quickly,' she whispered.
He tried to sit up. Pain coursed through him-an agony that made him cry out. She had killed him, then brought him back from the dead. Only the fates had that sort of power. He looked up at her, entranced by the beauty he seemed to notice for the first time. His first act when he was able to move was to kiss her hand. Then abruptly he dropped it. He seemed bewildered, as if the knowledge of what she had done had vanished as dreams do upon awakening.
'Now you do as I command,' she said.
His expression did not change when she said those words, as if he had lost all his own will.
Seeming to fear that his sudden adulation would be suspect, the baroness gave Emory a dozen silver coins and a final command. He was to return to Pirie, tell everyone her plans for Kislova, and come back to her in a month to discuss what he'd learned.
She watched him go, walking swiftly down the narrow peninsula road and up the cliff road toward the village. An hour ago he'd been dead. She'd brought him back.
What price would the fates demand for such power?
The thought sobered her, but she put it from her mind and sought out Jorani, who was in his tower room writing letters for Sundell.
'Tell Peto I let the boy go,' she told him. 'He looked well enough and when he asked it seemed the right moment.' She told him what she asked Emory to do.
'It's good that he's gone back because the two we let go earlier apparently told everyone Emory was our hostage. This morning five of his friends managed to separate one of the Sundell guards from the rest of his patrol and beat him nearly to death before they were overcome. We've locked them up. Since the guard will most likely die, I hardly think we can let them go.'
'You're right. What happened before could be seen as a misunderstanding. This, on the other hand, is sedition. Separate the men into individual cells. Let them sit in the darkness and rot until the town itself petitions for their release. That's the time to show mercy if we choose to.'
She left him to his letters. Later, in a sharp slanted script that showed her excitement, she described what she'd done.
From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet
As the boy clutched his neck and fell, I watched him, feeling what he felt, the delight his pain gave me.
I knelt beside him and told him I would kill him, intending to be swift. But when I touched him and felt him shiver like some helpless wild creature in my hands, something came over me, an excitement I did not understand. I played with him, bringing him to the edge of death a dozen times, then reviving him. It seemed I could feel his spirit pleading for release, begging me, then hating me for the pain, the death.
And the first thing he did when he could move was grasp my hand as if he were not worthy to touch me, and kiss it. What a magnificently perfect curse-to
Elmme Berqstrom kill a man and make him your slave. I find it ironic that such power should come from a
