Ah, Dougal thought. It starts with pity and grows into admiration, just like with the cats and falcons. You've lost your heart to our prisoner. I can let you love Shadow or the hounds, but we can't have that with the mistress of the keep. Such a powerful witch, she is. She's spelled you away from fealty, without you knowing--without even her knowing what she's doing. So great she'll be, once I've trained her.
He reached out with the Power, running fingers over Padric's emotions as he had soothed the peregrine with his touch. Padric was a valuable tool. Dougal couldn't afford to lose him yet. Not quite yet.
He felt the loyalty build, the warmth, the trust. He felt Padric break loose from the thin net of Maureen's weaving, felt the ragged bindings of obedience grow strong again.
Dougal wrapped his control in steel and set a watch on it. He shook his head in wonder. The signs had been there to read, and he had nearly missed them. Now he would be on guard.
"Remember, she must believe. If she thinks you're acting, the moment will pass. I would be most displeased."
"She won't break. She'll try to claw your eyes out when you come to rescue her, just like she did two nights ago."
Padric's eyes still glistened with unshed tears. Dougal scowled at the sight. "Shadow tried to claw both of us during the training. Now he serves me gladly. The peregrine bated until she nearly died from exhaustion. Those were only stages we had to pass. Keep to the plan."
"Master, if we keep this up much longer, she will die."
"No. She'll give up. No bird or beast or woman can stand against my skill."
Padric swallowed something bitter. "Remember Ghost."
Dougal remembered. Shadow's littermate, a female, black on black and a slimmer, deadlier grace: Ghost. She'd fought. When Dougal came to her cage, she'd throw herself against the bars--clawing toward him rather than away. She'd known why she was caged. She'd known who had caged her.
"True. Some animals can't be tamed," Dougal murmured. "Ghost preferred to die rather than obey." He shook his head. "Fiona isn't that strong."
"This isn't Fiona."
Dougal blinked at the reminder. Sometimes he confused the two women, the captive he held in his dungeon and the one he wished he held. But Maureen would be better: stronger and more beautiful. Maureen wouldn't haunt his nights with dread and failure and mockery. Maureen would help him destroy Fiona, destroy the fear and the acid laughter.
"No, she isn't Fiona. And because she isn't, she has no training in her power, no understanding of what she does. That is why my way must tame her, turn her to my will. That is why she'll surrender. My Blood is stronger."
Maureen would be the most powerful witch in the Summer Country. Dougal would control her. That was his revenge, revenge on all the Fionas of the world.
"My Blood is stronger," he repeated.
"Why don't you take more part in taming her, if your powers would make such a difference?"
"The woman isn't a hawk. She has a memory. Shadow is our smartest beast, and even he remembers poorly. We want this woman to love me, rather than just obey me. Everything that she hates must come from you, not me. I must be her rescuer. If she learns to hate me, it could slumber like banked coals and rekindle moons from now."
Padric stood, holding the hawk and thinking. Dougal read his face. Pain sat there, and confusion, and fear. Yes, my slave, he whispered to himself. You are building hatred in the heart of a powerful witch. You, personally. Think about what that means. Just don't think too much.
"Do exactly what I told you. This will be the final stroke. She hates and fears all men. You will strike to the heart of that fear, and push her straight into my arms."
Dougal read obedience in the slump of Padric's shoulders. The human turned away, carrying the peregrine back to the mews, carrying his own burdens back to the dungeon and the last act of Maureen's training. Dougal smiled and shook his head.
The dragon had been rare and beautiful. Humans were not rare at all, and few of them were beautiful. Padric was worth far less than the dragon. His value had been part of the balance from the very start.
Dougal waved those thoughts away and considered dragons, planning his approach to Liu Chen. For the moment, Maureen sat lower on his priorities.
Padric must do what needed doing until the final scene.
Chapter Twenty-One
"David!"
Jo stumbled to her feet, twisting around to look for his familiar form. He'd sounded close.
"David?"
No David. Not down in the sinkhole, not silhouetted against the afternoon sky, not poking his head out of the dark secret frightening cave that swallowed the stream. No rescuer. No rescue. She was still stuck in this fucking hole.
She slumped back on her favorite rock, inhaled the smell of damp stone and rotting leaves and a faint cinnamon trace from the ferns, and sighed. Nothing had changed. It even sounded the same, the ceaseless thin hiss and burble of water cascading down on rock.
Only the rope was new, and the lump with one arm draped over the rim high overhead. She'd never even known his name. She felt unreal, looking up at him, the sort of dissociation from her actions that psychos were supposed to feel.
And she'd thought Maureen was the homicidal maniac.
Schizoid or not, Little Sister had never killed anybody. Here Jo went, shooting a total stranger who might be her only way out of this goddamn pit. And she'd complained to Momma about a little round of talking to the trees?
Maureen. The whole mess was her fault. She’d come
