“Really?” Hulda pouted. “I am disappointed. But have you guessed why? Ancar has promised him the throne. Orthallen has wanted that for so very long, you see. He thought he had it when he arranged for an assassin to take Selenay’s father in battle. But then there was Selenay—and all those Heralds who persisted in protecting her. He decided to do away with them first—it’s a pity how little luck he’s had. He has been so surprised at the way you keep eluding his traps. He’ll be even more amazed when Ancar gives him the dagger instead of the crown. But I am disappointed that you had guessed at his perfidy already.”

“My poor dear—two disappointments in one day.” Ancar turned his cold gaze back on Talia. “Well, since you have denied me one pleasure, you can hardly blame anyone but yourself when I use you for another, can you? Perhaps it will make up for the entertainments your actions denied my dear nurse.”

“Ah, but be wary of this wench, my lord King,” Hulda cautioned. “She is not without weapons, even now. Your servant must not let the barrier break for even a moment.”

He smiled again. “Small chance of that, my love. He knows the penalty should he fail to keep her trapped within her own mind. Should he weaken, my heart—he becomes yours.”

She trilled with delight as he signaled to the hulking guards that stood behind him.

They seized Talia and dragged her to her feet, pinioning her arms behind her back. Anguish threaded her body as the wound broke open anew, but she bit her lip and suffered silently.

“Stubborn as well! How entertaining you will be, Herald. How very entertaining.”

He turned and led the way from the cell with the magician and Hulda in close attendance and the guards following with Talia. There was a long corridor that smelled of mold and damp, and an iron door at the end of it. Beyond it was the smell of fear, and blood.

They shackled her arms to the cold stone above her head, putting an almost intolerable strain on her wounded shoulder.

“I consider myself an artist,” Ancar told her, “There is a certain artistry in producing the most pain without inflicting permanent damage, or causing death.” He removed a long, slender iron rod from the fire and regarded the white-hot tip thoughtfully. “There are such fascinating things to be done with this, for instance.”

As from a century distant she recalled Alberich discussing some of the more unpleasant realities of becoming a Herald with a small knot of final-year students in which she was included.