“All shall be answered as you gain your strength. You’re just awakening. Here, now, let me introduce myself. I am Radas.”

The name pierced her like a dagger to the heart. She was cold, then hot, breaking into a sweat.

But another man might be named Radas. It wasn’t an uncommon name. “Where are you from, Radas?”

“I am lord of Iliyat. I have the resources to help you. Only stay where you are, and I will come to fetch you.”

The hells he would!

Lord Radas of Iliyat had ordered her death. He was responsible for the murder of her eagle. He was a killer, and she smelled his corruption even here, not knowing how far away he was or, indeed, how they could be talking at all.

She had flown ten years as a reeve. A lie to buy herself time to edge out of a bad situation was nothing she couldn’t handle easily. “I will wait for you here. How long will it take for you to reach me?”

She felt him nod, but she understood that he could not physically reach her from where he was now despite the magic that allowed them speech. “I have men in the area, searching for you. If you see them, you’ll be safe with them. But they won’t be able to reach you at the altar. That’s where you must meet me. Stay where you are. It will take me two days to get there. You haven’t told me your name?”

How persuasive he sounded! If it weren’t for knowing he was responsible for the murder of her eagle, if it weren’t for remembering how crisply he had ordered the men under his command to rape, mutilate, and then kill her, she would never have suspected what manner of man he was just by the pleasant tone of his words.

“I’m Ramit,” she said. “I’m so very confused. Can you tell me what has happened to me?”

“All in good time. You mustn’t rush these things. Some explanations are best accomplished face-to-face.”

I’ll just wager they are, she thought, and found herself shaking as she took another step, as the dusty hilltop vanished and a damp vista of marshland overhung by low clouds came into view. Cursing furiously, she strode to the center of the labyrinth, ignoring the landscapes flashing dizzily past. She stumbled down to the crevice, where water trickled into a basin from which the mare had been drinking. She unhooked the bowl from her belt and held it under the spring. Still trembling, she lifted the bowl to her mouth and drank her fill. The cold water burned her lips and throat. She started to cry, gulping sobs that doubled her over. Dead, slaughtered, and that poor chained Devouring girl dead by her own hand after being abused in ways that Marit was sure were worse than what little the girl had voiced aloud. Dead, lost, wandering.

Alone.

Panic swelled like a black cloud, ready to swallow her. She clawed for the steady heart that had taken her through so many years of reeve’s work; she fought past the tears, and found her strength.