RHAZAT seemed to be biding her time, and that worried Klia. She was allowed to wander at will, so she filled her pockets with food every morning and set off in a different direction. She’d briefly considered stealing a horse from the stable, but when she went to lead one out of the stall, it hissed at her in a horrid, unnatural way that made the hairs on her arms rise. She’d backed hastily away and struck off on foot.

Over the next week she chose a new direction and followed it until half of her carefully rationed food was gone, then returned by a slightly different route. If more food was available, she’d repeat the reconnoiter until the light failed. Some paths brought her full-circle back to Zikara before she had changed direction. Others stretched on, past the point she could go with the amount of food she could carry. It was very disconcerting, but underscored the magical nature of the place.

Although her days seemed to revolve around food and its rationing, it was only with an effort that she could eat at all, given the awful doubt Rhazat had planted in her mind. She wasn’t ready to die yet, though, so she did her best not to think about it, and ate as sparingly as she could and still keep up her strength. She was losing weight quickly. Her clothes were loose on her already slim frame, and she’d taken her belt in two notches.

She’d easily found her way back to the cave with the mysterious stone; the dyrmagnos had no reason to hide it, since apparently only Klia could disturb it. She avoided it at first, but as day bled into indistinguishable grey day, she found herself there studying the cave drawings, hideous as they were, for some sort of guidance. There didn’t seem to be any pattern, just the work of a dark mind.

The glowing black opal enticed her with its offer of possible escape. It would be easy. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, so strong was the pull. Suddenly the light blurred as the tears came. Sinking to her knees, she buried her face in her hands and wept—for Thero, for her unborn daughter, for herself, and for sheer despair and frustration and the oppressive uncertainty of what the dyrmagnos meant to do with her. How long had she been here? A week? Two? She’d lost all track.