Barad sat on a cot against the far wall, the bed tiny beneath him, like a child’s. She wondered if he ever lay on it, for surely his legs and arms would have hung down to the stone floor. Thinner already than when last she had seen him, angles and joints measured his bulk. His legs rose unnaturally long, bent at knees on which he had set his crossed arms and rested his forehead. A single wrist chain attached him to an iron ring in the wall. On hearing her enter, Barad lifted his head and rolled his sightless stone eyes in her direction.

Yes, she thought, there is reason to fear me. She turned and gestured for the guard to leave them alone. He did so gladly.

“You don’t smell like a Marah,” the prisoner said, after a few moments of silence. His voice carried the same grave timbre she remembered from before. It held a weight and substance at odds with the lanky, emaciated form that produced it.

“Do they feed you?” Corinn asked.

The man squinted. She knew he could not see her, but a lifetime of habits still ruled his mannerisms. “The queen? So the queen pays a visit to a blind prisoner? And to ask after the quality of his meals? The world yet offers surprises. Yes, they bring me food. I have little appetite, though.”

“You must regain it, then,” Corinn said. “If I wished you dead I would have killed you. I do not wish you to starve.”

Barad tilted his head back in a motion that became an openmouthed yawn, audible in the enclosed room. When he was finished with it, he rubbed his nose with his manacled hand. The chains clinked dully. “Kind of you.”

“No, not really. I don’t have much use for kindness anymore. Not for its own sake, at least.” Corinn looked about the cell for a moment, though there was nothing in it to catch an eye. “Do you know that my son almost died?”

Barad crooked one eyebrow, another gesture made like a sighted man. “I heard something about that,” he said. “I am sorry. Innocents should not be victims of our wicked dance.”

“Traitors tried to kill him, Barad. Traitors who would kill you as well and enslave or butcher all the people you so love. Those traitors showed themselves by trying to kill my son and me. You see? This is something you haven’t acknowledged. The Akarans represent the people you love to the world. When first an enemy aims to harm them, they aim at an Akaran heart. Think of my father.”

The prisoner considered her words for a respectful length of time, and then said, “That’s not quite how I see it.”

“Yes,” Corinn snapped, “but you don’t see it any other way either. You don’t see! You never did.”