Surrounded by intendancy sentinels, all people she knew, Elen was marched to the last cell. Lord Duenn pushed rudely forward. By lamplight, the man insisted on personally investigating the walls, as well as the lack of windows save for slits for ventilation too narrow for a body to squeeze through, before loudly declaring himself satisfied that the cell was secure enough for his liking. He himself shoved her inside, waited until the bars were locked into place, and tromped out. His militiamen followed; the one who had mentioned the gloves cast a nasty glance back at her, promising violence. The gate into the guardroom slammed shut.

Voices drifted away as Duenn departed from the blockhouse, pontificating in his loud voice all the while. Throughout this entire wretched procession she had not even gotten a last glimpse of Kem; he was already sickeningly out of her reach. She didn’t care about herself, not compared to what Kem would endure if Duenn was allowed to take him. Yet what could she do? What options did she have?

After setting her pack on the floor, she stood alone in dimness, gripping the bars, cold with foreboding. The gate at the end of the central corridor was a heavy door, banded with iron, with a barred grille set into it through which the guards could peer down the corridor and see all the cells.

The latch of the guardroom gate shifted, a mere scrape. The heavy wood door creaked open a crack. A shape pressed into the gap. The glint of a knife blade caught on a beam of light.

“Here, now!” called Ujin’s familiar voice from the guardroom beyond. Ujin didn’t normally have blockhouse duty, but the intendant trusted him. “We keep that door closed, friend, so we don’t have to smell the stink! Come sit down! Let’s have a game of dice, eh!”

The glint vanished as the knife was withdrawn and the door closed. Through the grille’s opening, she heard the Orledder sentinels joking loudly with their new companions about whether horseshit or elkshit smelled worse. Ujin began singing a popular song, which had a foot-stomping chorus the rest could join in on and about one hundred increasingly lewd verses. As they sang the first refrain of “Just one more time, dear,” a shadow stirred at the back wall of the corridor.

“I need an explanation,” said the intendant in a low voice.

18 ALL WE HAD TO LOSE WAS OUR LIVES

“I appreciate the trust you show me,” Elen said as quietly as possible, grateful for the noisy singing. Obviously, the intendant had arranged it.

“I am disappointed,” he said in a cool tone. “I thought you trusted me in return.”