We smiled at each other over the table, and he said, “You asked before about this place, Elsha. It is a sanctuary, a hiding place for the Quelled who have been injured in the mines, or born deformed or mentally sick, whom the Chosen would have killed. They are brought here secretly, and live lives as whole and happy as possible. There are no slaves here, no lords. We all work in the mine if we are able, for as many hours a day as we like, and we share our firestones.

“The Firelord founded this place thirty years ago. There is no name for where we live, and you will find it on no

map. If the Chosen knew of it, we would be destroyed. We do not have their laws here, or their creed. We have only the great law of God, which is love; and our creed is that every soul is free to be most truly itself. Aren’t you eating, Elsha? I thought you’d be hungry, after your journey.”

He broke another loaf, and held half out to me. Astounded, I took it, and for the first time in my life I shared a meal with a man.

We ate a while in silence, then I asked, “Who heals the injured Quelled brought here? Is there a physician?”

“I heal,” he said.

Looking at him, at his gentle strength, I believed him. His very presence healed.

“Is that why my lord came here?” I asked, glancing back towards the bed. I could hear the Firelord snoring peacefully. “Did he come to you for healing?”

Teraj nodded, and finished his wine. He turned towards the shadows, away from me, and bent his head. I touched his sleeve, and felt a tingling come from him, a vibration not unlike firestone power. I withdrew my hand, disturbed in more ways than one.

“My lord is very ill, isn’t he?” I said.

Teraj turned to me again. “He is deathly ill, Elsha. His stomach is destroyed by disease, and it invades his other parts. I will do what I can to ease his pain and lend him strength for the Fire Festival, but beyond that I do not know.”

Grief and fear washed over me, and I stood up and turned away blindly, lost. Teraj took my cup from my hand, and I felt his arms and the warm firestone dust of his shirt, and the grief and strength of him.

“He does not know how ill he is,” he said gently, his hand beneath my chin, lifting it. “Don’t tell him, Elsha. He needs all his energy for the festival. Let him think he has a temporary illness that will run its course and go away again.”

“What happens if he dies?” I asked faintly, hardly daring to think.