Suddenly she wanted out of her room. She had that much say, if little else. Sharissa departed the window, heading now for the door. It was not locked, but she had no intention of trying it. There were certain ways things were done around here, and she had come to accept them.
“Guard!”
A moment passed, a moment that seemed an eternity, before someone opened the door. One of her nameless female bodyguards stepped in, weapon ready. Sharissa had not even attempted to remember her bodyguards’ names; the guard changed so often that it was impossible to keep one name or another straight.
“You wished something, Lady Sharissa?”
“I wish to go outside and get a little air.”
“You do not need my permission to do that. I am here for your safety and to see to your needs.”
The tall, slim sorceress put her hands on her hips, her only rebuttal to the claim that the Tezerenee had just made. “I know the courtyard is open to me, but I also know that you will be watching me… for my own good. I merely thought I would inform you first.”
The guard stood there as if not sure she understood the mind of this outsider. That was as Sharissa wanted it. A touch of arrogance with a touch of confusion. Act both cooperative and defiant. She found, with few exceptions, that the clan had trouble coping with her.
Her only true threats lay in Lochivan, Lady Alcia, and, of course, Barakas himself.
The courtyard was abuzz with Tezerenee crowding around the returning force. Sharissa, wandering on the outskirts of the assembled throng, noted the positive aura of the Tezerenee. The news the expedition brought was favorable. That could only mean that they had faced no true opposition and that the aerie of the Seekers was either abandoned or so pitifully defended that nothing stood in the clan’s way of claiming it.
She caught a glimpse of Lochivan, who had, at the last moment, not led the expeditionary force. That honor had instead gone to his younger sibling, Dagos, whom she knew little about and, therefore, did not want to risk making suspicious by asking too many questions just yet. Dagos was almost a nonentity, automatically obedient to his lord and sire and having little personality to call his own. Why he had been chosen to lead was a decision she questioned, but trying to second-guess the patriarch was impossible.
As she surveyed the crowd, she kept an eye on her guard. The woman was caught between her duties and her interest. That was as Sharissa wanted it. She moved nearer the crowd, always walking away from her shadow. The guard also moved nearer, which only made her curiosity grow. The Tezerenee’s eyes lingered on Lochivan and Dagos, who were discussing something animatedly.
Sharissa, the chaos shielding her, slipped away toward the elfin prisoner.
She felt no great victory for outfoxing the sentry; the woman would find her. What the sorceress wanted, however, was a few moments of private conversation so that she might take the measure of her fellow captive. If he still had any will left, there was a chance he could aid her in truly escaping. If not, he might still be able to give her some idea about the surrounding territory and where she might go.
Another reason, and one she would not admit to herself, was that, like her father and Gerrod Tezerenee, she had an overactive curiosity about new things… or people.
She entered the building where he was held. There were no guards. They had joined the others, an indication of how important the purpose of the expedition had been to the clan. Sharissa made her way down a short corridor and peered through the first cell door she found. Being the sole prisoner incarcerated there, Sharissa was not surprised to find him on the first attempt.
It was doubtful that the elf even needed guards; after more than one thorough questioning and little food or water, he was more of a shell than a living creature. His wrists and ankles were chained, and the chains resembled her collar, which explained why he had tried no magic. His head hung forward, as if he slept, but the moment she put a hand to the bars of the cell, he looked up.
The fire was still in his eyes. They had beaten his body, but not his will.
“I remember you.” Though a bit hoarse, his voice was smooth and correct. “You look so innocent compared to the others. I suppose it works to your advantage.”
“I am not one of them.”
“You… you look like one of them, although you dress more like a woodland spirit than living death. You also walk around freely.”
She leaned forward, inspecting him with a different perspective now. “You don’t sound as beaten as you appear.”
He laughed, but it turned into more of a croak. “I am very well beaten, mistress!”
“No, I think you’re holding out better than you pretend.”
“You think I want this to go on and on? You think I enjoy this pain?”
His lips were chapped, and it was clear he was suffering from dehydration. Sharissa searched the area, but she could not find any water. Nor did there seem to be a key to his cell. She would have to talk to him from here.
“Listen to me! I’m not one of them! We’re part of the same people-”
“Which makes you a Vraad.” He took no pains to hide his distaste.
“We are not all the same! Look at this!” She nearly put her hands on the collar, but restrained herself at the last moment. Sharissa hoped he would recognize her predicament, else she would be forced to prove herself to him in a more painful manner.
He stared at her neck, but said nothing. She waited, always fearing that someone would, in the next breath, enter the building and deprive her of a chance for private conversation. After a time, the elf closed his eyes. The sorceress tried to ready herself for a demonstration that would, she hoped, convince him before it killed her.
“You could be a trickster,” he commented without opening his eyes. “The collar could be nothing more than display for my benefit.”
“I can prove it to you easily enough.” Sharissa began to tremble. It would not be an easy thing. She was brave, but no one liked the thought of accidentally choking themselves to death.
The elf’s almond-tear eyes opened, burning into her own. He shook his head as best his bonds would allow him to do. “That will not be necessary. I think… I think I will trust you on this.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “Thank you. I was willing to prove myself, but this is hardly an experience I’ve come to enjoy.”
“I know the feeling.” He rattled his chains and pointed at his own collar. “My name, mistress-the one I give you, that is-is Faunon.”
“I am Sharissa Zeree. Definitely a prisoner like yourself.”
“I’ve seen how they treat you, mistress, and I wish they would treat all their prisoners so!”
She reddened. “I didn’t mean to downgrade what they’ve done to you! It’s true I’ve been pampered, but only because they think I will become one of them.”
His smile unnerved her. “Perish such a horrible notion! That would be like turning a flower into a weed!”
Time had to be running out. “Listen, I only came to see if you still have the will to escape. I know only tales about this region, and I’ll need your help!”
“How fortunate for me.”
“I would help you regardless of whether I needed you or not!” Ariela had never been this difficult to talk to! Still, she could not blame the elf for his rather cynical attitude. “Are you interested?”
He managed to give her a dry chuckle. “Do you think I would prefer to stay here?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back yet. There’s… there’s another who has to come with us, but I have to find where they’ve hidden him.”
The elf gave her a quizzical look, but she had no time to explain about Darkhorse. “Never mind! I promise I’ll be back soon!”