Masques Read Online Free PDF Page B

cage.
    The ae’Magi tilted her face so that her eyes met his, and said in a leading tone, “I wonder how he broke through my illusion.”
    He couldn’t expect a slave to understand what had happened, he was talking to himself. But he’d given her an opening—this was going to hurt.
    “But he didn’t break through your spell, Master,” she answered in bewildered tones.
    He looked down at her expressionlessly, and she quit fighting the urge to curl into a ball on the floor of the cage. He made a small motion with a finger, and she screamed as her body twisted helplessly under the fire of his magic.
    Each time he did this to her was worse than the time before. Aralorn watched as the tendons pulled and stretched, protesting the sensations they endured. When it finally stopped, she didn’t fight the tremors that shook her, telling herself that she was playing her part—but wondering deep inside whether she could have stopped had she tried.
    After she lay still, the ae’Magi said softly, “I don’t like to be contradicted, child. He knew you were not a falcon.”
    It was over. Over. He probably wouldn’t do that again tonight. Or if he did, he’d at least give her some time to recover. She could tell herself that anyway.
    “Yes, my lord,” she said hoarsely, from her position on the floor of the cage. “Of course he knew, I didn’t mean to contradict you—how could I? I misunderstood what you meant. You knew his magician broke the spell for him, how else would he have known?”
    “What magician?” The ae’Magi’s voice was sharp, almost worried.
    “He was standing over behind that pillar.” She pointed to someplace vaguely on the far side of the room, and the mage turned swiftly as if to look for someone still there.
    “What made you think that he was a magician?”
    “He made gestures like you do sometimes. He left with the young king.” Aralorn kept her voice to a whisper such as a frightened girl might use. No anger. No protest. People in his thrall felt pain all right, but they adored him even while they shuddered in fear of what he could do. She’d seen them.
    “What did he look like?”
    “I don’t know, he stayed in the shadows. He was dressed all in blue, my lord.” Blue was the ae’Magi’s favorite color—a good third of the people in the room had been wearing some shade of blue.
    “What did the boy say to you?” He held the word “boy” just a little longer than necessary, apparently liking it better than “king.”
    “I don’t remember . . .”
    Whatever he did with his spell didn’t work only on her body—though her muscles cramped hard enough that she thought she could hear the bones begin to break. The pain weakened Aralorn’s natural resistance to his other spells and gradually the newly familiar feeling of shame crept over her. She should try harder to please him. Why wasn’t she more obedient? Look at what she made him do to her. As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, leaving her shuddering and crying helplessly.
    “When I ask you something, I expect an answer.” The ae’Magi’s voice was gentle.
    “He asked if I wanted to be freed. I told him I wanted to be here. I live only to serve you, my lord. It is my honor to serve the ae’Magi ...” She let her voice trail off. That’s it, she cheered herself silently, placate him, stay in character; the gasps as she fought against crying and the whimper at the end were a nice touch; artistic really—it was too bad that she hadn’t thought to do them on purpose.
    He reached a hand out to her, and she pressed against it, getting as close to him as she could though the pain had gone and, with it, the full effect of his magic. She almost wished that the magic he used to increase his charisma stayed as effective on her as it was when he hurt her. Instead, she experienced an overwhelming desire to bite the manicured fingers—or throw up. The cold, metal edge of the cage dug into her side.
    “What else did you say to