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seemed to take a little more thought or preparation before they began using their feet.
    “My apologies for my stupidity, my lord! I beg you command me.” My tongue rattled off the necessary words. Not too many. No excuses. Prattling or excuses always made them angrier.
    He was silent for a long while, and I dared not look up.
    “Melt the wax.”
    I got to my feet and stepped back to the stool, but as the blood rushed out of my aching head, another wave of dizziness made me stagger slightly against the table.
    “What’s wrong with you?”
    “Nothing, my lord.” He didn’t really want to hear it. “Would you prefer the white wax or the green or some other?”
    “Red. For Kiril, always red.”
    I bowed my head and got about the business of sealing the letter. When he had pressed his signet ring into the soft red wax, he rang a bell, and one of his gentleman attendants appeared before the ringing had ceased. There were at least two of the gold-clad young men outside the door at all times in addition to the four heavily armed bodyguards.
    The Prince dispatched the letter on its way to Parnifour, then turned back to me. I was uneasy, sitting idle on the stool under his unwavering eye.
    “Get out. Tell Durgan you’re to have ten lashes for insolence. You think too much, and you don’t say what you’re thinking.”
    I performed my obeisance and said nothing ... certainly not what I was thinking.

Chapter 3
     
    It was another seven days until I was brought out of my cell again. The day was brilliantly sunny, a rarity in Capharna’s high valley, which seemed to capture every fog, mist, and cloud that hung in the northern mountains of Azhakstan. Perhaps it was this ever-present cloud of mystery that convinced the Derzhi, who had their origins in the dune seas of central Azhakstan where the sky was a constant flat steel blue, that Capharna was a holy city, sacred to their gods.
    The doors of the slave house had been thrown open to the sun. It was still cold enough to show your breath, but anything was better than the stale, fetid air of my burrow under the floor. I stretched and inhaled and felt half-human. My other half was itching, stinking, and squinting to keep out the painful glare of sunlight on snow. But I wasn’t greedy.
    “What’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen anyone smile after nigh on three weeks down there.” Durgan held the white tunic close to his brawny chest, as if planning to withhold it until I had confessed my secret sin.
    “I’ve slept enough for ten men, I’ve not had a lash in seven days, and yesterday’s meat was only half gristle and not quite off. I’ve had worse weeks.”
    The slave master stared at me as if I were mad. “You’re an odd one, Ezzarian.”
    I could have said the same for Durgan, who had not only made sure the Fryth boy sent my water down every day, but had sent two cups instead of just the one. And the portions of food in my one meal a day had been noticeably larger than before. But it’s never wise to point out a kindness in your master, lest you find out it was all a mistake.
    I pointed to the tunic. “Is that for me?”
    “Oh, aye. As before. In his chambers. Be quick about it.”
    I bowed, took myself to the cistern, and, once the slave master had inspected me and given his approval, started for the palace. As I left the slave house, Durgan called after me, “Watch your tongue, slave. Better than last time.”
    I was not averse to watching my tongue. I just wished I knew how to go about it with Aleksander.
    On this occasion the bodyguards outside the Prince’s door searched me before I was allowed to knock. As they prodded and poked self-importantly, I heard the disconcerting sounds of glass breaking and cursing from behind the door. At the snappish, “Come,” my fading lash marks stung in warning.
    The Prince was throwing things: pillows, statuary, wineglasses and bottles, and the occasional knife. Evidently this had been going on for quite a while,