The anger that had been simmering in Jenna came to a full boil. “I had a life,” she said. “It was a hard, desperate life, but it was something. Your mistress set the king of Arden to hunting me, and I lost my only family, my home, and my livelihood in the space of a month. Since then, I’ve been chained in a dungeon. Forgive me if I’m not eager to accept your offer of help.”
“I am sorry about what’s happened to you,” Strangward said. He stood and paced back and forth. “I know what it’s like to be hunted.”
Through the window, Jenna heard the bells in the temple tower strike one.
“My lord?” The tallest of Strangward’s companions nodded toward the window and raised his eyebrows.
“I know, Teza. I just need a little more time.” Strangward came back and sat down on the hearth, letting his hands drop between his knees. He took a deep breath, then said, “Tell me about your relationship with the Empress Celestine.”
“I am sick and tired of answering the same questions over and over,” Jenna said, her voice rising. “Why don’t you ask one of the other dozen people who’ve asked?”
The emissary raised both hands, as if to fend her off. “I am sorry for that. But I just want to make sure—make very sure—that we haven’t missed anything.”
She shivered, and it wasn’t just the draft from the window. There was something about the way he said it—something told her that there was a lot riding on the answer.
Abruptly, he gripped her hands again and sent more power sizzling into her. “Why is the empress looking for you? Tell me.” Finally, he let go and muttered, “This isn’t working, is it? You really are resistant to magic.” He said it like he was confirming something he’d been told.
But now images swirled through her mind, spinning so rapidly that she couldn’t fasten on any one of them. She pressed her hands to either side of her head, as if she could trap them somehow.
What was it? It was so damned frustrating.
“My lord,” the man called Teza said again. “We cannot stay much longer if we’re to catch the tide.”
Strangward nodded then, as if resigned. He squatted in front of Jenna, so he could look her in the eyes. “Are you telling me the truth, Jenna?” he asked quietly. In a last-chance kind of way. “You really don’t know why the empress is so desperate to find you? This is really important to both of us.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t know. I wish that I did. I’d hoped that you would explain it to me. I suppose we’ll just have to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She’d heard another voice, deep in her mind, stronger than it had been before.
Flamecaster. I come.
“Lord Strangward, a moment,” Teza said, motioning him closer. Strangward stood and crossed to where his liegeman waited near the door.
“I know this is hard for you,” Teza said in a voice that Jenna shouldn’t have been able to hear. “If it must be done, let me do it.”
“It is not fair for me to ask you to do this task for me,” Strangward said. “You’ve risked your life, you’ve lost so much already. I’ll do it myself.”
“But I’m volunteering, my lord. You know that I’m good with a blade. It will be a quick, kind cut. She won’t feel it, I promise.”
Jenna’s heart began to thump. She was no lamb, waiting patiently to be sacrificed. Easing to her feet, she grabbed up the oil lamp from the hearth, sprinted toward them, and flung it at the two of them. It shattered on the floor at their feet, spilling burning oil over the floor and the two men.
Flamecaster.
Jenna bolted for the door, leaping over a puddle of burning oil. She grabbed the door handle and yanked at it. Someone—Strangward or Teza—seized her arms and shoulders, dragging her back. They slipped in the oil and fell. The back of her head slammed into stone, and lights exploded behind her eyes. She heard screaming, someone calling her name, the door opening and closing. She smelled burning flesh, and wondered if it might be hers.
At that moment, one of the images Strangward had given her finally came into focus. It was a silver-haired woman, standing next to a fiery crater. She held a struggling child in her hands, dangling him over the flames. And then, as Jenna watched, horrified, she let him go.
She propped up to find that there was flame all around her. The draperies were ablaze, and the tapestries smoldering, stinking of burning wool and lanolin. Flames burned ceiling-high between her and the door. There would be no escape that way. She saw two charred bodies, but nobody else. The rest must have fled, and left her here to burn.
She guessed her skin must be charred as well, because it felt oddly numb. She looked down, and saw that her arms were encased in glittering scales, her hands replaced by claws. It reminded her of the way her wound had looked when it began to heal. The scales were gold and silver and copper—all the colors of her hair.