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Message: <blockquote data-quote="randomling" data-source="post: 1532722" data-attributes="member: 8432">I'm shaking as I bathe. Terrified. Hot water, soap, strange scents - I can't get my mind off the act I'm putting on, how I can't see any way to carry it off. Zana could do it. Zana's brave and tough. Vorne is going to see through me in a second. And kill me the second after. They've put the awful cat-thing inside with me. I can't help thinking it's watching me, and I shiver more despite the warm water, taking as long as I can to wash, avoiding my wounds with the soap, biting my lip against the painful movements. The water darkens with my blood. When I get out, I see they've laid fresh clothes for me on the floor. Black of course, too big, shaped for a man, the fabric light and slippery. I pull on my armour and slip the clothes over them. Even armoured, I feel vulnerable, unprotected. Alone. Where is Zana, I wonder? What happened to Pallas? Is Apari alive? So many questions. Dressed, I affect what I think is a Legate's stance - back straight, head up, face set despite my aching wounds - and march into the bedroom where the redheaded woman is waiting. She rubs some oil on my face, and I feel myself squirm inside even as it heals me. Shadow magic. I quiz her, feeling brutal. Then I walk to the library and, with a deep breath, head inside. Vorne is waiting. Suddenly I'm cold. There are books everywhere. I think of Tane and Loren, both scholars, reading men who would have loved the chance to get at some of the knowledge inside them. Both dead now, among the host of people I imagine watching over me. I'm nothing but an illiterate peasant girl, no match for a Legate. I'm craving Zana. I wish she could tell me what to do. I sit down, and Vorne comes to sit near me. He's like oil, greasy and cool, and as we talk I want to do nothing but wash him off me. There's strong drink in crystal glasses and a strange toast. I feel like a traitor making it, but I stay strong. Think tough. Think of Zana, I keep saying to myself. I think of Bendo, too, of his band and their rough honest ways: food and drink, a floor to sleep on, straight talk, and all around me men and women prepared to die for the same reasons as me. Well, here's the test, Jezzan Hest. Are you really prepared to die for the things you said you'd die for? He sees through me. Of course he does. I look into his smug face, feel the room full of his oily presence and the dark of the Shadow, and I promise he'll never break me. Not now, not ever. He stands behind me, fingers digging into my shoulders. I concentrate on the pain in my side, and the wounds become my strength. I think of anything but him, drawing my mind away from his oily voice, from the quaking inside me. Then I hear it. Footfalls. Orc shout. Sword strike. Zana. My heart almost splits for joy. I want to leap up, yell her name, punch the air; but I'm a fortress, a stone tower; impenetrable and ice cold. Vorne grips me tighter. An orc comes to put his vardatch at my throat; the cat goes; orders are shouted; my heart thumps in my hears. I'm listening for Zana. I want to hear her voice, her walk, Kursu's blade singing. She's on my mind. I think back three nights, to sitting up on watch, mind racing as it always seems to late at night. Zana was sleeping by my side. She seemed so much part of the earth. As I watched her, I thought how strong we were together - where she is earth, solid and tough, I am the sky, faster and lighter than Zana. Now, I think, I have to be earth, and let Zana be sky for once. I'm gazing at the horizon now, watching for the first light of dawn after a long, cold night. "You have one chance to get out of here alive - your guards are dead - let her go and we will let you go." My Zana. My sister. She's got them on the run - Vorne's nervous again, uncertain, and my heart skips in my chest. Apari's there too, his voice shouting Zana's name in jubilation, but I'm a wall. Zana talks. Vorne responds. I'm not listening to their words, I'm too dazed and happy to do anything but bask in the sound of Zana's voice. I'm walked to the door with the orc, vardatch still at my throat, and though I can't see her I can sense where she is - behind the door, out of spell range, smart girl. Close enough, almost, to reach out and grab. Apari appears from behind the door, and I see it in his eyes - there's a plan. He looks at me questioningly. I nod my head. He starts to cast a spell, and the orc's grip tightens on me. I can't see Zana, and in the moment before he slits my throat I know I never will. So I picture her, her dark eyes shining with humour, her cocky grin, Kursu gleaming in the sunlight. She'll carry on beyond me. She'll be there to remember me. It's a comfort. I hold onto that.</blockquote>

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