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How long had she slept? The warmth seeping through the window seemed to indicate a clear morning. The burning in her lungs had subsided and the twinges of pain around her wounds were becoming more bearable, but Darjin decided to remain still. The pillows, sheets, and blankets smelled of wildflowers and surrounded her like a cocoon of serenity.

Shadi was not in the room; perhaps she had finally abandoned her sentry post by the bed and gone to sleep. More likely, she was taking a bath and would slip back into the room any moment, resuming her watch like a worried mother hen.

Still with her eyes closed, Darjin smiled at this image and thought that these attentions were one of the many ways her lady tried to keep herself busy; it was a way to not stop thinking about the abuse she had experienced. Shadi wanted to exhaust herself and no doubt she was succeeding. But how much longer could she have stayed awake before she collapsed, exhausted?

She moved slowly in that cloud of fine fabric, trying to get to her side. Just then she felt breathing. Was it unknown? Familiar?

Not really.

Then came his smell.

Laamar Lutif.

She opened her eyes to find him there, a short distance from the bed, standing with his arms crossed and his shoulders propped against the wall by the fireplace. The lieutenant who had accompanied her on the mad dash to Narden of the Eyes was watching her with his lips curled in a closed smile.

"Good morning, Dagger."

"Why do people keep spying on me while I sleep?"

He raised his hands. "That should be a good sign. It means there are many who care about your health."

She let out a grumble that could have taken on a thousand different shades of impatience. "How are you?"

"More than well, thank you. Even better now."

Darjin blinked and studied him more closely. The man, freed from his combat gear and dressed in a relaxed manner, exuded a quiet confidence. The white tunic and breeches contrasted with his dark complexion and vivid eyes. It was an extremely pleasant sight, and Darjin lingered upon it without any qualms. After all, she was recovering. Who could have expected her to be completely rational?

Besides, Laamar seemed to enjoy the attention. His smile indulged her generously.

"Who let you in? Are you off duty?"

He took a step toward her. "The men guarding your quarters have been friends of mine for a long time. Lugalen Jan Hura granted me a day's leave. I thought he would be furious to learn that I let you fly off with the Tamer. I think he is just happy to have his daughter back safe and sound. Your heroism has made him more charitable than usual."

Darjin shook her head. "Heroism? I left a trail of corpses. There are innocent young women under the rubble of the hill. Some might call my actions cynical, opportunistic. Perhaps even selfish. Believe me, Laamar, heroism is forged by deeds of a very different nature."

He approached again. "But you saved your lady. You brought her home against all odds. You protected her when dozens of my comrades failed. I'm sorry for those girls, but no one could have asked more of you. You were magnificent."

She stared at him again. She liked the way he looked at her. She liked the warmth it conveyed and the simplicity with which it showed her admiration.

No, not only that.

He longed for her. He seemed to be watching a fountain of icy water in a desert of fire.

Darjin let Laamar's eyes sink into her own, filled with the way they shone in the morning light.

She wondered if she could have had more of him.

She wondered what it would be like to surrender to the warmth he radiated and let it make her forget the questions, the horrible images that robbed her of sleep.

But she did not need Laamar to give her a verbal answer. They both knew the truth, just as they sensed that his presence there was not out of respect or courtesy.

So Darjin shifted a little to make room for the lieutenant on the bed. As she lifted the sheets and blankets, she caught the smile that lit up his face. When he reached her, he was naked. He opened his mouth to say something.

She stopped him with a kiss.

There is no torture worse than a corset. Shadi bit her tongue to keep from saying the sentence out loud as her mother, standing behind her, pulled at the laces and tightened the trap of cloth and splints that was as stiff as iron. Rarely did Tiona Jan Hura take the trouble to perform such a task. There were dozens of servant girls willing to do it, all far more experienced and faster than she. But lately, the Lugalen woman had decided to take care of her daughter's preparation herself.

Shadi knew she should have been grateful for this attention, but she sensed unspoken reproach in her mother's eyes.

She stifled a groan of pain as another pull choked her.

"I've never been so nervous," the woman exclaimed, continuing to tug at the laces as if she were maneuvering the reins of an unruly horse.

Shadi bit the inside of her mouth.

Never? Not even when she was kidnapped? She wondered if the woman had ever cared about anything but her own interests.

But the answer soon came, sadly obvious.

Of course Tiona cared about her daughter. Because Shadi had a job to do. Her mother needed her. But what would happen if she failed? What happened to daughters who could not fulfill the aspirations of such ambitious women?

"They say that our Lord is going to visit us, just tonight. Do you realize this? We will be in the presence of King Zayr himself! I could faint, it's too much!" she groaned, but did not stop fiddling with the laces. Maybe she did it even more angrily. For a woman who said she was about to faint, she looked pretty strong. In any case, her questions were purely rhetorical. Shadi had learned to recognize the special sharp inflection Tiona gave to her words when she expected her to join the conversation.

This was not the case. Shadi had to remain silent.

"We have to thank his infinite benevolence and your father's skill that your dear Dagger is still not under investigation."

Shadi shivered.

Under investigation?

She did not need to ask for an explanation aloud. Tiona wanted her to know and wanted to give her the information in person.

As Shadi listened, she wondered when her mother had decided to despise her so much. When had she started to see her as a disappointment? Had it happened right away? Had she held her in her arms, just born, and decided that Shadi was a lost cause?

"The other Lugalens, the fathers of the poor dead creatures under the tower, want to know exactly what happened. They wonder why you are alive and their daughters are not." Tiona spat out the "you" like a bitter, indigestible morsel. "I can hardly blame them. I would be upset too if I lost my daughter. I would want answers."

Shadi wondered what truth was hidden in that sentence. Would Tiona have been upset or angry? If she had died with the other girls, would she have torn her hair out in pain or screamed in rage because someone had dared to interfere with her plans?

She closed her eyes, unsure if she wanted an answer.

With a cold mind, she might have thought that the families of those girls were entitled to an explanation. But her mind was neither cold nor calm. She felt utterly tired, drained of all strength. If her mother had taken her out of that corset and laid her on the bed, Shadi would probably have fallen into an endless sleep. The weight of events was crushing her.

After talking to Darjin and learning so much about her and her father's past, Shadi had finally been able to indulge in a warm bath and the pleasures of a soft mattress. Only a few hours later, her mother had burst into her quarters, babbling about a gala dinner. She was clutching a gorgeous evening gown of silk and burgundy lace. Shadi had almost reacted to this entrance with tears of despair.

Instead, she had allowed herself to be dragged to her feet by the sight of the gown, torn between admiration for its beauty and discouragement brought on by a simple certainty: it only took one look to realize that it was uncomfortable as sin.

"In any case, we should not deal with this ugly story until tomorrow. The authorities have postponed the investigation until the Dagger is back on her feet. It is rumored that our Lord Zayr wants to see you in person. The fact that you survived the kidnapping seems to have pleased him."

Shadi could not suppress a sad laugh.

Her mother froze. Then she grabbed her shoulders, squeezed them tightly, and forced her to turn around. "What amuses you, my daughter?" she hissed.

"Nothing, Mother. I'm just tired. The thought of meeting our Lord's gaze makes me more than nervous." And she found it grotesque that God himself should be happy for her when her mother seemed barely bothered by all that had happened. "I will do my best," she added, "though I imagine even King Zayr will find it difficult to look away from the beautiful dress you have prepared for me." She still watched the gown lying on the bed. It looked like a beautiful sleeping ghost.

Tiona Jan Hura had never been the type to give in to flattery. Perhaps the last few days had taken their toll on her as well. Or perhaps Shadi had finally mastered the art of lying, for a smirk appeared on her mother's lips. "It is indeed an object of rare beauty," she said, looking at it. "Let's hurry! There is little time left for the reception. You don't want to keep our lord waiting!"

King Zayr, Lord of the Household of Tutors and protector of Urook, had built a summer residence that would take the breath away from Kenjir's greatest architects. Nestled on the Peakside shore of the Lake of Currents, the main palace rested on a semicircular floor plan carved from iron and glass like a black crescent. Spires, towers, and shining windows of stained glass outlined its forms, scattered around the main body.

It was a magnificent structure, and Shadi had immediately felt intimidated by it when she had reached it, thanks to the Tamer and his Silver Sparrowhawk. What amazed her more than anything else about this incredible place were the materials it was made of. Looking at it, Shadi finally understood why the masters of Urook were called "Iron Lords." Because this residence had not been built with the rock of the Peaks, nor with the red stone of the capital.

No. It was forged from Lethenium, the iron of Urook.

Shadi had never seen so much of it. The walls, the barrel vaults, and even much of the furnishings had been forged by expert hands that made them as smooth as porcelain and as shiny as crystal.

She had never dared to imagine such a vision.

And the main body of the mansion was not even its most spectacular part, for from the central cluster of domes and towers-where she and her family were guests-a bridge led. Drawn by wide arches illuminated by the rising moon, it sank into the dark waters of the lake and emerged like a mythological beast, gleeful and heedless of the strong currents it pierced with its iron pillars.

From the top of a flight of steps that led to the bridge's entrance, Shadi gazed out over the lake. It was so black that it seemed capable of swallowing everything around it. The inky abyss defied the darkness of the night itself. And on the other side of the bridge, in the middle of the water, lay the true jewel.

The Black Amphitheater.