Shadows Return

crossing his legs and smoothing the fabric of his dark robe over his knee.
    The smell of the food made his traitorous stomach growl. “Well enough, Ilban,” he replied, respectfully dropping his gaze.
    “Hungry?”
    “Yes, Ilban.” There was no use denying it. He could see the game that was being played, but standing on pride and getting any weaker wasn’t going to get him anywhere.
    “You’re more reasonable tonight. I’m glad.”
    “Hunger is a good teacher, Ilban.”
    Yhakobin nodded to Ahmol. The servant set the food down in front of Alec and went out, closing the door.
    “Please, eat,” Yhakobin said, as if Alec was a guest at his table. “I took my supper upstairs.”
    “Thank you, Ilban.” Alec picked up the bowl and took a sip of the porridge. It was thin and milky, flavored with honey. He had to force himself to eat slowly so he wouldn’t sick it back up. After a few sips he tore off a bit of the bread and used it as a sop. It was still warm from the oven.
    He ate in silence, aware of the man’s eyes on him, and the slight smile on his lips. Yhakobin had a sharp, intelligent face. The ink stains caught Alec’s attention again; this man certainly had the look of someone more at ease with a pen than a sword.
    He finished the porridge and set the bowl aside. “Your prison is better than some inns I’ve stayed at, Ilban.”
    “You are not in prison, Alec. This is where I put new slaves, especially excitable ones like yourself. A few days of peaceful rest to help you accept your new position.”
    “I’m glad you don’t have your whip tonight, Ilban.”
    Yhakobin chuckled. “It’s close by, I assure you. It’s up to you whether I need it again. I am not the sort of master who delights in abusing his slaves for no reason.”
    Alec nodded and nibbled at another piece of bread.
    “You may ask me questions.”
    Alec considered for a moment, then asked, “How do you know my name?”
    “I’ve known about you for some time now. Plenimar has ears and eyes in Aurënen, as well as in Skala.”
    “Spies.”
    “Of course. And it was not difficult, with you and your companion making no secret of your mixed blood. Bragging about it, it seemed. Most unwise of you. Your people should have taught you better than that.”
    “My people?”
    “The Hâzadriëlfaie.”
    Alec frowned and looked away. “They aren’t my people. I never knew them.”
    “I see. Of course, you’re not a pureblood. The color of your hair suggested it, and I’ve already verified the fact, back at the slave barns. That was a disappointment, but the strain is still very strong in you. So, you are the child of a runaway. Tell me, was it your mother, or your father?”
    Alec kept silent, trying to comprehend what he was being told. This is why they’d been captured?
It’s my fault we’re here?
    “Well, it’s of no consequence for now,” Yhakobin said, still watching him closely.
    “What do you want from me…Ilban?”
    “All in good time, Alec. Tell me, do you know what an alchemist is?”
    “An alchemist?” Alec searched his memory. He’d heard the term once or twice around the Orëska House, and always in disparaging tones. “I once heard someone call it kitchen magic.”
    Yhakobin smiled at that. “No, Alec, alchemy is one of the highest Arts, the marriage of magic and natural science. It’s far more powerful in its way than all that hand waving your Orëska wizards do, and nothing at all like necromancy.”
    “But you used my blood for a spell, Ilban. I saw you.”
    “Blood can be a powerful element, Alec, no different than salt or sulfur or iron. The necromancers also make use of it, of course, but not at all in the manner of alchemists.”
    The food went heavy in Alec’s belly. “You’re going to kill me, and take my blood?”
    “Kill you? What a shameful waste that would be! Whatever made you think of that?” He paused, then shook his head. “No, Alec, I would never kill you. I intend for you to live a long and comfortable life here with me. If you behave and do as I ask, that life can be very pleasant indeed.”
    Alec suddenly sensed an opportunity. Seregil had often praised his ability to look young and innocent. He played to that strength now as he widened his eyes and asked, “Then you really aren’t going to kill me, Ilban? Or use me in your bed?”
    “You have my word. Those are the furthest things from my mind. You know, not all Plenimarans are like those you’ve met on the