Shadows Return

to the anvil and left alone. The glass vessels were empty today, the braziers all cold, but a metallic smell hung over the room, underscored by other odors he did not recognize.
    This time he knelt where they left him and didn’t move until Yhakobin entered.
    “Being a good fellow today, I see,” the alchemist said, smiling that placid smile of his. “How are you feeling?”
    “You—I was unwell, after that draught you gave me,” Alec managed, then added a hasty “Ilban.”
    “That’s good. Tincture of Lead does have a purgative effect. Your finger, please.”
    Knowing what would happen if he balked, he held out his hand. Yhakobin took the blood and this time it burned a much brighter red.
    Alec blinked at the brief flash of color and resisted the urge to ask questions. The alchemist was clearly pleased.
    Yhakobin removed the lead amulet and replaced it with another that looked like lead but was lighter against Alec’s throat, with black symbols incised on it. The guards held Alec’s head as Yhakobin poured something into the silver cup.
    “This is Tincture of Tin,” Yhakobin told him, holding the cup down where he could see into it. “The effects are quite different. I do not think you will find them unpleasant. It is only a tonic, to purify the blood.”
    This tincture looked exactly like the last draught to Alec. Before he could stop himself, he jerked back, kicking Yhakobin by accident. The contents splattered across the front of the man’s dark robe.
    Yhakobin looked more resigned than angry as he nodded to the guards. This time they held Alec down over a bench and Yhakobin whipped the backs of his bare thighs. It was bad, but nothing like the beating of his feet. He didn’t make a sound this time, and he didn’t cry.
    When it was over they held him down and jammed the hated funnel between his jaws. This new tincture burned as it went down and warmed his belly like Zengati brandy. The feeling persisted as he was dragged back to his cell, but this time the only effect it had on him was a heavy lethargy. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Giving up, he collapsed on his bed and wrapped a hand around the new amulet. As he slipped into a daze, it occurred to him that this one was once again probably of the same metal as the tincture. It made no sense to him, this use of metals, but clearly there was some magic to it.
             
    He slept deeply all day and into the night, rousing only when a servant brought him water and a bland vegetable broth to drink. Though still groggy, he roused enough to realize that it was a different person than the usual guards or Ahmol leaning over him.
    “Hello, little brother. Are you awake?”
    This man was Aurënfaie, with a long braid of dark hair. Alec lurched up and reached for him, thinking it was Seregil, come to free him at last, but as his eyes adjusted to the light of the small lantern the stranger had brought, he saw that this man was older, and that his eyes were hazel-colored, like Nyal’s, rather than Seregil’s clear grey. Could this be the slave who’d been with Yhakobin at the market? He hadn’t been able to tell the color of that man’s eyes.
    “No veil,” Alec mumbled, blinking, as he tried to wake up.
    The slave held up a square of lace-trimmed linen and winked at him. “Promise not to tell? I thought you could do with the sight of a friendly face.”
    Alec managed a wan smile as he caught sight of the collar the man wore. It was thin and polished, very much like his own, but was made of gold, or gilded. “Thank you. You’re the one I saw at the market, aren’t you?”
    “Yes,” he whispered, holding a cup of water to Alec’s lips and helping him drink. “Ilban thought the presence of another ’faie might reassure you. My name is Khenir.”
    He wore a slave’s long, sleeveless robe, but his was made of fine dark wool, with bands of white embroidering at the neck. Glancing down, Alec saw that he wore wide golden bracelets, too. The slave brand on his forearm was old and faded, like Ahmol’s.
    Khenir pressed a cool hand to Alec’s brow. “How are you feeling?”
    “So tired,” Alec mumbled, still thick-tongued from the draught but determined to stay awake and talk to this man. “What clan are you?”
    Khenir shook his head sadly. “If you knew how long it has been since anyone asked me that! I was from Tarial clan, a minor family in the south, near Datsia. And you?”
    Alec sat up and rubbed at his face to clear his