Shadows Return

angle, but guessed that if he did somehow manage to get out through the window and down to the ground without breaking his legs, he’d still have to make his way through the house or go up a wall and over the roof. He wasn’t capable of either just yet.
    Of course, that all turned on how he was going to get out. The window was not an option—the bars were solidly set and too closely spaced even for someone as slim as he to wiggle through. The window casement was nailed shut, and the glass was so thick he couldn’t even hear the splashing of the fountain.
             
    He felt stronger the next day, and as soon as Zoriel left him alone after breakfast, he made a slow circuit of the room, looking for anything he’d missed so far. He didn’t much care if anyone knew. Deep down, some rebellious part of his nature hoped word would get back to “Master.”
    It took a discouragingly long time to finish looking under the bed and between the floorboards for something he could use as a tool or a weapon, but he forced himself to finish. There had to be something, anything that would be of use!
    But he found nothing. “As if he’s going to leave a knife under the bed for me, or a hank of rope,” he muttered, slumped in an exhausted heap by the door. All he had to work with was a wooden pitcher, which might do in a pinch, once he was strong enough to swing it. Zoriel didn’t even leave the chamber pot in the room. He had to ask for that—a humiliating necessity—and she took it away when he was done.
    He fingered the collar again. It was getting to be a habit. He’d found where it was riveted shut, but the seam was tight, with no play in it at all. No surprise, there.
    The bed was too sturdy to pull apart. The mattress was a heavy one, stuffed with straw and feathers. He dragged himself into bed and rammed an ineffectual fist into the single pillow he was allowed. That wouldn’t make much of a weapon, either, unless he wanted his keepers to laugh themselves to death.
    You’ve got me well and truly penned, whoever you are!
he thought, twisting a corner of the pillow between nervous fingers. He didn’t know much about how the Plenimarans treated their slaves, but he was convinced that this situation was unusual. If not for the brands on his skin, he’d have guessed he’d been taken instead for a ransom.
    Not that there’s anyone left in Rhíminee who’d pay to have me back.
    Defeated for now, he closed his eyes and tried instead to summon some new memory of the capture or the sea passage, hoping for some sign that he’d seen Alec alive after the dra’gorgos attack.
    And still, nothing more came to him.
He’s not dead! I’d know if he was dead. I’d feel it!
The thought consumed him. The talimenios bond ran deep between them, a joining of souls;
I’d know if that was broken!
    He clung to that, but the cold black fear crept back anyway. Curled up under the warm bedclothes, clean and safe for now, guilt overwhelmed him. Everyone in that ambush had been targeted for death—everyone but him.
Oh talí! If you were killed, because of me
…
    “Damnation!” He hurled the pillow at the door in impotent rage, then lurched out of bed and threw the pitcher after it. It bounced ineffectually off the door, spraying water everywhere, and landed back at his feet, mocking him. He kicked it across the room, hardly noticing the flash of pain as he cut one bare toe on the handle, and staggered across the room to pound on the door.
    “Show yourself!” he yelled. “Tell me why I’m here, you coward! Let me out of here, you pus-dripping horse prick!”
    His only answer was the thump of a fist from outside and the muffled sound of someone laughing at him.
    “Bastard!” Seregil slid down the wall with his head in his hands and choked back a sob. “Dirty bastards!”
    Alec is not dead!
    He could be.
    No, he’s not; he’s not!
    I might never know…
    Weak, scared, and frustrated beyond all telling, he pressed both hands over his mouth and cried.

CHAPTER 19
    An Unexpected Reward

    ALEC’S INTERACTION WITH Yhakobin followed an unchanging pattern. Every other day he was taken out to the workshop and his amulet was changed to one corresponding to the tincture given. Every moment he was out of his cell he watched for an opportunity to get away, but so far it had been impossible. He was kept under close watch every moment he was out of his cell. If this continued, he’d be forced to make a break for it from one of