but the burning pain of fangs piercing the inner skin of his elbow was as terrible as he remembered. Cold entered Phoran from the place where the Memory fed, as if it was replacing what it drank with ice. When it was done it said the words that had become too familiar.
"By the taking of your blood, I owe you. One answer. Choose your question."
"Are you afraid of other people?" Phoran asked. "Is that why you don't come if someone's in the room with me?"
"No," it said and vanished.
Shivering as if he'd been hunting in winter, Phoran the Twenty-Seventh curled up on the rug on the floor of his room.
Chapter 8
This time it wasn't the grating that opened, but the door. Tier shot to his feet and had to stop there because the sudden light blinded him.
"If it please you, my lord," said a soft tenor voice that could have belonged equally well to a young man or a woman, "Would you come with me? We have arranged for your comfort. I am to offer you also an apology for how you have been treated. We have not been ready to receive you until now."
Tier wiped his eyes and squinted against the glare of what was, after all, a fairly dim lantern to see the backlit form of a woman.
The sight, he could tell, was staged. She held the light carefully to exhibit certain aspects of her form. The slight tremor in the hand that held the lantern might be faked as well - but he'd have been worried about facing a man who'd been caged for as long as Tier had, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt.
"I'm no lord," he said at last. "Tell me just who it is I have to thank for my recent stay here?"
"If it please you, sir," she said. "I'll take you to where all of your questions can be answered."
Tier could have overpowered her, and would have if she had been a man. But if they, whoever they were, sent a woman to get him, it could only be because overpowering her would get him nowhere.
"You'll have to give me a moment," he said, "until I can see again."
As his vision cleared, he saw that the woman was arrayed in flowing garments that hinted broadly at the body beneath.
A whore's costume, but this woman was no common whore. She was extraordinarily beautiful, even to a man who preferred his woman to be less soft and breakable. Even if the net of gems and gold that confined quite a bit of equally golden hair was paste and brass - and he wasn't at all sure it was - the cloth of her dress was worth a fair penny.
"Can you see, yet, sir?" she asked.
"Oh aye," he said congenially. He'd bide his time until he had enough information to act. "Lead on, fair lady."
She laughed gently at his address as she led him out into a winding corridor. Behaving, he thought, as if he were a customer, rather than a man who'd been imprisoned for weeks.
The hall ceiling was so low he could have easily touched it with a hand. On either side of his cell there were doors that opened to his hand and revealed rooms that looked much like his. The woman was patient with him, waiting without murmuring and pausing with him when he stopped by an iron door twice as wide as the one that led into his cell. The door stuck fast when he tried it.
The woman said nothing. When he took the lantern from her and adjusted it brighter so he could look more closely at the doors, she merely folded her arms under her full breasts.
He ignored her until he was certain that the door was hinged on the other side, with two iron bars (barely visible in the narrow space between door and frame) in place to keep the door shut. If he'd access to a forge he could fashion something to unbar the door - but they were unlikely to allow him such.
He handed the lantern back to his hostess and allowed her to lead him.
The hall continued around a sharp bend and ended in double doors. Just before the walls ended, there was a door on either side. It was the left-hand door the woman opened, stepping back for him to precede her.
The smell of steam and the sound of running water emerged from the opened door, so he was unsurprised to