and cauldrons bubbled on hearths beside folded cloths. Flasks, wineskins, and bowls were abundant on many small tables beside the beds, and herbs hung drying down the walls like green and brown tapestries.
When his gaze shifted to the woman, he squinted because he still saw nothing but a brilliant array of colors. A strange dizziness overtook him, and the colors arranged themselves into the image of a lovely woman holding a baby. Then a standing corpse. Then a giant dragon too large to be contained in the room.
Nic’s heart flooded with surprise. He caught his breath, closed his eyes, and opened them again. This time he tried to come to awareness more slowly, letting the light from the chamber’s many windows blend with the orange flames of the fires until he could see the woman who was sitting next to him. Tall. Dark-skinned. Sleek, glistening hair pulled into thin braids and gathered at both sides of her head. She seemed about his age, close to eighteen, certainly no more than twenty. She wore a green robe, long-sleeved, with gold braiding at the neck and wrists. Her thin, graceful hands were folded in her lap, and her expression conveyed concern along with a sadness he sensed more than saw.
Such a powerful, deep unhappiness.
Her pain hurt Nic as if it were his own, and he wanted nothing more than to relieve her of it. “It’s all right,” he murmured, unable to stop himself from staring into her wide, dark eyes. “I’ll—I’ll help you.”
The woman started at his words, tried to smile, then shook her head. “Excuse me?”
“You’re unhappy. I can feel it.” Nic remained overwhelmed by the force of the woman’s emotions, now stronger than ever after his offer of assistance. He lifted his stiff arms and forced his misshapen hands forward until he covered her fingers with his own. She felt warm and soft, and also infinitely strong, and he knew immediately that the colors he had seen were part of some unusual graal he had never encountered before.
It wasn’t proper, touching her like he was. He didn’t even know her, but he couldn’t do anything else. He had to try to soothe her, as she had no doubt soothed him during his most recent illness.
“This place has so many medicines,” he said. “Have they nothing to ease your pain?”
The woman didn’t move her hands. She seemed both surprised by and grateful for the contact, and when she spoke, she didn’t disguise the sadness anymore. “There’s no elixir or poultice for the likes of me, I’m afraid. I’m very worried about someone.” She glanced toward the door of the chamber, as if wishing that someone would come striding in to meet her. “And I’m confused about so many things.”
Her lips trembled, and moments later, tears rolled down her cheeks.
Nic said nothing. He kept his hands on hers, wishing he knew anything about healing hearts, about offering real comfort aside from just sitting next to someone.
“I’m sorry.” The woman gathered herself enough to stop the flow of her tears. “I don’t know why I told you any of that, Nic.”
Nic did his best to give her hands a squeeze. “Would you tell me your name, since you know mine?”
“Darielle Ross,” she said, moving her hands away from his to dry her tears. “Dari, to those I know.”
Nic felt the loss of contact with her like a physical pain, but he rested his palms on his legs. “Dari,” he said, enjoying the sound of it.
He couldn’t tell from Dari’s reaction to him if she knew the truth of his identity, but he didn’t think she did. He hoped she didn’t. In truth, despite Snakekiller’s ceaseless tutoring and encouraging, Nic thought less and less about who he used to be, and more about who he had become, and what he wanted for his own future. “What can you tell me, Dari, about this place, about Stone—and about Aron? I would very much like to speak with him.”
Dari’s reaction was immediate and unmistakable. Her flinch made Nic grip his knees in frustration and curse himself for not guessing the source of some of her misery. “I see. Aron is part of what’s worrying you. Was he injured in our rescue?”
“No.” Dari glanced at the door again, then sighed and met Nic’s gaze. “When Aron returned from your rescue three weeks ago, he demanded that the Lord Provost send him to his guild trial, or send him to Judgment. Lord Baldric will do neither, until he