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carrying a tray laden with food. She was followed by a man with hair almost as red as my own who moved with the grace of a mountain cat. The memory of the previous evening rushed back, and I relaxed. The slave called Foxmouse was a thing of the past. In his place stood a man named Kian, a free man, a man who would prepare to be a merchant train guard. I fell back on my elbows and wanted to laugh out of sheer exultation.
    Cullin dav Medroch smiled. “Rhoch’te ne vhair, ti’rhonai?” he asked.
    Still stunned from the deep and profound slumber, I smiled back. “Vhair chinde,” I replied, then gaped at him as I realized I had no idea what he had said, and even less what I had replied. A chill of apprehension shivered down my spine. Was it some kind of magic? It didn’t have the foul stench of Dergus’s magic. “What language was that?” I demanded.
    Cullin dav Medroch laughed and closed the door behind him. “One you obviously recognize,” he said cheerfully. “Awake now, are you? I expect you slept well.”
    Not trusting my voice, I nodded.
    The girl set the tray onto the bed by my knee. It held a jug of milk, fresh bread and cheese, and a bowl of dried fruit. She gave me a shy smile. “If you wish anything more, let me know,” she said. “I’ll be happy to serve you.” She bobbed a small curtsey  and slipped out of the room. I stared after her, startled. Nobody had ever shown deference to me in my life. I wasn’t sure how to react.
    “Hungry?” Cullin asked.
    I looked at the food. There was more of it on the tray than all three of Mendor’s stable slaves saw in one day. “Starving,” I admitted.
    Cullin grinned again. “Aye, you look it,” he said. “Well, get yourself outside of that lot, and we’ll have a good start at putting some meat on those bones. You’ll need it if you’re going to swing that sword.”
    I wasn’t sure any one person could eat that much food, but when I finally got to the point where my stomach felt stretched tight, there wasn’t a lot left on the tray. I pushed it away and reached for my clothing.
    “First a bath, I think,” Cullin said. “You’re still wearing quite a lot of Falinor. I’ll have the innkeeper send up a tub and hot water to wash it off. When you’re finished, I’ll be downstairs.”
    I had never in my life experienced anything as wonderfully luxurious as that bath. I revelled in that huge vat of steaming hot water, blissfully aware that even paradise offered nothing finer. The cake of soap the innkeeper provided smelled faintly of fresh herbs, and it made a wondrous lather on my body and in my hair. When I finally climbed reluctantly out of the cooling water, my fingers looked as wizened as raisins. Drakon’s stolen clothing felt sensuously and lavishly fine against my damp, glowing skin. It wasn’t until I was dressed and on my way down to the common room that I began to wonder why Cullin dav Medroch was doing this for me. Cullin owed me nothing. If anything, I owed him even more than my life.
    Cullin was waiting at a table near the door, his plaid flung back over his shoulders to reveal the long, hand-and-a-half sword slung across his back in an ornate scabbard. Even relaxed, he looked dangerous and deadly. Not a man one wanted as an enemy.
    “Why are you doing this?” I asked. Something wasn’t right. Everything he had done so far—rescuing me, freeing me, bringing me along with him. He had to have a reason. Not knowing what it was bothered me.
    He grinned and ignored the question. “You almost look as if you belong in those clothes now,” he said. “Are you ready to leave?”
    I didn’t move. “Why are you doing this?” I repeated.
    “We’ll talk as we ride,” he said, rising from his chair with fluid grace. “I have to be in Honandun very soon, and the day’s half gone already.”
    Still, I didn’t move. “What language was that?” I asked. “When you came into the bedroom, you said something.” My voice rose. “What