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once been the unlucky recipient of this
"cure" and had quickly learned never to claim cramp in Frallit's
hearing again. Jack smiled at the memory. They were good days.
    Or were they? The
smile left his face: could he honestly say he'd been happy at Castle Harvell?
He had a bed to sleep in every night, food to eat, and a measure of security
about his future, but was he happy? People whispered behind his back, naming
him a bastard and his mother a whore. As a mere apprentice he was treated badly
by everyone around him, and Frallit was not the kindly father- figure that his
memory seemed intent on creating. He was nothing more than a sadistic vengeful
bully. And Jack bore the scars to prove it.
    No, Castle Harvell
wasn't some wonderful peaceful haven where worries and heartache simply didn't
exist. It was filled with people who allowed him no freedom, who beat the will
from his mind and drained the strength from his body. And he should never have
allowed himself to look back at it through a romantic haze of longing. The past
was all it was good for.
    Jack was strangely
exhilarated by these thoughts; there was power in them. Why hadn't he seen all
this before? Then, from the kitchen, he heard a word that stopped all thoughts
dead:
    "Melliandra."
    Jack was sure the
name was hers-he heard it often enough in his dreams. Without moving as much as
a finger's breadth, Jack trained every sense and focused every cell upon the
wood-paneled door separating him from Stillfox and his uninvited guest.
    Stillfox was
speaking: "Who can say what Catherine will do to-" The scrape of iron
poker against grate cut off the end of the sentence.
    Jack cursed all
things metal.
    "Well, I
wouldn't like to be in her shoes," said the stranger.
    Did he mean
Catherine or Melli?
    "Ah,
well," Stillfox said, "we have our own troubles to worry about. I
hear our generals travel to the Wall today . . . " Jack got the feeling
that Stillfox was deliberately changing the subject.
    A week after he'd
fast come to stay with the herbalist, Jack had told him a shortened version of
his life since leaving Castle Harvell. He had been very selective with the
details-no one would ever know about Tarissa's betrayalbut he had confided to
Stillfox about Melli. He had told him who she was, how they had met, and how
they had come to be separated in Helch.
    Even before the
story was free from his lips, Stillfox had told him the news. "Maybor's
daughter is to marry the duke of Bren."
    On hearing those
words, Jack felt a confusion of emotions: relief that she was safe, wonder at
how she had come to end up with the duke and, if he were honest, disappointment
that she had finally succumbed to convention and married a man with position
and wealth. He was jealous, too. Melli had been his to protect, his dream had
been to save her. All gone now. A duchess in a fine palace needed saving from
nothing except false flattery.
    There had been no
word of her since.
    Until now.
Stillfox's uninvited guest had brought news of Melli's marriage and, judging
from the few snatches of conversation that Jack had managed to hear, things did
not sound good.
    Jack willed the
stranger to leave. He needed to talk to Stillfox, to find out if Melli was all
right. The ointment on his glass burns itched with gleeful intent. The
storeroom began to seem impossibly small and confining. Herb dust choked in his
throat, and the darkness fueled his fears. The idea that Melli could be in
danger worked upon his brain like a poison. The longer he waited, the wilder
his thoughts became. Had the duke decided to rid himself of his new bride? Had
Baralis somehow discredited Melli? Or had Kylock abducted her in a fit of
jealous rage?
    At last the
kitchen door banged shut. Jack was in the kitchen before the shutters stopped
rattling. The light stung his eyes. Stillfox was leaning against the fireplace.
He looked a little stiff, as if his position were posed.
    "Sorry to
keep you in the storeroom for so long, Jack. There's no getting