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servants. It would be a twelve-day wonder when the sul’dam
    discovered she was shielded in some way so she could not channel, yet that would help
    answer the question of why she had not been leashed before. Elbar would need to find
    some Atha’an Shadar among the sul’dam, though. That was never an easy task—
    relatively few sul’dam turned to the Great Lord, oddly—and she no longer really trusted
    any sul’dam, but perhaps Atha’an Shadar could be trusted more than the rest.
    “Light two lamps, then bring me a robe and slippers,” she said, swinging her legs over
    the side of the bed.
    Liandrin scrambled to the table that held the lidded sand bowl on its gilded tripod and
    hissed when she found it with a careless hand, but she quickly used the tongs to lift out a
    hot coal, puffed it to a glow, and lit two of the silvered lamps, adjusting the wicks so the
    flames held steady and did not smoke. Her tongue might suggest that she felt herself
    Suroth’s equal rather than a possession, yet the strap had taught her to obey commands
    with alacrity.
    Turning with one of the lamps in her hand, she gave a start and a choked cry at the sight
    of Almandaragal looming in the corner, his dark, ridge-ringed eyes focused on her. You
    would think she had never seen him before! Yet he was a fearsome sight, ten feet tall and
    near two thousand pounds, his hairless skin like reddish brown leather, flexing his six
    toed forepaws so his claws extended and retracted, extended and retracted.
    “Be at ease,” Suroth told the lopar, a familiar command, but he stretched his mouth wide,
    showing sharp teeth before settling back to the floor and resting his huge round head on
    his paws like a hound. He did not close his eyes again, either. Lopar were quite
    intelligent, and plainly he trusted Liandrin no more than she did.
    Despite fearful glances at Almandaragal, the da’covale was quick enough to fetch blue
    velvet slippers and a white silk robe intricately embroidered in green, red and blue from
    the tall, carved wardrobe, and she held the robe for Suroth to thrust her arms into the
    sleeves, but Suroth had to tie the long sash herself, and to thrust out a foot before the
    woman remembered to kneel and fit the slippers on. Her eyes, but the woman was
    incompetent!
    By the dim light, Suroth examined herself in the gilded stand-mirror against the wall. Her
    eyes were hollow and shadowed with weariness, the tail of her crest hung down her back
    in a loose braid for sleeping, and doubtless her scalp required a razor. Very well.
    Galgan’s messenger would think her grief-stricken over Tuon, and that was true enough.
    Before learning the general’s message, though, she had one small matter to take care of.
    “Run to Rosala and beg her to beat you soundly, Liandrin,” she said.
    The da’covale’s tight little mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in shock. “But
    why?” she whined. “Me, I have done nothing!”
    Suroth busied her hands with knotting the sash tighter to keep from striking the woman.
    Her eyes would be lowered for a month if it was learned that she had struck a da’covale
    herself. She certainly owed no explanations to property, yet once Liandrin did become
    completely trained, she would miss these opportunities to grind the woman’s face in how
    far she had fallen.
    “Because you delayed telling me of the general’s messenger. Because you still call
    yourself ‘I’ rather than Liandrin. Because you meet my eyes.” She could not help hissing
    that. Liandrin had huddled in on herself with every word, and now she directed her eyes
    to the floor, as if that would mitigate her offense. “Because you questioned my orders
    instead of obeying. And last—last, but most importantly to you—because I wish you
    beaten. Now, run, and tell Rosala each of these reasons so she will beat you well.”
    “Liandrin hears and obeys, High Lady,” the da’covale whimpered, at last getting
    something right, and flung herself