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return to our original conversation. Answering all of your questions will take many days and we have more pressing concerns to attend to.”
    He sat on the bed again, frowned at my right hand still chained up to the hook and reached up to release it. He laid my hand down to rest on my stomach, smoothing the small wound on my finger with what I would have called tenderness, if not for the cool remoteness of his face. I could feel anger that wasn’t mine, a low tone in the background, along with several other muddier emotions. They were coming from him. He was upset.
    “No,” he said, hand still over mine. “There’s a great deal going on you don’t understand, little girl. Can we focus on solving the immediate problem, please? Since it is your problem, not anyone else’s?”
    I tried to be still and thought of a calm lake, no fish.
    “That’s a start. You’re still thinking of something, but at least it’s something quiet for once.” He smirked at me. “Now, it may have escaped your attention, but you were recently savaged by a wild beast. You’re injured, you will not eat or drink—yes, I could hear that from downstairs, speaking of shouting—and we cannot use magic to heal you without releasing you from the silver, at which point you would likely destroy us all by accidentally setting off your nuclear warhead.”
    His words settled into my spinning mind, the implications finally becoming clear. I can do magic? I asked the question as quietly and clearly as I could manage.
    He regarded me with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “Yes. Of course. What did you think you were doing?”
    I didn’t know. I suppose I’d done my usual thing and had avoided thinking about it directly. Not that I’d had much leisure for contemplation.
    “The crux of it is, you are a natural sorceress, but you are not natural to this place. You are like a diseased predator—dangerous and unable to control yourself. That’s why you were stopped.”
    His eyes dark, he leaned forward and gently touched my throat. I gasped and my head spun as the pain reared up. He stood abruptly. Paced across the room, steps a sharp clip. He returned from the far corner with a silver hand mirror.
    “Allow me to elucidate.” He held up the mirror.
    My throat looked like it had been torn out.

ChapterFour
    In Which Quandaries Are Addressed
    Why aren’t I dead?
    My instructor sighed.
    “At last she comprehends.” He started to lower the mirror but I managed to grab it from him, the silver chain chiming softly, and hold it up for myself. “The short answer to that is because you don’t want to be. Also I’m reliably informed that it’s not quite as bad as it looks. But then, don’t you think those Healer types all say that kind of thing?” He sounded irritated but genuinely interested in my opinion.
    I tore my eyes away from the reflection, trying to form a clear response from the swirl of my thoughts, but he waved his elegant hand at me.
    “Never mind. I digress and you have better things to think about. Go ahead and look your fill.”
    He resumed his measured pacing, which I’d already come to think of as characteristic, staying quiet while I examined the damage.
    It did seem to be somewhat less awful than at first glance. Dried blood—with bright fresh dribbles here and there—formed a contorted mass that obscured most everything else. I reached up with my left hand to gingerly probe the tissue, hissing at the fierce sting. There were definitely deep holes where the teeth had pierced the skin deep into the underlying muscle. The ridge of my larynx stood intact but massively bruised. Why it wasn’t crushed or how the Dog missed my carotids on either side was a miracle. However, unless they communicated telepathically with bacteria here, making peace treaties with the little beasties, I would be looking at serious infection problems very soon. It seemed cleaning the damn wound would be a great non-magical first step and then maybe some