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its alien intelligence immune to their mind magic.
      Rakon wondered in passing how much of the eunuch still existed. He hoped none, though he could not help but imagine the eunuch's consciousness caged in the cell of his own mind, railing at his captivity. He could think of few worse fates than a magical bifurcation, the slow death of a mind in a body no longer controllable by it.
      "Are they asleep?" he whispered in the eunuch's ear.
      The huge man did not turn. The memory eater caused the eunuch to shrug.
      Embers from the large hearth cast the windowless chamber in soft light and deep shadows. Furs and polished woods abounded: twin beds, wardrobes, overstuffed chairs.
      He did what he could to provide for their comfort.
      The aftermath of a chess match sat on the small gaming table, the white king toppled. Rusilla always played black, and she won nine games of ten. Rakon hadn't played her in years. He'd given up trying to beat her when she'd still been a precocious adolescent.
      His sisters lay in their beds, their backs to him, their forms lost in a mound of pillows and blankets. Rusilla's long hair made an auburn cloud on her bolster. He watched them for a time, noted the steady breathing that suggested they were asleep. He let himself relax, and the moment he did he tasted cinnamon and his thoughts scattered.
      Why had he come to see his sisters anyway? He could not remember. In truth, he'd been unfair to them over the years and should—
      His adrenaline spiked.
      Those weren't his thoughts.
      How long had he been standing in the doorway?
      He recovered enough of his wits to recognize the velvety caress of Rusilla's mental touch in his mind.
      She hadn't moved, her breathing hadn't changed, but her mental fingers were sifting through his mind, pulling on the threads of his thinking, searching his memories.
      He grimaced, clutching his head, and took an involuntary step backward.
      "Get… out," he said through gritted teeth, but still she clung to his mind, a cognitive leech, violating him.
      He fought for clarity, thought of arcane formulae that his sister would not be able to parse, flooded his mind with them, incanted in the Language of Creation. When he felt her recoil at the alienness of the words and formulae, he reasserted his mental defenses, strengthened them.
      The cinnamon taste faded. She was out.
      He winced at the headache the contact had left in her wake. Each beat of his heart put a knife stab of pain in his temple. He wiped his nose and the finger came away bloodstained.
      "I will punish you if you do that again," he said, his words loud in the silence of the chamber.
      Rusilla shifted her legs under the covers but still did not show him her face.
      "What could you do that's worse than what you've already done? That's worse than what you already plan to do?"
      He growled in response, low and menacing, massaging his temple with two fingers.
      "You might be surprised," he said.
      "He does, you know," Rusilla said. He still could not see her face and it discomfited him.
      Rakon licked his lips and lowered his hand. "He who? Does what?"
      "The eunuch, or what's left of him. He screams in his head. It's constant. He hates you for imprisoning him in his own body."
      The memory eater caused the eunuch to turn his head, so Rakon could see him in profile, and smiled. The expression did not reach the empty, glazed eyes.
      Rakon swallowed, looked away.
      "Just as we hate you for imprisoning us in our own house," Rusilla said. "Would you like to hear them? The screams?"
      Merelda giggled viciously from somewhere within her blankets.
      "I don't need to hear them," Rakon said. "I did what had to be done with him and I'm content with that. I'll do what has to be done with both of you also."
      "And will you be content with that, too?" Rusilla asked softly.
      Concealed in the shadows and blankets, Merelda said, "We're your