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the intensity of Azshara’s mane. In truth, the only thing that stood out were her eyes—silver as with most night elves, but with an exotic, feline curve to them.
    “This is her?” the queen asked with unconcealed disappointment as she studied the captive.
    In truth, in Azshara’s presence, Tyrande felt even mousier than the handmaiden. She wanted to at least wipe the grime and blood away from her face and form, but could not. Even aware that the queen had betrayed her people, the priestess felt the desire to kneel at Azshara’s slim, sandaled feet, so charismatic was the monarch.
    “She’s not to be underestimated, Light of Lights,” the captain replied. When his eyes fixed upon Azshara, they did so with burning desire. “She appears favored by Elune.”
    The queen did not find this at all impressive. Perfect nose wrinkling, she asked, “What is Elune to the great Sargeras?”
    “Spoken so wisely, your majesty.”
    Azshara approached closely. Even her least movement appeared calculated for maximum impact on her audience. Tyrande again felt the urge to kneel before her.
    “Pretty, in a coarse way,” the silver-tressed figure added offhandedly. “Perhaps worthy to be a handmaiden. Would you like that—what was her name again, captain?”
    “Tyrande,” Varo’then replied with a brief bow.
    “Tyrande…would you like to be my handmaiden? Live in the palace? Be a favored of mine and my lord? Mmm?”
    The other female started at this suggestion, the feline eyes seeming to flay the priestess. There was no attempt to hide intense jealousy.
    Gritting her teeth, the young night elf gasped, “I am sworn to the Mother Moon, my life and my heart hers…”
    The queen’s beauty was suddenly marred by a brief look that rivaled Captain Varo’then’s for its evil. “Ungrateful little trollop! And such a liar, too! Your heart you actually give rather easily, don’t you? First to one brother, then another brother! Are there others besides?” When Tyrande did not respond, Azshara continued, “Are males not delightful to play with? It is so fun to have lovers fight over you, isn’t it? So tasty to see them draw blood in your name! Actually, I must commend you! Brothers—especially twins—are such a splendid touch! Peeling away their familial bonds until they wish to rip out each other’s throats, betray each other…all for your favor!”
    Varo’then chuckled. The handmaiden smiled darkly. Tyrande felt a tear slip from her eye and silently cursed her emotions.
    “Oh, dear! Have I brought up tender subjects? I do apologize! Poor Malfurion and Illidan…those were their names, weren’t they? Poor Illidan, most of all. Such a tragedy, what happened to him. Small wonder he chose to do what he did!”
    Despite herself, Tyrande blurted, “What about Illidan? What do you mean?”
    But Azshara had turned back to Varo’then and the handmaiden. “She needs her rest, don’t you agree, captain? Come, Lady Vashj! Let us see if there is any progress on the portal! I want to be ready when Sargeras crosses over…” The queen practically preened at mention of the demon’s name. “I want to look my best for him…”
    The guards stepped aside as Captain Varo’then led Azshara and the Lady Vashj to the door. Just out in the hall, the ruler of the night elves glanced over her shoulder at the captive priestess. “You really should reconsider whether to be my handmaiden, dear girl! You could have had both of them alive and yours to play with…after I’d grown tired of them, of course.”
    The slamming of the iron door echoed the dying of Tyrande’s hopes. She saw in her mind both Malfurion and Illidan. Malfurion had been there when she had been kidnapped and Tyrande knew that he was grief-stricken by his failure to protect her. She feared that such emotions would make him reckless, an easy target for the demons.
    And then there was Illidan. Just before the last battle, he had discovered which direction her feelings lay