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guards following her, the remaining ones standing in a circle around the room.
    The Lady removed the last of the needles, and the Knight sagged in his bonds, his head bent towards his chest.
    The Lady snapped her fingers for one of the guards to remove her table and stool.
    As she left, the guards released the Knight from his bonds so his arms and legs were bound only by his usual chains. He dropped to the floor and lay there, stunned and panting, as the guards left, locking the door behind them.
    With the torches already burning out, Honey Wine worked quickly.
    She knelt beside him and opened her supply box. His entire body trembled with the aftershocks of The Lady’s needles, and when she touched his shoulder, he jerked away. Honey Wine dropped her hand, understanding at that moment, he didn’t want to be touched. The Lady’s needles had left no visible marks on his skin, only on his mind.
    Honey Wine used water from a flask to cleanse his flesh beneath the bonds where the metal cuffs had chaffed them. She was treating one of his wrists when he murmured, “Torn.”
    She paused and drew a sharp breath. He’d spoken!
    “I know they are,” she told him. “They won’t hurt so much after I bandage them.”
    “No. My name is Torn.”
    “Oh.” She smiled slightly though her throat suddenly constricted with anger and sadness at what he’d been forced to endure, at what so many of them who slaved below were forced to tolerate every day.
    “It’s not your fault.” He glanced at her through half-closed eyes. “At first I thought you could do something about it, but you can’t.”
    “Maybe,” she said, and applied the bandages.
    Using a cloth dampened with rosewater from her supply case, she started washing away urine from his legs. He caught her wrists and took the cloth from her to clean himself. Honey Wine knew even slight movement must have been an effort, yet she sensed his embarrassment and resisted the urge to continue helping him.
    He had no reason to feel shame. Honey Wine had never heard of anyone not wetting himself during a session with The Lady, and it wasn’t unheard of for victims to loose bowel control as well, particularly in the moments before death. The latter hadn’t happened to the Knight, though Honey Wine guessed if the session hadn’t stopped, it certainly would have occurred.
    Once he’d finished cleaning himself and lay back down on the floor, Honey Wine shrugged off her cloak and placed it over his bare chest. The chamber had grown cold, but at least her dress was long-sleeved and woolen.
    In the fading light, she traced a finger across Torn’s full lower lip. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.
    “That feels nice,” he murmured.
    “I’m sorry you’re here,” she said. “But it might not be forever.”
    “No. Eventually we all get to die.”
    * * * * *
    Honey Wine awoke in blackness to the unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of another’s warm flesh beneath her cheek. She realized that sometime during the night, she and Torn had moved to the couch. Her body was half draped over his, and he’d spread her cloak over both of them. Honey Wine lifted her face from his chest and strained to see in the darkness.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, his hand touching her hair. His voice sounded deep, penetrating, even though he spoke softly.
    “I should be asking you that question.”
    “I’m fine now. The Lady,” he sneered her name, “is very skilled at her craft.”
    There was a question that had to be asked. “Why have you never spoken before?”
    “Would it have done me any good? We’re just beasts. No one here cares, except you.”
    Honey Wine wasn’t sure how to respond. Finally she said, “I didn’t act like I cared. Fear does that to a person. I never used to be afraid, but I was young and stupid. I thought I was so strong because I was a guard.”
    “The ability to fight is one kind of strength.”
    “Not the kind that matters. I don’t see any