xcellent work,” Zhou said as the sixth bell tolled the hour. Pendaran relaxed, and when he did so, his body trembled with strain, all but drained of energy, “Give me your blood knife now.”

“Tired, want to sleep,” Pendaran pleaded as Zhou gently eased the sharp blade from his fingers. He was finding it difficult to remain sitting up and the impenetrable darkness before his eyes only added to the sickly sensation of becoming disembodied.

“You should eat first. If Ebony believes it necessary, you may sleep in tomorrow morning.”

“Mask off now? Please?”

Zhou murmured an incantation and he swooned as his mind grew silent and the dim chamber swam into view. A curse escaped Zhou’s lips and he swooped down to catch Pendaran an instant before his head struck the cool stone of the floor.

“I asked you to tell me when you were tiring,” Zhou almost shouted in his panic.

“I’m alright. Just need to rest,” Pendaran murmured, strangely comforted by Zhou’s concern for him. He closed his eyes as his cheek rested upon Zhou’s shoulder, imagining he could sleep there forever, safe and cared for as a child in his father’s arms.

“Pendaran! Open your eyes!”

“Mmm?”

He did so when Zhou eased him onto the cold stones of the floor and moved off to search through the jars and vials that gleamed upon a distant table. He returned to Pendaran’s side and urged him to take a small bite of honeycomb. The insipid sweetness made him choke but it was oddly grounding and he was able to sit up again.

“Are you still feeling faint?”

“A little, but I can stand.”

“I trusted you to tell me when you needed a rest before something like this happened. Clearly you are not ready to assist me with my work. I will look to Ebony, perhaps.”

“I won’t do it again!” Pendaran exclaimed, alarmed that he was being rejected.

“You can help me with the next phase. There is no need to risk harm when there is someone experienced available and willing.”

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, ashamed of himself for failing so miserably, “I didn’t enjoy it, Master, I didn’t go to that place. I just didn’t realize,… I didn’t want to fail you any more… and it was my first time since...”

Pendaran swallowed his words as Zhou’s dark gaze softened with pity. He was a failure, a broken thing that weighed everyone down. He hated being so weak and inept and dependent on everyone around him. He burned with shame and stared at his hands, pale against the dark gray stone of the floor.

“The fault is mine, Peng Ren, I pushed you too hard. You are not ready yet.”

“I’ll never be ready. Let me at least find some way to be of service that does not rob me of dignity.”

“You are tired and I was thoughtless. You did everything I needed without complaint or error. I should have known you would risk yourself to please me. That has always been your way.”

Pendaran murmured the words of a soothing mantra, pleading with Lyssa to return this most basic of comforts to him. The world without his native abilities felt dead to him, as if all the music had been squeezed from the world. He longed for it, hating himself for being unworthy and weak. Lyssa rejected him. His body had been touched by Abaddon’s servants and he would forever be tainted.

“That is not true, Peng Ren. I have not given up hope and neither should you.”

Zhou helped him rise, insisting that he move slowly and take his shoulder as they headed for the chamber door. He cast a glance over the pale sand drawn out in an intricate pattern of interlocking circles within which Pendaran had been ensconced. There was a low altar off to one side upon which something blazed and thrummed with captured energies.

“What is that?” he asked, knowing Zhou would have told him from the beginning if he had wanted his purpose known. Instead he had spent the last three evenings quite literally in the dark about his Master’s activities. Pendaran had served as a source of energy and a mental anchor for his Zhou’s mysterious working.

“You will know soon enough.”

He sensed it had something to do with the journey he was soon to undertake. As the day of his departure drew nigh, he became increasingly anxious. On the one hand he was glad to have the opportunity to travel, on the other he was not looking forward to being largely dependent upon others. Masked or not, he was defenseless.

“I’m never going to be able to do magic unaided,” Pendaran said as they walked together from the building and strode slowly across the courtyard.

“I am unwilling to concede that,” Zhou replied, “I believe you will heal in time. Be patient with yourself, Peng Ren. You have endured much and come very far in a short time.”

He fell silent, his loneliness and despair weighing heavily upon him. By the time they crossed the cobbled yard, the sun was no more than a blush of purple in the evening sky. Pendaran had somehow regained his composure and a little of his strength and walked unaided beside Zhou.

“Go join supper in the hall,” Zhou said gently, “Afterwards, take your leave and get some rest. We will talk more about what happened when you are feeling better.”

He bowed and Zhou departed, going as always to dine in his chambers with those closest to him. It did not escape Pendaran that he was not invited that night. As he stepped into the noisy hall he blushed with shame to see a servant summon Ebony away from her guild members’ table. No doubt Zhou wished to talk to her about Pendaran’s all too obvious shortcomings.

He stood outside the open doorway watching. He was torn, longing for the warmth and chatter of his fellow humanity and the sense of belonging that had so long eluded him. But in his vulnerable state the mere thought that anyone would be kind to him out of pity rankled him. He did not want to go to table with those who knew him and considered themselves his caretakers.

The toothsome aroma of roasted chicken and freshly steamed rice awakened his stomach. It rumbled violently, letting him know he was not leaving without a fight. After so much of his energy had been used for Zhou’s mysterious working, he needed to eat and he could not risk waiting around for the servants to attend to him in his room. He cast a glance over the crowded hall, noting that there were so many people he did not know. Zhou and his allies were filling the ranks of their guilds, rebuilding strength and taking those of the refugees who wished to fight into their ranks. A peal of childish laughter caused him to turn and watch as his little daughter Sabina went trundling past in her stiff-legged uncertain way toward the table where some guests mingled with Mabane and the Fengs. A slightly larger boy was in hot pursuit and he watched with amusement as the two toddlers collided and dropped to the floor in a burst of rambunctious belly laughter.

His sense of isolation melted as he stepped toward his children, weaving past the serving people and new arrivals to the communal meal. The girl lifted her soft little face and gazed upon him with a look that made his heart melt with adoration.

“Hello, my darling,” he said softly as she made a cry of delight and called him Da. She held out her pudgy arms and he stooped to pick her up. Her tiny hands locked around his neck as he nuzzled her and blew a raspberry on her pudgy cheek.

“Is she your daughter?” asked a familiar voice. The little boy was currently hugging the legs of the speaker: a willowy figure with honey colored hair and a full smile that made her green eyes twinkle.

“Yes,” he replied, realizing that he was staring perhaps a little too much. He lowered his eyes, drawn back in by little Sabina’s charms as she gurgled and purred in his arms. He proffered a bow, much to Sabina’s amusement, “Pendaran Caradec of the Order of the Crystal Palm.”

“Isabeau De Minuit,” she said with a graceful nod of her head since she had a toddler attached to her knees, “You seem familiar to me. Have we met?”

“I do not recall,” Pendaran said smoothly despite the fact that the pronouncement of her name ignited a flurry of panic and shame. Dear gods, why did she have to be as lovely as he had imagined? Her lithesome form was draped in a sea-green cotton gown, something that would have seemed sensible and workaday on the average woman. On her, it might as well have been the raiment of a fairy queen. She had placed an emerald brocade corset over the bodice, allowing the lacy froth of her linen blouse to flow over the ample curve of her breasts in a way that was both concealing and alluring. He sighed at himself, forcing his eyes away from the myriad curves and swells that seemed to inhabit her entire body.

“Does she take after her mother? She is very pretty,” Isabeau asked, then moved a step away from him, sensing his pain. All curiosity and desire left him, eclipsed by a cold shadow of dread.

“She is dead,” he said simply, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”

“Please forgive my thoughtlessness. I am sorry for your loss.”

Sabina clung to him tightly, sensing his change in demeanor. Suddenly the chatter and pity were too much; he had an overwhelming desire to withdraw to his room. The weakness returned as emotional turmoil coursed through him. To his horror, Isabeau took Sabina and placed an arm around his shoulder to guide him away.

“This isn’t necessary,” he said hoarsely, unable to resist.

“It’s alright. Here, sit down, I’ll get you some food. Do you want me to find anyone for you?”

“I’m fine,” he stammered. Now that he was sitting, the dizziness passed and Isabeau gently returned a now crying Sabina into his care. He instinctively rocked her in his arms, nuzzling her mop of strawberry ringlets as Isabeau left him, “Daddy is here, sweetheart. No need to be afraid.”

Isabeau returned with Feng Mai. She bowed and smiled to Pendaran, her eyes mirroring Isabeau’s pity. Fortunately, she also placed a steaming bowl of dumpling soup in front of him. She indicated that it was time she took little Sabina away so he could dine in peace. His daughter was calm now and he kissed her crown a final time before passing her warm little body into Mai’s care. Hunger took over and he lost all decorum and shoveled soup into his mouth, all the while aware that Isabeau was watching him with the little boy wriggling impatiently in her lap. After the third or fourth dumpling the hideous empty feeling was replaced by a warm sense of calm.

“Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“It was nothing. You looked like you were about to collapse. I hope you are not angry at me.”

“No, not angry. Embarassed, maybe.”

Isabeau smiled gently.

“Watching you adore her was beautiful. Thank you for that, it brightened my day.”

“What is your son’s name? How old?” Pendaran said quickly, afraid he would lose his composure. It was time to turn her attention away from him.

“Micah, and he’s almost 3. I only wish he were my son, but he is my nephew. After Micah’s mother died, my brother took a dark turn and… well, Micah needed his mother and I was the one he chose to take her place.”

He did not need his talents to detect her pain and unwillingness to discuss it. They were equals in sorrow and he found that strangely comforting. She was a kindred spirit, a potential friend. He flattered himself to believe there could be anything more. Besides, he was no longer attractive, gaunt and haggard as he was. And there was no joy left in him.

“I hope you are being well looked after,” Pendaran said.

“Everyone is very kind,” she replied, “The leader of the alliance is a bit odd, but I sense he is simply worried and protective of his people. Not that I blame him.”

“Aye.”

“Do you want me to find you more soup?”

“No, I’m nearly done. I was just very hungry. Skipped a meal and was busy afterward.”

“What do you do?”

He noted that she did not ask him which guild he served. Pendaran must have appeared as common and leaden as one of the servants, definitely not among the chosen nor worthy of a cape.

“I keep the accounts.”

“For Master Bei?”

“Yes. I answer to him.”

“Perhaps that is where I know you from. You just seem so familiar.”

“Possibly. You may have seen me briefly prior to an audience with him.”

“That must be it. What do you think of him? He strikes me as rather harsh, like someone who is used to being in a position of authority.”

“He’s the leader of a powerful alliance,” Pendaran said nonchalantly.

“He told me he was going to send me away to safety but he will not say where or when. He will not grant me another audience to me.”

“Once he makes a decision he seldom sees a reason to discuss it.”

“Are you hiding something from me? I sense there is something going on beneath the surface here.”

“I hear rumors, but I cannot profess a talent for detecting things like that,” he said, lowering his eyes and hoping she was not trying to read him. Hopefully she was well-mannered enough to leave him be. The fact that she thought him evasive was unnerving.

“I suppose I am rude for being suspicious. The days pass and I have no idea how my family fares. The first two weeks he had me hide in my apartments and never explained why. I’m glad I am able to get out and talk to people now. The garden is beautiful and that is a small comfort.”

“Yes, it is. What did you do before coming here?”

“Do you want the short answer or the long answer? You look tired.”

“I am tired, but I am curious about you.”

Her glowing smile shone upon him again like the sun piercing the veil of darkness wrapped around his heart.

“Put aside the illusion and accept the truth. If you cannot rein in the hunger of your loneliness, then you must stay away.”

“I trained at Nolani many years ago to become an Akestora, but the Searing had other plans for me and here I am,” she said with a sigh, “That is the short version.”

“Isn’t an Akestora a healer?” Pendaran replied, “Did you plan to serve as a monk?”

“Oh gods no,” she laughed lightly, “I have no patience for that. No, I am definitely of Lyssa born, but the women of my lineage are often gifted with the ability to heal maladies of the mind. I probably would have ended up serving at one of the temples where the wounded in mind and spirit went to seek succor.”

“You must be quite good at it. You put me at ease.”

She sought his gaze, her expression at once soft and sad.

“I wish I were,” she said, “If I had been so gifted, perhaps my brother would have turned to me rather than drink and recklessness after his wife died. One of my instructors said that in youth we are as flowers full of hope and potential so that life can grace us with lessons in humility.”

He smiled at her, taking comfort in her sad laughter.

“Consider me humbled,” he chucked, “If you will pardon me, I must retire now.”

“Of course. Thank you for your company, it was most pleasant. I hope we will get to talk again.”

“Good night,” he said, nodding once as he rose. The needy, lonely part of him cried out for her like a lost child, seeking the shelter of her warm and gentle soul. At last he understood the wisdom of Zhou’s plan for him. Love was an illusion. It was the mightiest of them all.