As one day and then another passed Fand could feel her strength returning and her memories. The first was good, the second was hard. The memories of that awful night could have stayed buried forever, only they hadn’t. If she never saw the moon again, she would not miss it. The moon had betrayed her and she would never love it again.

Pyre was in the tiny stone room with her. In her mind she had begun to call this place the prison. Once again she was locked away and hidden. How long would this go on. She said, “Please ask Appocca to let me out today.”

The look on Pyre’s face was grim. He said, “He already said no. I’m afraid we have had a report of a band of renegade Sonpur near the Ruhe Mountains.”

This was bad news, still she asked, “What does he think? Does he think they will magically appear and kidnap me? Why would they have need of me, Angs is dead?”

Pyre looked her in the eyes. His eyes that had once been so timid were now bold. “You know very well they could. The walls of this room are covered in a special protective stone. They won’t be able to detect you in here. Beside, they may know you are alive.” He took her good hand and her bandaged hand in his and lowered his voice, “They may seek revenge.”

This possibility chilled Fand to her core. She asked, “Will this never end?”

“I don’t know,” Pyre said. “For now, you are safe.”

Fand pulled her hands free from his and turned her face to the wall. Would she ever be safe? Would she spend the rest of her life hidden away? What kind of life was that? If only she could get away from this place.

Pyre reached for her left hand. “I need to remove the bandages so Loren can redress it.”

Reluctantly, she gave her to him. Though she now knew its condition she hadn’t looked at it. With a small sharp knife, Pyre cut away the cloth. The bandage fell away. She closed her eyes. Pyre said, “It’s healing well.”

Bitterly she replied, “You mean what’s left of it.” The door slid open. Noiselessly someone entered. It had to be Resen. Fand wanted to hide her hand, but Pyre held it.

A small gasp escaped from Resen. He had seen her hand, she was certain of it. He cleared his throat and said, “Petran wants to see Fand.”

Gently Pyre released Fand’s hand. She felt the tension between these two men. When she opened her eyes she saw Resen’s scowl. Pyre had his back to her and she couldn’t see his expression. Pyre asked, “When?”

“Now.”

“You know she isn’t allowed to leave this space, and Petran is still too weak to come here. What are you up to Pathfinder?”

Resen smiled. “Just delivering a message. Petran wants to see his kin.”

Pyre told him, “I don’t believe you. Besides Fand can’t go anywhere until Loren redresses her hand. Also, I don’t have the authority to release her to go anywhere. You will have to take this up with Loren.”

Resen’s eyes narrowed and Fand saw anger spark in them. With one swift motion Resen knocked Pyre away from the cot. His arms wrapped around her and he hoisted her against his chest. His strength and determination frightened her. She whispered, “Please, wait.”

Resen did not wait. He pressed the stone and the door slid open. Pyre shouted, “Put her back in bed!”

As Resen strode out of the room his lips brushed against her hair. Revolted, Fand turned her head away from him. His swift pace was making her nauseous.

Behind them, Pyre shouted, “Guards!” No one came.

Furious Pyre asked, “Where are the Guards, what have you done with the Guards, Pathfinder?”

A defiant chuckle rumbled in Resen’s throat. What was he doing? What did he intend? No man but Gregor Zwart had ever held her against her will like this. She demanded, “Take me back to my room.”

He smiled down at her. “It will be all right.”

She did not believe him. A terrible sense of foreboding filled her. She struggled in his arms, but she was still too weak to break free. Pyre ran behind them cursing. Fand knew he wouldn’t strike Resen for fear of hurting her. Images rose in her memory. She felt the huge hairy hands of Trug upon her. Resen had captured her, just like that Sonpur had. In that instant she knew, Resen would inflict his will upon her. He had no regard for her wishes. What was wrong with him? For the past three days she had rehearsed in her head what she would say to him, how she would tell him she did not love him, but she had lacked the courage to do so. She tried to speak, but he shushed her. “It is all right Fand. Petran will take care of your wounds. He has a great gift.”

With her right hand, Fand hit Resen’s shoulder. “I said take me back to my room.”

Fresh anger flushed Resen’s face. “You are being foolish. Trust me. All will be well.”

The problem was she did not trust him. All those weeks on the run she had trusted him, but this, this felt very wrong. It was as if he were possessed. Resen stopped in front of a door. He called out, “Open the door please.”

The door opened. Uncle Wert stood in the door frame. Alarm registered on his face when he saw Fand in the Pathfinder’s arms. Resen pushed passed him. There was a roaring in Fand’s ears. She felt like she was about to be tossed in a great tide she could not stop. Uncle Wert asked, “What are you doing?”

The creeping fog of fatigue began to drift into Fand’s mind. No, not now. She needed her strength to fight. As hard as she could, she jabbed Resen with her elbow. He grunted, but did not let go. A voice she had never heard said, “You are spirited Little One.” The voice was so like Zog’s. Fand twisted her head to see its owner. The old man in the bed looked like a decaying version of her cousin. She felt her mind go blank and then a strange fog obliterated the room.

From somewhere in the fog, Pyre yelled, “Stop this now!”

Resen hissed, “Shut up Apprentice.”

“Bring her here,” said the voice.

Fand felt herself placed upon the hard mattress. She tried to focus but the fog would not clear. Boney fingers grabbed her left wrist. A strange tingling sensation swirled inside her blood. The fog in her head began to clear. The face, the old face like Zog’s wavered before her. His eyes, were the same color that Zog’s had been. Grief for Zog tore through her. She tried to pull away from Petran, but the old man would not let go. Fand’s eyes traveled from his face, to his hands, and then to her left hand. Most of her hand had been blown off. Where fingers and palm had been there were now neat stitches. It looked worse than she imagined. She felt sick. Suddenly, the butchered stub of her hand began to emanate white light. The stitches disintegrated. Before her astonished eyes, her palm regenerated and buds appeared. From these buds four fingers and a thumb unfurled like a blossoming flower. Her hand was whole. How could this be?

Petran asked, “Can you move it?”

Fand flexed her hand. It didn’t even hurt and her fatigue had completely left her.

Petran sank back into his pillows.

The door burst open. Loren, looked from Fand to Petran. Her eyes followed his gaze. Petran looked terrible. All his color was gone.

In a sharp voice Loren said, “I told you not to do this Pathfinder.”

Resen didn’t respond.

Loren’s eyes softened when he turned back to Fand. He said, “Petran has given you a great gift.”

Fearfully she asked, “I haven’t killed him have I?”

Though Loren said, “No,” he was not convincing. He shouted, “Guards!” Two guards stumbled into the room, rubbing the backs of their necks. Loren said, “Arrest him for trespassing.” With one vicious look at Resen Loren said, “Go with them quietly Pathfinder.” The guards latched onto him and lead him out of the room. To Pyre, Loren said, “Take her back to her room. I must tend to Petran and then I will stop by to check her hand.”

Pyre helped Fand off the bed and lead her to the door.

Fand looked back at the sick old man in the bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged. It looked like he had fainted. Was he going to die? She asked Loren, “Why did Petran do this for me? He can’t even walk and he gave his power to me. I can’t bear for one more person to die because of me.”

Gently Loren said, “Dr. Kran and I will take care of him. Go now. Please.”

Pyre took hold of her arm and asked, “Do you want me to carry you?”

For the first time in weeks, her legs felt sturdy. “No, I think I can walk.” Strength coursed through her body. Her entire being felt strange. She had not felt this strange since she had been in Angs presence and under Angs control. Pyre and Uncle Wert each slid and arm around her and led her into the hall. The nearness of them steadied her. Silent tears streamed down her face. A heaviness settled in her chest. She asked, “Do you think Petran will be okay?”

Uncle Wert said, “I don’t know.”

She whispered, “But Uncle, he not must die because of me.”

Uncle Wert’s voice grew firm, “You did not seek this. It was Resen and Petran, not you, child. Not you. No matter what happens you must not blame yourself.”

If Petran died, she would blame herself, she always would. He must not die. He must not! No one else should die because of her. Her life was not of more value than another’s