“Marry me,” I said, his words running like fire in my blood. “If we get out of this, marry me. What you just said, who you are—if we weren’t meant to wed, I don’t know who is. Marry me.”

  He kissed me hard and long. “You only needed to ask once,” he whispered when he was done. “I was getting tired of waiting to ask myself.”

  Well, that’s done, Pounce said with satisfaction. I made a rude gesture at him.

  Farmer grinned. “And no one is going to torture my dear girl again,” he said in my ear. “We are going to show them what happens when you defy the law and the gods alike.”

  I went weak in my knees to hear so bold a statement from my man, but my practical nature had something to say. “You haven’t any magic,” I protested. “You said they took it when they gave you the Question. Even before that the mages wrapped their spells around you so you couldn’t get at any more.”

  He gave me the warmest, sweetest smile I had ever seen on a man’s face, and stood, though we both winced and groaned when he set me back on the cold bench alone. Then he said, “Sweetheart, never listen to what my enemies say. They’re very confused people. I know they are because I’ve spent years making them that way.” He undid the closing on his breeches. “One thing niggles at me. Who knew we were getting close, you and I? Close enough that the enemy thought they could torture you to break me?”

  “Shh!” I ordered. “We are not canoodling right now, not when the guards can hear!”

  He chuckled. “No, no. There is a silencing spell here—not mine.”

  Mine, Pounce said. A cat’s spell the gods won’t even notice. It’s little enough, but it’s something.

  “My thanks,” Farmer told him with a bow. To me Farmer said, “The gods know I want to love you, but when we do, it’ll be someplace curst better than this.” He glanced at Pounce. “And more private, even with favors given.” Pounce washed a paw. “No, Beka,” Farmer went on, “I need to retrieve something.” He pointed to the piss bucket. “If you want to use that, you’d best do so now. I may take a while.” He stripped himself of his breeches.

  I’m no gently raised maiden, but the thought of sharing a room while he emptied his bowels nearabout made me cringe. I reminded myself that we’d shared forests when both of us had the same errand. Surely this was not—much—different. I used the bucket while Farmer turned away, then did my own staring at the ceiling when he passed me clad only in his tunic. Even from the corner of my eye I could see huge red and purple bruises on his well-muscled thighs. They looked so bad I couldn’t even enjoy the glimpse of his legs.

  Had he sommat inside him? “Didn’t they look up your bum?” They hadn’t done mine, the lazy loobies.

  I heard the thump as he settled himself on the bucket. “Nope,” he said.

  “What about when they gave you the Question? What did you do then?” I asked. It was a matter of professional curiosity now. “You’ve got sommat tucked away, haven’t you?”

  “I left it in my cell, on the ceiling. Wrapped it in cobweb like a nursery spider—well, a big one. Folk never look at the ceiling anyway. Did they look in your bum, or in your coyne?” I shook my head. “Sloppy, these conspirators,” he said. “You could have a weapon in either place. A strangling cord at the very least.”

  I flinched at the thought. I had tried it. “They tickle. And it’s hard to run long distances with things in your soft spots.”

  Farmer laughed. “And you’re dangerous enough on your own. But truly, Beka, how do these people plan to rule a country when they can’t even do a rightful search?” There was a wince in his voice. What did he have in there? “It’s enough to make a cove go off and live in the wilderness like Mistress Cassine.”

  “If that cove is thinking of being a Dog’s lover, he might want to reconsider either the lover or the wilderness,” I said.

  He grunted and said, “Too many bears and mountain lions out in the wild. Trees rustle all of the time. And you have to walk miles for decent bread or cheese. I can’t make—ahh!”

  “Farmer?” I asked, alarmed yet afraid to turn around.

  “It didn’t feel so big before!” he cried. “Ha! Finally!”

  I will clean that for you, Pounce said. I heard the sounds of a tiny rainstorm.

  “Isn’t that still more meddling?” I asked.

  Hardly, Pounce replied. Cats are forever washing things. I have just done a little more than most.

  I heard a happy sigh. Farmer said, “It’s fine now, Pounce.”

  I trust so. For someone who has been known to run through sewers, Beka can be squeamish, Pounce said.

  “Rats take to the sewers to escape the Dogs,” I snapped, “so that’s where we must go to catch them. I don’t have to like it!”

  Farmer walked around me, a white thing in his hand. It looked like a wax turd. Just the thought of retrieving such an item from my arse made my tripes knot. “How long have you—” I asked, waving my hand at it.

  “Every day since the raiders attacked our campsite,” he told me. “I took it out at night. Always kept it on me, though, until we came here.” He set it on a bench and donned his breeches. Once he was clothed, he picked the thing up and patted a spot beside him. “So what’s this about sewers?”

  I told him about the Hunt that earned me the nickname Bloodhound in Port Caynn and, later, Corus. As I spoke, Farmer began to peel the white wax away from whatever lay inside it. It was backed with muslin strips, so once Farmer had worried a strip away, he could grip the muslin and begin to unwrap the contents of the thing.

  Pounce sat in front of us, watching. He was blinking constantly as Farmer revealed something in blue silk.

  Blue? the cat asked, leaning forward in interest. Not red, or orange?

  “For maturity, and stability,” Farmer replied. “Beka, go on. This Dale fellow, do you see him anymore?”

  I smiled at him. “Only once in a while, and only as friends. Pounce, what is wrong with your eyes?”

  You don’t see the power in what he has, Pounce said, blinking hard. It’s very strong.

  “You let us believe you had naught!” I said, cross with Farmer.

  “Wasn’t it better that I did?” he asked, his eyes worried. “We were followed, Beka, at least from Queensgrace. Given that cozy deal Sabine made for her and Tunstall, you have to wonder if one of them left a trail.”

  I had been wondering, and sick at heart over such thoughts. Back and forth I had gone since they had put me down here. Tunstall? Never! But … Sabine? I would have sworn before the Goddess that the lady had no turncoat blood in her veins until she accepted Thanen’s invitation. Both of them together? Impossible, and yet … Here I was, and here was Farmer. Of course, it was not unknown for captors to place a traitor with a captive to winkle information from her, but a turd made of wax and silk? Surely that was going a little far to get information from a common Dog.

  Farmer went on, “The traitor could have made the deal at Queensgrace. That’s where our troubles got relentless. They knew to tag my pack. Not the pack with my spare clothes, the pack with my magical resources.”

  He was right. I’d known it since that first night away from Queensgrace, or guessed it, and was certain when Farmer and I both found the slave trader’s brass tag on Farmer’s pack.

  And who? The knight I’d looked up to for four years, fought beside, laughed with? My new love, with his frank, open blue eyes? Or worst, much worst, of all, my partner. The cove who, with Goodwin, had taught me all I could learn as fast as I could learn it. The cove who’d saved my life so many times I could not count. No matter where I looked, there was a possibility that was fit to tear me in two.

  I heard soft sounds and turned back to see Farmer open the silk. Pounce leaped up to see as well. Inside the blue cloth was a long, flat roll of ribbon. As Farmer set the wrapping down, I opened the roll a couple of folds. By the back I knew—barely—that the ribbon itself was red, the color of magical power. It was covered edge to edge with embroideries in all different colors. Looking closer at the front, I realized that each color continued down the ribbon without breaks. It was only in the weaving and curving of the design in tiny bends that it appeared to be tiny bits of color intermingled.

  “It’s all spelled, isn’t it?” I asked Farmer. “I’d’ve gone blind, doing this kind of stitching, so small and tight.”

  He picked up the ribbon and opened it out another couple of folds. “I have a spell to make the stitching bigger,” he explained. “And I worked on it for a very long time. This makes what went up when my packs burned look like a bucketful compared to a lake.” I looked up at his face. It was set, determined. His soft mouth had gone firm. He had plans for those threads, each holding magic from a different mage. I could not wait to see those plans unfold.

  He glanced at me and put one arm around me as he stuck the ribbon in the pocket of his breeches. “Whatever happens, get the lad and get out of the castle,” he told me. “I’ll be right behind you, no matter what.”

  “But we don’t have Dog tags,” I reminded him.

  “I never needed them,” he said quietly. “That was to make the rest of you feel better.”

  “I don’t know the layout here,” I told him. “The Gift is all very well, but there are some practical things to be covered, don’t you think?”

  He kissed me and took his mouth only a little bit away. “Do you mind if I magic you? If I call the castle map into your head and mind while we pretend to nuzzle for the guards?”

  It was a good plan. I nodded and whispered, “Do it.”

  He cupped the back of my head in one hand and wrapped the other arm around me. As he pressed his lips to mine, I felt a vision unfold in my head. It was like my memory houses, only this was a castle, drawn in pen and ink. It built itself from the underground up, dungeons, wine cellars, great hall, kitchens, studies, pantries, armory, and on. It built out, adding floors and towers as it included outbuildings and walls. When the last tower and gate were placed, the vision folded itself up like a map, settling in my mind where I would be sure to find it.

  He released the spell, but I continued to show my affection for him a moment longer. I stopped only when the rattle of metal on metal told me that our time alone was done for the moment. The guards who had opened the door after banging on the bars made merry at our expense as they brought in a pitcher of water and two bowls of something.

  One of them looked directly at Pounce and didn’t see him. “If I knew I had my last hours to spend, I’d like it this way, lovin’ up a pretty girl!” he jested. They were different from the guards who had shoved Farmer inside.

  I glared at them and they stepped back. “Whoa, wench, warm them eyes before you look at your man again!” said the shorter of the two, holding up his hands. “Elsewise he might only be givin’ you cold comfort!” He shivered.

  “Her eyes are beautiful,” Farmer said, turning my chin so he looked at me.

  “Ghost eyes,” said the taller guard, and “Ice eyes,” said the other.

  “Too many mages hereabouts,” the short one added. They left us, locking the door behind them.

  “I’m no mage,” I snapped, and spat on the floor.

  “No, sweetheart,” Farmer replied, “but that’s a glare that tells folk what you will not—that you are a very bad mot to muck with, and you will see them to their graves. There’s power in it that sticks to those you glare at. It makes me tremble in my boots. Or it would if I had them.” He looked sorrowfully at his bare feet.

  I gave him a light buffet on the head. “Looby,” I told him.

  As my reward I got his silliest grin. “Ma allus said—”

  “Your ma should have drowned you at birth,” I told him as I picked up one of the bowls. It was the usual brown slop with a hint of beef and gravy, and something that looked like a turnip. “I’ve eaten this all along. Unless it’s poisoned today, it’s all right.”

  “They’re not poisoning us,” Farmer said, getting to his feet to stretch. “If they want my blood, they want it pure. No wonder they need to change kings. Roger would never allow blood magic to be practiced here. Baird will.”

  “Why do you say so? Baird is Roger’s brother, and it’s their father that forbade blood magic,” I said, handing Farmer his bowl.

  “Because Thanen and his mages will make sure that’s part of the bargain, if they haven’t already,” Farmer replied.

  “Sarden maggot-ridden corpse baits,” I muttered.

  Farmer was inspecting the contents of his bowl. “What do you suppose that is?” he asked, prodding a lump.

  “It’s better not to know,” I said. “Eat it fast. Don’t try and taste it.”

  Once we’d finished, to help pass the time, Pounce told us a story of a hero he had befriended; then Farmer and I managed to find a clean spot of floor to nap on with the cat. None of us spoke of Sabine, who had seemed to turn traitor, or Tunstall, who had gone along like a lamb. None of us spoke of Achoo, out in the woods.

  The jangle of lock and keys brought us all to our feet, instantly awake. “Get ready,” Farmer whispered in my ear.

  Don’t worry about me, Beka, Pounce added. If you see me or not, I am with you.

  The door swung wide and a lone jailor came in, a short sword in his hand. Already I was scornful of his worth. No cage Dog ever approached celled Rats alone, weapon or no.

  “Back, mage,” the empty-headed pig’s knuckle said, pointing his sword at Farmer. “We know your magic is tied up. If you don’t care for your mot to be the same, you’ll stand back. The trull comes wiv me.”

  I heard a chuckle from the door. There was his fellow guard, holding the key ring and a glowing orange globe that I guessed was supposed to keep mages under control. “Don’t worry, Master,” that one said. “We’ll take fine care of her.”

  “No more gab from you,” Farmer announced in a loud, official bark. “I don’t know what game you’re about, mage, but you’ll not fool any man of my lord’s guard! Over against them shackles on the wall, right quick! You, gabble-monger!” he snapped, pointing to me. “Stop scatchin’ yourself and get that wench afore she sneaks off down the hall and the cap’n sees her!”

  “What’s you talkin’ about?” asked the one already in our cell. He sounded even slower than before, dreamy.

  “I’m no wench,” murmured the other.

  Farmer hadn’t said that he meant to do magic now, but neither had I needed his brief warning to know we were about to take a chance. He was acting like we were the guards, and the guards were us. Seemingly the guards had begun to believe it.

  “Here, you!” I ordered, and dashed forward to grab the one with the globe and the key ring. Slipping the ring over the hand I used to hold the globe, I gripped the cove’s louse-ridden hair and thrust him into our cell.

  He dug his heels in partway. “I’m a … guard,” he protested, trying to turn in my hold. “A guard in the dungeons …”

  I hooked his right leg from under him and helped him drop by shoving his head. Once he was down, I set the globe and keys aside and got one of his arms up behind his back. I released his hair to grip his wrist, shoving it up toward his shoulder. With my other hand I shoved his elbow up toward that same shoulder. Nobody likes that hold, particularly when it’s pushed hard enough to break bones. He screamed. Suddenly he was shouting, “How dare you treat a Provost’s Guard this way! I’ll get you hobbled, so I will, and hie you before a magistrate!”

  Seeing that Farmer’s magic had taken, I let the cove go. We did the pair of them up in the shackles on the rear wall, in case anyone came looking from outside. We used their belt knives to cut gags from their tunics to silence them.

  The last thing Farmer did before we left that cell was take up the globe. He held it in his palm, eyeing it calmly, with that look that told me he was examining it from the inside out. Slowly the light began to fade. Once the globe had turned lead gray, he dropped it to the floor. It smashed into hundreds of tiny glass fragments. “I’ll take any extra power I can find,” he explained.

  Since I had the keys, I locked up. There was no one else in the corridor. I beckoned to the other cells with the keys and raised my eyebrows to my partner. Farmer thought on it for a moment, then nodded. “Don’t let yourself be seen. I’ll silence the keys.”

  I peered into one of the cells. Four men were inside, looking as unhappy as any caged Rats I had ever seen. I hoped they were not rapists or murderers and went about my work.

  As I unlocked each cell, Farmer drew a strange mark on it that glowed the colors of his Gift. No one left the cells. I was going to open one, but Farmer signaled me to wait.

  Next we found the guardroom. No one was there. Farmer twiddled his fingers over a pot of ale that was heating on the fire. Then we looked for the stairs.

  “We’ll look like guards for half an hour unless a mage sees the spell and breaks it first,” he whispered in my ear. The climb was a long one. “I learned that bit of magic from a hedgewitch who normally sold it to wives who were cheating on their husbands. If the husband came home while the lover was still there—”

  “That’s wicked,” I told him sternly, seeing how such a confusion spell would be useful. Then I grinned.

  “Meet me by the shrine to the Maiden of Archers if we’re split up,” he said. I nodded. The shrine was a small one, tucked away near the stables. I had it on the map in my head. “The magic I put on the cells just now opens the doors in an hour. Then this place will be a madhouse. There won’t be any jail guards down here to stop them, not if they drink that ale. Do we find Tunstall and Sabine?”

  I thought fast. “Our first duty is to the prince,” I said. The voice I heard was still that of a mot, though deeper and coarser than my own, and the body I saw was shorter and thicker than mine. “Then we just go. However we can. We’ve no time to spend testing the others’ loyalties.”

  “Sabine’s giving way to them could have been a ruse,” Farmer pointed out.

  I nodded. “I’d thought of that. And it’s better for Tunstall to be with her and free of the cells. But the lad is more important than anything. I’m wagering he’s in the kitchen, the slave quarters when it comes toward bedtime, or Prince Baird’s rooms.”