He studied his surroundings. Why bother with iron bars if he was to be shackled to the wall anyway? The restraints around his wrists were anchored at about shoulder height and left him in an awkward sitting position. His feet and legs were free. His chest still felt hollow with a frigid cold.

He examined the hearth. There was light coming from it, wasn’t there? And wasn’t fire the domain of the air mage, even if he didn’t understand it yet? Perhaps he could draw some energy from that to recharge. He didn’t mind the cold with the heat in the room, but who knew when he might need that energy for something?

He closed his eyes and tried to feel the energy instead of looking for it. For a while, all he could sense was his own frigid core. But gradually, he caught another whisper of a strange, dancing, vibrating, twitching energy. The fire.

He pulled from it cautiously, slowly. Would going too fast make it go out? He didn’t want anything to be noticed. And he didn’t know how much he needed or how this strange, twitchy energy might make him feel.

In the end, though, it felt no different than sunlight or starlight—like glorious sustenance, like pure joy coursing through is veins.

A squeak broke his concentration. A rat was sniffing his boot. He twitched his foot in its direction, and it scurried away. Well. What a pleasant addition to these lovely accommodations.

He took a deep breath. The cold was mostly gone; that was probably enough for now. His shoulder ached, of course. His mind felt unchanged. Did the enslavement spell take time? Could one even notice it at any given moment? What a torture it would be to only remember you were a slave some of the time, when you couldn’t do what you really wanted. He thought of Miara and felt sure that must be the way it worked.

He tried to bring his thoughts back to assessing his situation and preparing himself for any future battle that might come his way. He’d rejuvenated his magic. Now the best thing he could do was rest as well as he could in this awful position. He tried to lean his temple against the shackle that held his right hand in the air, and after a few wild head jerks as he nodded off, he finally settled into a tense sleep.

“What the hell just happened?” Daes demanded as soon as they were alone.

The Tall Master shrugged. “I don’t think it worked.”

A chill ran through Daes’s veins. “What do you mean it didn’t work?” He spoke numbly. He didn’t really mean it. He knew exactly what it meant. He had seen the same thing the Tall Master had. At the end of the process, there was always a strange flash and cracking sound, like the briefest flash of thunder, as the enchantment took hold. But this time, nothing.

But he didn’t want to believe it.

“Perhaps your fears were more founded than some of us were willing to believe.”

He met the Tall Master’s gaze, his expression grim. But Daes said nothing.

“His lips were moving,” the other man said. “Did you see it? He was saying something. Maybe saying something to stop the process.”

“This is one time I’m not pleased to be right. I hope it is not the case. We must be sure.”

The Tall Master nodded.

“I think we should brand him again,” Daes said.

“But then he will know that something isn’t right.” The older man frowned and rubbed his chin.

“If he already has the star magic, then he may already know that he is not a slave. Then again, he might not realize it’s anything out of the ordinary. He doesn’t know our ways. Perhaps it is the usual second step in the process. Also, check his wound, see if any healing has begun.” Daes needed to know more. What did this prince think he knew, where had he learned how to resist them? He had to die—but Daes had to figure out how the prince had gained his knowledge first.

“It’s only been a few hours. The wound will not have had time to heal. But I’ll check.” The Tall Master nodded, eyes dark, and turned to go. But just in the doorway, he stopped for a moment. “Daes,” he said, voice deadly serious. “What if he has discovered the forbidden magic?”

“Then we will kill him as quickly as possible, and his brothers next. Perhaps try to find out how he learned of it first. But we can’t let this knowledge resurface. It was foolish to underestimate it for so long, to assume it was forgotten. We will end it now. We must.”

The Tall Master nodded crisply and headed out.

Miara awoke to soft fingers stroking her hair. She blinked her eyes open to her father sitting beside her on the bed. The window was still open. The light of early evening fell on his soft smile.

She sat up quickly and threw her arms around him. He squeezed her hard in return. The way he did it made her suspect he hadn’t been sure she’d come home this time.

She had. Although she might have wished differently.

“You’re back,” he murmured.

She let go of him and smiled. “I made it.”

“And your mission?”

“Complete.” His face said that he understood the bitter tone in her voice. He understood her like no one else.

“What happened to your face?” He gently brushed his fingers over the scratches on her cheek.

“A wolf.”

He frowned. “You ran into a wolf you couldn’t charm? Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

“Not a wild one. A human one.”

“Ah, I see. They came after him, eh?”

She nodded.

“I would do the same, of course, if I could. Are you all right?” he said.

“No,” she said, not wanting to lie. Not to him.

He said nothing, only waited.

“Aven—the prince—is a good man. He doesn’t deserve this hell.”

He nodded grimly and pulled her back into his arms.

“He fell in love with me,” she whispered, feeling her eyes growing blurry, muffling her voice into the wool of his tunic and vest. “It was horrible. He could have run away, but he didn’t, because of me. He didn’t want to leave me; he wanted to help. I couldn’t explain any of it. I couldn’t warn him. I tried to convince him I didn’t—” She stopped short, choked with emotion.

“That was his choice, not yours. A noble and brave choice, too.”

“I was still the cause. I’ve never been in love before, Father. Love should be about being happy, making a family—not luring a man to his death.”