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clearly visible.
He felt an elation borne of possessiveness.
    Rydah led her inside, and left her to tend her burn while he
returned to his desk. He tried to decipher this priest’s handwriting and
lamented most priests’ lack of training in the written word. They claimed to be
too imbued with the grace of Rand to be concerned about spelling and
penmanship. Oh, well, he reflected, if they were better writers, he’d be out of
a job.
    He worked another hura before he decided to take a
break for lunch. He hoped Jenya could serve him with her injured arm.
    “Jenya!”
    She appeared at once. “Yes, master?”
    “I’m hungry. Are you well enough to fix us some lunch?”
    She nodded and disappeared. Within lapars , she
returned with a plate full of bread, cheese and fruit.
    Jenya placed it on a small table next to the couch. She
waited while he dug in. Jenya felt a little strange without her chain. She
almost wanted to cover herself. She stood there, trying not to twitch, watching
her master eat.
    He looked up suddenly. “Hey, I don’t want to eat alone.
Please join me.”
    Another surprise! First, this man invited her into his bed,
then he refused to keep her chain on, and now he was inviting her to eat with
him? What would be next?
    “Yes, sire,” she said, unsure how to proceed. She leaned
down briefly and took a small square of cheese, then rose again to put it in
her mouth, feeling guilty all the while.
    Rydah sighed. “Not like that,” he said. “Here.” He guided
her by her uninjured shoulder to sit on the couch next to him. She was stunned,
but she obeyed. “Now eat,” he said, and returned to his meal.
    Jenya ate. What else could she do? Her master had ordered
it. They ate in silence for a short time.
    A sudden knock at the door disturbed them.
    “Who could that be now?” he asked. With a nod of his head,
he indicated she should answer it.
    She rose at once and opened the door to find a young
messenger outside. His eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful, young, naked
slave. “M-m-m-message for Lord R-r-rydah,” he stammered, staring at her
breasts.
    Jenya laughed inwardly and accepted the sealed message. When
she turned, Rydah was standing behind her, his curiosity evident on his face.
She handed the message over and closed the door on the young lad, nearly
trapping his eyeballs in the door.
    He examined the seal and realized at once that it was from
his older brother, Farda. This was unusual. Farda was ten rynes older
than Rydah, which meant they hadn’t grown up as close as brothers might be. His
father, Lord Fyrad, and his slave Saranya had five children—three girls had
been born in a row after Farda, the oldest. Rydah, though he hated to admit it,
was the baby of the family.
    Farda, like Rydah, had been born a Damon, but when he was
nineteen, he fell in love with a Craftswoman, Memma, who was not only six rynes older, but had a young daughter as well. Love proved to be blind, and Farda
gave up his higher-ranking caste to be with his true love. He became a
woodcarver and in the rynes since had turned out many fine pieces for
Damon homes, including fireplace mantles, ornate doors and small statues. He
carved many woods, but his favorite was the dark, rich memingo trees that grew
on the steppes of the Pestrid range east of Blethryn.
    In the last ten rynes , Rydah guessed Farda had
written to him just twice and they’d seen each other at their father’s house on
three other occasions.
    Why would he be writing to me now? he wondered.
    Jenya watched as her lord ripped open the envelope and
scanned the writing within. She couldn’t read, of course, but she could tell by
his expression that the news wasn’t good.
    He frowned, then took the note to his desk and sat down. He
stared out the window onto the street. Jenya didn’t know if she should go to
him or leave him alone. So she just stood where she was and waited.
    Finally, he rose and began to pace.
    “Master, are you all right?” The words