Tikk had no idea how long he and Kaaleel stood in the room of worktables. In his despair he had lost notice of time and happenings though his eyes were always open. Then bubbling, boiling sounds and acrid, distasteful smells awakened him. He forced his eyes to look at Kaaleel, but she was lost to the world, her gaze blank. She was naked and Tikk looked at the milk-white breasts and rose petal nipples that had beguiled him as much as her emerald eyes. Then Tikk remembered. Remembered the light changing from bright day to dusk, to dark, to moonlight, to day again. And again. Remembered hearing people he couldn't see shuffle through the room as if he and Kaaleel weren't even there. Remembered the two of them staring into each other's eyes trying to speak, trying to will movement. Remembered the warm flow of wetness down his leg, the uric smell. Remembered the wet stains on Kaaleel's clothing; the matter of fact cleaning of the floor, the stripping of their clothes, the nonchalant manner of wiping their bodies as though they truly were only lifeless statues.
Tikk forced his eyes to the worktable; a shallow bowl bubbled above the heat of an oil lamp giving off fetid fumes. The priest came into view, sprinkled powders into the bowl, and stirred the brew. He came and stood in front of Tikk. He touched the sharpened blade of the dagger that Tikk still held. His voice was gentle.
"You want to kill me, don't you?"
Tikk couldn't answer but wished his arm to move, to plunge the dagger into the priest's heart.
"I found the other eyes the woman carried. You have no idea the joy their return brings. Such service should be rewarded, and yet . . . I wonder. Were you her lover and willing ally, or only a hired lackey? It doesn't really matter. Your fate lies with Gaal."
