"Ward," she said a second time, realizing he must have been putting on an act. She'd never seen him act a part before, though she knew he was very good at it. The extreme weight loss worried her, but at least he was still whole. Her own recent experience in Jakoven's power sent her gaze to his hands, but she counted five fingers on each hand with one dirty nail apiece.
But he still didn't say anything, just stared at her. Goose-flesh crept up her neck, and she knew he wasn't acting. The fear she read in his eyes was real.
Ward was afraid of her. The realization stunned her into tears. Her Ward wasn't afraid of anything. Instinctively she stepped closer to him.
He held up a hand that shook slightly, but the palm-up gesture was universal.
"Tis." He said, his voice a slow grumbling growl that held more than a touch of menace. "Stay back." Then in a soft voice, almost a whisper, he added, "Please?"
For an instant she was hurt, but then reason took over. Whatever they had done to Ward, it had not made him slow of body. His rush to stand up had been quick. She'd been in too many fights to miss the heavy breathing and vibrating readiness. Whatever the cause, she'd frightened him. She had him cornered. She didn't really believe he would hurt her, but she backed away.
She took her eyes off his face because eye contact could feel threatening. Some visceral part of her protested the move, recognizing the danger he presented. But, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him relax marginally.
As she cleaned the cell, Ward slid back down the wall until he was crouched the way he had been when she'd come in. He drew the straw around him until it covered his legs and was scattered over most of the rest of him.
Tisala was careful to wipe her eyes and blank her face when she left Ward's cell. The other inhabitants of the wizard's block were more recognizably hurt, showing cuts and missing pieces. In one of the cells, the guards held the prisoner, who alternatively laughed and cried, while she cleaned.
There were many things that she despised about Jakoven, things that had authored the painful decision creating the distance between her father and her. But though his sins were legion, she had never hated him before today.
Tisala strode through the darkness of the tavern toward the back corner where Oreg waited for her.
She sat across from him and leaned forward. "You've got to get him out of there."
Oreg lowered his eyelids so she couldn't read his reaction, but his voice was mild. "If you found him—I can get him out."
Relief washed over her. Oreg would get him out. Of course he would.
"I didn't think anyone could lose so much weight in such a short period of time," she said. "He's lost at least a stone."
"Working magic can do that," said Oreg. "Tell me about what you saw."
With a handful of questions he got more information out of her than she remembered noticing, the way Ward's eyes had appeared black rather than brown, his swift coordinated movements contrasting to his slurred, labored speech.
Finally, Oreg tossed a silver coin on the table—too much, but Tisala didn't protest. She just took the arm he offered her and strode out of the tavern by his side.
He walked with controlled violence. Tisala didn't disturb him with talk because she felt the same need for action, the same fury. She hadn't forgotten that they'd met at the tavern so she could take Oreg to meet with Rosem, but she didn't want to take him there in this mood.
They walked through a small area shopping district, and he paused in front of a building with a mortar and pestle over the door, an apothecary shop. It was locked up tight at this time of night, of course, though there was light above where the proprietor doubtless lived.
"Herbs," said Oreg abruptly. "There are herbs that can make a person overwrought and confused. You said that he was not otherwise hurt."
Herbs suggested that the condition Ward was in was temporary.
"I told you the cell wasn't well lit," she said, "but I would have noticed any sizable wound or bruise. They're keeping whatever damage they're doing from showing." Maybe it was all herbs, she hoped.
"I'll get Ward out tonight," said Oreg. He resumed walking. His pace was still quick, but it was no longer urgent.
The air smelled of horse manure and other, even less savory, city smells, but it was clean and pure compared to what she'd been smelling all day.
"Tell me," said Oreg, "about the Asylum wing where Ward is. You said the king's wizards have a laboratory in the mage's wing."
"Yes, but I didn't see inside. It's kept locked."
He questioned her about little details, which side of the corridor Ward's cell was on, how many cells there were, about how big each cell was. Some things she knew, others she guessed, and a few she could only shrug about.
"Do you have time to see my friend?" she asked when she thought he was through questioning her.
He looked vague for an instant and she knew he'd forgotten.
"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important," she said.
"Fine," replied Oreg abruptly.
They walked a few blocks before Tisala found a street she knew, and it was well after full dark before she located Rosem's home.
She knocked at the door, three times in rapid succession so Rosem would know who it was, then entered without waiting for him to come to the door.
Rosem was seated at his table in front of the fire eating stew from a wooden bowl. He looked up once, a single sweeping glance, and gestured at the bench that spanned the length of the table across from him.
She took a seat and Oreg sat beside her. Rosem ate his dinner and didn't speak a word until he'd sopped up the last of the stew with a piece of dried bread. Tisala knew that he'd been using the time to assess Oreg, though he'd appeared to give his full attention to the wooden bowl he held.
He set his bowl aside and folded his arms across his chest. Without looking directly at Oreg, he addressed Tisala. "He's Hurog-bred."
"The old lord fathered a lot of us," said Oreg. "As did his father before him."
"Ward was the first wizard born into that family in living memory," continued Rosem. "Are you the second?"
Tisala frowned at him. What was he doing? She'd told him that Oreg was a mage.
Oreg smiled with boyish charm. "So they say."
"Rosem wants to know if you can get another person out of the Asylum," said Tisala before Rosem had time to really antagonize Oreg or vice versa. "He's not in the same wing as Ward."
Oreg's smile didn't change, so Tisala added, "Remember, without Rosem, I wouldn't have been able to find Ward."
The smile went out like a candle and Oreg said, "I can get another person out—if Ward agrees. But when I get Ward out, we won't linger here. Have your man put this on." Oreg opened his belt pouch and set a wooden bead on the table.
It was the size of a prune pit, painted with yellow and red designs and strung on a leather thong. Tisala had seen a number of barbarians—Shavigmen, she hastily corrected—wear such charms for luck while she had been at Hurog.
Rosem shook his head. "He won't be allowed to keep it."
"Can he hide it in his chambers, then? That's the only way I'll know where to get him, unless you want me to wait until you, yourself, are with him?" Oreg's voice was unfailingly courteous.
"I'll find a place to hide it. Don't you want to know who we want you to get out?" Rosem's voice was level with suspicion.
Oreg shook his head. "It doesn't matter. If I get Ward out of the Asylum, anyone else we get out can't worsen his position with the king."