It was nearly a week later when Fortney scraped her way painfully down the halls of the temple. She dragged herself, step by agonizing step, closer to her destination. Her balance was off, and she flapped her shortened limb as she reflexively tried to balance herself with an arm that was no longer there.

  Zamiran flitted around her like a nervous bee.

  "Please, Shazedah, you should not be walking yet. And so far! Your body needs more rest!"

  "My body needs to remember its duty and purpose," she growled. She huffed with exertion, though she was only barely halfway there.

  Zamiran bowed repeatedly.

  "The poison still lies in your flesh, Shazedah," he said. "We have leached out what we can, but only rest will allow your body to flush out the toxins that still work within you."

  Fortney paused, panting. She lifted her good fist in front of her eyes and clenched it tightly.

  "I will squeeze this poison out of my muscles," she said. "I will crush out the corruption of the hashashim. Effort will complete what sleep has not."

  "Shazedah, please!" Zamiran gave a despairing cry that bordered on weeping. "You must rest! What if you were to lose consciousness? Or fall?"

  "I will not," she said shortly.

  Zamiran continued pleading with her, but Fortney ignored him and began shuffling down the hall once again.

  "I have made my decision, Zamiran," she said, gritting her teeth with effort. "Now I will complete my mission."

  The beleagured priest kept fussing around her as she struggled down the hallway, refusing all calls to return to her bed.

  At long last, they stopped in front of an unassuming door in the temple hallway. Gasping for air, Fortney leaned up against one of the bas-relief murals of one of the Catastrophes. The sculpture of a hundred tiny, screaming faces pressed into her back.

  "Just a moment," she panted. "Just a moment to catch my breath. Then I will go in."

  Zamiran, with a sour look on his face, bowed in defeat.

  "As you say, Shazedah."

  "I may borrow your shoulder," she said. "But only as we cross the room."

  "I am here to serve you, Shazedah."

  It took longer than Fortney liked for her to catch her breath, but finally she was able to push away from the wall again. She scratched at the door.

  "Come," said a creaky, elderly voice from within.

  Zamiran pushed open the door. Fortney took one step inside, and clapped her hand down on Zamiran's shoulder. With an utter lack of grace, they shuffled awkwardly forward together, driven by Fortney's grim determination.

  An old man stood up from his chair, but Fortney ignored him. She only had eyes for the bed on the far side of the room. She slowly made her way across, supported by Zamiran, and stood staring down at the man in the bed, catching her breath.

  "How does he fare?" she asked once she could speak.

  The old man shrugged. "He lives." Fortney looked at him. "I am Al-Thabit," the old man said, bowing. He gestured at the figure on the bed. "Once upon a time I taught him. Commanded him in battle."

  Fortney gazed down at the still form of Kadir. As long as she had known him, he had been a burly, fleshy man, but now his face was drawn, and his cheeks were hollow. His body, once a tower of strength, was now withered and wasted. Her brow creased with anguish as she looked on the ruin of her mo'abbi.

  "Kadir," the old man said. "The Shazedah is here to see you."

  Kadir's face twisted in distaste, but he did not open his eyes.

  "Shazedah?" he croaked. His voice was hoarse, weak. "It's nonsense," he continued, his tone harsh. "A girl-child has no business learning the arts. She has soldiers and guards to protect her! Let her learn from them!"

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  "He is unmoored from time," Al-Thabit said quietly to Fortney. "He re-lives old battles. And sometimes old arguments." He turned back to the bed. "Kadir, it is the Shazedah."

  "No! It's undignified!" Kadir thrashed in the bed. "She would run weeping to the Sultan the first time she fell to the ground! I won't do it!"

  "Mo'abbi," Fortney barked with unexpected strength. Her voice rang through the room. "I have returned to you."

  Kadir's eyes popped open. They darted around, then settled on her. They filled with tears.

  "Fortney," he said, his voice filled with wonder. She smiled at his recognition. "Fortney, my student. My charge." His jaw quivered, and he tried to raise a hand. Fortney took it up in hers.

  "I am here, mo'abbi," she said.

  Kadir shivered, and his teeth chattered. "It is cold," he said. "It's so very cold in here."

  Fortney nodded to Zamiran, and he fetched a felted wool blanket to lay over Kadir. Her master's shivering stilled somewhat.

  "Fortney," he said. "It is good to see you alive. The priests told me, but so much in my mind is muddled, or confused... I had feared..." His eyes filled again.

  "I am alive," she said, squeezing his hand.

  Kadir moaned, though whether in pain of body or pain of spirit it was impossible to tell.

  "There is so much more I wanted to teach you," he said. "So much more I wanted to tell." His grip bore down on hers with sudden strength, and his eyes clarifed, drilling into her with unexpected ferocity. "I have more things to tell than I have time to tell them."

  Fortney squeezed his hand back.

  "You will have time, old man," she said with a forced smile. "You will have time."

  His grip weakened, and his eyes unfocused a little.

  "Fortney," he said, "if I have been hard on you... if I have been cruel... know that it is because I saw in you a warrior's heart like no other. I thought to refine you, as silver is refined in a fire." His eyes closed. "I sought to turn your hardness into strength."

  "You have been a wonderful teacher, mo'abbi," she said, her eyes downcast. "You have been a greater teacher than such a weak and wayward student deserved."

  Kadir's grip tightened again.

  "You are my greatest pupil."

  Tears stung Fortney's eyes, but she blinked them away.

  "I am reduced," she said quietly.

  Kadir's eyes flew open, and he stared at her fiercely. Meekly, she raised the linen-wrapped stump of her arm into his view. "I am less," she said. She released him and flexed her good right hand. "I am worth less."

  Kadir frowned at her.

  "You are only worthless if your worth is in your fists," he said. "What is the first weapon of a warrior?"

  Fortney's lips tightened, and her eyes filled, but she let no tears fall.

  "The heart," she said finally.

  "As long as you hold your heart of steel, then you are as powerful a warrior as ever you were."

  "I do not see it," she said, her voice hoarse. "I failed, mo'abbi," she said quietly. "In the mill, with the hashashim, I... I failed."

  He scoffed loudly, sounding almost like his old self.

  "Failed?" he said. "Child, my memory is stabbed through with holes, but I have heard the nattering of the priests. They say that you killed three hashashim who caught you by surprise. I have only known one other warrior who has done the like. And it was me." Zamiran's eyebrows rose, and he colored slightly. Kadir addressed him. "I will keep what other rumors I've heard from the priests to myself."

  Kadir shifted, trying to get into a more comfortable position, frowned, and settled back again. His sharp gaze softened as he turned back to Fortney.

  "Your shape has changed," he said, "but your heart has not. Shazedah, I will admit to you my weakness. I will admit to you my great failing." His eyes filled again. "My weakness is my pride in you. In all you have become. Never have I had a greater student, or a stronger." He took her hand again, and his grip tightened, nearly painful now. "I am proud of you. You have a steel heart, my Shazedah. You have a heart to honor the fiercest warrior. A heart to make this old man proud."

  Fortney bowed her head, willing the tears away with all her strength.

  They stayed like that for a long time, mo'abbi and student, until Kadir slipped back into his fitful slumber.

  The palace was dark and quiet. The Sultan stalked the halls restlessly.

  He was filled with such fury as he'd never known, and had been for weeks now. To touch his own family! To dare to turn their blades toward his daughter!

  Every time he thought of that dark mill, his heart tightened in his chest. The suffering she had endured in there--he shook his head, casting the thought away. He could not bear even to consider it.

  When his Talira, the Malekah of his heart, had passed at Fortney's birth, he'd turned inward. What enemy was there to rail against? What face was there to smite? Only the gods, and even a Sultan could not strike so high. So he'd swallowed an ocean of sadness to fill the emptiness left by his queen, carved a smile onto his face, and turned all his attention to his Fortney, the jewel of his heart.

  But now, an enemy with a face to smite had tried to take his daughter from him. The Sultan trembled with rage. She was all the hope and light he had left in this world. Darkness lurked on his shoulder, cooing in his ear, eager to take him. All too well he could see the path laid out before him, a path of blood and hatred and anguish.

  But that was not the man he wanted his daughter to see. He wanted her to see a stronger man, a better world, a land of light and hope instead of vengeance and death. A land where her steel heart was a blessing and a joy, not a necessity for survival.

  The Sultan's baleful wandering took him to the viewing-chamber. He stepped out onto the veranda, feeling keenly the absence of Fortney at his side, and took in the sleeping city of Baradon with his glittering eye. The moon was dark, shyly hiding her face. The sparkles of a millions stars twinkled in the blue-black sky.

  All this beauty, this poetry for the soul, this abundance of salve for the heart, and it was all ashes and pit-scrapings to his eyes.

  He took a deep breath. His plan was set. He did not like it. She would not like it. But he knew it was necessary. For his kingdom and for himself. For Fortney.

  "I will protect my daughter," he promised the still night. His face hardened. "I will."