"I apologise, Reverend Mother. The prisoner attempted to impose his filthy will on mine. I was weak, and I will do Penance in atonement for my lapse."

"He is a Seventh Rank Questor, Sister,” the Prioress purred, stepping into the cell. “Willpower is the cornerstone of his power. You erred in seeking to engage him in conversation.

"During two hours’ Penance-a Second Level Penance should suffice-I wish you to meditate on your error. From now on, you will confine your interaction with the subject to his education; is that clear?"

"Quite clear, Reverend Mother,” Drex replied. Her face was as expressionless now as the cell's stone walls.

"Go now and do your Penance,” Lizaveta said. “I will take care of our pet Questor now."

Drex bobbed a faultless curtsey that would not have shamed a lady-in-waiting at a royal court, and she left the room. Grimm summoned his defiance once more, determined to fight the Prioress to the end, even if he could not use his magic on her. For the space of a few heartbeats, he had seen the woman he loved emerge from Lizaveta's imposed cage, and that gave him hope.

"So, we are alone at last, my love.” The harsh sibilants made the words sound anything but inviting.

Grimm forced himself again to his feet."I am not your love, hag."

"But you will be, Grimm; you will be."

"Never!"

Lizaveta shook her head, as if disappointed by a beloved child's tantrum. “There are many emotions you have not yet sampled, Grimm Afelnor,” she said, “and I know them all. I know you are familiar with anger, love, self-loathing and despair, but what do you know of the pangs of mind-numbing, strength-sapping terror?"

Before Grimm could speak, it seemed as if an apple had been rammed into his throat, and he felt his heart pound in his chest. His tongue seemed to turn to dry wood, and his limbs trembled as a clammy sweat broke out all over his body.