"I see my mistake now,” she muttered. “A direct emotional assault on a Questor in his prime of youth and power was foolish. Physical pain cannot defeat you, but it will weaken you to the point where you can no longer resist me. I haven't lost, Grimm; I have learned a little more about you."

"You'll never possess me, witch,” Grimm growled. “I won't give in to you, whatever you do to me. I won't betray Drex-the memory of the true Drex I know and love-or my Guild, so just kill me and be done with it."

"You will die when I give you permission and not before,” the Prioress intoned, but Grimm managed another lop-sided smile.

"I don't doubt it, Prioress,” he said. “But that's all you can do. You may have power over my mortal body, but my soul will remain my own."

Lizaveta grunted and staggered from the cell, and Grimm was alone again.

Now, the fierce joy of triumph ebbed, and he gasped as his body imposed its demands: his head now felt as if it were stuffed full of nails; his joints screamed with pain, and he feared he had torn several ligaments. He accepted the pain, welcoming it; at least he was alive and in his own mind.

I'll take whatever Lizaveta throws at me, he swore to himself. For a few brief moments, he had opened up a narrow fissure leading to Drexelica's true self, and he vowed to work to widen that breach whenever he had the opportunity.

All I need is to be able to endure, and to hope that Lizaveta trusts in her conditioning of Drex enough to leave her alone with me again.

I'm in no condition to fight now. I need to gather my strength if I'm to endure what Lizaveta has in store for me.

Grimm closed his eyes and began to meditate. As a Student, he had hated the hours spent sitting cross-legged, staring into space, but he now blessed the Magemasters he had cursed as a callow youth. Even though he had never seen the worth of his long, painful meditation lessons before, he saw it now; it just might give him the chance he needed to prevail.