Well, what had she expected, she wondered. Power? Escape? Wings?

She waited. The stick leaned against the wall, taking some of its weight off her arms. She didn’t feel as tired as she expected, but—

“Patience. It seems they’ll kill you if we’re not careful, and you’re far too good to be killed over politics.

I’m afraid this round’s going to be a draw. So call on the moon for what you really need now, and hurry! But never recant. They can take your power only if you give in!”

Priscilla stood, arms over head, staring at her hair in the silver light. Then she began chanting, the properly measured chant of Moonhawk’s own words.

The vision she saw was not of the Moon, nor of freedom, but of a man. Not simply any man, though—a man gaunt of face; with fingers so strong they’d crush rock to powder, fingers so gentle they’d caress and tease a breast for hours…

Lute! she realized. Lute the Magician. She’d read of him, both good and bad; in the public schools he was a legend, and in Temple training he was example: she’d read the tracts explaining away his magic and showing a novitiate how to see through the sleight-of-hands he’d performed… the more recent books had him as an amiable charlatan, persuaded of the Goddess through Moonhawk’s True Power. They’d been lovers!

The thought burned her: she been taught a Moonhawk strong and pure, celibate. But Moonhawk had had a lover—

She’d touched his words, too, then! And could power but go to power? Surely Moonhawk’s lover—

“Lute,” she called out loud then, “Lute! Lend me your power! Lute, by the Goddess—”

She heard a noise and returned to her chant, her demand still echoing up the walls toward the open windows—

They came quickly: dozens of them, including the entire Inner Circle. They came brandishing open-flamed torches and with silver and stone headdresses. They came with 11 of the 14 living Names among them, and with spell-proof outworld rope they pulled her from her perch, bruising her breasts and legs. They chanted back, and with two Sisters on each arm and three on each leg they held her face down on the stone floor to stop her voice, and they took the finest of knives and slashed at her hair, cutting and hacking at it till it fell everywhere around her.