"Is she going to be all right?" Marishka asked.

Her voice surprised him. Until she spoke, Peto had forgotten she was in the room. She stood by the door, out of the way of the men trying to save her sister's life. Now he focused on Marishka-her clasped hands, her too-bright eyes.

"Don't cry," he whispered and held out his arms.

She stepped into them and began to sob.

Jorani seemed to take forever to answer the summons, but he came prepared. The elixir he gave Ilsabet cooled the fire in her throat, as well as the one in her mind. Even so, it was some minutes before she could force more than a trickle of air into her lungs. When she exhaled, she started to scream, and cut off the sound.

"Let out the rage," Jorani said to her. "You have to."

She did as he said. Each cry calmed her as if the sounds were emptying the mind of the emotions that caused them.

Hours passed. Ilsabet's voice grew hoarse, her throat sore. Finally, when the cries subsided to frightened whimpers, Jorani ordered the bonds cut. She immediately hugged her teacher, making him stay after the others left. "Do you think he'll lock you up again now that I'm better?" she whispered.

"You little fool! If you'd taken a bigger bite or if Peto had waited longer to send for me, I'd be heaping wood on your funeral pyre now," he said without real anger.

The moment she'd risked her life to free him, she ceased being merely his pupil and became something more. He wished there were not such an obscene difference in their ages, for he loved her-her daring and spirit even more than her faith in him.

In the morning, Jorani sought out Baron Peto, meeting with him in his private chambers. Peto's suspicions had turned away from Jorani, and his guards had been questioning the kitchen staff, dismissing the servants employed since the rebellion.