A cold chill crawled down Terreis' spine as she wandered the dark, dank confines of the lower level dungeons. Focused on getting the truth from the prisoner, she hadn't really considered the place before. Now she couldn't help but notice the stale air tinged with the stench of human misery, the way the dull lights overhead made everything look as though it was coated in a thick layer of dust -- even the few things that weren't coated in a thick layer of dust -- or the damp chill that clung to every surface. She pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders as if it could ward off the oppressive atmosphere. The sound of boots headed her way was a welcome relief from her own thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Highness, but I couldn't find the night guards. They must be delivering food to the prisoners."

"No matter," she said softly. "I know where her cell is," she said softly, finding herself oddly relieved not to have to put up with the guards, even if the idea made Rubio uneasy. They'd been all too eager to manhandle the prisoner, and had seemed to enjoy the task far too much for her tastes.

"Perhaps I should go first," Rubio suggested hesitantly when they found the proper cell door.

Thinking of the creature she'd seen earlier, Terreis had her doubts about the need for any protection, but she nodded and allowed him to step in front of her.

It was a wasted effort. When he threw the bolt and opened the door, they found the cell dark and utterly silent. With only the ambient light shining in from the hallway, it took a moment to be certain it was empty.

"They must have moved the prisoner to another cell," Rubio murmured.

Terreis nodded even as she tried to ignore the sense of unease sliding down her spine. Lemier had said the outlande had been brought in near death and she'd more than looked it. Had she passed during the intervening hours? The idea disturbed her more than she would have liked, though she tried to tell herself it was just the loss of an information source that bothered her so deeply. "We need to find the guards," she muttered and turned to hurry back toward the entry area, trusting her bodyguard to follow. They found the outer rooms of the guard quarters still empty.

"Maybe they're asleep in the back," Rubio suggested and pointed toward a closed door. He shrugged apologetically in response to her annoyed look. "I didn't think to check before."

Terreis was still drawing breath to answer when a dull roar sounded behind the closed door. She brushed past Rubio in an instant, ignoring his words and the hand that reached out as if to grab, but didn't dare make contact. She heard a curse and a woman's voice even as she reached for the door to the guards' personal quarters and yanked it open.

The outlander female was crouched in one corner of a cot, her eyes fever bright, her shirt torn, mouth bloodied, nails and knuckles also bloodied. Even as weak as she was, she'd managed to gouge the cheek of one of her would-be attackers while the other one was bent double, clutching his groin. Focused on their prisoner, neither man seemed to notice the latest entrant into the drama.

"You'll be dead by morning," the one with the bloodied face snarled, "but we've got plenty to do till then."

"That's right," the other one gasped as he struggled to straighten up. "Lots and lots of ways to make you pay."

They lunged at her so suddenly that Terreis doubted the woman on the bed had any more idea that she'd entered than the men.

The queen didn't pause, just reacted, lunging forward to grab the nearest man by the scruff of his neck. Hurling him aside, she reached for the other one, grabbing the limping man by the collar to haul him back from the terrified woman.

Growling an obscenity, he twisted in her grasp, blindly lashing out. She easily blocked the haphazard blow and slung him away from herself. "Rubio!" Her furious bark filled the room, but her bodyguard was already knocking heads with the billy club from his belt.

"Your queen commands you!" he bellowed in the face of their resistance.

And suddenly both men froze as the identity of their attackers sank in. "Highness?" they stammered, frightened voices overlapping each other. "We were unaware of your entry into the dungeons," the one with the gashed cheek said quickly. "How may we serve you?"

The queen's outrage grew with every word as she realized he thought her anger came from the lack of service. "You could start by not attempting to rape the prisoners under my protection." Both men flinched at her sharp tone. She glanced back at Rubio. "Inform the commander of the watch that these two men are to be removed from duty and punished for attacking a prisoner."

The bodyguard eyed the two men and nodded, though his response was entirely practical. "After you've safely returned to your apartments, My Queen."

Terreis did a slow turn, trusting her bodyguard to handle the situation as she considered the prisoner. The woman was pressed into the far corner of the cot where it butted up against the wall, her hands crossed in front of her holding the multi-hued shirt she wore closed in front. In decent light, she looked even worse than she had in near darkness, her face pale and painfully thin, deep circles under her eyes. Her breath was coming in harsh gasps and violent tremors wracked her slight frame. Dark eyes stared into the distance, dazed and unfocused. Terreis stepped closer, but the woman on the bed showed no sign of noticing, then she crouched down, reaching out hesitantly.

The prisoner reacted abruptly, jerking her head back and glaring with feral resentment.

"Highness, are you sure you should--" Rubio started to question her judgment but she cut him off.

"She won't hurt me," she said with absolute conviction, though she had no idea where the certainty came from. The prisoner blinked, lips pulling back from her clenched teeth in a tiny, inhuman growl.

"Easy," the queen soothed as she continued reaching out, her voice low. "I won't hurt you."

In the wake of the prisoner's silence, 'Bloody Cheek' apparently decided it was a good time to try and shift the blame. "She tried to seduce us, Your Highness. Offered her body if we let her out."

"He's lying," the woman on the cot said, her voice perfectly flat as she fixed an accusing stare on the woman crouched in front of her.

"Most likely," the queen agreed, then paused to throw a quick glance toward the guard. "And since at best, you were ready to release a valuable prisoner in return for sex, you're hardly trustworthy." She didn't want him to think she believed any excuses he might offer.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head in denial. "Wasn't gonna let her go ... just do her and throw her back in the cell."

"Or maybe kill her?" the queen hissed, dangerous rage glittering in her eyes. She'd overheard enough to be fairly certain that had been their intention. They'd obviously planned on hiding their crime by murdering the only witness. She didn't care what his reasons, nothing excused what they'd intended. He froze, swallowing hard in the face of the rage directed his way. "Get them out of here," she ordered Rubio, "into one of the empty cells ... so I don't have to look at them any longer."

Her bodyguard nodded, grabbing the two men and hauling them out with rough strength.

Brown eyes slid closed for a moment and a hard shudder rattled through the outlander's fragile frame. Her nails were torn, her knuckles bruised and bloodied. Terreis reached out, amazed to find her earlier anger nowhere in evidence as she carefully brushed bruised hands aside. The woman tensed, fingers curling into fists, ready to fight. "I won't harm you," she soothed, turning her hands to catch bony wrists in a surprisingly gentle grasp. "I just want to see if you're hurt." The prisoner seemed uncertain how to respond and, too weak to fight, couldn't prevent the queen as she pressed her hands back. She wore a black shirt under the long sleeved green one. Hanging loose on her frame, it was filthy and there were several tears that revealed fresh scratches on the flesh underneath. It shook the blond to realize the woman was even thinner than she'd originally realized, hauntingly so. She released her hold, allowing her prisoner to pull her outer shirt together again. "There's so much anger at your people for all the killing and destruction--"

The outlander showed her first real sign of life at that, eyes flashing as she insisted, "We haven't hurt anyone."

A sharp flare of temper nearly to drove the queen to drag the woman back to her cell -- she'd seen the reports of the casualties, and knew the suffering being inflicted on her people -- but she tamped down on the impulse. "Lying won't help you," she said very softly, her tone dangerous.

Rich brown eyes focused on her, and the outlander shook her head. "I'm not lying."

Facing that impossibly deep gaze, Terreis could almost believe her; might have if she weren't all too aware of the damage this woman and her ilk had done. Her teeth gritted as she forced down a dozen conflicting emotions.

"She won't be safe if we leave her here," Rubio pointed out practically as he returned. "The day guards are no better than the night ones ... and a vulnerable woman is a tempting target for them."

"And the anger against the outlanders doubtless doesn't help. People are too eager to take revenge for the pain and suffering," the queen murmured and fixed a hard gaze on her prisoner. "If I leave you here," she said softly, her tone an odd mix of pitying and grim warning, "this is likely to happen again ... or worse."

The outlander shook her head, her expression hopeless. "You make it sound as though I have some kind of input about what happens ... when we both know that's not true."

Accusation glittered in rich, dark eyes and Terreis had to fight the urge to flinch under a wave of guilt that was wholly at odds with her status as queen, especially when caused by a savage enemy. "That's right," she said more sharply she might have otherwise. She reached out, brushing lank and filthy bangs back from the woman's forehead. "It's entirely under my control. I can leave you here at the mercy of the next guard who decides to make use of you," the softly spoken words struck the woman on the cot like actual blows, "or I can remove you to a safe place."

The prisoner sat silently, teeth digging into her lower lip. Terreis could sense the wild turmoil of emotions running just beneath the surface, but if she was expecting some kind of surrender or plea for mercy, she was going to be disappointed. Weak and battered as she was, the prisoner wasn't beaten. She surprised even herself when she didn't wait any longer and simply made the decision, hooking a hand around the woman's upper arm. "I'm not leaving you here."

The outlander appeared startled by the abrupt decision. With Terreis pulling on her arm, she stumbled off the cot, her legs so shaky she would have collapsed without support. She staggered and fell against the taller woman. Terreis simply tightened her hold while Rubio stepped forward, ready to offer a hand. She shook her head. After the attack, she was afraid the outlander might panic if she found herself grabbed by a strange male. "See to the guards," she told him. "I want them punished ... and I want it well known that any prisoners are to be treated humanely. I know these are difficult times, but I will not see such cruelty become the norm."

Rubio nodded seriously. "Understood, My Queen." He indicated the prisoner. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Quite," she assured him, comfortably certain she could deal with any attempted resistance. "Go on."

"Yes, My Queen," he murmured and hurried out.

When he was gone, Terreis looked down at the slender figure leaning heavily against her. The woman's head was down, her eyes closed, and she looked to be barely conscious. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she seemed to collapse inward as though she'd exhaled the last of her energy in that breath. Terreis tightened her hold as her prisoner's knees threatened to buckle and the outlander was forced to lean more heavily against her side. The queen was shaken to feel just how thin the woman was. Teeth gritted against a fresh wave of pity, she reminded herself that this was her enemy. She wouldn't allow her to be brutalized, but neither could she afford to allow herself to soften where she was concerned. She wouldn't allow any woman to be harmed that way. That was the only reason she was so furious. It had nothing to do with the hopeful look the prisoner had directed her way earlier or pity for her poor condition. She wouldn't have allowed any creature to be abused in so cruel a fashion.

She kept telling herself that even as she slid her hand from the outlander's arm, dropping it down and around her waist, while she reached across her with her other hand, curving it supportively to a narrow shoulder. "Come," she commanded as she led her out of the dungeons.

By the time they reached the royal apartments, the outlander was shambling so badly Terreis was afraid she might have to carry her the last few feet. There was a narrow pallet in a niche in the wall intended for her maid's use -- though Maya hadn't used it since she could remember -- along one wall of her sleeping chamber, and she lowered the prisoner onto it as gently as she was able, muscles flexing to keep the woman from collapsing like a dead weight. The outlander leaned forward on her elbows, head hanging limp from her shoulders, her muscles trembling so badly, Terreis half expected her to collapse to the floor.

The queen crouched down, one hand resting on the pallet near a slim hip as she stared up at her prisoner. "What's your name?" she demanded quietly.

The outlander's chin rose, brown eyes sweeping upward until they encountered Terreis' paler gaze. "You really don't know, do you?" she whispered, her voice still breathy from exertion.

Terreis shook her head. "No ... if our guards were aware of it, I wasn't informed."

The prisoner seemed uncertain how to respond, though it was impossible to tell why.

"Your name," the queen demanded more sharply this time.

"Janet Fraiser," the outlander responded at last, her voice fading at the end.

Terreis tested the name mentally, sounding it out in her head before speaking. "Janetfraiser," she repeated, making it all one word.

"No," the outlander quietly corrected. "Two words ... Janet..." she paused momentarily, "...Fraiser."

Terreis retested the name, finding it felt more natural now. "Janet," she exhaled very softly, then suddenly stiffened, throwing off the temptation to sympathize. She straightened her shoulders ever so slightly, becoming more formal as she asked, "Is it the tradition among your people to use the first, the second or both names when addressing someone?"

Another long pause, then the outlander spoke very softly, "The first name for informal speech, last name for more formal situations ... it indicates family relationships where the first name is more personal."

Terreis nodded, wanting to learn anything she could. The more she understood her enemies, the better the chances she could find a way to stop them. She abruptly realized the outlander -- Janet, she mentally amended -- was watching her closely. She wondered if the other woman was looking for clues for manipulating her, or perhaps for a way to learn something her people might use. "If you're thinking of escape, don't bother," she bit out, wanting the prisoner to understand her only option was to cooperate. "And if you're thinking you might be able to overpower me," a feral smile curved the queen's lips, "allow me to assure you, I'm more than capable of defending myself."

She was surprised when the woman shook her head unsteadily, looking like she'd been struck for sport. "I-I wasn't..." she stammered. She swallowed hard, staring up at Terreis in a way that wouldn't let her look away. "I don't want to hurt you," she exhaled after a beat.

Caught by that limpid gaze, the queen didn't know what to say for a long moment. "Good," she said at last, "then we should get along just fine."

The outlander's head fell forward again and she sagged, elbows braced on her thighs, leaning heavily on her arms. She shook her head, whispering something to herself, but Terreis couldn't make out the words. Trying to hear, she leaned a little closer, nose wrinkling with distaste as she caught a whiff of the stench of sweat and sickness emanating from Janet Fraiser. Something was going to have to be done about that. She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes touching on the pool that sat in the middle of the room, the water flowing steadily through it warmed as it slid over heated rocks, keeping it perpetually ready should she decide to bathe. She was half afraid to allow the woman in for fear she'd drown, but the showers in the adjoining servants' quarters weren't heated, and she feared the outlander's condition was too frail to stand up to the cold. Finally, she reached out, reaching for the front of the mottled green overshirt the woman wore.

Startled by the sudden contact, Janet's chin came up, her eyes going wide as a frown creased her brow. "What are you--"

"You need a bath," Terreis said simply. Not wanting the woman to think she was after anything else, she carefully kept her tone neutral. "You're filthy ... and have scratches that could infect." She was surprised by the force the prisoner managed to summon to knock her hands away.

"I'll be fine," Janet croaked unsteadily. Her eyes were wide and frightened, as though she somehow knew all of the things Maya had suggested and feared they might happen.

Terreis pushed that thought off as quickly as it occurred. Of course the woman was frightened. She had every right to be scared. She was part of an invading army and probably expected to be treated the way her own people treated prisoners. Maya's suggestions might well have seemed tame by comparison. "And I have no intention of having to put up with the smell," she said bluntly. "You needn't fear being harmed, but you will bathe. Either you can take your clothes off, or I'll do it for you." Her gaze was hard, her tone utterly implacable. She meant the threat in no uncertain terms and had no intention of softening her stance no matter how many soft looks were thrown her direction. She wasn't like her enemies, but neither was she weak or a fool.

Janet drew breath as if to argue, but seeing the look in blue eyes, she retreated. "I can do it," she whispered at last.

Terreis nodded, clamping down on any hesitation to back off with a firm hand. "Do so quickly," she instructed as she pushed to her feet and stepped back a pace. "I'll arrange for food and drink to be brought." As well as manacles. Even if the prisoner seemed weak as a kitten, she'd injured two guards, both of them twice her size. The queen had no intention of allowing her any more freedom than necessary.

"Something mild," Janet requested, her voice not quite sliding over into a plea, but close enough that the queen didn't bristle. "I don't think I can keep anything strong down." It was obvious how difficult the confession was for her. She wasn't a woman who admitted weakness easily.

"I'll see to it," the queen felt the need to assure her prisoner. The woman was in very real physical distress. Hate the outlanders as she did, she didn't have it in her to add more cruelties to those she'd already suffered. After a last look, she turned and slipped out, reasonably certain the woman was too weak to offer any real resistance. Though there were a few weapons in her chambers, she seriously doubted they could be found in the few minutes she would be gone. She wasn't even sure the woman could stand up in that amount of time. Finding a servant, she ordered food, clean slaves' robes, and a set of manacles to be delivered to her chambers. If the man thought there was anything odd about her request, it didn't show in his bland expression. He assured her he'd arrange for everything she requested to be delivered. After nodding in approval, she hurried back toward her apartments.

She pulled up short as she reentered her bedchamber to find the prisoner standing shakily,  her back to the door, her outer shirt tossed haphazardly on the floor. As Terreis watched, she unfastened her pants and let them drop, weaving unsteadily as she stepped out of them. Swallowing hard, the queen's head canted to one side, torn between pity over her prisoner's poor condition and a host of far less benign emotions -- anger, frustration ... desire?

The last thought occurred before she could stop it, and she instantly dismissed it. That couldn't be. The woman was filthy, half dead, and might well need to be sandblasted to get her clean. Added to which, she was part of an attacking army. Hardly the description of an attractive package. Any thoughts along those lines were simply a product of Maya's suggestions coupled with the obvious realities of having a strange woman stripping off her clothes in front of her. As if in response to that thought, the woman peeled the black t-shirt off over her head and let it fall to the floor, the sight of her bare back enough to make the queen wince and instantly wipe away any thoughts of desire. Several ugly red marks slashed across her back -- pressure points that would doubtless darken to bruises with time -- and there were visible fingernail scratches at her hips and shoulders. Despite herself, the image of frightened dark eyes flashed in her head, and her hands fisted tightly at her sides as she remembered that her own men had inflicted those injuries. She had to fight the urge to step forward and help as Janet staggered toward the sunken pool, her every step painfully unsteady. Terreis half expected her to simply sink under when she stepped into the sunken tub, but she managed to keep her head above water. Hooking an arm over the edge of the pool, she leaned there for a long moment, her head hanging listlessly, then finally reached for the sweet smelling bar of soap that sat along the edge of the pool.

As Terreis stood silently watching, her prisoner began painstakingly washing away the grime, her every movement torturously slow. She was so weak the queen feared she would sink under the water at any moment and be unable to fight her way to the surface again. As she stood there on the balls of her feet, ready to rush forward, she kept telling herself it was just because she couldn't risk losing such a valuable prisoner. She tensed when Janet tipped her head back and slid under, but she pulled herself up again soon enough that the queen realized it had been intentional. She started to soap her hair with the bar soap and Terreis took a half step forward. "There's shampoo in the gold carafe," she told her, speaking for the first time since returning.

Janet twisted in the water, nearly losing her grip on the edge of the pool and going under. Her eyes huge in her face, she stared up at Terreis, her free arm swinging around to hide her chest. "I didn't hear you return," she breathed.

"No ... you didn't," the queen confirmed, keeping her tone as bland as possible as she stepped forward, moving slowly so as not to startle the woman, dealing with her the way she would a feral animal. Well aware of the dark eyes tracking her every move, she stepped to the side of the pool, crouching down to indicate the shampoo. "Try that," she instructed without looking toward her prisoner. "And the silver one afterward." She could just barely make out Janet at the edge of her peripheral vision, her body tense, clinging tightly to the edge of the pool. She didn't move and Terreis slowly swung her head that direction, sharp blue eyes taking in the expanse of creamy flesh revealed through the distorting ripples of water. The outlander was far too thin, but her skin was nearly flawless by the look of it. "Do you need help?" she asked, carefully keeping the bland tone in place.

Dark eyes fell away and Janet shook her head, but didn't move. "No," she whispered.

When she still hadn't moved after a long moment, Terreis pushed both carafes closer, then straightened to her full height, arms folded across her chest as she silently watched.

The prisoner swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to gather herself, then reached out to retrieve the gold container, tipping a measure of thick shampoo into her hand. She quickly lathered her hair, then sank under the water.

The queen tensed, very aware of the seconds that ticked by until the woman surfaced again, her breath coming deep and ragged. Janet hooked her arm over the edge of the pool and hung there, limp and gasping, worn out by that simple effort. Blue eyes slid over too slender shoulders, then trailed along the length of the outlander's bare arm. Terreis was a little appalled to find herself wondering if the pale flesh exposed to her eyes was as soft as it appeared, while her fingers tingled faintly with the sensual desire to touch and find out. Tortured and desperate -- born into what was clearly a warring society and probably a cruel one judging by their attacks on the villagers -- the outlander might well have never known gentleness in her life. What would happen if--

She cut that thought off right there, unfolding her arms to twine her hands together at the small of her back. It was just Maya's suggestions making her aware of things that would have otherwise gone unnoticed ... like the glossy highlights that glittered on freshly washed hair and the graceful line of the woman's neck where it curved into her shoulder. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her jangled nerves, careful to keep her expression impassive. "Do you need help?" she offered again when the prisoner still hadn't moved several moments later.

Janet shook her head slowly without looking up, then took a deep breath and reached for the silver flask.

A muscle flexed along the sharp line of the queen's jaw as she watched the prisoner's efforts, fighting the natural pity that came from watching someone so weakened struggle to do the simplest things. She looked more like the victim of some ungodly act than the perpetrator, making it a constant effort to remember who and what she was.

The outlander went under again to rinse her hair a final time and a second ticked by, then two. By the sixth, the queen was moving, careless of her gown as she knelt down and reached under the water. She hooked her hand across the woman's chest and under her armpit, hauling her to the surface, then holding her there when she hung limp, coughing and gagging as she dragged air into her lungs. Her arm came up clinging to the queen's, though there was little strength to her hold. Water soaked through Terreis' sleeves and the front of her gown, but she barely felt it as she scooped her other hand under the prisoner's arm. Several moments passed by, the only noise to break the silence, the ragged sound of Janet's breathing as she fought to catch her breath.

Terreis swallowed hard, the intimacy of the position making her intensely aware of the fact that, despite her thinness, the prisoner had good bone structure and silky smooth skin -- her fingertips just grazed the outer curve of a rounded breast -- as well as curves that would be beautifully proportioned at a normal weight. To see her in this condition seemed almost a crime in and of itself; like seeing a wild dargash starving and brutalized. "Did your masters abuse you?" she murmured, still holding the woman supportively, wet hair brushing her cheek as she leaned down to whisper near a a delicate ear. "Did they threaten you ... beat you ... withhold food to make you attack?" Tension rippled through the slender figure hanging on her arm, and Janet pressed weakly at the arm braced across her chest.

"I have no masters," the prisoner gasped, teeth gritted with the effort required to try and fear herself.

An obvious lie as far as the queen was concerned. The woman was no general, not even a field commander. Most likely, she was little more than cannon fodder thrown into the fight with little care whether she lived or died. Considering the condition she was in, no one had given a damn about her in quite some time. Which left Terreis to idly wonder what she would be like if someone did. She pushed the thought down in an instant, shoving any compassion aside in favor of more practical considerations. "Answer my questions," the queen promised, her voice husky, "and I'll see you rewarded." Her prisoner would have pulled away, but as weak as was, the queen barely had to tighten her grip to keep her right where she was. "It's obvious your life has been difficult. I can change that. Just tell me what I need to know to defeat our attackers."

Janet Fraiser shook her head, every movement a struggle. "I can't help you," she breathed as she managed to get her feet under her.

Terreis momentarily debated increasing the pressure only to decide she had a better chance of coaxing the woman into offering what she knew if she used a lighter hand. "Can you get out on your own now?"

The queen was almost disappointed to hear her prisoner's barely audible, "Yes."

As she pulled her arm back, Terreis' fingers trailed across Janet's torso, brushing silky wet flesh, that small contact sending trickles of heat up her arm, awareness burning through her now that she wasn't concentrated on preventing the woman from drowning.  It didn't help slow her pulse to remember that, by law, she had every right to do anything she wished, take whatever she wanted, in any manner she wanted. As Maya had reminded her, her ancestors had done so plenty of times. She pushed the thought off almost as quickly as it appeared. More than a few of her ancestors had been little more than savages. Their behavior wasn't something she cared to emulate even with an enemy as bloodthirsty as this one. Clamping down on those unwanted thoughts, she pushed to her feet, grabbing for one of the huge towels that sat folded on a shelf near the bath.

The outlander climbed almost halfway out, then seemed to run out of steam and stood on the second step down, her head down, muscles trembling with the effort required to simply remain on her feet. Shaking the towel out, Terreis threw it around pale shoulders, stepping onto the top step -- careless of the water that soaked the bottom edge of her gown -- to wrap an arm around the woman when it was obvious she wasn't going any farther under her own steam. She all but lifted the prisoner the last couple of steps until she was standing -- albeit unsteadily -- on the tile floor, water sluicing off her skin to puddle at her feet. Stepping behind her, Terreis rubbed the towel up and down her arms, then along her shoulders and down her back. As she worked, the towel slid back, revealing a shoulder that was amazingly smooth now that it was cleared of grime. Teeth gritted against the curious desire to touch, she lifted a corner of the towel, ruffling wet-dark hair. After a moment, she combed her fingers through the silky strands to remove the worst of the tangles, that sensual pleasure somehow less dangerous than the desire to stroke bare flesh. She was startled out of her aimless thoughts by the outlander's soft voice.

"Why," the woman whispered, her voice thick with confusion, "are you doing this?"

Still finger-combing wet hair, Terreis tugged Janet back against her chest and slid an arm around her when her knees threatened to buckle. "Because it needs to be done," she said very softly, muscles pulling taut as Janet's struggles increased, though she had little strength for the effort. "Don't fight me," she commanded not unkindly, but with enough determination to make it apparent she wouldn't be dissuaded. "We're not the savages here. You won't be harmed if you just answer my questions." She softened her voice, purposely gentling her hands as she added, "In fact, if you help me stop this, I can see you rewarded...."

Janet jerked sharply in an effort to free herself, but as weak as was, it took almost no effort to keep her right where she was. "Please don't," she exhaled raggedly, her voice suddenly taking on a whole new timbre.

It took Terreis a beat to realize that the hand braced across her prisoner's chest had slid under the towel in front and was spread over bare flesh, her hold almost possessive. She hadn't even noticed doing it, but now that she did, she froze as the tactile reality sank in. Her breath caught, her first impulse to yank her hand back as though burned tempered by the fact that the woman in her arms would have collapsed without the support. Amazingly enough, her second impulse was almost the perfect opposite of her first as she recognized the shape of the curves beneath her palm and realized that only the slightest increased spread in her fingers would put them in contact with  a coral tipped nipple. She swallowed hard, startled by a sudden rush of heat that made coherent thought a challenge. Reminding herself that this was about gaining information, she forced that impulse down as well, swallowing hard as she struggled to control the confusing and wholly unwanted responses. Concentrating on the lack of natural padding between flesh and bone at Janet's ribs, she reminded herself that the woman was a bare step above dead. She had been cruelly used by someone and very likely knew nothing of kindness. Terreis couldn't help but wonder if she could be taught to trust. Would a gentle hand perhaps soothe Janet Fraiser's fears and coax whatever secrets she held from soft lips, where cruelty would gain nothing? "I won't hurt you," she whispered very softly. "Just tell me what you know so I can help you."

Terreis could feel the hammering of her prisoner's heart under her palm as the woman shook her head back and forth. "I don't know anything," she insisted, flinching as the queen spread her hand ever so slightly, handling her the way she would any frightened animal.

She was lying, and not particularly well either. But was she keeping her secrets out of fear or loyalty? One of the prisoner's shoulders was bare, and Terreis tugged the towel back, revealing the other one. "Oh, you know things," she exhaled, fingertips following the graceful line of Janet's collarbone. "The trick is going to be getting you to tell them."

Tension rippled through the outlander's fragile frame, her muscles quivering under the impact of fear driven adrenaline. "You think I'm part of some kind of attack force," she rasped, her tone uncertain.

Reminded of the harsh reality, Terreis tamped down any softer emotions with a hard hand. Desire and pity were weaknesses she couldn't afford when it came to this woman. She'd been a part of attacking defenseless civilians. "No," she bit out. The outlander deserved anything she got and keeping her alive was simply a matter of making certain they didn't lose a valuable information resource. "I know you are," she added, wanting the woman to know she wouldn't be easily fooled, her voice hardening, though her touch remained gentle.

"You're wrong." Apparently accepting that she couldn't break loose, Janet instead tried to shift the towel back into place to serve as a barrier between her skin and wandering hands.

Angry at the outlander's refusal to admit what she knew, Terreis blocked her efforts with ease. "No," she snapped her tone sharp enough to make her prisoner wince, "you are ... if you think you can defy me." She slid the hand on Janet's shoulder up to stroke the curve of her jaw lightly, tugging the woman's head around until they were eye to eye. "You need to understand ... you're completely within my power." Damp hair brushed her cheek as she leaned closer. "I can make things very easy ... or very difficult for you. The choice is yours."

"Not if I don't know anything," Janet rasped, too weak to even make a show of resisting.

"I know where you were taken," Terreis said impatiently, "and you lie badly. If you're afraid of what your masters will do if they discover you've betrayed  them, you needn't fear. Help us, and I'll see you protected."

"Don't," Janet hissed suddenly, jerking unsuccessfully at the arms wrapped around her.

Terreis suddenly realized she'd slid the hand on the woman's chest down to spread it against the flat plane of her stomach and froze, startled by her own actions. It was as though her hands were acting on their own without consulting her brain. Suddenly it wasn't righteous anger burning in her gut, nor thoughts of her people's needs burning in her mind. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, lust -- the kind to make knees tremble and palms sweat -- burning in her veins. Turning her head slightly, she was caught by her own fascination with the delicate shell of the prisoner's ear where it peeked out through strands of hair that were drying to a bright, coppery brown. "Don't what?" she growled at last, resentful of the desire the woman unknowingly sparked, "see that you're clean ... fed ... safe ... instead of dead on a battlefield or starving in a hole?" She'd treated the woman far more kindly than most would say she deserved, certainly far kinder than her own people treated prisoners ... if they ever bothered to take any. She grabbed slender shoulders in her hands, forcing the outlander around until they were face to face, only to freeze as she was caught in the trap of impossibly deep brown eyes. For a moment, she couldn't think straight, couldn't think period. Her gaze dropped, eyes touching on pale flesh. The outlander was too thin and too weak, but she could see the promise of beauty, and feel the throbbing drumbeat of need. She reached out, knuckles brushing the soft flesh between smoothly rounded breasts.

"Don't be ... like ... like those men." The pleading words struck the queen like actual blows.

Frozen in place by the accusation, Terreis took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she carefully tugged the towel back up over slim shoulders, pulling it together in front. She wasn't like those animals ... excited by pain and degradation. She felt the shudder of relief that vibrated through the smaller woman. She hadn't planned for any of this when she'd brought the outlander to her rooms; couldn't possibly have predicted the confusing jumble of desires and emotions. "You needn't fear ... that," she assured the other woman. She took another deep breath, releasing it slowly as she fought to regain control. She lifted  her hand to stroke auburn hair back from the outlander's temple only to find it sliding lower, caressing the graceful line of her throat. "I'm not like your leaders. I don't cause pain for sport," she whispered even as she found herself brushing the towel back as she slid her hand along a narrow shoulder. She knew she shouldn't, but couldn't seem to control the impulse.

Janet tipped her head down, eyes fastened on the floor. Terreis could almost hear the gears turning in her head. "Then what are you doing to me?" she whispered, her desperation impossible to miss.

The queen had it in her to wonder the same thing as she brushed the towel lower, revealing the tempting curve of breast and the soft rose of nipple and aureolae. Her thumb slid down, stroking the very edge of that change in color and texture from creamy smooth to darker and faintly puckered. "I'm trying to help you," she said very softly, ignoring the possible ramifications of her actions, seemingly unable to do anything else. "You can't want to be a part of  the savagery perpetrated on my people." She couldn't imagine anyone choosing to be a part of such heinous acts, but particularly not someone with such soft eyes. Terreis looked up, lifting her other hand to stroke drying hair lightly. "Tell me how to stop it ... and you'll have my personal protection." She forgot her ministers, Maya, everything but this woman and the need to learn her secrets.

Janet Fraiser's chin rose, her eyes flashing accusingly. "And who will protect me from you?" she demanded raggedly.

"My ... uh ... My Queen," the stuttering voice interrupted any answers the queen might have offered, though she didn't have a good one. "I brought the food you ordered. Caillon is arranging for the rest of what you ordered."

She looked over her shoulder to find a servant standing in the doorway, a heavily laden tray in hand.

"Set that there," Terreis ordered with a nod indicate a small end table, so used to having servants come and go that she thought nothing of it. At least not until she realized the outlander sought to pull the towel back around herself. She glanced back at the servant, noting the way his eyes carefully avoided them. No surprise. No man or woman in her service would risk their position in the palace by showing an unseemly level of curiosity. "Pour two glasses," she ordered with a lazy gesture to one of the pitchers on the tray. "And take the wine with you. We'll have no need of it." The last thing she could afford was to blunt her already conflicted instincts with alcohol. "Also the clothes on the floor ...  have them burned."

"Yes, Highness," he said and quickly did as ordered. "May I serve you in any other way?"

Her attention once again on her prisoner, Terreis shook her head without looking at her servant. "There's nothing else I need from you." She knew the outlander had heard the faint emphasis she put on the last word by the way she stiffened.

He glanced back and forth between the two women, then quickly fled.

Terreis felt Janet waver on her feet and brushed the towel aside to curve a hand to her waist, half expecting her knees to buckle. A hand rose, bracing on her upper chest as the prisoner leaned back, her eyes wide and frightened. "Please don't," she begged, then began more hesitantly, the words coming slowly as though she was choosing them very carefully. "I don't ... don't think you want to hurt me."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Terreis admitted, suddenly almost as exhausted as her prisoner. She hated the things she had to do to protect her people, the weapons, the plans for killing, the need to destroy. It only made it worse to think that maybe most of the outlanders were like this one ... frightened, starved to the point of desperation, and battered into submission. She didn't want the pain and degradation Maya had suggested. She stroked silky flesh, momentarily lost in sensation ... the unexpected familiarity of the contact soothing the headache that had begun throbbing at her temples. The last thing she wanted was more pain for any of them. They'd all had enough of that.

"I know," the outlander breathed, her voice soft, almost mesmerizing. "That's why it would be best if you just let me go."

There was a moment's temptation to do as she asked. It would make things easier to be free of this ... whatever it was ... she was feeling. "I can't," Terreis said softly, feeling as though she'd been hypnotized. "I need you."

What little color had remained in the outlander's cheeks drained away in an instant. "For what?" she rasped tersely.

Terreis lifted her free hand, brushing the pad of her thumb along the smaller woman's temple, caressing her skin right at the hairline, struggling to remember all of the logical, practical reasons. "You're the only link I have to our attackers ... the only chance I have for any answers...."

"I don't have any answers," Janet insisted, still using that soft, coaxing voice.

Terreis shook the momentary weakness off at the denial. Remembering her task, blue eyes hardened, rising to clash with the other woman's darker gaze. "You have them," she whispered, consciously shaking off the languorous feeling and rekindling the righteous anger. She closed her eyes momentarily, envisioning all of the things she'd read about in the reports, the things Valchon had told her this woman had done, the ugly images shattering any softer impulses. When she looked at the prisoner again, her eyes were like chips of ice. "And one way or another, you will tell me what I need to know." She absorbed the soft shudder that slid through weak muscles. Her touch brusque without being rough, she thrust the woman away from herself, needing to be rid of the temptation offered by silky flesh. Settling her on the servant's pallet, she stepped away to drag the small table of food close. It gave her a brief respite from the intensity of sensation and awareness, allowing over-excited nerve endings to cool a degree or two. When she turned back, she found the woman sitting with her head hanging from her shoulders, elbows braced on her thighs. A fresh wave of pity burning through her, Terreis crouched down before the prisoner, retrieving something off the tray. Perhaps a little food and kindness would begin to convince her that it was in her own interests to tell what she knew. "Try this," she coaxed, holding the bland fruit up to soft lips.

Dark eyes rose, their expression harder now, giving her the sense that the woman had regained control of herself just as she had during the brief respite. "What are you doing?"

Good question, Terreis thought. Unfortunately, she didn't have a ready answer ... or maybe she did, which was even more worrisome. Finally, she settled on the most straightforward answer. "Feeding you," she pointed out logically, "since you're better than half starved in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, I've noticed," her prisoner said very softly, still staring at Terreis, her gaze suspicious. "It's not something I'm likely to miss."

Not knowing how to read the other woman's reaction, sensing that the outlander's emotions were nearly as torn and confused as her own, Terreis was silent for a long moment. "Did your leaders deny you food?" she asked after a beat. "Perhaps only reward you if you killed or destroyed enough?" She could almost forgive the brutality if that were the case. Starving and desperate, she could see people being pushed to do things they might normally find abhorrent. If that were the case, perhaps she could find a way to turn the foot soldiers against their masters.

A faint narrowing of near-black eyes was the only initial response. "No," her prisoner said softly. "Don't you know what's happening?" Again, her voice took on the note of accusation that seemed wholly at odds with how she should have reacted.

"No," the queen said carefully, feeling as though she were being tested in some manner. "Why would I ask if I did?"

"I don't know," her prisoner admitted. Brown eyes slid closed, and she shook her head, her expression dispirited. "I don't know anything right now." She swallowed hard and took a deep, shuddering breath, her head falling forward once again.

"Then perhaps you should simply eat the food your body clearly needs."

"And trust you?" Janet asked, her tone wryly hopeless.

"Trust me enough to eat," the queen responded, sensing that asking for any more than that wouldn't gain her any information or ease the other woman's fears, though it disturbed her that she was so concerned with easing her fears. "Now, try this. It's jelabi. It should help settle your stomach." She held up the morsel in her hand only to have the outlander turn her head away. "You won't do anyone any good by refusing food," she pointed out with quiet logic, then her tone turned coaxing. "Now, eat." She nudged full lips with the pale wedge until they parted to accept the food. Watching closely, she fed her several more of the blander choices from the tray. "Now, drink," she commanded gently once she was satisfied the outlander had eaten enough for a first meal. She held one of the goblets up to rose-kissed lips.

"What is it?" Janet flashed a suspicious look at the amber liquid in the cup.

"Just juice," Terreis assured her. "You need the liquid ... and if I was out to poison you, there are easier ways."

A slender hand rose to take the goblet, but trembled unsteadily.

"No." The single word stopped her prisoner's hand mid-movement. Janet's gaze swept upward, her expression confused. "You'd spill it," the queen pointed out quietly, though she was uncertain that was the only reason. There was something dangerously intimate -- and even more dangerously alluring -- about the idea. Like feeding her by hand, giving the outlander the liquid she so desperately needed to survive was about care, but also a tempting kind of control. Her gaze dropped to full lips, then rose again to clash with her prisoner's dark brown eyes, making it clear that Janet Fraiser was well aware of the power battle between them. She shook her head stiffly.

"No," the outlander said very softly, but with considerable defiance. "I've already...." She trailed off, took a breath, and started again. "Don't do this."

A hint of a frown touched Terreis' brow, anger flickering in her eyes in response to the other woman's resistance.  "Would you prefer your master's uncaring?" She demanded. Her eyes raked over the woman. "You're half starved ... and god only knows what else they've done to you," she growled, outraged by the woman's continuing refusal to surrender to her when she was willing to be far kinder than whoever she already served. "How can you show them any loyalty--"

"Don't play whatever game you're playing." Janet cut her off, her tone hopeless as her eyes momentarily slid closed, a hard shudder rattling her fragile frame. "Whatever you're trying to do, it won't work." She kept shaking her head. "I won't ... won't do whatever it is you want."

"At the moment," the queen said frostily, "the only think I want is to see that you don't expire from dehydration."

"Or maybe this is just a tactic," Janet said as she looked up again, her tone bleak, "to make me dependant on you."

"I don't need tactics for that," the queen pointed out blandly. "Though were you correct, I'd think you'd be wise to play along in the interests of your survival." The point wasn't even remotely subtle, and she felt no pride when the outlander flinched in response to the threat. "Now, drink ... plot and plan my downfall if it pleases you..." she said, her voice and expression softening as she touched the edge of the goblet to soft lips, "... but drink." She was surprised when the woman didn't argue further, simply opened her mouth, corded throat muscles working as she swallowed the first trickle of juice. "That's it," the queen praised after she'd downed nearly half the glass. She pulled the goblet back, watching the prisoner carefully. She was still deathly pale and wracked by the occasional tremor, but she looked a little stronger. "How do you feel?"

"I think it's going to stay down," the prisoner whispered after a long moment.

"Good," Terreis murmured and pushed to her feet, tucking a finger under Janet's chin to force her head up until their eyes met. "Because we have additional matters to discuss. I want you to understand the position you find yourself in." Gentler methods weren't drawing out any outlander secrets, instead they were shattering the queen's peace of mind to the point where she was starting to doubt her own actions when her people's safety had to be her first consideration. "As a prisoner taken in an undeclared attack by outlanders, you have no legal status," she saw Janet swallow hard, and resisted the urge to soften the words, hoping that the brutal truth might frighten her into breaking down, "not even the legal protections against murder the lowest slave would enjoy."

Another hard swallow and when the prisoner spoke, her voice was little more than a tortured rasp. "Meaning?"

"You are my property ... to care for ... or to break ... as I see fit." Dark eyes slid closed, a hard shudder rattling the outlander's frame. Terreis hardened her heart when she would have preferred kindness. "My Senior Minister would see you handed over to the palace interrogators," she said, her tone flat, and knew the other woman understood the mean by the way she winced.

"Torture?" Half a question, half a statement, the single word was barely audible.

"In your present condition, I doubt you would survive the experience," Terreis said without answering the question directly, perversely ashamed that such services existed.

She saw her prisoner draw breath to speak, only to think better of it. Her eyes slid closed, the only thing keeping her head up, the queen's hand under her chin. Adrenaline was all that had gotten her this far, and she was fast running out of even that. "Is that what you want," she whispered, sounding hurt and frightened, "to see me dead?"

The straightforward question made the queen flinch. "No," she admitted, then straightened herself, calming her voice. "I want to see you alive ... and my people alive." She ran the pad of her thumb along an arched cheekbone. "But to do both, I need your help." The woman had information, Terreis reminded herself with cold-hearted practicality. She had to be focused first and foremost on learning the reasons for the outlander's actions. With that in mind, she reached out, gently smoothing silky bangs back from her forehead, struggling to take a more calculated, manipulative approach. "You're very tired, aren't you?" she asked, keeping her voice low and sympathetic.

Janet nodded, her eyes sliding closed. "So tired," she breathed, her head resting more heavily on the hand under her chin.

Terreis leaned down, studying soft features, still working her thumb rhythmically over velvety skin. "I can make things so much easier for you," she whispered in a tone meant to invoke trust. "All you have to do is tell me why your people have attacked ... what they want..."

Brown eyes slid open with effort, exhaustion visibly making it difficult. "You really don't know, do you?" she whispered at last, her words slightly slurred, sounding more confused by the idea than she had any right to be.

"No, of course not. If I knew how to stop all of the destruction," Terreis said intently, "I would have done so already." She continued the gentle, hypnotic stroking, silently willing the outlander to trust her and tell her what she needed to know. "But you can help me."

Peering blearily up at Terreis, Janet frowned ever so slightly, her look so intent the queen could almost see the thoughts running through her brain. "More tactics?" she exhaled at last and shook her head. "The problem is..." she paused uncertainly as though debating her words very carefully before continuing, "...the only ... destruction ... I know anything about is what was done when I was kidnapped."

A muscle pulsed in the queen's jaw, impatience gleaming in her gaze. "Lies will gain you nothing," she growled. "I know for a fact you were captured when your people attacked a farm."

"You know for a fact," her prisoner repeated, her tone sharpening. "You were there then?" she demanded, somehow summoning another burst of strength for that small show of defiance.

"No, of course not," Terreis dismissed, " but I read the report from the commander on the line."

"Ah." No one could have missed the smaller woman's sarcasm. "Unfortunately, whatever story you were told isn't true."

"Really?" It was Terreis' turn for sarcasm.

"Really," Janet confirmed. "I'm a doctor. I was led into a trap in the belief a child had been hurt and needed my help. Only it was nothing but a bundle of rags." Her voice cracked with such intensity of emotion that Terreis almost believed her story. "I was attacked ... drugged ... thrown in that hole ... starved ... and tortured--"

"You lie," the queen hissed, the litany of abuses triggering her anger. With everything she'd done, now the woman was trying to push the blame onto her victims. The hand under Janet's chin worked back into her hair, twisting her head back with harsh strength. "You would have done better to try and convince me you were some kind of innocent bystander caught in the middle and attacked by the same monsters murdering us ... but I know my people. They wouldn't have done what you describe--"

"Just like they wouldn't commit rape or murder?" the outlander demanded with all the energy she could muster. She glared up at Terreis as though willing her to believe or to....

The queen shook her head, the headache returning with vicious intensity. "That was wrong ... but predictable," she growled. "There's so much anger simmering against your people for everything they've done--"

"Is there?"

"Of course there is," Terreis snapped, her impatience growing with every passing moment. She'd let herself forget the treachery the outlanders were capable of, allowing pity to blunt her determination. "Perhaps I should see you delivered to the interrogators," she threatened grimly as she was reminded of everything her people had suffered at the hands of her prisoner and the army she served. Maybe the interrogators could resist the urge to soften and gentle in response to her weakness, and maybe their hearts wouldn't contract at the idea of causing any kind of pain. She felt no satisfaction when the outlander paled several shades, her eyes sliding closed.

"Please don't," Janet whispered, not quite pleading, but close.

Forcing down a treacherous wave of pity, Terreis fought to bring her righteous anger back to the fore without much success. "I won't," she said very softly after a beat and saw delicate shoulders sag with relief. "As I said, you aren't likely to survive the experience," she added, needing to make certain the woman understood she wasn't being spared because it was what she wished. "And I can't afford to risk what you know." She didn't know what to say at that point and found herself staring helplessly at the other woman as she slumped, barely able to keep herself upright. A sad sigh escaped the prisoner's lips. "Whatever you're afraid of," the queen promised quietly, surprised to find herself wanting to reach through that aura of depression and offer some succor, "I can protect you." The outlander's masters might be brutal, but they had no sway in Arrathonea, though if she'd seen other worlds fall before their attackers, the woman might not believe that.

A small headshake and a fragile hand rose from her knee. The prisoner massaged her temple slowly. "I need to think," she whispered, her tone making it clear that wasn't an easy task. "It's all too confusing right now."

"All right," the queen breathed, unable to summon the cruelty needed to continue pressuring the prisoner, and hoping that if she considered everything carefully, she'd see the wisdom in playing along. The other woman was on her last legs. Starvation and dehydration had sapped her strength and slowed her thought processes so severely that it was amazing she was doing as well as she was. The starvation had to be tool her enemies used to control their troops. She couldn't envision someone getting into such awful condition accidentally, at least not if they were part of an invasion force. Their leaders probably used their desperation to drive them to such frenzied acts of slaughter. A shudder slid down her spine at the thought. Clearly, her enemies were absolutely without remorse or soul. She slid her hand back to just barely stroke auburn silk threads.

"I don't know what to do," Janet whispered, sounding hopelessly young and lost.

"I know." Terreis glanced back as a servant stepped cautiously into the room.

He was carrying the clothes and manacles she'd ordered, and his eyes were locked on the floor. "Highness?"

"Yes?"

He held up the armload of goods. "The things you ... uh ... ordered. I would have delivered them sooner ... but ... uh ... you appeared to be otherwise ... engaged."

A dark blonde brow rose high on her forehead as she realized what must have happened. Obviously, he'd entered at an inopportune moment and probably backed out as quickly as he was able. "That's fine," she assured him. Remembering Janet's earlier embarrassment, she shielded her with her body as she pointed to a nearby table. "Just set those there."

He nodded and quickly did as told, then hurriedly fled.

As the queen looked back at her prisoner, she noted the woman was lying limp on the mattress, her eyes closed. For a moment, Terreis thought she'd fallen asleep, then her eyelids fluttered, her gaze swinging over to touch on the things stacked on the nearby table. The manacles were painfully obvious where they sat on top of the simple tunic. "I'm guessing those are for me," she said, her tone bleak.

The queen felt a blush heat her cheeks, and her tone was defensive as she admitted, "You didn't expect to remain completely unrestrained, did you?"

"I didn't really think about it." Janet pulled the damp towel more tightly around herself.

"He also brought clothes for you," Terreis told her as a peace offering.

She received an exhausted nod in return.

"Here," the queen said softly and delivered the promised clothes. A brief look thrown her way was the only plea she received to turn away. She simply shook her head.

Janet silently pushed upright, tugging the tunic on over her head. It was a simple affair in pale cream linen, short -- it fell to mid-thigh -- with raglan sleeves and a belted waist.

"I'll arrange for something ... else ... tomorrow," Terreis said softly as she saw the way the woman picked at the outfit, clearly embarrassed by the scantiness.

An ironic smile touched her prisoner's lips and she settled into the mattress, once again pulling the blankets around herself. "Tomorrow..." she exhaled. "Maybe I'll get lucky and wake up to find out this was all a bad dream."

"Maybe," the queen murmured, her tone oddly sympathetic. She watched dark eyes slide closed and stepped over to retrieve the handcuffs her servant had brought. Staring at them for a long moment, she seriously considered not going to that extent. A long look at her prisoner confirmed the woman's weakness. It wasn't like she was much of a threat. But....

But she was a threat no matter how small. "I'll arrange for something lighter tomorrow," she murmured apologetically as she silently latched one end around a fragile wrist. Janet didn't even bother to respond, just snuggled deeper into her blanket as if to escape her current reality, though a solid flinch rattled her slender frame when Terreis latched the other end of the cuffs around a bedrail. "Sleep now," she said very softly.

Completely depleted of any hint of energy, the woman went limp, the last of the fight draining out of her as she slid off into exhausted sleep.

Terreis stood and watched her for a long time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

The soft sound of voices drew Janet out of a sleep so deep it bordered on unconsciousness. Momentarily confused, she tried to remember why the hell Sam would be in her bedroom talking to some strange woman -- because she definitely recognized her friend's voice, but the other one was a mystery -- and then it all came back in a rush; their kidnapping, her days of hell locked away in the dark, then being discovered by Sam -- but a Sam who didn't know her and believed they were enemies -- and finally being rescued from near rape and murder by her friend ... or at least the woman who wore her face. At first, she'd thought it some kind of Goa'uld trick to manipulate her, but now she was far less certain. Sam had shown flashes of vicious temper, but also a more familiar kindness, and she seemed to lack the bloodthirsty cruelty of the Goa'uld. A few times Janet had even thought she was breaking through and reaching the woman she knew. She'd held off saying anything, not trusting her own judgment after everything that had happened, and fearing it was an enemy wearing Sam's face trying to trick her into revealing the SGC's secrets.

Despite her doubts, when she looked into blue eyes, she found herself as lost as she'd always been chemistry that had always simmered between them no less potent than ever. Even frightened of who and what Sam was, overwhelmed by the situation, and so weak she could barely move, Janet had felt it. And, unless it was a Goa'uld and one hell of an act -- a possibility she couldn't completely dismiss -- Sam had felt it as well. A shiver slid over her skin as she remembered the feel of hands on her bare skin, the connection they'd always shared affecting her even when she was scared for her life and uncertain who she was dealing with. She'd wanted to trust, wanted to dump all of her thoughts and fears, but knew it wasn't wise until she knew exactly what was going on.

The low voices continued, and she rolled onto her side, careful to be utterly quiet as she struggled to make sense of the quiet conversation. She needed any clues she could get about the situation she found herself in.

The second woman was speaking -- her voice low and smoky like some would-be Lauren Bacall knockoff. Janet could just make out her silhouette where she sat on the edge of the huge bed on the opposite end of the room. "...wanted to apologize for my behavior."

"Maya, I--" Definitely Sam. Janet recognized her voice in an instant. She sat up in bed, a barely visible silhouette from the doctor's position.

"Please ... let me finish," the other woman -- Maya -- murmured. "I'm sorry for angering you." She laughed self-consciously and reached out to stroke Sam's cheek, though it seemed to Janet that there was something calculated about the seemingly tender gesture. "This whole situation ... the fear and uncertainty ... it made me a little crazy." The doctor frowned as those fingers slid down the curve of Sam's throat, her brain refusing the register what was happening in front of her. "I wanted to comfort you the way you always do me ... and I got frustrated when I couldn't ... took my fears out on you. You always make me feel so safe ... and I only wanted to do that for you."

Janet's molars ground together. Now there was a loaded line guaranteed to manipulate Samantha Carter.

"Maya, I really think ... we should...." Strained and husky, Sam's voice trailed off into a soft sigh.

"I love you so much, Terreis. I have from the first moment I saw you." Maya hooked her other hand behind Sam's neck and dragged her close, leaning in to claim her lips in a hungry kiss.

Janet's hands clenched so tight, her nails dug deep furrows into her palms, and she barely managed to contain a tiny cry of pain as the reality of what she was seeing and hearing finally sank in. Her throat tightened as though she was being garroted, and she could barely force her lungs to expand to take in air.

The bastards! The utter goddamned bastards!

She suddenly forgot her uncertainty that it was really Sam, so lost in agony that all she could think about was the other woman's hands on Sam's body, their mouths moving together, bare flesh touching bare flesh. They'd found a way guaranteed to manipulate and control the other woman. She knew just how tender and loyal Sam could be. Even with the limitations on their relationship, the other woman had always made her feel so intensely cared for -- loved -- that it got her through the rough times and made her feel like she had a place in the world. 

And if Janet hadn't been in such agony, she might have even been able to think about it in terms other than how much it hurt her ... might have been able to think, period. It might have even occurred to her that a few loud noises would probably have put a stop to things. But by time that thought struck her, Maya had slid into bed with Sam, and it was too late. Curtains hung around all sides of the bed, and a slender hand reached up to loose the ties that kept them out of the way. Janet was still trying to draw a breath when she heard the soft sounds of their lovemaking, the whispered words, rustling of blankets, and tiny noises made by the slide of flesh on flesh.

Teeth clenched against the anguish rolling over her, threatening to make her entire body seize up and stop functioning altogether, Janet slowly rolled onto her other side, harsh tears burning her eyes, making them sting and itch painfully. A tiny sob escaped her lips as the dark irony struck her, that there were things far worse than the dark cell where she'd just spent entirely too much of her life. She pulled the thin pillow up over her head, trying to block the sounds they were making as the tears escaped her tightly closed eyes to slide down over cheekbones made too prominent by starvation. Much, much worse. Despite the emotional agony, her body was already at its limit, and she couldn't withstand the need for rest for long, particularly after the draining effects of the harsh sobs that wracked her fragile frame. Soon, she fled back into the only refuge left to her ... sleep.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *

Part 4