Three days later, Rubio stood nervously in his liege's apartments, head respectfully bowed. Another guard was with the prisoner and Elyana, though he was less uneasy about that than his leader's response. He still didn't understand the confrontation he'd walked in on, and when he'd asked the outlander, she'd simply shaken her head, her eyes twin wells of hurt, and refused to answer any questions.

Terreis's narrow back stiffened and she folded her hands together at the small of her back, peering into the crackling fire. "Physically ... she's getting stronger?" she asked after a long moment of silence.

"Yes, my Queen. She sleeps most of the time, but she's regaining some weight and some color ... and seems to be mentally sharper."

"Good." She nodded and was silent for a long moment. "You got the list of questions I had delivered?"

"Yes, Highness."

"And you've asked them each day as instructed?"

"Yes, My Queen, but she has no answers."

Tension slid through the woman glaring at the fire. "None she cares to share," she said bitterly as she remembered the things she'd read in the military reports. Oh, Janet Fraiser denied her involvement with touching sincerity, but there was little doubt the woman was a murderer in the worst way.

"None at all, I think," Rubio had the temerity to disagree. He tensed as the queen turned and blue eyes swung his way, wondering if he'd gone too far.

"Meaning?"

"I've seen no indication that she lies." He swallowed hard as a blonde brow rose ceilingward. "She's offered no resistance, no trouble ... and she seems honest." He flinched under the close scrutiny. "Elyana believes her," he added as if that set everything in stone.

Terreis sighed softly and turned away again, watching the dancing flames as though they might offer some answers. Once she'd calmed after that last confrontation, She'd gone back over everything, mentally flaying herself alive for her reprehensible behavior. Even if the woman was guilty, it didn't excuse what Terreis had done in a fit of temper. And the worst part was that at some level she wanted to believe as Rubio did, wanted to find some explanation that would have absolved the woman of responsibility for such barbarity. Her guilt driving her, Terreis had gone through the reports on the outlander attacks over and over, hunting for something disprove Valchon's accusations. She found nothing. All of the evidence indicated that Janet Fraiser had been part of a truly heinous attack that had resulted in more than a dozen deaths, very probably several rapes, and several farms burned. "The problem," she said at last, "is that everything indicates she was, at the very least, part of a group that slaughtered several families and burned their farms."

The guard shrugged, "I don't know," he admitted. "I can only tell you what I've seen ... and I've seen no sign that she lies, nor any capacity for cruelty. She's been cooperative ... even kind."

Another tired sigh escaped his queen's lips as it struck her how much she would have liked to believe him. Unfortunately, that would be neither wise nor prudent. Unable to resolve the issue to her satisfaction, she changed the subject. "Are the new quarters adequate for your purposes?"

He nodded. "Yes, there's more than enough room now." The single bedroom in the servant's quarters had been far too small for them to see to the prisoner properly. "Though Elyana wishes me to ask if we may use your bath for the prisoner. The showers in the servants' quarters are still unheated and she fears for her health."

Terreis' eyes slid closed an she was momentarily lost in the memory of the sight and feel of soft flesh. It had haunted her since she'd banished the woman from her presence and showed no signs of fading into insignificance. "During the day," she croaked at last, "when I'm not here ... but I do not want to see her." Which was a lie. She wanted more than she knew how to deal with.

"Yes, my Queen," he quickly assured her. "I'll see your paths do not cross."

Terreis simply nodded, sinking into a nearby chair as she struggled to distract herself from the memories she found disturbing at so many levels. "Now I want to hear every detail of her answers to those questions." She held up a hand to halt him he started to speak. "I know you said she admitted nothing ... but perhaps there is information to be found even in her denials."

A beat passed, then the guard nodded, hands folded together at the small of his back as he waited for her questions.

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

"Get out," the order was succinct and to the point, delivered with absolute confidence that it would be obeyed by the hawk-faced man who entered the quarters where Janet now found herself held prisoner.

Melanthus, the guard who stepped in when Rubio slept or was out, straightened away from the wall where he was leaning comfortably, one hand resting lightly on his sidearm. "Minister Valchon," he said quickly, his spine snapping even straighter as the older man's gaze turned his way.

Janet looked up. She was still weak as a kitten, eating frequently and sleeping most of the time, partially because her body needed the space to heal, and partially because her mind needed to escape the situation she found herself in. If she sat and thought about things too hard, she would have gone mad. A frown creased her brow as she recognized the newcomer's voice from somewhere.... The supercilious one who'd been with Sam in her cell, she realized in a flash ... and maybe the voice from the half-remembered torture sessions. She frowned, struggling without success to remember.

"Minister," Elyana said with automatic deference as she rose from the chair where she sat near Janet's bed, her expression nervous.

"I believe I said, 'Get out,'" Valchon repeated impatiently, barely sparing the two servants a glance. They were beneath his notice.

Melanthus and Elyana traded uneasy looks, caught between a rock and a hard place. They had orders from their queen, but a minister's word -- particularly the senior minister's -- was considered as coming from their liege.

"Minister," Melanthus began carefully, "Queen Terreis has ordered that no one be left alone with the prisoner." He flinched ever so slightly at the anger that leapt into the minister's eyes, making them gleam dangerously.

Valchon's foot tapped impatiently. "Your queen has also ordered you to follow her ministers' commands as though they were her own ... and I have questions for the prisoner in connection with my investigation."

"Of course you may speak to the woman, Minister Valchon," Melanthus quickly assured the older man. "I simply meant that for your safety--"

"I assure you, she will not harm me," Valchon cut the guard off, a hint of a grim smile touching his mouth. "And the discussion I need to have isn't meant for servants' ears." He turned his glare on the prisoner, effectively dismissing the two servants. "Now, get out ... or I assure you the queen will hear of your defiance."

Clearly torn, Melanthus stood perfectly still except for his eyes which swung back and forth between the minister and the prisoner.

"Now," Valchon snapped impatiently.

Finally, the guard nodded his surrender. "Come, Elyana."

"But--" the young woman started to argue, but the guard cut her off in a hard voice.

"The minister is correct. We are commanded to serve him as we would our queen."

For a moment, Janet thought Elyana was going to defy the guard as the young woman flashed a worried look her way, but she finally nodded. "As you say," she acquiesced.

Melanthus gestured the young woman through the door, then turned to face Valchon, ducking his head respectfully. "Minister ... do be careful. The woman is considered dangerous."

A shiver slid down Janet's spine at the newcomer's answering smile. "Oh, I think I can deal with her," he assured the soldier.

The guard paused, uneasy, but not knowing what to do. "Of course, Minister," he said at last, and ducked out, tugging the door closed in his wake.

Well aware of her vulnerability -- with her right wrist shackled to the bedframe, Janet had little ability to fight back if pressed -- the doctor pushed into a sitting position as she silently peered at the newcomer, waiting to see what he intended.

"I am Senior Minister Valchon," he informed her, a thin smile curving his mouth as he studied her.

Definitely one of the voices from the barely remembered torture sessions, she decided with utter certainty. Which left little doubt in her mind that he was behind whatever games had been played with Sam's memories, because she had just enough recall to be certain they'd been trying to use some sort of hypnotic suggestion on her. That was the best explanation for Sam's behavior that she could see.

"No comment?" the minister pressed when she didn't reply.

The doctor shook her head. "Not really," she murmured, not trusting him in the least and determined to give nothing away. She had a very bad feeling he wasn't there for a particularly vicious game of tiddly winks.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly and the superior smile ghosted into nothingness. "Our queen has turned responsibility for your fate over to me," he informed her coldly.

A sculpted eyebrow climbed high on Fraiser's forehead. She wasn't sure why -- after all, Sam had attacked her , then handed her off to a middling guard and seemingly forgotten her -- but she didn't believe his claim at all. "Has she?" She was even more convinced he was lying when a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Indeed she has," he confirmed. "Washed her hands of you and told me to handle the situation as I see fit." The smile returned in fair measure; confident, cocky even.

Definitely lying. "Has she?" she said again, showing no fear. He didn't like that judging by the way the tick in his cheek keep jumping at random intervals.

"Do you wish to go home?" he asked after a beat, the only sign of his anger the unsteady muscle twitch.

"Of course I do," she responded, playing his game and purposely keeping her tone as bland as possible. Hopefully he'd tip his hand, though she had a bad feeling she knew why he was there. If she was right, and he was the one behind Sam's transformation, he had to be worried about anyone who knew the truth and view them as a threat. And she definitely knew the truth.

"Good then," the minister pronounced, his eyes sliding over her, hunting for something ... weaknesses, most likely, she decided. "We're in agreement. I see no reason to keep you here, since you're clearly no part of this attack on our people."

He was playing it straight, acting as though her captivity was simply a mistake, but it just didn't click. Just like his act that he believed she was innocent didn't work. She was certain his name had been the one on the reports she'd glimpsed ... the ones which supposedly confirmed her guilt and which had sicced Sam on her. He was smart enough to know that the child's slaughter was the mostly likely way to push Sam Carter to murder. "I see," she said simply, struggling to keep the expressionless mask in place.

He was trying to appear businesslike, as though he didn't particularly care and this was simply an administrative duty, but there was an edge of tension that made it anything but. He cared far too much about her answers. "I've already arranged an escort to return you to where you were captured. I trust you can see to yourself from there."

"Doubtless," Janet said simply, wondering if he thought she was so dazed that she simply didn't know what had happened or that she was so desperate to escape, she didn't care who she left behind.

"Then I see no reason to delay." He moved to stand before her, crouching down and reaching for the lock on the manacles. There was a moment's fumbling with his pockets as he hunted for something; he pulled out what looked like snuffbox and tossed it onto the table next to her tray, then a small knife before finally finding what he was looking for. The faintly rusty lock resisted for a moment, then gave way and he tugged it free.

Janet winced, faintly appalled by the condition of her wrist; the wide manacle had left a sizable bruise right over the bone and the rough edges had left her flesh raw and abraded. For just a moment, she lost track of Valchon as he rose and paced away from the bed, his back to her, the knife seemingly forgotten on the table.

Noting the tension that was so at odds with his seeming show of trust, she allowed herself a small, wry smile. It wasn't even a well-laid trap. She leaned back, causing the faintest rustle of blankets, and he spun, one hand going inside his doublet, then froze when he realized she hadn't touched the weapon. "Is something wrong, Minister?" she questioned, purposely keeping her tone polite. "Perhaps you should get your," she put extra emphasis on the word, "Queen, and make certain she approves of your plan," she challenged him.

He saw the knowledge in her eyes and his mouth pursed. "I see no need to disturb my liege with such a trivial matter..." he said, not ready to let the game drop.

"Still, you should be certain," she parried neatly, her gaze following his to touch on the discarded blade she had no intention of touching, confident that the moment she did, she was dead. "I want to go home, but I can wait a few minutes ... and I know your queen was most emphatic about wishing to question me."

"Since you're well aware that she would just as soon see you dead, I wouldn't suggest you seek her attention." His eyes touched on the blade, and the muscle in his cheek twitched again, showing his frustration with her refusal to go along with that plan. Janet suspected she'd just made her murder considerably more difficult by refusing to give him an excuse. "Now, come." He reached out a hand, indicating she should join him.

And if she did, she had no doubt she was dead. Janet swallowed hard, sensing that the time for game-playing was rapidly becoming a thing of the past. He didn't want to do it here unless he had some kind of defense that she'd attacked first. But if he made it look like an escape, all he had to do was slit her throat and dump her body somewhere no one would ever find it. "I don't think so," she said very softly, then laid it out plainly, "I plan on living a little longer."

He knew and she knew -- it was no game. The mask dropped in an instant. "That's not going to happen either way," he told her with quiet menace. He nodded to indicate the weapon he'd left on the table. "Of course, you might have a chance if you fight." A hint of a smile touched his lips. "After all, there's always the possibility you could take me."

Her answering smile was acidic. "I doubt that." She indicated where his hand was still tucked inside his doublet. "At a guess, I'd say the moment I touch the knife, you'll kill me with whatever weapon you're hiding in your coat. And if I go with you, I get a shallow grave at the first opportunity."

"As I said, either way," he allowed, but still didn't move.

"But you're not eager to kill me here without some measure of plausible deniability," she accurately diagnosed. "So, I'd say my best bet is to just sit here ... and wait."

"Do you think the guards will return to help you?" he demanded, his tone politely disbelieving. "Or perhaps you have some hope that our queen cares about murdering, outlander scum." A triumphant smile flicked across his lips when she winced as though struck. "I can kill you now and no one will care."

Which was a blatant lie, or he'd have already done it. "If you say so." She leaned back, purposely keeping her hands well away from the knife. Whatever he was planning, she had no intention of helping him.

Like quicksilver, triumph shifted to frustrated anger. "Pick up the knife."

Janet shook her head, holding his hard gaze and refusing to be cowed even though it was harder than hell not to at least try.

"Do you think this show of defiance will save you?" he demanded with increasing anger.

"I don't know," she admitted as an odd kind of calm descended over her, "but I do know that doing what you want won't."

The twitch had the muscles in his cheek jumping like a nervous cat. "Nothing will save you," he said grimly, stalking forward his expression deadly intent, his patience clearly strained to the limit. "The only chance you have is to fight."

Janet's gaze flicked sideways, touching on the knife, but she kept her firmly at her sides.

"Go on," he taunted as he continued his advance.

Forcing down her fear, Janet shook her head.

"As tractable as you are," his eyes slid over her with leering appreciation as he changed tactics, "perhaps I should keep you alive. It would give me a chance to enjoy what the dungeon guards didn't have time for."

Teeth grinding as she fought the urge to rise to the bait, Janet held her temper in check and didn't respond.

Triumph made another appearance as he saw the murderous hate in her eyes. "Perhaps you'd even enjoy it."

Her gaze rose as he moved to stand in front of her. No one was going to rescue her, and he wasn't going to go away, she realized with a sick rush. As weak as she was, she didn't have much chance if it came down to a physical fight, but it was probably a better chance than going up against whatever he had hidden in his coat.

His right hand still resting on something in his doublet -- his weapon doubtless - he reached out with his left as he reached the bed. Janet twisted her head away from the hand that found her cheek, but he forced the issue, his fingers the smooth touch of a man who'd never done any physical labor in his entire life.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed.

Her anger only drew a taunting smile. "Make me."

Jaw muscles clenched so hard they were close to cramping, she gripped the blankets on either side of her hips with white knuckled strength, holding on to keep from doing something stupid and getting herself killed. The stroking fingers continued on an ambling path down the length of her throat, purposely pushing her temper.

"Very tractable indeed," he drawled, well aware of just how badly she wanted to lash out and using it against her. He leaned down, grinning at her. "Do it ... maybe you can beat me." His fingers slid lower, stroking the base of her throat, eyes glittering with the need to control.

Janet glanced sideways at the knife, mentally calculating her chances and not liking them at all, but uncertain how much longer she was willing to bear his touch.

"Go on, little outlander," he pressured, hand tightening on the weapon in his doublet. "Fight me."

Swallowing hard, muscles impossibly tense, she braced herself, accepting that she had no choice.

"Try for the knife."

"Don't even think about it," the voice was hard, angry, and utterly implacable.

Valchon froze, while Janet exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. The minister's lips twisted with frustrated rage only to clear almost instantly as he straightened and turned to face the woman standing in the doorway, his hand slipping free of his doublet. "My Queen," he said stiffly.

"Minister Valchon," blue eyes touched on the woman on the bed, their expression oddly comforting before they returned to focus on the minister with laser bright intensity. "I believe I left orders that no one was to be alone with the prisoner."

"I saw no reason for your guard to be present while I was questioning her." He glanced Janet's direction. "After all, servants often gossip, and I didn't think you wished to have any information she might part with shared in the kitchens."

Desperate for any information that might help her understand the situation, Janet watched as Sam drew nearer, her expression unreadable. As she drew to the side of the bed, she reached out, fingers brushing Janet's hair and clinging just long enough to draw her head up. Sam's gaze touched on the discarded manacles. "Which is why you released her from her restraints?" she asked the minister with icy courtesy, then glanced at the table where the sheathed blade still sat undisturbed. "And left weapons lying within reach?" She turned a hard look his direction. "Such carelessness is precisely the reason I ordered a guard to remain with the woman at all times. She's dangerous and you're not trained to deal with the threat." She picked up the discarded knife, fingers brushing the wire-wrapped handle until she abruptly winced and blood beaded on one fingertip. "You should have this repaired," she noted, her delivery never shifting from that cool, unemotional tone. "Several wires have come loose and could injure the user. That could be dangerous in a fight ... slow someone down ... even cost them their life." She tossed the weapon back to him, watching as he easily caught it and winced when the wires tore at his palm. "I would appreciate it if you not disobey my orders again."

The twitch had become a full-scale muscle spasm. "As you wish, My Queen," he ground out.

"I definitely wish," she said without losing that careful neutrality, then her voice sharpened to a fine edge. "I also wish to be present any time you or anyone else decides to interview this prisoner ... no exceptions." She turned back toward Janet, reaching out as if she couldn't quite keep herself from touching, her hand almost rough as she worked her fingers into coppery hair, drawing her gaze. "She is, after all, my property and my responsibility." That was directed as much at her as the minister, Janet realized with practicality, an odd sort of objectivity descending on her. "And, to say the least, I have a vested interest in what she says when she finally starts telling the truth."

The doctor's gaze momentarily swung sideways, a shiver sliding down her spine as she saw Valchon's expression. She saw his hand slip inside the doublet, easing what looked suspiciously like a small revolver partially free. He was scared, she realized in a rush, scared to death that she would tell Sam the truth, and maybe shatter her programming. And it was so tempting to try. He saw the temptation and shook his head, his hand clearly resting on his weapon, the threat behind the gesture obvious. "One word," he silently mouthed, "and she's dead."

Janet looked up at Sam then, all too aware of the danger. "I've told you," she said bitterly, "I don't know anything."

"Oh, you know a great deal," Sam murmured, her grip tightening fractionally in a small display of power. "And soon, you'll tell me everything."

Janet saw Valchon tense out of the corner of her eye and for a moment, feared Sam might have pushed him too far, but before he could react, the door pushed open and Rubio stepped just inside the room. "Your Highness, have you any need of my services?" He flashed an unreadable look at Valchon and stood with his hand resting lightly on his sidearm.

The blonde glanced back, but not in time to catch a glimpse of the weapon tucked in her minister's doublet. "Of course. Senior Minister Valchon was just leaving ... and I wouldn't want to break my own rules."

With little else he could do, Valchon ducked his head in acknowledgment. "My Liege."

"Dismissed," she said softly, ignoring the way he tensed with resentment as he left.

Rubio pushed the door shut in his wake. "Melanthus is waiting outside," he informed her. "I thought it best."

She nodded, then looked back at Janet, refusing to release her hold when the doctor would have pulled back. "Valchon should not have been so foolish as to be alone with a dangerous prisoner," she said softly.

Rubio's brow rose doubtfully, but he didn't argue.

Janet did, however. "He came here to kill me," she insisted.

Sam looked down, her expression unreadable. "I doubt that. Minister Valchon is a respected man."

"And he would have been a respected murderer if you hadn't arrived. He released me and left that knife out, hoping for an excuse to kill me. He had a gun of some kind inside his coat."

A hint of a frown touched Sam's brow before she schooled her expression back into a cool mask. "Had you attacked him, no matter the cause, your death would have been your own fault." She bent to retrieve the loose manacle and grabbed for Janet's wrist as well only to freeze when she saw the bruised and abraded condition of her skin. "Rubio," she glanced back at the guard, "this is unacceptable."

He swallowed hard. "I know, my Queen, but there's little we can do. Elyana has treated the area daily, but the edges of the cuff are sharp and rough and cut into her flesh. We tried wrapping it in cloth, but it made the manacles too tight, and cut off the blood supply to her hand."

She started to say something only to apparently change her mind. "I'll see the problem's dealt with." Grabbing Janet's other hand, Sam fastened the manacle there, noting that it too was abraded, though not as severely. They'd been trading the manacles back and forth but her right wrist had gotten the worst of it. She looked up, and for a moment, Janet thought maybe that had reached the woman inside where nothing else had. "I would not see you hurt this way." A callused thumb stroked the back of the doctor's hand. "Such cruelty is your way, not ours."

"I didn't kill that child," Janet breathed, unable to bear the idea that any version of Sam could think her capable of such a thing.

Blue eyes rose, searching her face a little desperately.

"I swear on my own life," Janet continued, her tone a mix of pleading and despair. "I never hurt him. I couldn't do something like that."

Sam was silent for a long moment. "On your life then," she said very softly, fingers tucking under Janet's chin. "And if I find out you're lying, I'll kill you myself." Something tired and a little sad echoed in her voice as she issued the threat, as though she liked saying it no better than Janet liked hearing it. Without giving Janet time to respond she rose, flicking a hand at Rubio to indicate he should follow her as she stepped into the hall.

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

"My Queen?" Rubio questioned as the door slid shut in his wake. They were in the small anteroom of the private apartment.

"Make sure Elyana is aware how grateful I am that she disobeyed Minister Valchon's wishes to inform me of this situation," she told him, her tone low, her gaze distant.

"Yes, My Liege. She will be glad, since I know she feared upsetting you."

The queen's head tipped in a thoughtful nod. "And make certain Melanthus knows not to give way before anyone except me in the future." That mistake could have cost the prisoner her life and could not be allowed to happen again.

Rubio took a deep breath, bracing himself for a difficult task. "I will try, My Queen," he said carefully, "but you must understand, Minister Valchon has great power. If he makes a demand ... even contrary to your orders ... standing against him is both dangerous and likely to fail."

Terreis's frown deepened, the young man's worry leaving her uncertain what to do. By rights, he should be wrong. Her word was law, and no one should have the temerity to ignore it, not even her closest advisors. Unfortunately, she'd seen increasing signs that Valchon had grown far more power hungry in recent weeks, and she couldn't argue. "He is the senior minister," she said softly, neither confirming nor denying the guard's statement. Valchon's past loyal service had earned him at least enough respect to stop her from allowing the servants to see her doubts.

Rubio flinched, well aware that he was skating on very thin ice, but too loyal to remain silent. He'd seen enough of this woman to see that she actually cared about those she was responsible for. "I realize, My Queen ... but I would not have your orders countermanded simply because no one would tell you the truth...." He paused, waiting to see her response.

"Continue," she commanded quietly.

"The prisoner is most likely right," the guard pointed out. "Valchon did intend to murder her ... why else would he free her from her bonds and leave a weapon in reach unless it was to give himself an excuse to kill her ... and I believe I did glimpse a weapon in his doublet."

A muscle flexed in Terreis' jawline. She wanted to argue, but considering the evidence, he was right. "His anger drives him more toward vengeance than peace," she allowed, unwilling to castigate a minister to a guard, but unable to deny the charge.

"Yes, and it drives him hard enough that he will likely try again." Rubio swallowed hard, well aware that he was taking a very real chance. The upper classes stuck together, and this woman had the power to destroy him for no more reason than she'd annoyed him. Still, he'd seen enough to have some trust she wouldn't do that, and he couldn't disregard his own responsibilities. "If he does, I cannot guarantee to stand against him." Blue eyes flashed his way, their expression angry. "I'm only a guard, My Queen. He's a minister. He can do whatever he wants ... strip me of my commission, have my wife sent away, my family lands burned, anything he chooses. I'm nothing to him. Less than a bug he would swat without a second thought." He shook his head, his expression showing fear for the first time -- not fear of his prisoner, but of one of his own leaders. "And as long as the ministers think you don't care about the fate of the outlander, I can't stand against them ... not when they could destroy me and everything I care for ... and they know it."

Terreis considered what he'd told her for a long moment, not liking any of it. "Move her back into my apartments," she said at last, more disturbed than she cared to admit by the level of fear the guard had for her and her ministers ... and by the notion of having the woman back underfoot. Even being in the prisoner's presence for a few minutes had her shaking inside and wanting to believe her denials of culpability in the attacks. She was so wound up that she'd been ready to kill Valchon when she'd walked in to find him touching the woman -- had nearly done so when realized what he intended. Had he actually harmed the prisoner in any way, she wasn't entirely certain what she would have done.

Rubio nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. It was what he wanted, she realized. He liked the woman, cared whether or not she was hurt. A tight knot of jealousy bound up in her chest as she found herself wondering if perhaps he had hopes of having the outlander in addition to his wife. More than a few men had such fantasies. Was he another one? "I'll see to it, my Queen," he said formally. No, she decided as she studied his clear expression. If that was his wish, he wouldn't have been so eager to move the woman back into the queen's quarters when he would have had far more freedom to do as he wished in the temporary quarters.

"You do that," she said softly. "I have additional matters to see to, but I doubt Valchon will defy my orders so quickly." She released a small, angry sigh. "However, make certain I'm informed if you have any problems. I'll send Melanthus and Elyana to help you move her."

"Yes, My Queen," Rubio said quickly, relieved she'd accepted his word so easily.

She started to leave only to turn back. "She denies being a part of the killings."

He nodded. "I know, My Queen."

"Do you believe her?" He'd been honest with her so far. Perhaps moreso than those she should have been able to trust.

"Perhaps I'm a fool, My Queen ... but, yes, I do," he admitted hesitantly.

She considered his answer for a moment, then shook her head, unable to ignore the truth of her own emotions. "If you're a fool, then I fear I may be as well because I don't know what to believe," she admitted. It flew in the face of logic, but instinct told her the woman wasn't lying ... at least not about being involved in the killing. A mindless killer would have grabbed Valchon's knife and tried to gut him, not simply tried to outwait him. But there was still all of the evidence. "But she was found at a site where the outlander's attacked."

"She may have been used as bait and had nothing to do with the killings, Highness," Rubio suggested. "Or there may be some other explanation, but I've seen nothing that indicates she's a killer."

Terreis nodded to dismiss the guard, watching silently as he stepped back into the other room. She waited a moment, taking several deep breaths and letting them out slowly to calm jangled nerves, uncertain whether to be angry or grateful for the newfound reasons to bring the outlander back within her sphere of contact. Finally, she shook off the temptation to stay and muse on the other woman, then silently turned and stepped back into the hallway.

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

Terreis found Valchon in the small balcony attached to his rooms, sitting on an ornate cement bench, his head down. He looked up as she stepped out onto the veranda, apparently unsurprised by her appearance. "My Liege," he murmured, the coldly, angry man she'd seen in the prisoner's room no longer in evidence. He looked tired now, though she found herself wondering if it was real or simply a carefully constructed act. Had his hunger for power gone that far?

"Would you care to tell me what happened?" she questioned. He'd served her long and loyally, and deserved to be allowed some measure of dignity, which was why she'd let him go and not questioned in front of the servants. She'd been angry enough to throttle him earlier, but having paced the castle to let off steam, she'd come to some degree of peace with it all; or at least calmed her temper somewhat. However, she still needed to know whether or not she could trust her most powerful advisor.

"I went to question the outlander," he said softly.

"Or perhaps to kill her?" she questioned without raising her voice.

"I went to speak to her," he snapped, a muscle pulsing in his jaw, then he took a deep breath and paused for a moment. "To demand to know why...." He trailed off and she gave him time, reminding herself of his long years of service. Finally, he pushed to his feet, thrusting the letter in his hand at her. "To know why her people murdered my sons," he finished, his voice choking with hate.

Terreis read the hand-written notification of death from a commander in the military. Both men had served loyally and bravely and been killed while working to restore one of the water pumping stations. Head down, she felt the familiar burn of nausea that ripped through her every time she thought too hard about the losses her people were suffering. That explained his actions. "I'm very sorry," she said, well aware the words were completely inadequate considering the extent of his loss. "And, in some respects, I can't blame you," she admitted as she looked up again, "but I can't let you harm her."

Hands folded together at the small of his back, he stood staring out at the city. "I didn't go there to harm her ... only to get the truth." His voice sharpened as he continued, "then the wench offered herself to me ... promised me everything if I just helped her." He pivoted to face her, his voice growing more intense as he continued. "She wanted me to betray you, My Queen ... taunted me that if I wouldn't, the guard would."

Terreis flinched, turning away from the ugly words, wanting to deny them, but afraid they made sense. God knew, the woman had her tied up until she was half mad with desire. It seemed logical enough to believe she'd use her appeal on the others as well. Her molars ground together at the mere idea, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. "So you decided to kill her?" she rasped. As much as she hated the idea of the outlander offering herself to the minister, the idea of anyone harming her was a thousand times worse.

Valchon turned away again, staring out at the city, his voice a tight hiss. "All I could think of was my sons ... that her perversion had denied them life ... and the fact that she would do the same to you if she could."

There was little she could say to that. Certainly, she couldn't blame him for his hate or his desire for vengeance. Her hands tightened into fists at her side. But she also couldn't let him harm the outlander ... not just wouldn't, but couldn't; the very idea threatened to bring a dangerous edge of violence to her response. "I can see why that would trigger your actions," she said with forced calm, pushing down the urge to make it very plain to him that he was never to touch what was hers by beating him to a pulp.

"Then you understand, My Queen," Valchon murmured on a satisfied note.

Terreis found herself wondering herself wondering if she could still trust him as she turned to look at the minister. Clearly his judgment wasn't at its best; his concerns more on his own interests than the good of his people. "Understand ... yes," she allowed carefully. "Condone ... no." She saw the way he stiffened, his hands clutching the balcony railing tightly enough to make the cords stand out across the backs of his knuckles.

"She would see you dead, Highness," he growled through tightly clenched teeth.

Which was possible; perhaps even probable. And changed nothing. She didn't pause to consider her next words, simply reacted. "The outlander is my concern ... not yours," she cut off that line of attack with brutal efficiency.

"It's every citizen's concern when you take chances with your life," he shot back.

"She's under guard and no danger to me," she insisted, tiring of his pressure.

He seemed taken aback by her rejection of his opinion and was momentarily silent before he shook his head, insisting, "You would be wisest to put her to the sword ... be certain she cannot--" his angry words ended in a choked gasp when she grabbed the front of his doublet and hauled him around, her eyes blazing.

"She will not be harmed" she hissed, her jaw thrust pugnaciously forward, "not by you, nor by anyone under your command." If he said one more word about killing the woman, or even thought about making another attempt, she might just kill him. She was that close to violence. "I'm well aware you're a powerful man, but understand that I will hold you responsible if you ... or any of those under your control try to harm her in any way."

He tensed, lips pulling back from his gritted teeth, but didn't respond, wise enough to realize he'd pressed it too far.

"The outlander is my responsibility ... and I will see to her ... without your aid or advice. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" He had to understand; the woman was her problem to deal with. Nothing else was tolerable.

Valchon was silent for a long moment. "Yes, My Queen," he grated at last.

"Good, because she is my concern ... and my concern alone."

"And what is your concern, My Queen," he demanded after a beat, "her knowledge or her body?" His eyes gleamed with disgust as they raked over her, the look designed to make her feel like she was betraying her people with her lust.

The tactic was curiously ineffective for once. "Whether it's one, the other, or both, it's none of your affair," Terreis said, her tone becoming ice chill in an instant, refusing to be intimidated by his disapproving glare. She thrust him back and let her hands fall to her sides. "Don't force my hand in this matter," she said, her voice deadly soft. "You won't like my response."

A muscle in his cheek jumped spasmodically. "As you wish, My Queen," he said stiffly.

"I think we understand one another now," she pronounced, then stepped back a pace. "I'll see you in tomorrow morning's meeting."

He swallowed hard and inclined his head. "As you wish."

"I wish," she exhaled, then turned and stepped out.

Valchon managed to hold his temper until she was through the door to his apartments and at least a corridor away, then his control shattered and he began hurling curses at no one in particular as he paced the floors with rapid, furious strides. It took several minutes, but finally he got himself under some semblance of control and straightened himself, smoothing his doublet and then his hair. Finally, he took a deep breath, shaking off the wild rage, his jaw hardening with determination. "Soon enough, My Queen, you'll discover just who's in charge around here," he murmured to himself, then hurried out.

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

Terreis found the smith quietly cleaning his workbench, his tools already stored away for the night.

"My Queen," the man said with automatic obeisance. "I was going to notify you in the morning that I've finished the task you set before me."

She nodded. "Good." She reached for the gold chain on the counter. "These?"

He nodded instantly. "Yes, My Queen, I'm sorry it's taken so long, but when I was working, I quickly realized the gold wouldn't be strong enough for what you wished ... while iron or steel would be too rough edged for what you wished."

Terreis frowned, eyeing the gold chain in her hand. "But this is gold."

"It only looks like it," he explained. "It's tempered steel underneath. The gold is only a thin layer over the top to protect the wearer's skin. There are no rough edges and the size is adjustable."

She lifted the gold chased manacles, noting the etched designs in the cuffs and the twist pattern to the chain, then pulled experimentally, testing the strength.

"They'll will hold up," the smith informed her. "I've tested them ... and had others do so as well."

She fingered the lock, noting the tiny keyhole. "And the locks?"

"They're the finest I've ever made; strong, but delicate. They can't be easily forced or picked."

"The key?" the queen demanded, holding out a hand.

"I made two," the smithy said as he grabbed something from a drawer. "One for you ... and a spare to be distributed as you wish." He held out his hand, spilling two tiny keys and a length of impossibly delicate chain. "The one on the chain can be easily removed, but only if you know the trick." He reached out, demonstrating for her, then waited while she tried it. It took several attempts, but finally she got the hang of it and realized how clever the hidden latch was. As delicate as it was, only someone who knew the secret could easily remove it. She tested each of the cuffs on herself -- pleased to find them perfectly smooth against her skin -- worked the locks, and tested the manacles until she was satisfied they were strong.

"I cast additional links for the chain," the smithy added while she checked things over, "in case you wish to lengthen it."

She considered the chain for a moment. It was nearly as long as her arm; enough length for now. She rubbed her thumb against the inside of one of the cuffs, feeling the slide of smooth gold. "Beautiful and functional," she said at last and looked up. "You've done well."

He heaved a relieved sigh. "I'm glad you think so, My Queen," he said breathlessly. "I'm new to the castle ... my lord, Favril, had me brought up from his homelands to replace the previous castle goldsmith ... and I wish only to please you."

She nodded her approval. "I assure you, you have." She looked back down at the beautifully etched manacles, wondering at her own sense of.... She couldn't decide what the emotion was, but it wasn't particularly positive. Beautiful as the piece was, it struck her that its sole purpose was to subjugate another human being. Even knowing it was necessary, the idea sickened her.

"My Queen?" the smithy said, clearly worried by her silence.

She looked up again and offered an encouraging, if wan, smile. "Thank you for your efforts." She slipped the delicate chain and its tiny key around her neck, pocketing the second key with the intention of giving it to Rubio. "I'll see that your master knows how happy I am with your efforts."

"Thank you, My Queen," he said instantly, ducking his head in grateful acknowledgment. "I'm always happy to serve."

"Thank you," she said again, then took her leave, suddenly eager to be away from the workbench that had turned out the disturbingly beautiful manacles, appalled by the entire idea. It was a necessity, she reminded herself. The outlander had to be contained, and this was far kinder than the rough edge handcuffs she wore now. This, at least had a chain that was both light and reasonably long, and the cuffs themselves were smooth and wouldn't leave ugly scars on her flesh.

So, why didn't it feel like anything had changed?

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

Valchon found Lemier in his laboratory, bent over some unrecognizable device, his attention completely swallowed up by the thing until the minister cleared his throat.

The scientist looked up, swallowing nervously as his gaze landed on the minister. "Minister Valchon."

Valchon pushed the laboratory door closed in his wake, his expression unreadable. "I just spoke with our queen," he said very softly, the very blandness of his tone sending a shiver down the scientist's spine. "I assume you're aware of her latest acquisition ... that she saved the outlander from ... imminent danger ... several nights ago?"

"I couldn't have known she would return to the dungeons that night," Lemier said defensively. The servants had all been chattering about the way the queen had dragged the outlander up to her apartments, and he'd known this meeting was coming. The senior minister never let any mistake pass. "And those men were supposed to just get rid of the woman, not...." He trailed off, shuddering with horror. Murder was bad enough, but to torture the poor woman in the doing made his stomach turn. "If they had done what they were supposed to and simply removed her--"

"Those men have been dealt with," Valchon snapped, impatient with the other man's cringing weakness, "and are unimportant. The queen, however, shows signs of caring far too much about what happens to the outlander." His lip curled with animosity as he remembered the way she'd dared to threaten him on the witch's behalf. "She interfered with my plans ... and has moved the wench back into her personal quarters ... under her personal care." When the queen had failed to rise to the bait and kill the outlander, he'd waited to be certain she'd lost interest before moving in. Apparently not long enough. He turned a pointed look on Lemier. "Her programming should have prevented that. After all, she was supposed to hate the outlanders enough to want them all dead ... and build the weapons to do the job ... not be trying to make peace while mooning after one of them."

Lemier swallowed hard, well aware he was skating on very thin ice with the other man. Nothing was going as planned and he'd seen how easily Valchon killed those he felt failed him. Was he the next in line? "Yes, but the programming was done presuming the other woman would play the role of her consort. She would have seen herself as protecting her people, and in so doing protecting her love." He shook his head, fighting to tamp down the trembling in his hands, quick to point out that his plan had been very different and should have worked. "Had that happened, it's likely the programming would have done exactly as we planned ... and lasted the rest of her life, because she could have had the one thing she wants that she couldn't have in her real life. Now her programming is in conflict with her true feelings. The woman she loves isn't her consort to be protected, but rather the enemy we've programmed her to hate. That's bound to produce erratic results." He fumbled with something on his workbench just to have something to do with his hands. "She's trying to resolve it all so it makes sense ... find a way to make her knowledge fit with what she feels is the truth."

"You're saying she does it all for love?" Valchon scoffed at the notion, disdainful of Lemier's belief in such soft emotions. He was in no mood for excuses, particularly such weak ones.

"It's an important facet of her character," Lemier insisted in spite of his superior's disgusted snorts. "We tried to move Maya into the role when attempts to turn the other woman failed ... to give her a stake in things ... something she wanted, but couldn't have in her own world ... but with the outlander in the picture...." He shook his head, trying to lose himself in the practical aspects of the discussion as he reminded himself that Valchon needed him. He was the only one who even began to understand how the equipment they'd stolen worked ... and the only one with the skills to oversee the work in building the weapons. He comforted himself with those thoughts even as a distant part of his brain wondered if it was false confidence. Who knew how Valchon's mind worked for certain? Certainly not him. "You have to understand, the feeling between those women is long standing ... deep ... incredibly passionate--"

"You'll be writing romantic tales for bored housewives soon," Valchon sneered.

Lemier winced, trying to put it in more objective terms as he continued. "The programming only serves to overlay a scenario on the subject's basic personality. She believes your scenario, so she hates the outlanders, but she still retains the same psyche ... which is one that will always choose peace over war if possible ... and which will always be drawn to the woman ... that can't truly harm her.... If you try and force her to do so, you'll only increase the likelihood of her the programming breaking down--"

"Then what do you suggest?" the minister demanded, his manner tightly controlled, though fury lurked in the depths of his dark gaze.

"Leave them be," Lemier exhaled uneasily, tensing when he saw the outrage in Valchon's expression. He held up a hand before the other man could hurl another insult. "With luck, she'll find a way to resolve what she believes with her own desires ... simply alter the scenario to fit the conditions--"

"To fuck the outlander," Valchon muttered, his lip curling with dislike, hating having anything out of his control. "That's why I gave her Maya--"

"Maya was a temporary fix. That scenario is likely already breaking down." Very probably speeded along by Maya's inability to play the sweet innocent of "Terreis's" implanted memories ... not that she could have held the outlander's interest even if that weren't the case. He'd gotten a good enough look inside Sam Carter's head during the programming process to be certain that mere sex wouldn't satisfy her for long. She needed far more, while Maya couldn't give anything else. "Her love and desire for Janet Fraiser are an important component of her personality ... no one else will do ... and any threat to the woman is only like to trigger a protective response."

"Except -- in case you're unaware--" Valchon said acidly, "Janet Fraiser knows far too many secrets. She has to die."

"And if you kill her, it's very likely your carefully chosen queen will kill you," Lemier pointed out, even as it occurred to him that might be best for all involved.

"I'm her senior minister," Valchon bit out, his tone outraged. Killing peasants and outlanders was one thing, but he was an important man.

"And Janet Fraiser is the woman she's been in love with for years." Valchon tapped his fingernails anxiously on the workbench, his glare enough to make Lemier speak even faster, his voice trembling with nervousness. "Harm her, and I can almost guarantee that will trump any programming we've instilled." His voice dropped low as he remembered the secrets he'd coaxed from her under the influence of drugs and the stolen alien device. "She'll kill you," he whispered with absolute finality.

Valchon spun away, hands clenching tightly at his sides. "The weapons. How is their construction coming?" It was a sign that he believed Lemier when he switched topics so abruptly.

Lemier didn't try to argue the subject change, relieved to discuss something else. "It's moving more quickly than expected, but with the power problems, still not at capacity."

Valchon absorbed that, and stood silent for a long moment. "Have two thirds of each day's production delivered to the troops in the Vurals...."

"Questions may be asked if that many go to one garrison," Lemier pointed out logically.

"It's directly above the gate the outlanders are using to come and go. That's reason enough if anyone asks." He turned back. "Do they still have people in the area?"

Lemier shrugged uncertainly. "According to the last report I saw, our spies aren't certain. The villagers aren't saying anything, but the trackers believe the outlanders still have some forces in the area ... most likely looking for the women."

Valchon exhaled a small, annoyed sigh and his jaw muscles flexed as he ground his molars. "Order them killed if they're found. No survivors ... the same for anyone found helping them."

Lemier shook his head, his voice thick with horror. The outlanders had helped several communities. Grateful people were likely to be trying to help them at all levels. "But there may be entire villages--"

His lip curling with disdain for Lemier's reticence, Valchon snorted softly. "Then have them put to the torch," he commanded practically. "In fact," he added, his mouth twisting into a perverse grin as a sudden thought occurred to him, "we can turn this to our advantage." A soft laugh escaped his lips, the sound not the least bit humorous. "Our queen would surely be driven to design more powerful weapons if an entire village of her loyal subjects were slaughtered by the outlanders. Imagine her horror at seeing lines of men, women, and children laid out amid the smoking ruins."

Lemier couldn't speak for a moment, so intense was his disbelief. "You mean ... kill them all ... for real?" So far, the "battle sites" the queen had been shown had been long abandoned, the bodies those of criminals and dissenters just thrown on for window dressing. There had been deaths, but not huge numbers and none of them innocent civilians to his knowledge.

"Well, I don't mean to reward them for their treason," Valchon snapped as though the answer was obvious.

"But those people were dying ... the outlanders helped them with the illness ravaging them ... and they were trying to get the water pumps going."

"They were traitors ... ready to offer their loyalty in trade for life and a little water," Valchon jeered. "If they betray their masters so cheaply, they deserve to die."

The scientist paled. "You would see them all dead if it gained you nothing but a moment's pleasure," he said very softly as though the thought had just occurred to him.

"They're peasants," the minister said coldly. "Platitudes aside, that's their task." His smile was genuine for the first time since his entrance. "Their own religion promises that if they suffer for their masters loyally enough, one day they'll come back as the masters. I'm simply helping them attain a higher plain."

Lemier swallowed hard, words refusing to come as his eyes dropped to the workbench. He didn't have the courage to fight the minister, and nothing was going according to his plans. All he could do was try to survive now.

"Now, see that the messages are delivered. I cannot risk being involved if any of this comes out. The other ministers are aware, of course, that the woman's technical knowledge is being used to rebuild Arrathonea, but they have no knowledge of the true scope of things."

"Of course, Minister," Lemier whispered on a hollow note. He looked up, his eyes those of a beaten man. "And the outlander woman, Fraiser, what of her?" He feared all of his work would be for nothing if she died. Samantha Carter's programming would not survive that blow. He was sure of it.

"You'd best hope you're right and Terreis' programming will resolve the issue to our satisfaction ... because for the moment, killing the witch is far too dangerous." He smiled, silently making it plain that those dangers did not extend to killing Lemier, then stepped over to the door, his expression momentarily distant. "Though perhaps there are other ways of dealing with the problem."

"Minister?" Lemier whispered, dreading to hear what new plan the other man had concocted.

He was spared, however, as Valchon simply waved the question away. "Nothing, my dear Lemier, just a stray thought." He pulled the door open to leave, but Lemier's voice caught him.

"Have you ever loved anything?"

"Of course," Valchon answered almost cheerfully. "Power."

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