dice on the table, and held out her hand for
Magus. “Come with me, Magus,” she said brightly. “There's
someone I would like you to meet.”

Magus could have floated
out of his skin. All at once, he had forgotten about the captives
outside. He had forgotten who they were and what they meant to him.
He didn't care about anything at all, only that he was going to see
the Jewel.

“Go
on in, Magus,” Lovisa said warmly, as if she was inviting him to
tea. But Magus didn't dare. His feet, which had been so light and
free, had grown heavy again. He hated it. He wanted to fight against
the imaginary chains that held his feet to the floor, to defy them by
taking a step forward. I
can't, he
told himself. I'm
the enemy. The
Jewel's light—eight lights in eight colors—filledhis vision. He
blinked against it, got the disconcerting feeling that he was gazing
upon a real god, and turned his head away. That light was not for him
to look at.

Lovisa held him by his
shaking hand. She took one step and then another, as naturally as if
she was entering her own home. She chuckled when Magus dragged his
feet. “You don't have to be afraid of the Jewel, Magus,” she
assured him. “The Jewel cares for us.”

A
nice chat with the Jewel? How
was one supposed to speak with the Jewel? Would it be through prayer,
the same as speaking to a god? Could the Jewel itself speak, and if
so, could someone like him understand it. It was plain that Lovisa
had spoken with the Jewel before, but how often? He had a hundred
questions, and he