"You're in the nursery," Harper explained as Belimai squinted at a huge red toy chest across the room.

"Were you trying to share the horror of your childhood?" Belimai asked.

Harper was pleased to hear cynicism ring through Belimai's voice. For days Belimai had only hissed garbled curses and strings of disconnected words. His voice had been an animal's, able to convey nothing more than his pain. Now for the first time, Belimai's intellect seemed to have returned.

"The nursery's farthest from the servant's quarters, and it's the best-insulated part of the house. I thought it would be wisest if we kept things as quiet as possible," Harper said.

Belimai nodded slowly and then sniffed at the air. He frowned. "Something stinks." He sniffed again and then glanced down at his own blood-caked body and the stained sheets that hung across him. "It's me, isn't it?"

"Give me a few minutes. I'll get some clean bedding and a basin of warm water." Harper stepped back from the bedside. "And my hands?" Belimai rattled the handcuffs. "I'll get the keys." Harper had the keys in his pocket, but he wasn't sure how long Belimai's coherence would last. "It may take me a little while to get everything. Just rest and relax."

Belimai nodded, though Harper noticed that he continued to shift his hands against the cuffs. He pulled and squeezed his palms back and forth, attempting to work his way out of them. Harper gathered clean linens as well as a basin of warm water and a sponge.

When he returned, he found Belimai passed out again with one arm free and dangling off the bed. Harper pulled a chair up to the bedside and began sponging Belimai clean. Belimai opened his eyes blearily.

"I keep dreaming that I'm back in the Inquisition House. They want Sariel's name. I hate being in that place."

Harper sponged the sweat from Belimai's face and then washed his throat and shoulders.

"If you feel up to it tomorrow, I'll show you around the grounds. Try dreaming about that instead."

"Thank you, Harper." Belimai was almost unconscious when the words slipped out. "I don't usually thank you, but I should."

"You're welcome," Harper replied. Belimai fell back asleep. Harper rolled Belimai over a few inches and pulled the soiled sheets from under his body.

Years ago when he had been at college, Edward had shown him how to change sheets from under a sleeping man. Harper had spent a few weeks after that stealing the sheets from under his fellow seminary students. He had gotten rather good at it. He had even managed to steal the linens from under a visiting abbot once.

Harper shoved the bloodied bedding out into the hall. Mrs. Kately could decide if they were worth washing or if she just wanted to burn them. Harper dropped back down in the chair at Belimai's bed-side. Absently he wondered how he would replace the shattered windows. They could wait until later; for the moment he enjoyed the light breeze that drifted into the room. It was the first time in well over a week that Harper hadn't been preoccupied with some immediate emergency.

He wondered what he and Belimai would do tomorrow. An excitement began to build in him. They were free to do whatever they pleased. These lands were his, and Belimai was finally well enough to enjoy them with him. He wondered what part of the estate Belimai would like best.

Harper smiled to himself. Perhaps this time he would stay long enough to actually have those torch-holders refitted.

"Daydreaming?" A woman's voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.

Harper leapt to his feet and spun to see his sister sitting just inside the frame of the open window. Her cropped hair drooped in dirty strands around her face. Dust coated her jacket and pants. She smiled with hesitant slowness, as if she were cautiously trespassing on ground that used to be hers.

Harper also smiled, but he didn't rush forward and sweep her up in a hug as he once would have. She seemed out of place in-doors, like some mythic child raised by beasts in the wilderness. The black nails that she used to spend hours clipping and bleaching now jutted from her finger tips like talons. Her red eyes roamed restlessly from Harper's face to his hands, and then to the gun holster hanging below his left arm.

"It's been a while," Harper said. "How have you been?"

"Can't complain. You?"

"Busy." Harper frowned at the awkwardness of their exchange. They sounded like distant acquaintances at a wake. "Have you been getting enough food? You look thinner."

"I've been just fine, Will. Mica's been teaching me to tell fortunes. I've been making a good living. The people at Good Commons have been watching out for me."

"That's good," Harper replied. "Have you seen Edward?"

" I...I've kept track of him, but we haven't spoken..." She glanced up at the bright blue sky on the ceiling and shook her head. "How could we? What could I possibly say that would make things all right between us?"

"You could let him know that you aren't dead."

"Do you honestly think it would do him any good? At least this way there's a clean ending. He can remember me as a faithful, darling wife who died at the hands of criminals. It's sad, but God knows it has to be better than telling him that I was in love with another man. Or that I'm a Prodigal. Or that I went out of my mind and burned his house down. What would it do to him to know those things?"

"I don't know, but I think he deserves the truth."

"You wouldn't tell him, would you?" She stared at him, and Harper shook his head.

"You know I wouldn't tell anyone." The thought made him glance back to where Belimai lay sleeping. Joan's secrets had given him a reason to approach Belimai.

"Who's your guest?" Joan cocked her head to the side and looked past Harper to the bed.

"Belimai Sykes. He's recovering from a bout of flu." Harper gave her the same lie he and Mrs. Kately had offered the staff.

"I've seen him before...at St. Christopher's. He helped me."

"He was also at Scott-Beck's office when you torched it. You nearly killed him." Harper tried to keep the recrimination out of his voice, but it was hard. Not only had Joan nearly killed Belimai, but she had destroyed any evidence that Harper might have used to bring charges against Abbot Greeley for his involvement.

"I don't remember much about that." She ran her hand through her hair and a thin cloud of dust drifted up from her fingers into the bright morning light. "Do you have him handcuffed for a reason?"

Harper simply ignored the question. He had kept Joan's secrets from Belimai; the least he could do was give Belimai the same courtesy.

"Why did you come to see me?" Harper asked.

"You aren't going to hurt him, are you?" Joan asked.

"The last thing in this world that I would do is hurt him," Harper said flatly. "Now, tell me why you're here."

"It's Nick Sariel—"

"Doesn't anything happen without involving that man?" The name alone was becoming a physical pain to Harper. Joan stepped back from him slightly.

"I didn't think the two of you were on such bad terms."

"He blames me for Peter's death, and I—" Harper cut himself off. Even when he and Joan had been at their closest, Harper had kept his desires and temptations to himself. "I'm just sick of every living Prodigal thinking I'm his enemy."

"I know you're not my enemy, Will."

Harper was surprised at the sudden softness in his sister's tone. She smiled at him.