Slyss opened brown eyes. She lay silent, staring upward at the ceiling. A sob fought its way upward from her throat.
"Noorlythin is dead! His control over me and the others—gone forever!"
She rolled off the dais and stared around her, at the dead bodies. She shivered. She went to the doors and pulled them open. In the distance, she could hear the frightened roaring of terrified men. She began to run.
Flaith shook the bars of the cell that held her. Her red hair made a living flame about her shoulders.
"What is happening? What is it?" she screamed.
A terrified jailer paused in his heavy run past her cell.
"The palace is falling in! The High Mor is dead. His body has been found!"
Flaith shook the barred door.
"Let me out! Please, please! Give me a chance to save myself!"
The jailer licked his lips. He glanced up and down the corridor, then slid the key into the lock. The door opened under a push from his hand. "If the High Mor is dead," he told the girl, "maybe the sfarri won't stay here on Senorech! Maybe the Senn can rule themselves, now."