"He—is—dead?"
Again Dylara nodded.
Nada swayed and would have fallen had not Dylara held tightly to her wrists. Tears began to squeeze from her closed eyes, to trickle down the drawn white cheeks.
And then Dylara found her voice. "What is it, Nada? What is wrong?"
The woman swallowed with an effort, fighting for control. "I," she whispered, "am Tharn's mate!"
At first, Dylara thought she meant he whom the Sepharians had slain. And then the truth came to her.
The Tharn she had known was Nada's son!
Impulsively she drew the woman down beside her, holding her tightly until the tearing sobs subsided. For a little while there was silence within the room.
Without changing her position, Nada began to speak. "It was my son who was with you. Twelve summers before my capture I bore him; his father gave him his own name. And now he is dead. He is dead."
A draft of air from the window above caused the candle flame to waver, setting the shadows dancing.