"Wake up, Lady Elza."
A silence. His hand touched her white shoulder. "Wake up, Lady Elza. It is I—Tarrano."
Elza opened her eyes, struggling to confused wakefulness. The white walls of her sleeping room in Tarrano's palace of the City of Ice were stained with the dim red radiance of her night light. She opened her eyes to meet Tarrano's inscrutable face as he bent over her couch; became conscious of his low, insistent, "Wake up, Lady Elza;" and his fingers half caressing the filmy scarf that covered her shoulders.
Terror flooded Elza; that time she had always feared, had come. Yet she had the presence of mind to smile, drawing away from him and sitting up, with the fur bed-covering pulled to her chin.
"Tarrano? Why—"
He straightened, and into his expression came apology.
"I frightened you, Lady Elza? I'm sorry. I would not do that for all the worlds."
Her terror receded. The old Tarrano over whom she still held sway. She summoned a look of haughty questioning.
"You are bold, Tarrano—"
His gesture was deprecating; he seated himself on the edge of her couch. She saw now that he was fully dressed and armed with a belt of many instruments.