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The atmosphere within the Quiet Palace changed at the onset of the third day. Most of the barbarians had their orders. The Northwestern army disappeared to rebuild the fortifications or patrol the streets, and their chiefs with them. The Quiet Palace became, well, quiet.

I woke up gradually.

-- You are a mess.

It was the Black King. I prudently moved my gaze up to him. He stood between me and his throne. He'd gotten a good night's sleep. The deep shadows in his face had disappeared. His eyes were returning to their normal pallid impassivity. I broke the eye contact. Watching the Outsider made me sick. He gripped my snout, and forced me to stare at him longer. He waited. He wanted to see if I'd growl, or if I'd resist in any way. I didn't. I simply looked to the side. He let go.

"You are thirsty."

In fact, "thirsty" wasn't a sufficient term anymore. I was dry, and weakened, and I couldn't stop shaking. My head hurt from the dehydration.

"I will give you nice clean water later, if you behave."

That reptile was such an idiot. He spoke as if I had a choice, when it was clear that I didn't. Or not. I pondered sullenly. No. It was I who'd been an idiot for taking his provocations to heart. He probably did it on purpose, to make me believe that I was becoming more submissive, to shame me further. I wasn't submissive, I was stuck. I had to remain patient, and to keep my mind clear. Eventually, there would be an opportunity. I'd strike then, or escape, depending on the circumstances.

"Up on your knees."

It didn't mean anything, I told myself. It didn't mean anything. I pushed myself to my knees. The king presented his open hand. A tiny key lay on the dark, scaly palm.

"Face up."

I managed to keep calm when his claws poked around my throat. I heard a click. The bulky iron collar came off. The lizard dropped it loudly to the floor. His left hand went behind his back, and seemed to unhook something from his belt.

"I had it made for you this morning."

The Demon showed the choker to me. It was a dark-brown -- almost black -- hardened leather band with a small plaque. He held it with both hands, turning the plaque to me. It was written in daom, the language of the Diviners, which I didn't speak. It read: "Sakorum saelev". I knew that "Sakorum" meant Southerner. As for "saelev", I could take a wild guess. The Black King fastened the new collar around my neck using the same key.

"Do you like it?" he asked ironically.

Despite my better judgment, I scowled at him venomously.

"I knew you would. It looks better on you than that old piece of scrap metal."

The leather didn't cut painfully in my collarbones. I felt violently guilty for perceiving that. It was considerably worse than the hurtful iron. I detested that choker, and immediately wanted it off. The Outsider, perfect bastard that he was, gleefully salted the wound.

"A good boy wears what he is given."

He pushed on my neck with his boot until I lay at his feet again. The rough physical contact triggered an instinctive fear. I braced for a kick. It was noticed. The boot nudged my muzzled snout.

"Good boys do not get hit."

To my relief, the Black King ambled away, satisfied. He moved down the steps, and embraced a startled Captain Meleth, who'd just arrived.

-- You seem refreshed.

They released each other.

"And in a good mood."

-- I am.

The darker manacharian pointed to me.

"Put him to work like we discussed."

Meleth frowned.

-- Shouldn't he be fed and watered first?

-- No.

-- You do realize that he requires sustenance?

-- I realize.

Meleth shrugged wearily.

-- As you order.

The captain went to me. When he got near, his expression changed.

"What the hell happened to you?"

He seemed appalled by what had been done to me. For a moment, as he crouched over my smeared body in shock, he appeared as helpless as I was. Meleth motioned toward my new collar a few times, but he didn't dare touch my fouled pelt. In the end, he travelled all the way to the entry hall, and returned with my pillar chain. He had an identical key to the one that unlocked my collar. He used it to open the shackle at the end of the chain. Carefully, from the tip of his claws, he leashed me. Seeing me in this state bothered him. He didn't quite take it out on me, but he was noticeably harsher than he'd been before. He tugged at the chain.

"Stand up and follow me."

The captain led me through a few corridors. We eventually stumbled upon a member of the trio of Black Guards that had dragged me to the coronation on the day of my capture. It was the unassuming brown-furred feline. Meleth stopped him with a gesture.

"You! You're exactly who I was looking for."

The feline glanced at me like I was trash. Given how sullied I was, I couldn't fully blame him.

-- Right now?

-- Yes, now.

The lizard handed over my chain. The soldier resentfully took it.

"Get some cloths and a bucket. You can start him around here. Just keep him busy."

For the first time since the end of the duel with the Outsider, my hands were freed. I brought them together in front of me, and I marveled at them. It was wonderful, but Meleth hadn't taken off the bracers completely, he'd simply removed the padlock that held them together. He produced a light little chain from his pocket, and bound my wrists together again. Still, I gained amplitude of movement, and my arms weren't stuck in my back. Meleth left, and I was put to work after a few minutes of my guard searching for a bucket of old water. The first hit came from nowhere. The soldier had held the wooden cane behind his back.

-- Clean!

The strike hadn't been enjoyable, but it was nothing to be frightened of either. Still, I took the bucket and a cloth, and I began to work energetically. The lengthy chain hanging from my neck constantly got in my way until I flung it over my shoulders. I didn't know what I was doing. I imagined I had to soak the cloth regularly to get the dirt in the water, and off of the floor. The corridor I was starting in was well-polished stone, and, therefore, it was not very challenging. I had half the corridor done in twenty minutes. I believed I was making decent progress when I was hit under the shoulder. The surprise made me spill some water.

"Faster! I don't want to be here next week."

I noticed that I had, in fact, slowed down since the beginning. I renewed my efforts, thinking the impatient jerk of a guard would never be nearly as relieved to be rid of me as I would of him. The feline walked up and down the place. At least, I was almost done.

Nine corridors later, I understood that I was not going to be done. My back ached, my knees were powdered, and my fingers were about to get holes in them, just like my cloths. How did servants ever manage to do this sort of repetitive, dreary manual labor all day? I wasn't sure how many hours I'd been at this already, but it was too much. I kept on getting caned for no reason as well. The soldier was killing time. It was his way of fighting the boredom, or he just liked it. I scrubbed as hard and fast as I could, but I always had to slow down at some point to catch my breath. If he happened to be close to me then, I got hit. Occasionally, I got hit even though I hadn't slowed down at all. My knees as well as my fingers were so sore that I worried they might bleed. What would I do then? Stain the bricks as I cleaned them? Then this all would truly be absurd.

The feline soldier charged with watching me wandered by, so I rubbed faster, and I pushed with all my weight. The last few times, he'd taken to caning the tender underside of my paws. He walked alongside me, pointing his stick.

"Work."

I did! I worked like a beast. I was so tired, hungry, and thirsty that even the dirty water in my bucket was an increasing temptation. Eventually, I scrubbed all the way to the throne room. I couldn't believe I'd managed to scour that much floor. When I halted at the end of the final corridor, the cane fell to my back again.

"Does the floor stop here? Keep going."

I had to do the throne room too? It was huge. It'd take days. Many would watch me. I sighed. The guard heard it. He walked back to me. I reflexively protected my head with my arms, and I turned my paws toward each other, expecting another hit.

"I don't like it any more than you do, so cut your whining and work."

Any hope that I had of finishing this job died. I adopted a more sustainable pace. I took a few more blows to my back and paws, but when the guard figured out that I wasn't going to accelerate again, he shrugged. He rambled away, leaned against a wall, and crossed his arms. I wiped the floor, soaked the cloth, moved to the side, moved the bucket, wiped the floor, soaked the cloth... I tried to think of nothing. I made no progress whatsoever; the room was immense. At least, the Black King was elsewhere, and the room was near empty. Time passed.

My nose informed me that someone was coming, someone I'd met before. I turned to the corridor behind me and visually confirmed what I thought. It was the other feline barbarian soldier of the trio, the larger one with white fur and black stripes, and the battle hammer in his back. As soon as he saw me scrubbing, he went straight for me.

-- I heard you got stuck with the little bitch.

-- Yes.

The guard didn't even raise his eyes. The battle hammer wielder lifted me from the neck, like a pup, and immediately slipped his hand around my privates. I pointlessly tried to resist as he molested me. A clawed finger brutally intruded under my tail. I grunted as I redoubled my efforts to interrupt the assault.

-- Hey! What are you doing?

The white one ignored the other guard, and punched my lower back hard, sending a paralyzing wave of pain through my abdomen. I moaned, and I ended my resistance before the beating began. The battle hammer maniac began to laugh elatedly, but it was cut short when the cane plunged upon the vicious warrior's grip on my neck. I was suddenly dropped back to the floor. The shorter, much less imposing feline held his stick threateningly to the other's face. He was fuming.

-- Ow! What the hell?

-- Back off!

Battlehammer was holding his knuckles. Cane and him were staring each other down. The whole scene was absurd because Battlehammer had two heads and a good third of his body weight over Cane, but Cane was winning. He kept poking the air with his ridiculous stick, advancing as Battlehammer backed down. The tiger tried to appeal.

-- No one cares, you know. We can play around with him; he's just a dumb slave.

-- Yeah? Well, you do it on your own time. I'm in charge now, so back off.

Battlehammer stood defiantly for a few seconds. At last, he gestured his resignation.

-- Fine. Keep him to yourself. I'll get my turn soon enough.

-- Just leave.

We watched as our unwelcome visitor disappeared. Cane turned to me, and he poked the rear of my head.

-- You get back to cleaning.

My stress gradually died down as I returned to my task. The brown feline stretched his neck and shoulders. This time, he remained close to me. He'd risen in my esteem. Maybe I'd misjudged him, and he was merely trying to do a job he didn't like. I scrubbed under Cane's vigilance for another hour or so. I fell into a sort of absence, which was restful. My body continued to do what it was supposed to without my help. It was good to stop thinking, and to stop worrying. It had been draining to be there, appraised by others while I squirmed lowly under them. I couldn't explain it, but this unclean ignominy taxed me, as if I had to defend against some permanent assault. I may have found a trace of safety in the chore of scrubbing, harsh and tedious as it was. Or, perhaps my small, grumpy watcher's insistence on doing his job uncompromisingly generated this faint but pristine sense of shelter. Whatever the case, I managed to breathe better until the trio of Black Guards reformed.

High up on the walls, the slim windows informed me that the sun was high, though it was hidden behind hostile clouds. The sky was a deep storm-blue, and quickly darkening. I understood that I'd spent almost half a day pushing my rags against the floor at Cane's paws. That was when Battlehammer returned, followed by their personality-deprived reptile friend. Cane tensed up, and stepped between the two of them and myself, but the tiger wasn't looking for another fight.

-- Take it easy, he said. The boss wants you to bring the king's pet to his room.

-- The royal chamber?

-- Yeah. You're free of duty. We'll swing by the kitchens so you can grab something.

Cane seemed mistrustful.

-- He said so himself?

My guardian was looking at Battlehammer's lackey reptile rather than the former. The beefy lizard took a few seconds to process that he was the one being talked to, and then his eyes lit up.

-- Ah! Yes! Meleth gave us his orders. I was there.

Cane accepted this. Apparently Meleth's word was as good as the king's.

-- Alright then.

The tiger took my chain, and yanked it with unnecessary brutality. Cane allowed it. They began to walk, dragging me along. I hurried, dropping the dirty rags near the bucket. Battlehammer spoke again:

-- The captain also said he would ask us for this again.

-- Great, said Cane with nary an effort to hide his discontentment.

The soldiers showed much less restraint toward me than before. Battlehammer held the chain, and Lackey put a solid grip on my collar, and on my chained wrists. They pushed me a few times, ordering me to walk faster even though they controlled the pace. I could tell they were just enjoying bossing me around. Lackey touched the crusted pelt near my rear.

-- Yeah, it's dry.

They chuckled. Cane had evidently decided that he wasn't involved anymore. He let his friends have their fun with me. I didn't want to be everybody's bitch. It took an eternity for us to reach the king's room. I was made to kneel in the middle, next to a bowl of water. I was so horribly thirsty that, as soon as I saw it, I couldn't think of anything else. My heart beat faster, and adrenaline surged in my blood at the sight. The trio was about to leave. The blunt weapon enthusiast moved back to me.

-- Wait. Watch this.

He stood over me.

"Bend over."

I didn't move. Fear and anger were battling it out in my mind. I'd decided to stay out of trouble, but these guys weren't the Outsider. I had no intention to surrender to everyone's whims. I didn't want to get beaten over this either, nor to give the Demon another excuse to give in to his cruelty. I looked to Cane for help. He caught my distress. He lost some of his unconcern, but it wasn't enough to induce him to act.

"Bend over, whore!"

Battlehammer struck the ground next to me with his heavy boot, and I bent.

"Yeah, that's right."

My tail was kicked out of place. The cold boot was pressed on top of my ass.

"Check out the great warrior."

Lackey wasn't so keen anymore.

-- Let's get out. We're not supposed to fool around in here.

As for Cane, he shrugged, turned around, and left. His departure tore Lackey apart, incapable to decide which of his friends to follow, even if he clearly preferred to go. Instead, he pleaded even more zealously with the burly feline.

"Come on, please! You'll get us in trouble. Please."

The tiger grumbled.

-- Fine.

The door closed. I heard a lock, and I was alone. I crawled urgently to the bowl of water next to me. I realized they'd neglected to remove my muzzle. I tried to dip my snout in the water, to suck through the leather, but all I did was splash water around. I stopped. I wanted to cry, but I was probably too dry for that. Weak and trembling, I curved in a ball close to the bowl.

The lock clicked and slid, awakening me. The Black King came in. He closed the door behind him. The smell of roasted poultry and of fresh bread and cheese floated lazily around me. It occupied the room. The dark reptile held a plate. He wore a blue linen shirt that was less kingly, and more casual than anything I'd seen him wear yet. He went around me, giving me a wide berth. He sat on his bed, putting the plate next to him. I sensed his stare. My insides distorted. The Lowlands Demon terrified me. Whenever he got close, I couldn't help but be filled with the same hurt and despair that I'd felt when he abused me. I collapsed on myself even more. I wanted to shut my eyes to cut the stream of nightmarish memories, but I was too scared to cease watching him. He got up from the bed, crouching. His approach was careful, like one would do with a wild, caged animal. The soft movements actually helped mitigate my panic. He displayed no aggression. On the other hand, he expressed no remorse, no guilt. He was alert and precise. He liked my anguish. He stopped close to my curled body.

-- Would my nice slave like some water?

The Outsider lifted me by the collar. He moved me so that the bowl ended up between my knees. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and his other hand pressed on top of my right leg. He was all over me, controlling. He observed attentively for my response. I did wonder if he wasn't just being cruel. He might make me think that I could have the water only to take it away. But I didn't think so. My impression was that he wanted to dominate. He wanted me to feel exactly what I was feeling: that I depended on him, that I needed permission. What he wanted then was my submission. If I played along, I was almost certain that he would indeed let me drink. All it would cost me was a quiet little nod; a high price to pay, but I had no choice.

I moved my head, letting the manacharian know that, yes, his nice slave would like some water. I tried to harden my spirit when he undid my muzzle without haste. When I noticed his smug, satisfied air, I reassured myself that my submission was all pretend. His left hand fondled my ears, holding my head back to prevent me from bowing to the bowl. He made me wait as I stared greedily at the water. The pause lasted long enough for me to ponder the difference between obedience, and pretend obedience. The Black King certainly didn't seem to be bothered. Finally, the constant, passive pull onto my ears diminished; I was allowed to lower my head. I lapped up the water. It was the best, most essential water of my life.

"Pace yourself."

My head was pulled back a little. I couldn't reach the water anymore, but I could lick my dripping snout. I got suddenly afraid that it was all I would receive, and, unthinkingly, I turned to that bastard lizard to read his intent. The satisfaction in his eyes informed me that I'd probably given him an awfully domesticated look. He pushed it.

"Would you like more?"

He squeezed the tip of my ears between his knuckles. I nodded again, trying to beat back my shame.

"Well, are you not grateful?"

I motioned approval again.

"Show me."

I was briefly confused, but then, for a fraction of a second, I saw his gaze move to my tail. I wagged my tail for him again. My permission to drink was renewed. The king let go of my head, and began to pet my back instead. I'd make him pay for this, I decided. When I'd escape, or be liberated, I'd remember every humiliation, and he'd suffer for them all. I sustained these thoughts, and it mended my pride to imagine what I'd do to this monster once I'd be free. I'd tear his scales off. He'd scream. He'd beg for mercy. I'd cut off his fingers, and I'd shove tiny metal spikes... I felt sick. I didn't want to think about torture anymore. Anything I could imagine, so could he. All of these horrors could happen to me.

That was the moment when this bizarre, utterly disturbing thought formed: maybe I should be thankful for what the Demon didn't do. It was fucking insane to be thankful for someone not being as sadistic as they could've been. This logic had no end. Something could always be worse. Yet, as I lapped water quietly, beaten and abused, I reflected that people rarely found themselves in a situation of complete power without consequence. Even slaves were somewhat protected by the social judgment of their masters. Me, I had attempted to slay a barbarian king. The expected outcome for mucking up the killing of a king, even a barbarian one -- perhaps especially a barbarian one -- was an unpleasant death. The entourage of the Black King wouldn't bat an eye if he decided to torture me in the most deranged, agonizing ways. Instead, here I was, naked, restrained, sexually humiliated, hungry, but alive and in one piece.

Everything that happened since my capture messed me up, changed the way I considered the world, and even myself. It was a disturbing thing to realize. I didn't want to change for him.

I finished the water, bent over within the Outsider's grasp. Without the obsessive thirst to distract me, my guilt increased tenfold. He pulled me by my collar. My naked back brushed his chest. He wrapped his chin around my neck. I sensed his facial horns.

"I will not make this easier for you. I do not have to. You can go to war with yourself if you want, but it is futile."

The hand on my leg moved to my inner thigh. I was perfectly helpless. I tried to quash the feeling of vulnerability, but I hid my hysterical struggle. My owner breathed deeply.

"This is just a moment in time. One more day to get through. It is not meaningful, in the end. You do not have to feel bad about it."

The reptile kept petting dangerously near my privates, yet I was calming down. My owner was telling me exactly what I'd been telling myself since the previous night. It was bizarre. He tightened his hold over my choker.

"I see only the two of us, here. We know where we stand. Try to breathe."

I was suddenly released. The Black King went around my disorientated, kneeling shape. He returned to his bed, and took a piece of bread covered with melted cheese. He bit into it. It was mesmerizing; I hadn't eaten for three days. A clawed finger rose, and described small circles.

"Roll over."

I... I froze. The Demon watched me intently. With every second, even if his face didn't change, I could smell it in him, in his blood. Something built up: an emotion, a violent purpose, an excuse, maybe. I knew that I had to obey. I had to demonstrate how low I was. He wanted to witness me accepting the painful fact that I was entirely at his mercy. At the same time, it was exactly as he'd said it; this was a matter of status, of circumstances external to the both of us as people.

I rolled over onto my back with my knees raised a little, like a dumb animal exposing its belly. I lifted my chained wrists meekly under my muzzle. All it did was to reinforce the obvious, the thing that I already knew. It was a performance. I performed my status, and it reinforced it because the performance was the proof. I had to submit because I was low, and I was low because I had to submit. This wasn't just for his benefit; the king was trying to convince me of my wretchedness. Then again, if it was the case, why say those comforting things? I was confused and lost.

"Good. Now, bark."

Fuck. I attempted to remain detached. I had to separate the things I did to survive from the things I did for myself, but it wasn't so easy. In fact, it was unspeakably difficult. I couldn't. The sound that I was trying to push remained stuck into my throat. The reptile got up.

"Why care? This or something else. The will is mine. You are merely the instrument. Do not dare to assume responsibility for my acts. Bark, bitch, or I will fix the instrument."

I managed a high-pitch yap that made me feel utterly worthless.

"Again."

I vocalized more evenly.

"More."

I barked repeatedly, and watched the Outsider approach while I lay on my back.

"Shut up."

It was getting to me. An excruciating strain weighed my spirit. It wasn't humiliation. It was more. I was afraid he'd make me bark again, because my strength might fail me, and my voice might break down into whines. He didn't. He knelt next to me.

"You did good."

The Outsider touched my head, and stroked above my eye with his thumb. His tone had changed. It was no longer mocking. He locked eyes with me. I perceived not a hint of irony. In his soul hid no pity either. It was a hard, cold recognition of the effort I had to deploy to endure what he was putting me through. He offered the rest of the piece of bread to my snout. I tried not to gobble it down too fast, to save what dignity I could, but it was not to be.

"You are not nearly done yet, if you want to eat."

I was made his pet over the course of nearly two hours. I sat. I lay down. I heeled. The Outsider dangled bits of bread and turkey in front of me as rewards. After a while, it didn't even sting. The orders came in, and I followed them. My body was caressed in multiple areas, including some intimate ones. I hated his touches to an irrational degree. It was a massive relief when he began to throw the morsels of meat for me to catch. Every once in a while, I'd miss one, and I would have to eat it from the dusty stone floor. Even so, I preferred that to his proximity. When he tired of the game, he slid the near-empty plate to me. I cleaned it up. When I was done, he muzzled me, and chained me to his desk, at his feet. He told me to stay, and sat down to work. He kept busy with a piece of parchment for some time. As far as I could tell, he was writing a letter. I endeavored to rest, listening to the grating -- but not unpleasant -- sound of the quill. Out of the blue, without interrupting his work, he spoke again.

"I am writing a letter to your Fair King."

I listened. I had no clue as to the reason why he was telling me this, but I was interested.

"I am offering him to spare any of his soldiers and vassal lords if they surrender. Only he will not be spared. I say so in the letter. I ask him to transmit my very reasonable conditions."

The Black King turned to me to observe my reaction. He was smiling, pleased with himself.

"That is the seal I will use."

He took the rounded, metallic object from his desk, and dropped it to me. I caught it in my hands. It was a shield outline. That was it. It was the simplest, plainest seal I'd ever seen.

"It is the old Black Guard seal. I rarely use it."

I understood why. It was stupendously easy to replicate... I brutally comprehended, but the Northwestern king decided to explain.

"Do you get it? If he transmits my message, he appears to condone his own men's desertion, and his cause appears lost. If he does not, he risks antagonizing his vassals if one of them decides to take a harmless little look at my message, and spreads the word. They will think he does not trust them, and is prepared to sacrifice them."

The king lowered his palm, and I put the seal into it.

"It might have no effect, or it might ruin him utterly. For me, it is just an hour of work, a piece of parchment, and a bit of wax."

He went back to writing.

"Ah, and some ink."

My first reflex was to wonder what I could do about this. As soon as I remembered that the answer was: nothing at all, my second reflex was to wonder why the Outsider was telling me this. He finished his letter.

"Come with me."

The Outsider detached my chain, and wound it around his fist. He gave me no time to stand up, content to drag me roughly until I succeeded in getting onto my paws, and I kept the pace. The staircase that we used was ancient, and made of wood. It creaked noisily, with every step releasing an odor of dust and mold, like all rarely used staircases seem to do. It was the royal staircase, meant expressively for the king's use. It led us almost directly to the Silvergate room. We were in the central, oldest part of the Quiet Palace, but the Silvergate symbolized power in the Southern Kingdom, so its chamber was well maintained. The place I entered when the new king pushed the door open and pulled on my leash was exactly as I remembered it. The space itself wasn't really large, but it gave that impression because the room was almost perfectly empty. It was clean. Going all around the walls, a central frieze of repeating runes were supposed to confer luck, insight and power to all who visited the shrine. Being in the middle of the palace, it had no windows, and was lit exclusively by the one thing it served to contain, waiting tantalizingly on top of a small altar of black marble.

The Silvergate radiated everything. As soon as I stepped into the room, I couldn't take my eyes off of it. The Black King was just as mesmerized, or more. It had a rectangular shape of pure silver, with slightly rounded edges. It widened at its base. It was longer, and just a little bit wider than it was high. Into every face, semi-circular indentations ran from top to bottom: three on the wide sides, four and five on the long sides. Researchers and casters from over the world debated endlessly about which side was the front, and which side was the back. It was exactly too big and heavy for a single person to carry it alone, no matter how strong.

The Outsider dropped my chain to the floor. I barely heard the sound. He moved as if to touch the artifact, but contained himself, intimidated. I'd forgotten how much I missed the way that object made me feel. All other emotions faded. In that moment, I was perfect. My life would happen the way I wanted it to. I was safe. I could do absolutely anything.

"Have you ever tried to unlock it?"

Of fucking course I had. Just like everyone before me, I couldn't even figure out what "unlocking" it meant. It was just something that people said because they didn't know what else to say about that unimaginable source of power that nobody knew how to access.

"Can you sense it? I mean, truly sense it. I do not think you can."

It was true that my experience of the Silvergate was less intense because I'd been fearlocked. Even then, its brilliance shone through the seal. If casters could indeed deepen their connection with the Silvergate as they became more magically attuned, it was entirely possible that a strong witch like the Outsider could sense things that I would never even dream of. I struggled to take my sight off of the Silvergate, and I examined him. He paid no attention to me. He gaped, fixated, the cool bluish glow painting his dark scales. He looked different: like a child with the world's most marvelous toy right between his hands. I gazed upon the artifact again, and delight filled me anew. Everything seemed possible. All pressure, all anxiety disappeared. It was divine.

"I tried to unlock it when I arrived here," confessed the Outsider. "I do not know what I was expecting. I think I had this vain hope that I would be the one. That it would be easy. I was disappointed when I could not do anything with it."

At last, the Outsider extended his right hand over the Silvergate, and lowered it. He folded his knuckles over its edge.

"Touch it, slave."

I'd touched the Silvergate before. I knew exactly what it did, but knowing was apparently not enough. As I approached, my body braced itself, my mind raced. I grinned. My fingertips landed in one of the indentations. Nothing. Touching the Silvergate was the most disappointing conceivable experience. It inevitably boiled your blood as you neared, but as soon as you actually touched it, you discovered that it added nothing. It remained numbingly pleasant to bask into its presence, however. We both ceased touching it with the same movement. The Black King tore himself away from the wonderful box, and plunged into me, infuriated by the gods know what.

"What is your link with it, Guardian?"

I staggered. Did the Black King not know? Guardian of the Silvergate was a title, nothing more. Many generations prior, some past king decreed that the "Protector of the realm" honorific would from that point on be instead: "Guardian of the Silvergate". I'd been an ordinary -- if very successful -- mercenary until after Blackpatch, when the Fair King conferred the title to me as part of my reward. I loved my monarch, and I believed he was a kind and legitimate ruler, but that didn't mean he had the ability to alter reality by granting a title. If the Lowlands Demon truly thought I was associated to the Silvergate in some way, then that could explain in large part why he'd decided to keep me alive. Hadn't I been in the Silvergate's presence, this realization would've terrified me. Instead, it simply occurred to me that I would have to deal with this problem.

Being muzzled, I couldn't be expected to answer. I glared back. The reptile slapped his face.

"I am incorrigible. I still somewhat expected the mystery to unravel when you touched it. I must temper my eagerness."

He let his head slide into its natural position, facing the Silvergate. I followed his lead, and absorbed the raw bliss.

"But how to ignore such a wonder?"

The king sat down in front of the altar. He grabbed the chain on the floor, and pulled on its length until my head rested into his lap. He turned my head so that I could look at the hallowed puzzle too. We remained still until the night. And then we both forgot to sleep.