Two full vats of congealed blood were in the room, three if you counted the empty one nearest to the Nawab, Milo, that Suga had noticed when peering through the Precious Orb. His face bruised, sitting, knees to chin, collared and chained to the floor. He stared at Rizla, without pleading, having accepted his fate.

Rizla started to speak to him, if only to tell Suga what he’d said, but a river of words was flowing from Elymas.  Somehow, the Earth Skyll had gotten close enough to bray in her ear. She shoved him back with the point of her elbow, aiming below the gut. 

         “Please, I must shut the door.”  The jab had been hard but he’d borne the pain well enough to resume talking almost at once.  “The room must be kept free of drafts and . . . this isn’t what it seems. No needless killings here, the blood is necessary for . . .” He spoke until his throat began to tighten with the same pressure he’d felt in the Great Throne Room. This time he knew from the trembling she was trying not to crush his windpipe.

         With a curse, Rizla pushed past him to stand outside, and catch her breath. The smell and the heat were overwhelming. With a broom like motion of her hand, she began to sweep the heat from the room. Unfortunately, other things came with it. Bones, teeth, particles which she didn’t recognize but which might have been human. Elymas had gone farther than either she or Suga had suspected. The bracelet that now clattered at her feet had belonged to a young girl; the smith had marked the years by etching ten trees, a common practice. If either the Dark or the Tu’el  learned of his experiments, she and Suga would be in serious trouble. 

The heat was dispersed into the far side of the dark room, and the idiot behind her was crying. 

         “Be silent, Skyll.” She pushed past him, re-entering the room. “I have no time for your tears.”

         “But you must listen,” Elymas burbled on. “The trees are . . . perhaps we can kindle the vats again and—”

         “If you do not cease at once, I will raise a gar from these stones to rip out your tongue.”

         The Earth Skyll clamped his mouth shut.

         She’d swept aside the heat, but there was nothing she could do about the smell. Rizla knew she’d get used to it, but for now she wanted to vomit.

         She walked to the other side where the shelves of bottles and worktables were and began to poke around. 

         Here the chamber was not a charnel house but a workroom, meticulously organized and clean.