Terror surged through Goldwyn like branching tines of lightning, the current coursing through her limbs as though her body had absorbed the fury of a storm. Her heart pounded in her chest with such a dreadful intensity that she feared for a moment that it might shake her from the couch. She tried to move, but lay paralyzed upon her stomach instead, her cheek pressed against the pillow beneath her. Her wrists still felt the pressure of a phantom knife, a lingering echo of the horrors which she had just endured in her sleep.

Again and again she saw the slow, steady approach of the fell spirit, a creeping darkness spreading over the ground like ink spilt from a jar. It stalked and pursued her, hunting her down like an animal and using her precious memories of Fasthelm as bait. It desired her for itself, not as a lover, but as a vessel. And in her desperation to escape, she had ensured that the demon would never claim her, at the cost of her own life.

The rest of Goldwyn's senses gradually awakened, and she found herself able to move once more. She sat up on the couch, resting her elbows upon her crossed legs as she hunched forward, folding in upon herself. Judging from the light from the window, it was early evening; before long it would be time for the supper hour. Still reeling from the ghastly nightmare, she stared blankly at the cushions upon which she sat, her thoughts racing wildly inside her head.

Had the fell spirit returned to torment her?

Half-remembered horrors returned to her mind, and she recalled how it felt to be pulled away from herself, to descend into the nothingness of the void which lay between mind and body... and to return without memory of what had happened during her absence, as though she had been given life in that very moment, and the breath she drew in was her first.

No! Tushratta had driven the evil spirit away back in Ithilien, and the phantom had troubled her no more since, save in dark dream and unwanted flickers of memory. That was all this had been: a terrible nightmare brought on by the frustration and defeat she had felt whilst studying the map of Mordor and pondering how she might escape from the confines of the Dark Land.

She thought that she had become accustomed to the cruel tricks that her mind could play upon her, but this was the first time she had ever dreamt of bringing an end to it all. How strange it was that in idle moments she found herself fantasizing about plotting her own demise, but when she dreamt about it, she was stricken by visceral horror! This unexpected incongruity chafed at her, and she doubted everything she assumed to be true about herself. Was she truly such a coward? The thought of being a spineless craven who quailed at death – whether it came by the sword of an enemy or by her own hand – filled her with anger and shame.

But then she realized that it was not death that she feared, but being trapped with no recourse and forced to concede to the whims of her oppressors. Though one was living and one was dead, Esarhaddon and the fell spirit were the same breed of fiend, lusting for her body like dogs slavering over a bone. It was always about her body, she realized, anger and disgust rising up to clash with the lingering dread which still haunted her mind. Esarhaddon desired her body for his carnal pleasure; the fell spirit desired it so that it might sojourn amongst the living once more. She was naught but a plaything to be enjoyed, a vessel to be filled, an object to possess… in every sense of the word.

But yet despite all this, her body still remained her own.

True, it bore the scars of her struggle with evil: the lingering weariness which clung to her bones, the pain which had settled in her joints. And whenever she acted the part of the obedient concubine in Esarhaddon’s bed, she felt like a loathsome creature of filth and lies, willingly debasing herself with her hated enemy and then drowning her shame in tinctures of Queen Ancalimë’s Lace.

But yet this body belonged to her, despite the claims that her tormentors laid upon it.

She looked down at her hands, studying the lines around her knuckles and joints, the modest oval shaped nails which had grown long from days of leisure, how her left thumb was slightly longer than the right. Her gaze traveled upwards, following the path of her arms until they joined her shoulders and disappeared from her sight.

Yes, this body was hers, the house for her spirit, which no one would ever own.

The urge to weep suddenly came over Goldwyn, and though she made a valiant effort to hold them back, tears swiftly welled up in her eyes. Were these tears of despair, or tears of rage? She did not know how to name the emotions which flooded through her being, flowing down her cheeks and blinding her vision. She had the most peculiar sensation that it was her body itself which was weeping. Great racking sobs rolled through her chest, and her shoulders shook from the intensity. She gasped for breath from lungs which seemed starved of air, fearing that she would drown in her own tears.

She became dimly aware of another presence beside her, of grandmotherly arms embracing her and gnarled hands rubbing her back in comforting circles.

"You are safe, my lady," Raen told her soothingly. "You were having a bad dream, but it is over now."

Goldwyn allowed herself a brief moment of comfort and warmth in her handmaiden's arms before drawing away. "My sleep has long been troubled with nightmares," she admitted, wiping her face with the sleeve of her gown.

Ever the attentive servant, Raen fetched a handkerchief so that Goldwyn could dry her tears and then sat down beside her. "I know… I hear you crying out in your sleep sometimes, calling for your husband or your children."

Goldwyn felt a fresh wave of tears rise up in her eyes and she looked away in an attempt to hide her vulnerability. "I was not dreaming of them this time."

"My lady, I perceive that your heart is greatly troubled," Raen said gently. "While I do not know what hardships you endured or horrors you witnessed on the long and arduous journey to Nurn, I can tell you are still tormented by them. If you would ever wish to speak of these matters, I would gladly lend you my ear… and a shoulder to weep upon."

Goldwyn turned back to face the handmaiden. "I would prefer to keep the horrors banished to the past, where they can neither hurt me nor hold power over me anymore."

"That may be a more difficult task than you can imagine, especially within the bounds of Mordor." Raen gave a skeptical shake of her head. "There is a darkness which lies over this place, not clouds of dust and ash like those which hide Gorgoroth from the light of the sun, but a shadow which afflicts the spirit."

All the more reason to escape, Goldwyn thought to herself. Emotion suddenly rose up in her chest like a stream overflowing its banks, and she felt her eyes filling with tears once again. All too well was she acquainted with the shadow of which Raen spoke: the withering despair which subdued the will and crushed the spirit, replacing hope with fear and defiance with surrender. She had to get out of this place before it destroyed her, before despair hollowed her out and left her an empty vessel to be claimed by wandering shades. But how? The walls of Mordor were nigh unpassable unless one was given leave to depart…

Every wall has a crack.

Raen's words from a month prior came to the forefront of Goldwyn's mind. The handmaiden had told her that even here – a land where the laws were harsh and the punishments for breaking them excessively cruel – there were those who defied the law, whether for noble causes or their own gain. Among the thieves, outlaws, and rebels who plied their trade in the shadows were smugglers, who would help one escape from Mordor... if the price was right. Raen had mentioned a servant named Zereshka who might be able to advise her on where to seek out such a person.

"I need to go to the kitchen," Goldwyn announced, abruptly rising to her feet. "It is a matter of great importance." Desperation had bestowed upon her a renewed sense of purpose, and she needed to speak with Zereshka immediately. She feared that if she hesitated, this sudden urgency would dissipate, and she would lose her courage.

"My lady, wait." Raen rose to join her mistress. "Your eyes are red and your face is swollen. If the servants see you thus, they will talk. It would be best for you to wait until after supper before going to the kitchen, for the cook and his servants are busy preparing the evening meal. Master Baukaur does not like to be interrupted in his work, and it would be unwise to anger the one who prepares your meals."

Goldwyn sat back down heavily upon the couch. "I suppose you are right," she sighed.

Raen gave her a gentle, knowing smile. "I will prepare a bowl of cool water for you to wash your face, and a cup of hîlnlîmp tea to soothe your spirit." As the handmaiden busied herself with tea preparation, she glanced back at Goldwyn. "Supper this evening will be grilled fish from the River Tornîn, red lentil soup, and a savory medley of leeks and carrots. For dessert there will be a honey almond cake drenched with citrus cinnamon syrup, a recipe created by Master Baukaur's assistant Zereshka. It is her pride and joy."

Raen's eyes met Goldwyn's for a brief moment of understanding. A silent thought seemed to pass from servant to mistress: Do with that knowledge what you will. Then Raen turned her attention back to the teapot on the brazier.

Goldwyn had been to the manor kitchen once before. It had been during the tour which Chamberlain Nobo had given her when she first arrived at the villa, and she had only given a perfunctory glance at the place where all the meals for the household were prepared. Now that she had a purpose and a mission, she observed her surroundings like a scout on patrol. The chamber was quite spacious, with a large window and several smaller ones for light during the day, and lanterns mounted along the walls to illuminate the night. The walls had been painted white, making the kitchen seem brighter and airier than it actually was, even in the gloom of evening. Shelves along the walls held pots and pans, jars of spices, and other supplies used in cooking. The cauldron of leftover lintel soup hung over the hearth, kept warm for breakfast in the morning. Servants scrubbed down the work tables, and a scullion studiously mopped the floor.

"Lady Goldwyn!" Master Baukaur exclaimed, bowing when he saw her approach. "What brings you to the kitchen?"

"I wanted to pay my compliments to the cook for such a scrumptious meal." Goldwyn gave the man a gracious smile, trying to play the role of the lady of the household.

"My lady, I am honored." The cook pressed his hand to his heart and bowed his head with giddy humility.

"The grilled fish was superb; the leeks and carrots were delightfully flavorful; and the lentil soup was warm and hearty. And the honey almond cake!" Goldwyn clasped her hands to her heart with a dramatic sigh of wonder and awe. "Never have I tasted anything so delicious!"

"The recipes and ingredients I use for each meal are chosen based upon the preferences of Shakh Esarhaddon and his family," Baukaur explained. "The master and his sons love the soup, while Lady Shumeeren favors grilled fish, and Lady Anúrnissa fancies leeks."

"Are the recipes you used for this evening's supper all your own creations?" Goldwyn asked innocently.

"The lentil soup is actually an old recipe which has been passed down through Esarhaddon's family for many generations, but the other two dishes are indeed my own creations," Baukaur explained. "I cannot claim credit for the cake, though; that particular recipe was created by my assistant Zereshka."

"Oh?" Goldwyn raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I would like to tell her how much I loved the cake."

"Of course." The cook called to a tall woman who was organizing spice jars on one of the shelves. "Zereshka, Lady Goldwyn desires to speak with you. It seems that she has fallen in love with your honey almond cake."

Standing before Goldwyn, the cook's assistant humbly bowed from the waist. "My lady, I am pleased that the cake was to your liking."

"I am considering hosting a midday repast for the master's other wives, and I would love to serve your delicious cake to my guests," Goldwyn explained, repeating the lines she had practiced in her head. "I also need suggestions for other desserts which they would enjoy."

"You honor me greatly with your favor, my lady," Zereshka replied, dark eyes gleaming with pleasure. "You have but to tell me what ingredients you desire, and I will endeavor to find a recipe that fits your specifications."

Goldwyn glanced around at all of the activity going on in the kitchen: servants scouring pots and pans and noisily putting them away after drying, scrubbing down worktables and benches, returning sundries to their proper places, and setting aside the supplies they would need for the morning meal. "Perhaps we could discuss this matter someplace more quiet?" She tried to look greatly put upon. "With all these distractions, I find it difficult to concentrate. After your duties are finished for the evening, come to my quarters and we shall talk."

Zereshka bowed her head in acknowledgement. "Certainly, my lady."

Goldwyn had spent the past half hour discussing plans for a social gathering she had no desire to host, and she was becoming quite weary of the subject. Still, though, she needed a logical excuse for why she had invited Zereshka to her quarters, and having this trivial conversation about desserts allowed her to gauge the other woman's character. Seated at the low table in the parlor, Goldwyn unobtrusively watched the woman who sat across from her. Zereshka was tall and slender, with deep golden olive skin and straight black hair which she kept pinned up in a braided bun. Her face was narrow and stern, and when she was not speaking, her lips settled into a straight line. She seemed like an efficient and competent laborer, a sensible sort who did not abide foolishness. While she did revel in Goldwyn's praise of her cooking, she seemed quite reserved otherwise, keeping her own counsel and carrying herself with an air of formality. She did not seem like the sort of person who associated with thieves and smugglers, but Goldwyn had never had dealings with those familiar with the lower professions.

At last a lull descended over the conversation, and Goldwyn took the opportunity to change the subject.

"Have you been long in the service of Esarhaddon?" An innocent question, but one which might open the door to greater understanding. "Though I have been here since the summer, I really know very little about the household."

"Five years, my lady. I was purchased for my skill in the culinary arts." There was a tone of pride in Zereshka's voice as she spoke of her achievements. "My former master was a spice merchant, and so I was able to experiment with seasonings from all over the South and East. Black pepper, ginger, saffron, cardamon, cassia... I am well versed in all manner of exotic spices, as well as the common herbs which are grown here in Nurn."

"I have never even heard of some of those, although perhaps I have tasted them in the dishes served here at the villa," Goldwyn admitted, feeling somewhat sheepish. "Have you ever ventured beyond the borders of this realm?"

An incredulous expression briefly flickered over Zereshka’s face, but was quickly replaced by the indifferent mien of the servant. "Such indulgences are not for one such as I. My only experience with faraway lands is through spices and books of recipes."

"Your knowledge of the world far exceeds mine." Goldwyn felt like a fisherman, casting her net out far and wide to see what she could catch. "I have not even seen much of the Western Province, only the village of Blûgund, and the vineyards of Shakh Sandana."

"Now I am quite familiar with this region," Zereshka remarked, warming up to the subject. "Part of my duties to Master Baukaur involve traveling to the mill in Blûgund, or to Turkûrzgoi to purchase spices and sundries at the Grand Bazaar. Occasionally I am sent to Kuga Mos. While I have never journeyed beyond the borders, I do a fair share of traveling."

"I imagine it must be annoying, having a whole procession following you whilst you browse the marketplace. It seems that Esarhaddon prefers to travel with a parade accompanying him at all times." Goldwyn tried to keep her tone light, the amused chagrin of a foreign wife unfamiliar with her husband's culture and standing in society.

Zereshka chuckled politely at Goldwyn's mild criticism of the master. "I am but a lowly servant, so no retinues accompany me on my journeys. I usually travel alone, although sometimes one of the guards goes with me, if the journey is especially long, or there have been reports of brigands on the road."

"You are fortunate to have such freedom," Goldwyn ventured, her heart beginning to pound as she drew closer to her objective.

Zereshka stared at Goldwyn in disbelief. "Freedom? My lady, I am a slave. I must obtain permission even to leave the villa."

Goldwyn's eyes met Zereshka's. "So must I."

"My lady, if there is someplace you wish to go, all you have to do is tell Shakh Esarhaddon," Zereshka explained, as though she feared that Goldwyn was laboring under a misconception of what she was allowed to do. "You are not a prisoner here."

"Oh, but I am." Goldwyn's voice was filled with a bitterness which dripped from her words like gall. "While Esarhaddon might permit me to leave, he would expect me to return, and I do not wish to do so."

Zereshka's eyes widened, her bewilderment turning to understanding. "My lady, allow me to ask – are you not happy here?"

A hoarse, humorless laugh rose up in Goldwyn's throat, and she disdainfully shook her head. "A man whom I do not love decided that I should be his concubine and brought me to this place. True, I may be considered a free woman by the laws of this land, but I am little more than a prisoner. How could I find any joy in such circumstances?"

Licking her thin lips, Zereshka cast a nervous glance towards the doors which led to the parlor, making sure that they were closed, and that no one else could hear their conversation. "But Shakh Esarhaddon is one of the most wealthy and powerful merchants in this region of Nurn," she whispered emphatically. "He can give you anything you want or need!"

Goldwyn crossed her arms over her chest. "I do not desire riches, but the dissolution of this repugnant union, and the freedom to do what I want."

Zereshka's eyebrows drew up in astonishment and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. "If it were me, I would choose riches," she muttered to herself. "Well, what would you do, my lady?"

"I want to leave the villa and never come back. Where I will go, I know not. But above all things I desire to be free."

Zereshka considered Goldwyn's words for a long moment before replying. "My lady, I would counsel you to abandon this course, but I sense that you are one who is not easily dissuaded once you are resolved to do something."

Goldwyn smiled at that. "I understand that you… know things… about the city, and those who dwell in its shadows," she put forth hesitantly. "Perhaps you could assist me in my plight."

Zereshka's eyes narrowed. "You ask much of me, my lady. If you are caught attempting to flee this land, you will be punished severely, especially if your intention is to escape into enemy territory. Anyone who gives you aid will also be punished as well. I have no desire to be executed for treason!"

"Only tell me where to go, and with whom I might speak."

"I fear I cannot!" Zereshka shook her head and held up her hands in refusal. "It is far too dangerous!"

Goldwyn had feared that the cook's assistant might refuse to help her, and so she already had a secondary plan in place for this exact situation. "I can compensate you for your troubles." Retrieving a heavy coin purse from a pocket within her skirt, she pushed the bribe across the table.

Averice flickered in Zereshka’s eyes as she picked up the bag and began counting the coins. "Perhaps I do know someone who might be able to help you. The tavernkeeper at the Black Cat Inn of Turkûrzgoi knows many people. Perhaps you could speak with him."

Hope surged up in Goldwyn's chest, but logic crushed it back down. "How shall I journey to Turkûrzgoi without drawing suspicion?"

"A tricky question indeed." Zereshka's eyes narrowed in contemplation of Goldwyn's dilemma. "It is my understanding that Shakh Esarhaddon will be traveling to the city three days from now to attend a council with the governors of the Western and Southern Provinces. Perhaps you could tell him that you wish to accompany him and explore the city whilst he conducts his business."

A solid idea, Goldwyn considered, but yet—

"Surely Shumeeren and Anúrnissa would wish to accompany their husband as well, and I fear I would not be able to break free of them." She also worried that Shumeeren – who was both jealous of Esarhaddon's other women and intensely loyal to Mordor – would suspect her of some mischief and use any opportunity she could to disgrace her in the eyes of their shared husband.

"I doubt Anúrnissa would wish to take her baby to the city or leave him in the care of servants, so I would not be concerned about her," Zereshka said reassuringly. "Shumeeren, now… She could pose a problem. However, a small dose of senna in her evening meal will give her watery bowels by morning, and she will be in no shape for traveling." A cruel twinkle of glee flickered in her eyes as her lips turned up in a devious smile.

Goldwyn felt profound discomfort at the ease with which Zereshka conspired to drug Esarhaddon's wife with a purgative, but she had to stay focused upon her objective. Escape was the only thing that mattered now, and if she had to employ the aid of those without honor or scruples to achieve this goal, so be it.

"Even if Anúrnissa stayed at home and Shumeeren was… incapacitated… I am sure that Esarhaddon would insist that a guard dog my steps as I went about the city."

"And that would be a reasonable decision on his part, for you know absolutely nothing about Turkûrzgoi, and would quickly become lost if there were not someone there to guide you," Zereshka pointed out, a bit too smugly for Goldwyn's liking. "However, some of the guards are willing to keep their mouths shut about what they see and hear… especially if you pay them well."

"What about Tavlida? She was one of the guards who accompanied Esarhaddon's party during the visit to Shakh Sandana's villa." Goldwyn remembered the broad shouldered, muscular woman, and considered that she would be a formidable opponent in a fight. Not that she anticipated that there would be any sort of conflict during her visit to Turkûrzgoi, but if this Black Cat Inn were in a disreputable section of town – which she suspected it would be – it would be wise to be well defended.

Zereshka shook her head. "I would not recommend Tavlida to be your traveling companion on this venture, for she is loyal to Shumeeren. Both of Esarhaddon's wives have guards whom they favor. It would be best if you selected an unaffiliated guard to be your own protector."

Goldwyn thought about the small host of female guards who were stationed at the villa. "The only other guard I know is Zora, but she is the teacher of the fighting arts at the school." She inwardly flinched with guilt and shame as she remembered how long it had been since she had last requested a sword fighting lesson with the instructor. Too long had she allowed the gloom of Mordor to take root in her heart.

"I will introduce you to Tanelis. She can keep a secret, and is quite familiar with the city, especially its more… seamier parts." The faintest hint of color darkened Zereshka's cheeks.

Goldwyn was in awe of Zereshka's knowledge of Esarhaddon's household and the various servants who worked at the villa, and she felt both humbled and intimidated. "Why… why are you helping me?"

Zereshka shrugged. "You pay well." Chuckling slightly at Goldwyn's chagrin, she continued speaking. "Make no mistake, my lady; I feel that your plan to abandon your husband and flee the realm is the height of foolishness. But if you wish to give up a life of wealth and privilege and venture off into the unknown, that is no business of mine… as long as you surrender an ample quantity of coin ere you leave."

Goldwyn tilted her head slightly to the side, trying to understand. "So it is just about the reward then?"

"Mostly, if you wish for me to be honest," Zereshka replied matter-of-factly. "But the masters and mistresses demand that we poor slaves keep them fed and entertained, so it is only fair that they provide amusement for us in return. If you leave Esarhaddon, it will create a scandal the likes of which this villa has never seen before, and give us all much to talk about for many years to come."

Goldwyn was not sure if she cared much for Zereshka's moral code, which seemed determined solely by spite and monetary gain. "Well, I am very grateful for your help, as well as your secrecy in this matter. Let no word which was spoken in this chamber leave your lips."

"Of course." Zereshka dipped her head in understanding and then looked back up at Goldwyn. "Now, my lady, if I may ask you a question… Did you actually like my honey almond cake, or did you only praise it to seek my favor?"

"Your cake was one of the most delicious desserts I have ever eaten," Goldwyn quickly replied, trying to quell the rising panic she felt at being found out in her deception. She had no desire to spend hours in agonizing pain upon the chamberpot after having her meals laced with senna by an irate kitchen servant.