The sound of harsh, labored breathing woke Colin from an exhausted half-sleep. His trained hands automatically moved to wipe the sweat from a fevered brow, and not for the first time he wondered how much longer it would be, already amazed at how long the boy had managed to keep his grip on life.

He turned as the door to the room opened, expecting to see his partner Ruel, then frowned as his eyes fell upon the plain, drab form of a Palace servant. "What are you doing in here?" he snapped irritably. "All are forbidden entry to this room, except --"

"-- the healers?" Yehala finished questioningly, amusedly, as the man's eyes rolled up in his head and he dropped to the floor. "Well, if it comforts you any, Death is often called the Healer," she addressed the unconscious form at her feet as she delicately stepped over him.

"Unfortunately, I don't think you'd much approve of his form of healing," she murmured as her gaze fell upon the boy she had come for. She smiled tenderly, even somewhat sadly, as she semi-crouched to lift him in her arms.

"Time to leave, little one."

"What do you mean, he's GONE?!" The woman was on the edge of hysteria. "He was there a few hours ago -- that damned healer even said that there was a chance he would recover, how could he just disappear?!"

"Gods above, I'm telling you the truth, woman!" Ruel's eyes were raw and bloodshot, and his voice was harsh -- but his hands were the definition of gentleness as he cradled the cold, dead body of his partner, lying upon the bed where, only hours ago, as the boy's histrionic Mistress had pointed out, the slight form of the Key known as Kiseki had rested. "None of the servants saw anyone enter or leave, and there's no evidence that anyone did. The Palace's own investigation has already started, so if you have any questions, I'd advise that you take it up with the Chatelaine. Now, I'll thank you to respect 'that damned healer,' who is now dead, and those who mourn him, and just get the fuck OUT." At this point Ruel's voice broke, and the tears, so long suppressed, began to flow.

Stunned and silenced, Kiseki's former Mistress could only obey, and left him to his grief.

Somewhere far, far away, Death smiled.

Reaching out a cold, pale hand, he tipped up the chin of the half-breed boy kneeling before him, still wearing the thin, gauzy garments he'd been wearing before the fever so tragically struck him . . .

Ice blue eyes stared back at him, and Yehala watched as the smile on that beautiful white face widened slightly. She knew what he was seeing in those eyes.

Nothing.

The soul of the boy Kiseki, so lively and playful even in his slavery, had been frozen.