"Yes. She does not remember, nor do you--but you loved each other. When Winslow ordered you killed, I determined to save you. I hypnotized your jailers, slipped into the dungeon, freed you, led you out. It was a gross violation of my oath to Winslow." Daveen paused, and Kesley stared intently at him, waiting for him to go on. There was something grotesque about this calm, matter-of-fact relation of actions he had been involved in and yet remembered nothing about. Reality seemed to slide yawingly from moment to moment. He had loved Narella five years ago? He had been at Winslow's court, and been sentenced to death? Possibly. But it was as if those things had happened to someone else. "Go on," Kesley said hoarsely. "What was I doing at Winslow's court? For God's sake, Daveen, _who am I_?" The singer shook his head slowly. "No. Not yet. Let me go on, and you'll learn the rest in proper time." "Very well," Kesley said, mollified. "I took you from the prison, as 'Dawnspear' did just recently. I attempted to contact those who would receive you safely, but could not. Failing this, I had to make provision for your safety. I therefore placed you in full hypnosis, wiped out all knowledge of your past background, and substituted a pseudo-biography in which you had been born in--Kansas Province, I believe. It was a slipshod job, but I was in a hurry. Were there inconsistencies?" "Yes," Kesley said. "There were." "I feared as much. But it was the best I could do, at the time. I took the precaution of webbing in a pain-threshold that would keep you from probing your own past too deeply. Then I had you transported to Iowa Province, safely out of Winslow's way, and established you as a farmer there. It was a secure, rhythmic life; tied to the soil, you would remain healthy and unmolested. Later, perhaps, I would be able to take you from the farm and restore your identity. "I returned to Chicago. My daughter asked where you were; I found it necessary to block her memories of you to prevent unhappiness. They can be restored as well, when the time comes. Curiously, you and she came together again later, neither knowing who the other was--and the result of the meeting was the same as before." Daveen smiled. "This, I think, should amply prove the strength of your love, at any rate." Kesley coughed. Nervously he said: "So you left me in Iowa. You never came to get me--or were you van Alen, too?" "No. I was not van Alen. My plans were interrupted; Winslow discovered how you had been freed, and in anger ordered my execution. I fled; Narella was given to Miguel as a plaything." "He calls her his daughter," Kesley pointed out. "Fortunately. Miguel is going through a paternal cycle; for the moment, he no longer feels fleshly desires. Narella was sent to be his mistress--but became his adopted daughter instead. Dukes are difficult to fathom in advance." "I know that well."