“Enough!” Cinath said. “If I wanted groveling, I would have had her scourged and her legs broken before appearing before me. Mortan, proceed with the questioning.”
Mortan waited until the guards had hauled Tsorreh to her feet and pulled her back to her original place. He approached
her. “You are an enemy of Gelon, yet your life was spared by the munificent grace of the Ar-King, the Jewel of the Golden Land.”
He paused, clearly expecting a response. Tsorreh did not know how to answer. She tried to look contrite.
“Tell us how you repay this generosity,” he said.
She blinked, wondering if she were expected to express gratitude. Before she could think of an appropriately submissive response, Mortan smiled, or rather, the corners of his mouth drew apart, revealing even, slightly yellowed teeth. Nothing else in his face changed, not his eyes, not the tension in his jaw.
“For example, how do you occupy your time? What benefits do you bring to those to whom you owe your very existence?”
“I serve Lord Jaxar, as the Ar-King commanded.” Even as the name of her friend passed her lips, she felt a shiver of trepidation. A couple of the lords glanced at Jaxar, who returned their regard with his usual tranquil detachment. Thessar looked bored. Danar’s face turned white.
“Indeed.” Mortan drew closer. “Exactly what do you do for him? How closely do you work with him? Does he confide in you, make you privy to his secrets?”
“I help him in the laboratory,” she said firmly. “If by
secrets
, you mean his researches into the nature of light and the movement of stars, then yes, I suppose that is true. I take notes as he dictates, I translate texts into Gelone, I fetch supplies—”
“You fetch supplies—from where?”
“From various places. Sometimes a colleague will have a book or a specimen that Lord Jaxar directs me to fetch, or he may ask me—I mean,
tell me
—to purchase things in the market.”
“What things?” Mortan strolled over to the table and bent over to make notes.
“Herbs,” she answered, searching her memory for the most innocuous-sounding items, “incense, resins, small brass dishes.”
“Ah, I see. And how often do you leave his compound on these errands?”
“I cannot say. It varies.”
“No matter. Where did you say you went?” Mortan did not look up, but continued writing.
“Wherever I am bid.”
“Who goes with you?”
Tsorreh’s gaze flew again to Danar’s bloodless face and then to Jaxar’s. She sensed questions within questions, traps disguised as inquiries. “I—I am usually escorted by Lord Danar and his bodyguards.”
“That sounds most appropriate. But you said,
usually
. Not
always
? Are you then sometimes alone in the city?”
Tsorreh swallowed. “How can one be alone in such a great—”
“Do not dare to insult this court of inquiry!” Mortan covered the distance between them in an instant. She could smell the surge of fierce, hot anger in him. “You
have
been alone then, by your own admission. Alone and unattended, unobserved, free to make contact with any manner of persons. Who do you meet when no one is watching?”
“I go where I am sent and do what I am told.” Did they know about Marvenion? If they did not, she was not going to tell them.
“Who do you speak to?
” Mortan’s breath hissed over her cheeks. “Give me their names!”
“I—I don’t know!” she stammered, trying to think. He would not accept a simple
no
. She wished she knew what testimony he had already heard. Had Marvenion been brought before them? Czi-sotal? The shoemaker’s apprentice? Astreya’s sweetheart—or had he been one of her accusers?
“You don’t know? In all the time you have been in Aidon, you have spoken to
no one
outside the household of Lord Jaxar? And you expect us to believe such patent nonsense?”
“Of course, I have spoken to people—shopkeepers, beggars, servants of the houses. I don’t know their names!”
Tsorreh made no effort to disguise the note of rising panic in her voice. Let him think her cowed into terror, if it would buy her time to think.
He straightened up, his expression moderating. “Perhaps we can refresh your memory. Have you ever spoken to Werenth?”
Tsorreh had no need to feign a blink of surprise. If she said
no
to a name she did not know, how would she respond to one she did?
She lifted her chin. “I have said, I do not know their names. The persons I spoke with were of no importance, nor did we discuss anything beyond the price of salt.”
“Tagetor? Rithan? The Denariyan trader, Aswathan?”
“I have already told you—”
“What about Sadhir?”
Sadhir?
The old scholar—no, she would not implicate him! She hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough.
“You were observed entering his dwelling on more than one occasion. Can you deny it? I have dates, witnesses, sworn testimony.”
Tsorreh’s belly clenched around a shard of ice. She and Danar had gone to Sadhir’s house openly and at Jaxar’s request. What was Mortan trying to do? How wide was he casting the net? With an effort, she kept her eyes on her questioner. She must think only of him, not Sadhir, not Marvenion. Not Jaxar. The murmur of conversation had died away, so that it seemed every ear was bent toward her.
With only a slight lessening of control, Tsorreh allowed her voice to tremble. “I did go to the house of Sadhir. I went to obtain specimens and to consult his library. Was that wrong?”
Mortan paused, barely masking the smirk of exultation. “So you have decided to cooperate. What did you and this Sadhir speak of?”
“Of the items I had been sent to fetch, of his travels long ago. Commonplace things, the usual courtesies.”
“You are sure that’s
all
you discussed? Not the weather, not the
price of salt
? Not the state of affairs in Meklavar?
Do you expect us to believe that you did not
once
mention the fall of your city? Was he not in the least curious who you were and how you came to be here in Aidon?”
“He does not know who I am!”
“Just one more Meklavaran slave?”
Tsorreh opened her mouth to cry out that she was not a slave, but held back at the last moment. Meekly, she hung her head.
“Did anyone else ever participate in these…discussions? His servant, perhaps? Another Meklavaran exile? A visitor from your country?”
“No, no one.”
“You never spoke of how you came to Aidon? Of the conquest of Meklavar? Of conditions in your country?”
“No!”
“You testify that Sadhir never mentioned a plot against the Lion Throne? Any wish or scheme to raise arms against His Glory?”
Panic curled through Tsorreh’s breast. Would the harmless old man soon suffer the same treatment as the other prisoners she had seen? Was he even now the target of Cinath’s suspicion? Why? What sense did it make?
She choked back a protest, rather than risk provoking Mortan further. “We spoke only of scholarly things. So far as I know, he has no political opinions whatsoever.”
Mortan, however, would not be diverted. His questions rolled on, propelled by their own momentum. “Had any ill will been expressed toward Prince Thessar? How about Prince Chion? Lord Jaxar?”
“No. They are friends, colleagues!” Tsorreh managed to interject in the torrent of questions.
“Did Sadhir ever utter a spell or incantation?”
“What?”
“Did he use magic, even the most innocuous-seeming? Did he ever criticize the actions or policies of the Ar-King, may-his-justice-grind-the-unworthy-into-dust?”
“No!”
“Have you, yourself, ever plotted harm against any
member of the royal family? Have you heard even a breath of rumor or a snatch of conversation plotting against the throne?”
“No, again, no!”
Mortan was shouting at her now, his face suffused with blood. Rage flowed through him, rage and fear. Tsorreh’s body flinched with each blast. He was searching, grasping, trying to intimidate her into giving him—
“Has anyone ever asked you to deliver a package? A sealed message? A note? To say or do anything to be kept from Lord Jaxar? Has Lord Jaxar ever received private visitors?”
“Well, yes—”
“Who? When? What did they say? Names! I want their names!”
She stared at him, unable to suppress the quivering in her muscles. A long moment went by. What did he expect her to say? Did he think she listened outside the door? Or was he hoping to so terrify her that she would say anything, invent anything just to appease him? No, not just him. Cinath, too, who sat, face dusky with unreadable emotion, like a misshapen ogre on his sea-throne. And hovering behind him, the phantasmic many-legged shape of a scorpion. The questions and the consuming hunger behind them were not Mortan’s, not Cinath’s.
She searched within herself for a pulse of sustaining warmth from the
te-alvar
, but felt nothing except the hard core of her own anger.
You may cage me
, she thought, glaring at her tormentor,
you may scream curses at me. You may beat me, torture me. But I will never serve you! I will never consent to be part of this vile persecution!
“Oh, leave off, Mortan!” Chion, Cinath’s younger son, drawled. “You’ve frightened the poor thing out of what little wits she had to begin with.”
Mortan, his jaw muscles clenching visibly, turned and bowed. “As the young prince wishes.”
He turned back to Tsorreh, his mouth stretched in an
oily smile, his eyes as hard as ever. “Your loyalty to your comrades is admirable, if misplaced. Perhaps you will be more willing to discuss your own opinions. You are unhappy that Meklavar is now under Gelonian rule, are you not? Do not attempt to deceive us. In particular, it cannot please you to see Ar-Thessar-Gelon alive and well. You were present at the attempted assassination of the Prince. For all we know, you yourself planned it.”
Tsorreh caught the faint movement as Jaxar shifted in his chair. Mortan might be arrogant, but he was no fool.
“I have never sought the death of anyone, man or woman.” She was surprised at how thin and weak her voice sounded. “Our sacred texts command us to protect life, not destroy it.” By the grace of the Holy One, she could say that much in truth. She lifted her gaze to Cinath. “Your Majesty spared my life and placed me in greater comfort than I had any right to expect. I have never dishonored that kindness.”
“So you say.” Cinath murmured, clearly disbelieving her.
Mortan resumed his questions, his voice silky. “You have been accorded a certain freedom of the city, by your own admission. You are not chained, day and night? You have adequate food, a roof at night? You have had ample opportunity to walk the streets of Aidon. And in these outings, you must have heard news of Meklavar. Of the insurrection there?”
“I was in the crowd that welcomed Prince Thessar back to Aidon. Perhaps one of your agents noticed me there.” Tsorreh turned her head to look directly at Mortan. “If so, he would have also seen that I was escorted by Lord Jaxar’s own son and his personal bodyguard.” A daredevil impulse prompted her to add, “I could hardly have engaged in subversive activities in such a public place, with such witnesses.”
“What you are capable of remains to be seen,” Mortan retorted, moving closer. “You know nothing?
Nothing?
You cannot seriously expect us to believe that you have had no contact
at all
with your countrymen?”
Tsorreh glanced at Jaxar and quickly looked away. Had he told Cinath of her visits to Marvenion? Would Cinath or
any of his court believe that her only purpose was to help her friend and mentor, without any political motive?
Carefully, she selected her next words. “I have had no dealings with any Meklavaran rebel.”
“Then you admit to having knowledge of them?”
“No.”
“We know that you have. You were seen. You were
overheard
. Come now, don’t insult us by this ridiculous and transparent pretense. We know that you Meklavarans have secret ways of contacting one another. There’s a colony here that’s as old as the city itself. Your countrymen must know who you are and where you are kept. Who has approached you? When and where?”
“No, they haven’t. It’s not like that. I—”
“You’ve been given the freedom to come and go as you please! You’ve said so yourself—we all heard you. Do you deny you sought them out? Do you still cling to the ridiculous assertion that not a single word passed between you about the fall of Meklavar and plans to free it?”
“I told you,” Tsorreh replied, fighting to keep rising desperation from her voice, “I know only what you yourself just said. I was never alone—”
“Who knows how you may have influenced even the most virtuous bodyguard with your black arts? You are Meklavaran, learned in all the secrets of your race. A potion here, an enchantment there, a spell whispered in the dark, and most men will see, or do, anything.”
Tsorreh wanted to stamp her foot at the idiocy of Mortan’s claim. The gleam in his eyes and the sincerity of his words held her fast. Did he truly believe her capable of bending a man’s will to hers?
No, she decided, he did not. But he did believe her to be a threat.
“This line of questioning is pointless,” Jaxar broke in, his voice a rumble. “It is an insult to the intelligence and dignity of this court, and more than that, to the judgment of my royal and most puissant brother. Cinath, it was on your own orders that I took this woman into my household over a
year ago. I have observed her carefully, and I have questioned her numerous times. She is educated, to be sure, but no more so than any other noblewoman of her people. Not only that, she has almost no knowledge of matters beyond her scrolls and books. She’s quiet and modest, useful enough as a clerk, but as to the notion of her possessing any supernatural abilities? Please, do not strain all rationality with such blabber! Do you think she could be a sorceress and
I
would not detect it?”
“I agree,” Cinath said, shifting in his chair. The unhealthy flush had drained from his face, leaving him looking weary but rational and in control of himself. The Qr priests sagged in their seats. Jaxar’s words appeared to have broken their hold over the Ar-King, at least temporarily.