“You take it then,” Ellina replied, and thrust the torch toward him
He jerked away. “No.”
“Then how will we see?”
“Conjurors do not need fire to see in the dark.”
That information was new to Ellina, but she said only, “I am not a conjuror.”
“That is none of my concern.”
He wanted to be difficult. He wanted to punish Ellina for the way things had gone in the city, or to make her angry enough that she would say something she would regret. Ellina stared at the torch in her hand. She envisioned doing with it what Youvan worried she would do with it.
Carefully, she set the torch back in its frame. “Let’s go.”
Now, they stood in the low light of the kitchens. Youvan had turned up his nose at the closed, stifling heat, ordering that the oven fires be doused. Then he commanded that every kitchen servant—maybe thirty elves total—come to stand before him. The elves, wide-eyed and wordless, did as he said.
Youvan spoke. “Which one of you broke curfew last night?”
The servants stared. Their faces hung like pale moons in the dim light. No one replied.
“Let us not make this difficult.” Youvan paced down the line. “It has come to my attention that one of you was out after hours. Perhaps, because you have never before had a curfew, you presume this new rule does not apply to you. Or is it simply that you do not care to follow Queen Farah’s orders?”
More silence.
“I need an answer.” Youvan halted. Some color had returned to his cheeks now that he again wore his own shadow, though it did little to soften him. “I will question each of you one by one if I must, and you will not like my methods.”
Still no reply.
“Very well.” Youvan drew a green glass dagger from within his robes. Ellina had never seen Youvan with a weapon. Most conjurors did not carry them. “If that is how you wish it to be…”
“Wait.” An elf pushed forward from the back of the group. He was younger than the others, his shoulders stooped, muscles undefined. He tried to meet Youvan’s gaze and failed. “It was me.”
Youvan tipped his head. “What is your name?”
“Ermese.”
“Ermese. Your cooperation will be rewarded. Any defiance will be punished. Do you understand?” Ermese gave a nod. “What were you doing snooping around the palace after dark?”
The servant’s eyes flicked up. “I was not snooping.”
“Now.” Youvan fingered the dagger. It occurred to Ellina that he had brought that weapon merely so that he could use it as he was using it now: as a means of intimidation. “What did I say about rewarding your cooperation?”
“It is true,” Ermese insisted. “I was…visiting the crypts. To pay my respects to the dead.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“Say it in elvish.”
The servants stiffened. Ellina did, too. She watched the young servant lick his lips, his head bobbing on a too-skinny neck, the soft skin of his throat exposed. “I went to the crypts,” Ermese began in elvish, “so that I could—”
The words caught in his chest. He doubled over, gagging.
Youvan gave the dagger an idle twirl. “Try again.”
“I went…” Ermese wheezed, hands braced against his knees. “I went to the crypts because…”
