Lan gritted her teeth. He knew. He knew, and he was forcing her to answer the question.
“No?” Erascius straightened slightly. He twirled his hand; the needle pointing at Zen’s wrist jumped, skimming against his skin.
“Wait.” If Lan gave him the answers that could do no harm—answers yielding no new information—perhaps thatcould buy them some time to come up with a plan. Lan licked her dry lips. “Sòng Méi.” The name tasted of grief, a half-forgotten memory. “Her name was Sòng Méi.”
“Very good.” The needle twitched, but it remained in place. “Now, what did your mother leave you?”
Lan’s heart raced. She thought of all they had just seen at Guarded Mountain, of Shen Ài’s ghost and the grandmaster’s demon; of the ocarina they had protected against all odds…which rested in Zen’s black storage pouch at this very moment.
Forcing herself to keep her eyes on Erascius, Lan replied steadily, “Whatever she meant to leave me, you destroyed.”
Erascius’s smile stretched. “Do you know how I so successfully interrogated the many Hin rebels who came before you? It is because I have a talent for reading people. I can tell, by the way they look at me or the subtlest shifts on their faces, whether or not they tell the truth. And you…” He drew closer. “You lie.”
A flick of his fingers; a flash in the corner of her eyes. Zen drew a sharp, quick breath and tensed in his chair, his feet digging into the ground, his hands jerking against the buckles that strapped them down. With clinical precision, the needle burrowed into his flesh, disappearing up his wrist.
“No, stop.Stop,” Lan gasped. “I’ll tell you—I’ll tell you.”
Zen’s jaw was clenched so hard, the veins on his neck bulged. Yet when he met Lan’s eyes, he gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.
Lan hesitated.
A second needle drifted toward Zen’s other wrist.
“An ocarina.” The words tumbled from Lan’s lips, hot and fast. “She left me an ocarina. She said it would play a song, but it’s broken.”
The needle paused. Erascius tipped his head. “An ocarina,” he repeated. “Go on. Tell me more.”
“Please.” The desperation in her voice was so thick, she didn’t even have to pretend. “That’s all I know. Please, my lord—”
“Lies,”Erascius sang, and without hesitation, the second needle slipped into Zen’s wrist. Zen’s restraints jangled as theypulled taut against his arms. His face was slick with sweatas he turned to Lan, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
Again, he shook his head.
“I have lived by the principle that it is not the largest or most boorish of weapons that are most effective…but the most precise,” Erascius said. The remainder of the needles gleamed in the flickering light. “Those needles are made of mercury—a poisonous metal lethal to humans. Once they enter his bloodstream, it takes sixty seconds for them to reach his heart, which they have a chance of piercing. The poison will then spread, numbing the heart until it stops.” He leaned forward and swept a strand of Lan’s hair behind her ears. The magician’s eyes were very blue. “How many needles will it take, then, to kill him?”
Her vision blurred as she looked at Zen, warmth spilling down her face. “Please, no.” Her whisper came broken. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything, my lord.”
Erascius’s smile stretched. “Very good,” he said softly. “Now, tell me about what your mother left you.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know—” Sweat trickled down her temple; she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Zen. She had nothing to offer—nothing but her quick wit. She had to keep talking. “We hadjustarrived at the school when you found us. I left the ocarina there; we didn’t have a chance to examineit, but if you give me time, I’ll find the answers for you—whatever you need.” How long had it been already? Twenty seconds? Thirty? The first needle had been in longer. “Please, ask me something else.Please,my lord.”
Erascius studied her a moment longer. “Very well, then. Your school of practitioning. I want you to tell me exactly where it is.”
She gripped the handles of her chair to stop her hands from trembling. She could sense Zen watching her; knew that if she looked at him, he would again signal silence to her even as two needles worked their way to his heart.
Kingdom before life, honor into death,the ghosts of the School of Guarded Fists whispered. There were one hundred and twenty-seven disciples and ten masters at the School of the White Pines. Giving its location away meant sentencing them all to death. Not giving its location away meant sentencing Zen to death.
She closed her eyes, a tear trickling down her cheek. So long as the Elantians ruled, the Hin would continue to contend with such choices.
“It is but five days northwest of here,” Lan said quietly. “Hidden at the base of a mountain, the entrance sits behind an old, gnarled pine. I can take you there, my lord, if you spare his life.”
She had long ago learned that the easiest lies to tell were those wrapped in half-truths. As she opened her eyes again to meet Erascius’s gaze, she found something resembling satisfaction on his face.
“Unstrap her,” he commanded the Angels standing at attention by the door. As they rushed to unchain her hands and legs, Lan couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse was about to happen.
“Stand,” Erascius ordered, and she did. The magician reached for something hidden in the folds of his cape—and as he brought the object forward, Lan’s blood froze.
The ocarina gleamed in Erascius’s hand as he lifted it to thelight.
