She must’ve decided that arguing her innocence was a lost cause. Her only chance was to convince Hade that she’d betrayed Galiene for the benefit of the Garden.
“She isn’t even from Kair Toren. She’s from a backwater village, and yet she holds herself apart as if she were better than us. Everyone looks down on her. They are just too afraid to voice it.”
More words, deeper hole.
“She thinks she has the second prince, but everyone knows that man grows bored with women after a week. She doesn’t even practice the Three Arts. She doesn’t sing, she doesn’t dance. All she has is her body, wrecked by childbirth. Her breasts droop, her stomach has scars, the color of her flower is no longer a fresh pink.”
You evil harpy.
“Inhan will be done with her in a fortnight, and then the wrath of Hreban will come full force. He does not forgive. The Garden cannot stand against him.”
Hade’s face betrayed no emotion.
“When that time comes, we will have only two choices. We can send her to Hreban and hope he still wants her, or we can deliver her corpse. If she stays here, she will doom us. Would it not be better to let her go? I can take her place. I am younger and more skilled. I’ve kept my body pristine. Highborn lords fight each other for the privilege of spending half an hour in my company. I can do so much better than she can. You must see it. If the survival of the Garden matters to you, you must make the right choice.”
“Gag her,” Hade said.
A pulse of red tore from the mage. It burst against Arale and jerked her up on her toes, snapping her into a rigid, tortured pose. She must’ve tried to move and been unable to, because nobody could stand on their toes like that without pointe shoes.
“The Garden thanks you for your gracious assistance,” Galiene told me and glanced at the guards. “Show our guests to the East Room. Ciste will be with you shortly.”
It was time for my exit. I turned and followed the guards out, Solentine and Everard in tow.
“May I have her?” the mage asked behind me. “They are hungry.”
“You may,” Galiene said.
As we stepped out of the room, the guards shut the door behind us, but before it closed, I caught a flash of bright gold spiraling out of the mage’s hands. It looked like a swarm of glowing butterflies. As they streamed toward Arale, the look in her eyes was pure terror.
The East Room was lovely. The three of us sat at a large table, enjoying the view of the hill from a large window. Arale’s panicked eyes kept popping up out of my memory, and my mouth tasted like ash. I really wanted to get out of here.
The door swung open and Ciste came inside and sat at our table. He looked about as happy to be here as I was.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet us,” I said.
No response.
I pushed the contract toward him. “Can you tell us if there is a spell on this contract?”
He passed his hand over it and stared at the paper like it was a snake about to bite him. “Burn it.”
What?
“What is it?” Everard asked.
“It islugur campur,” he said.
“A life chain?” I asked.
Ciste narrowed his eyes. “You speak Sareso.”
Apparently I did. Sareso was the language of magic. That opened all sorts of possibilities, but right now I needed to concentrate on the contract.
“What does ‘life chain’ mean?” I asked.
“When you sign this contract and seal it with your blood, you will be bound to it. If the contract is destroyed, it will kill you.”
Oh my god.
