But no matter what my captors do, I won’t breathe a word of what I’ve learned about dragons, nor about what lies beyond the veil. My inquisitors’ questions haven’t altered over all the time I’ve been held here, which makes me believe that Rosomon and Zogar aren’t yet back, and that Tynan and Xendus haven’t begunto fly more dragons through the veil. I worry what that means. What are they waiting for?
The heavy door into my dungeon room swings open, revealing a large silhouette that turns toward the light behind him. It’s Treacher. They’re calling in the big guns now.
“Leave me,” he says to someone outside. “I’ll pound on the door when I’m ready to go.”
Thus far, the vast majority of my interrogators have been klericks, accompanied by burly guards. Guards who are all new here at camp, as are many of the klericks.
Many days, my religious interrogators are joined by Roule. His questions are softer, gentler, as if the klericks believe he’ll be able to use our friendship and mutual respect to soften me. It hasn’t worked.
There’s no such friendship between Treacher and me. The man has always resented me and fought against me for power, even though I never cared which one of us issued which command.
“Bring food and clean water,” Treacher says to someone outside the room. “Now!”
He takes a few steps into my cell and then covers his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. “This is fucking inhumane.”
I glare at him.
“Listen.” He sets down an oil lamp, and I squint against it, as if I’m staring into the midday sun. “I’m not here to make accusations,” he says. “I’m just here to talk. I need to understand what’s going on. It took me two moon cycles to even find out where they’re holding you.”
A guard shuffles into the room, carrying a pitcher of water and some bread on a pewter plate.
“Bring chairs, man!” Treacher barks to the guard.
This is starting to feel similar to when the klericks first sent in Roule to soften me up. But while showing compassion is within Roule’s character, it’s not in Treacher’s. What kind of game is he playing?
The guard carries in two wooden chairs. Treacher positions one of them within reach of my chains, and the other a few feet away from the first.
“Sit,” he says taking a seat on the far one. “Please, man. Eat something. Drink. Had I known how bad it was down here—” He shakes his head. “I’ll return with real food, not this moldy crust of bread. And a woolen blanket.” He leans forward. “If you tell me what’s going on, I’ll have a better chance to get you out of here.”
There it is. Bribes to urge me to betray the others or confess to my heresy.
I’ll take his bribes but won’t offer anything in return. My chains clang on the stone floor, as I shuffle in front of the chair and then drop to its seat. There’s no need to deny myself this small amount of comfort, or to refuse the bread and water. I’ve had neither for two days. Bending forward, I pick up the pitcher, take a long drink, and then gnaw at the hunk of bread.
“While you eat,” Treacher says, “I’ll do my best to tell you what’s gone on—both while you were away, and since you returned. Would you like that?”
Against my better judgement, one of my shoulders lifts. My judgement says to reveal nothing, not even a shrug. Not toanyonewho comes down here. Thus far, my raised shoulder is the most I’ve shared with anyone.
Treacher gets up and closes the door.
“While you were in the Darkness,” Treacher says as he returns to his chair, “the King of Khotor took full control of the Seven Kingdoms. The fucker declared himself Supreme Sovereign and King of the Light or some shit.”
Treacher shakes his head. “Some kings bent the knee. Those who refused were imprisoned.” He leans onto his knees. “In fact, I don’t know which members of the former royal families remain alive.”
Formerroyal families. That would include Rosomon’s father and brothers. I want to ask more but will not.
It’s hard to believe that old decrepit king pulled this off. The King of Khotor is the most despicable men I’ve ever encountered, and while it’s easy to imagine that this is something he’dwantto do, it’s more difficult to believe he had the guile or means to actually do it.
Deep inside, my love and admiration for Rosomon glows in this dank darkness. Her instincts to escape marrying that cruel old man were even wiser than I thought at the time. I’d never say this in front of Tynan, but Rosomon and I have shared that we both saw pure evil when we looked into the old king’s eyes.
Tynan resents the old man’s cruelty—I know that—but he remains deeply loyal to his family and kingdom, and I can only hope that this turn of events will shake him of that.
Treacher’s still waiting for me to respond, so I take another bite of stale bread, my jaw aching as I chew.
“The King of Khotor is now the official ruler over all seven Kingdoms of Light.” Treacher glances toward the door, as if confirming it’s still closed. “But if you ask me, the klericks are in charge.” His gruff voice lowers, barely above a whisper. “More in charge than before, I should say. They’ve instigated new tenets and are enforcing old ones, long forgotten.”
He frowns and the lines on his face deepen. “They’ve even forbidden some of the conveniences we enjoy here at camp—the plumbing, the lifts, the gas lighting.” He shakes his head. “The klericks deemed such amenities to be blasphemy, crimes against Othrix.”
I take another bite of the bread to hide my reaction.
