“She’s my friend.”
“She’s Level IV. Her duty is to this country—tome.”
Noam swallowed. The back of his throat was too dry, raw. “You fucked with her mind.”
“Persuasion is hardly permanent.”
“I dunno, seems plenty fucking permanent to me.” Tears prickled at Noam’s eyes now, traitorous heat threatening to spill down his cheeks. He scrubbed at them angrily, wiped the wet heel of his hand on his hip.
Lehrer was close enough now he could have touched Noam. Noam half expected him to—but Lehrer gripped the back of a chair instead, thumb pressing into the upholstery. “She’s the same person she’s always been,” he said. “My persuasion ties to memory. The command will only last so long as she remembers the circumstances under which I gave it.”
“And I assume you made damn sure the circumstances were memorable.”
He couldn’t stop envisioning Lehrer’s fingertips pressing into skin instead of fabric. Driving bruises into bone.
“Is that what you really think of me?” Lehrer said softly.
Yes.
Noam gritted his teeth. He couldn’t do it. Whether Lehrer thought he’d betrayed him or not, at least he’d let Noam live thus far. After all ... for Lehrer, there were two possibilities. Either Dara had told Noam the truth, or—for some reason—he’d kept Lehrer’s secrets.
Lehrer doesn’t have your conscience. And he isn’t stupid.
Noam had committed himself to this path, knowingly or not. Now he had to see it through to its inevitable end.
“I don’t know anymore,” Noam snapped. “You tell me. Did you torture her?”
Lehrer released the chair now, drawing closer. For a second Noam half expected Lehrer to reassure him. But the smile that drew along Lehrer’s lips was thin and unbalanced. “Only a little.”
It was as if Lehrer’d torn a rope of barbed wire through Noam’s lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
“Fuck you,” he got out, and he rocked forward, hit Lehrer in the chest with both fists—he wanted it to hurt, wanted to leave marks—knew Lehrer barely felt it at all. Lehrer grasped the back of Noam’s skull, and Noam’s own forward momentum sent him stumbling in against Lehrer, his brow hitting the center of Lehrer’s sternum. Lehrer twisted one finger in Noam’s hair, caressing it.
Ames. God fucking damn it,Ames, she didn’t even ... she hadn’t said a thing.
Noam shoved at Lehrer’s shoulders again, and this time Lehrer let him go, Noam stepping back quickly enough he bumped into an end table. The lamp on its surface rattled, Lehrer’s magic catching it just in time to not-fall.
“You,” Noam said in a shaky voice. “I did this—I’ve done all of thisfor you. I—don’t you get that?” He was crying freely now, didn’t even bother wiping his face clean. “All of it. Because I want to protect my friends. Like—likeAmes. Because I don’t want them to get hurt, because I thought you would be the one to keep them safe.”
Lehrer watched without speaking, without flinching.
“I wanted you to protect—I didn’t—nottorture them.”
Lehrer let out a soft huff of breath. “You’ve tortured plenty of people on my orders. Don’t pretend you find it so immoral now.”
“That’s not how thisworks,” Noam burst out. He very nearly stamped his foot—didn’t, thank god, because Lehrer would never let him forget something like that. “It’s not a zero-sum game! You don’t make—moral evaluations aren’t independent of context!” The phrase was dragged directly from one of the readings Lehrer had thrust upon him, early after Brennan’s death. Probably Lehrer had seen the book as a peace offering.
“Nor is this independent of context,” Lehrer said calmly. “Why shouldn’t I cause one girl some brief,temporarypain to assure the safety of an entire witching nation?”
“This isn’t a witching state, Calix. Three percent. That’s not a fucking—”
“Not yet.”
Noam made himself exhale long and slow, digging his heels down against the floor. “There was another way. You didn’t have to torture her to protectCarolinia.”
Lehrer tilted his head a fraction. “Didn’t I? What other choice did I have?”
A horrible laugh tore itself from Noam’s throat, and he flung both hands in the air. “Me,” he shouted and jabbed his fingers in against his own breastbone. “You—have—me.”
