Ogden eyed him levelly until Jacen decided he was too exhausted and irritated to bother with anything but the truth. “I went looking for Ysira. You know each other, don’t you? Where is she?”
“If I knew,” said Ogden, “would it be wise of me to tell you?”
“Fine,” Jacen snapped. “I suppose I don’t care, considering you’re keeping a—a—” He couldn’t call it a god. “Some sort of mutant in your basement.”
“You were hallucinating when your novitiate found you. You never got into my basement.”
Jacen raised his bandaged hand. “You and I both know what I saw.”
“Do we?” Ogden lifted his bushy eyebrows. “You’re not even sure you believe that.”
“I’m sure you’re hiding things. How did you get involved with Ged? What aren’t you telling him? What did you think we’d find in that body I tried to exorcise? I want the truth.”
“The truth,” Ogden repeated, infuriatingly calm. “Why should I trust you with it when you can’t even confront the truth about yourself?”
Hot, poisonous anger flared through Jacen, fueled by his pounding headache and a potent undercurrent of shame. “I could just take it out of your head.”
To prove his point, he pushed at the edges of Ogden’s consciousness. He encountered an iron weave in the healer’s mind, held together by a frigid, spiteful determination—and then, awareness. Resistance followed like a flood in a slot canyon, forcing him out.
“You’re—” Jacen couldn’t finish, overcome by shock.A telepath.
Third Tier, at least.
“Arrogant,” the old man sighed. “Do not try that again.”
Jacen was disgusted with himself. To forcibly invade someone’s mind . . . Who was he becoming? Next time he faced himself in the mirror, would he see Brother Marez, complete with rotten teeth and yellowed skin?
Ogden studied him for a moment. Then he said, not unkindly, “I’ve been where you are. Many, many years ago. The Church likes to pretend you’re the only one, but you’re not. Did you know forty percent of telepaths in Zivora are addicts of some sort? Alcohol, telkaan root, food, sex, adrenaline . . . It’s as endemic to your order as corruption.”
Jacen was not inclined to stay for a lecture. He started to stand, but the healer said, “I would like to trust you.” He paused. “Convinceme you can be trusted.”
“I attempted your exorcism. I agreed to break into the archives.
What else do you want from me?”
“There is,” said Ogden, “the matter of your personal history.” “Right.” Jacen blew out a breath. “Your contacts.” He was tired enough of this that he put the question directly to Ogden: “You mean the demon priests, don’t you?”
Who else would be so interested in the demon of the canyonandwilling to participate in a coup against the High Lord? Who else but Elyas’s people—that last gasp of rebellion Jacen had betrayed?
Ogden said nothing.
Jacen frowned at him. “Surely, you’re not a believer.”
Ogden chuckled. “I’m Dalish. I was raised far from the Zal and their religion. But Alendal is not immune to the suffering the Black Sun brings, and I have a vested interest in ending it. I have long suspected that if this being in the canyon can be found, we stand a chance. As for whether you might be useful too . . . I’m reserving judgment.”
No one could say that wasn’t fair.
Jacen asked, “Are you going to let me leave?”
Ogden met his gaze, unflinching, unimpressed. Then his demeanor shifted, and he was merely a healer again. He produced another small bottle and handed it to Jacen. “Agave liquor, in case you’ve run out. It’ll stop the withdrawal symptoms, if you’re not ready to go through that. I won’t lie to you—you may not survive it.”
Jacen seized the bottle, hauled himself to his feet, and stalked toward the door. He stopped. Before he could think better of it, he asked, “What’s it like in Alendal?”
The faintest of mists settled over Ogden’s eyes. “That’s not our name for it. To me, it’sTirilae.”The word was foreign to Jacen’s ears, and Ogden’s accent deepened when he said it. “It’scooler there. The hills are so green, they almost glow. The grass is always wet in the mornings, and you can smell the rain on the air.”
“I remember the smell of pine needles,” Jacen said, half to himself. “And snow. Most of my memories are of snow.”
Ogden narrowed his eyes. “The Church told you you’re Dalish?” Jacen turned back to face him. “They did.”
