Daniel Abraham - The Dragon's Path

No.

“I always liked Sir Klin,” Geder said for the simple pleasure of being able to lie to a woman who couldn’t lie to him. “I felt terrible when I heard he’d been blamed for the riot. Your husband didn’t suffer for that, I hope.”

“No, no, thank you. We were very fortunate.”

Yes.

“Sir Palliako,” Lady Kalliam said, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your company today?”

Geder looked at Jorey, then at Lady Kalliam. He’d meant to ask a few innocuous questions, get what insight he could, uncover what could be uncovered. He’d meant to move slowly. The way the woman held herself tighter and tighter, the fragility of her smile, and the scent of fear that came from her like the sweet from roses argued against. He couldn’t scare her so badly she left, but he could scare her badly. He smiled at Lady Kalliam.

“Well, the truth is I was hoping for an introduction to Baroness Ebbinbaugh here. I had some questions for her. I haven’t spent all the season traveling,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve been looking into the riot. Its roots. And its aftermath.”

The color had gone from Phelia Maas’s face. Her breath was fast and shallow, like a hand-caught sparrow about to die from fright.

“I can’t imagine what there is to look into,” she said, her voice thready and faint.

Geder found it was easier to smile kindly when he didn’t mean it. Outside, a wind chime was singing to itself in random, idiot percussion. Jorey and his mother had both gone perfectly still. Geder laced his fingers over his knee.

“I know everything, Lady Maas,” he said. “The prince. The riot. The Vanai campaign. The woman.”

“What woman?” she breathed.

He didn’t have the first idea what woman, but no doubt there was some woman involved somewhere. It didn’t matter.

“Say anything,” he said. “Pick any detail. Even things you don’t imagine anyone else could know, and I’ll tell you if they’re true.”

“Feldin isn’t involved in any of it,” she said. Geder didn’t even need to look at Basrahip.

“That isn’t true, Lady Maas. I know you’re frightened, but I’m here to help you and your family. I can do that. But I need to know I can trust you. You see? Tell me the truth. It doesn’t matter, because it’s all things I know already. Tell me how it started. Just that.”

“It was the ambassador from Asterilhold,” she said. “He came to Feldin a year ago.”

No.

“You’re lying to me, Baroness,” Geder said, very gently. “Try again.”

Phelia Maas shuddered. She seemed like a thing made of spun sugar, almost too delicate to support her own weight. She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed.

“There was a man. He was going to be part of the farmer’s council.”

Yes.

“Yes. I know who you mean. Can you tell me his name?”

“Ucter Anninbaugh.”

No.

“That wasn’t his name. Can you tell me his name?”

“Ellis Newport.”

No.

“I can help you, Baroness. I may be the only man in Camnipol who can. Tell me his name.”

Her dead eyes met his.

“Torsen. Torsen Aestilmont.”

Yes.

“There,” Geder said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Do you understand now that you and your husband have no secrets from me?”

The woman nodded once. Her chin began to spasm, her cheeks flushed, and a heartbeat later she was bawling like a child. Jorey’s mother swooped to her side, putting an arm around her. Geder sat, watching. His heart was beating quickly, but his limbs were loose and relaxed. When he had denied Alan Klin the secret wealth of Vanai, he’d felt excited. Gleeful. When he’d come to the decision to burn Vanai, he’d felt righteous anger. Maybe even satisfaction. But he wasn’t sure that ever in his life before now—before this moment—he’d felt sated.

He rose and walked over to Jorey. The man’s eyes were wide. Impressed almost past the point of believing. Geder spread his hands. You see?

“How did you do that?” Jorey whispered. “How did you know?” There was awe in his voice.

Basrahip was fewer than three paces away. The bull-huge head was still bowed. The thick fingers bent around each other, hand clasping hand. Phelia Maas’s sobs were like a storm on the sea, and the murmured lullaby of promises and comfort from Lady Kalliam had barely thrown any oil on that water. Geder went to leaned so close his lips brushed the huge man’s ear.

“I will build all the temples you want, forever.”

Basrahip smiled.

On one hand, they had seriously misunderstood who and what Geder Palliako was. But on the other, he appeared to be on their side. For the time being, at least.

Still, Clara’s heart ached for Phelia.

The bedroom was darkened, heavy curtains pushing the daylight away. Phelia lay on her back, the salt tracks of dried tears marking the corners of her eyes. Clara sat beside her, stroking her shoulders and arms the way physicians did when someone had taken a blow to the head or received shocking news. When Phelia spoke, the hysteria was gone. There was no more room for pretending that things could end well, and Clara could hear in the woman’s voice that losing that hope had been a relief.

“Will he really keep Feldin safe?” Phelia asked. “If I give him the letters, will Palliako really see that Simeon doesn’t kill him?”

“That’s certainly what he said,” Clara said.

“Do you trust him?”

“I barely know him, dear.”

They lapsed again into silence.

“If the king already knows anyway,” Phelia said. “If he only wants to see who in the court of Asterilhold was involved… I mean, with all that Palliako already knew, Aster was never in any real danger. Not really.”

“That’s one way to see it.”

For the better part of an hour, Geder Palliako had coaxed Phelia into admitting everything. Feldin’s complicity in the mercenary riot, his connections in Asterilhold, his alliances within the groups fighting for a farmer’s council. Any one would stand as treason. Together, Clara didn’t see room for mercy. Which wasn’t what Phelia needed to hear now.

“How did it all get so out of hand?” Phelia asked the darkness. She sighed. It was a small, hard sound. “Tell him I will. I’ll take him to Feldin’s private study. I have a key, but there will be a guard. And he has to swear that it will only be exile.”

“All right.”

Phelia took Clara’s hand, holding it like it was the only thing that kept her from falling down a cliff.

“You won’t make me go alone, will you? You’ll come with me?”

There was nothing Clara wanted less. Phelia’s eyes glittered in the twilight of the room.

“Of course, dear,” she said. “Of course I’ll come.”

In the smoking room, Clara found the men waiting with such anxiety she imagined herself as a midwife come to deliver news of a birth. Dawson stopped his pacing as she walked in. Geder and Jorey looked up from a game of cards they were only half playing. Only the quiet priest seemed unconcerned, but then she supposed unnatural serenity was part of his work. Even Vincen Coe was there, brooding in the shadows the way he so often did. The air was close and hot, like every sip had already been breathed once before.

“She’s agreed to take Lord Palliako to the letters,” Clara said, “but only if he swears Simeon won’t have Feldin executed and if I’m with her when they go.”

“Absolutely not,” Dawson said.

“She will lose her nerve, husband,” Clara said. “You know what she’s like. I’ll take Vincen with me, and we’ll be fine. The four of us—”

“Five,” Geder said, “with Basrahip.”