“Azak, my . . .” Inos stopped, and tried again. “My lord, this man is a very—”
Azak shot her a glare of disbelief and turned away.
“Wait, though,” Rasha said. Her voice was soft, yet it came clearly over the noise of shuffling feet. “He may not have been entirely a free agent, your Majesty. I detected a trace of a compulsion there.”
“I don’t care if he doesn’t know his ears—”
“Hold! I think there is another message, my dear.”
My dear? How dare she! How dare she claim that throne, give orders to the sultan, set herself up as tyrant, and especially dare talk to Azak like that!
Azak frowned. “Lith’rian?”
Rasha nodded, studying Rap, who had flinched at the word ”compulsion” and was now glancing uneasily from face to face as if he had only just realized his danger. Had he truly expected Azak to let him live, after this?
The swift tropical sunset was over. People, faces, chairs, even the Great Hall itself, all were fading away into shadow. Yet there was no doubt that Rasha was pleased about somethingexultant, even. Rubbing her hands, she advanced down the steps toward Rap, who backed away a pace and then stopped, staring at her apprehensively.
Apprehension became horror. “No!”
“Yes,” said Rasha. She chuckled. “I think Warlock Lith’rian was sending me a message also. Or a gift!”
“This is not the time or the place!” Azak spoke as if he were leading his army in cavalry drill.
“It is the only time and place, my dear.” Rasha did not look around. “I was told once that this faun knew a word of power. Obviously that was an understatement, or he has learned more words since. He is at least a mage, and possibly a sorcerer.”
“Just an adept,” Rap muttered. He was clearly worried now, the whites of his eyes shining like moons amid the dark blotches of tattoo.
“You would say that, of course.” The sorceress floated nearer, her deep-green robes now turned to black in the gloom. “But we saw you at work. An adept holding off the whole palace guard? Hardly! I have been an adept; I know what is possible!”
The hall was half empty now, the commoners starting to follow the princes. The indistinct figures of the family men in their brown uniforms were slipping in through a side door, and forming up.
“What are you getting at?” Azak demanded sharply.
“Our alliance, darling, remember? Our pact against Olybino.”
Inos gasped.
It was like shutting a finger in a door—blinding pain but also a deafening howl of injustice; an internal voice screaming that the Gods should never allow such things to happen. Was that what Azak had really wanted from the sorceress? Was that why he had whored for her all the last week? What coin had he accepted for his services—freedom from the curse so he could marry Inos, yes, but also an occult alliance for the coming war against the Impire? Suddenly Inos saw herself as part of a package, something thrown in by a merchant to make a sale of something else. A pretty ribboned basket hiding an unsavory purchase. Azak, what did you promise? What were you really planning?
Betrayed!
Rap was still protesting that he was only an adept.
“Perhaps sorcerer is unlikely,” Rasha conceded. “Even warlocks have limits on their generosity. But you are certainly too strong for a mere adept. A mage, I judge.”
“He is meant as a replacement for Elkarath?” Azak asked, stepping down from the dais to join her. Imperceptibly Rap had been backing away, and Rasha stalking him. The last guests were filtering out the big doorway beyond a wasteland of empty chairs like the stumps of a ravaged forest.
“Perhaps. Obviously the elf has turned against East, as I predicted. Olybino is a failure, and elves despise incompetence. Also, I think this faun as been sent to me as protection.”
“Protection?” said Rap and Azak together.
Inos took a step forward and Kade pulled her back. “No, dear!” she whispered.
She was right, of course—to plead with Rasha on Rap’s behalf would be a disastrous error. Rasha did not approve of women having tender feelings toward men, any men.
“Protection! East has threatened to bespell me. Lith’rian is suggesting a defense, you see? This gift-faun is going to start making himself useful by telling me one of his words.”
“No!” Rap cried.
“Most certainly.”
“Four words is the limit!”
“Indeed? If your words give you that sort of lore, then you are certainly a full sorcerer. Else, who told you so?”
Rap stuttered and said nothing.
“I don’t believe in that limit!” Rasha said. “At least it is worth a try, even if I gain nothing.”
“Your sorcery can’t get my words out of me!”
Rasha chuckled. ”No?”
He screamed, doubled over, then toppled heavily. Inos felt her feet start to move, and Kade’s hand tighten on her arm. The day they had arrived in Arakkaran, Rasha had tortured Azak just like this.
Rap curled up small, writhed, straightened, spasmed, thrashed as if every muscle was being convulsed by cramps. He did not scream again, but he gurgled, and somehow more noise would have made the spectacle less horrible. Nauseated, Inos tried to look away, and couldn’t. She clenched her teeth in the effort not to cry out. To appeal to the sorceress would be as bad as appealing to Azak. Rap! I can’t help! Anything I do will make it worse!
At last the whimpering thing on the floor fell silent, and was still. Inos wondered if he had fainted, or died.
“Had enough yet?” Rasha inquired sweetly. “Want a rest?” After a moment Rap pushed himself up, leaning on his hands and one hip. His face was deathly pale and there was a crazy look in his eye as he stared up at the sorceress. He must have bitten his tongue, for his mouth was bloody; he said something so slurred that Inos missed it. It was also spoken in a very broad sailor dialect, but the sense was obvious.
Rasha laughed. “Very good! But how long can you stand it, faun?” Her voice flowed like poisoned syrup in the gloom. “An hour? A week? A lifetime?”
Again Rap’s reply was an unintelligible obscenity. “Ready then? You want to burn some more?” she asked. And she must have cured his tongue, because the next reply was at least clearly phrased, if no more polite. Visibly shaken, Rap clambered to his feet. He swayed for a moment, then lunged forward as if to attack the sorceress and strangle her. He stopped after two steps, glaring, but Inos could not tell if he had changed his mind or if Rasha had blocked him. How could he know that courage and defiance were the worst possible responses to her torments?
Even through the gauze of her veil, her amusement showed. “Interesting! You present an interesting challenge. But we’ll find your breaking point some other day. This is holding up the wedding celebrations. You’ll talk soon enough when your sweetheart . . . Oh, I am so sorry! How careless of me to spill such dangerous little secrets! I mean the sultana, of course. This time she burns and you watch, faun.”
Azak uttered a wordless roar of protest, and then reeled back as if kicked by an invisible horse.
Inos steadied herself, brushing away her helpers. She opened her mouth to shout a royal defiance, to tell the old harlot to do her worst, to order Rap to refuse—and she could not force the words between her teeth. Whether that was Rasha’s sorcery or her own frailty she did not know, but silent she stayed. Silent, and already shaking. Never in her life had she experienced truly great pain. She had seen both Azak and Rap crushed by it, and she did not think she could be any braver or more stubborn than either of those two.
And what did it matter if Rasha’s powers were increased? Already she ruled Arakkaran as she willed.
Glaring murder, Rap stepped closer to the sorceress, his fingers hooked. She shook her head mockingly at such folly. “All right!” he shouted. ”All right, you evil old hag!”
“You will rue ever uttering that remark. Meanwhile—talk!” She turned her head as Rap moved close, his face black with anger.
He went to whisper to her, and stuttered into silence with a gasp. Rasha glanced around and then frowned at Azak, who was closest.
“You have sharp ears, Muscles. Go back! Come here, faun.” She marched over to the deserted front row of chairs. Rap trailed behind, looking broken and dejected. Azak turned away from the two of them and ran up on the dais. He came over to stand behind Inos, but he was glowering at the drama, and did not look at her. As an oven might radiate heat, so Azak still radiated fury. Oh, idiot Rap!