“Which he said he stole from the palace,” mused Terceth.
“Well, and he did,” asserted Awhero. “We needed food for baby, and I told him that was only place I knew of we could get it. He told me all about it.”
Terceth demanded, “What did he tell you?”
“He said he found food, and then he found weapon, and then he went into big room, like bedroom, and there were boxes with packets in, and he took two packets, just curious. And you took one packet from him in Mahahm-qum.”
“Indeed I did. I still have it.” He took it from his pocket and held it with the other, musing. “We searched the palace for more of it, but we found none. What is the stuff for?”
“Who knows! Locked up stuff in fancy boxes, usually that kind of thing is worth something, isn’t it? I told him to try to take something light, something we could trade on our way south.”
Dunnel murmured, “He could have given some of it to Obrang, sir. In return for being set loose.”
“What’s an Obrang?” asked Awhero, looking up suspiciously.
“One of my men. Seemingly turned to stone.”
Awhero licked dry lips and swallowed. “Well, likely he got into some bonebush.”
“Why would he have done that?” asked Dunnel, curiously.
“Well,” she said, wildly concocting, “here you are, hunting high, hunting low, looking for long-life stuff, and here’s this funny-looking bush, so some idiot in your army tells some other idiot in your army to taste it and see if that’s it.”
“And you don’t know what this stuff is?” murmured Terceth. “Well, we can test it on the Prince. Bring him.”
Dunnel departed. Aufors struggled to sit up, and Awhero and Genevieve propped him against the wall, where he blinked owlishly, feeling the top of his head, where the excruciating pain of the last few days had been succeeded by a dull ache. Outside, night had fallen. Dunnel returned carrying a lantern and leading Delganor by his shackles. On seeing Genevieve and Aufors, Delganor’s lips thinned.
“At last,” he quavered. “My runaway bride. And her faithless husband. I am gratified to see you looking unwell, sir!”
In her shock at his appearance, Genevieve ignored what the man said. Delganor stooped, his face was deeply wrinkled and darkly spotted with age.
“We’ve brought you here for a purpose,” said Terceth. “This man was carrying something we’re eager to know about.” He held out the two packets of powder, dangling them before the Prince’s eyes. “This man stole these from the Shah’s palace.”
Genevieve, who was at one side, saw the tightened jaw, the very slight motion the Prince made toward the packet. Awhero, who had been alerted by the story of Obrang to the realization the packets might not be identical, virtually stopped breathing.
With great effort, Delganor managed to keep his voice uninterested as he said, “What is it?”
“You don’t know?”
“How would I know?”
“It isn’t P’naki?”
“No,” he said craftily. “I buy P’naki from the Mahahmbi all the time. P’naki is gray. And more granular.”
“Could it be the health drug your Lord Paramount gives to his faithful supporters?”
Delganor frowned. “That drug is a similar color, though it is usually a much finer powder.”
“You wouldn’t mind trying this, then?”
“For what reason?”
Again, Genevieve saw the tightness at the jaw, the eager flicker of the eyes toward the packet as he struggled for self-control. The whirling shadows still hung between her and the others in the cave, a vision of the near future where events spun madly, sucking her in, sucking her down . . .
Awhero had been holding her breath. She gasped, covering it up with a coughing fit.
“Take the stuff because I say so,” Terceth said to the Prince.
Dunnel poured a cup of water and brought it to Delganor. Terceth handed over the packets, and the Prince sprinkled the contents of one packet on the water and drank it. The others watched him closely. He did not move but merely glared at them.
“How do you feel?” asked Terceth.
“It’s not . . . not . . . not . . .” Delganor murmured. “Not . . . P’naki.”