THE DUNGEON might very well have been the cleanest part of the entire city. They’d discussed it at length and decided that, because of the smell that seeped from every living Scab, this hole deep in the ground was one of the best places for them to be. The musty earthen scent of dirt and rocks was preferable. In fact, downright heavenly, Cain said.
“I knew it,” Suzan said, pacing by one wall.
“The question is whether they will execute us,” William said.
Thomas looked at his companions, sickened that their fate wasn’t decided yet. “I’ll do everything in my power to get us out.”
“And what power is that?” William asked.
They had been told not five minutes ago by a temple guard. “It appears that death is too honorable for you,” the guard said with a smirk. “The mighty warrior is now a slave, is that it? Better to lick the toes of his conqueror than end it all with a sword.” He chuckled. “They collect you in ten minutes. Say good-bye to your friends.”
“Where am I going?” Thomas demanded.
“Wherever Qurong wishes. To the royal library today. It seems he needs a translator.”
“And us?” William asked.
“You’re a gift for the wedding.” He smiled and turned his back to leave. “Unfortunately, the wedding has been delayed,” he mumbled. Then he left.
Now they waited.
“The same power he used to win her loyalty,” Suzan said to William.
“Don’t be so sure. She’s a lying serpent as sure as we are salamanders in her eyes!” William spit to the side. “I would rather die than serve at Qurong’s table.”
“I don’t think it’s his table,” Suzan said. “It is his daughter’s table. Thomas’s ploy worked. The Books of Histories may save our necks before this is done.”
“His daughter’s table would be worse! There is nothing as revolting as a Scab woman.”
“I have to agree with William,” Cain said. “I would much rather serve at Qurong’s table than his wife’s, or his daughter’s. Better to face the sword of a warrior than the lying tongue of these women.”
“You mean rotten tongues, don’t you? You can smell them coming—”
“Stop it!” Thomas said. “You’re making me nauseated. It’s not their fault that they stink.”
“If they would choose the drowning, they wouldn’t smell; how can you say it’s not their fault?”
“Okay, so it is their fault. But they hardly know better. These are the people Justin is courting.”
“We’re his bride,” William said. “Not these whores.”
Thomas was taken aback by his use of the word. It had once been a common expression for him, but not since the drowning.
“We would be most grateful if you could convince this whore”— Suzan glanced at William as she said it—“to spare our lives. Do you have a plan?”
Thomas walked to the corner of the cell and turned. “I guess you could call it that. If I can avoid the rhambutan juice, I will dream. If I dream, I will wake in the histories and tell my sister how to rescue us.”
“Your sister, Kara, who was also Mikil at the council meeting,” William said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re placing our lives in the hands of a character in your dreams?”
“No, in Mikil’s,” Thomas said. “Unless you have a better plan.”
They stared at him in silence. That was it; there were no more plans.
“Well, Thomas of Hunter,” Cain finally said, “I for one place my trust in you.” He moved forward and grasped Thomas’s forearms to form a circle between them, the common greeting. “It makes no sense to me, but you’ve always led us down the right path. Elyon’s strength.”
“Elyon’s strength.”
Thomas repeated the grasp with each.
“Be careful, my friend,” William said. “Don’t let the disease tempt your mind. If I were Teeleh, I would see no greater victory than luring the great Thomas of Hunter onto Tanis’s path.”
Thomas clasped his arms. They had never seen any from the Circle catch the disease again after drowning—they weren’t even sure if such a thing was possible. But some of the words from The Histories Recorded by His Beloved suggested it was possible. If you remain in me, I will remain in you, the Book said. They still didn’t know precisely what this meant but believed the opposite was also true. William’s warning was a good one.
“Elyon’s strength.”
“Elyon’s strength.”
“Where is he now?” Woref demanded.
“Locked in the basement,” Ciphus said. “As agreed.”
Qurong stood at the top of the steps that led into the royal bath. They’d built the bathhouse at the base of the Thrall, set apart from the prying eyes of the commoners. Only the royal family, the generals and their wives, and the priests were permitted to bathe in the stone house.
“And Chelise?”
“It was your own recommendation,” Qurong said, facing his general. “Now you’re fretting like a woman?”
Woref dipped his head. “I’m only interested in protecting what is mine.”
“My daughter is yours? I don’t remember a wedding. What I do remember is that there won’t be one until the Books are found.”
“Of course. But this man is no ordinary man. I don’t trust him.”
“Nor I. Which is why I wanted him dead. Although I must admit, this idea of yours is growing on me.” He smiled wryly.
Qurong opened his robe and let it fall to the ground. Steam from the hot rocks the servants had set inside the pool rose around the perimeter. He hated the bathing, not only because of the stinging pain, but because it reminded him of capital punishment. Drowning. The Great Romance was a brilliant way to keep the people in their place, but there should be an exception for royalty.
“I am only concerned for your daughter’s safety, my lord.”
“She has her guard. The albino is under lock and key. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you’re jealous, Woref.”
“Please, don’t insult me, my lord.”
Qurong walked down the steps and onto the bathing platform. He dipped his foot in the water, then withdrew it. This dreaded practice would be the death of him.
“What of you, Ciphus? What do you say?”
“I say what I said earlier. To keep your captive on a leash takes a stronger hand than killing him.”
“Then you agree that he requires a stronger hand.”
The high priest cleared his throat. “The albinos don’t believe in the sword, if that’s what you mean. Even Thomas of Hunter wouldn’t harm your daughter. But he may try to escape.”
“Is there a way to escape from the library?”
“You would have to ask Woref.”
“Well then, Woref?”
“There’s always a way to escape.”
“Without violence?”
He hesitated.
“Well?”
“No, not that I can think of.”
“Then what’s your worry? You haven’t found the Books. I would concern myself with that.”
“Then I would request that as soon as I have married your daughter, you allow me to kill Thomas of Hunter,” Woref said.
“I thought that was the understanding.”
Woref glanced at Ciphus, who spoke. “Actually, I believe Thomas was meant to serve indefinitely, as long as he proves useful in translating the Books of Histories. It is a task of great benefit to the Great Romance.”
“I’m not interested in a translation made by my enemy. It would be untrustworthy. If he can teach Chelise to read the Books, I will let him finish his task before killing him. Otherwise he will die.”
The priest frowned. “Chelise is under the assumption—”
“I don’t care what my daughter thinks! This is my decision to make. Woref is right. This albino is not to be trusted! Whatever agreement they made when he struck her is none of my concern.”
Yes, I do know more than you think, Woref.
“Thomas of Hunter will be my slave until he’s no longer useful,” Qurong continued. “Then I will kill him myself. Now, if you will kindly both leave me, I have the terrible duty to bathe in this stink hole for a moment.”
They bowed, stepped back, and turned to leave.
“Ciphus.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I would like you to arrange public display of my slave. A parade or a ceremony where the people see him firmly under my foot.”
“An excellent idea,” Woref said.
“How much time would you need?” Qurong asked.
Ciphus answered slowly. “Perhaps two days.”
“Not tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow, if you want to rush it.”
Qurong turned to the pool. “Two days then.”