They carried us through the citadel on grand palanquins, displaying Sondra and I like a macabre combination of visiting royalty and captured slave girls. Displaying us to all as Anure’s new acquisitions. We knelt on satin cushions, the chains through our collars attached to large rings in front of us, hands bound behind our backs with chains reaching behind us. All along the docks, across bridges, and into the citadel, curious crowds watched our lurid parade.
The people didn’t cheer, however. They simply observed with solemn expressions and tired eyes, as if dutifully attending. Whispers here and there attested to the fact that they knew who I was, and that they assumed Sondra to be one of my ladies-in-waiting. I hadn’t been back to the ship’s cabin, and only glimpsed Sondra as they wrestled her—screaming and kicking—onto the palanquin behind me. Just as well. From the disgusted glares I did see, I gathered she had only contempt for the fact that I hadn’t fought.
I’d learned long ago the value of appearing to roll over and show my belly to the conqueror. The great danger, of course, lay in not paying attention to the moment when pretending to surrender became true capitulation. That was the difference between Sondra and me: She would never stop fighting, and I didn’t know how to start.
I only knew how to endure and to wait, so that’s what I did, gazing steadfastly ahead, spine straight and chin regally lifted.
Our bearers carried us directly to Anure’s ostentatious throne room. I took great pride in the Orchid Throne and my own Court of Flowers, as a place of beauty and a tribute to the highest ideals. The emperor’s seat paid tribute to the worst of his impulses. The throne loomed at the top of a long flight of stairs, easily three times higher than my own, and the back of the massive chair stretched up at least two stories.
The Imperial Toad, who’d disappeared when we docked, escorted away by a large entourage and leaving us to follow after, now sat on his throne. He’d changed into a costume as elaborate as any of mine, and which—to my practiced eye—included considerable framework and padding to make the man look bigger. A thickly furred velvet robe swathed him and draped over the throne and down several steps.
The throne itself, I realized as I studied it more closely, wasn’t truly that large. It had been designed to trick the eye, to look huge, and also amplify the size of the emperor.
Smoke, mirrors, and sleight of hand.
Anure had also piled the steps with literal treasure, displaying both his wealth and that no one dared touch it. Open chests spilled coins of all denominations, the colors a rainbow of the shattered and forgotten empires he’d pillaged. Jewelry and loose gems fell in piles and draped lavishly over all of it. No artwork, which didn’t surprise me, as Anure had only the greed of a dragon and none of the discernment. I spotted my crown, the Crown of Calanthe, in a prominent place on a pile of the other jewels I’d been wearing. I let my gaze pass over it, unseeing and uncaring. Anure would have to do better if he thought to upset me that way. The crown itself wasn’t what I cared about most.
Flanking the throne, however, stood wizards—four of them, just as Agatha had said—two on each side of Anure and several levels down, like more treasure on display. I knew them by the glow of their magic, and the orchid ring’s tremulous reaction to them. They were the real danger, and I kept a sharp eye on them without making it obvious. Hard to say if anyone else knew who—or what—they were.
The wizards wore plain robes. Nothing like the one I’d gifted Ambrose. It could be they didn’t wear better robes because Anure hoarded all the glory. But they each wore a different color—red, blue, purple, black—which could denote rank. The wizard in black stood closest to the throne, so I picked him for the senior of the group.
My bearers set my palanquin down, a thump behind confirming they’d brought Sondra, too. Imperial Guards came forward, disconnecting the chains that bound me to the conveyance, but leaving them to dangle heavily from the collar that dug into my shoulders. They lifted me to my feet and made me walk forward, the chains rattling as they dragged on the polished granite floor.
Lifting my chin, I met Anure’s mocking gaze.
“And so,” Anure said. His voice hissed through the vast chamber, resonating and amplifying. Tricks with acoustics that anyone could replicate, but the effect was unsettling as it sounded as if he spoke from all around me. “The Queen of Flowers is at last My guest. Look about you, Euthalia, and see what you could have had. You could have been by My side and now you cower at My feet.”
I gazed only at him, composed and neutral, wielding one of my few remaining weapons—silence—and saying nothing.
He shifted irritably on his seat, and I smiled to myself. Never would I have revealed myself to a prisoner in such a way. Anure played at ruling, but he would never be more than a pretender, no matter how much treasure he heaped around himself or how many wizards he leashed to his foul purposes. Small comfort.
“Nothing to say?” Anure demanded. He flicked his fingers and the guard beside me struck me in the small of my back, sending me hard to my knees. It hurt, but I kept my expression cool, my steady gaze trained on Anure.
This is power, in mastery of self.
He flushed with anger, but he couldn’t outlast my silent endurance. “You’ll want to speak, because I have a bargain to offer you, petal.”
Oh, how interesting. A bargain. I waited to hear what it might be. The wizard in blue spoke to the one in purple beside him, both trying to see the ring behind my back, chained out of view along with my hands. The assembled court made very little sound for a large group of people, and I tasted the feeling in the room as I would my own court. Fear and tension. Someone coughed here, muffled by their hands, or scraped a foot. Otherwise they vied not to be noticed. Quite the reverse of my court. The wizard in black stared at me, then climbed the steps to whisper in Anure’s ear.
Anure tapped impatient fingers on the arm of his throne, annoyed at whatever the wizard said. “Unchain her hands,” he ordered.
The Imperial Guard who’d struck me hauled me to my feet again and unlinked the manacles at my wrists. I let my arms hang at my sides, resisting the urge to roll my shoulders, as that would reveal my discomfort. The wizard in black glided down the narrow path between the hoarded treasures, picking his way on silent feet, until he stopped before me.
I studied him, looking through his aged appearance as I had with Ambrose’s illusions. He seemed to be entirely human, however, and truly elderly. His magic, powerfully warm like Ambrose’s, had a stinking edge to the heat, and his eyes were glued to the ring. Ignoring the human being wearing the orchid ring, he seized my wrist in a spidery, too-tight grip. His skin was soft, unblemished, and without a single rough edge, and I suddenly and fiercely missed the work-hardened and stained skin of Con’s hands.
The wizard didn’t touch the orchid itself. He bent close, sniffing it, and narrowly examining the bloom. The orchid ring responded to his magic, but not with the flirtatious fluttering it did around Ambrose. Instead the petals furled, draining of color. The wizard dropped my hand and nodded, bowing to Anure, and then stood to the side expectantly.
I realized in that moment how badly I’d miscalculated. Anure wanted the ring because this wizard did. And I knew with icy intuition that nothing I could say or do would manipulate this twisted creature.
Anure smiled at me. “I am a generous man and a loving emperor.” He looked expectantly around the room and the court applauded, added a few cheers to his health. It came a beat late to my ear. Had my own court attended me so sluggishly, I’d have known in an instant that something had gone very wrong with my rule. “I realize I asked too much of you, Euthalia, in charging you, such a meek and sweet girl, to stand up to the ravages of the Slave King. I will not hold you at fault for being so cruelly and repeatedly raped by that cur.”
The assembly gasped, aghast and titillated whispers bouncing off the walls and worming themselves into everyone’s ears. Sondra growled and I hoped she’d keep her temper. She would be safer as my supposed lady-in-waiting than as Con’s lieutenant.
“You have suffered much, but you are safe with Me now.” Anure gave me a paternal smile that made me want to gag. “I am willing to pardon you.” He nodded at the astonished and approving murmurs, waiting for that belated applause again before holding up a hand to stop them. “I already have your jewels as tribute,” he said, pointing at my crown, no doubt afraid I hadn’t noticed it. When I gave no flicker of reaction, he frowned. “Give Me your ring, and I will not punish you further. You could have a good life here, Euthalia. Honored. Feted. In return, I shall leave Calanthe intact, unharmed. The pearl of My empire as you shall be the jewel of My court.”
I made sure to seem surprised—and to be considering the offer—as I worked to hide my vast relief that Anure hadn’t realized he could use Con against me. Not that I could make this bargain, even for Calanthe. I wasn’t sure when I’d become more worried about saving Con than Calanthe. Maybe because I knew Calanthe was already lost. All four wizards watched with glittering intent.
“I would give this ring to Your Imperial Majesty if I could,” I finally said, hearing the honest resignation in my own voice, “but I cannot.”
“Lies. I’ve had enough of your lies,” Anure replied, sounding more like a whiny child than a ruler. “This is your only chance, Euthalia. Give Me the Abiding Ring or I’ll raze Calanthe.”
And there it was, the name by which the wizards knew my ring. Helpful to me? Likely not. “It’s not within my power.”
“Take it from her then,” Anure cried.
Several Imperial Guards stepped forward, one holding my wrist in a crushing grip, the other digging his nails into my finger to pull at the band. When the ring didn’t so much as budge, the jowly man renewed his efforts, pulling painfully at my joints. “Don’t crush the blossom, you idiot,” the wizard in black said, his voice unexpectedly deep for his skinny frame.
So he didn’t know the orchid couldn’t be crushed—or rather, that it sprang back luminous and uncreased from any impacts. I doubted they knew much about the ring at all.
“My apologies, Your Eminence.” The guard turned my hand over, working at the ring band from the other side. Flicking a revolted look at me, he snatched his hands away, audibly swallowing. “Your Imperial Majesty, Your Eminence, the ring seems to be … grown into her skin.”
Indeed the twining tendrils of it prickled at the bones of my finger, hand, and entire arm, burning and burying into me, as if sensing its peril. The band itself had nearly disappeared into my skin, as if holding on tighter, hiding itself. The court murmured with more excitement than they’d yet evinced, their voices burbling with speculation.
“Let me see,” the wizard in black commanded, stepping close again and peering at my hand as the guards held it out. Not that I fought them. I simply looked past the wizard and spoke directly to Anure.
“It cannot be removed,” I repeated, willing him to understand. “Believe Me, with Calanthe at stake—My home and the only thing I care about—I would yield it to You if I could.”
“Liar. Such an ugly trait,” Anure hissed. “Punish her.”
The guard’s fist crashed into my face, snapping my head back on my neck, the wig dislodging. Not important, I knew, and yet I fretted even as I tried to process the shock. The pain flooded in belatedly, my eye and cheek rushing with heat, tears wanting to surge up with a sob from my chest. I would not cry in front of these people. Lifting my head, I regarded Anure as coolly as I knew how, even as the wig fell to the floor. The court exploded into shrieks of horror and hysterical laughter at the sight of my bald head. I only hoped no one would look close enough to see the soft crop of vegetation there. Anure convulsed with laughter. “No better than a slave,” he commented. “Did he do that to you?”
I didn’t reply. At least they didn’t seem know much about my nature. Maybe Tertulyn hadn’t betrayed everything? I didn’t see her anywhere, and it seemed certain Anure would want to taunt me with her presence.
Anure lost patience, snapping, “Get on with it!”
“Allow me,” the wizard in black intoned.
The guard held out my hand palm up for the wizard’s inspection. Something dripped from my nose to my throbbing lip, and I figured it for blood. The wizard studied my hand, shook his head at the emperor. “It is as Her Highness claims, Your Imperial Majesty. We cannot simply pull it off.”
“Cut off the whole finger then,” Anure said.
“No!” Sondra shouted, the sound cut off by a thump and scuffle. Don’t be a hero, I thought at her, as if she could hear me. She still had a chance to escape, rather than share my doom.
More guards brought over a block and a sharp knife. One of them spread out my fingers on the block, two more holding my wrist in place as the wizard supervised, giving me a gentle smile. I didn’t struggle. It would be undignified, and I couldn’t win. I simply ignored the wizard, pretending I didn’t know what he was. I steeled myself for the pain.
It came, bright and sharp, with nauseating impact. I hoped my father could forgive me that I couldn’t remain unmoved. I screamed, and a hot faint crawled over me. Swaying, I remained upright only because my captors supported me. I really had no practice at withstanding pain, a grievous lacuna in my education.
The men murmured, one of the guards muttering a prayer to Sawehl, and I became aware through the agony throbbing in my hand and shooting up my arm of the living tendrils of the orchid ring. The wizard hummed with interest, reminding me of Ambrose for the first time. I managed to look, swallowing my gorge at the sight of my mutilated hand and the gushing of blood from the stump of my missing finger—and saw that the orchid ring had withered and vanished from the severed finger, then rebloomed on the next finger over.
Another wizard, the one in red, descended the steps, conferring with the first. They wondered what would happen if they removed my entire hand. “How is the Abiding Ring transferred from one ruler to another?” the wizard in red asked me.
The scene flashed into my mind of standing on the sky pond with Ambrose, answering that very question, and overlaying it, the bobbing of the ship under my feet and the heat of the sun as my father lay dying. Ambrose had read it in my mind without me speaking it, so I buried both memories deep under thick ice.
“Queen Euthalia,” the wizard in red, as aged as the first, said to me, not unkindly, especially given the circumstances. “If You don’t give us the secret of the transfer, we will have to cut off Your hand. You may not survive.”
I straightened my spine, fighting through the dizziness and agony, refusing to beg them not to do it. “There is no secret,” I told him. “It cannot be transferred while I live.”
“You must realize that means You will have to die. We will have the Abiding Ring, and we will kill You to have it.” He frowned. “Surely Your life isn’t worth this ring You don’t even know how to use.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s worth My life to Me or not,” I informed him, wondering how he knew I didn’t know how to use it. “It’s not a choice for Me. I’ll warn you, however, that My death alone may not do the trick.”
The wizard in purple joined them, the one in blue stepping up to remain beside Anure. “What will do the ‘trick’?” the purple wizard demanded.
“I don’t know.”
“You received it, so You do know,” the wizard in black pointed out.
“All You need do,” the red wizard said, nodding, “is tell us everything that You remember. We can work from there. Comply and I’ll see to it that You are returned to Calanthe.” He glanced at the other two wizards, who seemed to consider, then nodded agreement and produced thin smiles for me. I didn’t miss that Anure was no longer a participant in the debate. He frowned at us from the heights of his throne, unable to hear, unwilling to appear out of control by asking. “You will not only save Calanthe, but go home,” the red wizard urged with a warm smile. “You want that, more than anything, don’t You, Your Highness?”
Tempting. So tempting. To go home, to feel Calanthe’s sweet embrace in my mind and heart. And Con would be there. I’d wrap myself in Con’s strong arms. Why hadn’t I kissed him goodbye? Yes, I did want that. But not more than anything.
Even if I could bring myself to betray the trust of wearing the ring that was the emblem of my office, I couldn’t contemplate what these wizards would do to the world with a magical artifact they wanted so very badly. Anure wasn’t so clever. It turned out I cared about all those lands who called to me at night more than even Calanthe.
“I can’t,” I spat at them. I wanted to weep, and beg, but I managed not to. Clinging to my ice, I hardened myself. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
The wizard in red shrugged. “Cut off Her hand then.”
I managed not to scream as the guards forced me to my knees, shoved the metal cuff higher up, and laid my arm across the block, but I couldn’t look. Oh, Con …
Then my vision went dark and, my tongue thick in my mouth, I could say nothing. Heat, thick and stomach-roiling, rose up and dragged me under.
Pain and nausea greeted me when I regained consciousness. At least fury, cold and clean, followed quickly after, clearing the miasma from my head. I’d do no one any good if I was a weeping, puking weakhearted mess.
With a feeling of desperate lunging, I reached for the dreamthink, beyond relieved to find I still had that. The familiar state of mental clarity and peace settled my mind further and I pushed out my senses to the world around me, finding the thoughts of a woman nearby, obscure in the way that all non-Calantheans are, with more opaque minds all around past her, and beyond them … nothing. Only the burning fires on the walls of Anure’s citadel, the oily smoke stinking even in the dreamthink.
How I missed the brilliant purity of life in Calanthe. I would die in this place, and my body would never return to the land that birthed and formed me. In my despair, however, I imagined I scented orchids, and that I felt the petal-soft and florid brush of the orchid ring, and that helped more than I could ever describe.
With a sigh, I opened my eyes, to find myself once again staring into Sondra’s intense blue ones. “This is getting to be tiresome,” I commented.
To my vast surprise, she grinned at me. “Thank Ejarat. You must be all right if You have the strength to be mean.”
My hand throbbed, sending burning fire up my arm, and I lifted it. How odd that I could feel pain there, because my hand was gone. Someone had bandaged the stump of my wrist, and washed the blood away.
And the orchid sat—or, should I say, abided—higher up on my wrist. It had become a bracelet, as floridly lovely and fragrant as ever, vines twining decoratively around my forearm almost like one of Con’s gauntlets. I breathed a sigh of bone-shivering relief that I still had it, that they hadn’t started chopping off the rest of my arm. That Anure and those foul wizards hadn’t managed to take the ring for whatever horrible acts they planned. Lowering my arm gently back to my side, I looked to Sondra. “What happened?”
“That question is getting to be tiresome, too,” she quipped wryly, then held out a goblet. “Drink some water.”
I sat up, aware of my still-woozy head, vaguely surprised that Sondra lent me a steady arm. I needed the support, too, and no amount of pride would change that. Taking the goblet in my remaining hand, I drank, discovering my raging thirst as I did. “Is there more?”
“Yeah. Blood loss and trauma will do that,” Sondra replied, refilling the goblet from a pitcher. “And You lost buckets of blood before they made up their minds that letting You die would be a bad idea—and likely still wouldn’t get them the ring. Um, bracelet. Gauntlet? Whatever.”
As she poured, I took a look around the room. Windowless, featureless, lavishly appointed, yet still a prison. Neither of us wore the chains anymore, though we both still had the collars and cuffs locked on. Well, one cuff for me, obviously. Sondra handed me the full goblet and regarded me seriously. “I have to hand it to You, Your Highness. You are one stone-cold bitch.” She shook her head with a laugh. “Con said I’d underestimated You and he was right.”
“Hardly,” I replied once I’d swallowed the water. “I fainted.”
“Your Highness, they beat You, cut off Your finger, and then Your whole fucking hand, and then did nothing to stanch the blood loss for a long time.” Sondra cursed mildly and worked free a lock of hair that had caught in her collar. “I’m impressed. And this is belated, but I’m proud to call You my queen.” She inclined her head.
Would wonders never cease. Much good may it do me. “I think you might as well call me Lia. Ejarat knows that Con does and so you probably do, too, behind my back.” She gave me a sheepish smile and I nodded to myself. “And since we seem to be stuck in this cell, formalities seem … superfluous.” I scanned it again as I spoke. How I hated that I would die in this place.
“No windows, one door,” Sondra said crisply, reporting to me as she would to Con, I realized. “The stones are tight and the mortar sealed with something. No crumbling. The door is metal, on hinges, at least three locks, but they’re well oiled and maintained, so there might be more than I could hear. They cut off Your hand at the wrist, severing the tendons, but—and I couldn’t see well, only overhear—but the orchid moved again, to Your arm.” She nodded at it. “They debated about cutting off Your arm, too, but those old guys—were they the wizards?”
“Yes.”
“Anure really does have wizards,” she said reflectively, as if trying to convince herself. “I thought you all were spinning fantasies. Agatha’s messed up in a lot of ways, so I thought, You know, evil wizards was a metaphor for her. But no. Four wizards. We are so fucked. We never could have won this war, could we?”
“I don’t see how,” I replied, trying to be gentle but firm. Con had even me believing in the possibility for a while, so I could hardly blame her. “So they decided against cutting off My arm—or killing Me outright?”
“Yet,” she said grimly. “The wizards disagreed, but ultimately they worried that if they cut off Your arm, the ring would just move to another, more central part of Your body. Then the one in black pointed out that they didn’t have the secret of transference from You, and with You all passed out they weren’t getting it soon. The fuckers finally decided that if You did die, it could be the orchid would die, too, and then they’d be out of luck.”
“Hmm.” That could be true. “They discussed all of this in front of Anure’s court?”
“No. Several people fainted, even before You did, then one lady puked when Your hand came off, and the toad started screaming for them to clear out.”
“You’d think Anure’s court would be inured to displays like that. I have to lie down again.” I hated to make the admission, but better that than passing out—or vomiting up that water I needed—and my vision was going black at the edges again.
“Of course.” Surprisingly gentle, Sondra eased me back on the bed. “Truly, I’m amazed You woke up already.”
“You don’t have to use the honorific,” I said, staring at the low, ugly ceiling.
“I owe You that honor,” Sondra replied. “Though I’m surprised You can hear the capitalization.”
“I can always hear it,” I mused. “I especially hear when it’s not there. They gave us water, but did they provide food?”
“Yes. Can You eat?” She sounded dubious.
I rolled my head on the pillow in negation. “I asked only because I wanted to be sure you have nutrition. You’ll need it. Do they know who you are?”
She shook her head. “They think I’m one of Your ladies-in-waiting. A charity case.” She passed a hand over her scarred face and smiled wryly.
“You were born nobility, Lady Sondra,” I said. I held up the stump. “Our physical wounds don’t change that.”
She regarded me with rare emotion in her quite lovely eyes, and for a moment I glimpsed the vivacious court butterfly she’d been, delighting all with her golden voice and native ebullience.
“Also, giving us food is an indication of their plans. They’ll keep us alive, for now.”
“We might decide we’d rather die than remain captive,” Sondra said gravely, arranging the covers to make me as comfortable as she could.
The pain ground at me, making me feel weak and helpless, but I forced my eyes open. The eye on the side where the guard hit me didn’t seem to work very well. “Could you do it—kill Me and then yourself?”
She firmed her lips and nodded. “They took my weapons, but I could find a way. Do You want to do it now?”
“Not yet.” Maybe it was a sign of profound cowardice, but I couldn’t choose death right then. Maybe soon, when the last of my ability to hope faded away. Though I didn’t know what I hoped for. The orchid ring—bracelet—sent a shiver of sweetness through me, and I clung to that. “Is that all right with you?” I asked Sondra. Con had charged her to protect me with her life—she’d said so when she came to me with the plan to draw Anure out. I knew she wouldn’t suicide while I lived. “Can you bear to live awhile longer, until I gather the courage? Or,” I added, “I might yet perish of this injury and then you’d be free of the onus of My life.”
Sondra smiled a little. “Stone-cold bitch with the heart of a lion,” she said. “I’m Yours to command, my queen.” She dampened a cloth and smoothed it over my temples and forehead, dabbing at the swollen side. It felt lovely and cool, and I sighed with that simple relief, even though a sting indicated they’d broken skin.
“You’ve got an impressive black eye,” Sondra informed me. “And Your cheek is bruised and swollen, but I don’t think they broke any bones.”
“Small mercies,” I commented wryly.
“True enough,” Sondra replied cheerfully. “I think You won’t die on your own. The wizards did something so You wouldn’t get an infection. I heard them tell Anure that. And Your color is remarkably good for someone who should be dead. I’ve seen a lot of people die, so I know.”
I breathed a laugh, beginning to understand why Con loved this woman. She had a bone-deep lack of sentimentality that somehow made the unbearable easier to face. No wonder she’d survived what so few had.
“I didn’t know You were bald,” Sondra commented, sounding interested and not at all disgusted. She freshened the cloth and wiped it over my scalp, which felt lovely, too. “I mean, obviously You wear wigs, but I thought that was an affectation. Why bother?”
“Because I’m not fully bald, am I? I know My real hair is growing in.”
“Is that what that is? I was worried You were getting a skin fungus or mold or something in this creepy place.”
I laughed aloud, surprisingly, and it jarred me painfully. “No. That’s the real Me. Normally My ladies keep my scalp shaved, but with recent events…”
“Yeah. No time for primping during war. But why wigs? If I were You, I’d just wear my crown on my bald head and let the critics go fuck themselves.”
“This from the woman who refuses to cut her hair ever again.”
“Conrí told You about that, huh?” She tucked a flowing strand of pale hair behind her ear. “I think it’s different, because they forced that on me, on all of us. Having shorn heads marked us as slaves. No one forced this on You. I don’t think anyone could make You do anything.”
“Patently untrue, given our current circumstances,” I commented wryly, but she shook her head.
“You stood up to them. Whatever Your reasons for being bald, I’m sure they’re good ones. Besides,” she added, with a twist of a smile, “You manage to be more gorgeous with no hair than anyone else with a full head of the stuff.”
“Con says I have an elegant skull,” I said. The memory of his touch came back to me so vividly, and with such aching regret, that it drowned out the physical pain. To my shame, tears pooled in the corners of my eyes and leaked down my temples.
Sondra didn’t comment on my tears, simply wiped them away.
“I didn’t treat him well,” I confessed. “I should’ve been kinder to Con.” It occurred to me in that moment that Sondra was being kind to me, and she had no agenda. I could do nothing for her, and she offered kindness anyway.
She snorted, the rude noise startling me. “Conrí doesn’t need kindness,” she said matter-of-factly. “He needs a woman to kick him out of his funks and challenge him. And to be the cool head of reason to balance his hotheadedness. And mine. You do that. You’ve been good for him,” she added grudgingly. “I didn’t want it to be true, but You are.”
I thought about how Con had asked me to befriend Sondra and how I’d resisted. Ironic, in a way, that she might be the last person to see me alive.
“Your real hair is kind of pretty, actually, in a weird way,” she said after a bit of silence. “Now that I’m not worried You have brain mold and I’m really looking at it. Like a fuzzy green lawn. It even looks like little leaves and a flower bud or two.”
I sighed for the inevitability of that.
“The wizards, while they were debating, they called You an earth witch,” she continued on in her practical way. “One of their ideas, if they accidentally killed You, was to plant Your body and see if they could harvest magical orchids from You.”
I considered that, and what I knew of my own nature. “That might work. I don’t know.”
“Don’t even think about it.” For the first time, she sounded truly appalled.
I lifted my good hand and clasped hers. “I’m not. Even if I’m never brave enough to ask you to kill Me, I’m asking now for you to make sure they can’t … use My body like that. Find a way to burn My body.”
“With my last breath, if necessary,” she replied, solemn as the vow. She laughed a little. “Back on Vurgmun, when I helped Conrí burn my former king’s corpse, and we said the old prayers for Conrí’s father, I told him I’d follow him to the end of my days, and that I asked only to hold the torch. Of course, I meant so I could burn Anure’s empire down, but I suppose this would come close.” She sobered, though still with a crooked smile.
I summoned something of a smile and squeezed her hand. “I suspect ‘close’ is as good as we can hope for.”
She was quiet a moment. “He’ll try to come after us. I know Conrí, and while he lives, he’ll try.”
I let go of her hand and stared at the ceiling. “If he does, we’ll only have to watch him die.” Would I be able to hold out then? Probably not.
“They’d use it against you,” Sondra said, as if reading my thoughts. “They’d torture him to get You to give up the information on the ring. Even without him, they might try using me to get You to crack,” she added, after a thought. “You should be prepared for that eventuality.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not friends,” I said, “or that might work.”
She laughed, that hoarse sound with a hint of old music in it. “See? That was my plan all along.”