“No,” he said at last, as if she had provoked him to candor. “All his allies must fear the same thing – but he will not discard me. Festten trusts me. Eremis’ plotting would have come to nothing, if I had not stood with him before the High King. He needs Cadwal too much to risk that alliance by discarding me.
“And without me all the force of Imagery at his disposal will become a blunt instrument – able to strike hard, but unable to strike at will. Useless. I am the arch-Imager, as you have observed. The procedures by which we shape mirrors that show the Images we desire are mine. Did you believe that our successes could have been achieved randomly? That Gilbur for all his speed could have made the glass we need simply by mixing accidental combinations of tinct and oxidate, sand and surface? I tell you, he could have sweated until his heart burst without ever producing a mirror which gave us access to Vale House – or one which showed the audience hall of Orison. That victory is mine.
“Alone, I have overturned the tenets of Imagery, and no one among Joyse’s foolish Congery can compare with me.”
Vagel’s voice intensified. “Eremis cannot do without me. His need for glass which only I can provide will never end. And because of that” – he seemed to be controlling an impulse to shout – “before I am done I will roast Joyse’s guts over a slow fire. I will hear him howl until his mind goes, or by the stars! I will take my satisfaction from Eremis himself.”
A visceral tremor started up in Terisa’s guts, so hard that she couldn’t speak.
Abruptly, the arch-Imager turned to leave. “Remember that,” he snapped while his voice faded. “Perhaps it will inspire you to surrender to him prematurely, and then his pleasure in you will be made that much less.”
He left her with the chain wrapped around her fist and no one to strike.
She didn’t trust his departure. Her senses strained into the dark, searching for evidence that she wasn’t alone. But she heard nothing, felt nothing. As for sight—She could discern a hint of the doorway, but the corners of the room were as obscure as pits. When she turned her eyes to the wall behind the bed, however, she was able to make out the source of the scant illumination. Her first guess had been right: the light came from a window not quite perfectly sealed.
Dropping the chain to increase her range of motion, she climbed onto the bed and reached for the window. From that position, she could get her hands on the boards nailed over the frame. Unfortunately, her fingers found no purchase, either at the edges or in the cracks. She tried until her fingertips tore and her self-control threatened to crumble; then, so that she wouldn’t start sobbing, she got down from the bed.
Calm. It was essential to remain calm. To preserve a semblance of calm until it became the real thing. So that she could concentrate although of course it was impossible to translate herself out of here with a chain on her wrist, no, don’t think about things like that, do not. Be calm. Concentrate.
Fade.
Pressing her hands over her face, she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to fade.
She couldn’t do it: she was too angry and scared, deprived of hope. She had the shakes so badly that her heart itself quivered. She had betrayed King Joyse, and Vagel was going to make him howl—Geraden had no way to find her, rescue her. Too many people might still be watching her, concealed behind spyholes, hidden in the corners—
Eremis would come back as soon as he finished with High King Festten.
She needed time to pull herself together.
Searching for calm, she decided to explore the room as far as the chain allowed. What else could she do? Maybe if she failed to find anything she would recover some self-possession.
Shaking badly, and too angry to care whether she looked foolish to a spectator, she moved to the staple holding her chain and from there started to grope her way toward the corner, searching the cold, crude stone with her fingers.
When her hand touched iron in the wall, she nearly flinched.
Iron: another staple.
A short chain fixed to the staple. A manacle.
A wrist in the fetter.
That did make her flinch. She recoiled to the bed, sat down facing the dark. Her breath came in hard gasps.
She had felt a wrist. Skin. A hand that flexed away from her touch.
Another prisoner. Someone was chained in the corner.
Eremis had intended to rape her before witnesses.
Who are you? she panted. For a moment, the words refused to come out of her throat. Almost gagging, she forced them.
“Who are you?”
No answer. Maybe because she was breathing so hard herself, she couldn’t hear any sigh or rustle of life.
“Are you hurt?” That was another possibility. Who could tell what Eremis or Vagel or Gilbur – or Gart – might do to their enemies? If she hadn’t felt skin and movement, she would have been tempted to imagine a skeleton. Or a corpse.
“Can you hear me?” She got off the bed and started along the wall again, slowly, slowly, trying to control her alarm with caution. “Are you all right?”
She found the staple, the short chain. The hand in the manacle tried to avoid her touch. Nevertheless she shifted from the fettered wrist to an arm. It was draped with loose cloth – the sleeve of a cloak? The fabric was rough and warm; worsted, perhaps.
She found a covered shoulder, a bare neck. The shoulder and neck twisted hard, but they couldn’t get away; the other arm must be chained as well. Curse this dark. The prisoner was only a little taller than she was. Although she was near the limit of her own chain, she had no difficulty touching an unshaven face that strained away from her; terrified of her.
“Are you hurt?” she whispered. “Who are you?”
Roughly, he wrenched his head up and sucked a strangled breath through his teeth.
“All right. You’ve found me. They told me not to make a sound, not to let you know I’m here, but this isn’t my fault.”
His voice was familiar to her. His bitterness was familiar.
Nyle. Geraden’s “murdered” brother.
For a moment, she was so glad to find him alive that she could hardly stand. So it was Underwell who had been killed, disfigured; Eremis’ plotting was just as vile as she had believed it must be.
And Nyle was here; had been kept prisoner for how long now? – held in case he were ever needed again against his brother.
“Oh, Nyle,” she whispered in relief and quick nausea, “I’m so sorry. What have they done to you?”
“Same thing they’re going to do to you.” His bitterness was worse than anger; he had gone too far beyond hope. “A kind of rape. I’m just lucky Eremis still wants me alive. Gilbur likes what they call ‘male meat,’ but he has a tendency to kill his toys, so Eremis makes him leave me alone. Most of the time.
“They need me to make sure Geraden doesn’t do something unpredictable. Or King Joyse either, for that matter.”
Oh, Nyle.
She couldn’t stay on her feet. Nausea crowded all the relief out of her. Without thinking, she retreated to the bed, sat down again. For some reason, she wasn’t trembling anymore. But she was going to be so sick—If she let go, she was going to puke her heart out.
“It’s the same reason they’ve got you.” Now that Nyle had begun to talk, he seemed intent on continuing. “Only the details are different. We’re hostages. And bait. We’re here to make sure Geraden and King Joyse do what Eremis wants.
“I actually thought somebody would try to rescue me.” His tone made her want to throw up. Gilbur liked male meat. “But I was wrong. Maybe they’ll forget about you, too. That’s your only hope now – that Eremis made a mistake bringing you here.”