She couldn’t keep her voice from shaking. “Your men didn’t hit Geraden. Why did they hit me? Do you beat up women as a matter of general policy, or have I done something personally to offend you?”
Sarcasm had no effect on the Termigan. “My men,” he explained evenly, “didn’t know I knew you. They just heard Geraden say you’re an Imager. I don’t like Imagers, my lady. When my father was killed in the wars, and I became the Termigan, I fought beside King Joyse for years because I don’t like Imagers. All my life, most of the people I value have been killed by Imagers. Or Alends. I’ve never let Havelock inside these walls. Even when he wasn’t crazy.
“Now we’re under attack by Imagery. Sternwall is going to fall soon, and there’s nothing we can do to defend ourselves. My men have standing orders to make any Imager who comes here helpless first and ask questions later.
“My lady, how did you become an Imager? Or how did you convince Eremis and Gilbur you weren’t an Imager? Or” – his tone sharpened – “why did they lie to us about you?”
The Termigan was definitely at war.
She looked away. Searching for the means to control her anger and pain – and her nausea at the stink in her hair – she scanned the room. I don’t like Imagers. Almost immediately, she spotted a decanter of wine and a pair of goblets on a table near the bed, beside a tray that held what appeared to be a cold collation. Carefully, moving her head and neck as little as possible, she stood up, limped to the table, poured some wine. Helpless first and ask questions later. On the other hand, he didn’t mean to starve her. Tremors ran down her arms from her shoulders, but she was able to keep most of the wine in the goblet. Lifting it with both hands, she drained it.
Just for a second, her stomach heaved and her head pounded; she thought she’d made an idiotic mistake. Then, however, she began to feel a little better.
Deliberately, she faced the Termigan. In effect, he had taken Geraden prisoner. Geraden was probably worried sick about her. And he, too, was an Imager. What would the Termigan do if he knew that the son of the Domne was also an Imager? He might keep them locked up for the rest of the war – until Sternwall fell, and Mordant was destroyed, and Master Eremis had slaughtered everybody who stood in his way. Anger gave her the strength she needed.
“My lord, they were lying to both of us. Practically everything they said to us was a lie.”
The Termigan didn’t move; he hardly blinked. “Why would they lie to you? You’re one of them.”
She gaped at him. Her brain was sluggish; a moment passed before she was able to say, “No, I’m not.
“I didn’t even find out I’ve got a talent until” – she counted backward quickly – “five days ago. How could I be ‘one of them’? They didn’t want me to know I had any talent. That’s why they were lying to me. That’s why they’ve been trying to kill me. That’s why Houseldon got burned. They were trying to kill us. They think I’m some kind of threat to them.”
“What kind of threat?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted bitterly. She wanted Geraden with her. She didn’t like the risk of talking to the Termigan by herself. “But we’re trying to find out. In the meantime, we want to make as much trouble for Eremis and Gilbur as we can. That’s why we’re here.”
Abruptly, the lord nodded. “Now I’m beginning to believe you. They want to kill you. You want to cause trouble for them. All this” – his manner referred to more than just the pits of fire outside Sternwall – “is only another contest between Imagers. We’re the victims” – now he meant the people of his Care – “but we aren’t really the point.
“The point is power.”
He had misunderstood her. She made an effort to explain. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re trying to defend Mordant. It’s King Joyse that Eremis and Gilbur want to destroy. We’re secondary – Geraden and I are in the way, that’s all. It’s King Joyse who needs your help.”
Without a flicker of expression or inflection, the Termigan replied, “Pigslime.”
Terisa stopped and studied him, trying to see past his face into his mind. But he was as closed as a piece of flint. In an effort to pull herself together, she poured more wine for herself, then returned to the bed and sat down again.
Slowly, she said, “You don’t like Imagers. Is that it?”
“Joyse needs my help, I’m sure of that,” he retorted, “but not because you ask it. You don’t care about him. You want me to do something that will help you against Eremis and Gilbur. If that helps the King today, it will help destroy him tomorrow.”
“Is it because I’m an Imager?” Terisa asked, speaking mostly to herself. “It must be. Everybody who knows the Domne trusts his sons.”
“The one thing you all want is to get rid of him. That’s the one thing you’re all united on. He’s the only man who’s ever succeeded at controlling you.”
“I see.” Terisa had learned a lot from Castellan Lebbick: she had learned how to speak harshly to angry men. “You think an Imager can’t be honest. You think that talent – an accident of birth – precludes loyalty. Or compassion. Or even ethics.”
Still the Termigan didn’t shift in his seat; he didn’t raise his head or his voice. “In the end,” he articulated flatly, “no Imager is loyal to anyone but himself. That’s the nature of power. It seduces – it requires. An Imager can appear loyal only as long as his power and his loyalty don’t come into conflict. The only thing” – now just for a moment he did raise his voice – “my lady, the only thing which has saved us for the past ten years is Havelock’s madness. If Vagel hadn’t cost him his mind, he would have gotten rid of Joyse as soon as the Congery was complete. He would have established a tyranny in Mordant to make the atrocities of Margonal and Festten look like boys pulling wings off butterflies.”
The virulence, not of his tone, but of his belief, shocked her. “You think that? Even though Havelock was the King’s friend and counselor for – what was it? – more than forty years? Even though he gave up his sanity for his King?” Pain and the aftereffects of nearly being killed made her savage. “What would he have to do to make you trust him? Slaughter every Imager ever born? Exterminate talent from the world?”
With a small flick of his hand, the lord dismissed her protest. “Even that wouldn’t be enough. The Imager I trust is the one who kills himself.
“If you’re telling me the truth – which is always possible, I suppose – you haven’t known about your talent very long. You’ve only had a few days to discover what it does to you. My lady, I’ll tell you what it does.
“It teaches you – no, it forces you to believe you’re more important than other people. Because you can do more. If you’re smart enough, and strong enough, and nobody gets in your way, you can change the outcome of the world. You can remake Mordant in your own image. So how can you let anybody stand in your way? How can you let anybody tell you what to do? How can you submit to any kind of control?
“You can’t, my lady. You’ll find out that you can’t.
“And when you find that out, you’ll learn Joyse is your enemy. I’m your enemy. Even if you think you’re honest now, and loyal, and trustworthy, you’ll learn you want us all dead. You’ll learn it’s better to translate pits of fire to roast us out of our homes than to take the risk that we might get in your way.”
Terisa was more than shocked: she was appalled. How can you let anybody stand in your way? The Termigan was right: she knew Imagers who met his description. And more than that: she knew people who would meet his description if they became Imagers. Her father was one of them.