“Yes, sir.” Giforte looked relieved to have passed the burden up the chain of command.
“Is there anything else pressing this morning?”
“Not particularly, sir.”
“Good.” Marcus pushed his coffee away. “I’m going to have a chat with our prisoner. See if a night in the cells has done anything to loosen his tongue.” Giforte’s interrogators had questioned the man; they’d taken all evening, to no avail.
Giforte’s face froze again. He could give Fitz a run for his money, Marcus thought, in the carefully-not-saying-how-stupid-you-are-sir department.
“Are you certain you want to do that yourself, sir?” the vice captain said. “My men are more. . experienced with that sort of thing. He’ll talk eventually.”
“The minister wishes me to ask some questions that need to be kept as quiet as possible,” Marcus lied. “If he’s uncooperative, I’ll ask His Excellency if I can brief you.”
“As you say, sir. Be careful. We searched him thoroughly, but he may still be dangerous.”
Marcus remembered a discordant tone, like the world tearing apart, and ripples in the air that shattered solid stone statues like toys. You have no idea.
The majority of the prisoners kept by the Armsmen were distributed among several old fortresses in the city, more convenient than the old palace grounds. The city’s most notorious prison, the Vendre, belonged to Duke Orlanko’s Concordat, but some of the most dangerous Armsmen prisoners went there as well. The cells in the Guardhouse were for captives of special interest, who had to be kept separate from the general prison population for one reason or another. Marcus had directed that the young man they’d taken in the Oldtown raid be kept in a cell as far as possible from any others, with a guard on his door at all times. So far, he seemed utterly mundane, but Marcus didn’t want to take chances.
The guard was waiting in front of the solid iron-banded door, and he saluted at Marcus’ approach.
Marcus nodded acknowledgment. “Has he said anything?”
“No, sir. Not a peep. He takes his meals readily enough, though.”
“All right. Let me in. Then make sure we aren’t disturbed until I call for you.”
“Yessir.” With another salute, the green-uniformed Staff turned a key and swung the door open. Inside was a small room, divided in half by iron grillwork. There were no windows, and an oil lamp hanging from a wall bracket provided the only illumination. A small hatch at waist height provided a way that food and water could be passed in without unlocking the cell door.
Marcus’ half of the room was empty. The other half had a cot with a sheet and a lumpy pillow, a bucket, and a three-legged stool. The prisoner, now dressed in black-dyed linens, sat beside the grille, looking comfortable. He glanced up as Marcus entered, and smiled.
“Captain d’Ivoire,” he said, in his faint Murnskai accent. “I thought I would see you eventually.”
Marcus shut the door behind him, the latch audibly snicking closed. He regarded the young man for a long moment, then shook his head. “Have you got a name?”
“Adam Ionkovo,” the young man said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“How did you know my name?”
“You featured centrally in the reports from Khandar. There was even quite a good likeness.”
“Whose reports?”
Ionkovo waved a hand. “The reports His Grace the duke was good enough to share with us, of course.”
“Then you don’t deny it. That you work with the Concordat. That you’re one of-”
“The Priests of the Black?” Ionkovo nodded. “No, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to argue the point. Though of course I am not an ordained priest, merely an. . adviser.”
The Priests of the Black. Jen Alhundt, the Concordat liaison who had become Marcus’ lover, had turned out to be a member of that order, long thought extinct. More than a member-one of the Ignahta Sempria, the Penitent Damned, with powers that Marcus could hardly comprehend. His stomach crawled as he looked into Ionkovo’s bright, beaming eyes.
“Why did your men try to kill us?” Marcus said, after a moment.
“They weren’t ‘my men.’ They were protectors assigned to us by the order, and they took their assigned duties very seriously. I advised them to surrender, but. .” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry it had to come to bloodshed.”
“So am I.”
Silence fell again, stretching on until it became awkward. Ionkovo scratched his chin and yawned.
“Come, now, Captain,” he said. “We both know why you’re here. Save yourself a lot of trouble and just ask your question.”
“This was a mistake,” Marcus said. “I shouldn’t have come here. How could I possibly trust anything you tell me?”
“If you won’t ask, I will.” Ionkovo leaned forward. “Our reports said you were very close to Jen Alhundt. But we have no record of what happened to her, in the end. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“No? I worked closely with her for years. We were practically family. It’s only natural to ask about family, don’t you think?”
He’d hit the word “family” a little too hard. Or did he? Marcus glared through the bars, anger mixing with a roiling uncertainty in the pit of his stomach.
A lifetime ago, when Marcus had been only a boy going through his first round of education at the War College, a fire had ripped through the d’Ivoire estate. His mother, father, and little sister had lost their lives, along with most of the servants. It had been an accident, they told him, a tragic, stupid accident that had destroyed his life when it had barely gotten started.
Except. . Jen had as good as told him it wasn’t an accident. That there was some truth, buried in the burned-out wreckage, that he’d been too young and too blinded by grief to see. She’d been doing her best to enrage him, and he’d tried to dismiss it, but. .
Are you certain? she’d asked. It nagged at him, like a half-lifted scab he couldn’t help picking at, no matter how much it hurt. Does he know something?
“You want to ask, Captain,” Ionkovo said. “It’s written in your face. How about a trade, then? Answer my question, and I’ll tell you the truth.” He spread his hands. “What’s the harm? It’s not as though I’m going anywhere.”
The truth. It was tempting, so tempting. He certainly isn’t going anywhere. What would be the harm? But something deep in Marcus’ soul stopped him. He’d disobeyed orders even to come down here; telling Ionkovo what he knew of that horrible night in the temple would be a betrayal of Janus’ trust he wasn’t sure he could live with. Slowly, he shook his head.
Ionkovo leaned back, his face hardening. “Fair enough. Let me ask you something else, then. Did Jen just lead you on, or did she actually let you fuck her?”
Marcus’ head snapped up, color rising in his face. “What?”
“Ah, I see that she did.” Ionkovo’s smile had changed to a predatory leer. “I ask only out of professional interest. I’d guessed that with a simple man like yourself, she would stick to the most basic methods.”
“That’s enough.”
“You’re a lucky man, Captain. Jen is very skilled.” His smile widened. “I can attest to that personally.”
“Shut up.” Marcus slammed a hand against the grille, producing a ringing, metallic tone and a stinging pain in his knuckles. “We’re done here.”
“If you like. My offer remains open.”
“I hope it entertains you,” Marcus said. “As far as I’m concerned, you can stay here until you rot.”
Ionkovo chuckled. Then, as Marcus thumbed the latch, he said, “May I offer a suggestion?”
Marcus pulled the door open, teeth clenched.