“I’ve spoken nothing but the truth,” Sasha replied, her voice low and strained.
“Ah yes.” Reynold smiled indulgently. “A Lenay warrior’s honour. But truly, I do not care particularly if Kessligh ordered you to do what you did or not. I could just as easily invent some statement from you, it would serve as well…and probably those who support you would not believe it, precisely because they know I could have invented it.” He paused, appearing to expect her to question further. Sasha merely stared.
“No,” Reynold continued, “the reason for this interrogation is much more that the supporters of the revolution expect such things, of the revolution’s enemies. They ask what has been done to punish the traitorous Lenay Princess Nasi-Keth, and I say nothing, and they take it ill. Revolution is grievance, Sashandra.” He tightened his fist, earnestly. “It is grievance, tightly focused. Just as the svaalverd is energy, the mayen’rathal of the serrin philosophy of motion, tightly focused, and controlled. One cannot break the momentum of energy, any more than one can check the swing of a svaalverd strike. Not without losing that momentum, and that energy. Dissipating it.”
I’m being tortured to prove a point of philosophy, Sasha thought, somewhat drily despite the pain. That did not surprise her either. Kessligh had taught her too often of the nature of ideas, and their dangers.
“No, any information you could offer me would not serve the battle for Tracato, for that is well underway, and its path is now out of your hands or mine. But it would be remiss of me, as a Rhodaani patriot, not to ask you of the greater battle for the survival of Rhodaan. Our glorious Rhodaani Steel must defeat the Army of Lenayin in the field, or all is lost. I have asked you of Lenayin’s tactics before.”
“And I said you can go to hell,” Sasha retorted through gritted teeth.
“And,” said Reynold, holding up a finger, “you said that you did not know how a combined Army of Lenayin would choose to fight in the field. But come, you are a student of Lenay warfare, and your brother Koenyg will be in direct command. Surely a sister knows her brother.”
“I’ve hated him since I could walk,” Sasha snarled. “As he has hated me.”
“Hatred does not preclude knowledge. I know the pampered, thieving lords of Rhodaan all too well, with their snobbish ways and presumption of godly entitlement.” Reynold was a merchant’s son, Sasha recalled.
“Koenyg likes to attack naked,” Sasha told Reynold. “Great formations of Lenay warriors, with not a blade of grass to cover their arses. I’ve told him often of its ineffectiveness, but he does not listen.”
Reynold snorted. “You appear to think this a game. This is no game to me, Sashandra Lenayin. The survival of my nation is at stake.”
“Mine too.”
Reynold nodded to the bald man, who retreated to the furnace and pulled on a thick glove. Sasha’s heart began to race.
“Unlike Perone, I do not enjoy this, Sashandra,” said Reynold, his blue eyes deeply serious. “But desperate times call for desperate measures. Making revolution is far harder than making cake, it requires far more than the breaking of a few eggs.”
The bald man picked up a steel poker. Its end, resting within the coals, glowed bright orange. Sasha stared at it as the man approached and shook her head in shaking disbelief.
“Oh you’re dead,” she muttered. Her head felt as though it were about to burst, from the pounding in her ears. “I am going to so enjoy killing you.”
“Tell me something useful,” Reynold said reasonably, “and it need not be so.”
“You’re wrong,” said Sasha shakily. “I’m going to kill you regardless.”
The bald man waved the poker close, and Sasha flinched aside, desperately. The chains brought her swinging back, and that was when he laid it across her side.
Sasha screamed and thrashed. It hurt indescribably. The poker pulled away, but the pain did not go. It got worse, burning bone deep. She tried to lash out, reflexively, but only made herself swing some more.
“Tell me something useful, Sashandra. What state is the Lenay artillery in? About what proportion of the cavalry rides lowlands steeds, and what the native Lenay dussieh? What tactics has Prince Koenyg preferred in his previous, if limited Lenay campaigns? I have heard tales that the warriors of Isfayen province are particularly ferocious, shall Koenyg use them in the front, or in the reserve?”
“If you wait long enough,” Sasha gasped, “maybe one of them will fuck you with his spear!”
The poker was applied to her other side. Sasha had no shame in screaming. Screaming helped. When the screaming passed, she reverted to Tullamayne. “No sheth an sary, no sheth an sary, no sheth an sary.” Over and over, eyes squeezed shut, sweat drenching her body as her muscles trembled uncontrollably.
“I know a little Lenay,” said Reynold. “It means…‘blood on the steel,’ yes?”
“No sheth an sary, no sheth an sary.” From the speech of Aldrynoth, at the Battle of Myldar. Danyth of Rayen had killed his brother. Aldrynoth had sought revenge. “No herb shall heal, like blood on the steel.” She had never wanted love, nor sex, nor warmth, nor life itself, as badly as she wanted to kill Reynold Hein. It was a revelation to her.
Twelve
SASHA’S LAMP WAS DYING when the cell door creaked open, and new light flooded the cool stone. She lay on her back on a pile of straw, trying to keep her breathing shallow. What was left of her clothes now made for a pillow. Her one relief was that underground, in the dark, the air was neither warm nor cool, and near nakedness suited the temperature. Despite that, her skin flushed hot and then cold, with the onset of what she suspected was fever. The pain was incredible. She wanted to pass out, but had no chance of sleep, and was too strong of constitution to faint. Suicide occurred to her, and was dismissed just as fast. Errollyn needed protecting, and Kessligh helping, and Lenayin saving. And enemies killing.
She closed her eyes against the new glare, trying to keep her wrists still. In the manacles, they chafed something awful, a pain nearly as bad as the burns. There were ten of those, two to each side, two on her back and two on each thigh. The cane had made cuts, and her stomach and ribs were bruised all over. Every breath was agony, though she did not think a rib was broken. Fury was the only thing that made it bearable.
The cell door shut. The owner of the lamp crouched nearby. Sasha slitted her eyes, rolled her head, and looked. Emerald eyes, beautiful and frightening beyond description. Snow white hair. Such unearthly, long-limbed beauty. Memories of loving friendship, all betrayed…fury surged, and she was lunging to her knees, lashing with manacled wrists, whipping the chain toward that long, shapely neck… But it was pointless, and the chains pulled her short, an agony of severed skin, and wounds disturbed.
Rhillian barely moved. She watched as Sasha strained against the chains like a mad thing. And finally collapsed, frothing and gasping. She set the lamp aside.
“Sasha,” she said coolly. “I’ve been to see Errollyn. They would not let me talk to him, but he is well. Alythia too. You are the only one I can talk to. Kessligh is demanding that someone gives him proof you are still alive.” Sasha said nothing.
“Sasha, the Justiciary is heavily defended,” Rhillian continued. “A thousand, I’d guess. I have not seen Sinidane, I don’t know if he lives. There is open war in the city, I have not the forces to contain that and retake the Justiciary. I must prioritise. Council has fallen too. The Civid Sein hope to make a rallying cry, by claiming control of Tracato’s institutions.”