Sasha gave an exhausted, crazed, exasperated laugh. “What do you want me to do about it? Help? You make a fucking mess, Rhillian. You always make a fucking mess. Look at me. I’m a fucking mess.”
The cell was spinning. It was too much, and she slid down on her side, and lay on the straw. Rhillian did not reply.
“I cannot be always attempting to justify myself to you,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet. Strained, almost. “We shall all do what we will, for the best interests of all. It’s all we can do. None of us is wise enough to know all ends.”
“That’s great, Rhillian,” Sasha gasped. “A philosophical excuse. Sorry I fucked everything up, even the wise are fallible. How nice.”
Another, longer pause. Rhillian got up abruptly, and strode to the cell door. Stopped just as abruptly. Came back, and squatted once more. Sasha struggled for focus, through slitted eyes.
“I cannot stop them from hurting you, Sasha,” Rhillian whispered. Her voice trembled. “They are cruel. All sides are cruel. I play them against each other. I will defeat them soon, or they shall defeat themselves, but I cannot stop them from what they do here now. I have not the force.”
“You said that already,” Sasha managed. “What do you want from me? Forgiveness? You won’t get it.”
“There was a time you would have forgiven me anything.”
Petrodor. Sadisi festival, dancing and cook fires on the dockside, reflections gleaming in dark waters. Rhillian, impossibly beautiful, taking a prawn from Sasha’s plate. Laughing, avoiding the inquiries of forward young men, discussing the night with wonder in her eyes.
“Not anything,” Sasha murmured. To her incredulity, there was a lump in her throat. Not now. Revenge required a steely heart, such softness appalled her. “Never anything.”
“Do you recall,” Rhillian said softly, “that once, I insisted you should sleep with Errollyn?”
“I didn’t do it just to please you,” Sasha croaked.
“No.” Rhillian’s lips pursed in a small smile. “I don’t suppose you did. Had I known the trouble it would cause me, I would never have suggested it. Do you recall our discussions with Father Berin?” The North Pier temple on Dockside, near the great shipping docks. Berloni the painter, swathing beautiful, holy images across the ceiling. Spirits she wished she were back there now. “He insisted that if he could convince just one serrin of the holy teachings, he would die a happy man.”
“You used to provoke him.”
“I did. But he was a rare Verenthane, he enjoyed it. I truly think he was more interested in converting you than me.”
Sasha managed a small, breathless laugh. “I’m even more the hopeless case than you.”
“I did tell him,” Rhillian agreed. “I also think he merely enjoyed the company of two pretty girls, whatever his priestly protestations.” She gazed at Sasha in the lamplight, humour fading from her eyes. “Oh, Sasha.” Regarding her wounds. “What have they done to you?”
“You protest yourself innocent of violence now?”
“Any serrin can kill for the cause of survival, Sasha, but…” she shook her head. “This is not in our vocabulary. To kill fast is one thing. To kill slow is entirely…”
“Kiel would,” Sasha gasped. “I hear that Kiel has.”
“Sasha, please, just tell them what they want to hear. The Army of Lenayin is powerful, it will make no difference if they know…”
“I don’t care. I don’t care. I’ll kill them.”
“Sasha,” Rhillian protested, in mounting desperation, “these people are crazy! They…some of them accuse the priesthood and refuse religion, but in truth, they remind me of the fanatics at Riverside. One truth, one belief, and it’s repeated, over and over, as though by sheer force of will they can arrange truth and stone and blue sky above to suit their fancy. And Reynold Hein! The most intelligent man of the bunch, and the worst as well. Every opposing argument, he turns on its head, twists it, flips it, remoulds it to suit his preordained conclusion. It’s the most incredible feat of intellectual self-blindedness. There are serrin in Saalshen who have not travelled in human lands who struggle to believe it when I explain it to them! How can I explain the likes of Reynold Hein to the wise and gentle souls of the Saalshen councils? Even Lesthen struggles, and he’s travelled widely!”
“You forgot Sevarien.”
“No, I never counted Sevarien amongst the most intelligent,” Rhillian retorted. “He was always a big, blustering fool. Sasha, they have identified themselves as the victims, and in their victimhood, all manner of crime becomes acceptable. And worst of all, they are the victims of feudalist oppression, so their arguments appear valid to any without the patience to search more deeply!”
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
“Sasha,” she tried again, “just do what they say. Please. As the fighting grows more desperate, so will they. They believe blood can solve their ills.” She looked again at Sasha’s wounds. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Don’t,” Sasha whispered. “You’ll not get off that lightly. You got me into this. If anything happens to Errollyn or Alythia, I’ll hold you responsible. I’m Lenay. You know what that means.”
“You’ll not scare me that easily. Serrin are a complex people, Sasha. We can hate and love at the same time.”
Sasha could feel her steely resolve slipping. Through the agony, she felt a pain that had nothing to do with wounds. She swallowed hard, and tried to recapture the steel mask. She needed it. It sustained her.
“You’re responsible,” she whispered. “If the people I love die, I’ll kill you.”
“In the end,” Rhillian said sadly, “we must all do what we must.”
It did not seem like more than a few hours before Sasha was hauled from her cell once more down to the wide, hot dungeon. There, she was hung from the hook, grasping the chains with tight fists to try to keep the manacles from digging into her wrists. She did not see Reynold Hein, but the handsome, dark-haired man was there. Perone, she recalled his name.
She did not think much time had passed since the last session, however deceptive such perceptions could be underground. She thought perhaps the last session had been late afternoon, and now it would be night. Something about Perone’s manner seemed hurried, perhaps distracted. From that, and Rhillian’s visit, she guessed that the Civid Sein might think their time was limited. She didn’t know if that made her less frightened, or more.
The grip on her chains began to slip. She felt beyond dizzy, nearly nauseous with pain. Any more treatment like the last time, and she knew she could die.
More footsteps entered the dungeon, and the sound of something heavy being dragged. Sasha twisted to look…and saw Errollyn, chained as she was, and dragged by two men. Her heart nearly stopped.
“Errollyn!” He twisted, and saw her. He had been beaten, his face swollen, but what he saw enraged him. He lashed at his captors, knocking one to the floor, but others grabbed him, kicking and beating him until he fell. It took four strong men to hoist his manacle chains over a ceiling hook, and winch until he hung nearly suspended, like her. “Errollyn, I’m all right!” she told him in Lenay, trying to be reassuring.
He did not look in quite as bad shape as her. He had taken blows to the head, which she had not, but his shirtless torso bore far fewer bruises, and no burns that she could see. His green eyes burned at his captors, beneath a wild, sweaty fringe. His breath came hard. Errollyn had no love of closed spaces, Sasha knew. He did not fear them, exactly…but he had lived most of his years before becoming talmaad in relative solitude in the foothills of Saalshen. Now, his eyes had that slightly crazed look, like a wolf backed into a corner.
“Your slut has not been particularly forthcoming to our questions,” Perone said now, whistling a cane with expert flicks of his wrist. “She appears to enjoy pain…not surprising, for a Lenay bitch. I hear that lovemaking in Lenayin is little more than a violent beating followed by climax.”