Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

Tansen had already noticed the way Zimran watched Elelar, and he didn't like it. He also noticed that Basimar didn't like it, either. Zimran shared the Sister's bed while they were all camped here at the Sanctuary, but Tansen suspected that he dreamed about the torena. Srijan watched Elelar, too, of course, but he was so uncouth that Tansen paid him no heed. Zimran, though... He was a man who knew what women wanted, what they liked; he knew how to please them. He knew far better than any other man present—or any other man Tansen could recall—how to offer a woman a subtle compliment, a thoughtful gesture, a private smile. He exercised his skills on every woman, young or old, plain or pretty, available or not.

Like most things, Tansen thought wryly, it takes practice.

Basimar was obviously enamored of Zimran. Mirabar tolerated him without much interest, but even she seemed to appreciate the gestures of man-to-woman courtesy he showed her. Elelar had undoubtedly known too many artful seducers to fail to recognize this one for what he was; but there was enough invitation in the smiles she shared with Zimran to make Tansen's belly clench with unwanted jealousy.

With their plans now in place, their resources committed, and their duties assigned, the allies would break camp the following morning to set in motion the ambitious scheme they had first discussed in Zilar. Tansen was glad. The season for planning had come to a close; the season for action was upon them. And Tansen would also be glad to see distance come between Zimran and Elelar now. He didn't like the way he felt when they were near each other. Nor did he like suspecting that Mirabar somehow knew how he felt.

"You're even quieter than usual tonight," Josarian chided, coming to sit beside him at some distance from the fire.

"I'm thinking." He avoided Josarian's gaze, expertly running one of his cherished honing stones along the blade of one of his swords.

"Thinking?"

"Focusing. Preparing." The stone whispered over the blade. "Soon we will face our enemies. We must be ready."

"Our enemies?" Josarian laughed softly and gestured to some of the people who had gathered here for this meeting. Speaking only loud enough for Tansen to hear, he said, "Look at our allies. Torena Elelar, who dislikes me and who betrayed you. Najdan the assassin, who went to Dalishar to kill you. Mirabar, a Guardian whom most people take for a demon. Srijan, who dreams of murdering us both, but who may be respectful enough to let his waterlord father do it instead. Falian, who perhaps still secretly hates me for ruining his life. And the others... No, Tan, I'm not worried about the Valdani." Josarian looked back at his bloodbrother. Even in the dark, Tansen could see something fierce glittering in his eyes as he concluded, "I can take care of my enemies, but Dar shield me from my friends."

Tansen nodded. "I suppose it is a little like mating with a Widow Beast."

"A what?"

"Never mind," said Tansen. "I'll be watching your back."

"Ah, but then who will watch yours?"

"Luckily, shatai  are trained to watch their own backs. I'd have died during training if I hadn't learned how."

 

 

Tansen escorted Elelar and her servants for part of their journey the following day. This was bandit country. Of course, all the bandits in Sileria were now part of Josarian's army, but they didn't know that Elelar was, in her way, one of them. Even if they knew, they still might not care—not enough to forego robbing her if she were unprotected. Kiloran had brought Sileria's many bandits (who routinely paid him a percentage of their booty, as tradition demanded) into the rebellion, but he hadn't exactly tamed them. However, they knew Tansen by now—who had slain twenty Moorlanders with a single blow, after all—and so they would grant the torena immunity while the shatai rode with her.

"The Imperial Advisor has asked me to marry him," she announced suddenly as they rode side by side through the morning sunshine.

He frowned. "Don't you already have a husband?"

"A minor impediment which he intends to eliminate." Her voice was flat.

"Divorce?" It was anathema in a clannish society where blood-ties and loyalty mattered more than wealth, but Tansen  supposed that the Imperial Advisor didn't concern himself overmuch with Silerian tradition—especially not if it interfered with his plans.

Elelar cleared her throat. "Divorce is the possibility he specifically mentioned."

He noticed how strained she looked. "You're afraid your husband might refuse, and Borell will resort to more brutal measures?" When she nodded, he asked, "But why? Surely a Valdan will divorce you. They have no—"

"He's half-Silerian." She briefly explained her husband's lineage and background.

"So," he surmised, "you married him for his money and his Valdani connections."

"And because he was so unlikely to find out about my work in the Alliance," she added.

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because he's a drunkard and a fool."

Tansen almost winced at the open contempt in her voice. He rather pitied her husband, married without love or respect, and now openly cuckolded. Indeed, Tansen supposed there had been other men besides Borell, and perhaps Toren Ronall, though a "fool," suspected it, too.

"Was he a drunkard before he married you?" he asked. There were times when, desire notwithstanding, he recognized that living with Elelar would probably be worse than living without her.

She glared at him but didn't respond to the insult. "I do not seek my husband's death."

"Why not? You sought mine, after all." He could feel his temper starting to rise.

She kept hers under control. "Nor do I seek marriage to the Advisor."

That surprised him. "Why not? I would have thought—"

"Do men ever think?" she asked bitterly. "As the wife of a shiftless half-wit, I go where I please and do what I want. My house is a haven for our allies and for fugitive rebels. I can conduct much of the Alliance's business there."

He was starting to understand. "But the Advisor's wife would live at Santorell Palace, meaning you'd need an excuse every time you went to your house, a property which he'd probably pressure you to give up anyhow."

She nodded. "The wife of the Imperial Advisor would be under constant supervision. My time would be completely taken up by ceremonial duties and assisting my husband in politics. My privacy would be compromised by my husband's servants. All my activities and behavior would be subjected to the continual scrutiny of courtiers. It would be a nightmare for any intelligent woman, and a disaster for one connected to the Alliance. Besides..."

"There's more?"

She made a sound of impatience. "He's from Valda. This is just a political posting, not his home. He hopes to be given a seat in the Imperial Council in a few more years."

"Ah. And he will take his wife with him when he leaves Sileria."

"Forever," she acknowledged bleakly.

"What are you going to do?"

She shook her head. The knotted cords of her headdress, which she had tucked away from her face, fell over her eyes. She brushed them away. "I don't know. I've been wracking my brain trying to come up with a plan. He's made it quite clear that he doesn't need Ronall's cooperation in order to marry me."

"I don't suppose you can just refuse his proposal?" Tansen ventured.

"I'm the one who made him fall in love with me," she said irritably. "I made him trust me, rely on me, and believe in my love."

Tansen shrugged. "You could reject him. Give him up. Break it off. I know he's been valuable to the Alliance, to us all, but if you've got to—"

"He thinks I'm in love with him, too." She made another impatient sound. "I've given him ample cause to think so. So how can I explain spurning him?"

"You're a woman. And the one thing that men everywhere can all agree on is that we don't understand women. If you leave him, he'll be bewildered at first, but then..." Tansen shrugged.

"That's it?" she asked doubtfully.

"Well... Angry, hurt, confused... But he will know he's not the first man ever abandoned by the woman he loved, or the first to wonder why."

"I don't know... He might still try to eliminate Ronall, thinking my husband has threatened me or forced me to give him up. Or he might attack me out of wounded vanity. His power is absolute in Shaljir. No one could help or defend me if I... If he..." She made a vague gesture.

"Stall him until after Alizar, then," Tansen suggested. "If we succeed there, then there will be war. He's the Advisor, after all, and he'll have a disaster on his hands. He may well forget, at least for a while, his personal concerns."

"Stall him..." She let out a long, shaky breath. "Stall him..." She straightened up suddenly. "I know! I'll tell him I won't feel worthy to be his wife until we know for sure that I can conceive his child. He's positively fixated on impregnating me."

Tansen didn't want to hear this and didn't want to see the visions that her comment brought vividly to life. "That's a good plan," he said briefly. "Stick to it." He kicked his horse and rode ahead to check for an ambush in the pass they were approaching.

 

 

Harjan's death was a loss that Captain Myrell felt deeply. The tailor had been a good source of information, saving the Empire lives and money on more than one occasion, and leading to the death or capture of numerous rebels. It was Harjan who had first advised Myrell that a torena often stopped at the inn on the outskirts of Zilar when traveling between Shaljir and her estates. There was nothing remarkable about this, of course, since the inn was a very fine one and many of Sileria's wealthier citizens broke their journeys there for a night.

But Harjan had grown bold and greedy enough to break a silence that no other informant was willing to violate: He whispered to Myrell about the Society, a subject which most shallaheen never discussed with outsiders, no matter what inducements were offered or what punishment was threatened. Lirtahar, and the brutal methods by which the assassins enforced it, ruled the mountains. Employing his own viciously brutal measures, Myrell had been unsuccessful in convincing anyone to talk about the Society, even in those rare instances where they would talk about Josarian.

Harjan, alas, had been the one man greedy enough for gold and confident enough of his own cleverness to risk the Society's wrath by speaking about its business to a Valdan. Not that a tailor from Zilar knew anything important about their business, of course. He did, however, observe various details and events that eventually proved to be the threads of a much larger tapestry. Although Harjan was dead, he had given Myrell the tools with which to start unraveling the fabric.

Harjan had always aspired to more than the miserable poverty of a shallah, and so he had patronized the fine inn at the edge of town, despite the high prices the keeper charged for food and wine there. A man of mediocre talents, Harjan had harbored the fruitless hope that he might acquire a few wealthy or aristocratic clients if he haunted the luxurious inn's public rooms. This explained how he knew that twice during the past year, the torena in question had stayed at the inn on the very same night as an assassin.

It was surprising enough that a lone torena would risk a second visit to an establishment frequented by an assassin. It was even more surprising that, on that second occasion, one of the public rooms was closed because—as Harjan had learned after creating a scene—the torena was dining privately in there with the assassin.

Since Myrell paid him for any news whatsoever about the Society, Harjan had related this startling news to the Valdan at one of their meetings. It was a surprising announcement in any event, for the toreni were well aware of the risk of abduction and usually took pains to avoid the assassins. However, a man and woman might well meet for many reasons, after all. Apart from the possibility that the assassin was the torena's lover, Myrell could conceive of a variety of possible explanations for the discreet assignation: the assassin might be blackmailing the woman; she might have petitioned him about a bloodvow, something that was beneath no one in Sileria, despite the airs the toreni gave themselves; or, yes, they might even be resolving an abduction or threatened abduction, that barbaric custom which Silerians treated like ordinary business.

Indeed, with so much work and so many worries to occupy him, Myrell might have completely disregarded Harjan's brief tale, except for one thing—the identity of the woman: Torena Elelar. He knew that Koroll had some contact with the Imperial Advisor's mistress by virtue of his position as Commander of Shaljir, so he had brought the information to his attention. Koroll would have the means to determine if there was anything in this tale which concerned them. Such a possibility seemed so improbable that Myrell had almost felt embarrassed to report the incident; but Koroll had pounced like a mountain cat and congratulated him for uncovering it. The Society was now allied to Josarian, and the Advisor's mistress was meeting with a Society assassin. Whether the Outlookers discovered a link between Elelar and Josarian, or merely collected enough information to discredit the torena, Koroll found this news worthy of serious attention.

Harjan had been publicly executed by the rebels only a day after reporting to Myrell that Josarian was planning to abduct a toren—Elelar's own husband, in fact. The abduction had never taken place. Had it been a ruse? Or had Josarian called off the plan upon realizing he'd been betrayed?

Myrell had argued with Koroll afterwards, pointing out that the torena was unlikely to ally herself to a shallah planning to abduct her own husband. Even if she loathed Toren Ronall, surely not even a woman would be foolish enough to beggar herself paying ransom to her own accomplice. Even if Josarian returned the money to her, which she'd be a fool to expect, what would be the point of such a laborious exercise?

Koroll, however, suspected that getting rid of Ronall was probably precisely why Elelar had sought an assassin and, through him, perhaps Josarian. He had no doubt that the Advisor's whore thought Borell would marry her if she became a widow. Josarian's men had already killed one Valdani abductee and were quite capable of killing another.

"Three have mercy," Koroll had added, "I think the woman may be right, too. I think Borell has become besotted enough to marry her."

Koroll had assigned his best spies to the task of discovering the torena's secrets while Myrell returned to the fighting in the mountains. Now that he had returned to Shaljir for another meeting, Myrell was astonished by what Koroll's spies had learned in his absence—and by what Koroll planned to do with the information.

Torena Elelar, it seemed, was far more than a woman who had broken the law by contacting those in league with the bandit Josarian, and her scheming went far beyond getting rid of an inconvenient husband.

The woman was clever, secretive, and discreet. At first, in fact, the spies had reported that they believed Koroll had been mistaken in his suspicions. They had persevered at his insistence, but every unusual action or unexpected visitor to the house in Shaljir had a plausible explanation. Koroll, however, remained unconvinced. Midnight couriers; unusually large expenditures; servants who could read and write; one or two shallaheen showing up every few days to solicit employment, then leaving Shaljir immediately after being privately interviewed and apparently found unsatisfactory... Koroll had perceived explanations which were not as innocent as the most apparent ones, but which he considered just as plausible.

Then a servant hired at summer's end had left the torena's employ in disgrace. Caught stealing in Elelar's private chambers, the young woman should have been grateful that she was only dismissed. Silerian aristocrats still had considerable power over the lower classes, after all, and the Imperial Advisor's own mistress could have had the girl executed for the offense, had she been vindictive enough. However, like most thieves, the girl wasn't sorry she had committed a crime, only sorry that she'd been caught. One of Koroll's men, dressed as a civilian, showed her a good time one evening and offered her a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. She had taken full advantage of his generosity on all counts, eager to complain about the strange household with its clannish longtime servants and unyielding rules.

And that was how they learned that a seemingly insignificant merchant—a man with graying hair and a precocious young son—who visited the torena often was, in fact, a Guardian.

The Guardians and the Society. A woman connected to both; both connected to Josarian.

"Elelar has Borell's trust," Koroll said. "She undoubtedly has had access to information which could benefit the rebels, since we had no idea that she was one of them. Who knows how much this damned woman has hurt the Empire while spreading her legs for Borell?"

"But how will we prove it, Commander?" Myrell asked as he sat with Koroll on a fragrant morning in Shaljir.

"I'm having her house searched today. I'm sure you'd like to join me in supervising the operation."

Myrell almost choked on his shock. "Borell's mistress? He'll have you sent to the farthest reaches of the Moorlands!"

"Are you suggesting that would be worse than being in Sileria?" Koroll muttered.

"Commander, I respectfully submit that the torena will run straight to Borell the moment you reveal your intentions, and he will—"

"The torena is still wandering the countryside somewhere. Unfortunately, my men lost her in the mountains, so we've no idea where she is or how long she intends to stay there." Koroll's face twisted with mingled skepticism and distaste as he added, "The official story is that she's gone into Sanctuary, as is her annual custom, to commune with the spirit of her dead grandfather."

So many Valdani were appalled by the extensive death cult in this country that the Guardians—who claimed they could actually talk to the dead—had been outlawed, as had fire magic. Even assuming that Silerians exaggerated the power of their fire wizards as much as they exaggerated most things, the Empire could not condone such dangerous sorcery among its subjugated peoples.

"Commune with... She admits to such things?" Myrell asked. "Why does Borell tolerate such primitive practices and su—"

"Because he thinks with an organ very distant from his brain when dealing with Elelar." Koroll sighed. "Besides, she's a woman and she's of another culture. The Advisor is a worldly man. I imagine he makes allowances for the strange rites and superstitions of a Silerian female, no matter how high-born—as long as she continues to please him."

"Her husband is gone from home, too?" Myrell asked.

Koroll shook his head. "He's here in town. But, as Commander of Shaljir, I happen to know that a contingent of eight Outlookers is about to escort him from his home to Santorell Palace, by force if necessary, for a personal meeting with the Advisor."

"Why?" Myrell asked in puzzlement.

"I was not informed why." Koroll's voice was rich with contempt as he explained, "I assume it is in relation to the Advisor's personal life. I have heard that Ronall was dragged to the Palace to face Borell once before over matters regarding the woman who is wife to one and mistress to the other. Apparently neither man is... very good at sharing."

Myrell studied his superior officer, admiring him. "So there will be no one at home except servants when we arrive today. They will have just seen their master dragged off by Outlookers, and they'll be so frightened—so convinced of total disaster—that they will not resist when your men start searching the house."

Koroll nodded. "The less we say, the better. If there are those among them who knows Elelar's secrets, let's encourage them to assume that we know what we're looking for, that we're merely collecting material to validate an arrest which cannot be escaped or avoided."

Yes, Myrell admired this man. Koroll had wrestled glory out of the disaster at Britar, rising to the post of High Commander of Sileria, and was now second in importance only to Borell himself. He had achieved this feat by mastering situations such as this one, calculating every plan down to the finest details, predicting and accounting for every contingency. Oh, yes, there were few men who could have turned the tide as Koroll had done, creating success and promotion out of defeat and certain disgrace. And he had given Myrell another chance, too, which was why Myrell would always be loyal to him.

Yes, Myrell's commanding officer was a genius, a visionary who was also a practical man. Together, they would rise to incredible heights, just as soon as they had finished off Josarian and his mountain rabble. Together, they would someday return to Valda in triumph: heralded, honored, and admired. All they had to do was kill a bunch of Silerian peasants first.

 

 

Elelar approached the Lion's Gate late in the day, just before sundown. Faradar and her two most-trusted manservants rode with her. They were all tired, for she had pushed hard to reach Shaljir today. Borell expected her at Santorell Palace tonight and, weary as she was, she would go. It was her duty, after all.

Seated on her horse, she looked down at the Outlookers guarding the gate and prepared to announce herself and her business in Shaljir. A bath, she thought wryly. 

But no words had time to escape her lips. 

In that instant, four more Outlookers burst through the door of the guardhouse and, to her astonished horror, roughly pulled her off her horse, handling her like some brothel-slave, and dragged her toward the building.

She heard fighting behind her as she was hauled away; her servants were trying to defend her. Terrified and desperately hoping this was some idiotic mistake, she prayed that Faradar kept her wits and remembered what to do. They had talked about it often.

You are "only" a woman, Elelar had told her numerous times. If I am taken, it is unlikely that anyone will pay attention to you. Not at first, anyhow. You must use that time to slip away. Whatever happens to me, you must escape. Warn the others. Warn Josarian. Tell Tansen. He knows who to contact in the Alliance if I die. 

Yes, she hoped this was a mistake... but deep down, she knew her time was at hand. Nonetheless, she fought as she had been trained to fight, as an aristocrat.

"Take your filthy hands off me, you ham-fisted clods!" she snarled at the Outlookers trying to force her through the doorway of the guardhouse. "Let go, you fools! Advisor Borell himself will geld you for this! Do you know who I am? I am Torena Elelar yesh Ronall mar—"

They bodily threw her through the door and slammed it behind her. Her head hit hard wood as she fell to the floor in a heap, where she lay dazed and winded.

The voice which addressed her next was one that she recognized all too well, one that she had heard in anger and in passion, in public and in private, in fury and in tenderness. It chilled her blood and proved that this was no mistake.

"Yes, they know who you are," Borell sounded unbearably weary. "And you have lost the right to invoke my name or my support, torena."

She would brazen it out. What else could she do? She lifted her throbbing head and wailed, "Borell? What's happening?"

"You're under arrest." Now he sounded positively ill. "The charges are extensive. In fact, we don't even know them all yet."

"What?" Elelar pushed herself into a sitting position, removed the traditional headdress which had already fallen off most of the way, and rubbed her aching head. She gazed at her lover with wide, limpid, confused eyes. "You're... arresting me? I don't understand!"

Commander Koroll was there, too. So was a gloating Outlooker officer whom she had never seen before; the fellow had a stupid face and a nose which had been badly set after being broken. Her mind worked furiously, wondering what she could do. How much did they know? A lot, she assumed, if they had convinced Borell to arrest her. Darfire, the damned man had lately talked of nothing but wanting to marry her!

Borell looked older to her, as if he'd aged ten years since her departure from the city. His eyes were red-rimmed, evidence of sleepless nights. They were also... glassy, bleak, unfocused. Like a man in shock, a man who'd just suffered a loss so sudden and devastating that his mind couldn't yet cope with the grief.

But she knew this man well. However much he thought he loved her, he loved himself more. Her betrayal would destroy his career, and he would make her pay for that—especially if he thought that exposing and punishing her himself might mitigate the damage to his reputation. 

Borell had been easy to beguile, despite his intelligence. Elelar's apparent admiration for him had merely echoed his opinion of himself, and he had adored her for it. But she had always known how dangerous he would become if she ever hurt him. And what, after all, could hurt a proud man more than this—the discovery that the woman he loved had used and betrayed him over and over—coldly, rationally, and ruthlessly—from the very beginning?

Elelar met her lover's gaze, and she saw the knowledge burning in his foreign eyes, etched in his Valdani face, turning his fair skin as white as chalk. He knew.

This was very bad. No matter how much Koroll might suspect her, she would have been safe as long as Borell chose to believe in her innocence. But now that she had lost Borell's support, Koroll was free to arrest, imprison, and even execute her. The Emperor's laws did not protect subjugated races from the Valdani. As a Silerian in Sileria, she had fewer rights than a goat.

"We've observed your movements for well over a twin-moon, torena," Koroll said, breaking the loud silence between her and Borell. "We conducted a thorough search of your house two days ago. We have found considerable evidence of your traitorous activities against the Empire, the Outlookers, and the Advisor himself."

She kept her expression under control, radiating innocent confusion and ignorant fear, concealing how much this news shocked her. She wanted to ask what they had found, but she was half-afraid that her own questions might reveal too much, might ultimately lead them to something they hadn't already found. There was so much to hide: the Alliance, the rebels, the dispatches from Kintish contacts, the path to Kiloran's lair, their Moorlander associates, Derlen and Mirabar, the secret chamber in her house, Ambassador Shiraj, the loyal servants who knew too much for their own safety, the body buried in her wine cellar... The Beyah-Olvari.

Her chest hurt so much she could hardly breathe. Blood roared in her ears. She struggled to make sense out of the chaos of her thoughts, knowing that panic would guarantee failure.

Ronall, she thought in fearful distraction. Where in the Fires was Ronall while the Outlookers were searching the house? Had he discovered her secrets? Or was he merely a liquor-fogged bystander, as usual? Was he under arrest, too? Dead? Cleared of all suspicion?

She struggled to pull her mind back to important matters. Ronall was not her problem or her responsibility. Many lives rested on her silence now, many plans. The rebellion, the attack on Alizar... She had dedicated her entire life to the events which were about to come to pass. She would not fail now.

"Borell..." She let a pleading note creep into her voice. "I don't understand. What traitorous activities? I would never betr—"

"I could believe you." Borell's voice was hoarse. He nodded, gazing at her, his expression hard with misery. "Yes. You sound convincing. You look... like the woman I loved. The woman who told me how much she feared the mountain bandits, how little she knew about the Society, how much she loved me..."

Without warning, he burst into motion, flinging a stool across the room, and came after her. "Now I know why your husband beat you!" he roared. His big hands seized her throat, his pale face suddenly red with murderous rage. "Now I know what you can drive a man to do, you lying, whoring, traitorous BITCH!"

He throttled her, shaking her roughly, and she flopped around like a rag doll, scrabbling frantically at his hands, struggling for air as her vision darkened and her lungs burned, barely able to hear his bellows of rage above the pounding of her own desperate heart. She saw flashes of the faces of the other two men, heard fragments of their shouts. They didn't want him to kill her, not yet. They wanted to know what she knew, what secrets she had shared with whom. They wanted her to talk.

Knowing Valdani methods of persuasion—Malthenar, Morven, Garabar—Elelar suddenly gave herself over to Borell's hatred. This would be a quicker and kinder death than the one they had planned for her. Let him choke her, let him break her neck. It would be over in a moment. She only hoped someone would burn her body. The Valdani custom of putting their dead in the ground sickened her. How could a spirit reach the Otherworld when it was covered by dirt and worms? How could it be purified while rotting in a hole in the ground?

She was so close to unconsciousness that she didn't realize Borell had let her go until she became aware of the cold, hard wood of the floor beneath her cheek. Cheated of her chance to die quickly, she hauled air into her aching lungs and rubbed her watering eyes. If she had to face Borell again now, she would face him as a torena, as a Hasnari, as she had promised herself a thousand times she would face this moment when it finally came. She heard him shouting at Koroll and at the other man to get out, get out and leave the two of them alone.

The door slammed, and then she felt Borell's hands on her. She briefly thought he had sent the two men away so he could kill her, after all—but them she felt him tugging at her tunic, brutally ripping off her pantaloons, and she knew why he had wanted to be alone with her one last time. She had lain with him so many times, but now she was flooded with even more disgust than she'd felt the time Srijan had tried to bed her. Borell had arrested her and tried to strangle her, and he thought he could have her one last time? He surely intended to have her executed, but he wanted her to pleasure him first? He knew that she had never loved him, had only slept with him to serve Sileria—and now he thought she would still give her body to him?

She fought him. She sank her teeth into the lips that sought hers, relishing the taste of this fat Valdan's blood. She clawed and scratched at the hands that ripped away her clothes and moved roughly, insultingly over her flesh. She fought for her life, fought to kill him rather than let him abase her this way.

An enormous hand slapped her, making her head snap to the side. Her vision swam. Then a big-boned, heavily-muscled forearm pressed down on her throat and shoulders, pinning her to the floor, restricting her air supply. She fought the weight of Borell's heavy, dense body as it pressed her into the unyielding wood. She struggled to breathe, trying to defeat him with the sheer force of her hatred.

"No!" she screamed furiously, feeling him probing between her legs. She tried to twist away, tried to evade the plunging, painful invasion, the humiliating violation, the grotesque profanity of his body forcing its way into hers.

"Nooo!" she screamed again as Borell heaved frantically on top of her, groaning, panting, his eyes rolling as he gritted his teeth and grunted again and again.

"No!" Elelar raged as she gasped for air.

She felt the hot torrent of his release, the sickening sensation of his seed flooding her womb, and the ecstatic shudders of his body as his hips jerked convulsively. 

Elelar wanted to kill him, and she would look for an opportunity to do so every single minute between now and the moment she died. 

He lay panting on top of her, his lungs heaving, his flesh damp, his muscles limp.

She wanted to geld him—and that, at least, she could do.

"It was no different from all the other times," she said, staring at the ceiling, blinking back tears as her body throbbed with pain. "I wanted to vomit every time you ever touched me. My skin crawled every time you put your hands on me."

Borell stiffened, his spine going rigid. He tried to control his breathing.

"You're so proud of that pathetic thing between your legs." Her voice would have chilled even Kiloran. "You don't know how the Palace servants laugh about it. Such a little weapon on such a large man."

"Stop." She felt his hand in her hair, pulling, trying to force her to look at him. "Stop, Elelar."

"Do you really think I ever felt a single moment's pleasure with it flopping around inside me?"

"Enough, woman," he snapped. "You've had your say."

"Not that it was ever in me for long. I've seen fish that last longer than you."

"I will stop your mouth!" he warned, hauling back his hand.

"Will you hit me again?" she asked venomously. "Does hitting a woman make a man of a Valdan? Is that how it works?"

He stared at her with horror-clouded eyes, his jaw slack, his expression stupid.

"You never even guessed how many other men I bedded, did you, Borell?" she taunted him. "Did you really think a woman would be satisfied with you?"

"Your insults don't change wh—"

"Ambassador Shiraj knew how to please a woman. He was not some fumbling, thick-waisted oaf."

"Shiraj?" Now Borell looked as if he wanted to vomit.

"Who do you think told him about the Imperial Council's plans to attack the Kintish Kingdoms? Who do you think—"

"You told him?" Borell bleated.

"How do you think the Kints knew the Empire's plans?" she said. "Why do you think the Kintish armies were expecting—"

"Three Into One! You?"

"Everything I ever learned from you, I told to your enemies," Elelar said stonily.

A sickly pallor was fast replacing the sexual flush on Borell's skin. He dragged one arm across his shiny forehead. His hand was shaking. "Three have mercy..." His voice was thick and slow. "Do you have any idea how many deaths you've caused, woman? Three thousand men died in the first battle against Kinto."

"How many deaths I've caused?" She gathered her torn clothes around her torso and sat up, glaring at him, letting him see just how much she hated him. "The Imperial Council sent tens of thousands of men to fight the Kintish Kingdoms, intending to carve a path straight to the Palace of Heaven, killing everyone who got in their way. You boasted to me that the Empire would destroy the Kintish union at last. You gloated about how the Valdani would seize the Throne of Heaven and vanquish a three thousand year old dynasty. And you can accuse me of causing deaths?"

She pulled her pantaloons up over her hips, wincing with pain, filled with revulsion by the sticky fluid between her thighs. "You've starved my people, sanctioned torture to get information, seized land and crops and livestock at your whim, and raped my country's mines. You sign papers authorizing the importation of captured women for your brothels and complain about supply problems when they die within a year or two. You have never once prosecuted a Valdan for rape, murder, assault, or theft when the crime was committed against a Silerian."

Her hands shook as she tried to find a way to keep her torn tunic fastened. She wanted to weep with humiliation, pain, and fear. But she would not let a Valdan see her do that, so she kept her expression hard and hate-filled as she looked again at Borell.

"And you thought I could love you?" Now that her life was over, she wanted him to know. She wanted him to feel his disgrace until his dying day. "I betrayed you with other men. I betrayed your secrets to Kints, to Moorlanders, and to Silerian rebels. I read your dispatches after you slept. I spied on your private meetings. I did all this because I would do anything to free Sileria from you and your kind." She nodded slowly. "And the one part of my work that I truly loathed was letting you touch me."

A horrible expression crossed his face, a mingling of nausea, fear, and raw hatred. He looked like he might try to kill her again. Then he surged awkwardly to his feet. For a moment she thought he intended to kick her, but then he strode to the door, yanked it open, and bellowed for some Outlookers.

"You may take the torena now," he said, his voice rough with emotion. Then, without looking at her again, Borell left—still disheveled from their struggle and forgetting his cloak.

She assumed the guards were taking her to the old Kintish prison across from the Outlooker headquarters. As she rose to her feet, she could tell that they had heard her screams while Borell raped her. Upon seeing her now, battered and abused, the youngest of the four men looked shocked. Another smirked and stared insultingly at the flesh exposed by her torn clothing. The other two men kept their faces impassive, their gazes impersonal.

Once she was outside, Elelar saw the bodies of her two manservants, who must have died trying to save her. She blinked back tears. She would never let the Valdani see her cry. 

There was no sign of Faradar. She longed to know if the maid had escaped, but she couldn't risk inciting pursuit by asking about her.

Elelar tried to calm herself by thinking about her mother and her grandfather Gaborian, about meeting them again in the Otherworld. But she was afraid; death by slow torture was almost certainly the fate that awaited her now.

Most of all, she thought about the mines of Alizar.

Oh, Dar, as I have been faithful and true—in my way—I beg you to help Josarian take Alizar.