Say nothing, practical Leta commanded at once. You’ll give away everything if you speak!
But before she could catch up with herself, her mouth opened and she heard herself saying, “I’ll tell you what, I wasn’t meant to be bandied about like some sort of tool, not by my father, not by my future husband, and certainly not by you! Perhaps you don’t see me as much more than a useful nothing with which to accomplish deeds in the name of your wretched queen. But do you know something? You can’t read any of these documents without me. Not another breathing soul in Gaheris can do what I’m doing for you, which means, if you kill me, then all this is over. You’ll have to go back to your foolish, blind search. So there you have it!”
She stepped from the shadows, her words emboldening her more than they should have, momentarily driving out the crushing fear. “Kill me if you like,” she said. “You can bash me on stone like a hammer and chisel. Only my body will break. Because underneath all the usefulness, I am more than a tool. I am me.”
She hesitated, telling herself she would regret the next words that sprang forward to be spoken. But rebel Leta was in full control, hotheaded and angry. “And you’re you, Corgar of Arpiar. You’re only your queen’s instrument so long as you allow yourself to be. And maybe she’ll kill you if you stop doing her dirty work, but is that really so dreadful a price? When it’s a question of death or life-in-death, which is to be preferred?”
“You’re quite the philosopher,” said the monster dryly.
The rumble of his voice brought practical Leta back to her senses, and she shrank into herself, ducking her head and wondering what nonsense she had just spouted. “Not at all,” she replied. “I ask questions, but I have no answers.”
“Is that not the way of the philosopher?” Corgar asked. “I have always preferred sword and club to the wanderings of the mind. But here in your world, the air is different. Thinner, sharper. It is difficult for me to breathe, and I hunger for more. More air. More life. More beauty, perhaps, if I only knew what beauty was.”
“Beauty is more than any one person can tell you,” Leta said.
“What about love?” he asked.
It was a strange question spoken through snarling lips and ragged teeth set in a face from childhood nightmares. Leta could not speak. So he continued. “Love is the final, greatest beauty, am I right?”
“I suppose so,” she whispered.
“I do not love Vartera,” Corgar said. “Though I slave for her sake, though I will marry her if she will have me, I do not love her. I hate her.”
“I’m sorry,” Leta said. She could not look at him.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” There was a pause that lasted far too long. Then Corgar said, “Whom do you love, Leta? Whom can you love?”
She said nothing.
“Is it only possible for you,” he continued, “to love beautiful things? Perfect, well-formed, admirable things?”
The light from the candle slid over his face and vanished as he moved across the floor. Leta wanted to retreat into the corner behind the chimney. But she couldn’t find the will to move. “Is it possible,” Corgar said, drawing nearer, “for a creature like you—a creature of beauty—to love someone who is not beautiful? Someone who is marred. Can you see worth in what others would turn from in disgust?”
He stood before her now, towering and cold as the rock he was hewn from. She could see nothing but the light shining in his white eyes, which was far too dreadful to behold. She turned away, and her gaze landed on the discarded book lying facedown on the floor.
Corgar drew a hissing breath. “You have a secret,” he said.
“No.” Leta dragged her eyes back to his face. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she stood and met his gaze.
“You lie,” said Corgar. “You lie to me again.”
“I’m frightened,” she replied. This, at least, was true.
He put out a hand. She feared he would touch her, and her body recoiled. But his hand froze in the space above her shoulder, and those white eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t want to frighten you.”
She shook her head and said, “Now you lie.”
Corgar drew back as though stung. His heavy footsteps retreated, and the bulk of his great form blocked the candlelight. Leta stood in darkness until Corgar reached the door and turned back to look at her once more.
“Well, little mortal,” he said, “we are at an impasse. Until now I do not believe I have ever seen you truly frightened. But you’ll regain your courage, won’t you?”
He opened the door and stood framed in the doorway. “Sunlight never fails to raise the spirits of you dying creatures. I’ll give you until dawn, and then you must regain your courage and tell me this secret of yours.”
He ducked his head and left the room.