Both Ichtracia and Sedial stiffened. Sedial’s lip curled. “You are not to address her,” he said.
“He calls you Mara because you’re his little sacrifice,” Michel continued, talking quickly. “You’re his backup plan with the godstone. If killing all those people doesn’t force it to unlock its secrets, he’s going to kill you.”
Sedial laughed. “You’re not telling her anything she doesn’t already know. My granddaughter may be a sullen child still, but she knows her place.” Despite the laugh, his voice held an edge of annoyance.
“It’s sorcerous blood, isn’t it?” Michel said. “It’s stronger than regular blood. A lot stronger. He may sacrifice a Knacked or two, but that’s probably not going to be enough. He has to have a Privileged, waiting on his cue. Does the emperor even know that Sedial plans on using one of his tools that way?”
“Shut him up,” Sedial said.
The brute stepped over to Michel and slammed his fist into the side of his head. A bright light shot across his vision, and he almost rolled out of the chair, but the brute caught him before he could fall. Michel spat blood at the brute, who didn’t seem in the least bit bothered.
“Stop hurting him,” Ichtracia said quietly.
“What?” Sedial and Michel responded at the same time.
“I told you to stop hurting him.”
Sedial scoffed. “He’s not your pet anymore, dear. He has betrayed the state, and he has betrayed you. You’re not just going to watch as we cut him into small pieces—you’re going to help keep him alive. And I intend him to remain alive for many, many months. Now, attend! Michel, tell me who the Red Hand is and why he opposes us.”
Michel stared at Ichtracia. “I bet you weren’t the first person he called Mara.”
“His finger,” Sedial said calmly.
The brute snatched up Michel’s hand, pressing it against the table beside his chair, palm down. Michel attempted to fight, battering his fist against the brute’s side and struggling to pull loose, but it was like trying to fight a marble statue. The brute drew a knife from his belt, slammed the tip into the webbed skin between Michel’s pinkie and ring finger, and like a chef dicing a carrot, sliced off Michel’s pinkie with a surprising crunching sound.
Michel screamed and lurched back as the brute suddenly let go of him. He clutched at his hand, blood fountaining from the little remaining stump of his finger. He pulled it to his chest, rolling in his chair, tears streaming down his face. He’d felt plenty of pain, plenty of times, but the sharp agony brought him near to throwing up.
“Let him bleed for thirty seconds,” Ka-Sedial instructed, “and then sear the spot with your sorcery.” He looked at Ichtracia. “Don’t just stand there! Put your gloves on. If he dies tonight, I will take it out on you. You’ve had your fun with Michel. Now it’s my turn.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Ichtracia pulled her gloves out of her pockets and put them on. Through Michel’s tears he could see the horror in her eyes and he gritted his teeth and tried to talk through the pain. “It was your big sister, wasn’t it? The other one he called Mara. I bet she disappeared the night he killed your brother and father, didn’t she?”
The brute’s fist slammed across Michel’s face, and this time it did knock him out of the chair. He landed on the floor, blacking out for a split second, blood from his hand soaking into the rug beneath him. He was suddenly lifted from the ground and thrown across the room, his body stopping mere inches from the wall. Nauseous, he tried to see through his pain and found himself held aloft by Ichtracia’s sorcery on the opposite end of the room from Sedial. Ichtracia struck a pose, gloves on her hands, arms splayed like a child holding a toy away from their parent.
“What do you mean, disappeared?” Ichtracia demanded. She was staring at Sedial, but she was speaking to Michel. “I saw the burned corpses of all three of them. My sister is dead.”
“Put him back here,” Sedial said, pointing at the chair, his face screwed up in indignant anger. “I will take another finger every time he speaks without answering my questions.”
Michel felt the sorcery around him tighten, and allowed all the pieces that had clicked in his brain to come babbling out. “Those burned bodies you saw were decoys. At least, one of them was. Your big sister didn’t die in that fire. She was whisked away by her nanny, taken across the ocean by loyalists. She disappeared, and Sedial wasn’t able to find her, so he killed some poor girl and burned the body beyond recognition.”
“Shut up,” Sedial growled.
Tears streamed down Ichtracia’s face, but her jaw was clenched in determination, her eyes burning. “Continue!”
“You weren’t Sedial’s first choice, were you? He always knew he needed the blood of someone powerful to activate the godstones, and Ka-poel was destined to be a powerful bone-eye. That’s why her nanny fled, that’s why your father and brother died, so that she could get away. They knew, and they weren’t going to let your grandfather sacrifice their kin for his ambitions.” Michel spoke quickly, hoping he hadn’t made any mistakes. He’d only realized any of this after his confrontation with je Tura and the realization that Sedial was sick enough to nickname his granddaughter “Sacrifice.” That Ka-poel was a member of this family was only an educated guess … and if he was wrong, he was as good as dead.
“They had no vision!” Sedial shot to his feet, his composure completely gone. He shook his head, as if waking from a dream, and pointed at Michel. “How do you even know her name?” He gestured to the brute, who began to stride across the room to fetch Michel.
The brute suddenly stopped, a confused look on his face. He frowned; then his eyes widened a second before his head was suddenly stuffed into his own chest by invisible forces. His arms and legs followed, blood erupting across the room, and within moments Sedial’s implacable henchman was an unrecognizable square of flesh the size of a small travel trunk, which was deposited at Sedial’s feet. Ichtracia’s expression hadn’t changed through the entire event, but when her fingers stopped twitching, she said to Michel in a gentle voice, “You may answer my grandfather’s question.”
Sedial rocked back on his heels, and for the first time there was real fear in his eyes. Michel licked his lips. “I know because Ka-poel is the one who sent me here to retrieve you. She is married to the Red Hand, and she’s the voice in your head—the bone-eye who has been communicating with you over the last year.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Ichtracia’s voice came out as a squeak.
“I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to tell you in person. Maybe she didn’t know if she could trust you not to tell him.” Michel nodded at Sedial. “But she didn’t even tell me. I just figured the whole damned thing out an hour ago.”
“Did you know?” Ichtracia asked her grandfather. “Did you know she was still alive?”
Sedial sputtered. “I had my suspicions. I knew she escaped with that bitch nanny and a few traitors, and I know that the dragonmen sent to Fatrasta to retrieve her never returned.”
“But did you know she was here, alive, opposing you?” Ichtracia’s voice rose in pitch.
“No.”
Ichtracia squeezed her eyes shut. She drew a handkerchief from her pocket, one hand still raised toward Michel, keeping him fixed with his feet dangling above the floor. She wiped her eyes and nose. “I always know when you’re lying, Sedial.”