“Their venom.” He sipped his own tea. “It contains a neurotoxic peptide that affects voltage-dependent sodium ion channels. The principal effect of that particular peptide is intense pain. Among some of the most recently imported ants, however, the venom contains a second peptide that acts differently on the dorsal root ganglia. It produces hallucinations.” He sighed. “Most disappointing. The mutated venom introduced a variable not experienced by any of my other test subjects. I will not be able to include your data.”
“How appalling.”
“I find it difficult to ascertain the difference in human usage between sarcasm and irony. Most of my brethren will not make the attempt. Irony is acceptable, but all of us dislike sarcasm.”
“Is that an oblique threat?”
“I thought it fairly straightforward. Who is Rule?”
Her heart jumped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rule. I thought at first you were calling for some sort of rule or ruler, then realized it was a personal name. Rule. Who is that?”
“My husband.” She took a sip of tea. It wasn’t coffee, but it was welcome. “I called for him?”
“While you were in distress, yes. You do not remember?”
“Mostly I just remember pain. Pain and monsters.” Another sip. Should she believe him about not using the pain ants? God knew she wanted to. “How do you know the scientific language used in my world to describe the effects of the venom?”
“Why do you think I would answer that?”
“I don’t think that you will or that you won’t. I wish to find out.”
He took another sip of tea, watching her. Saying nothing.
She tried again. “Why do you begin these sessions with me with tea?”
“It is appropriate. You are xi qi.”
Xi qi. Of the seven. Kin. What did that mean to Kongqi? “It’s appropriate to drink tea with kin,” she agreed. “Is it also appropriate to cause kin great pain in order to satisfy your curiosity?”
He shrugged. “As kin, you are due some dignity. As my captive, you are in my power. We will now discuss integrity.”
“Will we?” Her arm felt too sensitive, like a sunburn, the skin stretched sore and taut. It also tickled.
“Why do you keep looking at your arm?”
She hadn’t realized she’d done that. “An illogical reaction, I’m afraid. My arm itched, and my hindbrain thinks that means there’s an ant on me.”
“What is this hindbrain?”
“One way of referring to the part of my brain not under my conscious control.”
“Humans control very little of their brains. Do you consider yourself a person of integrity?”
“Hmm.” She sipped again, wanting time. Wanting to be somewhere else. Almost anywhere else. “Our last philosophical discussion was followed by great pain for me. Do you plan to test my replies to your questions?”
“Not in the fashion I used before. How would you define integrity? How does it encompass or differ from honesty?”
God. She was not up to handling this kind of discussion right now. Her arm itched. She fought the urge to look for ants or scratch. “Honesty is a component of integrity, but it’s not . . . just telling the truth isn’t the same thing as integrity. Elves don’t lie, but they love to deceive.”
“Is integrity, then, the lack of deception?”
Lily rubbed her arm and thought about integrity. The people she loved all possessed it, but how to define it? What would Grandmother say? Or Rule, or Isen or . . . Benedict. Yes. If anyone she knew embodied integrity, it was Benedict. “Integrity means you’re grounded in larger truths, so firmly grounded that you will die before you are untrue to what you know is right.”
“If that is so, then integrity is conditional upon knowing what is right.”
She frowned, trying to follow both logic and feeling. “No. It’s possible to possess great integrity and be wrong. To do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Integrity is—it’s about being true to what you believe is true and good.”
“You’ve spoken twice about ‘being true.’ Do you believe, then, that fidelity is an aspect of integrity or a synonym for it?”
“I’m not sure. Probably it fits in there somehow, but I need to think about it some more. How do you define integrity?”
“Self-honesty.”
That was pithy. And unexpected. “There’s a saying in my realm that you can’t be true to others unless you are true to yourself.”
“Humans are not always fools,” he observed, turning to pick up the teapot. “Would you care for some more tea?”
“Ah . . . yes, thank you.”
The tea he poured was still hot. Lily’s hand didn’t shake this time, but the urge to check her arm for ants remained strong. She tried another question. “Why do you want to discuss integrity?”
“It is an interesting concept. The religions and philosophical constructs of species in several realms all place a high value upon integrity. They do not all define it the same way, but the variance is no more than might exist between two individuals of the same culture speaking the same tongue. I am told this includes the sentient dragons.”
Wait, what? Did Kongqi think some dragons weren’t sentient? Lily phrased her question carefully. “You are referring to the dragons in my realm?”
“Yes. Do you disagree?”
“Ah . . . no. Though I suspect they wouldn’t define it the way I do. More like you do, maybe.”
His gaze sharpened. “What do you base this on?”
“Sam possesses great integrity. Surely he couldn’t have built up that much if he didn’t place a high value on it. Integrity isn’t something you accumulate by accident, like fat cells. It’s the result of intention.” She hadn’t known that until she said it, but the insight pleased her.
“The one you call Sam is the black dragon.”
“Yes.” More interested in Sam than in the topic of integrity, wasn’t he?
“You claim to know him well.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“How did you come to know him?”
Lily took a slow sip of her tea. “I could tell you about that,” she decided. “But I’d want something in return.”
He leaned back in his chair. “You will tell me about all the dragons you have met—what you know or believe you know about them, what you have observed, what you have been told.”
“Are you planning to hurt me if I don’t?”
“Not physically. I am limited in the type and amount of pain I can cause, due to the need to keep your body in reasonably good condition. Also, I have not found that torture produces reliable results, and the physical duress involved makes it difficult to judge the accuracy of the response. However, you have demonstrated that you possess an altruistic instinct, one that is capable of overriding your aversion to pain. If you refuse to cooperate, I can harm others in your stead. That would cause you emotional anguish, would it not?”
“I’d probably tell you all sorts of things to keep that from happening,” she agreed. “But how would you compel me to tell the truth?”
“While I lack the expertise of my brother, I am able to sense such crude physical reactions as typically accompany lies in humans.”
“I’ve lied to you twice since we met. Were you aware of those lies?” Lily wondered if she was giving off any of those “crude physical reactions” right now . . . because that was the first outright lie she’d told him.