Remy blinked. “What?”
“I’m going to negotiate with Lord Morbrae for information about Mother and for amnesty for all of us. At least until I can get you to Astavar. Then I don’t care what they do to me.”
“You…what?” Remy’s face clouded over. He stepped back from her. “You lied to me.”
Eliana sighed, glanced quickly at the outpost. “Yes, and you’d think you’d be used to that by now.”
“You’re going to give them information about Crown’s Hollow.”
“Remy—”
She reached for him, and he slapped her hand away.
“What’s wrong with you?” he whispered. “All those people—”
“The refugees? They’d do the same thing in my position. They’d do whatever it took to keep their family alive and safe.”
Remy shook his head, took another two steps away from her. “You’re wrong. Some would. Not all. I wouldn’t.”
A call from the outpost distracted her; she turned, squinting through the shadows.
Then Remy grabbed Arabeth from her belt and ran.
“Remy!” she called after him as loudly as she dared.
Behind her, one of the horses pulling the coach whickered and stamped its foot.
She looked to the outpost, then back out at the swamp. Remy’s small form disappeared into the gloom, running toward Crown’s Hollow. She had to chase him down. None of this was worth it if they were separated.
She stood, heard a twig snap behind her, and froze.
A male voice asked mildly, “What’s this?”
Slowly, Eliana turned. A uniformed man stood a few paces away, silhouetted by the torchlight of the outpost’s perimeter wall. Behind him stood a dozen adatrox, rifles aimed at her heart.
Eliana put her hands in the air.
“My name is Eliana Ferracora,” she called out. “I am the Dread of Orline. I was taken captive by Red Crown soldiers and escaped. I have intelligence you’ll want.”
Silence, then. The tree bugs hovering above her head rattled and droned. Sweat itched along her brow.
“And what,” said the man, “will you want in exchange for this intelligence?”
“Safe passage for myself and my brother back to Orline. A guarantee of amnesty. And the return of my mother as well. She was abducted from her bed two weeks ago. I want her back. Alive and whole.”
The man stood in silence for another moment, then approached her. As he moved closer, the shadows shivered away to reveal a reedy, clean-shaven man, with light-brown skin and short dark hair. Like all the Empire’s generals—like the Emperor himself—his eyes shone as black as a deep hollow in the ground.
Whatever drugs the Emperor fed his dogs to alter their appearance so drastically must have been truly monstrous.
Eliana met his gaze without flinching. “Lord Morbrae.”
He smiled, held out one leather-gloved hand. The gathered adatrox lowered their weapons.
“Welcome home, Dread,” said Lord Morbrae, voice thin and cream-smooth. “Come. Tell me your secrets.”
? ? ?
He led her through the prison first.
Every Empire outpost had one, and though this one was small and plain compared to the elaborate dungeons below Lord Arkelion’s palace in Orline, it was distinctive in one way. Instead of cells, the long, narrow rooms were lined with small, square cages that required the grown adults within to sit hunched. But not all were adults; some were children. Grotesquely thin, bellies swollen, skin red from scratching, lips crusted with blood and vomit.
They watched Eliana as she passed. The newer ones, not so thin or broken, glared viciously, spat through the mesh of their cages. The ones who had been there for a while—filth-encrusted skin, matted hair, gaunt-faced—said nothing at all, staring blankly.
At a turn in the wall, a small child slammed into the door of her cage and gripped the mesh with bony white fingers. Her eyes were furious, the skin around them red and raw.
“Help us!” she shouted, shaking the door. The metal cut into her hands. “Get me out of here! Get me out!”
“Is there a point to showing me all this?” Eliana asked, sounding bored. But her blood raged hot inside her.
May Tameryn the Cunning grant you a swift and painless death, child, she thought.
“I wanted to show you what will happen to you,” Lord Morbrae replied, “should you decide to cross me during your stay here.”
Then he opened a door into a small, plain room—one chair, one flickering lamp. He held out his hands for her knives. “You may wait inside.”
Eliana peered within, raised an unimpressed eyebrow. But her mind raced with panic. She didn’t have time to wait in a cell. Remy would tell Simon everything, and they would come for her, guns blazing. They’d shoot her immediately. She needed to tell Lord Morbrae, help him prepare his soldiers to counter the rebels’ assault—but not before she had gotten what she wanted from him.
She placed her knives into his waiting hands. “I get an actual room, then? Not a dung-smeared cage?”
Lord Morbrae’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Only the best for the Dread of Orline. I hope you’re hungry.”
When he closed the door, Eliana was left alone and uncertain. She sat on the chair in the middle of the room and waited.
? ? ?
“So. Eliana Ferracora.” Lord Morbrae reclined in his chair, brought a glass of wine to his lips. Over the rim of his glass, his eyes watched her, black and unblinking. “I’m listening.”
Eliana continued cutting her venison. Blood spilled onto her plate with each press of her knife. They’d kept her in that cell for maybe two hours before calling her into His Lordship’s dining room.
She tried not to think of the cage-filled prison, the screaming little girl with the desperate eyes.
She tried not to think of Remy or of Simon. Was he on his way by now? Or would they assume Lord Morbrae would kill her himself and write her off as dead? What would Remy think? Would he be glad to be rid of her?
And what would happen to her mother?
Eliana imagined scraping clean her circling thoughts with the edge of a blade.
“There is a Red Crown compound,” she began, bored, “two miles southwest of here. They call it Crown’s Hollow.” She brought a bite to her lips, chewed, swallowed. Looked up at Lord Morbrae and smiled. “What a delicious meal you’ve prepared for me. I’m grateful. Rebels don’t have much in the way of fine cuisine.”
Lord Morbrae’s laugh was barely audible. He snapped his fingers. One of the adatrox standing guard around the dining room moved to refill Lord Morbrae’s glass.
Eliana watched in silence as Lord Morbrae drank and drank. He snapped his fingers once more. Another glass refilled. He gulped it down like a desert wanderer, then slammed the glass onto the table, curled his lip. Picked up his fork and knife, violently cut his venison, crammed bite after bite into his mouth without pausing to breathe.
At last he stopped, took another gulp of his wine, and sat staring at his plate in disgust. “More meat,” he told the nearest adatrox. “Not this.” He shoved the platter of venison away. “Something that actually tastes good for once. Can you manage that?”
The adatrox bowed, gave a slight, jerky nod.
Once he’d gone, Lord Morbrae returned his gaze to Eliana, dark eyes heavy and lidded. Red wine stained his lips. “You lie.”
A frisson of fear skipped up Eliana’s throat. She smirked, incredulous. “I don’t. What good would it—”
“If there were a rebel compound two miles from here, we would have destroyed it long ago.”
“It’s underground. And well guarded.”
Lord Morbrae blinked at last.
Ah. Didn’t know that, did you? Eliana continued eating, examined the dining room blithely. “Lovely little space you’ve got here. Nice solid table. Impressive molding work. Did they make it up especially for you?” Fork in hand, she gestured at the nearest wall. “Do they change the art according to each visiting general’s tastes?”