Dragon Blood (Hurog #2)(27)

"So am I," she whispered, but I don't think she was talking about the past few minutes.

She sighed and shook herself like a wet dog. " 'Tis done now. Know you this, though: I was not the only one chafed by the little we could do. Aethervon was constricted to giving visions and hoping that they allowed the humans to whom He gave them to make better choices. Then you came to Menogue."

"He gave me back my magic," I said.

"He saw in you the chance to mend one of the greatest rifts - so He did what He could to help you," she replied. "When you cleansed the land of the great evil done at Hurog, you released some of the constraints He has to work through. There are monks now at Menogue for the first time in centuries. Through me he can do a little more to help you."

"I thought Aethervon vowed to support the Tallven kings," I said. "It was a Tallven king who put me in here."

"He has sworn to serve the Tallvens, in so much as a god serves man," she agreed. "It is only that He chooses which Tallven to serve."

I let one eyebrow creep up. "Aethervon supports Alizon?"

She veiled her eyes with pleasure and purred. "It pleases me, this turn of events. Oh, not you here like this - but that Aethervon stirs Himself against that one, that one who hurts my Garranon. Oh, yes, that pleases me. If it were allowed I would tear the flesh from his bones and leave him to rot ..."

Her tail twitched like a hunting cat's. Deliberately she stilled it and wrapped it around her front feet. "But that may come in time. The gods still must leave it to humans to determine their own fate. You might bear it in mind that Aethervon will be inclined to grant favors if He is properly petitioned." She purred. "Garranon, my friend, asked me to see you, and I will tell him how I find you. But it pleases Aethervon for me to help you as well.

"The king is waiting for your relatives to come so he can present you and them to his court," she said. "Word has come from Iftahar that your uncle is at Hurog. It will take them time to travel here. When you stand before them, I will take their poison from your flesh - so much I can do. It is for you to keep them from destroying you until then."

She left. Just vanished, and I thought I might have imagined her except that my thoughts remained clear.

So, I thought. The Tamerlain means to help me.

The king would see me broken. He wanted a madman to present to his court. This was more than just a power game between the king and my uncle, more than a simple attack upon me. But my abused mind couldn't work through the convolutions other than to know that Jakoven was working against my whole family.

The Tamerlain promised a way to save myself. I just had to keep sane until my uncle came. Or until Oreg found me and rescued me.

The thought of Oreg brought me relief so strong, I shook. He knew where they were taking me - he'd get me out. Taking a deep breath, I decided I had to act as if he weren't coming. Prepare for the worst, my aunt said.

So I thought of how to let Jade Eyes think he'd broken me.

Over the past few years, Oreg had managed to teach me a little about the magic that was still coming back to me, like drops from a bucket. I lit a dim magelight, just enough so I could see clearly, and I looked at my body. It hurt to move. It was worse than when Stala set out to teach me a lesson and beat me into the ground in an all-out while training. But there wasn't a bruise anywhere, as if Jakoven had ordered his mages not to leave a mark on me.

So if Jade Eyes continued in the way he had begun, all I had to worry about was pain. That was fine, pain and I were old friends - my father had seen to that. I could take anything they could give me as long as I knew there was no real damage taking place.

But they could find another way to break me, unless I let them believe their methods were working. A small, arrogant part of me wanted to object, but Stala had taught me better than that. Anyone could be broken. All I could do was convince them that it had already happened before it really did.

The pitcher of tainted water sat upright on the floor - I could reach out and knock it over; but then I'd have to pretend to be overcome by the drugs. I could do that, but I didn't know if I could do that while I was in enough pain that even the memory of it made me sweat. And who was to say that they would give me the same herbs every time? What happened if they switched them?

The first nineteen years of my life had been a contest between my father and myself. I won it because I'd learned control at the hands of a master. Control, Stala said, was the thing that kept you alive. Control your emotions, control your body, and you were more likely to survive a battle than a man who could not. Control had become something of a religion for me - a means of survival and a way to differentiate myself from my father.

I stared at the worn pottery pitcher.

To survive, I'd have to throw away that control and trust my instincts. Trust that even drugged, I wouldn't fight the pain.

There was a murmur outside my door. " ... take four men this time, Jerron won't be using that hand for a month."

Guards.

I took the pitcher in my hand and remembered the sour taste of fear, knowing that I had to deceive two wizards into believing they'd broken me completely. Or I would lose.

Drinking that water was one of the most difficult things I had ever done. Only losing would have been harder.

Writhing monsters came into my cell. One had yellow snakes with black eyes growing out the sides of his head. They stared at me with dead eyes that laughed at my struggles to break free of the myriad hands that gripped me.