Chapter 31 #2
The question was directed to me, pulling my attention from the men who appeared as if they were seconds from coming to blows once more. I took a step forward.
“Information for information then,” I conceded, if only to make Kairen and Roan settle whatever was brewing. A smile spread across Wraith’s face before he sauntered to a chest, flipping open the lid. He pulled two small corked bottles from it, an orange liquid swirling within.
“Let us make a game of it then, I do love to play.” He approached slowly, offering one of them to me from his dangling fingers. “Do you know what this is?”
I eyed the liquid, uncorking the bottle and taking a hesitant sniff. It was rich and citrusy, notes of rose buried within.
Veritasvenenum. A truth potion.
He saw the light in my eyes, perhaps even the fear that danced there and grinned as he made his way back to his dais.
“Secrets will spill, girl.” His tone was nearly teasing, a playfulness that left me uneasy. “Choose one to stay and send the others out. I know a woman with things to hide when I see one.”
My eyes caught Roan’s for merely a moment, guilt weighing heavily in my gut. I wanted to voice how desperately I wished it was him. My gaze drifted to Bran and he stepped closer, his arm brushing mine.
I turned back as delight lit those eyes, taunting as he took in the tension. He drank in the discomfort that settled over us all, before he zeroed in upon Roan. “So protective and yet she did not choose you, blood whisperer. How utterly devastating that must be.”
I swallowed thickly, the bottle clenched within my grip, my gaze fixed to the floor. I couldn't look at him, could not see the disappointment I knew would be waiting. My self loathing was a hot flush across my cheeks.
Wraith motioned towards his two men. “Leave, and take them with you.”
My eyes lifted for only a moment, catching the promise of violence that swirled within green and silver as he eyed the man once more picking up his pipe. Wraith only smirked in response, a fiendish thing that had my feet shifting.
When the door shut, only three of us were left. I glanced at Bran and he gave a reassuring nod. I watched with wary eyes as Wraith brought the bottle to his lips, never breaking our stare and swallowing it all in one go. After a moment of hesitation, I did the same.
I had never consumed Veritasvenenum before, had rarely even brewed it. As I drank, I felt it slide all the way down, as if I had swallowed bottled lightning. The muscles in my throat contracting and sparking with flashes of hot, bright pain. A gasp and I was finished.
“There now,” he murmured, tossing his bottle, the shattering of glass startling me.
“That pain you feel is only a fraction of what shall happen if you attempt to lie during our game. If you try to deceive me that white-hot pain will rip up your throat again and again until you speak the truth, do you understand?”
I nodded, hands shaking. “He can still hear. Through water, he can hear what is said.”
“That is no issue.”
Within seconds the room was a ravaging of whirling sand, the granules pouring in through the cracks and crevices. It was so loud my hands reached for my ears, yet it did not touch my skin nor Bran’s, as if we were caught in the eye of a storm.
“You’re Goddess-blessed,” I stated.
“Yes, to control the very sand of this land is a rather significant blessing when one lives in a desert,” his lips curved. “Was that your first question?”
My head shook as he stepped closer, my nose filling with the scent of opium as he puffed once more. “Then ask.”
“What do you know of the origin of The Fever?”
Smoke blew through his nose as he gave a small, disapproving laugh.
“You have to be more specific, girl. I could tell you many truths in that regard. I could tell you that I know what everyone thinks, that it is a curse of Lua’s dark magic—a truth.
I could tell you of the rumors of it being cast by the Demon Princes, another truth.
” He paused, a fiendish smile curving his lips.
“I could tell you what I believe, but I fear it is now my turn.”
My teeth gritted.
“What is the name of your mother?”
My body froze, my nails cutting into my palms. My throat constricted, a burn beginning as I spit out, “Marianna.”
He circled me now, a predator waiting to strike. I flinched when he reached out and Bran started with the movement, but he stilled when Wraith only touched the chain around my neck.
“Show me what you hide beneath your shirt.”
“I believe it’s my turn.” He conceded, stepping back once more, taking another pull of the opium.
“Very well then.”
“What do you believe caused the creation of The Fever?”
He moved back to his dais, regarding me with delight.
“There we are, finally asking the right questions. Do you truly believe Goddesses and Demon Princes have much to gain from casting an illness upon us?” My eyes narrowed as his smile grew at my hesitation.
“Think. Who truly has the most to gain from the separation of Luanthians and Solerians?”
Bran stepped forward, but Wraith's head shot to him, lip curling. “You are not playing.”
Bran's lips pressed to a thin line, his gaze darting to me. Worry danced there, he was not enjoying this. That made two of us.
“That’s not an answer.”
“So astute and so boring,” he complained, as his hand twirled in the smoke he let loose.
“If I must spell it out for you, I believe The Fever to be of human creation, not born from the divine. What better way to sow such division of hate than to use tactics of fear and blame to justify your mistreatment of half a population. Cruel yet brilliant, don’t you think? ”
My mind whirled with this information. He didn’t truly think that Solerians had created and infected the kingdom with The Fever purposefully, did he? How could such a feat even be possible? Yet he had drunk the same truth serum as I.
He spoke again. “I knew a woman once,” his voice softening, “with silver hair and eyes blue as ice upon the sea. She danced so lovely and you, little liar, are the spitting image of her. Show me what hangs from that chain around your neck.”
My hands shook as I pulled the pendant free from beneath my shirt; he watched it swing with such intensity I thought he may try to snatch it.
“Why do you believe The Fever was a human creation?” I asked.
“Because my grandfather claimed he helped make it, before his execution of course.”
I stilled, the air too thick, too hot. The shadows stirred.
They hissed, near gleeful beneath my skin. Preening and purring.
Oh to see how the future shall unfold.
The Soleil's reign will crumble when this truth is told.
“You are not truly Solerian.” It was not a question. “I would wager the empire I have built that you hide silver hair beneath the magic of that pendant. I was the one who gave it to your mother after all.”
My breaths were coming quickly now, panic stirring low in my belly. “What were you to my mother?”
“Not your turn,” he tutted. “What became of her, after she left Amareshi?”
“She burned when I was seven, the night of The Cleansing.”
His lip curled in disgust. “And your father? Where was the coward when she was tied to a stake?”
My brows furrowed, not caring that he had asked two questions. The knowledge that he had known my father was far more telling than any question I might have asked. “I never met him. Who is my father?”
He stilled. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, his throat constricted, letting out a wheezing cough before he spoke. “His name was Altan, a man I once considered a brother.”
He took another pull of his opium as my world crumbled piece by piece. I took in his black hair, the hooded eyes he watched me with.
His smile was anything but kind. “Did your mother ever speak of her time here?”
“Rarely.” My mind was whirling, thoughts jumbled and frantic as my fingers brushed over the pendant. “What was my mother to you? Did you love her?”
His lip curled. “Love is such a fickle thing,” he murmured, the sand chaos around us, so loud now I could hardly hear his response.
“I worshipped her. I owned her. She was mine. She was one of my favorites—a perfect pet. Before Altan thought she should be freed, too wild to be tamed, and stole her away into the night. I never saw her again, nor him.” He moved closer, his fingers hovering just centimeters from my cheek as if to caress me.
“Until now. You have her beauty, her rage in you.”
He breathed deeply, as if he could scent the despair that swirled within me. “But you have his eyes. As grey as a storm filled sky. You carry their knack for deception to the marrow of your bones, little liar. Does the Luanthian know what you are?”
“No.”
“A pity,” his smile curving. “Perhaps you have your mother’s skill for betrayal and heartbreak as well.”
“What magic does this pendant hold?”
He still searched my face as he spoke, a longing for the ghost of the people he saw somewhere within me, as though my mere presence was a haunting he could not escape.
“It is an old relic. Older than the Goddesses we now worship. It was crafted in the fires of treachery and deceit, built and forged with the blood of a God older than you and I could ever fathom. Its purpose is to conceal, to contain.”
It was not my turn, but I asked anyway. “Why did you give it to my mother?”
He stepped back. “The kingdom was turning, the tides changing.
Long had Luanthians been a plague, but after the assassination of Queen Mishana, the King's hatred grew and festered. I could feel what was coming, the tension that sowed its way through these lands. She was mine and I wanted her to be protected. Never would I have let the flame take her from me.”
“Have you heard the whispers that follow the prince you travel with?” He asked suddenly, voice quieting.
“No.”
A smile, slow and knowing, started to form. “Be careful of the company you keep, little liar. You’re not the only one with secrets to hide.”
I took a step forward, my jaw clenching. “What do you know of Kairen?”
“There are rumors floating here and there that he is a rebel sympathizer.” Another drag, surely he’d had enough? “I’ve always found that even the most egregiously spun tales always hold a kernel of truth.”
My shock must have been evident because he laughed, cold and without any true feeling. “If I’ve heard, surely his father has, and it would be such a pity if your little quest were to end with you all tied to a stake.”
I didn’t know what to say, my mind was too jumbled. He stepped back and the sand died down, taking another pull of his pipe, deep and slow.
It billowed from his mouth as he spoke. “I tire of playing, our game is finished.”
I stepped back, Bran's steadying hand gripping my arm, his quiet voice asking, “Are you okay?”
“Leave, and do not return.” Wraith's face twisted, eyes narrowing.
His breaths came slow, his eyes heavy-lidded as he relaxed upon his dais of plush pillows and silken sheets.
“A harbinger of memories I do not wish to recall. A taunting of things that once were and never will be again. I do not wish to see you again, little liar. Leave my desert as your mother once did and never return.”
We turned to the door yet his voice came again, softer. “I do not know how my grandfather helped create The Fever, he always refused to say. There is a woman who goes by the name Misha, I hear she hides away in the north these days. She may have the answers you seek.”
“Why are you helping me?”
His shoulder lifted, taking another long pull of his pipe, the next sentence said around smoke and a sad smile.
“I have many regrets and I do not wish for history to repeat itself.” Hesitation filled the words that followed as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to say them.
“And I think you’ll find Misha a very interesting person to speak with. ”