Someone whom Thaena herself had said she couldn’t stop.
“Oh yes, very much so,” Relos Var answered, but he barely glanced at Duke Xun. His eyes slid right past him and settled on me. “Janel Danorak. How my heart sings at your presence. I never doubted you’d survive.”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful?” The duke clapped his hands together. “I met her out in the hall. She’s just as worried as we are about the witches, Var. I thought she might appreciate seeing all the work you’ve done to ferret out their coven.”
“I’m sure she’s thinking of nothing else,” Relos Var agreed. He put a hand on the man kneeling next to him and met my stare.
His idorrá hadn’t lessened in the slightest since the day I’d met him in Mereina. I still found myself tempted to flinch, to look away, to bow. And the look in his eyes …
I find it difficult to explain. The smile on his face shone through in his eyes too, but it was a secret smile: Relos Var sharing a fine joke whose punch line Duke Xun would never be able to interpret.
In that instant, I knew. Relos Var knew I knew. He understood that I had come there to point the finger at him. That smile acknowledged the truth between us. We both recognized our true nature: enemies.
It pleased him.
“Duke, whatever he has told you—”
“Janel? Janel, is that you?” A querulous voice rose up, reedy and broken. The man kneeling on the floor looked at me. The hood fell back from his gold laevos.
Tamin.
His cheekbones sported multiple bruises, purple and swollen. Both his eyes had been blackened. He was missing teeth. A sudden and immediate sense of wrongness washed over me.
He should have been able to heal himself. He hadn’t.
“Tell the duke about the witches, Tamin. There’s a good boy.” Relos Var’s hand stroked Tamin’s laevos as though petting a hound.
Tamin started to say something, then a visible shudder moved over him. “There was a whole coven of them. They made me … they made me do things. Had me under their spells.”
“And their leader? Who was she?” Relos Var asked with softest malice, while his eyes never left mine.
I felt like time stood still and pregnant even as Tamin spoke, even as I knew the duke and his mother, his soldiers, hung on every word.
“I never knew her name, but her skin was white”—Var’s hand tightened on Tamin’s laevos—“splattered with black. White splattered with black. I’m sorry, Janel. I’m so sorry. She was an old woman with black-splattered skin. Please forgive me.”
“You—” I knew the game. Having described Dorna, Tamin would go on describing people. Perhaps Brother Qown next. Ninavis. Myself.
“That description sounds very familiar. Count, don’t you have a woman in your service like that?” The duke circled around us both, so focused on Tamin he seemed to miss the battle of gazes happening before him.
“Oh no, Duke,” I answered, keeping my voice light and sweet. “My nurse has black skin, not white.”
“Oh, right. I remember now.”
Relos Var’s mouth quirked. The bastard was trying not to laugh.1
“My duke,” I said, still not able to break eye contact with Var. “I very much wish to attend the festivities tonight, but I’m afraid with the attack on Barsine, my formal wear and jewelry didn’t survive the journey. May I throw myself on your mercy and the generosity of your wardrobe?”
I didn’t plan to attend the festivities, you understand. I just didn’t know if Var would try anything here, if this would turn deadly. I wanted Lady Xun out of the way.
“Oh, my poor dear! Yes, I’m sure I can find something appropriate.” Lady Xun sniffed. “And you all have a great deal to discuss. With your pardon, my dear?”
“Did you want to leave now? It’s just getting exciting. Tamin’s naming the witches.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can handle that without me.” I heard her cloak fabric swirl as she left us.
Relos Var lifted his head. The bastard still smiled. “Shall I ask Tamin to continue with his accounting?”
Before the duke could speak, I did. “He’s been through enough. Besides, I would think the duke would like to hear my account.”
“Oh, that’s true, I would. By the gods, is there something wrong? You two are staring at each other like you’re about to draw swords or elope.”
So he had noticed after all.
Relos Var broke eye contact, as the duke’s words made him laugh outright, a deep pleasant laugh. “Oh no, my duke. I’m afraid the count is a bit young for my tastes. No offense.”
“None taken,” I murmured. “Although maybe that younger brother of yours is closer to my age. Did you bring him with you?”
Oh, so his brilliant control had a flaw. The glare he gave me was spite itself. I assumed then the situation with his “brother” hadn’t gone the way he’d have liked. I didn’t know if I should be happy or sad about that.
I walked in a slow circle around Relos Var, forcing him to turn to keep an eye on me. “I did see the witch at Mereina. White-skinned and foreign. She’d enchanted a warden, pretended to be his serving girl.”
“Ah, so you see, Duke, that matches the former baron’s description.” Relos Var’s smile had returned, the armor back in place. “But she must have been working with others. Witches always have a coven, after all.”
“And you would know, being their leader.” I said the accusation as simple fact. I couldn’t let Var continue to control the conversation. I couldn’t let him lead the duke to myself and my friends.
“What? Janel! Relos Var’s our guest.” Duke Xun’s look suggested he was scandalized.
“Choose your next words carefully,” Relos Var said.
“Oh, I have. You see, Your Grace, this seems harmless enough, and this Relos Var’s all smiles and wise eyes. But the white witch who choked Mereina owes Relos Var her thudajé, just as Tamin did, and does still. He uses honeyed words to twist the truth. He’d have you think that my people or I are witches, to stop us from revealing the truth: he summoned those demons. His will caused all those deaths.”
Relos Var’s expression turned ugly. “I’m disappointed in you. This is the desperate and ill-fated allegation of a woman who knows her guilt is about to be uncovered.”
I laughed out loud, even though I found nothing about this funny. I’d always thought someone might one day make such an accusation against me. My grandfather had known too—so had demanded I never correct anyone’s beliefs about the Lonezh Hellmarch.
“You’re a foreigner. You don’t understand us. You don’t understand our ways. You hear him, Your Grace. You hear his words. And you hear mine. You know there is only one way this can be decided.”
The duke nodded. “Oh, quite. How exciting. But … Janel. Please tell me you’re not a witch?” His expression was better suited to finding out whether his favorite horses had snuck inside the palace to have an attack of diarrhea.
“I’m not, Your Grace. I swear I’m not.” I had long ago decided Brother Qown’s definition of witch—one who summons demons—rang truer. The so-called crime of possessing a talent for sorcery didn’t deserve a death sentence.