Chapter 5
This wasn’t the first time Thera Vane had been held as a hostage. Such a fate really wasn’t that odd in Lok, where high-status people were often used as bargaining chips to be traded between houses. Border raiders would capture enemy warriors, vital workers, and sometimes even members of the first caste, to ransom them back to their families. The Law went into excruciating detail about how each class was allowed to be treated in captivity, and great would be the suffering of any house that willfully violated those protocols.
Unfortunately for the criminals—like Thera—there was no punishment for the captors if they harmed prisoners who existed outside the rules. The Law offered no shelter for those who rebelled against it. Her captors could have tortured or raped or flogged her naked back and made her walk barefoot across the desert, then killed her when they grew bored, and the Law wouldn’t care in the least. Her captors had clearly wanted to do all that, and worse, because they were led by a phontho who despised her with a deep and personal hatred—her former husband, Dhaval—but luckily for Thera, and this was the part which still baffled her, it had been a different traitorous murderer who had protected her while she’d been in captivity. By some nonsensical twist of fate, she’d been spared from Dhaval’s unhinged cruelty only because a lying, backstabbing, two-faced, false priest, who’d pretended to be a friend even while he’d been secretly spying on her for the Inquisition, had intervened to keep her safe.
It was Witch Hunter Javed Zarger who had placed his body between her and the vengeful warriors of Makao. At great personal risk—for there were no witnesses in the desert—Javed had saved her from their wrath by declaring that she was the property of the Inquisition, in possession of a strange magic that the Inquisitors needed to study, and that if so much as a hair upon her head was plucked unnecessarily it would draw the incalculable ire of Grand Inquisitor Omand himself.
Though Dhaval was a petty, bitter man, luckily for her, he was also a coward, so he had backed down when Javed had warned him that even if every Inquisitor who had been transporting Thera to the Capitol had been murdered to the last man and their bodies buried deep in the sand, Omand would still find out, because eventually Omand found out everything. There was no figure more frightening in the minds of the Law-abiding than the Grand Inquisitor, as many believed his secret minions lurked in every shadow, read every letter, and eavesdropped on every conversation.
However, keeping Thera alive and unharmed was the only compromise they’d reached. When Javed had demanded she be given back to the Inquisitors to be delivered to the Tower of Silence, Dhaval had refused, because according to the Law, within the borders of his own lands the Thakoor of a great house could overrule the Grand Inquisitor’s wishes. Dhaval might not be able to torment and kill Thera, but his master certainly could, and even mighty Omand couldn’t stop that. Kanok was a long way from the Capitol.
Also, Thera suspected that Dhaval had been intrigued by the idea of her getting a rigged trial followed by a public execution. He’d enjoy a spectacle where her family name was smeared while his was redeemed, far more than simply torturing her to death, then leaving her body in the desert to be eaten by birds. Dhaval had waited years for retribution against his former wife. What were a few more months?
The man could certainly hold a grudge.
So Thera lay upon a bed of moldy straw in a cell in the dungeons beneath the great house in Kanok and pondered her fate. When the Thakoor returned to his home, he would most certainly pronounce her a traitor to Makao and have her hung…or the Inquisition would find some way to reclaim her, then she’d be taken to the Tower of Silence to be dissected as they tried to figure out how to rip the Voice’s unique magic from her head. There seemed to be no third option where she didn’t die horribly. The Voice could probably save her if it felt like it, but it was an unreliable, fickle thing, the aid of which could never be counted upon. It would manifest when it felt like it, or not at all.
A child of Vane never quit, but some nights when it was particularly cold in the dungeon, as she was curled up and shivering, she’d had thoughts about killing herself in order to deprive both camps the satisfaction of using her. That wasn’t quitting, she reasoned. That was just spite. Except each morning as the sun rose through the tiny windows of her cell, she’d push those vulnerable thoughts aside, and go back to plotting her escape.
She woke up from a dream, not remembering what it was about exactly, but it had been a foolish, hopeful dream, because in it Ashok had been alive and coming to save her again. It was a young girl’s dream, not fit for a woman who had been abused by life. But maybe she was allowed some girlish hope, as Ashok had saved her before. If he was alive, he would find a way back to her. But realistically, he was probably dead, as she would be soon.
It was very dark in her cell. The windows were merely narrow slits, more to allow for a small bit of ventilation than light. She heard something moving across the straw and her first thought was that it was the rats again, except this sounded bigger. Had Javed’s threats worn off, and one of the guards decided to have a bit of fun with her? Thera slowly moved her hand to the rock she’d pried from the wall and hidden beneath the straw just in case. A misshapen rock wasn’t a proper weapon, but it had a good enough point to it that she was fairly sure she could crack a hole in a skull with it if motivated enough.
And Thera was very motivated.
There was a whisper. “Be calm, prophet. It is I, Javed.”
That motivated her even more.
She swung the rock for where she thought the whisper had come from, but the witch hunter must have been expecting her to attack. He blocked her arm, then a gloved hand was slammed over her mouth and she was roughly shoved down. When she tried to bring the rock back around, Javed planted one knee on her wrist and pinned it.
“Quiet, I beg you. I’ve come to help, not to harm you.”
Thera kept struggling but Javed was far stronger than he looked, and it was said witch hunters were as well trained for violence as any warrior. She was more angry than afraid. If this was the end, better to get it over with.
“Please, listen to what I have to say, Thera. I’m trying to free you.”
That was surely a lie, but she quit thrashing. It wasn’t working anyway, and maybe if she got him talking she could catch him unaware and find another angle to kill him.
Javed slowly removed his hand from her mouth, but his weight kept her pinned against the straw. “This restraint is for your own safety until you hear me out.” The guards rarely patrolled the dungeon halls this late at night, but Javed kept his voice low just in case. “Don’t be a fool. You kill me, the Makao kill you. You shouldn’t be trying to hurt the only reason you’re still alive.”
“You’re the only reason I was captured in the first place, treacherous scum.”
She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she heard him sigh in resignation. “That’s true, and I’ll regret what I’ve done for the rest of my days.”
That made no sense. “Spare me your lies.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I must atone for what I have done. Let me make this right. It was my obligation to infiltrate your rebellion.”
“Oh, you did a right fine job of that, murderer.”
“That’s right. More murders than I can count. Probably more than even you can imagine. And none of them troubled me in the least until I was exposed to the corrupting influence of that damnable Keta, and all his talk of fate and consequences. And now all those dead haunt me. I was better off before I ever heard Keta’s words, because I was blessed by ignorance, but with wisdom I become a man condemned. I served the Law when I should have been serving the gods. On the road to the Capitol they told me this themselves.”
What? The way he said that was terrifying in the dark. This was not the calm fake priest or the calculating witch hunter she’d dealt with before. Javed spoke with the fervor of a fanatic, and this really didn’t feel like another act.
“The gods told you? You mean when you collapsed with sun stroke.”
“My delirium wasn’t caused by the sun, but by a being nearly as bright as the sun. It wasn’t heat that felled me, but guilt, because she told me I must fix what I’ve broken.” Slowly, almost gently, Javed took his weight off of her and backed away. “That’s why I’ve protected you from Dhaval all this time and why I’m going to get you out of here. I’ve spent every waking minute that I’ve not been politicking to keep you alive or plotting your escape, writing down every sermon Keta ever gave, every lesson he or Ratul ever taught, and every pronouncement of the Voice, so that someday the rest of the faithful might read them and learn…all in the hopes that’ll be sufficient apology for these ghosts to stop tormenting me.”
He delivered that last part through gritted teeth.
The two of them sat there in the dark, one of them desperate, the other baffled.
“Is this some new Inquisition trick, Javed? Free me from this dungeon so that your masked friends can steal me from the Makao and carry me off to the Capitol so your real master can pick apart my brains panning for gold? Better to kill me now and save us the journey. Sikasso and his wizards couldn’t find a way to claim the Voice. I doubt Omand will either.”
“Don’t be so sure. Omand is a far greater wizard than anyone from the House of Assassins. He is probably the most powerful wizard in the world. You have no idea how dangerous he truly is. But no, this is no trick.” Javed slowly shifted away, probably in a vain attempt to appear less threatening, except now the master deceiver was an intimidating black shadow crouched a few feet away. “I no longer answer to Omand. Now I truly serve the gods…and you.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” Thera sat up and rubbed the feeling back into her bruised arm. “The man who pretended to be a believer once again claims to believe again. No chance.”
“I was lying then. This time I’m telling the truth.”
“You killed Toramana’s boys. While you captured me, your friends killed Murugan.” She grew furious just thinking about that again, watching helplessly while her noble bodyguard threw himself off a cliff trying to save her. “You deserve to die.”
“I do. And I’ll happily slash my wrists once I’ve done as the gods have commanded and I’ve righted my wrongs. All I can do is hope that I accomplish enough to appease them before I die, so when they decide what to do with my spirit I’m not condemned for eternity.”
The Law declared there was no life after death, just an endless nothing, but most of her rebels believed differently, and carrying on beyond death seemed to be the fanatic’s favorite part about Keta’s made-up religion, promising an endless paradise for the faithful, another chance at life for everyone else, and eternal torment for the vile. There was no way Javed really believed that nonsense now. “Brave illegal talk, fake priest, but I’m not buying it.”
“Then don’t. You don’t have to trust me. Just be ready to run when I give you the opportunity. I’m working on a plan to get you out of the city. You’ll have more chances to escape outside these walls than you will avoiding their entire warrior caste inside.”
Javed’s words were worth saltwater, but that much was true. She’d once cut a deal with the wizard Kabir to escape a similar situation and he’d ended up with his throat cut for it by his fellow conspirators…She’d be overjoyed if Javed met the same fate as Kabir. “What’s this plan of yours?”
“The Thakoor has been called away to the west, due to war breaking out against Harban. You’re safe until he returns to pass judgment over you. That gives us some time. I’m gathering other Inquisitors to break you free, in the idea that we’re reclaiming our Order’s rightful prize. What is the anger of Great House Makao compared to the favor of the Grand Inquisitor? Only once we’re safely away from the city, I’ll turn on my brothers, kill them, and free you.”
“Oh, you’re good at that, aren’t you? Getting people to trust you, then stabbing them in the back.”
Javed was quiet for a long time. “Yes. I’m extremely good at it. You have no idea. Then when the Inquisitors are dead you can return to your people.”
“And I’ll imagine you’ll want to come along, to finish what you’ve started.”
“That’ll be entirely up to you.” The shadow moved, and something solid landed in the straw next to her. “Careful, it’s very sharp.”
She reached out and found a tiny knife. “They’re less useful when they’re dull.”
“That’s true of people too. You have proven yourself to be a razor. Hide that blade well, prophet. When the time comes, after I’ve got you out safely, if you still want to plant that steel in my heart as payment for all the terrible things I’ve done against the children of the gods, so be it. You have my word I’ll not try to stop you.”
Then the shadow was simply gone.
Witch hunters knew magic. Javed had stepped outside the real world, and would reappear elsewhere nearby, with the guards being none the wiser. Thera recognized that spell, as the Assassins had tried to teach its pattern to her, and the Voice had once used it to save her from a charging demon.
Thera sat there, wide awake, wondering how she’d gotten herself into this mess. She’d been searching for an option other than execution, dissection, or suicide, and now she had one. She doubted trusting Javed was much better than getting hung or having her brains scooped out, but at least it was something.
Shivering, Thera kept the dagger close as she tried to go back to sleep, and she cursed herself for not asking for a blanket.
In the morning, Thera’s only confirmation that Javed’s visit hadn’t been a dream was the little knife and her bruised arm. She tore off a strip of her ragged clothing and used that to hide the knife beneath one sleeve. Then she went about checking her cell for weaknesses for what seemed like the thousandth time since she’d arrived. As usual, the Forgotten hadn’t seen fit to deliver her any miracles, like loose bricks around the windows, or a guard forgetful enough to leave the door unlocked.
If the Forgotten wasn’t so stingy with his miracles, she wouldn’t mind part of him living inside her head. Her unwelcome tenant rarely helped, and even if it did bother to show her another perfect magical pattern for her to use again, she had no demon parts to fuel it.
The sudden rap of a club against the wooden door made her flinch.
“Wake up, prisoner. You got esteemed visitors.”
The heavy door creaked open and two brawny warriors entered, truncheons in hand. Guarding prisoners was a low status, no chance for glory, position, but these men took their obligation seriously, always worked in pairs, and never gave her any opportunity to run. The first day she’d been here their havildar had whispered to her that he didn’t give a damn about her former husband’s grievances, but he’d heard rumors she practiced witchcraft, and he’d told his boys that if they suspected she was trying to use any foul magic on any of them, to beat her to death on the spot, Inquisitors’ wishes be damned.
So Thera had kept on her best behavior with the guards. She remained sitting, in the hopes that she’d look less threatening that way. Not that posture would make a lick of difference to a real wizard.
The guards were followed by a female official dressed in the black-and-yellow robes of a Makao junior arbiter, who promptly announced, “Presenting Phontho Dhaval of the Kanok garrison, and Witch Hunter Javed of the Order of Inquisition.”
“So much for ‘esteemed,’” she muttered.
The dumber guard reflexively snorted a bit at that, but then his partner looked at him and shook his head, as if to say Shut your damned fool mouth, and the dumb one promptly did.
Dhaval entered, wearing an ostentatious uniform with far too many medals pinned on it. There was no way such a weasel had rightfully earned so many commendations in battle. Even his eye patch had a ruby on it, like an unblinking red eye. The city folk of Kanok had always struck her as a vapid, showy bunch, completely opposed to the straightforward yet effective warriors of Vane. It had annoyed her father to no end that this house of fops had conquered theirs generations ago.
Dhaval scowled at the dismal, grungy, dark surroundings, and then looked down at Thera, with even more disgust than he had for the flea-infested dungeon.
The feeling was mutual.
“Husband.”
“Bitch.”
“My greatest regret in life is that I didn’t manage to cut out both of your eyes.”
Dhaval’s hands curled into fists, and he took a step toward her, but Javed had entered the room behind him and warned from behind his golden mask, “Calm yourself, Phontho. We aren’t here to rehash the unfortunate nature of how poorly your arranged marriage worked out.”
“You’ll get yours.” Then Dhaval turned back to Javed. “She’s very lucky that her freakish nature makes her interesting to our illustrious Grand Inquisitor. It would amuse me to see her picked apart like a surgeon’s practice corpse.”
“Then end your crusade and turn the prisoner back over to my custody, and I can promise she’ll suffer far more at the Tower of Silence than anything you could possibly do to her here.”
“Tempting,” Dhaval lied.
And Javed surely knew he was lying, because Dhaval was far too prideful to let logic get in the way of his revenge. “The Inquisition is very competent at the art of inflicting pain. Perhaps someday you will step over a line, and will have the opportunity to experience our skill firsthand.”
Dhaval feigned offense. “Unlikely, for I’m a Law-abiding man, as demonstrated by my patience here today.”
“Get on with it,” Javed snapped at the arbiter.
“Of course, Witch Hunter.”
Thera gave him a polite nod, because regardless of rank and status, only fools—like Dhaval—annoyed Inquisitors on purpose. “As specified by the Law for a case of this nature, before we waste our Thakoor’s precious time with a hearing, the accused must be given a chance to confess.”
Thera’s eyes narrowed. What game is this? She glanced toward Javed, who was either scheming to get her back to the Capitol as a prize, or he was secretly a converted fanatic on a mission from the gods. His mask was the monstrous face of the Law, and it revealed nothing.
“I’ve not got anything to confess to.”
Dhaval gave her a mocking laugh. “You’ve secretly engaged in illegal witchcraft since childhood, spewing false prophecies to the gullible warriors of Vassal House Vane to inspire them toward rebellion. Then you were married into Great House Makao in order to spy and conspire against us, and when the treasonous uprising of Vane against their rightful masters was insufficient lawbreaking to suit you, you went on to lead a rebellion of casteless maniacs as their false prophet, going so far as to destroy one of the great works of the Capitol.”
Thera sneered. “Oh, you mean that…”
“I believe the charges have been sufficiently listed before the accused by Phontho Dhaval,” the arbiter stated. “Do you confess to these things, prisoner?”
Thera couldn’t help that defiance was her nature. “I grant Dhaval nothing but my scorn.”
“So be it.” The arbiter seemed annoyed that she’d been dragged here. “The opportunity for confession has passed. We will proceed. Testimony will be presented before Thakoor Venketesh Makao and then he will pronounce his judgment upon her.”
“If your Thakoor is a man of judgment, he’ll say my greatest crime was that I slashed Dhaval across the eyes instead of his throat. If my aim had been better I could’ve spared all of us from his endless whining.”
“I assume the accused is aware of the penalties for crimes of this magnitude—”
“Some rather gruesome form of execution, I imagine.”
“Of course. Thakoor Makao does not tolerate criminality in our fine lands. Hanging, burning, or beheading are the traditional methods of punishment for rebels here.”
“I’m hoping for all three,” Dhaval said.
“Not if he grants my petition to have Thera returned to Inquisition custody where she belongs,” Javed interjected.
Which merely meant a longer, more excruciating form of execution, while the Grand Inquisitor’s wizards ripped the Voice from her head…unless Javed had been telling the truth for once in his miserable life and intended to help her escape. She wasn’t going to get her hopes up.
“Is this pointless exercise in petty torment done yet?” Thera gestured around her tiny cell. “As you can see I’m rather busy.”
“Tell her the best part,” Dhaval suggested. “I want to see her squirm.”
Thera grew suspicious, for Dhaval seemed genuinely delighted, and his malicious nature meant he was only truly happy while he was being cruel. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“The honored Phontho Dhaval has requested our Thakoor’s judgment, not just upon you, a single rebel, but upon your family line, alleging that crimes of such magnitude as you have committed would not have been possible without the approval and support of your family. If Vassal House Vane is judged guilty of hiding a child’s illegal witchcraft, their name will be stricken from the records, removed from the protection of the Law forever, and their people—whoever the Thakoor decides to spare at least—and all their property will be subsumed fully into Great House Makao.”
“What?” That was absurd. “My family had nothing to do with this!”
“On the contrary, they rebelled because of your false prophecies,” Dhaval said. “You’ve doomed not just yourself, but everyone who shares your traitorous name.”
Thera was aghast. This made no sense. “My father, Andaman Vane, was the only one naïve and hopeful enough to believe the Voice, and Protector Ratul killed him for it years ago. Your house already blamed the last foolish war you started with Harban on Vane. They were punished. I’m already forsaken. My family has had nothing to do with me ever since.”
“I am not your judge. Save your excuses for the Thakoor. The accusation has already been made,” the arbiter declared. “The technicalities have been satisfied. I am finished and tire of this stench.”
“Thank you, Arbiter.” Dhaval gave her a respectful bow. “Guard, escort our high-status guest back upstairs and see to it she is offered refreshment.”
Thera waited until those two had left and her cell was slightly less cramped. “Using me to destroy Vane? What’re you really after?”
Dhaval seemed almost gleeful to explain himself. “Vane was a troublesome and disobedient vassal to our Thakoor’s father, which makes him more likely to rule my way. Allies of mine desire their land. Other garrisons will divide up Vane’s warriors—the ones who are smart enough to give up their names, at least. The rest will be named criminals and hunted down as if they were casteless. Mostly…personally…I want your name extinguished just because you were always so damned proud of where you came from, so I want to take that away from you. Then you can die knowing that you hurt them one final time.”
Thera hated this smug toad so very much that she was tempted to draw the knife Javed had given her and lunge for Dhaval. With the element of surprise on her side she could probably mortally wound him before the remaining guard slammed her against the wall hard enough to shatter every bone in her body.
But no…finding a way to survive this would spite him more than death.
It was hard to believe that all those years ago, briefly, ever so briefly, she had deceived herself into thinking her arranged marriage to this man might not be such a bad thing. Oh, what a fool she had been. “You always were more politician than warrior, Dhaval.”
“You always failed to understand they’re really the same thing, Thera.”
“Keep telling yourself that. I’ve heard Makao has gone to war against its old enemy Harban once more, and yet here you are, safely behind the tall walls of Kanok, so very far from the fighting.”
“Someone needs to be here for your trial and shaming.” Dhaval made a big show of shivering at the chill. “It’s so cold down here. I think I will return to the warm bed of my new wife now.”
“Oh, you’ve managed to not murder this one yet?”
The remaining guard looked at the floor as she said that. The regular warriors probably knew about what had happened to the others, because rumors flew quickly in Kanok. The whole city probably suspected what manner of man Dhaval really was, and when Dhaval saw that low-status warrior’s reaction to her words, his remaining eye narrowed with fury. It was a good thing the deadly witch hunter was there, because that insinuation probably would’ve gotten her killed otherwise.
Dhaval sneered at her but left without another word.
Javed just looked down at her and shook his head. If he’d spoken true about his fanatical conversion last night, he gave no indication of it now. Witch hunters were the greatest actors in the world, and behind that leering mask he might as well have been a stone statue for all the emotion he revealed.
But then Javed told the guard, “The phontho speaks some wisdom. Fetch some warm blankets for this prisoner. And see to it she’s being properly fed and given clean water. If she falls ill before her trial, the Inquisition will hold your unit responsible.”
That threat clearly terrified the guard. Dhaval may have been a devious worm who had somehow gained far too much authority, but an Inquisitor was an Inquisitor. Warriors could weather the occasional bad commander. Inquisitors represented the careful malice of the Law itself.
“It’ll be done, Witch Hunter.”
Once they were all gone, Thera wondered if more warmth and food had been meant as a small mercy, or was that small kindness merely an attempt to keep their magical curiosity alive? It was impossible to know for sure. Then her thoughts turned to the plight of her birth house. Vane were proud warriors, who surely had no use for a criminal like her. They had no loyalty to her, nor her to them. She had her own people now, criminals and fanatics.
Only Dhaval had been right about her pride, and she hated him for it. Thera was a warrior daughter of Vane, and though they surely hated her now, they were still her people. It tore her heart out that she might be their doom.