“I promise I won’t hurt him, Mother,” the healer said, those remarkable blue-green eyes fixed on Evan. “But I believe I can get at the truth.”
“Lord Bayar is as capable as any wizard in the realm when it comes to interrogation,” the queen said, her voice low and furious.
Now the healer looked at Evan. “Do you object?” he said.
Sweat trickled between Evan’s shoulder blades, but he shrugged and said, “Why not?”
The prince swapped places with the High Wizard. Sul’Han sat across the table from Evan, shook back the sleeves of his jacket, reached across, and gripped his hands. The prince’s hands were strong, callused, buzzing with energy. There came that same cold current as before, though perhaps a bit more . . . intuitive. Then the prince said, “What’s that on the back of your neck?”
Evan’s heart plummeted to his toes, and his palms grew slippery with sweat. They stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like a lifetime.
Outed, Evan thought. But how? He’d made sure to keep his neck under cover. He said nothing aloud.
“Lord Bayar,” Prince Adrian said, his grip tightening on Evan’s hands, pinning them in place. “Could you examine the back of Strangward’s neck and tell us what you see?”
Evan heard the wizard’s robes rustle as he crossed to where he could stand behind him. He could feel Bayar’s fingers brushing his skin, raising gooseflesh as the wizard swept his hair aside. It reminded him of that day in Montaigne’s palace at Ardenscourt, when he’d done the same to Jenna Bandelow in front of an audience of gawkers.
What goes around comes around, he thought. What you cast into the waves often washes up on your own private beach.
He heard Bayar’s dry, amused voice. “It would appear to be a metal-and-stone badge, like an embedded amulet,” he said, his breath warming the back of Evan’s neck. “I assume that it is what we have been calling a magemark.”
Evan heard chairs scraping, the sound of feet padding across the floor as they all had their look. He kept his eyes on the healer, who wore a trace of a smile.
“I think now would be a good time to have a recess,” the healer said.
26A COMMON CAUSE
When Evan returned to the suite of rooms he shared with his crew, they were boiling with curiosity about the interrogation. Evan kept them in suspense while he retrieved his burner and kettle from the corner, put water on to heat, and set out the tiny cups for the tay ceremony. He knew they would need fortification against this news. Those reborn in blood never lost their desire for it.
When the water was steaming, they watched in avid silence as Evan added the smoky leaves to the brew. While they steeped, he stripped back his sleeve, found a spot on his scarred forearm, and sliced it open, dripping his blood into the common pot.
Evan served each crew member himself. It was the least he could do for people cursed with a thirst that would never be quenched.
When all had been served, Evan slumped into a chair, stirred the fire with a stick, and said, “They know.”
They all looked at one another, as if each hoped that somebody else would ask a question.
“They know . . . what?” Brody said finally.
“They know about the magemark,” Evan said. This was met with a collective groan. Secrets like that didn’t keep. There was no stronghold, no prison strong enough to keep them safe, once Celestine knew where he was. It was all Evan could do to stay in his seat and not stand and begin pacing, which would not help the mood in the room.
“What are we going to do?” Teza said.
“I’m not sure it much matters what we do,” Evan said.
“Do you think they will sell you to the empress?” Brody said. “Or trade you to get their port back?” That was Brody—always the cheerful one.
“I don’t really have control of this story going forward,” Evan said. “A lot depends on the healer.”
“The healer?” Jorani scowled. “He hates you, doesn’t he?”
“Maybe,” Evan said. “I think I’m beginning to win him over, though. If I can stay alive another year or two, we might be friends.”
“Let’s go find the healer and make him be your friend,” Jorani said.
Right, Evan thought. That could go wrong in oh, so many ways.
This pessimistic thought was interrupted by voices outside the door, as if the guards outside were arguing with someone. Finally, the door banged open, revealing the surly healer prince, Adrian sul’Han.
The bluejackets guarding the door admitted him, then pulled the door shut behind him. Instantly, Teza, Jorani, Brody, and the others fanned out, forming a wall in front of Evan.
Evan pushed his way to the front of his crew, waving them off. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure this is a friendly visit.” Turning to the healer, he said, “Good evening. To what do I owe this unexpected—”
“We need to talk,” sul’Han said, displaying his usual charm.
“I agree,” Evan said. “But what’s it been, two hours, since we last spoke? Do you have those notes with you? It might save some time.”
“I’d rather start fresh, and speak frankly. There’s too much at stake to waste time sparring with you.” The healer was as serious as death.
Evan folded his arms and broadened his stance. “Will you speak frankly as well?”
“Of course,” the healer said, as if that point was never in question. He ran his eyes over the hovering Stormborn. “I’d prefer to meet privately.”
This brought protests from Evan’s crew.
“The healer doesn’t mean me any harm,” Evan said. “Else he wouldn’t have come alone.”
This spawned another chorus of objections.
Evan lifted the pot from the burner and handed it off to Teza. “Go. And take this with you.”
They were still grumbling when they went out the door. With the tay.
“Your crew seems . . . unusually loyal,” the wolf prince said, staring after them in a way that suggested that he really meant
