Bile rose in my throat. They let me believe I was going to die; that I was going to be tortured. And didn’t even bother pulling me out until the last possible moment!
“Oh, I’ll show you how good of an actor I am!” I growled, sitting up and reaching for the sorcerer, but he dissolved in a cloud of smoke, leaving only a toothy grin hanging in the air.
“Calm down!” I heard Laik Var, and the cycles of conditioning kicked in; I obeyed.
Still, my eyes kept darting around, trying to locate the sorcerer. Only then did I realize we were in the medical tent, back where the initial spell was cast. The cot on the right side was empty, despite me clearly remembering getting up from it—and lying down on the one I was on now. How could I miss that? Was I really that dumb?
“Your mind was a bit addled,” said Tayrel Kan, appearing out of nowhere.
Was this bastard reading my thoughts? I made sure to send him a few nasty words. But there was another thing gnawing at me, not letting me just accept it and move on.
“That wasn’t the only reason,” I deduced. “You wanted to see what I’d do. Where my loyalties lie.” I repeated Myar Mal’s words, heavy and bitter with the new meaning. “If I decided to betray you and join the enemy… you would finish me before I spilled your secrets.”
Laik Var pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. He didn’t expect me to figure that out, I realized, which added to my growing sense of betrayal.
Tayrel Kan, on the other hand, merely scoffed. “Well, of course we were covering our asses! We have a problem with your buddies over there! But we covered yours, too, saving you from a slow and painful death. So, you know, you’re welcome.”
I didn’t answer. He was right. I hoped those Tarvissian bastards had fun with the pile of mud they were left with. I only wished it was rigged to blow up, but I guess there are only so many spells you could place on one machine.
But still…
“Catch your breath,” advised Laik Var, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We have a meeting in half an hour.”
Chapter 5
I was back in the vessár-ai tent. This time, I got a chair; too small and so uncomfortable that I considered just sprawling on the floor. But I welcomed it. If I were forced to stand, I would probably collapse.
“How are you holding up?”
I glanced up, and my eyes met Myar Mal’s. As it had before, his dominating presence made me forget about the thirteen other people—Tayrel Kan included—who were there with us. However, I wasn’t sure anymore if it was a good thing.
“Sorry?” I asked, instantly hating how dumb I sounded. I came here for questioning, but that was the last question I expected.
“You were almost tortured and killed; how are you holding up?” His tone verged on impatience and I flinched involuntarily.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled, dropping my head again.
“Are you sure?”
I felt his inquisitive gaze on me. “Yes, Myar Mal.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
I peeked down; he was right. I clenched my hand into a fist and wrapped the other one around it.
“It’s… not that,” I murmured, hoping he wouldn’t press further.
“What then?”
The truth sounded stupid even for me, but no matter how long I tried to come up with a plausible explanation, my head remained empty. The silence was getting more awkward by the heartbeat.
“Nothing,” I said lamely, hating myself a little more.
“You don’t have to deal with everything on your own,” his voice softened, once again making me feel pitiful.
“I’m used to it,” I replied automatically.
“Maybe. But it’s unhealthy. You’re probably not comfortable asking for help. You outworlders seem to think it’s shameful, or some shit. But all things considered, I’d rather have you humiliated but alive than proud and dead. So, I strongly suggest you go to the medical team and talk to someone about your experiences. Understood?”
It wasn’t pride, but I was so used to people misreading my feelings, I didn’t even try to protest. “Yes, Kar-vessár.”
I’d rather return to Montak Mansion.
“All right, then,” said Myar Mal, leaning back in his chair and returning to his brisk, official tone. “Tell us what you found out.”
My tension melted a bit. This was the type of conversation I was fine with—a cold, official report, nothing more. Nothing personal.
“I know the leader, Karlan Peridion,” I started.
“Peridion?” asked one vessár I didn’t recognize, an older man with steely hair and a repeatedly broken nose.
I realized that apart from Myar Mal and Laik Var—and Tayrel Kan—I couldn’t name any of the present people. When I joined Mespana, I was probably introduced to all of our leaders, but it was so long ago. I knew I could ask anyone anytime, but that would be awkward, so I didn’t. Besides, up until now, I only really needed to recognize Laik Var.
“Of Nes Peridion fame?” continued the old man.
I nodded. Nes Peridion was my homeworld—like Maurir, inhabited mostly by immigrants from Tarviss. It was named by the late Arlo, Karlan’s father, and the Dahlsian officials wouldn’t let anyone change it.
“From what I’ve heard,” inserted Myar Mal, “your families share a history. Would you mind telling us more about it?”
I dared a peek at his face, but it showed nothing but polite curiosity. I wondered how much he knew. For denizens of Nes Peridion, it seemed like a defining moment, but there were thousands of colonies in Meon. Millions of people, from all species and cultures. Perhaps what was so important for us, warranted nothing but a brief note for the Dahlsi.
“Twenty cycles ago, the Tarvissian noble Arlo Peridion decided to settle in one of the worlds in the Meon Cluster. He brought his whole court, a small army, and a couple thousand workers. Soon, though, the workers realized that without aid from Tarviss, there was
