The Tor stood at the door of her cell. His voice shook as he murmured again, “My lady.” His fat fists gripped the bars of the door as if he were the one who had been locked up – as if he were imprisoned and she were free. Dully, she noticed the lamplit tears spreading across his cheeks.
“My lady, help me.”
His appeal reached her. He was her friend, one of the few people in Orison who seemed to wish her well. He had saved her from the Castellan. More than once. Biting back a groan, she shifted onto her hands and knees. Then she got her feet under her and tottered upright.
Swaying and afraid that she might faint, she moved closer to the door. For the moment, that was the best she could do.
“My lady, you must help me.” The old lord’s voice shook, not because he was urgent, but because he was fighting grief. “King Joyse has given Lebbick permission to do anything he wants to you.”
She didn’t understand. Like the Castellan’s kiss, this was incomprehensible. Somehow, she found herself sitting on the floor again, hunched forward so that her graceless and untended hair hid her face. Permission to do anything. King Joyse had smiled at her, and his smile was wonderful, a sunrise that could have lit the dark of her life. She could have loved that smile, as she loved Geraden. But it was all a lie. Anything he wants to you. It was all a lie, and there was no hope left.
“Please,” the Tor breathed in supplication. “My lady. Terisa.” He was barely able to contain his distress. “In the name of everything you respect – everything you would find good and worthy about him, if he had not fallen so far below himself. Tell us where Geraden has gone.”
Involuntarily, her head jerked up. Her eyes were full of shadows. You, too? Nausea closed around her stomach. You’ve turned against him, too? She couldn’t reply: there weren’t any words. If she tried to say anything, she would start to cry herself. Or throw up. Not you, too.
“You will not hurt him, my lady.” The Tor was pleading. He was an old man and carried every pound of his weight as if it were burdensome. “I care nothing for his guilt. If he lives, he is far from here, safe from Lebbick’s outrage. We are besieged. Lebbick cannot pursue him. And no one else can use his glass. It will cost him nothing if you speak.
“But King Joyse—” The lord’s throat closed convulsively. When he was able to speak again, his voice rattled in his chest like a hint of mortality. “King Joyse has trusted the Castellan too long. And he is no longer himself. He does not understand the permission he has given. He does not know that Lebbick is mad.
“My lady, he is my friend. I have served him with my life, and with the lives of all my Care, for decades. Now he is not what he was. I acknowledge that. At one time, he was the hero of all Mordant. Now it is the best he can do to defend Orison intelligently.
“But he has only become smaller, my lady, not less good. He means well. I swear to you on my heart that he means well.
“If you defy Lebbick, the Castellan will do his worst. And when King Joyse understands what his permission has done to you, he will lose the little of himself that remains.
“Help me, my lady. Save him. Tell us where Geraden has gone, so that Lebbick will have no excuse to hurt you.”
Terisa couldn’t focus her eyes. All she seemed to see was the light reflecting on his cheeks. He was asking her to rescue herself. After all, he was right: if she revealed where Geraden was, the Castellan would have no more excuse to harm her. And in the process King Joyse would be saved from doing something cruel. And the Tor himself – the only one of the three she cared about – might be able to stop crying.
With more strength than she knew she had, she got to her feet. “King Joyse is your friend.” To herself, she sounded dry and unmoved, vaguely heartless. “Geraden is mine.” Then, trying to ease the old man’s distress, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“ ‘Sorry’?” His voice broke momentarily. “Why are you sorry? You will suffer – and perhaps you will die – out of loyalty to a man who has killed his own brother, and it will do him no good. Perhaps he will never know that you have done it. You will endure the worst Lebbick can do to you and accomplish nothing.” His hands struggled with the bars. “You have no cause to be sorry. In all Orison, you alone will pay a higher price for your loyalty than King Joyse will.
“No, my lady. The sorrow is mine.” The rattle in the Tor’s chest made every word he said painful to hear. “It is mine. You will meet your agony heroically, and you will either speak or hold still, as you are able. But I am left to watch my friend bring to ruin everything he loves.
“I did not come to you with this at once. Do not think that. Since King Joyse gave his orders, I have been in torment, wracking my heart for the means to persuade him, move him – to understand him. I have begged at his door. I have bullied servants and guards. Do not think that I bring my pain to you lightly.
“But I have nowhere else to turn.
“My lady, your loyalty is too expensive.
“Whatever I have done, I have done in my King’s name. He is all that remains to me. I beg of you – do not let him destroy himself.”
“No.” Terisa couldn’t bear the sight any longer, so she turned her back on the Tor’s dismay. “Geraden is innocent. Eremis set this all up.” She spoke as if she were reciting a litany, fitting pieces of faith together in an effort to build conviction. “He faked Nyle’s death to make Geraden look bad, because he knew Nyle was never going to support his accusations against Geraden. If the King lets me be hurt” – a moment of dizziness swirled through her, and she nearly fell – “he’s going to have to live with the consequences. Geraden is innocent.”
“No, my lady,” the Tor repeated; but now she heard something new in his voice – a different kind of distress, almost a note of horror. “In this you are wrong. I care nothing for Geraden’s guilt. I have said that. Only the King matters to me. But you have placed your trust in someone evil.”
She stood still, her pulse loud in her ears and doubt gathering in her gut.
“Nyle is unquestionably dead.” The lord sounded as sick as she felt. “I have seen his body myself.”
Unquestionably dead. That made her move. Groping, she found her way to the cot. It smelled of stale straw and old damp, but she sat down on it gratefully. Then she closed her eyes. She had to have a little rest. In a minute or two, when her heart had stopped quaking, she would answer the Tor. Surely she would be able to think of an answer? Surely Geraden was innocent?
But a moment later the thought that Nyle really had been murdered cut through her, and everything inside her seemed to spill away. Unconscious of what she was doing, she stretched out on the cot and covered her face with her hands.
Eventually, the Tor gave up and left, but she didn’t hear him go.
At noon, the guards brought her a meal – hard bread and some watery stew. She panicked at their approach because she thought they might be the Castellan; her relief when she saw who they were left her too weak to get off the cot.
In fact, she felt too weak to eat at all, to take care of herself in any way. As soon as Castellan Lebbick spoke to her, she would tell him anything he wanted. But that wouldn’t stop him. She could see his face in her mind, and she knew the truth. He didn’t want to stop. Now that he had King Joyse’s permission, nothing would stop him.
Where were the people who had shown her courtesy or kindness, the people who might be supposed to have some interest in her? Elega had gone with Prince Kragen. Myste had left Orison on a crazy quest to help the Congery’s lost and rampaging champion. Adept Havelock was mad. Master Quillon had become mediator of the Congery because that was what King Joyse wanted – and King Joyse had given the Castellan permission to do whatever he wished to her. Saddith? She was only a maid, in spite of her ambitions. Maybe she had inadvertently betrayed Terisa to Eremis. That didn’t mean there was anything she could do to correct the situation. Ribuld, the coarse veteran who had fought for Terisa more than once? He was only a guard – not even a captain.