"Women are oppressed in our society,” he admitted, opening his palms towards the Prioress. “Witches are held in lower regard than Guild Mages; perhaps unfairly. However, I have met only three witches in my life, as far as I know: you, Sister Madeleine and Drex. You condemned my grandfather to a life of misery and self-contempt; Madeleine tried to enslave me and failed, and you killed her; Drex, the love of my life, calls me a despoiler of women, at your command. Should I hail you as a liberator? I don't think so. Just call in your torturers.
"That's all I have to say. Do what you want."
Grimm hoped he had persuaded Lizaveta to talk further, to allow him to regain a little strength, but he knew a sudden shift in allegiance would seem suspect.
The Prioress said, “Madeleine died after I beat her; a weak heart, I suspect. Did your friend, Neophyte Erek, fare any better as a Neophyte Questor-a youth in such despair he took his own life? How many times did you consider suicide during your own Ordeal, Grimm?"
"How did you hear about Erek? Was it pillow-talk from Lord Horin when you held him under your spell?"
"Thorn told me,” Lizaveta replied, with the trace of a smile on her lips.
Grimm felt a shock of horror blaze through his body like a flash-fire. He had guessed that Lizaveta had tried to control Thorn, but he had assumed that the Prelate had shaken off the shackles of her control since she disowned him.
"I know what you are thinking, Grimm. You think he resisted me from the first, don't you? I assure you, this defiance is a recent development. He has been telling me Guild and House secrets for years."
Grimm nodded, mute; learning from Lizaveta that Thorn was her son had been shock enough, but to think that his Lord Prelate was a traitor to the Guild…
"You're lying,” he said. “Lord Thorn… I think you tried to control him, but you failed."
"Thorn knew all about what happened to your grandfather."
Grimm felt his eyes bulge.
"Indeed, he benefited from it. He was a full, if unwilling, participant. While my spell held Loras’ will in abeyance, Thorn placed the pillow in his hands. He raised the alarm, so that other mages could witness his heroic rescue of Geral.
"I have owned Thorn's will all his life."
Grimm's world seemed to tumble around him like an ill-built house of cards. The very metaphor brought back vivid memories of his own Questor training, when he had been required to construct such a pasteboard edifice with the power of his mind alone.
This time, more than his pride was at stake.
His hatred had been reserved for Lizaveta alone, ever since he had discovered her part in Loras’ downfall. Now, he had to accept that Lord Thorn, a man in whom he had placed his implicit trust, had betrayed Loras as part of a plot to destabilise the very Guild he claimed to serve.
As Grimm fought to rationalise this new learning, he heard a soft rap at the door.
"Enter,” Lizaveta barked, turning her back on him.
The door opened to reveal Sister Judan, who gave a respectful curtsey. “Begging your indulgence, Reverend Mother,” she said. “The pale giant is very sick. He does not respond to the standard healing spells. The sickness is eating him up; I've never seen a disease advance so quickly. I consulted Sister Mercia, Reverend Mother, but even she could not help."
Lizaveta shook her head, and turned back towards Grimm, her face ashen. “Our discussion can wait,” she said. “I understand you have some knowledge of herbs. Perhaps you would like to minister to your friend?"
The Questor saw deep concern etched into her face.
Grimm's mind reeled. “Why do you care what happens to Tordun, or Erik, or any of us?” he demanded. “We're all just pawns in your game, aren't we?"
"I dislike needless death, Grimm. Your friends are not essential to my plan, but I do not wish them to die, either."
This woman's just full of surprises, Grimm thought. I'll bet she poisoned Tordun, just to see my reaction. This must be some sort of test.
"Of course I want to help, if I can,” he said. “How far does your largesse extend, Reverend Mother?"
"What do you mean, Questor Grimm?"
"How about healing some of my injuries?” he asked. “I'm not in the best condition to play Healer at the moment."
Lizaveta shrugged. “Of course,” she said.
"I'll need medicinal herbs-I don't know which ones at the moment. I may also need to talk to my other companions."
The Prioress nodded, but did not speak. If she was acting, she was a superb actress!
What's she up to? he wondered, before clarity flashed into his mind: Of course! She doesn't know what it is, and she's worried that it might be contagious! So much for the new, caring Lizaveta!
"You will receive whatever you need, Questor,” the Prioress said in a low voice, and Grimm could swear he heard a tremor of fear in her tone. “This cannot wait."
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Chapter 13: Contagion
Grimm stared in wonder as his cuts and bruises faded away. He had seen magical healing at work before, but always to the accompaniment of runic chants and hand gestures. Sister Judan did her work in complete silence, her hands still and hovering inches over the centre of his chest as she crouched over him. As he had been bidden, he lay on his back in the middle of the cell, his arms and legs splayed.
The aches and pains suffusing his body began to shrink, drawing away from the periphery of his body like ice thawing on a lake. He gasped at a sudden, biting pang under his sternum, but it soon passed.
"There,” Sister Judan said, standing and wiping her forehead with a handkerchief. “You are whole again."
"Thank you, Sister,” he said, marvelling at the absence of pain as he sat up. “You are a miracle-worker!"
Judan frowned. “Do not blaspheme, young man!” she reproved him, her voice as prim and affronted as that of the most repressed maiden aunt.
These ladies are a mass of contradictions, he thought. How can somebody engage in torture one moment and be horrified by a few words the next?
"My apologies, Sister,” he said, with just a trace of sarcasm colouring his voice. “I have been under some strain, and my mind must have strayed from my religious sensibilities for a moment."
Judan sniffed. “We will attend your poor, sick friend now,” she said. “It is such a shame for a fit young man to be stricken so."
"Kindly lead the way, Sister,” he said, rising to his feet.
Are they all madwomen here? Grimm wondered.
Judan led him out of the cell to the long corridor outside, where Lizaveta waited. Grimm's heart beat faster as he saw Drex standing beside the Prioress.
"I have instructed Sister Weranda to accompany you and ensure your good behaviour,” Lizaveta said. “Sister Mercia, our resident Herbalist, will be in attendance, and she is not a member of the Score. As far as she is concerned, you are all our honoured guests, and you are not to disabuse her of this belief. Is that understood?"
Grimm raised an eyebrow.
I would have thought a stinking cell and a battered patient would give the game away at least a little, he thought, but he nodded.
"I understand, Reverend Mother. I will tell Sister Mercia that I am here of my own free will."
"I will see to that, Questor Grimm,” Drex said, her face like stone. “You are not to address me except in response to a direct question, and you will keep your filthy hands away from me. If you do not comply, you will soon regret it!"
"Take care, Sister,” Lizaveta said. “Questor Grimm must retain enough freedom of movement to see to the pale man's needs."
Drex curtsied. “As you wish, Reverend Mother."
"Sister Judan; you shall wait outside the door. If anything untoward occurs, it may be necessary to restructure Sister Mercia's memory a little."