“Actually, they put the last of the House’s supply in my pot last night. I sent one off to buy more this morning but he came back empty-handed.” Tayend’s expression became serious. “It was hard to get any sense out of him. Seems someone took it off him, but he claimed he didn’t know who in that way people do when they’re lying and they want you to know it.”
Dannyl frowned. “Someone took it from him? A thief?”
“Or someone working for the king. Maybe they don’t want us writing-up documents.”
A chill ran down Dannyl’s spine. “Or making copies of research notes.”
“Surely not. How would they know you were doing that?”
“The slaves,” Dannyl replied.
Tayend’s eyes narrowed. “Who won’t know you’re only writing about your research, not about Lorkin’s discoveries.”
Dannyl sighed. “I’m not going to be able to get that second copy to the Guild safely, am I?”
“I could be wrong about the king’s men taking the ink,” Tayend said. He looked at Dannyl thoughtfully. “Or not. Maybe you had better lock those notes up with magic in case the slaves are ordered to steal them from you.” He took a step toward the corridor, then stopped and looked back. “I’ll bring my ink pot over for you. Maybe Merria or I can get more ink from our Sachakan friends.”
Chapter 10
No Good Choices
Lorkin lay on the hard, cold floor of the cell and tried not to listen to the slave woman struggling to breathe. I don’t even know her name, he thought. Surely he should at least know the name of the woman who was suffering so much pain because of him. Because of the Traitors as much as me, he reminded himself. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask her. Not when he was deliberately avoiding Healing her.
If he did, the interrogator would hurt her all over again.
If he didn’t, she might die. Then the interrogator would find another slave to hurt. At first Lorkin had reasoned that it was better for fewer people to be hurt and killed than more, but she had hissed at him to stay away when he’d approached her, and again when he’d tried to explain that he could at least stop the pain. Though she could not have stopped him Healing her, if she wanted to escape her predicament by dying he felt he ought to respect her wishes. Or perhaps, eventually, the pain would be too much and she would ask him to help her.
It had been a very long day. One horrible moment was followed by another, and another. Time stretched out beyond his ability to judge its passing. At times he felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare that would never end. The interrogator didn’t appear to tire of his work, or run out of ways to cause a human as much pain as possible while causing minimal damage. Lorkin had seen things he would never forget. He had heard sounds that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had smelled aromas no civilized person should ever smell.
He knew sleep was beyond possible, but he tried. When he gave up on trying, he pretended he was asleep.
A contorted hiss came from the slave and he was instantly alert, heart beating fast. He told himself she was just voicing the pain, not calling for attention, but the same pattern of sounds came again. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to look at her.
She was lying on her side, curled up and cradling her broken arm. Her eyes were wide open and staring at him. As he met her gaze her lips moved and though no sound came the words were clear, as if she’d spoken in his mind. He went cold all over at their meaning.
Kill me.
He stared back at her in disbelief. No, not disbelief. Death is the only escape she is going to get. I can stop the pain, if she’ll let me, but that is only the physical part of torture. I can’t stop the horror, humiliation and fear.
But...
His insides twisted. I can’t kill her. He felt guilt deepen and turned away. It’s all my fault. He shook his head. No. It isn’t. But I can’t pretend I’m not partly responsible for what’s happening to her. If there’s anything I can do...
Anything? But I’ve never killed anybody. It’s not that I wouldn’t if I had to defend myself or someone else, but to kill someone who isn’t trying to hurt anyone is wrong.
Her lips shaped the plea again.
He remembered his mother’s words, from long ago: “As Healers we can do much to prevent death, but the limits of what we can do sometimes clash with what we should do. When a person is beyond saving and only wishes to die, keeping them alive is a kind of cruelty.”
Listening to the slave’s shuddering breaths, he knew it was cruel to let her suffer with no hope of escape.
How would I even do it? The Ashaki guard was sitting outside the cell, watching them. Whatever Lorkin did, it would have to be gentle and subtle enough that it didn’t attract attention.
I can’t believe I am actually contemplating it.
Eventually the slave’s death would be noticed. What would they do once they knew Lorkin had killed her? He felt a traitorous relief as the answer came to him. She is the king’s property – or somebody’s. I don’t know how bad a crime it is to destroy someone’s property, but it would definitely be something they’d hold against me.
Perhaps they were hoping he’d kill her. Perhaps it would give them the excuse they needed to read his mind, or worse. Once he was officially a criminal they could do anything to him.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this was their plan. Why else were they locking her in the cell with him every night? If he went on Healing her he would soon use up all the power Tyvara had given him. But that couldn’t be their only aim. There were plenty of other ways they could sap his strength, if that was what they wanted. If they only intended to break his resolve by torturing others, why leave the slave woman in his cell? They could always lock her up close by, just out of reach, so he witnessed her suffering but couldn’t help her.
Suddenly he wanted to kill her, just to spite them.
No, I don’t, he told himself quickly, shuddering at the thought he might be turned into a murderer so easily.
“Kill me,” came the whisper again. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Was there a way he could kill her that would leave no evidence he had done it? If the injuries the interrogator gave her are bad enough... No, he would have made sure they weren’t. Yet from the sound of her breathing something inside her chest was damaged. Perhaps a rib was cracked or broken. If he could manipulate it...
But that would be using Healing power to kill. Healers were supposed to heal, not harm.
Well, that’s always been a complicated philosophy. Cutting open a body to remove a tumour involves harming in order to heal. And then there’s the argument for helping people die. And my mother used Healing in defence, to kill some of the Ichani invaders.
“Www...”
A soft scraping noise came from the girl, and he reluctantly turned his head to look at her again. She was reaching toward him. No, he corrected himself, she’s reaching toward my legs.
“Wwwater,” she gasped.
Relief came as he realised that now she was only asking for something to drink. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. The food-bearing slave had brought a meal. Lorkin had tried to share it with the slave woman but she’d refused to eat. He reached for the jar of water and froze, remembering the warning glyphs that had indicated it was unsafe.