Page 97 of A Drop of Corruption

“Ma’am,” I said, startled. “Are you all right? You lo—”

“Of course I am not!” Ana snapped. “I rarely leave my settled environs for areason,Din! To venture so far and expose myself to so many new people taxes me greatly. But we have many knots to unravel, and so I push myself.”

A long moment passed. A muscle twitched in her cheek, then her neck. When she spoke again, her voice was unusually deep and hoarse, as if she’d just awoken from a long sleep.

“I feel Gorthaus speaks the truth,” she said, “yet it comforts me little. We are left with the same questions—howdid Pyktis kill the king, if there were only those six people in that room? And what did he mean to gain from it?” She sucked her teeth. “It confounds me! How can we speak to so many, and still learn nothing?”

Malo turned to me. “Want to tell her what Darhi asked of you when he pulled you aside? For I heard his murmuring down the hallway.”

I relayed Darhi’s brief meeting with me, and how he had pressed upon me to remember his oathcoin. “It seems he controls much ofthis place, ma’am,” I said. “I almost feel he was the true ruler here, even while the king lived. Perhaps he intends to control even us.”

“Perhaps,” said Ana. “But is he a villain, or simple political swine? It is often hard to tell those two apart.” She turned her blindfolded face to the ceiling. “We are out of friendly witnesses. Now we must delve into liars and schemers. Tell the prince that we need to speak to Pavitar next.”

“Pavitar?” said Malo. “You are sure? The man nurses a great hate for us.”

“And that is why he shall speak truth when he does not wish to!” said Ana. “There is no one more forward with the unpleasant truth than a powerful, prideful man with a grudge. That is why you shall conduct this interview, Din, for I feel he dislikes you strongly. But I would like you to ask Pavitar about the king’shealth.For you say his body appeared very old?”

“To my eye, yes, ma’am,” I said.

“But then, living in a monarchy ages a body,” said Malo, “even when you are the monarch.”

“True! Still, you will ask, Din. But before I forget, Malo—I have heard it said that a warden can hear the flicker of a lie in a man’s heart. Is this so?”

“A tremendous overstatement,” said Malo reluctantly. “I can hear some things, ma’am, if I sit very close to the subject. The smell of sweat divulges far more. But it is not a precise thing. The lie must be most emotional, and emotions do not always speak truth.”

“It shall have to do. It won’t be too hard a task to sit close to the jari, yes?”

Malo pulled a face and turned away.

Chapter 36

The three of us wereled to a side room with towering walls bristling with horns, wings, and occasionally hooves from countless preserved creatures: hunting trophies of birds and beasts, and many creatures I could not name. They shivered and danced in the light from the blaze in the fireplace, casting wicked shadows on the dark stone.

Jari Pavitar strode in, his broad feet stamping on the stone floor. We stood as if he were of royal stock himself, but he simply waved at the smoke with one hand, then walked to the far wall and opened the shutters of a window. He paused, peered out at something, then shook his head in disgust, walked back, and sat down in a huge wooden chair.

“You may sit,” he said brusquely.

We did so, with Malo sitting directly across from the jari, and myself right beside her, watching his every move. Ana sat behind me, bent in her chair, head cocked. Pavitar watched Malo very closely, his pale, green-tinged eyes shining under his indigo-stained brow.

“So. How may I be of service to your Empire?” he asked curtly.

“To begin with, sir,” I said, “I would like to hear you recount what happened last night, from the beginning.”

He scratched his tremendous, green-tinged beard. “If you wish,” he grunted, and then launched into his tale.

His story matched those offered by the prince and Gorthaus almost exactly. There had been the six of them there, and the cauldron,and the cups; they had drunk many cups of tea as they talked; yet then, just after Kardas had served the king tea, he’d choked, cried out, and fallen over, never to breathe again.

“It was after the king collapsed, sir,” I said, “that you accused Prificto Kardas of being the poisoner—true?”

“I did.”

“Why was that?”

“I know well of your magics, your thaumaturgy. For it was imperial magics that contorted the swampfolk in the forest to the south and turned the very land into an abomination. Is that not so?”

“The tools used to accomplish that were stolen, sir, and no imperial authorities were involved, bu—”

“Yes, yes. But it was your arts, your skills, that killed a hundred or more of Yarrow folk without the unsheathing of a single sword. If any state had the power to achieve such a thing, then a poisoning would be even simpler—and, again, it was Kardas who touched the cup last.”