Page 12 of Shadows of Winter

“It just makes you tell the truth, doesn’t it?” Kaylina looked at her brother.

“Assuming you’re not allergic to it,” Frayvar said, “it lowers your inhibitions, like alcohol. But it’s even more potent. It makes you eager to share information, but it also removes any reluctance to hide or sublimate your emotions. Depending on the person, its use can result in weeping or rage or both.”

Great. Kaylina couldn’t wait to bare her soul and weep in front of the stone-faced Vlerion and his boss.

Or was the ranger captain his boss? He ought to be, but they stood shoulder to shoulder, and they’d bantered like equals.

“The kid knows a lot about it for someone who isn’t a spy,” Vlerion noted.

“He knows a lot about everything.” Kaylina balled her fingers into a fist, frustration with the situation still simmering. “He reads books.”

She kept herself from implying that Vlerion didn’t—or couldn’t—barely.

“On roots?” Targon asked mildly.

That humor remained on his face, but his eyes were intent, and she knew he was testing them, waiting to see if they would inadvertently condemn themselves. What was going on in the capital that the rangers were so on edge? That they jumped straight to believing that people accidentally trespassing were spies?

The memory of the dead lord floated into her mind, answering her own question. She wished she’d spent more time reading the kingdom newspapers of late. Whatever was going on up here was probably being published in all the major cities, but she’d been too immersed in her own world to pay attention.

“He’s a chef at the Spitting Gull, our family’s meadery and eating house,” Kaylina said to answer Targon’s question. “If something is edible, magical or mundane, he’s read about it.”

Frayvar nodded.

“We’ll see.” Targon raised his eyebrows. “Do you still consent to taking the kafdari root and being questioned?”

Vlerion had implied that she would be questioned whether there was consent or not, but maybe those words had been meant to scare her into compliance. Maybe they had some laws about questioning their own people and needed her permission.

Another scream echoed through the stone walls, one of pain. Neither ranger blanched or reacted in any way. Targon continued to watch her intently.

“Did that guy not consent?” Kaylina didn’t manage to keep the squeak of alarm out of her voice.

“He did not. Evdar Wedgewick…” Targon paused, watching her eyes. To see if she recognized the name? She didn’t. “…is a known terrorist leader who’s been behind explosions around the city that have caused the deaths of innocents, working class and aristocrats. He is being questioned by force since he eluded the effects of the kafdari root and didn’t tell us the locations of the Virt bases.”

It was possible to elude the truth drug? Did that mean that her words wouldn’t automatically clear her?

Kaylina hoped that wouldn’t be the case. She had nothing to hide and wouldn’t fight the questioning. But would they believe her? What if the root addled her so much that she couldn’t think straight, and she somehow said something that would condemn them?

She looked at Frayvar, but he didn’t nod or encourage her in any way. His solemn eyes seemed to say it was up to her.

Since he couldn’t be questioned with the root, she had to do this.

“I consent, and I’m ready.” Kaylina wanted to get away from the sound of a man being tortured and back to fulfilling her dream as soon as possible.

Targon nodded and withdrew something from a pouch on his belt. The cream-colored ball looked like wadded-up chicle. Kaylina assumed powdered kafdari root was mixed into it.

As Targon approached, Vlerion did too, moving to stand behind her.

Kaylina tensed, alarmed by the big men hemming her in.

“Vlerion will hold you in case you grow violent under the influence of the root. It’s for your own good as well as to prevent him from suffering grievous injury at your hands again.” Targon grinned at Vlerion.

He sighed. “Do you have to take so much delight in my bruise?”

Bruise. He probably had a concussion. Kaylina hoped he did.

“Yes.” Targon’s grin widened. “Hardly anyone ever touches you in a fight.”

“If that were true, I’d have a prettier face.”

---