Page 68 of Among the Burning Flowers
‘I do nothing inhisname,’ Jondu said, with such open contempt that Marosa stiffened. ‘Princess, you are a daughter of the Ersyr, heir presumptive of the House of Taumargam. You have my sisters’ respect and protection. I put my faith in you to finish my assignment.’
‘Who are your sisters?’
Jondu shook her head. Marosa had the sense of being caught upon a root she could not see.
‘Donmata,’ a guard called, ‘are you well?’
‘Yes,’ Marosa called. ‘Thank you.’ She stood. ‘I can make no promises, but I will do what I can.’
‘Wait,’ Jondu said, stopping her. ‘My cloak. Has Fýredel seen it?’
Red her cloak and sharp her blade.
‘Yes,’ Marosa said. ‘What is special about your cloak?’
‘It is dyed with Draconic blood.’
‘Are you a culler?’
‘Of a sort.’ Jondu raised her chin. ‘I know that I will die here, but let it not be at the jaws of a wyrm. Fýredel will make an example of me. Better it was swift and clean.’ Marosa turned back to her, and Jondu read her face with unexpected ease. ‘He has already given you orders.’
‘He will not kill you himself, but he wishes to witness your death. To hear your screams.’
‘Your torturers could not win one from me,’ Jondu said, her smile tight, ‘but I would still rather that my death was not to satisfy a wyrm. He will likely have me fed to his creatures. I would prefer to die in battle.’
‘Are you asking to fight me?’ Marosa said, returning the grim smile. ‘I am not strong.’
‘That cannot be true. You are a Taumargam. But no, I will not fight you, Princess.’
Marosa did not carry anything sharp. She had never been permitted, after the way her mother had supposedly died. Another lie her father had used to control her every move. There was dwale in the palace – a potion for reducing pain, too much of which could kill – but she would not find it before dawn.
All she had was the vial of basilisk venom.
If she handed it to Jondu, she would bear responsibility for the death of at least one person, whether that was Jondu herself, or the guards outside. The Knight of Justice would condemn her, but there was no justice in what Fýredel planned for this woman. A knight was supposed to prevent suffering. That was why, in ancient days, they had worn blades for mercy killings.
How easy it was to gamble with her place in Halgalant when a living woman sat before her, asking for help and compassion. As her conscience battled her faith, she remembered.
See yourself in others.
A clarifying thought, soothing in its simplicity. She slid the vial from her bodice and placed it between the bars.
‘This is basilisk venom,’ she said. ‘Do not use it to cause your own death, but to melt your way from this cell.’
Jondu picked up the vial and turned it several times.
‘I cannot cross the Spindles. Not with my foot like this,’ she said. ‘The arch is shattered.’
‘Then fight the guards. This time, they might be able to subdue you,’ Marosa said. ‘You can die in battle, as you wished.’
After a long and silent moment, Jondu nodded.
‘This is a kindness. A gift,’ she told Marosa. ‘I hope your Saint will not punish you for it.’
Marosa unlaced her partlet, revealing the pendant that sat below her neckline. Jondu beheld the mirror with clear recognition.
‘I do not only follow the Saint,’ Marosa said quietly. ‘If I am ever in your place, I hope to be shown the same mercy.’
Jondu smiled, cracking her lips.
