Esharah flinched and cowered in the corner of the cell as the soldier raised his hand again.

  “Learn your lesson yet, you little rat?” the man snarled.

  “Please,” Esharah whimpered, “it was just a bit of sausage. I was hungry-”

  Another blow rattled her skull, pain throbbing through her ear.

  “Oxshit,” the soldier seized her ear. “You’re the one who hit the jeweler on Crow Street last week. You think there’s more than one Mindspeaker in Eastside’s gutter?”

  “It wasn’t me!” Esharah tried to reach out to the soldier’s mind, tried to make him feel the hunger that gnawed at her belly. Tried to make him feel the bruises left by the leader of the Eastside Rats. Anything that would give him the slightest bit of sympathy. “I swear-”

  “Lies.”

  The word froze Esharah and the soldier alike. Esharah hadn’t felt the new mind approach, but now its presence warped the world around it. A woman with scarred, twisted flesh where her eyes should have been stared back at them.

  “M-Madame...Truthteller,” the soldier whispered, fear radiating off him like heat from a fire.

  “You may leave, Soldier Makhail,” the woman said. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. Yet it carried more authority than the soldier’s shouts.

  Soldier Makhail didn’t hesitate. He scrambled away from Esharah as if she were diseased.

  The woman crouched down, her ruined eyes somehow seeing Esharah better than any sighted person could. “You lie well, child. But you could lie better. The mind is a garden, and truth and lies are its fruits. You currently pluck your fruit before it is ripe. A sour harvest.”

  Esharah said nothing, too terrified to move. Everything Esharah hid away felt exposed before those sightless eyes.

  “Esharah...Nightblood,” the woman spoke Esharah’s name as if she had always known it. “The gift of the Mindspeaker is rare. Rarer still in a girl of only...” Her head tilted, and Esharah felt her mind look through her again. “...eleven. It’s a powerful gift indeed, one close kin to the gift I possess. Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re...the Head Inquisitor,” Esharah whispered. The name that every Eastside child whispered as the bogeyman who would find their sins. A bogeyman that every Eastside criminal knew was more terrifying than any nightmare. “You...know everything.”

  Madame Truthteller inclined her head, razor-thin lips curving in a slight smile, “Everything? Far from it. But it is my job to know. I learn the secrets of Northstar. I ensure that Truth shall reign. That those who would harm the Empire’s order are brought to light. You could be a great tool for that. Or a great obstacle.”

  Esharah flinched at the word “obstacle.”

  “I can help you,” Madame Truthteller whispered. “You have power you don’t understand. And it’s being wasted on stolen sausage. Your mind is a wilderness right now. A tangled jungle. I can show you how to cultivate it. Or, you can suffer the penalty of thieves.”

  Madame Truthteller didn’t need to introduce the image into her mind. Esharah’s own imagination could see it well enough: the images of all convicted thieves on the streets, clutching the stumps left after their hands were chopped off.

  “What...do you want from me?” Esharah asked.

  “I want to help you,” Madame Truthteller replied. “I offer an open door. All you need to do is walk through.”

  A way out. A way to escape the Eastside Rats and a life of begging and stealing for scraps.

  “My...my sister,” Esharah said. “I...I have an older sister-”

  “Yes, Vestra,” Madame Truthteller plucked the name from her mind. “You want us to provide for her as well, yes?”

  Esharah nodded slowly. Vestra was better suited for life among the Eastside Rats than her. None of the Rats ever dared to beat Vestra - not when she’d broken more bones than any of the others. But surely if Esharah could be more than a Rat, Vestra could too.

  “I’m sure we can find a place for Vestra,” Madame Truthteller’s smile widened. She held out a hand in offering.

  Esharah took the Inquisitor’s offered hand and stepped through the door.

  * * *

  “Welcome back, our wayward daughter.”

  Esharah flinched back as if struck. Part of her had feared this meeting. But the last time they’d spoken, Madame Truthteller had claimed Esharah’s actions had closed the door of opportunity forever. She had never expected to return and be called a “daughter” of the inquisitors again. A lifetime’s training kicked in, and Esharah met Madame Truthteller’s gaze without flinching. Or so she hoped. The echo of that little girl’s terror still rattled in her chest.

  “It’s...good to see you again,” Esharah replied, praying the tremor didn’t show in her voice.

  “Lies,” Madame Truthteller chuckled. Because truth and lies really were only a game to the inquisitor. A game she always won.

  “Head Inquisitor,” Etrani bowed as if nothing was amiss. Which, of course, to her nothing was. To the executor, someone like Madame Truthteller was just a colleague. Not the spectre that had changed the course of her life. “Governor Iraias. We thank you for the invitation.”

  Vestra’s arm around Esharah’s shoulder once would have been comforting, even in the face of Septentrion’s most powerful Mindreader. Now, it felt more like Esharah was a sacrifice led to the temple. She did not pull away.

  “Welcome back, Executor Etrani,” Governor Iraias inclined his head a few degrees. “And welcome, heroes of Hellfrost.”

  Some minds were impossible to read, and Governor Iraias’ was one of them. Even with no vis abilities, sheer discipline could ward a mind. The Battle Mind was Aven’s method, splitting away parts that he wished to keep hidden. For Iraias, it was a meticulously crafted mental armor, so perfectly fitted to his will that not a single crack or seam could be found. So, Esharah had to use her best judgment to determine whether the title of “heroes” was mocking or sincere.

  Etrani made introductions, and each of them kept their greetings polite. Etrani had coached them all about decorum expected in the presence of a Governor, and even Sunshine restrained his grandiloquence to only a slightly-deeper-than-necessary bow.

  Esharah only half paid attention. Her eyes were on the woman who had been mentor, savior. And the judge who condemned Esharah to Hellfrost. Madame Truthteller stood silently by Governor Iraias’ side. Just a sentinel, listening for the truth.

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  “Are...you well, Esharah?” Mensikhana’s voice broke through.

  Esharah released a deep breath, realizing that she’d been holding it for far longer than she should have. A glance to the side found both Mensikhana and Aven staring at her.

  “I am,” she sent the mental reply.

  And when she returned her gaze to Madame Truthteller’s, she saw an answer there. Not words; Madame Truthteller’s mind domain didn’t communicate so adeptly. Her power was in listening, reading other’s intentions. Not in speaking. She didn’t reach out, she collected. That was her nature. Yet still, even a crude, powerful impression from her mind could communicate eloquently.

  Esharah understood the message in the faint smile and tightening of her scarred eye-sockets: “Still you lie so easily.”

  “May the worms feast on your rotted skull, tyrant.”

  Janaya’s proclamation snapped the room back to attention.

  The words hung in the air. Harsh, damning. Appalling to speak to an imperial official in his own office.

  “Janaya!” Etrani gasped, hand coming to her mouth.

  Iraias raised a hand to forestall the executor. He looked at Janaya incredulously, “Pardon?” A simple question. No anger in it. Yet the room’s air grew heavy enough to crush them all.

  The hellfire that wreathed Janaya now burned brighter, a defiant beacon in the room. Her entire body trembled as if she might explode at any moment. “I have seen your evil. Felt it shatter my bones and pierce my flesh. Your throne is built on death and conquest. You are no governor but a butcher. You raise your own people as meat for the slaughter, offer them as sacrifices to the void while you sit in safety far from the battle that threatens the world. May your pyre bring light, for your life has brought nought but darkness and death to the world!”

  Esharah could only share Etrani’s horror.

  Howling laughter broke the stunned silence as Vestra doubled over.

  “Gods, Aeli!” Vestra’s grip around both Esharah and Etrani tightened. “Where on hell were you hiding this one?! She’s got a set on her!” The dezar gasped for breath between giggles. Realizing that her laughter was the only sound in the room just seemed to set off another round. Even godsdamned Sunshine had the sense not to laugh in a situation like this.

  Governor Iraias, to Aelia’s great shock, showed no sign of anger from the tirade. “I recall you. A prisoner from Amaklos, yes?”

  “You tried to kill me,” Janaya bared her teeth. “And when you could not, you handed me over to Yvris. You have claimed that Hellfrost’s atrocities belonged to Yvris and to Erdrak, but you were the one who set them atop Hellfrost’s bloody throne. You only cast them aside because it became convenient. Wash your hands of their sin, but your own soul is stained with the same filth.”

  Aven interrupted before she could speak further, “Janaya, this really isn’t the time or-”

  “There is no other time or place to condemn evil than when we meet it face to face,” Janaya’s head snapped towards Aven, but to his credit he didn’t flinch even from the fury of her glare. “I fight the void alongside you, but I will not remain silent when I meet your empire’s evil either.”

  Madame Truthteller’s head tilted faintly, listening to the truth beneath Janaya’s rage.

  “Tell me,” Governor Iraias steepled his hands, “what do you think the consequences are of speaking like this to an imperial official?”

  “Do what you will to me,” Janaya’s pride soared with her conviction. “You cannot kill me. I’ve endured the greatest torture your agents could devise. Even if you rip out my tongue, the fire within me will testify for all to see.”

  Also, her tongue would grow back within hours. Esharah vividly recalled the echoes of that particular experiment of Yvris.

  “True, killing you seems to be beyond our means,” Iraias nodded. “Yet your companions have no such invincibility.”

  “If you would punish others for my words, that only proves all the more the falsehood of the Justice you proclaim,” Janaya shot back.

  Iraias’ gaze lingered on her for a few seconds more, then he turned to Etrani, “Executor. Your...entourage is more colorful than I expected.”

  Esharah found Etrani’s mind a whirlwind, barely able to comprehend what Janaya had just said. It was so far outside the executor’s reality that her poor mind wasn’t able to grasp it. She had prepared for political maneuvering, for diplomatic challenges, for legal arguments. She had not prepared for outright, verbal assault spewed by one of their entourage at the man who controlled all their fates.

  “I...apologize, my lord governor.” Etrani finally managed to say through her mortification. “I didn’t- I don’t-,” With Esharah’s support, Etrani took a breath and spoke actual coherent words, “Janaya’s experiences in Hellfrost have left her with a strong antipathy to the imperial authority she holds responsible.”

  The governor waved a hand dismissively, “I’d expect little else from a warrior of Amaklos.” His gaze returned to Janaya, “I do value frankness. And you’ve been...remarkably frank. I’ve no interest in being righteous in your eyes. Your judgment means nothing to me. You have, to this point, fought against the voidspawn, yes? Will you continue to do so?”

  If anything, Janaya seemed positively deflated that Iraias wasn’t punishing her for defiance, “...of course I will.”

  The governor glanced to the side, and Madame Truthspeaker spoke, “She speaks true.”

  “So long as you direct your...fervor towards the voidspawn, you may say what you wish,” Governor Iraias said. “...in private. If you were to speak thus in public, I would indeed have your tongue ripped out. And your companions killed.”

  He paused a beat, just long enough for the whole room to take in the words, “Yes, even if doing so is a perversion of Justice. I’m sure that will be quite gratifying to you as Vestra spills their blood. I do, of course, value Justice. But more than that, I value consequence. So long as your behavior aids the empire, I shall find it acceptable. If it proves harmful, I will ensure the consequence balances the scales. You understand?” He did not ask Janaya. He asked everyone else.

  “I understand,” Esharah answered. Everyone else found enough sense to do the same. Except Vestra, who still had tears of laughter in her eyes.

  “Excellent,” the governor smiled. “Then, please, Janaya of Amaklos, I would request that you restrict such disruptive behavior for the remainder of our meeting.”

  “...right,” Janaya looked as though she had no idea how to respond. All the fire was gone out. Even Hellfire, it seemed, could meet frost too cold to melt.

  * * *

  “That was...that was mortifying,” Aelia couldn’t keep still. Not after what just happened. By miracle, the rest of the meeting was smooth, Janaya’s outburst fading into a silence that Esharah informed Aelia was “sulking”. “What on earth was she thinking?! How could she say such things to a Governor?”

  “She sees the world differently,” Aven replied, voice calm. How could he be calm? Such a breach of decorum could have destroyed everything they hoped to accomplish here. Or, possibly, led to their deaths. “To her, the empire is as much an enemy as the void. The only difference is that one wears a human face.”

  The eleven of them had been led to guest quarters. A house outside the citadel, in the central imperial style of a central gathering hall surrounded by adjoining rooms. In Primus or Viriditar, the central hall would have been open-air, around a pool or fountain. In Septentrion, a firepit was more important than a fountain, and heavy shutters covered the skylight during the night to keep more heat in. While the others were eating in the central hall, Aelia had retreated. She needed a moment. Or a few moments. Aelia paced the room, not able to keep still. Pacing helped her think.

  At least Aven’s presence provided some relief. Once, Aelia would have locked herself away with her own tumult of thoughts. A tumult that, shockingly, rarely resolved itself just by isolating herself with those thoughts. It turned out that having another person to talk through problems with...helped. Even when Aven did not agree, he never dismissed her concerns.

  “Even if she despises the Empire,” Aelia said. “Governor Iraias is our only chance of having the Hravast and Kvormskaja recognized as imperial citizens. Her recklessness...” Aelia trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Could ruin their lives.

  “It was reckless,” Aven agreed. Amused, Aelia thought. She was getting better with his emotions, even without Esharah to help. “Seems to be in the water in Hellfrost.”

  That, Aelia couldn’t refute. Recklessness had saved them against Sergrud. And Yvris. Aven’s recklessness was a factor in many of their successes.

  “But if she speaks like that again...”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Aven stood and put his hands on her shoulders. Stilling her. With anyone else, the contact would have been repulsive. With Aven, it brought her back to earth. Back into the eye of the storm instead of hurtling about in her own thoughts’ tempest. “Can’t promise I’ll get through, but we’ll work something out. She might have a crusader complex a league wide, but she can direct her anger at the most important threat. The voidspawn are what matters now. She’ll see that.”

  When Aven said it, Aelia actually could believe it. The Governor might see Janaya as a tool. But he was not wrong. So long as the tool was used for the purpose he needed it for, her other characteristics were irrelevant.

  But if Governor Iraias refused to ratify the treaty, all of their sacrifices would be for nothing. Everything they’d built would collapse.

  Everything they had was so...fragile. Held up by a trust that could snap at any point. Voidspawn could devour it all. A single zealot could burn it down. Or a single political decision. And she was just one woman, trying to hold it all together.

  No, not just one. Aven was holding it up with her. As was Esharah. And countless others, in their own way. Not even the Governor could truly hold them all, no matter how much he thought he could.

  Aelia leaned her head against Aven’s shoulder. The panic receded, replaced by a deep-seated weariness. They would face the Governor tomorrow, for the formal decision. Today had only been a greeting. Tomorrow would be a trial. And they would make their case. That was all they could do.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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