Fire - Kristin Cashore [86]
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Now that the harvest is over, Brocker is well able to handle affairs. I could stay for some time, if I were wanted.’
She made no answer to that, but touched his arm and asked him if he’d like to sit in on the afternoon’s interrogations.
She learned that Mydogg favoured the smuggled wine of an obscure Pikkian vineyard where frost came early and the grapes were left to freeze on the vine. She learned that Murgda and her Pikkian husband, the naval explorer, were thought to be very much in love. Finally and at long last, she learned something useful: the name of a tall, dark-eyed archer with spot-on aim who was old enough by now to have white hair.
‘Jod,’ her informant grunted. ‘Knew him some twenty years ago. We were together in old Nax’s dungeons, ’til Jod got out. He was in for rape. Didn’t know he was sick. Not surprised, the way they piled us on top of each other, the things went on in there. You know what I’m talking about, you monster freak bitch.’
‘Where is he now?’
It wasn’t easy with this man, or pleasant. At every question he fought against her hold, and then lost the fight and succumbed, ashamed and hateful. ‘How should I know? I hope he’s hunting monster-eating bitch dogs like you. I’d like to watch him—’
What followed was a description of a violation so graphic Fire couldn’t help but feel the force of its malice. But the prisoners who spoke to her like this only made her patient, and oddly depressed. It seemed to Fire that they had a right to their words, the only defence they had against her ill use. And of course these were the men who would be dangerous to her if ever released, some of them so dangerous she was compelled to recommend they never be released; and this did not help to soothe her guilt. True, these were not men whose freedom would be a boon to society. Nonetheless, they would not be so inhumanly vile had she not been around to provoke them.
This man today fared worse than most others, for Archer came forward suddenly and punched him in the face. ‘Archer!’ Fire exclaimed. She called for the dungeon guards to take the man away, which they did, lifting him from the floor, where he lay dizzy and bleeding. Once he was gone Fire gaped at Archer, then glared, too exasperated to trust herself to speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said sullenly, yanking his collar loose, as if it choked him. ‘That one got under my skin more than the others.’
‘Archer, I simply can’t—’
‘I said I was sorry. I won’t do it again.’
Fire crossed her arms and stared him down. After a few moments, Archer actually began to smile. He shook his head, sighing hopelessly. ‘Perhaps it’s the promise of your angry face that keeps me misbehaving,’ he said. ‘You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.’
‘Oh, Archer,’ she snapped, ‘flirt with someone else.’
‘I will, if you command it,’ he quipped, with a goofy grin that caught her off guard, so that she had to stop her own face from twitching into a smile.
For a moment, it was almost as if they were friends again.
SHE HAD A serious conversation with Archer a few days later on the archery range, where she had come with her fiddle looking for Krell. She found Krell with Archer, Hanna, and the king, all four of them shooting at targets and Hanna well boosted by advice from all sides. Hanna concentrated hard, her feet planted stubbornly, miniature bow in her hands, miniature arrows on her back, and she was not talking. It was a characteristic Fire had noted: in riding, swordplay, and archery, and any other lesson that interested her, Hanna ceased her chatter, and showed a surprising capacity for focus.
‘Brigan used to focus like that in his lessons too,’ Clara had told Fire, ‘and when he did, it was a great relief to Roen; for otherwise, guaranteed, he was plotting some kind of trouble. I believe he used to provoke Nax on purpose. He knew Nax favoured Nash.’
‘Is that true?’ Fire asked.
‘Oh yes, Lady. Nash was better-looking.