The Tyranny of Ghosts_ Legacy of Dhakaan - Don Bassingthwaite [74]
Tariic had chosen to summon her by day. The sunlight that streamed through the tall windows behind the throne glowed around him—his presence was blinding. There were no warlords or emissaries today, only Pradoor beside him on the dais and his three deaf-mute bugbear guards to the side.
The crests of the clans, Ashi realized, had been removed. The only banner that remained showed the black silhouette of a spiky crown above a purple bar. The crown of Darguun over the Rod of Kings. The symbol Tariic had taken as his own.
Ashi raised her chin and met Tariic’s gaze. For the last week, Tariic’s actions and Midian’s parting words—a surprise visit to some old friends—had eaten at her, yet without Senen’s aid, she’d had no way of warning Geth and Ekhaas that the gnome was on their trail. Oraan had kept her in her chambers, partly to avoid additional suspicion from Tariic, partly, she was certain, to give her rage time to cool. It hadn’t.
“If I’m a scab,” she said, “that makes you a bleeding wound.”
Tariic’s ears went back. He slammed the rod down onto the arm of the throne. “I am lhesh! You owe me respect!”
Ashi didn’t flinch. “I owe you nothing,” she said. She raised her hands, letting the sunlight flash on the silver wrist cuffs. “Feel free to take back these beautiful trinkets, if you want.”
His ears went back even farther, and he hissed a word between his teeth. The bracelets grew chill, then cold. Ashi kept her face hard and her eyes fixed on Tariic. If Oraan had been there, she knew, he would have counseled patience, a smile, dissembling words. Senen and Vounn would have done the same, but where had dissembling gotten them?
The skin around the cuffs turned white. Pain tingled in Ashi’s fingertips and climbed her arms. She kept her eyes on Tariic even as cold tears blurred her vision. When she could taste ice in the back of her mouth, she finally bent her head.
“Atcha’rhu,” she said in Goblin. Your honor is great. It was a fight to keep her voice from trembling.
Tariic smiled benevolently and whispered again. The cold ebbed immediately. The fire in Ashi’s belly only burned hotter. “You are merciful, lhesh,” she said.
The bite of the comment seemed lost on Tariic, but maybe he believed he was. He sat back and gestured with the rod. “I have questions,” he said. It was a command, not a request, but Ashi spread her aching hands in silent invitation. Tariic snapped his fingers. “Pradoor.”
The old goblin priestess crouched down beside the throne. Craning her neck, Ashi could see that a rough arc of symbols had been drawn on the floor around her. Pradoor reached out and, with a certainty that was eerily at odds with her clouded eyes, let a handful of powder sift over coals in a metal bowl. Smoke rose around. Pradoor breathed it in and began chanting the words of a prayer calling on the gods of the Dark Six to separate lies from truth. Ashi felt Pradoor’s magic brush against her, a sensation like questing hands on her mind.
They found no grip, though—the power of her dragonmark protected her against more than just Tariic’s commands. While it shielded her, her mind was a blank page to all forms of divination and magical domination. Tariic had underestimated her. The fire in her belly grew a little more.
Pradoor didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in her spell. The chant faded. “Ask your questions, lhesh,” she croaked.
Tariic’s gaze hadn’t turned from Ashi. “How long have you known Geth and the others were in Volaar Draal?”
She thought quickly. “I found out when you did—when Senen confirmed it.” She let hate fill her voice, disguising the secret triumph she felt.
“Nu kuur doovol,” said Pradoor. “She speaks the truth.”
Tariic’s eyes narrowed. “Does she?”
Ashi wrinkled her nose and spat, “I do! How was I supposed to find out, Tariic? I haven’t had any contact with Senen. Your guards saw to that.”
“She speaks the truth.”
“Senen sang messages to