Veylan’s gaze narrows. “And what do we need?”
“Cooperation.”
Xalith scoffs. “From a human slave?”
“From a person who knows we need her,” I correct.
That earns silence because it is true, and truth is most useful when spoken at the moment no one wants to hear it. Besides, if she thinks I am a good guy, she might as well be more cooperative.
I kneel before her again.
“Aeryn,” I say, using her name, because names are leverage, “guide me to the artifact, and when it is secured, you walk free.”
Her face gives almost nothing, yet I catch the smallest shift at the corner of her mouth. Calculation.
“Free where?”
The question pleases me. She does not reject the offer. She audits it.
“Beyond Drazharel territory.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Unmarked?”
Xalith laughs openly. “She negotiates from the floor.”
“She negotiates because she can,” Maelrik says.
I keep my attention on her. “Alive and unmarked.”
She tilts her head slightly. “And if your brothers decide otherwise after I’ve delivered what you want?”
“They won’t.”
“That is not an answer.”
No, it is not. I feel something unfamiliar enough to merit notice. Amusement.
“You prefer guarantees.”
“I prefer terms that survive witnesses.”
She has shifted the audience into a tool. Very good. I rise and turn slightly so all four brothers stand within the shape of the moment.
“You want witnesses?” I ask.
“I want leverage.”
There is blood drying beneath her nose. Rope cuts into her wrists. She kneels on stone before men who could kill her with a gesture, and still she speaks the language of power instead of pleading.
I should find it irritating. Instead, I find myself curious how far it extends.
“Then hear it plainly,” I tell, my voice carrying through the chamber. “If you guide me to the relic, you will receive safe passage beyond our borders, no mark of ownership, no pursuit by House Drazharel under my authority.”
Veylan’s expression hardens. “Under your authority?”