Chapter Twelve

Tanitha continued her explorations of the house, diligently avoiding the norther quadrant of its upper floor per her host's request for privacy. She found little of interest; most of the rooms were either empty or bore few signs of recent use. A few hours later, she decided to turn her attentions to the rear grounds, assuming that she was right in her supposition of where the doors on the north side of the dining hall led. She returned there, ignoring the fresh food that had magically appeared on the table. Bracing herself for cold again but hoping that any outdoor paths would be warmed as the front bridge had been, she pushed the heavy exterior doors open.

To her immense surprise, there was no rush of cold air as she stepped outside. Confused, she looked around. She was on a beautiful terrace that wouldn't have been out of place in the City's palace. Its floor was of polished sandstone, a sweeping staircase of the same material leading down to lush gardens below. She crossed the terrace to lean out over the alabaster banister at its edge. Craning her neck, she could just peer out past the terrace's roof. Bizarrely, she could see snow falling from the sky, but it seemed to be glancing off some kind of invisible barrier a good fifty feet above her.

She stepped back. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised by this given the displays of magic that she'd already seen, but shielding an entire estate from the surrounding environment had to have required an astonishing level of strength from the elementalist that had cast the enchantments. That couldn't be her host, could it? Was he really that powerful? The thought made her skin prickle with apprehension before she dismissed it. She'd already decided that this place must have been here for a very long time, and that it was no longer being used for its original purpose. Besides, there was no reason to think that a single caster was responsible for all of this.

She turned her gaze to the section of the garden immediately below the terrace, then blinked in surprise as she suddenly realized what she was looking at. She'd seen representations of the Elemental Rifts before— many times— but only as drawings on scrolls or as elaborate mosaics on the walls of instructional halls. Never as a layout for a garden, certainly, and never on this scale.

The garden was an enormous circle, sectioned into quarters by one path running due north and another running from east to west. The center of the garden was an open area covered in rich green grass, the expanse interrupted occasionally by unshaped basalt boulders. Initially, that struck her as peculiar—basalt had a dampening effect on elemental magic and was rarely used for any purpose in Karazhen as a result—but symbolically, its use made sense here. That central area was a representation of her world, the mortal plane, as it was sometimes called. It was ringed by trees that were themselves encircled by a moat of water about ten feet across.

On the west side, the waters didn't flow but instead bubbled strangely, like the simmering of a pot, though she didn't see any steam rising from them. That was the Waters Beneath, the primordial source of life. On the east, the waters swirled in violent eddies, somehow managing to appear treacherous despite how shallow such a stream had to be. That was the Waters Above, the source of rain and cloud and snow, the nourisher of life on the earth.

Outside of that was another ring, this one of flowers in a riotous cacophony of reds, oranges, and yellows. The general scheme was paler on the east side and was interrupted by occasional blazes of white petals reminiscent of lightning— that would be the Fires Above— and trended toward deeper, more saturated shades on the west side, representing the Fires Below.

Beyond the ring of flowers, another path encircled the circumference of the garden. On the east side, the path was made out of some sort of shining white stone, the tiles neatly interlocking. On the west, however, the stones were a deep black. That was the outermost realms, the Heavens and the Abyss. One was home to the gods, and the other… the other belonged to the progenitors of the demons.

Those creatures were spoken of only in hushed voices and certainly never named beyond the description of nightmarish monsters that sometimes forced their way through the Rifts between the elements to stalk the earth. Sometimes, they would put their powers over the elements to devastating effect, wreaking havoc and destruction. Other times, however, they had subtler aims. They could turn themselves into eerie mimicries of humans, and would manipulate human affairs, pulling on the strings of fate. Some people said they did this to fulfill the will of the gods; others said they did it in defiance of it. Perhaps both were true.

It seemed sometimes they had baser needs than directing events from the shadows, though. Sometimes an unfortunate young woman, perhaps having thought that she had merely caught the attention of a handsome and mysterious stranger and taken a night of pleasure from it, would later give birth to something that was not human. Something with a tight connection to the elemental powers and to the shapeshifting creatures of the Abyss.

That was the origin of the demon race, so far as she understood. In most parts of the world, such children had little chance of survival; any hint of supernatural strangeness meant that they'd be killed or abandoned. It was the reason that the Ivory Throne still sent agents out to rescue children that had been cast out, children who bore signs of otherworldly heritage. Children that might carry the same blood that they did. It was the reason that the Shadowborn City was so welcoming to foundlings, and, indirectly, the reason that Tanitha and Lithra had been brought there.

Tanitha rubbed her bare arms against a chill. It was a strange thing to consider, but this was not the first time she was meant to be dead and had been saved. The first had been in Sabria, when she'd been so young she barely remembered her rescuer's face. He'd been a mercenary with a grizzled beard and a manner that was stern, but never unkind. A scout hired by the Ivory Throne to find demon children and bring them to the one place in the world that would offer them safe harbor.

Tanitha gave a small, rueful smile. The reward for rescuing and bringing in true demon children was absurdly high, and if she and Lithra had turned out to be that, the man probably could have purchased himself a country estate and retired. He must have been disappointed when they'd failed the test to determine what sort of blood they had, although she was certain he'd been paid well enough for her , at least, with the elemental inclinations she'd shown. Even though she'd never revealed the most valuable of those.

She sighed and leaned against the banister, resting on both elbows. And that, of course, led her to a conundrum. Soul-speaking… She refocused her gaze on the garden. Soul, as an element, didn't have its own sphere, but instead was woven through all the others, so she supposed it was represented by the paths that cut through the garden. Could she still soul-speak? She honestly didn't know, and the thought of trying made her chest feel tight with anxiety. But it was a possible tool, a resource at a time when she had little else in her favor.

Her heart still beating hard, she closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses. There were so many enchantments here, so many magical constructs, those invisible servants woven of elemental magic and the force of will, and she could sense them distinctly. Soul-speaking was an essential part of creating and commanding constructs, or so she'd heard, so there were obvious applications for the skill's use here. Perhaps… perhaps despite her years of stifling the talent, she should try.

"Tanitha?"

She shot upright, and a firm hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her reflexive turn.

"Don't turn around," the demon lord said. There wasn't any air of threat in his voice, only firm command, but her blood chilled regardless. She clenched her eyes shut for a long second, trying not to hunch. She knew he didn't want her to feel afraid— he'd taken some pains on that point— but she still didn't like to think what would happen if he thought she might disobey. She turned her head fully back to the front, the motion deliberate and slow, before opening her eyes again. Whatever he'd said, she still didn't fully believe that his insistence on concealing his identity was truly a matter of her own safety.

She forced herself to relax, letting the sudden tension that had sprung into her at the sound of his voice fade away. Suddenly extremely aware of the weight and warmth of his hand on her shoulder— and a corresponding warmth rising in her blood— she cleared her throat, taking a deliberate step forward. To her mingled relief and disappointment, he let his hand drop away.

"I didn't realize that you had returned, my lord," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

"Normally it will be later in the evening, after full dark," he said. Was she imagining it, or was there a hint of apology in his voice? Apology for startling her, perhaps? "I've a large number of duties to attend to in the City, and they usually keep me occupied until later."

"Today was a lighter day for you, then?" she asked. Her heart was still pounding in her ears. Polite conversation notwithstanding, her skin was prickling with awareness of his proximity.

She set her jaw. That's just the natural consequence of being forced to stand with a dangerous creature at your back, she told herself. Nothing more.

"A lighter day? Hardly," he said, a note of wry humor in his voice. "The concerns I had to address today were… quite serious. And my progress was limited." Tanitha folded her hands together, wondering if that had anything to do with her, or if the matters he was referring to were unrelated.

"And you?" the demon lord asked. "Were you able to take some rest today?"

Since she had no way of knowing how long he'd been observing her, she decided that honesty would be wisest. "I rested well enough last night, my lord," she said. "Today I mainly explored your estate. It's very beautiful."

"It is," he agreed. "I hope you found it peaceful."

"Yes," she said, but she could hear the hesitance in her own voice. She cleared her throat, then decided that she had nothing to lose by asking a few questions. At worst, he might refuse to answer some of them, and the refusal itself might give her some clues about her situation.

"This place… you typically only come here at night?" she asked. "And you live here alone?"

"Yes," he said. "This estate was built as a gift to one of my ancestors, in recognition of some of her accomplishments. She insisted that it be staffed by constructs rather than human servants, though, because of how remote it is. She used it as a frequent retreat from the city." He sighed quietly. "She didn't use it for complete solitude, though. Things were different for her." Tanitha considered this, but before she could ask for elaboration, he continued, "Are your needs being met? Is there anything I should direct the constructs to do differently?"

She blinked, a bit surprised by this despite his earlier insistence that he considered her a guest. Perhaps he actually had been truthful on that point.

"Do you often have to alter the constructs to attend to different guests' needs?" she asked carefully. "They seem to me to be operating very well."

There was a long silence, during which a light breeze bowed the heads of the flowers in the garden beneath her.

"Actually," he said after a moment, "I haven't ever brought a guest here before." She bit her lip, not sure how she could ask the obvious follow-up question to that without sounding as if she was directly accusing him of lying. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"The clothes in the room you've quartered me in," she said, still cautious, and deeply wishing that she could turn around to gauge his expression. "Those belonged to the ancestress you mentioned, I take it?"

"No," he said. "Those are from…" He trailed off into silence for a moment, then sighed. "There was a woman I was courting last year, and I'd been planning to invite her to stay here for a time. I had those clothes made for her." He paused, then let out another quiet exhalation before saying, "I'm no longer involved with her. You should feel free to use any of the clothing that pleases you. In fact, I'm glad they're seeing some use."

His words sent a wave of relief through Tanitha— it was a perfectly innocuous explanation, not at all like some of the possibilities she'd been imagining.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely meaning it, though more for the explanation than for the clothes themselves. Then something else occurred to her, and she frowned. "How were they brought here?" she asked. She couldn't very well imagine a demon lord toting bundles of dresses as he flew through the skies, but dispelling that image wasn't the only motivation behind the question; she was far more interested in how other supplies were brought here. Any path in was a possible path out.

"The clothes?" he asked. "I had them sent here by cart and construct."

Cart? "Not by the path leading from the bridge at the front of your estate, though?" she asked, hoping the intent behind this line of questioning wasn't as obvious as it felt. "It seemed too badly overgrown."

"You've been out there already?" he asked, a note of surprise in his voice. She nodded, apprehensive, and there was a brief pause before he said, "You need to be careful about leaving the protective sphere that surrounds this place. I don't think there's any way anyone could know that you're still alive, but you should still be cautious. No other demons can pass the boundary without my permission, so it's much safer if you remain inside it."

She nodded quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to think she might prove less than cooperative. There was a moment's silence.

"You feel confined, I take it," he said, with a certainty that made her wonder just how obvious her feelings were.

She hesitated, not sure how to respond. She considered herself well-practiced in tact, but she'd never had to apply it in a situation quite like this.

"I know it isn't your intention for me to be trapped," she said after a moment, though in fact she knew no such thing. "But staying here would feel much less like a confinement if I understood the reason for it."

That, at least, was true. If she knew the danger that faced her, staying here would be a matter of choice and strategy. Not one of simply hiding in fear from an unknown threat.

"Believe me, I'd prefer to know the reason behind why I was given that order as well," he said quietly. She bit her lip. He sounded sincere, but… well, he was a demon. Aside from his nature itself, being a demon in Karazhen or any of its sister cities along the coast was synonymous with being a noble and therefore a politician. Though there wasn't any reason to doubt what he was saying to her now, she had to assume that he'd be a practiced enough liar that she wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

"I've been giving the matter some thought today," he said. "I understand that perhaps there are things you won't want to discuss with me. But if I knew more about you, it could help us understand why things have happened the way they have."

She shook her head, making sure to keep the motion's range narrow. "I don't think I'll be able to help," she said softly. "I've been trying to think, trying to understand why someone would have meant me harm. I had never even met a demon before— well, before you, my lord. I don't think it's possible that I offended another one of your kind." Though ‘met' was a bit of an understatement for sending him flying across a courtyard with the strike of a broom. She winced at the memory. Depths of the Abyss, she still couldn't believe he hadn't murdered her on the spot for that.

It took her a moment to realize that the silence was trailing awkwardly, but then he spoke. "I don't believe you offended or insulted anyone, either," he said. Was she imagining it, or was there the faintest hint of caution, of apprehension, in his voice? She dismissed the thought, annoyed at herself. That was absurd— what reason could he have to be apprehensive of her ?

"But nonetheless…" he continued, "Can you tell me about yourself, Tanitha?"

"I…" Her mind went frustratingly blank at the broadness of the question. A gentle breeze arose, blowing her hair back and swaying the branches of the willows on the banks of the garden's waters.

"I'm afraid there isn't very much to tell," she said finally. "I have a simple story. My sister and I are foundlings. We were brought here as children. I work in the Sanctuary's dovecote." Or she had before she'd been sentenced to death, anyway. Her hand curled to tighten on the banister, and she consciously loosened it, forcing her attention back to the calming scene in front of her, and away from thoughts of betrayal and sacrifice. "That's… that's it, really," she said, raising one shoulder in a quick shrug.

The demon lord made a noise she wasn't sure how to interpret. It might have been a skeptical chuckle. "The dullest of peasants could find more than three sentences to say about their lives." There was a slight pause before he added, his voice low, "And I think you're far from dull."

Maddeningly, she felt a slight blush creep along her cheeks. "You might be disappointed, my lord," she said. "I'm happy to give more detail, but I'm truly not that interesting. I don't think you'll find what you're looking for."

"It's just as well that I have no idea what I'm looking for just yet, then," he said with a quiet laugh. The sound warmed her despite herself. "On another subject… I don't imagine having me at your back like this is doing much to set you at ease." Well, that was certainly true, but she genuinely couldn't imagine why he'd be concerned with whether or not she was comfortable. "We could return inside to sit?" he suggested.

She swallowed. Though almost convinced he didn't mean her harm, the thought of trying to sit calmly in darkness while he questioned her made her throat feel tight.

She bit her lip, then reached down to tug the broad silk sash at her waist loose. This solution still involved being unable to see him, but somehow it felt better— as if she had more control over the situation— than returning to unnaturally summoned darkness. Keeping each motion even and deliberate, she raised the sash, then tied it over her eyes as a blindfold. As she did, she felt herself becoming more aware of her other senses, of the chirping of the birds in the trees below, of the sun-warmed stone beneath her feet.

"I'd prefer to remain here, my lord," she said, dearly hoping she wasn't being too bold. "But… would you come stand beside me, instead of behind?"

There was a pause, and then he said, "I'll need to tighten that sash slightly. Don't move." She obeyed, holding very still. She heard him step close behind her, and she held her breath as his hand brushed past her ear to adjust the blindfold. The contact sent a shiver through her, the sensation strangely pleasant.

The blindfold secured, she felt him withdraw, her hair lightly trailing with the motion of his hand. There was the sound of a deliberate step, as if he was taking care to make enough sound that she could track his approximate location as he came to stand beside her, maybe half a pace to her right.

"It is more pleasant out here," he said, to her relief— he didn't seem offended at her taking some tiny modicum of control over this interaction. She heard a slight brush of cloth against stone, presumably as he leaned against the banister as she had been before his arrival.

Carefully, she stepped forward to do the same. The stone's steadiness beneath her forearms gave a welcome sense of support.

"What would you like to know, my lord?" she asked.

"Well…" He trailed off in consideration, then said, "We could start at the beginning, I suppose. Where were you born?"

She almost made a face. She wanted to be cooperative— or at least to seem cooperative— but he'd started with a question that she couldn't answer with certainty.

"Ibalia, my lord," she said, naming a region that was home to a number of nomadic mountain tribes. "Probably."

A pause, and she heard him shift position slightly, likely to send her a quizzical look. "Probably?"

She put a hand to her pale hair. "This is the only reason I have to think that," she said. "Since this color is more common there. I don't remember my parents well, so I don't really know."

"But surely…" He trailed off for a moment, perhaps wondering if condolences on the matter of her parents would be appropriate, or even appreciated. After a long pause, he said, "You're a foundling. Surely you know where you were found, at least."

"I was found in Spaudia," she said. "It's a small city near the edge of Sabria. Well… it was, anyway."

There was absolutely no sound; he'd gone still. She paused as well, not sure what had elicited that response, or lack thereof. Sabria was the Shadowborn City's enemy, true, but the demons' mercenaries had brought any number of foundlings from there. It wasn't unusual.

"My lord?" she asked, apprehensive. "Is something wrong?"

He was quiet for several seconds more. Somewhere distant in the garden, she could hear birds chirping.

"You said was ?" he asked, though she had the distinct impression that wasn't what he'd originally wanted to ask.

Did he not remember the destruction? Surely even here, a rival nation razing its own city would have caused talk. Then again, she didn't have any idea of his age. If he was within a few years of her, he might not have been old enough to be aware of the event.

"It's gone now," she said. "One of the Blistering Death's final outbreaks occurred there."

"Ah." She heard recollection and comprehension in his voice, so apparently she'd jogged his memory of at least hearing about it after the fact. "That would have been shortly after you were brought here?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord," she said softly. "I was there when the outbreak happened."

There was a long silence. "Fires Below," he said quietly after a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

She shrugged, though there was a tightness in her throat. "I only remember pieces, my lord," she said. "From what I can put together, I think that my parents were merchants. At any rate, I remember a lot of traveling in wagon trains when I was very small." There were quite a lot of memories of that, actually, though they were only brief snatches of recollection.

"I know that the Blistering Death had ravaged Sabria in the decade before I was born," she continued, "but the outbreaks had slowed to almost nothing the year before I was found. I'm sure my parents thought it would be safe— and probably profitable— to be among the first to reopen trade routes."

"But then they arrived in Spaudia."

"Yes." She picked at a divot in the banister with one nail, trying to ground herself. "I don't remember them dying," she said. "Or at least, if I do, I can't distinguish it from the other deaths I saw. The disfigurements, you know." She shrugged, forcing any emotion from her voice. It was true that she didn't remember very much, and she considered that a true mercy whenever the images she did remember sprang to mind. "Anyway… I've heard demonkind isn't susceptible to the illness."

"Yes." He was keeping his tone neutral as well; she couldn't read anything from it. "That's true."

She nodded. "So I imagine your mercenaries thought that children orphaned by it were good candidates to bring here, to collect bounties if it turned out it was more than just luck that saved us," she said. "That's what happened to me and Lithra. We were found just before the city was burned to cleanse it from the Death." She took a second to steady her voice. "We were placed in the Sanctuary, and we've been there since."

"And… you've been happy there?" he asked. That strange note of apprehension was back in his voice.

"Compared to being murdered by Sabrians for the crime of surviving a plague?" she asked, a short laugh escaping her. She knew perfectly well that was what would have happened; a pair of unprotected children who'd somehow survived the Blistering Death would have been highly suspect, and the Sabrians would have considered the risk of them being not fully human far too high. She and Lithra would have been killed without a moment's hesitation if Shadowborn agents hadn't found them first.

"The Sanctuary has been a good home to us," she said. "We were happy." Until someone she'd trusted had sent her to die, anyway.

"Was it just luck?" he asked.

She refocused her thoughts, pulling them back from the twisting of her stomach that came from the memory of too-bitter wine, of tears for an act not yet committed. She took a sharp breath.

"Pardon, my lord?"

"A moment ago, you said the mercenaries thought it might have been more than just luck that saved you," he said. "Was it?"

Tanitha didn't hesitate. She'd sensed for several minutes that they were edging toward a topic that she didn't want to speak on— the matter of her elemental talents. She knew full well that it hadn't been luck. She had too many memories of sparrows bringing her bits of bread, of them leading her to safe places to shelter while roving gangs ransacked the city in its final days.

"No, my lord," she said promptly. "It was just good fortune." Such as it was.

"So, you were brought here under the belief that you might be one of us ," he said. "But later demonstrated no other signs? No elementalist abilities?"

She had to be careful with that one— there was every chance that her childhood abilities had been noted somewhere. Karazhen's priests were meticulous record-keepers, so if she lied too brazenly, it could easily be caught out. Luckily, it wasn't unusual for children to show some smattering of magical talent before it faded away to nothing.

"I did show some abilities," she admitted. "Nothing particularly strong or interesting, but…"

"Soul-speaking?" he asked abruptly.

Her heart stuttered, but she kept it from her face. She frowned as if puzzled by the question.

"No, my lord," she said. "Minor abilities to manipulate air, light, and fire, but both faded by the time I was about twelve years old." That was true, and it would certainly be annotated if anything about her had been. As for the soul-speaking… no one had detected it. She'd made sure of it.

There had been times she'd considered admitting the ability. She knew it would have secured a life of abundance for her, assuming it persisted into adulthood. But she would have been taken elsewhere to train it, to hone it, and Lithra would have been left behind. At the time, Tanitha had had no confidence at all that either of their places in the Sanctuary were secure. She'd had nightmares almost nightly about being thrown out of its gates, left to wander and beg once more. Left to rely on the mercy of sparrows and the few people who would offer any kind of succor to the bereft or the infirm.

To the infirm… her mind darted back to that day in the temple courtyard, to the words that had rung with the weight of prophecy in Tanitha's mind no matter how many times she'd dismissed them as the madness of an old woman. Another beggar, nothing more. As for the fact that prophecy often came with age, and sometimes caused madness… well. What good was it to listen to a seer if you couldn't tell if the words came from a god or from a tortured mind?

Still… Tanitha cleared her throat. "May I ask a question about you in turn, my lord?" she asked carefully.

"I suppose," he answered. "Though there are some I won't be able to answer."

This struck her as unfair, given that she had to answer his, and that she didn't even have the information that seeing him would give, but she wasn't surprised.

"Last night, you told me that you most often wear human form," she said. "And I've heard that demons don't regularly use more than three or four forms total."

"That's true," he said. There was a strange hint of wariness in his voice, which struck her as odd; this was common knowledge, so she couldn't imagine why her raising the subject would concern him.

"Do you…?" By the Sleeping God, she couldn't believe she was putting enough thought into the old woman's words to even ask this. Still, she couldn't let the opportunity pass.

She took a deep breath. "Do you by any chance frequently use a snake form? A serpent?"

There was a pause. "No," he said, sounding genuinely perplexed. She let out a slow exhalation of relief. Though she knew she couldn't necessarily take him at his word, he sounded so confused that it was hard to doubt him. "A snake wouldn't be a very useful form for me. Why would you ask that?"

She turned her head slightly away. "It was just… a dream I had last night," she said. Let him think what he would of that. "A nightmare."

There was a long pause. "You don't have anything to fear here," he said quietly. "And most often, dreams are just dreams." In a lighter tone, he added, "Unless you have oracular abilities you haven't mentioned?"

She gave a soft laugh, though it was more out of relief than amusement. That question was safe enough; it was extremely rare for anyone but the very old to be touched enough by the Land of Ash to be able to see the threads of destiny that surrounded them.

"No, my lord," she said. "Nothing like that."

"On the subject of your abilities," he said, "Are you completely certain about the soul-speaking?"

The relief she'd felt a moment before evaporated. "Yes," she answered. She was reasonably certain she kept the spike of anxiety she felt from her voice. Trying to sound bolder, she said, "Why do you ask?"

There was a pause. "You understand how highly we prize that ability, don't you? How valuable we consider it?"

"Yes, of course," she said. Which was exactly why she'd had to hide it.

"If you had that ability," he said, his cadence slow and deliberate, "it might make it easier for me to protect you. It's a rare gift, and extremely useful. Soul-speakers are not the kind of person that one can easily make disappear. People would ask questions. Even demons would ask questions."

She swallowed. Maybe he was telling the truth, and maybe his intentions were good. But this could just as easily be a trap.

"I understand all of that, my lord," she said. "But I don't have it."

"You don't have it that you know of," he said, with an air of gentle correction. "Would you be open to testing yourself?"

She paused. "Testing myself?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm only a moderately strong soul-speaker myself, but I could guide you through some simple exercises. We could see if there is any inkling of the gift in you."

She hesitated. Valuable gift or not, she didn't see why his mind would have taken to this particular track, and she would very much prefer that it hadn't.

"My lord, I appreciate the interest you've taken in my safety," she said carefully. "But what makes you think this is even a possibility?"

"There have been a few indicators, actually," he said. Her heart stuttered. A few? How could there have been a few indicators? "But the one I'm most curious about is the behavior of the sparrows on the day we first met."

By the Ashen Halls… she'd hoped he'd dismissed that as a simple coincidence. But she couldn't pretend to dismiss it herself right now; he'd view that as suspicious.

"You mean how they flew at you rather than scattering and fleeing?" she asked. Best to address it directly.

"Yes," he answered.

She shrugged, trying not to let her grip on the banister tighten visibly with her discomfort. "The birds are fond of me, my lord. It could simply be that."

"Or, it could be that you have latent abilities that were never discovered."

She wondered if he actually believed that, or if he knew full well she was lying and was simply giving her an excuse to allow them both to save face— her from committing a criminal act in obscuring the ability, and him for ignoring that same act. Whatever the case, though, she did have one more avenue to explore.

"I've heard," she said, "that when people's fates take them perilously close to danger— when it's more likely than not that events will pull them into death— they may manifest abilities they otherwise do not possess."

"That's true," he allowed. "It's called a death surge. But you weren't in mortal danger."

A demon in the form of a winged lion had appeared in front of her, and that didn't qualify as being in mortal danger? She couldn't help it; she let out a quiet scoff.

"You weren't," he said, sounding faintly offended. "In case it isn't clear, I'm not interested in murdering innocent young women."

"Why the lion form, then?" she challenged. She immediately wished she could take the words back; her objective was to seem biddable and cooperative, wasn't it? To seem like nothing he needed to dedicate extra thought toward?

He cleared his throat. "The lion form was an overreaction," he said. Was it her imagination, or did he actually sound abashed there? "I didn't realize what had hit me at first. Taking a stronger form was just a reflex."

She bit her lip. She couldn't know for certain if that was true, even if she didn't have any real reason to doubt it. But perhaps she could still convince him that this was a dead end. "I had no way of knowing that you didn't actually mean me harm, my lord," she countered. "And every reason to think my life was in danger."

"If you're saying the fear for your life could have sparked otherwise absent abilities, it doesn't work that way," he said. "It doesn't matter if you think you're close to death, it matters if you actually are close to death. If you stand on the edge between this world and the Land of Ash, yes, sometimes those abilities can manifest. But since I had no intention of hurting you, there was no way the threads of your fate could have twined that way. You were nowhere near that brink."

Damn him for approaching it so logically. She clasped her hands together, still leaning against the banister.

"I see," she said. Though she couldn't quite name its cause, there was a low, quiet sort of anger bubbling inside of her. Perhaps it was just how dismissive he seemed toward a moment that had truly terrified her— a moment when he had truly terrified her.

"What about atop the necropolis?" she asked abruptly.

He paused. "Come again?"

"What about the threads of my fate atop the necropolis?" she asked. Gods, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she keep the note of anger, of challenge, from her voice? "Was there any real chance of me dying then ?"

The pause that followed was painful. "I don't know," he said at last.

"You don't know," she repeated back flatly. "You don't know for certain if there's a possibility you might have killed me?"

"At the risk of stating the obvious," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice, "I didn't kill you. Surely that's more important?"

"That doesn't answer my question," she shot back, despite the small voice of reason in her mind that was practically shouting at her to stop. " Was I in danger? "

The pause that followed was painful; she wished, more fervently than ever, that she could see him, that she could glean some hint of what he was thinking from his expression.

"The person who ordered your death is very influential," he said finally. "Yes. There was more than a small chance I would have obeyed."

She took a stiff breath. It wasn't as if this was new information, but after all his assurances that she had nothing to fear, the admission left her feeling cold.

"Well, then," she said, her voice flat. "That's a point against your theory, isn't it? A time when I stood close to the brink of death and didn't manifest this ability you seem to think I have?"

A pause. "You may have," he said quietly.

She frowned. "What?"

"I said you may have manifested it," he said, a bit louder. "Soul-speaking— when it's done to another living creature, we call it achieving resonance. Bringing their desires in harmony with your own." He was quiet for a moment, then continued, his voice calm, "You wanted to live. And I didn't want to kill you. It would have been only a small step for you to take me from being reluctant to hurt you to actively wanting to help you."

She dearly wished she didn't have to wear the blindfold, if only so he could see the incredulous look she wanted to give him.

"So," she said, a tremble of anger coloring her voice. "Last night, when you told me you spared me because you didn't believe I deserved to die. You're not certain yourself if that's true. You're not certain, if the matter had been truly one of your own choice and conscience, that I would still be alive right now?" Her voice was rising, and she continued, "In fact, you're so uncertain of it that you think my survival constitutes evidence that I may have magically manipulated you?"

She finally managed to stop talking. So much for being biddable, a small part of her thought ruefully, though she was finding it difficult to care. The silence stretched between them. She had no idea what the lack of an answer meant, and that fact pricked at her frustration, anger, and fear.

"Tell me, then," she said, her voice going flat. "Why is it exactly I should believe you when you say I don't need to be afraid of you?"

The silence dragged. She could still feel his proximity; otherwise she might have thought he'd left.

"I'd like you to consider my offer," he said after a moment. "To see if you're a soul-speaker. If you are, it will open more options to protect you. If not, you're in no worse a position than you are now." His voice had taken a flat aspect as well.

She swallowed. Her anger had faded back far enough for her to regret the outburst, especially since she couldn't tell precisely how he was taking it.

"I'll leave you in peace now," he continued. "Stay here for a count of fifty, and then you can remove the blindfold."

Tanitha gave one short nod. He brushed slightly against her as he turned, and she listened carefully to the sound of his retreating footsteps. She began counting as he'd instructed, but her racing heart made it difficult for her to keep the count steady and consistent, and besides, the idea of unquestioning obedience suddenly felt unbearably galling. When she got to forty, she abruptly lost patience. Though she still faced resolutely forward, she tore the blindfold loose, throwing it to the ground.