she could bring herself to lie with one now.
“I did, my lord,” the guard said. “She refused to wear the dress, and so the stink in her clothes follows her.”
Then again, seducing him could give her the advantage of extortion to win back her freedom. It was an idea worth considering further, though now she wished she’d worn the dress. He was apparently one of those men who believed a woman had no business in men’s clothing or carrying a sword, and so, regardless of her smell, he’d surely find her entirely unappealing dressed as she was.
The lordover scrunched his face in disgust. “Next time, put it on her yourself or bring her naked.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “So the mighty Viragon Sister falls from grace. I remember you. You’re the sharp-tongued shrew who wanted my guard towers for free. You should have let your companion do the talking.”
Cirang remembered it differently. She and fellow Sister JiNese had tried to negotiate a lease on behalf of the Sisterhood for the guard towers at the city gate, which he wasn’t even using at the time. He’d been rude and arrogant, refusing to hear their proposal. She’d lost her temper, it was true, but by then, he wasn’t going to listen to reason anyway. An apology now would sound disingenuous.
“Now, Cirang,” he said, “it’s to your advantage to tell the truth. I’ve brought in someone who can discern your lies.” Celónd gestured to a man standing behind her.
He was a wisp of a fellow without a single hair on his head or face, not even eyebrows or lashes. Drab beige clothes hung on his frame like rags over a line. Even from where she stood a full two paces away, she could smell the man’s foul breath. She didn’t know any diseases that caused loss of hair and flesh or sour breath, but she inched closer to the lordover’s desk, not wanting to chance catching it.
“If you lie, I’ll tell the king,” Celónd said, “and that will only serve to harshen your sentence.”
Cirang was unconcerned. She had two sets of memories, and both were real and accurate. She considered using only Cirang’s memory because she was in Cirang’s body, but those recollections were just as false for Sithral Tyr as his were for Cirang, and, in truth, she wasn’t Cirang Deathsblade, despite appearances. The best approach, she reasoned, was to choose the truth that made her look less culpable for whatever crime he accused her of committing. No matter which she chose, the shadow reader shouldn’t take her words for a lie because they would be true. Cirang spread her hands. “Ask your questions. I’ll tell the truth. With the help of your shadow reader, you’ll see I’m innocent of the charges against me. Before we begin, however, I have a complaint.”
The lordover sighed. “What is your complaint?”
“Your warden tried to ravish me,” she said. “I want charges brought against him and his puppet there. The two of them attacked me while I was asleep and overpowered me. If they were real men, they would take me on one at a time and see how well they managed against a woman in a fair fight.”
Celónd looked at black-beard. “Is this true?”
The warden feigned shock. “No, my lord. I would never. She’s either mad or a liar.”
“It’s the truth.” She raised her shackled hands and pointed at the man behind her. “Ask your shadow reader.”
The scowl on the lordover’s face deepened, and a red flush entered his cheeks. “Do not presume to instruct me on how to investigate my own men. I’ll look into the matter. Now mind your tongue or I’ll send you back to the gaol.”
“It’s the truth,” Cirang said again under her breath, shooting the warden a dark glare. “If you dare touch me again, don’t doubt you’ll be the one to pay.” He couldn’t very well do his job if he were blinded. If she were to be taken, it would be on her own terms and by the man of her choosing.
“Don’t threaten me, wench,” the black-beard said with a growl in his voice.
“Now,” the lordover said, “we’ll start with a simple question.” Celónd deftly rolled a gold coin over the tops of his fingers back and forth across his hand as he studied Cirang with his icy blue eyes. “Who are you?”
Cirang scrunched her brow for a moment while she thought. The answer to his question was more