The Vixen Trials

A Forced Confession

"Can't you lose the knife? I talk better when
my tongue isn't numbed by fear"

Malek

Malek couldn't stop some of the satisfaction he felt appearing on his face. He had only been the Hattavah's slave for a few hours but already he'd proven his worth. The Hattavah glared at him.

"I did good, didn't I?" Malek mumbled. "I found out what you wanted. It wasn't easy. It even took coin which I don't have much of."

He hoped the Hattavah would reward him. Instead he pulled out a knife and toyed with it. "So what was your reason? For asking Lord Rustavan to serve me."

Panic flooded Malek. He didn't want this conversation now, but later when the Hattavah didn't so obviously hate him. He hoped to serve him well for a while and win his trust before telling him the truth at an appropriate time.

When he didn't answer straight away, the Hattavah put the point of the knife under his chin, so that it pricked his skin. "You want to kill me."

Malek blinked as his throat constricted. "Is that what you think? No."

The Hattavah jiggled the knife upwards and Malek saw a drop of his blood fall to the ground. The salvia in his mouth seemed to vanish and all he could think of was the truth he'd actually wanted to conceal. It spilled from his lips. "I want to know where my father is."

The Hattavah slowly withdrew the knife and held it in front of him. Malek half-expected him to lick his blood off, like a Wayvolkan would, but instead he let it drip to floor. "Why do you think I'd know that?"

Malek leaned against the rough stone wall and forced out his usual smile. "Can't you lose the knife? I talk better when my tongue isn't numbed by fear. It's not like I'm a threat to you."

"You're delaying answering so you can think up a better lie," the Hattavah accused, but he wiped the dagger on his black tunic and sheathed it. "You don't like my dagger, we can go to the Bel-Aviim instead."

Ice danced up and down Malek's spine. "Is it really necessary to threaten me with that? I'm no threat to you. All I want to know is where my father is? Tell me that and I'll leave."

A low derisive noise came from the Hattavah's mouth. "As if you could run and I'd not have to bring you back. Who is your father anyway?"

Malek moistened his lips. This was it. Who knew how the Hattavah would react? "Brenan, a carpenter, from near the north. A Rai-Volk. He used to live in a secret valley settlement near the Wildvern Forest." He'd said so much, he couldn't resist the final thrust. "He looked a lot like you."

A muscle in the Hattavah's cheeks twitched. "I may have known a Brenan before, a long time ago, but not one with you as a son."

At that, the knot in Malek's chest eased. That twitch was proof enough. He was right. Everything he'd pieced together, despite all the odds, was true. "He never acknowledged me as his son. He did not raise me as a father is supposed to. He did not even stay to see me begin to breathe."

The Hattavah crossed his arms and leaned in, so his breath was hot on Malek's cheek. "What has this to do with me?"

Malek swallowed. "About six years ago, when I was still with my people, Brenan came to us looking for his other son called Dakkoul. Two days after he left, an aunt of my mother's, a woman whose tongue has never tasted a lie, told me he was my father."

The Hattavah's fingers dug into the flesh of his own arm and Malek almost smiled. "I chased after him, but he was long gone. I could not find his path."

"You still haven't explained how I would know where this Brenan lives." There was a bite to the Hattavah's tone.

The truth or not the truth. Malek drummed his fingers on the wall before deciding to disguise who, not what. "A man I knew confessed he'd told the Wayvolkan soldiers from the House of Lavilyn where to get Dakkoul for revenge for how he'd treated my mother."

The Hattavah's face lost all its color.

Malek pressed on. "Then I was sold by my brothers to the very same House and you put me to scraping moss. Moss!"

"You were chosen for the Fox-dance. It was only for a few days."

"I decided to find this Dakkoul, see if he was still there and someone eventually told me Dakkoul had become the Hattavah."

At that, Malek looked the Hattavah full in the face and saw something flicker in his hazel eyes, even while he tried to choke out a laugh. "That's quite a story. Very entertaining, but definitely false. I remember Dakkoul. I killed him myself. And I don't know where is father is. He never visited."

Malek swallowed as doubt rushed into his mind. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." The Hattavah pulled his knife out again, holding it upwards in a way that was definitely threatening. "As amusing as this story was, don't repeat it to anyone. Lord Rustavan would believe it and all that would mean is he'd delight in asking me to torture you."

Malek slumped back onto the wall. Was it possible the old servant had lied? That it had been one sick joke? What a pity he was dead now and he couldn't question him further. At least it wasn't his only reason for asking to become the Hattavah's slave, but right now, it seemed like all that mattered. He covered his face in his hands. "All this time, I've thought you were my brother."

The Hattavah backed away. "I'm not your brother. You're my sleck, nothing more." The hardness on his face seemed to taunt Malek who turned away to rest his face on the coolness of the stone. Would he ever find his father?

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