Unto Dust

011.

"Four days?" Her head spun. She had been hoping for at least ten.

Orithin's voice was apologetic. "Originally it was three, but I was able to buy you an extra day. Worry not, Suli and I will keep an eye on the situation with the mal Lombrast boy. My mages are planting a false body as we speak. Suli will return to the surface tomorrow, once Enjo has opened your letter. You should dedicate your time and energy to your defense. Have you planned much yet?"

Blood rose to her cheeks. "I have not," she said.

Most of her time had gone into making the wares and writing the letters. She had spent snatches of time here and there to think about it, but she had nothing definitive to show.

Whatever Orithin thought about her answer, he kept to himself. "My advice to you is this. First, I would suggest you avoid showing weakness---do not beg pitifully for your life. They will not be swayed by heartrending tales or groveling."

It was difficult not to feel offended that he would think she would do such a thing.

"Instead, offer them something that will be worth more the price of your bounty. Yet you must also give yourself an out---why must they let you go? You are a single witchling, and the folkway has many mages who can speak spells in silence. You are clever, but more is needed than cleverness to escape the folkway." He ran his fingers across the ridges of his clavicle, where the etchings for atonement and captivity were, as if to warn her. "You must convince them that it is not worth the trouble to kill you, at the end of all this."

That more than anything had been why she had not gotten a full night's sleep in the past ten days. Orithin's etchings would haunt her while she was awake. And in her dreams, those same markings would be all over her body.

"Am I likely to survive this?" she asked at last.

He stopped and turned around, appraising her with stern eyes. "Why, you sound so hopeless already."

"I must admit, it is hard not to feel so."

His expression softened. He raised a hand towards her, as if to give her a reassuring pat, then stopped short. His arm hung in the air for a moment, then fell to his side. "My dear, I believe you have a very high chance of surviving. Unless you stand there and squawk like a bird, the folkway will desire to give you a chance."

Fiona had to crack a smile at that, and he gave her a grin in return.

"You have earned Suli's respect---and love. That is a more difficult task than you have made it seem. In a way, you had won over the guileless governor and his son. The folkway does not try to murder every foreign witch and wizard that walks into Ibis. The task of convincing them that you are now on their side and can be an asset---this itself will not be difficult. Whether it is your creative spelling or your keen business sense, the folkway will covet you." He rubbed the bridge of his thumb irritably, his smile fading. "They are like a greedy collector---but of mages rather than things. In the grand scheme of things, a few hundred thousand kron is not worth much to the folkway. Rather, it does show the folkway is in dire need of coin. However."

"However?"

He examined his fingernails. Was he avoiding her gaze? "I cannot---and will not---lie to you. While it is not entirely impossible, the likelihood that the folkway will agree to let you go is very low. They will not trust you, as you are from Grannad. The same is true of their trust in me. In any case, you will not escape being marked. Only, I dearly hope you do not end up with these etchings."

Fiona's eyes wandered to the markings despite herself. Ownership. Death. A wizard who could speak spells in silence, who by all counts appeared far cleverer than she, had not been able to escape these markings. Would she?