“When did you capture him?” he asked. He knew already, but the captive didn’t know that.

“Three nights agone, my lord. We sent word to you—we thought the king should know.”

“Word has been sent,” Kieri said. He put down the box on top of the other things, picked up the small knife, and walked over to the captive. He could feel the man’s anger and loathing as if it were visible waves of color. “He has been given food? You know the king’s orders about that—?”

“Yes, my lord. Food, water, and a blanket at night, though we dared not unbind him in the dark.”

Kieri squatted down in front of the captive. In Pargunese he said, “This is not a fisherman’s knife. It is not the knife for gutting, or the knife for scaling, or the knife for filleting. With this knife, you would only poison a fish and make it unfit to eat. Why would a fisherman poison a fish?”

The man spat, but the gob of spit did not reach Kieri. Then the man looked away.

Still in Pargunese, Kieri said. “If I were minded to kill you, you would be dead already. If I were minded to hurt you, your flesh would already be torn. You claim to be a king in your own land—what are you doing here?”

The man looked at him again. In Pargunese he said, “Your king stole my daughter.”

Kieri’s brows went up. “Our king steals no women. And why would a king who believed such come himself and not send envoys or an army?”

“Envoys were with her; they came back without her. Stolen away, she was, sent to a brothel, a house of soldiers. That is not a matter for armies; that is a matter for a man of honor to meet her betrayer man to man. I must feel his blood hot on my hands myself; I must pull his guts from his living body myself.” Fury flamed in those pale eyes.

“You intend to kill Lyonya’s king,” Kieri said. It scarcely seemed possible that an assassin would admit his intent so baldly. And the accusations—he could not take them in: they were unbelievable.

“And display his villainy for all to see,” the man said. He seemed absolutely certain and, though angry, perfectly sane. “He debauched his own soldiers, and yet Tsaia would not denounce him. Even the Girdish, prigs that they are, made no complaints of him.” He spat again, but this time more politely, to one side.

“I did not know this,” Kieri said. He had never fully understood the Pargunese hatred for him personally; it had been a fact of his adult life, and nothing more.

The man nodded sharply. “None of you mageborn treat women with real respect,” he said. Kieri heard a stir behind him and put up his hand; no one said anything. He nodded to the man, who after a look around shrugged and went on. “Your king,” he said, squirming a little as if to settle into a more comfortable position for a long tale. “He held land in northern Tsaia; that you surely know.” Kieri nodded. “He had a mercenary company before—perhaps you know that.” Kieri nodded again. “Well, then. I know that in other lands, women train in weapons skills. So also a few of ours; it is not good, but it need not be an offense to the gods. Your king—your king—sent men out to find girls, young girls who knew nothing of weapons or war, and brought them to his stronghold. Far from their families, far from any protection of their kin, and there—there his soldiers took what pleasure they wanted.”