Only four years younger than me, but there was an almost childlike simplicity about her. Her world was clearly defined: making me happy and serving me was good, being useless to me was bad. She was giving me all of the information I wanted without any hesitation. Two days ago she would’ve likely died to keep that information secret from me, but now, with her allegiance shifted, Adora kept no secrets, like a young child who instinctively recognized an adult as an authority figure and was eager to prove she was smart and resourceful. Most people were at least somewhat jaded by their midtwenties, but for her there were no shades of gray. It wasn’t the naiveté of someone who believes the world is a nice place; it was an innocence, bolstered by the childlike belief that she was doing the right thing, because a person of power and authority assured her she was.

I needed to put a crack into that worldview. There had to be something in her psyche that rebelled against the view of my father as perfection wrapped in golden light.

“How long have you served my father?”

“Since I was seven.”

“Is that when you were brought to the place where the sahanu are trained?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have a family before you were brought there?” If there was any human emotion in her, I should get a spark now.

“Yes. Some children were orphans, but I wasn’t. My mother and father were very well compensated. I was chosen because of my magic.”

My father, never missing a falling star. “Did you miss your family?”

She hesitated. I held my breath.

“Yes. But now the sahanu are my family.”

And yet she gave me information that would help me kill them without any hesitation.

“Were you angry that your parents sold you? Did you feel abandoned? Did you think it was unfair?”

She opened her mouth and closed it.

“My father isn’t here. Your instructors aren’t here. It’s only me and you. Did you think it was unfair?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I cried. And I missed my mom, my dad, and my sister.”

“Do you think other children might have missed their parents, too?”

“Yes.” The strain was showing on her face. Too much. I had to change the subject.

“Have you ever killed for my father?”

“Yes.” She exhaled. We were back on familiar territory.

“Who did you kill?”

“During training I killed several martial artists and weapon masters.”

“Why did you kill them?”

“For practice.”

“Were they forced to fight?”

“No, they were paid to kill us.”

That was a familiar tactic, one my father learned from Voron. “What about after your training was complete?”

“I killed the Followers of Guram. They had taken one of Sharrum’s people and killed her, and he was displeased.”