Zorelle made a sweeping gesture. "Please, sit."
Carissa took the chair at the other end of the table.
Zorelle planted her elbows on the table, interlacing her fingers. "You can come closer, you know. I don't bite."
"With fangs like that, I doubt it."
Zorelle's eyes flashed, but Carissa met her gaze calmly. She was afraid, but not of Zorelle. She was afraid of betraying Elon. Just the thought was enough to send a tendril of cold snaking around her chest. She didn't want to turn against him, but his own words made it sound as though it were inevitable.
Zorelle's smile resurfaced. "As you wish, then."
Out of the corner of her eye, Carissa saw someone approach. She turned just as the servant held out a basin of water. Carissa washed her hands and glanced at the table. Should she eat to keep up her strength? What if the food was tainted with something that made her more compliant? What if they used it to drug her?
"You're awfully quiet." Zorelle licked her sauce-stained fingers, her gaze remaining on Carissa.
"I have nothing to say to you."
A servant flinched, his grip tightening on the platter he held. It seemed that he was afraid for her. Maybe Zorelle would punish Carissa for her insolence. But she couldn't bring herself to care. Better have her enemy act like an enemy than pretend to be a friend.
Carissa glanced up at the ceiling of the tent. A sphered of glass dangled above the table, glowing with pale purple light. What was such light made of? Was it a type of fire?
"Your husband hasn't told you everything, you know."
"I know," Carissa said.
"Do you?"
Carissa nodded. "He keeps things from me, usually for my own benefit."
Zorelle nodded slowly. "You're telling me that every single time he hasn't told you something, it's helped you? Every time he's allowed a disaster to unspool your life, it's benefitted you?"
Carissa curled her toes in her boots as a barrage of questions came to mind.
Had it helped her when he hadn't told her Aleck would return? Or when he let her believe her mother would never forgive her? Or when he let her make a fool of herself at the ball?
But she'd doubted Elon before. She couldn't afford to do it again. "I trust him, Zorelle, even if I don't understand his reasons."
"Then you never question what he's doing?"
"I try not to."
"But if you never ask questions and he never gives you answers, how do you know, Carissa? How do you know that he's right about all he says he is?" Zorelle leaned back in her chair, her food forgotten. "Allow me to answer for you: you don't."
Carissa lifted her shoulders in a stiff shrug. "It doesn't matter. He's been right plenty of times before, so I can trust he'll be right in the future."
"But, to you, it seems he's been wrong before, doesn't it? It seems that he's made mistakes, allowed things he shouldn't have."
"I trust him, Zorelle, and while that may not be enough for you, it's enough for me." She pushed her chair back. "If you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough."
Zorelle's lips smoothed into a smile. "Of course." Carissa began to turn, but Zorelle continued, "And one more thing, Carissa. Your husband has been to Esmeray before."
Though Carissa tried to hide it, she felt shock bloom across her face. Elon had been here before? Why?
Zorelle chuckled. "I told you he hasn't told you everything." She rose from her seat before sweeping past Carissa and disappearing into the darkness. "Sleep well, my dear. We'll begin our journey on the morrow's night."
The tent flap fluttered close behind her. A long sigh fled Carissa's lips. She'd made it; she still trusted Elon. But for how long would she continue to do so? Would Zorelle's questions eventually wear her down?
Pressure squeezed her temples. Elon had already predicted she'd lose trust in him, so what was the point of resisting now? Why not just give into the inevitable?
Dishes clattered, and Carissa turned to see a few servants stacking Zorelle's empty plates. Another servant whipped out a cloth bag and stuffed the rolls into it, while others wiped the table.
Right. Elon had said they were supposed to change their hearts. Perhaps this was an opportune time.
Carissa cleared her throat. "Excuse me."
One servant shot her an irritated look, and the others didn't bother glancing up from their work. The very air seemed to thicken, as if congealing with silence.
"I'm sure you've heard of King Elon."
One servant accidentally dropped one of her many plates and muttered a curse before sweeping it off the ground.
"He's certainly heard of all of you."
A boy brushed past her, his cupped hand filled with crumbs from the table.
"He could give all of you a better life, something above this slavery—"
"Slavery?" A man stopped wrapping the meat and stared at her.
"Yes, he can offer you freedom, and—"
The man burst out laughing. "You're the prisoner, and yet here you are talking about freedom."
A woman stifled a laugh behind her hand before returning to work.
Carissa summoned a smile. "Perhaps for the time behind, but when Elon is ready, we'll leave. And we can free all of you in the process."
The man arched his eyebrows. "No. I wasn't referring to you as Zorelle's prisoner. I meant you were Elon's prisoner."
Had she food in her mouth, she would have choked. "What?"
"We all heard that conversation with Zorelle, and none of us would want to serve a king like that, who offers silence as a substitute for answers and demands a tribute of complete obedience." The man stacked one slab of meat on top of another. It landed with a wet slapping noise. "You have no say in what he chooses, yet you're compelled to do whatever he wishes. And you call us slaves?"
"But that's what the Reapers call you."
The man rolled his eyes. "It's a derogatory term. We're all paid, and we all have the option of leaving. While it's sweet of your highness to pity us, you're the one in need of pity. We all choose to stay here, because this is where we want to be."
This situation had just grown infinitely more complicated. Had Elon known these people had chosen Esmeray? Likely he did. So how would he persuade them to his side?
Carissa neared the man. "If you could just speak to Elon, you'd know how well he treats his people. He—"
Movement flashed in the corner of her eye, and Carissa turned just in time to a wad of paper pass from one man's hand into another.
The recipient of the note glanced up, met her gaze, and froze. His eyes narrowed. "See something interesting, your highness?"
The man packing the meat inhaled sharply. "She didn't see anything, Bordeo."
Bordeo's gaze dropped to her jaw, then her neck. With a jolt, she realized he was scanning her for a way to incapacitate her. Elon had shown her those areas in training.
Carissa held up her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude by staring."
Bordeo glanced at the other man. "She's Zorelle's guest. She'll tell her."
Carissa shook her head. "No, I'm Zorelle's prisoner. If you'll excuse me." She couldn't escape the tent quickly enough. Two Reapers ghosted past her outside. For once, she was glad to be under the watchful eye of the Reapers. It was unlikely they'd allowed any of the servants to hurt her.
The thought made her laugh. Here she was trying to convince the servants to join them, and she feared them more than the Reapers. She wandered around the camp, until she recognized the tent where the servant girl had dressed her. Thankfully, it was empty.
Carissa slipped off her shoes and fell into the embrace of the bed. From her short time in Zonah, there was only one thing she could conclude:
Everything was not as it seemed.