Quoted By:
>Ow
"Truth or Dare"— like you're playing a game together. Maybe you are. Any other Courtier would've thrown that powder into the fire, no warning given, and shouted questions at you through the door. Or they would've come in with a face mask at the least. Your earlier visitors had on protective coats for the steam. But here's Dib in his undershirt.
Was he sent here? Or did he hear you'd been taken in, and show up under his own power? You really did tell the earlier Courtiers everything they asked about, and they seemed reasonably satisfied, or at least not angry. But they did leave you in the sauna, and they didn't tell you how you'd be released, or if you'd be released. You're sure they'd like to keep you here until you rot, if they could manage it. But how Dib factors in...
You see two reasons why he'd play a game with you. The first is that he's honorable, or thinks he is, and he'd see an unexpected doping as foul play— he wants your consent, however strained, before peeling your mind open. The second is that he really, really, really, out of the bottom of his heart, wants to hit you repeatedly with a big wooden stick. Except that's not in policy, so he's set this up so you'll have asked for it, if you ask for it.
Both are completely plausible. They are also not mutually exclusive. You suppose you're glad the Wind Court's chained Dib up in bureaucracy and moral codes, because you wouldn't like to meet him unaffiliated. He stands there a couple feet from you, watching your jaw drool unclotted blood, looking like you said self-amused. Maybe a little hungry.
That's fine. At least Dib has a clear motivator. And at least you know he's clean— his commitment to Wind Court tenets is too pure to be swayed. You doubt he'd ever believe your claims about the extent of Wyrm influence in the Court. (At most, he'd pin it on a scapegoat. Like that one woman.) You're certain he won't listen to a word about what <span class="mu-i">they</span> might want the Crown for. He's already stopped you from telling him about the stories you've heard about it. That it belonged to one of the men who murdered the Eight. That it was supposed to finish the job already started, but the Quick Sea in His dying wit swept it away, and the Under Sea in Her dying mystery sank it to parts unknown, and the Storm Sea in His dying fury made it impossible to send boats to fish it up. Until it was too late, and they all were dead, and most of Mankind was too. Thus the Crown was largely forgotten, and nothing came of it.
It's a pretty tale. Dib doesn't care. Even if he pried the words out of you himself, he wouldn't care— they'd be seditious rumors from a rogue magician, nothing greater. You'd be wasting your breath, if you can speak much of all. You haven't tried yet.
"Dare," you croak.
Not ideal, but functional. Watch Dib's eyes light up. This, too, is almost cute. "You're a very brave man, Mr. Graves."
Maybe. It's more that you like it when people get straight to the point.
(1/3)
