Cry Havoc
⑥
“Please let me move again.”
If he is surprised by the revelation that he's left me here for thirteen days under the order not to move, he doesn't make any sign of it.
“What happens if you're ordered to lie?”
“Bad things. Please don't do that to me.”
“Why won't you answer my questions?”
Because I'm scared, of you, of a mortal. But even now I have enough restraint not to divulge that truth. “I have very little autonomy left. Please allow me to keep that much.”
“Answer my question.”
Damn you, mortal. “Which one?”
“What happens if you are given the order to lie?”
“I collapse into seizures and vomit. I am physically incapable of lying, and equally incapable of disobeying.” I frown. “There is a horrible itch on my nose. It's quite the nuisance. Please revoke your command.”
“How long do orders last?”
“Until they are either fulfilled or rescinded.”
He's quiet for a while before he finally releases me from the immobility demand. I groan in relief and stretch my stiff muscles. Vertebrae pop and crackle as I roll my neck, rife with soreness, but the slight twinges are more than welcome.
“What are you, exactly? A god?”
“What is Lady Cassiopeia, or Lady Genesis, or Lord Paramour?” A soft frown on my lips, I broach his question cautiously. “What I am is ageless. Immortal. That is as much as any creature of intellect has been able to discern. Mortals for years have called the royal family gods, and we were content with that. I have no satisfactory answer for you.”
“Can you be killed?”
“Why do you want to know?” I demand.
“Answer me.”
Ice settles in the pit of my stomach. “Not through traditional means. Years ago, only my siblings may have killed me. Starless hells, even you could kill me, diminished as I am now. All you need do is—”
“Shut up.”
My mouth hangs open in shock, but I don’t say another word. This— this doesn't make any sense.
“You think I would kill you?”
I remain silent. I don’t know what I think, not anymore.
He makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Do not say a word until I return.”
Of course. Why would I expect anything else from the descendant of August Clifford Aenem?
I curl into a ball and begin my silent wait.
If he is surprised by the revelation that he's left me here for thirteen days under the order not to move, he doesn't make any sign of it.
“What happens if you're ordered to lie?”
“Bad things. Please don't do that to me.”
“Why won't you answer my questions?”
Because I'm scared, of you, of a mortal. But even now I have enough restraint not to divulge that truth. “I have very little autonomy left. Please allow me to keep that much.”
“Answer my question.”
Damn you, mortal. “Which one?”
“What happens if you are given the order to lie?”
“I collapse into seizures and vomit. I am physically incapable of lying, and equally incapable of disobeying.” I frown. “There is a horrible itch on my nose. It's quite the nuisance. Please revoke your command.”
“How long do orders last?”
“Until they are either fulfilled or rescinded.”
He's quiet for a while before he finally releases me from the immobility demand. I groan in relief and stretch my stiff muscles. Vertebrae pop and crackle as I roll my neck, rife with soreness, but the slight twinges are more than welcome.
“What are you, exactly? A god?”
“What is Lady Cassiopeia, or Lady Genesis, or Lord Paramour?” A soft frown on my lips, I broach his question cautiously. “What I am is ageless. Immortal. That is as much as any creature of intellect has been able to discern. Mortals for years have called the royal family gods, and we were content with that. I have no satisfactory answer for you.”
“Can you be killed?”
“Why do you want to know?” I demand.
“Answer me.”
Ice settles in the pit of my stomach. “Not through traditional means. Years ago, only my siblings may have killed me. Starless hells, even you could kill me, diminished as I am now. All you need do is—”
“Shut up.”
My mouth hangs open in shock, but I don’t say another word. This— this doesn't make any sense.
“You think I would kill you?”
I remain silent. I don’t know what I think, not anymore.
He makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Do not say a word until I return.”
Of course. Why would I expect anything else from the descendant of August Clifford Aenem?
I curl into a ball and begin my silent wait.