Presumably not. Instead, she made out that I forced her father to give me her hand in marriage and took her away from here against her will. Who knows? Perhaps she even believed that story herself in the end."
"You’re lying." Violante was trying very hard to sound composed. "I don’t want to hear any more.
"But hear it you will," said the Adderhead, unmoved. "It’s time you stopped hiding behind pretty stories and heard the facts. Your grandfather was only too inclined to make sure that any suitors of his daughters disappeared. So your mother showed me the tunnel — the one that enabled the Piper to get into the castle entirely unnoticed.
She was madly in love with me at the time, whatever she may have said to you."
"Why are you telling me these lies?" Violante still held her head high, but her voice was trembling. "It wasn’t my mother who showed you the tunnel. It must have been one of your spies. And she never loved you, either."
"Believe what you like. I assume you don’t know very much about love." The Adderhead coughed, and rose with a groan from the chair where he was sitting.
Violante retreated as he stepped into the torchlight.
"Yes, see what your noble robber has done to me," said the Adderhead as he slowly approached Mortimer. It was getting more and more painful for him to walk, Orpheus had seen that often enough on the endless journey to this bleak castle, but the Silver Prince still stood as straight as his daughter.
"But let’s not discuss the past anymore," he said when he was so close to Mortimer that his prisoner had the full benefit of the odor he gave off, "or about the way my daughter may have envisaged this bargain. Convince me that it really doesn’t make sense for me to flay you alive at once — and do the same to your wife and daughter.
Yes, you left them with the Black Prince, but I know about the cave where they’re hiding. I assume that my useless brother-in-law has captured them by now and will be taking them to Ombra." Ah, that really got through to Mortimer. Guess who told the Adderhead about the cave, noble robber, thought Orpheus, smiling broadly when Mortimer looked at him.
"So now The Adderhead drove his gloved fist into his prisoner’s chest just where Mortola had wounded him. "What are the prospects? Can you reverse your own trick? Can you cure the Book you so craftily used to deceive me?"
Mortimer hesitated for only a moment. "Of course," he replied. "If you give it to me."
Very well. Orpheus had to admit that Mortimer’s voice still sounded impressive, even in these dire straits (although his own sounded far, far better). But the Adderhead wasn’t to be beguiled this time. He struck Mortimer in the face so hard that he fell to his knees.
"Do you seriously expect to fool me again?" he snarled. "How stupid do you think I am? No one can cure this Book! Dozens of your fellow craftsmen have died to give me that information. No it’s past saving, which means that my flesh will rot for all eternity, and every day I’ll be tempted to write the three words in it myself and put an end to all this. But I have thought of a better solution and I’ll require your services for it once more after all, which is why I am truly grateful to my daughter for taking such good care of you. Because, of course," he added, glancing at the Piper, "I know what a hot temper my silver-nosed herald has."
The Piper was going to say something, but the Adderhead merely raised his hand impatiently and turned back to Mortimer.
"What kind of solution?" The famous voice sounded hoarse. Was the Bluejay afraid now after all? Orpheus felt like a boy enjoying a particularly exciting passage in a book. I hope he’s afraid, he thought. And I hope this is one of the last chapters he appears in.
Mortimer’s face twisted when the Piper pressed his knife against his ribs. Oh yes, he’s obviously made the wrong enemies in this story, thought Orpheus. And the wrong friends. But that was high-minded heroes for you. Stupid.
"What kind of solution?" The Adderhead scratched his itching flesh. "You’ll bind me another book, what else? But this time you won’t go unobserved for a single second.
And once this new book with its spotlessly white pages protects me from Death again, we’ll write your name in the other one — so that you can know for a while how it feels to be rotting alive. After that I’ll tear it to pieces, page by page, and watch as you feel your flesh tearing and you beg the White Women to come for you.