Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

“At worst, treason,” she finished. “All right, come with me, pretty lad. Since you uncovered this lead, you get to handle the interrogation.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Standing behind you, making them afraid of worse.”

Jael laughed. “You’re asking me to pretend to be the nice one? I’m not sure I can sell that.”

“All you have to do is refrain from hitting them.”

“I might be able to do that, but the first one who lies to me—”

“I’ll be watching for that,” she cut in.

“That thing you do, you can tell when somebody’s lying?”

How . . . awful. Jael finally understood why they called her the Dread Queen. There was something terrible about how she read a man and sorted his truth from falsehoods. He didn’t want her peering beneath his skin and seeing the monster at the bone.

“If it makes them feel . . . violent. Sometimes, when they’re angry or frightened, and their story’s being questioned, a killer wants to solve the problem by murdering the person making him feel that way. That’s when I can tell. Quiet, controlled lies look the same as truth to me.”

He wondered why she’d told him that and if she realized she’d given him the keys to getting away with murder in her domain. Her gaze was level on his; and if Jael didn’t know better, he’d swear this was some kind of a test. He met her look with one of his own, hoping it was level and inscrutable.

“I’ll bear that in mind. Let me guess—the men think you can read their minds.”

“It’s all part of the legend,” she said. “Tam’s idea, not mine. He says a little shock and awe goes a long way toward cementing their loyalty.”

“Seems to be working,” he observed with a touch of mockery.

She sighed but didn’t rise to the bait. “Not well enough, or we wouldn’t be questioning a squadron of treacherous guards.”

So easily she confessed to failure, admitted her strategies weren’t perfect. It made him want to help, a foreign impulse. Of course, her confidences could be a strategy, meant to bind him closer and ensure his loyalty. Some men found it impossible to resist a woman who needed them; if that was her angle, it was working better than he’d like to admit.

“Why are you telling me this?” he demanded, wondering if she would be honest. Unlike her, he wouldn’t confess his tricks . . . and he’d smell a lie in her sweat, hear it in her quickened heartbeat.

Dred met his gaze levelly for a few seconds. Then she answered, “Because I can trust you. I’ve had Tam watching you since your arrival. Since you’re new, you haven’t had the opportunity to form any other allegiances. You’ve been mine since the moment you stepped off the transport.”

A knife made of longing turned in his stomach. He had never belonged to anyone before. Not like this. For once, he didn’t resist his better nature or pretend it didn’t exist. “Point me at them, and I’ll get this party started.”

“I’ll alert the jugglers.” Her tone was wry, but she skimmed the crowd in the main hall until her attention lit on a knot of men playing cards across the way. “That’s them. Looks like they’ve just come off patrol, and they’re . . . celebrating.”

Yeah, now that she’d singled the men out, he could see that their mood was quietly more euphoric than the rest of Queensland. Others were downcast or angry; those who had lost people who mattered seemed sad. But these four? None of the above. They had the relaxed body language of men who thought they’d gotten away with something.

“Just one question,” he said. “Are we doing this in here?”

“Absolutely. I don’t care about protecting their good names. We already know they’re guilty of something. I’ll throw them to the others once we’re finished.”

That was a cold, practical decision. Nothing angered a populace like a turncoat; these sentries would be torn to shreds. It would also give the convicts targets for their rage, making them more governable. People always responded better when they could understand the reason why a tragedy had occurred. Giving them someone to punish would also restore a sense of balance. Finally, the bloodbath should leave her in a position to take on her enemies with a focused fighting force.

Jael turned; if she wanted him to run the interrogation, he would though he’d never had a commander trust him that far before. They always kept him on a short leash, like a weapon that could explode without warning. A little voice said, She’s only trusting you because she doesn’t know what you are. If she did, everything would change. He ignored it and closed the distance to the smug-looking sentries. They stopped their card game at his approach, eyeing him.

“We’re full,” one of them said. He was the biggest of the bunch, with a shock of dark hair and two deep-set eyes. A scar meandered down his left cheek. “Not dealing anybody else in.”

“Downright rude, that is. But I didn’t come to play,” Jael said in a steely tone.

“Then what do you want?” another demanded.

Dred stepped out from behind him, then. The men froze. That’s an unfamiliar experience. He was used to people underestimating him until they saw him fight. But these guards knew how quickly he could gut a man. And still they dreaded the woman behind him more. Maybe it was because they thought she could dig into their heads and pry out their secrets. Or it might be the inexorable chill of her presence; he felt it, too, now.

“You’ll answer his questions,” she said gently, and closed her eyes.

The reaction was immediate, so they knew what she was doing—or rather, they’d heard stories. Jael acknowledged that Tameron had a deft hand with a tall tale.

“We didn’t do anything,” the youngest whined.

Right. First feign innocence.

Best not to leave any doubt as to what he knew. Jael wasn’t interested in excuses. “I found a campsite where Priest’s people waited . . . inside your patrol route.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” the first one said with a cocky jerk of his chin. He was probably the leader.

“You realize I don’t have to talk to you. I can just tell the rest of them”—he gestured at the men watching the exchange with narrowed eyes—“what I’ve learned. They’d find your bullshit compelling.”

“Doubtful,” Dred said softly. “He’s lying. He’d like very much to slit our throats, too.”