He turned his glare on her. “How can you say that when you betrayed your lord-governor?”

“I said I was loyal to my province, not necessarily my lord-governor. Tomas Mirwell was a fool.”

“He wanted to restore the province to its glory,” Immerez shouted.

“For what? Endless years of warring among the clans? By replacing King Zachary on the throne with his greedy and cruel brother? The unity between the provinces would have crumbled, not to mention your Eletian friend, Shawdell, meant for chaos to occur so he could destroy the D’Yer Wall and cultivate the power of Blackveil for his own purposes.”

Immerez clenched his jaw and remained silent.

“So now you’ve decided to help Second Empire.”

Immerez shrugged in his bonds. “Would anything I say matter? I will be hanged in the end anyway.”

Beryl smiled. “Your ultimate fate is for the king to decide. Things could be made easier for you if you answer my questions. But in the end, I suppose you’re right—it does not matter whether or not you’ve always been in league with Second Empire. I have other questions.”

“I’m not in an answering mood,” Immerez replied.

“You will be.”

“I’ve been wondering when I’d see the terrible interrogator I heard whispered of in Mirwell Keep. I still don’t see her.”

“Do you remember my brother by any chance?”

“That’s your question?”

“His name,” Beryl said, “was Riley Spencer, as proud and loyal a Mirwellian you could ever meet. He served as a private in the militia. He was proud of his uniform, and I remember when he came home on his first leave wearing that scarlet uniform with its chevrons and shiny buttons. He was so excited and I looked up to him. I wanted to be like him when I grew up. Twelve years ago you were what? A young sergeant?”

“That’s right,” Immerez said warily. “I was in charge of the house guard then.”

“I know. Tell me, how has it been for you since you lost your hand?”

It took him a moment to catch up with the sudden change of topic. “How do you think?”

“I think it must have been a terrible adjustment for an officer in his prime to lose his sword hand,” she said, displaying her own in front of his face, stretching out her fingers then curling them into a fist. “All those things you were accustomed to doing, actions as natural as breathing, were no longer possible. Scratching an itch, for instance, or eating. You’ve had to retrain your mind to even just remember your hand is not there.”

“So?” Immerez said. “Lots of soldiers lose limbs in combat.”

“I think,” Beryl continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “it sometimes feels like that hand is still connected to your wrist. You feel it. You can feel yourself flex phantom fingers. Maybe you feel your hand cramp or the palm sweat. But I think where you really feel it is here.” She put her fist to her heart.

Immerez said nothing, but he was taut, almost shaking. Yes, she knew exactly how it had been for him.

“I suppose there are practical matters,” Beryl said, “that became more difficult. Dressing and undressing, caring for your personal needs. Convincing your men you were whole and strong.”

“How would you know?” he demanded. “You’ve got both your hands.”

She picked up the hatchet from the table and weighed it in her palm. “Still don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember? Remember what?” He’d paled when she picked up the hatchet.

“Can you appreciate irony, Immerez?”

He just stared incredulously at her.

“Private Riley Spencer,” she said. “One of yours. New to your unit.”

He paled even more. Yes, he was beginning to remember.

“There was an incident with one of Lord Mirwell’s favorite saddles. It was dropped or some such, and the leather marred. Lord Mirwell was not pleased and demanded justice. Someone claimed it was Private Spencer who committed this terrible act of clumsiness.”

Immerez licked his lips. Perspiration broke out on his temple. Beryl was pleased, and pointed the hatchet at him. “It was you, wasn’t it, who marred the saddle. It was you who reported my brother. He told me this after the incident. Did you know how much he respected his sergeant? How much in awe of him he was? That was you he looked up to. He would have followed you into a fire or a volley of arrows if you so commanded it.

“But you betrayed him. To you he was just another private, young and expendable, but you had ambitions and could not be seen as less than perfect in your lord’s eyes. And in the end, who would the lord-governor listen to? A simple, untried private from the country, or an experienced sergeant he was grooming for greater things?”

“Lies,” Immerez sputtered.

“A dying man usually tells no lies,” Beryl replied. “I, for one should know, considering how many I’ve brought to the brink. And make no mistake, when Mirwell cut off my brother’s hands in punishment and sent him home in disgrace, he was already dying. Dying inside. There is not much a man can do without his hands. He can’t work the land, write, or hold a sword. Truly I can only guess at how it felt to him to have his mother and little sister tend to his every need, no matter how trivial or private. But worst of all, the betrayal broke his heart. Your betrayal.”

She gazed at the hatchet, turned it over in her hand. “Eventually he took his own life; jumped off a cliff because he couldn’t put a knife in his own gut.”