Heirs of the Gods

Ch 39.2: The light of truth

Being under the influence of a truth potion, Ella found, was akin to being particularly drunk.

That was, if being drunk were like sleep paralysis. In front of a crowd of people. Under the risk of opening her mouth and possibly dooming an entire Kingdom. Just like a fun, relaxing evening with a good glass of vintage. Lovely.

Still, she pushed back against the wrongness of it all, and she concentrated on the task at hand. This was her responsibility, and she would not ruin Gerrathea's chance at recovery.

"If we may, we will commence with the questioning." At Councillor Bainor's words, the table shrunk in size. In its place was left a much smaller gap. He sat primly on the other side, flanked by his standing scholars--Sister Firtha and Brother Samuel.

The change was abrupt. So much that if she hadn't been completely drugged, Ella would have flinched. They were so close now that she could have struck out a hand and reached them easily, touched them. In this proximity, their vacant gazes were deadly. Piercing.

Cold unravelled in her stomach, like a loose ball of yarn. Slowly and sluggishly as her body allowed her to, Ella straightened her back and clasp her hands together. She may have been sedated out of her skull, but she was still lucid, and her dignity was still intact. Even in face of these methods, she would not allow herself to wilt and cower. That's what they wanted, to corral her into making a mistake.

They were in for a damn good time if they thought she would shy away like a blushing flower.

Even in her stupor, Ella's gaze was steely and clear. "I'm ready." Her tongue was thick and heavy, but she'd managed to not slur, keeping her words clipped and short.

"Very well." Councillor Bainor met her eyes with his own, slit yellow and glassy. In their depth's she could see a chilling sort of viciousness. An iced promise of danger. This was a man who was not to be toyed with. "Stand aside, King Callan. This questioning should not be interfered with by outside forces."

Callan's hand--braced on the back of the chair--tightened almost imperceptibly. Still, he removed himself stood back, in front of the guards.

Had the circumstances been any different, Ella would have scoffed. He spoke as if she were a criminal who had been brought it for interrogation. It's like he wanted her to feel like a lowly wretch.

Maybe in his mind--in all their minds--she was. Still, in Councillor Bainor's gaze, underneath all the layers of dampening impassiveness, was a different type of cold. A chilling cold that came with a deep-rooted abhor. It was unsettling.

"Brother Thomas, you may begin the registration," he said, without even turning. From the line, one of the hooded figures stepped forward, a quill in his hands and a parchment. He began to scribble away. A written testimony of the events, then.

"We shall test the efficiency of the potion first," the Councillor continued. "Sister Firtha, Brother Samuel."

He didn't need to say more before there was an imperceptible shift in the two scholars. Their vacant gazes focused on her, and soon, like a knock on a door, a prickling grew in her skull, right at the forefront of her head.

Ella bristled defensively, but her shields never came up. It was like her mind was wide open, an invitation to all. And in they came, two presences in the recess of her conscience. She clenched her fists, blunt nails curving into her palm at the intrusion.

It was aggressive, this encroaching into the most intimate parts of her being. Somewhere in the background of her conscience, she was aware of her well of power. It crackled with its shadowy darkness, baring its fangs from where it stood, caged behind the wall of drug-induced stupor. The intrinsic part of her that jealously guarded her mind.