Betrayals by Sharon Green Page A

obviously trying to re-accustom him to the life, but Rion felt that she had another purpose in mind as well. She’d given him a decision to make, and with nothing else to distract him he would have to consider that decision.
    Rion put his head back and closed his eyes, more desolate than he’d ever imagined it was possible to be. The terror he’d felt—distantly, because of the drug—over losing his talent had turned into a throbbing pang of emptiness which refused to be assuaged. He’d asked himself many times during the last hours if keeping his mind would be all that desirable with both talent and freedom gone, but he hadn’t been able to come to a firm decision. The idea of death didn’t frighten him, but what if his damaged mind retained enough awareness to remember what he’d once been …?
    The ice forming around his insides couldn’t be affected by the intake of hot tea, but Rion still opened his eyes and reached for his cup. Lifting it to his lips took something of an effort and most of his attention, and when he replaced the cup there was a servant standing not far from him.
    “Would you like me to pour more tea for you, Lord Clarion?” the man, Ditras, asked. “It would be no trouble at all.”
    “Yes, thank you, Ditras,” Rion responded, still taken by the surprise of an earlier discovery. All those servants he’d thought were laughing at him; since his return he’d been able to interpret their true feelings, which was, almost to a man or woman, pity. They’d known the truth of his situation long before he had, and had tried to offer unspoken sympathy and silent consolation. That he’d interpreted their actions as standoffish ridicule had been Mother’s doing, of course, using passing comments to make him think the worst of those around him. She’d wanted to make sure that no one would find it possible to take her place with him….
    “Here I am, my darling, back with you as quickly as possible,” Mother all but sang as she sailed into the room. “Among other things, I’ve been busy arranging to have your clothing brought from Haven Wraithside, so you’ll no longer need to wear those rags. I can’t imagine what you did with the clothing you took with you to that filthy hovel. When I sent servants there to fetch it back, they were able to find nothing but those awful white shirts and gray trousers. I think the servants in that place must have stolen your lovely things when they realized that you would not be returning.”
    “No one stole those things, Mother,” Rion said with a faint smile as Ditras faded back and away from him. “I burned all those ridiculous costumes, since not even the neediest of peasants would have been willing to wear any of them. You always told me they were the height of fashion and I believed you—until I learned what true fashion was. The only ones who wear those costumes are useless, mindless fops—something I don’t happen to be.”
    “What you will be is what you once were,” Mother replied coldly, seating herself stiffly without taking her equally cold stare from his face. “You’ve now had time to consider the problem I put to you, just as I’ve had time to consider it. Is there anything you’d care to say to me before I tell you what decision I’ve come to?”
    Rion felt his blood icing up to match the rest of his insides, wishing fervently that it could be possible to get up and pace. Mother’s declaration about having made a decision wasn’t good, since there was now no doubt that he would have to beg to be allowed to keep his mind intact. Most of him wanted to do just that, beg and grovel and do anything else necessary to save himself, but that new part of him … It refused to let him abase himself in any way, even if he paid for the lack with his wits and sanity.
    “I’m waiting, Clarion,” Mother prompted, a gleam now evident in her light eyes. “I can see that you want to be a good boy, but you must be much more open and clear