“ What is it that I do not know but can somehow almost remember?”
Ywain leaned forward. “You’re strong. You pride yourself on that. You feel that you can stand physical punishment, perhaps more than I would dare to give you. I think you could. But there are other ways. Quicker, surer ways and even a strong man has no defense against them.”
She followed the line of his gaze to the inner door. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “you can guess what I mean.”
Carse’s face was empty now of all expression. The musky smell was heavy as smoke in his throat. He felt it coil and writhe inside him, filling his lungs, stealing into his blood. Poisonously subtle, cruel, cold with a primal coldness. He swayed on his feet but his fixed stare did not waver.
He said hoarsely, “I can guess.”
“Good. Speak now and that door need not open.”
Carse laughed, a low, harsh sound. His eyes were clouded and strange.
“Why should I speak? You would only destroy me later to keep the secret safe.”
He stepped forward. He knew that he moved. He knew that he spoke though the sound of his own voice was vague in his ears.
But there was a dark confusion in him. The veins of his temples stood out like knotted cords, and the blood throbbed in his brain. Pressure, as of something bursting, breaking its bonds, tearing itself free.