Inside the prison beneath the city courthouse there is a dim little room where they stash whoever is currently awaiting trial, and tonight that unlucky fellow was me. I was not alone in the room. One of the king’s guards was there too, watching me with a lifted eyebrow because she’d just asked me a question, and I was taking too long to answer.
It might be viewed as suspicious, my long silence. But how I responded could mean the difference between regaining my freedom or spending what little remained of my life here, in uncomfortable confinement. The first problem was that I didn’t know what to say to get myself out of my predicament. The second problem was that I have a tendency to ramble.
“I was born in the province of Tar-ma-rin,” I began. “I grew up in a town called Lye-St-Eere, nort
