Page 72 of The Rebel's Prize

"You have only three hours before the navire will be departing, and it will take at least an hour to transfer them all on board," Colonel Hislock objected, his bushy gray eyebrows drawing down.

"That will be enough time. I only need to ask them one thing, really," Lucien said.

The colonel looked doubtful, but he nodded. "Very well, Major. Then I suggest you get underway. Do you want me to send a message to the navire, tell them to plan for a delay?"

"No. But I'll want to speak to Major du Laq and Captain Ilveut once I'm done. Perhaps you could ask them to return to the barracks if they're already on board."

"I saw Captain Ilveut a few minutes ago, but I'll send for the major."

"Thank you. Chloe, come with me."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked as they waited for the first of the prisoners to be brought to the conference room he'd commandeered.

"Deandra said she hadn't left the troupe. I need to see what the troupe has to say about that." That was all the explanation he offered.

She simply watched as he asked the same few questions over and over again: Had Deandra been with the troupe a month ago? Where had the troupe been in the last two months? Did she ever leave the troupe?

The answers to the first were an unequivocal "Yes." No one remembered Deandra having left the troupe during the time of the attack. Though the costumier had offered that Deandra kept to herself doing the books and other paperwork rather than mingling with the troupe at times. From the tone, Chloe gathered the two weren't friends.

The information about the troupe's route was consistent with what they'd already established. Whether or not Deandra left the troupe sometimes drew more mixed results. Most people said she did but, when pressed for details of when, drew a blank.

Lucien worked his way through the troupe steadily and they were back in the wardroom in less than two hours to find Imogene pacing restlessly. Captain Ilveut sat at the long table, calmly sipping tea.

"We couldn't have done this on board?" Imogene asked. "We need to be gone in less than an hour."

"Now that the prisoners are all on their way to the navire, it's better to talk here," Lucien said. "No chance of anything being overheard."

"There was little chance of that anyway," Colonel Hillock said dryly. "Our wards are solid. I imagine the navire's are, too."

"I know, but the navire is small, and it will be crowded with so many prisoners."

"Did you find what you wanted?" Imogene asked.

Lucien rubbed the back of his neck. "Mamsille Noirene was, as anticipated, not helpful. But the troupe was more...interesting."

"How so?"

"None of them remember Deandra leaving the troupe in the last month or so."

"That seems more unhelpful than interesting," Imogene said, looking confused.

"Perhaps. But they all remember that time period. They could all tell me about it."

"What does that matter?" The colonel cocked his head in confusion.

"It means that if their memories have been affected in any way, then they've been altered, not erased," Lucien said.

That brought a moment of startled silence to the room.

Captain Ilveut recovered first. "Can that be done?"

"A few days ago, I wouldn't have thought so. But now, I'm not so sure," Lucien replied. "But there was something...not quite right about the way they answered my questions. They all believe what they're saying is true, but they all sounded...too similar."

They did? Why hadn't she noticed that? "In what way?" Chloe asked.

"Thirty people, all with different jobs in the troupe. Different lives. Different experiences. But I asked about the performances that they'd told us about previously, particularly the one in Kilvarnon the day of the attack on the parliament, when Chloe saw Deandra. And so did Octarus. I'd expect an actor to say something like 'Oh yes, that was a good performance' or maybe that they'd made some small mistake—actors will always tell you about those. And perhaps the costumier might remember damage to a costume, or the stagehands an issue with the set, but no, they all talked about one thing." He turned to Chloe. "Do you remember?"

She frowned, sorting through her memories. "The fire?"

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