Cracks, #24, PG-13

George tested him tonight.
“Here, have some wine,” he said, like an old friend after a long day, which he was.
Numair could clearly see the truth spells, but the Whisper Man, oddly, was one of the people he trusted most.
“I’m charmed,” he said, and drank.
“So, sir, what do you do for a living, if I may ask?” George asked, swirling his drink idly.
“No sir, if you please. Nuttin’ but a street mage, I may say, but my ship’s coming in, I say, m’ships coming in,” said Numair Salmalin, street mage.
“That’s good for you, my man, that is,” said George. “What do you specialize in? I’ve a second cousin who’s a Kennel mage, always looking to recruit.”
“Oh, nuttin’ o’ that sor’,” said Numair happily, not noticing the slur in his words. “Jus’ a few little pro-tech-ions, potions, tha’ sor’ o’ thing.”
“Good, good. I know many a man who’s needed protections, if you know what I mean,” George said with a meaningful look.
They continue on in this manner, George making his friendly enquiries about his background, his education, his suppliers and supplies. Finally, he gets to family, which he talks endlessly and untruthfully about, and George asks one last thing.
“Planning on adding on to this enormous family of yours, Numair?”
“Oh, maybe, maybe,” Numair said, smiling. “There’s a girl, but you know how it is. I think I might have a chance this time, though.”
George smiled back at him. “You sound like a happy man, Numair. What’s this girl of yours look like.”
Numair stares past him. “Lovely. She’s got the most beautiful eyes. Gray eyes and brown hair. Shorter than she’d like, but,” he added, chuckling, “I’ve got enough length for the both of us.”
George stopped smiling, but kept his tone level. “She sounds wonderful, Numair. What’s her name.”
Dreamily, Numair said, “Daine. Daine Sarrasri.”
Icily, George said, “I’m charmed.”
Numair sat still, lifting out of his memory palace, and then looked straight at George, who took the opportunity to begin speaking.
“You’re supposed to be lying, man! Not wishing! You can’t open up about your love life to a torturer! He’ll kill you, he’ll kill her!” George looked livid, and Numair might have seen a small hint of resentment, of jealousy, in his eyes, if his own eyes hadn’t gone wide with fear.
“No. Not her,” he said, stunned.
“Yes,” George said, quietly. “Yes her. Don’t come back here until you’ve fixed your palace, do you hear? You can’t have a crack, no matter how small.”
After all, George hadn’t been allowed a crack in his own palace, once upon a time. He knew that no amount of sealed cracks or severed ears could bring his sister back.
But it was bloody well worth a shot.