Dragon Stones by James V. Viscosi

removed a length of rope from the sack and advanced on her.  He motioned for her to move to a straight-backed chair in the corner.  She had examined that seat when she had first been imprisoned here, and hadn't liked the look of it; it sported iron loops fastened to the arms and legs, a leather strap that could go around the midsection, and what appeared to be a restraint for the head.  Bolts attached it securely to the floor.  "I'm quite comfortable here, thank you," she said.
    Tomari grimaced, showing her his teeth; then he grabbed her arm, hauled her to her feet, dragged her across the room, and threw her roughly into the chair.  If it were not fastened in place, it would have tipped over and spilled her out onto the stone.
    "Gently," Torrant said; he had gone to her seat by the window and closed the shutters against the morning breeze.  "Don't damage her."
    "She's fine," Tomari said.  He bound her feet and arms tightly to the chair, running the rope through the iron rings and tying it off near her feet, then fastening the belt across her stomach, his hands quite deliberately brushing her breasts.  He leered up at her.  "More than fine."
    "This is intolerable!" Tolaria cried.  "When word gets back to the Crosswaters, they—"
    "There's no one there to receive word," Torrant said.  He had opened her trunk—she had left it locked, but they doubtless had people who could open such things—and was now rummaging around inside.
    "What?"
    "There was a fire and the building was gutted," Torrant said.  "Many of the oracles perished.  You could well be the sole survivor.  Ah, here they are."  He removed the box of herbs and the stone mixing bowl, inspecting them as if they were treasures found at the bottom of a river.
    "You … you burned the Crosswaters?"
    "We didn't say that," Tomari said.
    "We said there'd been a fire.  Just because someone brings news of a storm doesn't mean he caused it."
    "But you did burn it, didn't you?"
    "Perhaps you'll see the truth during your next vision." Torrant brought the stone bowl over to the chair and placed it in her lap.  Now she knew why Tomari had tied her so tightly; she couldn't even wriggle enough to knock it to the floor.  "First we put in the herbs, then the powder, then the water.  Isn't that right, Tolaria?"
    She stared at him, aghast.  How could he know that?  The mixing of the vapors took place in private chambers, out of sight of petitioners, be they commoners or nobles.  "You never wanted me to settle your dispute," she said.  "Even when you called for an oracle, your intent was to imprison whoever came."
    "Have you only just realized that?" Tomari said.  Then, to Torrant:  "Perhaps she is not so clever as you thought."
    "She is clever," Torrant said, "but she is also naïve."
    Tomari laughed.  "We will cure her of that."
    "You must realize that I can't forecast like this," she said desperately.  "These ropes—the chair—everything is wrong."
    "Don't worry," Torrant said.  "We have every confidence in you."  He scooped out some herbs and sprinkled them into the bowl, then handed the box to Tomari and said, "Put this back and fetch the powder."
    Tomari returned the herbs to the trunk, poked around a bit, and then said:  "There are two jars of powder."
    "Red is for wisdom, white for divination," Torrant said.  "We'll be mixing the two, so bring both."
    "How did you learn all this?" Tolaria said.
    Torrant winked at her.  "Perhaps I'll tell you some time."  Then he stepped aside as Tomari brought the jars, placing them on a table beside the chair.  Torrant opened them and began spooning the calx into the bowl, first a pinch of white, then red, then a little more white.
    "Please," Tolaria said, "you must not do this."
    Torrant raised an eyebrow.  "Why not?"
    "You're abusing my gift."
    "This seems like quite a good use of your gift, actually," Tomari said.  "Certainly better than wasting it on some moldy farmer with a question about crop