" What is your name?”
It took a moment for the words to register--for me to realize he did not know who I was! His eyes narrowed; he had seen my reaction, then--and I stirred, which effectively turned my surprise into a wince of pain.
“Name?” he said again. His voice was vaguely familiar, but the vagueness remained when I tried to identify it.
“I am very much afraid,” he said presently, “that your probable future is not the kind to excite general envy, but I promise I can make it much easier if you cooperate.”
“Eat mud,” I croaked.
He smiled slightly, both mouth and eyes. The reaction of angerless humor was unexpected, but before I could try to assess it, he said, “You’ll have to permit me to be more explicit. If you do not willingly discourse with me, I expect the King will send some of his experts, who will exert themselves to get the information we require, with your cooperation or without it.” He leaned one hand across his knee, watching still with that air of mild interest--as if he had all the time in the world. His hand was long fingered, slim in form; he might have been taken for some minor Court scribe except for the callused palm of one who has trained all his life with the sword.
The import of his words hit me then, and with them came more fear--and more anger. “What is it you want to know?” I asked.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Where the Astiars’ camp lies, and their immediate plans, will do for a start.”
“Their camp lies in their land…on which you are the trespasser…and their plans are to…rid the kingdom of…a rotten tyrant.” It took effort to get that out. But I was reasonably proud of my nasty tone.
His brows lifted. They were long and winged, which contributed to that air of faint question. “Well,” he said, laying his hands flat on his knees for a moment, then he swung to his feet with leisurely grace. “We have a fire-eater on our hands, I see. But then one doesn’t expect to find abject cowardice in spies.” He stepped toward the flap, then paused and said over his shoulder, “You should probably rest while you can. I fear you have an unpleasant set of interviews ahead of you.”
With that he lifted the flap and went out.
Leaving me to some very bleak thoughts.
He did that on purpose, I told myself after a long interval during which I tried not to imagine what those “experts” would try first in order to get me to blab--and how long I’d last. I’d faced the prospect of dying in battle and was ready enough, but I’d never considered the idea of torture.
And the worst of it is, I thought dismally, there’s nothing to be gained, really. We don’t have any kind of master plan, and the camp will probably be changed by tomorrow. But if I say any of that willingly, then I am a coward, and they’ll be sure to let everyone know it soon’s they find out who I am.
As soon as--
Think! My head ached anew, but I forced myself to follow the thought to its logical conclusion. The enemy did not know who I was. Which means they cannot use me against Bran.
That was the secret I had to keep my teeth closed on as long as I could, I realized. My person was worth more than what was in my head--if Galdran found out.
So he can’t find out, I resolved, and I lay back flat, closed my eyes, and tried my best to suspend my thoughts so I could sleep. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)