The hall kept going, but she found another set of stairs, and then another. She wasn’t really thinking in her panic. She could hear cries of pursuit far behind, but the dark and dusty halls themselves were silent and still, the only light from distant windows.
Finally, she saw great doors, and a white marble balcony beyond, gleaming in the sun. The stone was cold beneath her bare feet. She ran out, catching herself on the balustrade, looking for the garden—
—only to see castle walls, and beyond them, an enormous city stretching out before her. This wasn’t Anera. Where in the name of all the Gods was she?
Cries behind her. She spun, and ran back to the door. There was no other way off the balcony, she’d be caught if—
Warriors filled the doorway. Warna slid to a stop, her heart in her throat. Only one way to freedom. Better death than a slave.
“Lord of Light, forgive me.” Warna drew in a huge gulping breath as she sprinted for the balustrade, reaching out for the cold marble, feeling it under her fingers. The blue sky waited just beyond. Over, up, and free. “Lady of Laughter, open your arms and welcome my spirit—”
“Warna!”
Her name, screamed, as if torn from a soul. Warna hesitated, looked back into silver-blue eyes—
And cursed herself as she embraced oblivion once again.
“We seem tohave a misunderstanding.” That deep, reserved voice woke her again.
Warna blinked at the suddenness of her awareness. One moment on the edge of the balcony, now…
Facing Verice, she was seated in a wooden chair, surrounded by armed guards.
She swallowed hard, dizzy. Odd to be alive after she’d faced her death. She took a breath, and then another as her heart raced.
The white marble halls were gone; instead they were in a room with wooden walls and floors, and shuttered windows. Chests lined the walls, and there was a table covered in maps in the center of the room.
“—not my intent to—”
Lord High Baron Verice was standing before her, his arms crossed over his chest, talking, apparently to her. At least, he was looking at her and speaking. Warna gripped the seat of the chair, looked away and trembled within. There was no escape now, none that she could see. Two guards by the door, and another at the window of this small room.
“—want you to understand that I meant no—”
He was talking. Warna was fairly certain his words were supposed to mean something, but she couldn’t seem to make them out. She frowned at him, puzzled. He was angry, this elven lord. He was gesturing, and talking and—
“—name?” Verice frowned at her, fierce and cold.
The silence let Warna understand he was asking for her name. She looked around at the guards again and wondered just exactly how many they thought it would take to kill her.
One was probably more than enough.
The Lord High Baron sighed, and the sound made Warna focus on him. “In the camp, they said your name was Warna. Warna of Farentell?” he said again, this time softly.
“Yes. Of Farentell,” she gathered her courage and rose to her feet. “I will not be your slave.”
The Lord High Baron bristled. “That was never my intent. Here in Tassinic, there is no slavery, despite whatever madness may have infested the rest of the Kingdom.” He lifted his chin in a graceful, arrogant gesture. “You are alone, and clearly in need of protection. I extend my safeguards to you, as a ward within my household.”
Confused, exhausted, Warna blurted out her first thought, “Why?”
“What do youmean, why?” Verice demanded, irritated beyond words. “You are alone, with no male relatives to see to your safety.”
“Lots of the women in camp are alone,” Warna said. She looked tired, standing before him, pointing out the obvious. “They’re not being singled out for—”
“They are also under my protection,” Verice snapped. “You are a maiden, are you not?”
The fiery blush over her cheeks was a sign he’d offended. “Unwed, I mean,” Verice said impatiently.
“I’m fairly certain there are other unwed women among those that fled,” Warna argued.
