“Not with your gift of music,” Verice countered, certain of victory. “That gift should be cherished and protected, and I’ll see to it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes down but her face filled with doubt. “My music?”
“Your songs,” Verice took in a deep breath. Was the woman thick? “Your songs. They are—”
“That’s just something I do for myself,” Warna said. “I’m not that good.”
“You are,” Verice insisted. “You are too harsh on yourself. I will see you and your gifts protected, even over your protests.”
“Why?” she asked again in that maddening, all-too-reasonable tone. Again, she seemed to be staring off to the side, not looking him in the eye.
“Is there some reason you won’t look at me?” Verice growled.
“Yes,” she snapped back. “I’ll not be charmed or bedazzled by your tricks.”
A sudden feeling of shame flooded through him, catching him off guard. “It was necessary,” Verice said. He caught himself before he continued to justify his actions to this human.
She didn’t look up.
“I’ll pledge not to use magic upon you if you will pledge to remain under my protection. I do not know your sense of honor; humans rarely seem to have one. But I—”
She bristled, standing stiff and staring him in the eye. “My word is as good as yours,” she retorted. “But I’ll not give that promise.”
“Then I shall take what steps are necessary,” Verice stated. “You will remain here.”
“Why?” she demanded again.
Verice stood, and drew himself up to tower over her. “Because I say so,” he gritted through his teeth. “And as I am the Lord High Baron of this land, my word is law.”
Those brown eyes studied him with skepticism.
“Narthing, see to her needs,” Verice commanded, determined to end the conversation by leaving the room.
“I don’t even know where I am,” she complained as he strode past. “This isn’t Anera, is it?”
“No,” Verice paused. “This is Octara, my capital. You have the freedom of the castle and its grounds, but understand, lady, you are not to venture outside its walls. Is that clear?”
Her gaze dropped, her lashes dark against her skin. She executed a perfect curtsey, sinking to the floor with grace. “Yes, Lord Verice.”
He didn’t trust that for a moment.
Narthing stared atthe human woman in dismay. His Lord had commanded, and it was his to obey, but what in the name of all his Ancestors was he to do with her?
She stood there staring at him, waiting. His men were all staring at him too.
She’d given them all heart attacks, fleeing into the castle that was supposed to be sealed, running for her life and what she thought was her honor. Narthing admired her; he’d been just behind Verice and seen her determination to face death over degradation. It had been a close thing.
It was the sight of her bare feet that did it. She’d been just like any new recruit showing up at the gate with naught but the clothes on his back, and a willingness to serve.
Well, from the look in her eye the willingness wasn’t there, but all else was the same.
“Welcome to Octara, Lady Warna,” Narthing started with assurance. “We’ll need to get you settled, and then—”
“Where is Octara?” she demanded. “How far are we from Anera?”
“About four days ride,” Narthing said.
“Four days? I’ve been unconscious for four days?” she asked, her voice climbing higher.
