The Raider stood at attention, his dreadlocks swishing around his head. “Aye, Commander.”
“Put those two to work.” Von motioned to the young mages. “Something to keep them busy and to teach them respect.”
Olssen grinned and motioned grandly at the horse pen loaded with piles of dung. “I’ve got the perfect task.”
“Good.” Von continued on his way as he called over his shoulder. “And they are not to use magic.”
The scent of something cooking filled the air as smoke wafted from the large tent on the north end of camp. He headed for it. Yavi’s laughter and Geon’s chatter greeted him before he went in. No one could have missed the huge Minotaur hacking away at slabs of bacon in the tent. Sorren towered over them at eight feet tall, his one horn nearly touching the ceiling.
“Come off it, you two,” Sorren growled. “We’ve got work to do.”
At his entrance, Yavi’s face lit up. “Von, tell Sorren he needs to learn how to laugh. It won’t kill him.”
“See, I think it might,” Geon retorted as he chopped some greens at a back table. He flashed Von a grin. “The bloke is incapable of good old fun.”
Sorren threw a loaf of hard bread at the lad’s head. Yavi pealed into wild laughter, and Von smiled at the sound, but it quickly dropped. She stood too close to the cauldron as she stirred it, and the flames licking around the base reached for her toes.
His heart nearly leaped in his throat.
Only whence she burns...
The words of warning from the Seer of Faery Hill blared in his head, and it took every ounce of calm for Von not to overreact.
He strolled to Yavi’s side, casually pulling her further away from the fire as he pretended to peek inside the pot. “What’s cooking?”
“Pottage, your favorite.” She winked and tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Her hand dropped to her side, allowing their arms to discreetly touch. “Beans, leaks, and bacon.”
Von wrinkled his nose.
“We can’t all eat as posh as your master,” Sorren grunted.
“It’ll be good with some bread and cheese,” Geon added. “Ale too.”
“Is the master’s meal ready?” Von asked.
The lad wiped his hands on his apron. “Aye, it is.”
Von withheld a sigh as he watched Geon limp to another table. He regretted taking the lad with him to Corron. Now he would have a limp for the rest of his life. Geon might never have walked again if Dyna hadn’t healed him—a fact Von had neglected to share with his master.
“Here’s his dinner, Commander.” Geon motioned to a silver tray arranged with plates of soft rolls, a roasted chicken stuffed with herbs, and venison adorned with pomegranate seeds and greens. The lad fidgeted with the settings, wiping away any stray droplets of oil. “Sorren had me cook for the master today. Pray to the gods, he’ll not whip me if he finds it lacking.”
“He won’t,” Von said. Tarn hardly ate, and when he did, he had nothing to say about its quality. Von frowned at Sorren. “Unless he’s meant to be displeased.”
The Minotaur had found interesting ways to poison Tarn’s meals when he’d first been made a slave. It nearly killed Von several times, since he had to taste everything first. That was his holy duty as a life-servant. Serve Tarn in everything asked. Even die for him, if need be. That was the life the fates chose for him. He’d learned a long time ago there was no escaping it.
The Minotaur’s nose ring bounced with his snort. “I didn’t touch it. You’ll live.”
“Thanks, mate.” Von gathered the tray and headed for the exit.
Yavi subtly reached for him at the same time he did, and their fingertips grazed in a kiss of skin that was there and gone.
Later, the touch promised.
During the day, they were nothing more than superior and servant, but the night brought other liberties a man could afford his secret wife. Yavi’s hazel eyes met his heated look full of wicked intent. Her pupils dilated as she flushed, teeth digging into the flesh of her bottom lip.
Aye, most certainly later.
Von made his way to Tarn’s tent. He entered as the amethyst Forewarning Crystal on the ceiling finished announcing his arrival, and the dance of purple lights vanished. “I’ve brought your meal, Master.”
