“She has us doing sewing.” Halithe’s voice was almost as deep as a man’s. “I loathe sewing.”
“Appropriate, for ladies of gentle birth,” Ritathan pointed out. “Safe, and so useful in your future wedded life.”
Halithe didn’t blush and didn’t look away. “I am here for my lesson,” she said firmly.
“I will give you no more lessons.” Ritathan said, just as firmly.
“Queen Kara required you to give me lessons,” Halithe said.
“Kara is dead,” Ritathan pointed out.
“She is,” Halithe gave a slight nod. “Yet her command has not been rescinded.”
Ritathan narrowed his eyes. The chit before him didn’t even blink. “Queen Satia will rescind it.”
“She is not the master of your chains,” Halithe intoned, “her dark eyes sparkling with glee. “She does not hold your key.”
“Delightful,” Ritathan dripped out the word. “How clever of you. Yet the contract for my services may terminate at any time. Or Queen Satia may get irritated enough to have me killed.”
“I will take that chance.”
Ritathan snorted. “Halithe, you do not understand what you ask. Queen Kara humored you in this, but now—’” He shook his head. “This path you would walk is fraught and even more dangerous for a woman. Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said, her face unchanging, her determination clear.
“Halithe, you do not appreciate what you ask,” Ritathan said. “We are not slaves, but we are bound. We chain our powers to the one who holds our key. In order to wield, we must surrender. In order to be free in our craft, we bind ourselves with chains and oaths and geases and contracts. Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said.
Ritathan sucked in a breath through his mouth and let it out through his nose. “Halithe,” he said again, for the third time. The last time. “You do not fully realize the sacrifice that will be asked of you. You will gain, but you will lose, in ways you can’t foretell, and those losses are forever.” Ritathan leaned forward, emphasizing every word. “Turn away.”
“No,” Halithe said. “The ritual is complete, Master. Three times you have asked, and three times I have answered.” Now she leaned forward, and he saw the hunger burning in her eyes. “I want to learn,” she continued, the same hunger in her voice. “I want to know.”
“So be it.” Ritathan sighed. “But this will all end in disaster, I just know it.”
“So be it,” Halithe echoed, but her lips quirked up in triumph.
Chapter Twelve
“A whore as a wet nurse? If your Uncle Jerrold was still alive, he’d have something to say, certain sure. What is the world coming to?” Aunt Xydell shrieked again.
Orval shut the door behind her as quickly as he could so the guards wouldn’t hear, not that that would make a bit of difference. Aunt Xydell’s shrill voice could pierce rock.
“You’re mistaken,” Orval said, feeling his nervousness in his throat. “This is my wife, Amari, and—”
“Don’t give me that, nephew,” Aunt Xydell rapped her cane on the floor, waking Dalan. “She’s Amari of Uyole, one of Eijer’s castoffs.” Aunt Xydell looked down her nose at Orval, her lip curling. “Which you knew,” she spat, regally. “What have you done, you stupid boy?” she glared at Dalan. “Those twins are no more your get then I am.”
Orval froze, the pressure in his chest making it hard to breathe. Dalan started fussing.
“Peace with the wyverns was doomed from the start,” his aunt glanced around, wrinkling her nose. “I warned them, but no one listens to me.”
Dalen snuffled.
Xydell ignored the babe’s whines and raised her voice. “And you, slut. Seeking any who’d shelter you, eh? With Eijer dead in the field, you’d no hope of—”
“Dead?” Amari jerked. Lara lost the nipple and complained.
“On the field, with the other damn fools who supported Xywellan,” Xydell raised her voice again as Dalan started full-throated wailing. “I didn’t believe the gossip flying through the Court. This explains a lot, Orval. I wondered what woman would have you, what with your deformity and all your other failings.”
