hood and glared sullenly up at her hosts. A spray of wild, black hair tumbled
forward, partially obscuring classic features turned hard and thin.
Lowan Vigeles turned pale. Then he bowed his head respectfully to the small,
silent woman. “Please, come up!” he urged, holding out his hand. “Come up and
get warm.” |
But Chenaya intervened. “Not now. Father. She’s tired and needs a bath. Dayrne
will prepare the room next to mine for her.” She glanced down at her companion,
and an unspoken message passed between them. “Then, tomorrow she starts a new
life.”
Dayme touched the woman’s elbow to guide her up the staircase and to her
quarters. Adder-quick, she slapped his hand away, spun, and spat at him. The
dagger flashed.
“Daphne!” Chenaya’s harsh shout was enough. The tiny weapon froze in mid-plunge.
Chenaya and Dayme exchanged hasty glances. Of course, he’d never been in danger.
The giant was one of the best gladiators Ranke had ever produced, more than able
to defend himself from such a feeble attack. But it wouldn’t do to have Daphne’s
little wrist broken, either.
“He doesn’t touch me!” Daphne screamed. “No man touches me again.” Then she drew
herself proudly erect. A malicious smirk creased her mouth. “Unless I want him
to.” She drew the dagger’s edge meaningfully along her thumb, then without
another look at Dayrne, she marched up the stair, around Lowan Vigeles, and
disappeared the way Rosanda had gone. Dayrne followed at a safe distance.
“She’s half-mad,” Chenaya said softly with a shake of her head.