Daphne performed one more perfect exercise, then she set the weight aside. She
met Chenaya’s gaze unflinchingly. The sun shone brilliantly in those dark eyes,
shimmered in the thick, black luster of her hair. She pointed to the mottling on
her legs. “There’s no place I haven’t bruised or bled already.” She crossed to
another rack, took down an old sword. The hilt was too big for her grip and the
blade too long, but that didn’t matter to Daphne. “And you’re a lady, Chenaya.”
She said the words as if they were an accusation. “Yet you slaughtered half a
dozen men to break me out of that hell on Scavengers’ Island and another six at
the quay before we got away. On top of that you saved us from those men last
night. You ask if I want this?” She raised the sword between them and shook it
so the sunlight rippled on the keen edge. “Cousin, this is freedom I hold in my
hand! With this, you go anywhere, do anything you wish. No man dares touch you
unless you want him to. No one orders you. Nothing frightens you. Well, I want
that same freedom, Chenaya. I want it, and I’ll have it!”
Chenaya regarded Daphne for a long, cool moment, wondering what door she was
about to open for the younger woman. Daphne was but a few years her junior, but
an age of experience separated them. Still, there was a fire in Daphne’s eyes
that had never been there before. She glanced once more at those scratches and
bruises, then made up her mind.
“Then I’ll train you as I’d train any slave or thief sent to the arena. When you
stand on this field in those garments you’re no more than the least of my men.