Chenaya frowned. She had fostered the rumors herself to frighten opponents. Nor
were the rumors untrue, though only she and Molin Torchholder knew the details
of her relationship with Savankala the Thunderer. In truth, she couldn’t lose at
anything.
But here was a chance to teach Daphne an important first lesson. “It may be true
that I cannot lose, Daphne,” she said sternly, “but not losing is not the same
as always winning. And remember, even winning can cost a very dear price. Be
sure you’re willing to pay it.”
She turned away, but Daphne stopped her. “I’ve taken your vow, and on this
ground as I train I’ll call you Mistress as the others do.” Something flared in
the young woman’s eyes, and her hand closed around Chenaya’s wrist. “But you
swear now, too, to remember your promise to me.”
Calmly, but quite firmly, Chenaya freed herself from Daphne’s grip. “I’ve
already given you my promise. This afternoon I’ll begin to search.”
“I want a name, Mistress,” Daphne hissed, giving special emphasis to the title,
“and I want a throat between my hands. Soon.”
Chenaya reached out casually, seized Daphne’s tunic, easily lifted the smaller
woman up onto the tips of her toes. She pulled Daphne’s face very close to her
own. She could smell Daphne’s breath. “Don’t dictate to me; don’t threaten, even
with subtlety,” Chenaya warned. “And don’t ever play games with me.” She set
Daphne back on her feet and motioned for Dayrne to resume the training. “Now
work hard. And make up your mind to let Dayrne touch you. Each day he’ll massage