smile. “You want me to move him?”
“0 my gods, no, no-” She backed away from Haught’s hand. He could. He would. She
saw that in his eyes, saw something like Ischade mixed with Haught’s prankish
humor and a slave’s dire hate. “0 gods, Haught-“
“Stilcho,” Haught said, turning his face to him, “you’ve just acquired company.”
Stilcho said nothing at all. His mouth was clamped to a hard line.
While upstairs something thumped, and that board that always creaked near the
bed-creaked; and sent ice down Moria’s back.
“Gods, stop it!”
“You don’t want your lover back?”
“He’s not my lover, he wasn’t my lover, he was a poor, damned man She got her
hands on, I just-I just-I was sorry for him, that’s what, I was sorry for him
and he was good, and I don’t give a damn, Haught, I’m not your damn property,
I’m not Hers, you can blast me to hell if you like, I’ve had all I’ll take from
all of you!”
Her shouting died. Her fists were still clenched. She waited for the blow or the
blast or whatever it was wizards did and knew she was a fool. But Haught’s face
stressed and it smoothed, and something flowed over her mind like tepid water.
“Congratulations,” he said. “But you don’t get those kind of choices. The world
doesn’t give them to you. / can. I have the power to do whatever I like. And you
know that. Stilcho knows it. You want power, Moria? If you’ve got a shred of
talent I can give you that. You want lovers, I can give you those, whatever
amuses you. And I’ll amuse you myself when the mood takes us. Maybe you’d like