She’d known that, hold him though she would, the day must come when holding
Straton would be hard.
His narrow Rankan eyes were haunted, deep-set, his jaw squared with indecision
lately when he came. And now, rolling off her at the sight of Haught, a hated,
half-understood rival, a symptom of all about Ischade Strat couldn’t justify or
wish away, he reached for a robe she’d found him, shrugged it on and, with just
his swordbelt, stalked outside.
“When you’re done with… it, him, whatever… I’ll be seeing to my horse.”
Strat still grieved for his lost bay warhorse; its death was something she could
and would undo, if only she thought Stra-ton could handle the revelation that
death was no barrier to Ischade.
Oh, he’d seen Janni, seen Niko embrace an undead partner. And Strat had not
reacted well.
“What is it, Haught?” she asked, impatient. She didn’t like the hubris growing
in this Nisi child. He was difficult, growing stronger, growing bold. And she
wanted to get back to Straton, who served her ends, who worked her will and
excused her wiles and helped her hold her interests in the town. Ischade’s
interests were important. And they were too tied up with Strat now to let Haught
get in the way.
So she thought to dance around the Nisi ex-slave, freed by her but not free of
her. She’d only started her mesmerizing when a sanguine hand reached out and
grasped her wrist.
Impertinent. This one soon would need an object lesson. She swallowed his will
with a stare and let him see he couldn’t even blink without her say-so. She