Dorian dropped the spoon on the table. Her hand swung back. Then she regained enough control to press her hand against the table. “You’ve got a roof over your head and food in your belly. You shouldn’t have to be paid to help me provide those things.”

“My sisters get those same things—and spending money besides—without doing any of the work.”

“Marian—”

“What’s the delay?” Her father’s voice boomed from the kitchen doorway.

“We’ll finish this later,” Dorian said.

She disliked confrontation, couldn’t hold on to anger. She’d end up doing more work to make up for her show of defiance—and nothing would change.

As she walked through the kitchen doorway, her father raised his hand as if to cuff her, but she hurried past him and stayed ahead of him until they were outside the eyrie. Then he caught up to her and grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise.

She saw temper in his face, but it made her think of a scared bully rather than a dangerous Eyrien Warlord. Still, a scared bully could become dangerous if he needed to convince himself that he was strong.

He started to speak, then held back, clearly deciding to ignore a household squabble since it wouldn’t interfere with what he wanted.

Using Craft, he called in a thick envelope and handed it to her. “Messenger’s waiting for that. Needs it before the day begins at court, so don’t be dawdling.”

“If it’s so important, why don’t you deliver it?” Marian said.

His fingers dug into her arm. “Don’t sass me, girl. Just do as you’re told.” His other hand pointed at a small wood in the valley below. “He’ll be waiting for you there. You fly down, then take the path through the woods.”

“And if I don’t find him?”

“He’ll find you.” He released her arm with enough force that she staggered a couple of steps to keep her balance. “Get on with it.”

Vanishing the envelope, she moved farther away from him before she spread her wings and launched herself skyward. She forgot him as she pumped her wings to take her up into the pale dawn sky, dismissed the troubles waiting for her at home as she focused on the joy of soaring over the land. She loved flying—loved the feel of it, the freedom of it. When she was in the air, she could almost believe her dreams were possible. A home of her own, with a garden big enough to grow food, flowers, and the herbs and other plants she could sell to Healers for their special brews. A place of her own, where her hearth-skills wouldn’t be dismissed and she wouldn’t have to tiptoe around male temper and moods.