She evaded, he pursued, and they ended the evening with a delightful hour of haggling over the value of various kinds of stories that helped them both step back from the blood and the fury that had started the day.

FOUR

FOUR

As twilight softly deepened into night, Marian stood behind Luthvian’s house, relishing a quiet moment with nothing to do. Her back was sore, and it worried her because Lady Angelline had been very insistent that she take things easy for a fortnight and not overwork muscles that still needed time to fully heal. But every time she mentioned feeling strain in her back or legs, Luthvian dismissed the concern and implied—when she didn’t say it outright—that Marian was just trying to get out of earning her keep. The criticism stung. Since arriving at Luthvian’s, she’d done nothing but wash, scrub, polish, and mend. And everything she did was adequate but not good enough that she should even dream of looking for a position in another household. Luthvian was letting her stay as a favor to Jaenelle.

It didn’t matter, she told herself, feeling despair rise up before she choked it down again. She was alive, and she was living in Kaeleer, the Shadow Realm most people had thought nothing more than a myth until a few years ago. She didn’t have to go back to Terreille, didn’t have to trust her life to the whims of male temper.

Not as much, anyway.

Luthvian had also made it very clear that anything that displeased her would also displease her son, the Warlord Prince who ruled Ebon Rih.

Marian understood the threat. What had been done to her in Terreille would be a slap on the wrist compared to what an enraged Warlord Prince who wore Ebon-gray Jewels could do to her.

She carefully spread her wings as far as she could until she felt her back muscles pull. Gritting her teeth, she counted to five, then slowly closed her wings and waited a few seconds before beginning the exercise again.

She would find other work—paying work—and she would work hard and save and one day have that place of her own. And she would soar again, riding thermals over land that was more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen back home. She would—

“Did you hem that dress?” Luthvian’s voice stabbed out of the dark.

Marian winced, wondering how long the Black Widow Healer had been watching her. Reminding herself that she had nowhere else to go—yet—she turned. “As I explained, Lady Luthvian, I can’t hem the dress until you have the time for a fitting so that I can make sure the length is correct.”

“I told you how much to take it up.”