Page 145 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Quiet gasps come from those closest to us. On alert, I scan the area around us, searching for whatever has caused the gasps, only to realise everyone’s looking at me—or more specifically, the arm that is outstretched towards Vaeril. The bangle that covers my slave marks and goddess mark has moved, exposing it for all to see. That on its own would be bad enough, but the mark on my wrist is glowing. Hurriedly, I pull my arm from Vaeril, move the bangle to cover the marks, and glance up at the queen—who witnessed the whole thing, her expression dark. I don’t know why I don’t want her to see it, after all she’s seen it before, but I just have a feeling that the less she knows about the Great Mother blessing me, the better.

I hear the sounds of the music starting up again and people begin moving around me, but my gaze is still locked on the queen’s hate-filled eyes, and I know for certain I’m not safe here any longer.

“Clarissa?” Tor calls again, and I finally break away from her stare, although I can still feel it on my skin as he leads me away. In a quiet stupor, I follow him without a word, my mind still foggy from whatever just happened. Part of me is shouting that I should be back with Vaeril, that I should go back to him, he’ll keep me safe, but I know Tor would never let anything happen to me either.

Coming to a stop in the center of the ballroom, he places his hands on my hips as I drape my arms around his neck, blindly following his direction. He doesn’t speak, simply giving me time to adjust to what just happened. I’m sure he’s got questions, but he just leads me into a simple dance. It’s nothing compared to the complex dancing of the elves around us, who just look like graceful, swirling colours to my slow human brain which is unable to keep up with their supernatural speed. I’m not sure how long we sway for, but it must be a couple of songs’ worth at least.

“Are you okay now?” His eyes roam over my face, and although his expression is calm as he guides me into a spin, I can sense his worry for me. “You were as white as fresh mountain snow before.”

Making sure to lower my voice, I wait until he spins me into a corner, away from the other dancers. “The queen wants me dead.” As soon as I say it out loud, a certainty fills me, and I know I was right about the odd vision. Iwasseeing myself through the queen’s eyes, and I could hear her thoughts—she wants to kill me. I should be terrified, but for some reason, resolution fills me.

I won’t let her have the satisfaction of killing me.

“I won’t let that happen,” Tor promises, his eyes again locked onto mine. I don’t know how he manages to dance without looking where he’s going, even in a dance as simple as this. Watching him in return, I can’t help but wonder what he’s doinghere. I know he told me before, but there’s something more, something he isn’t telling me.

“Why? Why are you here?” I hate the pleading note in my voice, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. He must know how much I need to hear his answer.

“I told you before, I’m here for you.” He’s earnest, and I almost believe him, except it’s just so…so unbelievable. The fact that he believes we’re bonded, that we’re fated to be together… How can that be so? I need some space, and if he’s not going to give me answers, then there’s no point in me being here anymore. Letting go of his shoulders, I try to take a step back, to make him stop, but he simply places my arms back around his neck without breaking his stride.

“Why me?” I demand, anger starting to take over at the lack of answers as we fall back into step. “Why is a slave girl bonded to three different people?” His eyes tighten at my mention of three bonds, but he doesn’t comment, so I’m assuming he worked out my tie with Vaeril. Whether or not he knows about my third potential bond, I don’t know. “It makes no sense. I’m a nobody!” I hiss, my fury breaking through my carefully placed barriers. What I said is true, none of this makes any sense. Why did the Great Mother choose to bless me? Why save me when there were so many other people—better people? My insecurities flood my system, and I feel like everyone in the room is watching me, my every secret and sin laid bare for all to see. “Pretending to be a lady doesn’t make me one.” My voice is tight as I speak, my eyes stinging as reality hits me. “I’m still the dirty slave without a family or a home, I’m just dressed better.” I will not cry here, I won’t let them see my weakness. So instead, I take that anger and I embrace it, its icy rage hardening my heart.

Tor is watching me with a frown. “Are you finished?” he prods, his tone reproachful as if he thinks I’m being unreasonable. “That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice ishard, and I can tell what I said has made him angry, but I can’t quite figure out why. Watching me carefully, he sighs, his expression softening as he continues to dance with me, although it’s more of a sway than a dance. “You are so much more than that.” He’s almost whispering now, his words soft. “Your life has been hard, but you’re finally becoming who you were born to be.”

Part of me agrees, sparking excitement at finally being able to grow and have a life whereIget to decide my path, but it’s overtaken by doubt. “I have no idea who that is.” My voice sounds lost as I shrug my shoulders, spinning under the high arches of the ballroom in the arms of someone who promises me more than I have ever dreamed of.

Tor goes silent for a minute, nodding his head with a thoughtful expression. With a grace I didn’t know he possessed, he leads me into a spin, the cloak-like part of my dress swirling around me. It would be easy to pretend that I’m in a fairy tale like the ones I would overhear when I worked at the castle. To pretend I’m an elf, that I’m accepted here, that handsome princes are vying for my affections, and that all I have to worry about is what pretty dress I’m going to wear to the next ball. So, for those few seconds, when the music swells and it’s just Tor and me, I fantasise.

Of course, reality soon hits home when the music stops and the partners on the dance floor switch. I go to leave, to walk back to my companions, but Tor’s grip on my hand doesn’t loosen. Glancing at him questioningly, he just smiles. “Dance with me again?”

I know that my companions, mainly Vaeril, will not be pleased if I dance again, and I know for sure that the queen won’t be happy, but I realise that in that moment, I don’t care. I’m so pleased to see Tor that I’m going to make the most of the time we get to spend together, as I’m sure the queen will do everythingshe can to keep us apart. Smiling, I nod my agreement. With a flick of his wrist, he spins me into his arms so I end up pressed against his chest. My surprised laugh has the nearby elves looking up at us with interest.

Music fills the hall again, and Tor gracefully leads me into a simple dance at the edge of the dance floor. He’s still wearing a thoughtful expression, and I know he’s working something out, so I just stay silent, enjoying his company.

“Well, you’re part elf, we know that much,” he starts out of the blue, and I just nod my agreement, not surprised at his sudden burst of inspiration. There’s a pause, and I flick my eyes to his face to see him frowning, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should or not.

“What is it?” My voice is soft, curious. Tor is not the type of person to mince his words. If there’s something he needs to say, he’ll say it, feelings be damned, so the fact that he’s hesitating now makes me worry.

“I think I knew your mother.”

The world disappears, my focus completely fastened on Tor as his words ring in my head. Somehow, with his guidance, I manage to keep dancing while my mind reels. My mother. I have no memories of my life before slavery, including that of my parents. But I often dream of her. I never see a face, but I feel her love for me, her embrace as she holds me and whispers that she loves me in my ear. On my darkest nights, I would dream that she was with me, protecting and looking over me while I slept. If Tor knows who she is, he might have more information about who I was, about my father. Excitement grows inside me like a seed reaching towards the sun, and I suddenly register his expression. He doesn’t look excited, instead he looks…resigned. Replaying his words over in my head, I feel my hope start to wither. ‘I think I knew your mother.’

“Knew?” My voice is quiet as I hold my breath, waiting for the answer that I know is coming, even though I’m praying to the Mother that I’m wrong. Tor sees through my mask, sees the hurt in my eyes, and curses under his breath.

“This is not the place, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mutters apologetically. Our dancing has almost come to a complete stop now, but I don’t care. I’ve given up worrying that we’re being watched. To have my hopes raised and then completely ripped out from under me… I almost would have preferred to never know. No, that’s not true. I want to know who she was and what happened to her. I need to know.

“Tell me, please.”

Shaking his head, he scans the room behind me, his eyes noting the people watching us, not wanting to meet the hurt in my gaze. “It’s not safe here, Clarissa.”

“Then when? Where?” My anger ignites again as I grip onto his shoulders, shaking him slightly until he meets my eyes. We both know that our time together is limited.

Growling low in his throat, he looks torn, like he’s fighting against himself, his brow pulled down into a frown as he clenches his jaw. “If I’m right, then your mother is dead,” he grits out, and the words hit me like a brick wall. Somewhere deep inside me I’d already known—what parent lets their daughter be put into slavery? Something had to have happened to them. But hearing it out loud is more painful than I would have thought.

Wiping the pain from my face, I adopt the blank mask the elves favour. “My father?” I ask, but he shakes his head, not giving me any indication what he means. Does that mean he doesn’t know, that he won’t tell me, or that my father is dead too? Making a noise of frustration low in my throat, I look away from him, focusing on the dancers twirling around us. “Tor, you’re torturing me, I have to know.”

I can feel his chest move as he takes a deep breath and releases it as a sigh as he holds me tight, his words low so no one can overhear us. The way he’s holding me is sure to cause rumours, and I know that Vaeril won’t be happy, but it’s necessary. We’re taking a big risk here, discussing this where we could be overheard, but we have no guarantee we’ll have the chance to speak about this again. “And you will, I promise, I just can’t tell you now,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

“Why?” Although it’s one word, it conveys my frustration, fear, and anger.

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