Page 36 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

“Yes.” My voice is quiet, barely loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the fire in the forge, but his head whips up as he catches my words. “High Mage Grayson healed me.”

He contemplates what I said, shifting his weight as if he can’t stand still. “A mage healed you? A high mage at that.” His wordsare more to himself than a real question for me. He seems to mull over my words before something in him snaps and he grabs the unfinished sword from his workstation. In a movement too quickly for my human eyes to track, he appears in front of me, sword pointed at my chest. “Who are you?” he demands, suspicion lining his face, his voice sharp. Instinctively, I jump back a step, but I don’t run away, some deep part of me knowing he won’t hurt me. I don’t know where this feeling came from, he’s not exactly exuding calm.

“I’m no one.” I’m proud of myself that my voice doesn’t shake as I face down the elf. I push the truth of what I’m saying into the words, Iamno one. Giving me a fake name and dressing me in pretty clothing doesn’t take away that fact, no matter what Grayson keeps telling me.

“A high mage wouldn’t heal a nobody, you must be important,” he comments, but even he sounds unsure, my calm appearance throwing him off. Most people wouldn’t be composed when facing the threat of death, but then I’m not most people. As a slave, I spent every day wondering if this would be the day I died, so I’m embracing these brief periods of freedom, even if it’s temporary. Taking a deep breath, I step forward so the tip of the blade is just touching the delicate skin beneath my collarbone.

“I’ve faced pain and death every day of my existence, you don’t scare me.” Again, my voice is steady, even though my traitorous body begins to tremble under his stare. Hearing the truth of my words, he drops his arm down to his side, the unfinished sword still clutched tightly in his grip.

“Are you being punished?” His slightly accented words are laced with confusion, as if I’m a puzzle he can’t work out.

Pushing up the cuff of my dress I show him the marks on my arm, the slave number and black X’s that mar my skin. “I’m just as much a prisoner as you are.” Judging from the shockedexpression on his face, I’ve surprised him. Feeling self-conscious under his intense stare, I pull my arm back to fix the cuff of my sleeve, but his hand darts out and grabs my wrist. A gasp escapes my lips, his hold firm but not painful as he turns my wrist over, his thumb rubbing over the raised brands, then the Goddess mark above it. That sensation of power rolls through me again, the strange pull I feel toward the elf igniting in my chest. Our eyes meet and fire, determination, and an emotion I can’t name greet me in his gaze.

“A slave.” His words are so quiet I almost don’t catch them. The elf shakes his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something else when the sound of booted feet marching towards us has us both backing away. As soon as he lets go, the pull lessens, but the feeling of power, of strength, stays with me for a moment, lingering, like it’s giving me the chance to remember what this feels like.

The elf returns to his work just as the soldiers enter the underground room. Looking down at the patch of floor I’ve scrubbed, my gut clenches as I see how little of it I’ve actually managed to clean—less than a quarter of the room.

“You call this clean?” The voice makes terror flood through my system as the guard repeats the same words from the last time I was here. He circles me and I finally get a good look at him. He’s wearing the green uniform of the royal guards, but his jacket is lined with gold, showing his seniority. Scanning the room, his eyes narrow on the elf before coming back to me, suspicion making his otherwise handsome face look cruel. “You’re alive and—” His eyes run over my body, lingering on my breasts, making me blush, but I refuse to hide my face. “Alive and unharmed.”

Spinning on his heel, he stalks towards the elf, his every step promising violence until he stops just in front of the work bench. He’s either brave or stupid getting that close to his prisoner andgoading him, or he trusts in the aim of the guards who are now standing in the doorway, their crossbows aimed at the elf.

“What’s the problem, filth? We give you a new plaything and you leave it alone. You killed all your other minders, what’s different?” he spits, provoking the elf who looks frozen. Not frozen in fear, but frozen with a quiet rage, his eyes promising retribution, but the senior guard doesn’t realise or doesn’t care. “Is it because she’s a girl? Pretty thing. Shame really.” Clicking his fingers, the two guards from before come forward and grab my arms, dragging me back, putting space between the elf and me.

My heart hammers in my chest, my breaths ragged and uneven. I know what’s going to happen, but that doesn’t stop the fear from threatening to swallow me whole. Something in my chest shifts, an undeniable pull, and my eyes flick up to the elf who is watching me carefully. He doesn’t say a thing, he doesn’t even move, but I feel like he’s trying to tell me something, to be strong, like I had been with the sword pressed against my chest. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me and that assurance made me brave. But no matter how much I wish it was otherwise, I’m not strong. Shaking my head, I tear my gaze from the elf and look around for any signs of mercy, but am met only with unforgiving expressions. That warm, tingling sensation I’m beginning to associate with my Goddess mark fills me, and a sense of calm washes through me

“Stay strong, daughter.”

Gasping, I look around to see if anyone else heard the lilting, comforting voice of the Great Mother, but quickly realise she has only spoken to me. Whatever her plan or reasoning, she needs me to experience this, it’s all for some greater purpose. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I have to believe that my suffering is for a reason.

Taking a deep breath and drawing courage from the fact the Mother is with me, I meet the eyes of the elf just as the first booted foot kicks into my leg, causing me to fall to the ground. The cry that escapes me is filled with shock, pain, and anger, so much anger. As I lie on the dirty marble floor, their sharp kicks and jabs shattering my body, that anger builds and twists. They may break my body, but they won’t break my mind.

The next couple of days fall into a routine. Grayson and I eat breakfast together, and then he takes me to the priest, who in turn takes me down into the bowels of the castle. I scrub away in that underground room until the guards come back and beat me in front of the elf before making me climb the stairs where Rodrick meets me and takes me back to Grayson. The magician is always quiet as we walk back to his rooms and he heals me, my strange gift of amplifying his magic making the process so much quicker. My presence as Lady Clarissa hasn’t been needed since the other week, and although I hate my daily task, I don’t have to pretend to be anyone else.

Grayson, Wilson, and I are sitting around the table in his dining room as I eat the stew Jayne prepared for me. She’s been slowly adding richer food to my diet, and I’ve started to notice the difference in my body. I feel stronger, like I have more energy, although that could be the daily healing from Grayson. My figure is starting to slowly fill out, my bones not sticking painfully through my skin any longer. It will be a while before Idon’t look gaunt and half starved, but I feel better than I have in years.

Wilson has joined us for the evening, as he often does, chatting away happily about some gossip he heard about one of the ladies who is visiting court. He seems to have made it his mission to make me laugh, and each evening he has another wild tale to tell me. I have no idea how much of what he’s telling me is true, but I look forward to seeing him and hearing whatever ludicrous story he has for me that day.

Today, he’s telling me about one of the ladies that plied a palace magician with alcohol and then convinced him to use his magic on her to make her more beautiful. Leaning back in the chair, I watch as the young magician weaves his story, his hand gestures getting bigger the more enthusiastic he gets.

“—and then, her hair fell out! Right there in the middle of dinner!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Grayson critiques, but he’s smiling as he leans back in his chair nursing his glass of wine, the most relaxed I’ve seen him in days.

“Ha! She’s now fashioned the remainder of it into some ridiculous comb over. Next time you see her, have a look and then tell me who’s exaggerating.”

I can’t hold back my laugh at Wilson’s feigned hurt expression at the thought we might not believe his crazy story, but I have to admit this one has more of a ring of truth than most of his nightly updates.

“Well, there you go, don’t drink and use magic folks.” Grayson sips from his glass of wine again and then chuckles at the irony of his statement. I had tried the bitter liquid, but recoiled at the burning sensation, and I still don’t understand the draw.

“So, magicians shouldn’t drink?” I haven’t been around many magicians other than Grayson and Wilson, so I’m still learningwhat’s acceptable and have come to realise they are bound by a far stricter set of rules than the rest of us.

“It’s discouraged. One glass with dinner is accepted, but drunk magicians make mistakes.”

Frowning at Grayson’s comment, I fight a shudder that runs through me. I’ve witnessed first-hand what alcohol can turn a person into, and the thought of what a magician, an individual with that much power, could do is a scary thought. They seem to have a strict set of rules that I can’t understand. Why is this allowed when simple things like getting married isn’t permitted without the approval of the higher magicians? “Why not ban it then?”

“Sometimes magicians need to forget some of the things we see...”

The haunted expression on Grayson’s face makes me regret asking the question. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I know he’s been stationed at the front line of the war with the elves for a long time. He feels guilty that he left his legion behind to come save me and that he’s stayed here since. It can be seen in the tightness of his shoulders and the tension around his eyes. Not that he would tell me, but I’ve seen him standing at the windows with a glassy look, and I know he’s not really seeing the view.

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