Page 6 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Reaching a wide, opulent corridor, we stop outside a set of double doors, the wood carved with swirls painted in gold.

“We’re here,” he tells me, and my brow creases in confusion. Where ishere?He pauses, glancing down at me as if waiting for a response, but what he forgets is that I’ve been mostly silent for the past twelve years. I’m used to my questions going unanswered, so after a time you stop asking. Reaching out, Grayson touches the golden door handle, simply laying his hand on top of it.What is he waiting for?Confused, I stand at his side. When I feel a flash of magic and the sound of the lock turning, my question is answered. Pushing the doors open, he strides in and my eyes widen at the sight before me.

A huge living chamber greets me, every item in the room gleaming as if it had just been polished. The walls are painted a cream colour with lush, deep red carpeting. The furniture is made of walnut and upholstered with fabric the same shade of red as the flooring. Mage Grayson has already walked into the room, removing his cloak with a sigh before hanging it up onthe set of hooks screwed into the wall. Rolling his neck and stretching out his arms, he gazes around the room.

“I haven’t been here in years, yet it always looks just how I left it,” he mutters, running a finger along the wooden dresser as he walks over to the plush, upholstered couch. Settling against the large cushions, he frowns as he notices me still standing in the open doorway, eyes wide.

“Are you coming in?” His smile is teasing and something flips inside my stomach. I try to swallow back the sick feeling that seems to have taken residence inside me. I shouldn’t be here, I will get a fourth brand for sure if one of the guards catches me.

They were going to kill you anyway, what’s the harm in taking a look?the rebellious part of me insists, and I realise it’s right. Lifting my foot, I slowly step over the threshold, holding my breath as I walk fully into the room. The doors shut behind me suddenly, making me spin to see who’s behind me, only to see…no one. Hearing a chuckle, I turn again to see Grayson wiggling his fingers at me. Magic.

Feeling stupid, I look away and try to take in as much detail as I can without making it obvious.

“You’re free to explore the room as much as you like.”

Busted. I ignore his smug smile as I stare up at the glistening chandelier hanging above us, wondering how long it took the crafter to create such beauty. “There are shields around the door and windows, so don’t get any ideas about trying to escape.” His voice turns harsh, his eyes glowing with his power as he calls it to him, and I can’t help but flinch away from him. The power subsides and he frowns, shaking his head at whatever thought he was having. “You’re safe in my chambers, no one will hurt you here,” he continues, oblivious to the horror that his words have caused.

His chambers. He’s brought me back to his chambers. An image of the slave that was taken away last night flashes throughmy mind and I take a step away from him, shaking my head as my hands form into fists. I won’t be saved from death only to end up having to service a magician.

“No.” My denial is firm and clear.

“No?” He pushes up from the couch and takes a step towards me, but stops as I bare my teeth at him, a feral hiss escaping from behind my clenched teeth. Frowning, he gestures towards me. I’ve adopted a fighting stance, ready to run or fight should I need to. “I don’t under—” I interrupt him with a shake of my head.

“I won’t lie with you.”

My words finally register and he looks like he’s just been punched in the gut before anger crosses his face. “Mother above! Is that what you thought I brought you here for?” Frustration and disgust line his face and the room starts to shake with his magic. It begins with a small, fine tremble, and then builds until even the walls seem to quake. Inside, I’m terrified, but I stand my ground. He must be trying to trick me. I should have learned by now that no help is offered for free. Keeping my chin up but my eyes cast away, I gesture around me.

“Why else would you save me from the executioner just to bring me to your room? I know what happens to the slaves they take away.” The room instantly stops shaking and Grayson seems to sag with the weight of what I’ve said.

“Fuck. No, I—” A knock at the door has him pausing. Sighing, he gestures to a door on my left. “Go in there, you will find a bathroom. Clean yourself up. I’ll send someone in to help you in a bit. Once you’re done, come join me out here,” he instructs. Looking at the door, I feel a sense of foreboding, but I give him a short nod before slowly heading towards the door he waved at.

I step into the room, pausing in the doorway and hearing only silence behind me, except for the subtle rattling of my chains. Looking around, I notice a large, four-poster bed, andwhen I spot the bathroom I hurry over, shutting the door firmly. Pressing my head against the white painted wood, I whisper prayers to the Mother. As I try to catch my breath, I hear Grayson talking animatedly to someone, someone who doesnotsound happy.

Mother help me.

The bathroom is like nothing I’ve ever seen. The room is so white and clean I’m afraid just touching something will make it dirty, which will be sure to earn me a punishment. A large, sunken tub takes up the whole right side of the room and is big enough for at least three people to sit in comfortably. Cabinets line the wall to my left, a huge mirror covering half the wall. I step to the side, not wanting to face what I might see in the reflection. I turn my attention to the various bottles of lotions that line the top of the marble countertop. I have no idea why one person would need so many. Then I realise with a blush that no man would have this much, and I must be looking at something that belongs to his partner. I know he’s not married, thanks to the gossip from the servants who always forget that the slaves are listening to their whispers. However, I didn’t know that he had a partner, or any…lovers. How would she feel knowing a slave was locked away in her partner’s bathroom, using her lotions? Looking away with a shudder, I step towards the tub.

The sound of footsteps outside the door has me spinning and lunging for the little silver lock, sliding the bolt across. Taking a step back, I wrap my arms around myself. I know that against a magician a tiny lock wouldn’t keep him away, but this small piece of metal has me feeling more secure anyway. Suddenly, despite the brief moment of security I’d felt, everything that’s happened in the last few hours hits me. I start to tremble, my stomach rolls, and I only just make it to the toilet before I’m vomiting into the basin. Retching, I empty the meagre contents of my stomach as if I’m purging my body of the events of the day. Replaying the magician’s words in my head, I press my forehead against my braced arms and try to calm my breathing.

Safe. You’re safe. He said so, no one will hurt you,I repeat over and over until the shaking stops and I can sit back on my heels. I shouldn’t trust him. Why would he offer me safety? He knows I’m twenty, so why is he delaying the inevitable?

I don’t know why, but I believe him and decide to enjoy my reprieve. After a moment I’m feeling stronger, so I push up and walk back to the bathtub, reaching toward the two silver knobs. Turning one to the right, my mouth twitches up in some semblance of a smile as hot water starts streaming from the tap and into the tub.

I don’t remember ever having a bath, it’s not a luxury slaves get to enjoy. So when I overheard women discussing the pleasure of enjoying a relaxing bath, I never understood. The rough washing downs from the guards certainly don’t count. Every month they gather a group of slaves, strip them naked, and pump freezing water through a hose, dousing us to remove the dirt and grime that covers us like a second skin. It’s a humiliating and painful occasion. Washing is a necessity to stop us from getting sick, not something to bring pleasure. However, as I run the bath, I can’t help the small flicker of excitement that fills me at the prospect of getting truly clean.

The sound of flowing water echoes around the room and, cautiously, I flick my gaze up to see that the large mirror has steamed up. Releasing a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, I take a step towards the counter and stare with wide eyes at the rows upon rows of bottles. I only ever learned basic letters and words before I became a slave, so as I stare at the bottles the letters on the labels start to swim in my vision. Blindly, I reach forward and grab one, not knowing or caring if it’s right. Pulling the cork from the top, a sweet, floral smell greets my nose before I dump half the contents of the bottle into the bath. Bubbles soon start to form and I reach to remove my shift, but something stops me. Voices.

Frowning, I shuffle over to the door, trying to be as quiet as my chains will allow. I know that the Mother frowns upon spying, but I’ve been rescued from death only to be told that I’ve been seen in one of the great magician’s visions. It’s been one hell of a day. Besides, I doubt I’m in her good books anyway, so what’s one more misdemeanour?

Pressing my ear against the bathroom door, I hear the sound of footsteps, like they’re pacing the room. I could have sworn I heard voices, but right now I can only hear what I assume is Grayson pacing the length of the chamber. What’s caused him to be so tense? Does he think I’m going to try to escape? Or is he regretting his decision to save me from the executioner? I'm about to pull away from the door when the voices start up again.

"Are you sure it was her?" That's not Grayson. The voice is male, and older than the magician who brought me here. He sounds...disapproving. I can't say I blame him. When Grayson had an image of a girl who would be influential in the war, I'm betting they were hoping for one of the noble ladies. Not a slave girl who has reached the end of her usefulness.

"Yes," Grayson answers, his voice firm. Whatever vision he saw, he fully believes in it. "As soon as I saw her, it was like a boltof electricity shot down my spine. I don't know why, but she's important."

"She's a slave. A nobody." The disgust in the older man’s voice is nothing I'm not used to, but today it twists something inside me.

"She has a part to play in the war. We can't kill her." Grayson’s smooth response is quick, but it strikes me like a physical blow.

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