Page 60 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

I resolved to find another slate, to hopefully be able to speak as he painted. Miro had grown up in the Rift, right here in the castle, the son of a Forian. He would know about the people over the mountains and the wargs, about the mad wolf god they worshipped. There was so much to learn, and yet when he finally spoke…

“I took the liberty of going through some of the old records. I was curious about you, being a lai Darran and all, and I found the genealogy of your people.”

He still only cared about the name. The name that meant absolutely nothing, as I’d owed a lifetime to the Sisters as their servant. My shoulder lifted in a small shrug, and I cut a hand through the air:It doesn’t matter.

“You’ve got theoldblood. The first lai Darran recorded was the lord of Owlhorn, before it went to the lai Tristels. I suppose our illustrious lord protector made out well for himself with you.” He laughed, adding a scribble to the canvas with a flourish. “His wife has the blood of kings. Does it taste any different, I wonder? No—don’t move. Keep your shoulders where they are.”

I resorted to signing with one hand, spelling phonetically.Doubtful.

“You know, with a bloodline like that, you’d have every right to inherit Ravenscry yourself if something happened to our Lord and savior.” Miro gave me a conspiratorial smirk over the canvas, even as a chill ran over me at the thought. “You and your children, assuming he can produce them.”

Ellena snorted, tossing her mangled rosebud aside, and Miro glanced her way. She stepped closer and whispered something to him, her eyes flicking towards me with ill-concealed spite.

“Oh, you don’t say?” Miro said, with a tone of false surprise.

What are you gossiping about?I asked, no longer caring about where my shoulders were positioned.

“So youhaven’tbeen sleeping in his chambers.” Miro wriggled his brows. “How will you get on with the business of pushing out heirs? Or is it his beastly visage that drives you away? I suppose a lady with the blood of kings can’t fathom having an animal humping away at her.”

A hot flush of anger rose in my cheeks, and my hands curled into fists, but Miro laughed. “Oh, calm down. I was joking. And put your shoulders back.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t uncurl my fingers even to speak. What was it about Bane that made me feel this way—the sudden surge of rage that made me want to drive my fist right into Miro’s self-satisfied face for speaking of him so?

It’s because he’s making fun of me right to my face, I told myself, knowing it was partly true.Because he can say cruel things—he can imply Bane’s death, he can call him an animal—he can mock me, and I can’t say a word in my defense. And if I did… he would ignore it.

As angry as I was with Miro, it only made me appreciate Bane more, that he made an effort to hear what I was saying.

Once more, I felt invisible and unheard, an object to be moved around. Quite literally, in Miro’s case.

So Bane was quick to kill a man in my defense… there were worse things.

“I apologize, my lady.” Miro lowered his charcoal stick. “That was far too forward of me. Let’s have the smile back in place now.”

It was, and you should be ashamed of yourself, I signed, tossing my hair back. To hell with his posing.You might be the most talented artist in the Rift, but you have the manners of swine and gossip like a harridan. Keep your thoughts out of my bedroom and your hands to yourself.

His own smile flickered, wavering like a candle flame. When it steadied, there was something hard and cold about it. “So I’ve made you angry. I apologized. What more would you have me do? You might be the Lady now, but I won’t sit on command and bark like a good dog, begging for your forgiveness.”

I stared at him incredulously.Bark like a dog? Nobody asked for that! All I would’ve asked from you is manners, the same kind I learned as aservant.If the Sisters’ maids can manage it, so can you.

“You know I can’t understand whatever that is,” he snapped, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Look. I truly am sorry, Cirrien. Shall we start over?”

I eyed him warily, not trusting him in the slightest.

“It was a long night. I’m tired and I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me.” He opened his eyes, raking a charcoal-smudged hand through his dark hair. Those green eyes stood out like jewels against his sun-darkened skin, half-lidded, but there were no shadows of tiredness beneath them.

There was something about a handsome man who used his face like a weapon that made me trust him even less.

But Bane had apparently commissioned this portrait… it was something the nobility did. I had no desire to pretend to besomething I wasn’t, but things were already unsteady enough between us.

Every time I thought I gained ground on actual friendship with him, something yanked the rug out from under me. It was just a portrait, and if it pleased him to have it done…

For Bane’s sake, I would sit through these sessions and endure Miro’s priggish barbs. And one day, when I’d managed to teach this entire keep my language, I would let him knowexactlywhat I thought of him.

But today was not that day, and we had barely started.

I nodded briefly, managed to paste on the smile he requested, and sat quietly as the morning stretched into a long afternoon. Miro kept his nonsense to a minimum after that, but I hadn’t forgotten, nor forgiven, and made no effort to reply to his few adjustments of my position.

My stomach was growling when he finally released me, the faint golden light of the sun falling behind the walls. Despite the coolness of the Rift, the brocade dress was heavy, and sweat had soaked my back.

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