Page 49 of The Warlord's Princess
Nothing makes him less dour.
That’s not true, though. He acted far differently toward me in the cave, and again, I wonder if Nori was right.
Not that she can be trusted with affairs of the heart. She’s logical to a fault, yet cannot recognize Dogan’s feelings for her.
The door swings open. I expect to see Ramsey because there wasn’t a knock. Instead, Amber steps in, carrying a bag I’d woven a while back.
She throws the bag on the bed and looks down at me, her eyes full of their typical contempt.
Looks like she’s back to normal.
“What are you still doing here?” she sneers.
I look down at my weave, then back up at her. “I’m working. As you should be.”
“Well, you need to start working at the longhouse.”
“There’s not enough room.”
“There’s more room in there than there is in here,” she challenges.
“But people don’t come in and out of Ramsey’s hut all day, and with as many beds that are in the longhouse, there’s no room for me to work.”
“Well, you’re going to have to figure it out.” She bends, grabbing the frayed edge of a weave and yanking.
“Let it go!” I bat her hand, but she grabs harder, pulling it toward her and undoing a large section of stitches.
Tears flood my eyes as I watch my work tear.
She throws the weave into a basket and goes to the work I have piled in a corner.
“Don’t touch those!”
“Then perhaps move a little faster. So I don’t have to do everything myself.”
“Why are you doing this?” I demand, lunging forward to place myself between Amber and the weaves.
“Because Ramsey doesn’t want you here,” she hisses.
“If Ramsey wanted me gone, he wouldn’t send you. He’d tell me himself.”
“Hasn’t he before?”
He has, and she knows it. The entire village does.
“I’m working on?—”
“Your precious weaves when we have furs and hides and other things to keep us warm.”
My mouth gapes open because what she’s saying is true. I’ve thought it before. The only reasonable explanation for what I’m doing is so that I don’t get in the way of the tribe as they do more important things.
Still, even if it’s not necessary, it’s my job. My duty.
Amber pushes past me with the basket, grabbing my weaves and throwing them inside.
“I have to hand it to you, I didn’t expect you to be so bold.”
“Bold?”
