The blood of queens and the blood of orders she will bring as one; unwavering power and unswerving faith shall dwell. Kingdoms built or torn asunder shall answer the call, as the rivers run. She shall be in the company of the Seeing One, the Dark One, the One of the Past, the Changed One, the Unknowing one, and the King.

-Excerpt from The Prophecy of the Last

Chapter 1:

Home?

Home…

That was what some people called that place, but Shisarra Storme thought that she could never name it home. The city that she grew up in, the city that hated her and bored her to death; no, that was not her home. The children harassed and abused her, for reasons even she could not explain. She knew they were on about her appearance, and she knew why, but she could not explain why she looked the way she did. She was strange; even her parents didn't look as she did. Her curly, silver hair had streaks of sunlight gold through it, like lightning in the clouds, and fell around ears that were pointed. She was slimmer than was normal, and yet she looked older than all the other children. Her flashing, pale blue eyes were clear and intelligent beyond her age, and her long, slender fingers could produce things even trained elders could not hope to create. No, she looked nothing like her parents, (which might have been the reason for the taunts of "orphan") who were both plump and fairly simple.

But whatever else could be said about her parents, they loved her. They were poorer than most of the people in the city, lacking the wealth that was all too common along the shore. But they had scrounged together what they could to put her through the local school, even though she was a disappointment. The school bored her out of her mind, though she was smart enough to go all the way, and she dealt with that unfortunate problem by making her own entertainment. By age nine they had kicked her out for making balls of light and electricity chase the students and teachers who made her angry. By age ten most people in the city hated her, and the kinder ones were merely wary of her, especially when she was around their wares.

And then she was twelve, and the only way people could differentiate her from the young women getting married was her strange appearance. Strangers to the town were continuously asking what was wrong with her, that she was not yet married. She had stopped correcting them, growing tired of explaining her age. The other children stopped teasing her as much, especially after learning of the temperamental bursts of magic that came once in a while. And, unfortunately, this only made her life more boring.

Once she had asked her parents for lessons in the mage-craft, but they had explained sadly that they could not yet afford them. And so Shisarra was forced to occupy herself making rough thread and yarn, and using them. She hoped to sell the resulting items for enough money to cover the lessons that she so desperately needed- not just for her own entertainment, but for the safety of those around her.

Then one day she decided to go down to the dock for some fun. She would remember that day for the rest of her life.

It was May eleventh, almost two months before her thirteenth birthday, in the year 437 of the War Era, named such because of the continuous fighting that had gone on for the past few centuries. Leshyie, the main inland country, was at war with most of its neighbors: Gerym to the east, Tishar to the southwest, Cirlot to the north and northeast, and the Alkar Isles to the southeast. But the Silver Islands to the south were by far the worst, sending pirates and raiders at them at every possible opportunity, taking loot and slaves back with them.

But Shisarra was confident as she cautiously stole the small, one-man boat and set off. Raiding season would not begin until June at the earliest, and she was certainly not planning on staying at sea until June! She smiled as she sailed, the wind soft on her face, blowing her hair out behind her and making her feel at the top of the world.

She turned and adjusted the sail, letting the wind take her around the near wall of a gulf where she liked to look for shells. And there, lurking behind the cliffs, were three pirate vessels, apparently unaware that the raiders' season had yet to begin. She tried to turn, but the wind carried her straight into their midst.

They pulled her roughly aboard, and as she stood there watching the little ship sink into the water a surly looking man with a nose-ring said, "Fix her with a collar. We should fetch a good price for this one."

Seven weeks later she sat, curled up, in the back corner of the cage where they kept the slaves who had not yet been sold and the ones who had just arrived. The welts on her back were still burning. She had spent the last week trying to devise an escape plan, and had launched it that morning.

Needless to say, it had been less than successful, and the punishment had been harsh. The keepers had even resorted to enchanting her slave collar. It would now strangle her to death if she went beyond the set boundaries, and keep choking her until (or if) she got back within them. This fact discouraged her slightly; she wasn't too fond of the idea of a slow and painful death.

So she sat there, watching as the other slaves scurried and pushed their way toward the food trough. She stayed where she was, not keen on getting injured further, and not very hungry at the moment, anyway. Why me? She thought. This is going to be bad.

"Keep thinking like that and you'll get downright depressed." Someone sat next to her and shoved some cold bread and slop under her nose. "You need to eat, or it will be bad. You'll never get a good master if you're too skinny and weak-looking."

She glanced at the person. It was just a boy, only a couple of years older than she was, with shoulder length, curly blond hair and dancing green eyes. She didn't even bother to ask how he knew what she was thinking. "The skinniness helps keep people from buying me for… the wrong reasons." She mumbled, but took the food anyway. "And maybe I don't want a master at all."

He grinned. "I don't really think you have much of a choice right now," he said matter-of-factly. "I just think it's better to be a well-fed-" he paused and looked at the meager food. "Um, it's better to be a fed slave, than to be starving and be a slave anyway. It doesn't make a difference to them,"- he jerked his head at the nearest keeper- "but a semi-full belly is better than an empty one."

She nodded, accepting this logic. He smiled again. "I figured that since we were going to be stuck together for a while, we might as well be on speaking terms."

"Stuck together?" She asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I heard that keeper thinking about it. We're both being given to the same people."

"Given?" She asked incredulously, her eyes searching his face for hidden motives. "They're actually giving us away?"

He nodded, painting on a mockingly sorrowful expression. "Yes, I'm afraid they can't sell us to anyone. Apparently you're too feisty, and they think I"-he pretended to look incredulous- "am too dramatic; and, well, impertinent, but that's beside the point. So they're giving us to a family who's custom they greatly appreciate." He grinned warmly. "What's your name?"

She smiled mischievously at him. "Oh, but can't you gather that information with that nifty little talent of yours?"

He smiled awkwardly. "I probably could," he informed her, then switched to a rough accent, "but Ma teached me right. Doin' that would just be plumb rude."

Her smile got wider. "Very good accent; my da used to talk just like that." Her expression darkened for a moment, then cleared again. "And, of course, the fact that I know how to use a Shield affects the whole mind-reading bit, yes? So you can Hear?"

"Oh, well of course I can hear," he replied. "I wouldn't be speaking to you right now if I couldn't would I?"

"You know what I mean," she said impatiently. "And yes, you would, I know sign language."

"Well, aren't you just a sea of unknown talent," he said sarcastically. "So, what's your name?"

"Shisarra Storme."

"Sarra, eh?" He said thoughtfully. He stared at her strangely for a few minutes. "Good name. I think we'll get along fine." He stood and brushed off his backside. "I'm Liam, by the way. How old are you? I'm fourteen."

"I'm thirteen."

He raised an eyebrow for a moment, but apparently figured out that she wasn't joking. "Great; we're gonna have to watch you like a hawk." He said in a long-suffering way. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others who're coming with us. Have you met Mama?"

Mama turned out to be a plump, middle-aged woman who, as her name implied, acted as the mother to all the younger slaves. She seemed to take a liking to Sarra (as everyone came to call her) as soon as she set eyes on her, informing her that "young scallywags" like Liam needed to be watched constantly. She seemed very fond of Liam, however, almost like an old aunt teasing her favorite nephew.

Liam also introduced her to Walt, a beady-looking little man who ignored Sarra and Liam completely, as if they weren't there. Liam quietly explained to her that Walt was a little touched in the head. She then met Pelt, Chirra, and Fronc, who were the other three going on with them. They all seemed nice enough, but not nearly so friendly as Liam and Mama, (though Sarra suspected that Mama was like that with everyone, and Liam acted the way he did mainly around females).

Two days later they set off, and it took them the better part of four days to reach their destination. The first day on the road they entered a thick, wild jungle, one that Sarra never would have thought to see so close to the shore. It was full of life. Sarra, having grown up in a small seaside town, had never even seen a forest, let alone a vast, colorful wilderness like this one. She stared, wide-eyed, at every multi-colored bird and blossom they passed, until Liam laughingly commented that she looked like a cow, staring like that.

Their third day on the road Liam went and spoke privately to the captain of the men at arms who guarded their small train of slaves and supplies the family had ordered from the city. A few minutes later the captain and half of his men faded into the trees as if part of the jungle itself. "I wish I could go with them," Liam commented softly to her, "but they'd never dare give a weapon to a slave."

"Where exactly are they going?" Sarra inquired curiously.

"There's a group of bandits ahead, I'm guessing around the bend, though I don't think it's very large."

"You Heard them?"

He shook his head. "I didn't have to," he told her. He motioned broadly to the trees. "Listen. Look. There aren't any animals around- no sound. Even the birds are absent from their perches. That's a sure sign of trouble ahead- sometimes animals are smarter than we are. You didn't notice that they were all gone?"

Sarra shrugged. "I grew up on the beach," she informed him. "I didn't know if it was something suspicious, or if the animals this deep were just more wary of humans."

Liam nodded his head and clapped her on the back. "We'll have to see to it you learn," he said. "It could mean life or death out here."

The men at arms returned a while later to report that all of the bandits had been killed. When they passed the bodies Sarra cringed- these were all poor people. Not on of them had clothes that weren't patched, a lot of them were women; all of them had feeble weapons, like scythes and pitchforks. None of them looked as if they had eaten recently. They were bandits, surely, but only out of necessity.

The next day they reached the Plinska estate. It was a fairly large holding, obviously wealthy, with a small village held within its walls. "The house," as it was called, was extremely large, the size of a palace, really. When they arrived, they were greeted by the senior slaves and servants, showed where they were to sleep, and supplied with uniforms. They were then ushered into the entrance hall, where they were shown to the family.

There was the lord, his lady, and their four children, three girls and a boy, the boy being the third child and around Sarra's age. The lady and children seemed nice enough, but there was something about the lord that made Sarra uneasy, something she couldn't explain. Before she had time to think about it, to explain it to herself, she was taken into the room where they slept, given a work schedule, and told the rules. If she was caught stealing, damaging property, or hurting other people, she'd be punished, and likewise she could go to any of the senior servants if she was being hurt by anyone. Not even the lord of the house was allowed to touch her without her consent. And then it was lights out. And so she slept, desperately hoping to fit in, just enough so she could run…

The next day the new slaves were paired off with older ones to see how things were done. Sarra went off with Quall, a young man of about twenty-five. They got on well, Quall being a funny, good teacher. They moved through the large mansion, and he showed her where to go and what she needed to do. He then took her to Cirry, the house tailor, who gave Sarra three sets of uniforms and cut her long silver curls to chin-length. As she did this, she found he necklace that Sarra had been hiding. "What's this?" Cirry asked in a curious voice, surprised that the keepers hadn't confiscated it.

"It's an heirloom," Sarra replied briskly, snatching back the clear, blue-green stone. It was cut in the shape of a raindrop, hung on a silver chain. Cirry nodded acceptingly and went on to other things, not pressing the subject. She knew what it felt like to be separated not only from your family but from their memories- she would not take that away from someone else unless she had to.

From there they went through the home again, this time Quall showed her how to care for the wood and silver, then let her do it herself, with his supervision. The next two months went quite the same way, Quall eventually leaving Sarra to do it on her own.

Once she was on her own Sarra found that she worked faster, and that landed her with a few extra duties. They even allowed her to work in the stables sometimes, and she loved caring for the horses.

Sarra made quick friends with all the servants, and through that she learned many of the house's secrets. Which secret passageways led to the kitchen, slave rooms, and the courtyard; where the vegetable garden was hidden; which superiors to go to for leniency if you were in trouble, and so on. On her few breaks she found herself wandering the house, discovering several more hidden ways and wonderful galleries and statues.

And so the two months went, without much further incident, and, though she missed Liam, who worked in a different wing, Sarra found that she was in no real hurry to escape.

Five months later the family started noticing her. The madam had apparently taken a liking to her, loving her fiery nature and open mind, and had given her to her seventeen-year-old daughter as a maid. Her daughter, Lady Jeline, got along quite well with Sarra, and they talked of anything from books to the several young men who came calling, entranced by the open beauty of the golden-haired lady and the lovely mystery of her servant. It helped this point that Sarra had gained most of her weight back since she had arrived at the house, regaining her former figure. Sarra found the gowns she had to wear slightly annoying, but she could live with them, especially for the better food and good conversation she received in exchange.

Her new duties included cleaning up after her mistress (which was not all that hard, since Jeline liked everything neat and organized anyway), waiting on her at mealtimes, and entertaining her. This, also, was fairly easy- all Sarra had to do was craft things or sing, which she loved anyway. Sometimes she simply had to ride through the country with her or tell her stories.

When Jeline gave her time off her duties she usually spent it with Liam and the boy of the family, Jerrod. He turned out to be only a year or so older than she was, though he had a deep bass voice that belied his age. At about six feet tall he was still growing, and had jet black hair and eyes to match. Despite his booming voice, he was a fairly quiet boy, not very talkative unless he was around certain people. But his quietness helped him to learn things, things most people wouldn't mind saying around a boy they thought was fairly simple. In actuality, though, his mind was sharp, and he had no problem piecing bits together and figuring the whole. His intelligence, coupled with his nature and wit, delighted Sarra.

When Jerrod's parents were occupied, he and Liam showed her how to fight and shoot. This fact, of course, they kept secret, but you could tell simply from the way her arms and legs were getting stronger, and the fact that Liam- who had been fairly scrawny before- had become extremely muscular in a way that his recent growth spurts could not fully explain. Many people guessed what was going on, but no one particularly seemed to care, and over those months the three became great friends.

And then, one day (more than four months after being given to Jeline) as Sarra was cleaning Jeline's room, the lady's father came in. "Lovely day, isn't it?" He asked.

Something in his voice made her skin creep. "Oh, yes," she replied, maybe sounding a little more sarcastic than she should have, talking to her master. "The unmoving fog is positively beautiful."

He chuckled and moved closer. She backed away, turning her back on him to dust, hoping he'd get the point that the conversation was over. Maybe what bothered her was the way he carried himself, or the sliminess of his voice as he sneered. Whatever it was, she wished he would just go away. She suddenly became acutely aware that she was alone. "You know, lady Jeline should be back any moment." It was not exactly a lie.

"Why do you cringe away from me?" He asked, moving closer so she had nowhere to run. "Do you know how pretty you are?"

She forced a smile, pushing back the urge to vomit. "My lord is far too… kind," she gritted out between clenched teeth. "But surely he has better things to do than flirt with young servants."

He laughed again, and chills ran up her spine as he looked at her. "I like your spirit." He whispered. "I could take it to new levels." He leaned in to kiss her.

She shoved him back and danced out of his reach, revolted. "I think my spirit will do just fine without your help," she said coldly.

He crossed the distance between them in one large step and hit her, raising a large red bruise on her face. She staggered backwards as her eyes watered, blinding her, foiling her efforts to find an escape. "How long will your spirit last?" He asked vehemently, grabbing her arms and shaking her. "How long will it last if I don't want it to? What if I-"

"-and I need you to mend that lavender gown. Did you hear all that, Sarra?" Jeline walked in and froze, seeing her father poised to strike, and her maid cowering, eyes clenched shut. He quickly lowered his hand and painted a casual look on his face.

"Hello, dear. Your maid and I were just having a- a discussion, weren't we, Sarra?" She said nothing. "Well, we can finish later. Have a good day, Jeline; you look lovely." And with that he left.

Sarra sat on the edge of the bed, still trying to decipher what he had said through the fog enveloping her mind. The red on her face was swiftly turning to blue and purple. Jeline looked distraught as she walked to her cabinet and applied the balm she got there to Sarra's bruise. "Thank you," Sarra muttered.

"Sarra, I'm so sorry!" Jeline cried, startling her.

"For what?" Sarra asked vaguely. "You didn't do anything."

"For him," Jeline looked disgusted and sick. "Every few years he picks a new girl, but I had no idea he'd pick you. You're too young!"

"Other girls?" Sarra was starting to feel as sick as Jeline looked. "You've known about this?"

Her mistress nodded, looking ashamed. "We've never been able to do anything about it. Unfortunately, beating your slaves isn't a crime, and- well, we couldn't get the others to testify against him for the- the other things."

"I'll just try to avoid him as much as possible." Sarra whispered. Fear of what her mistress was implying clenched at her stomach.

"You can't," Jeline's quiet voice sounded utterly helpless. "That will just make him more determined… Sarra, he won't stop at beatings."

Sarra blanched, though she had known all along what it was leading up to. "We have to do something."

"We can't do anything about it until he does something," she growled in frustration. "I'll tell the older servants that he's found you, and we'll do what we can to keep him from getting to you."

"Has it ever worked before?"

Jeline hesitated for a moment before apparently deciding to tell the truth. "No. Sarra, I'm so sorry."

Sarra nodded, staring off into space, feeling like Jeline was hiding something. She couldn't explain the feeling, and, frankly, she didn't want to know. She went to bed that night on her pallet at the foot of Jeline's bed, but she didn't sleep, and the fog around the house got thicker.

Over the next month, Sarra was rarely alone. Still he found her, if only for a few minutes at a time.

She sat one day, wincing as Mama and Quall cleaned the fresh cuts and bruises and Jerrod held her hands. Liam couldn't be there because he had been given important work and it was more than his life was worth to leave it undone. In fact, no one had yet told Liam about any of it. Sarra knew his temper was too short for it. And, in a way, she was too ashamed of the beatings to tell her best friend what was going on- especially since he was a male. She hadn't wanted to tell Jerrod or Quall either, but Mama had overruled her.

"This is sick," Jerrod muttered, looking pale. "How did I never know he did this?"

"You were young," Jeline replied from a few feet away. She looked on the brink of tears. She had done all she could to protect her friend, but she couldn't be with Sarra every second. "You didn't know the signs to look for."

"It's sick," he reiterated. "How could I have missed this?" He asked. "Her face looks like a sunset for God's sake!"

"I'm just glad he hasn't done anything else," Sarra whispered.

Mama and Quall exchanged a look that clearly said, yet.

And then, two weeks later, Sarra sat, huddled against the wall in Jeline's room, bleeding and sobbing. Words could not accurately describe the way she felt. She was devastated; she didn't know where to go or who to tell. She was terrified that he would find out she told, afraid that he would kill her, or worse, hurt her again. So she just curled up, crying, unbelievably ashamed. But the tears would not get rid of the memories.

Jeline found her a short while later, and, realizing hat had happened, pelted down the hall screaming for Mama.

Sarra only vaguely acknowledged this, but came more to herself when Mama came into the room. "Mama," she sobbed. "Mama, I'm- he… Why?... I should have fought harder. I should have-"

"Baby, this is not your fault," Mama whispered, pulling her up into a hug. As she held the girl, who now seemed as young as she really was, Mama looked her over. Her face and arms were bruised, as Mama was sure her legs were, too. She ordered Jeline to get the bruise balm, seeing that one of Sarra's eyes was swelling shut. She had a shallow cut on her head, as if it had struck a table. When Jeline had gotten the balm she ran off to get boiling water, cloth, and salve without having to be told. There was skin and blood under Sarra's fingernails. Good girl, Mama thought approvingly. At least you gave him something to remember. "Come on, love. I ran a bath."

Mama helped Sarra into the bath and moved to leave. "Mama, please," Sarra exclaimed. She was still crying, her eyes red under the bruising. "Mama, please don't leave me alone!"

So Mama sat with her all night, speaking comforting words to her. Poor Sarra stayed in the bath until the hot water was ice cold, scrubbing at some invisible stain, trying to make herself feel clean.

For that there was not enough water.

Three days later it happened again. This time it was Cirry who found her. Jeline and Mama gave Sarra a bath, and tried to make her time as normal as possible. Over the next week she performed her tasks as usual, though more mechanically, almost as if her body was there but Sarra was not. But she did her best and performed her duties, despite what she continued to go through. Through everything she pleaded with Mama and Jeline, asking them not to tell anyone what was happening, especially Liam. It was all too shameful for her. She couldn't bear to see her friends look at her differently. Finally they agreed.

The day after the fifth incident, a couple weeks later, she ran into Liam in the hall. She hadn't seen him in a few weeks, since they worked in opposite wings of the house, and he had little free time. She couldn't have imagined a worse time to see him.

"Sarra, how are you?" He asked cheerily.

Sarra hazily thought the question odd for a moment, then remembered, He doesn't know. "I'm okay," she lied, not looking him in the eye. She reinforced her mental wall.

But he still sensed something. He didn't need to read her thoughts to know that something was bothering her. "Sarra, what's the matter?" She shook her head, trying to think of a way to escape. "Sarra, I'm your best friend; you can tell me. What's wrong?" He saw tears fill her eyes, and noticed the fresh bruises on her forearms and the outlines of old ones on her face.

Seeing his face tense, Sarra ran. Liam, guessing what was going on, went in search of Mama. "Mama," he said when he finally got her alone, "tell me what happened to Sarra."

Her eyes widened, as if she wanted to tell him. "I can't say," she replied quietly.

"Mama, I'm her best friend," he hissed. "She's in a horrible state, and I have a right to help, or at least try to!" He knew she wanted desperately to tell someone. "I won't tell anyone, I swear," he said. "I just need to help her. He's been beating her, hasn't he?"

Mama sighed, not sure how to tell him the rest. She pulled him into an empty room and shut the door. As quickly as she could, she told him what had happened, cringing. "But I'm sure he'll get bored soon enough." She finished in a lame whisper. What else could she do but wait? Sarra had to report the lord herself, and Mama doubted that was going to happen any time soon.

Throughout the whole story Liam had gotten paler and paler. He was now trembling with barely suppressed anger. Mama noticed how much he had grown- now almost six feet tall and solid muscle. She was almost sorry about his strength- imagine what would happen if Liam attacked the lord, let alone if he won! He was still shaking, but her last comment seemed to break his control.

"Bored?" He bellowed. "Bored?! Do you have any idea what he did with the other girls he got bored with?"

"Keep your voice down!" Mama hissed, hoping desperately no one could hear them. "No, I don't know what he did to the others." She said, looking confused. "I assumed that they were either still here or had gotten sold, like others."

"He killed them," Liam had lowered his voice, but that only succeeded in making him sound more threatening. He had been asking around about the lord, not knowing what was going on, but still unsure of the man. Mama prayed again that no one could hear. "He killed them in case they decided to report him." He looked into her eyes, seeing fear there, and, to press his point, continued. "He won't get bored; he won't stop. We have to tell someone. I know Sarra would testify."

"No!" They both turned to see Sarra in the doorway, pale and terrified. "You can't tell," she continued in a frightened, miserable whisper. "If he finds out anyone knows he'll kill me. He'll torture me to death. He told me he would."

Mama swallowed, her mouth dry. "Sarra, maybe he's right," she said cautiously. "Surely the lady would-"

"You can't!" Sarra reiterated. "Please, don't tell-" she stopped, hearing someone coming. A strange look came over her face and she ran, presumably to Jeline.

Mama turned back to Liam. The look in her eyes said, Do you see now? "What will you do?"

Liam thought for a moment, Sarra's words still in his mind. "I'll wait," he replied, going against every ounce of sense he had, only wanting to protect his friend. Every instinct he had said to kill the man, but he knew that that would not help Sarra. "Tell me if it happens again," he instructed. Seeing her hesitate, he pressed, "Promise, you'll tell me." Mama nodded reluctantly, though she was inwardly relieved, and they both went back to work, tense and waiting.

Not five days later Liam was making his way up to the lady's sitting room. He was having doubts, doubts that were very unlike him, as he climbed the seemingly endless staircase. What if he finds out? What if she tells him, and doesn't do anything about it? What if he comes after me? What if-

What if he hurts Sarra again?

That thought strengthened his resolve. Mama had talked to him only an hour earlier, and he was determined to do the right thing. He knocked tentatively on the large oak door, and entered at her call. When she turned to see who it was, her eyebrows rose. "Hello," she said politely. "Wait, you're Sarra's friend Liam, correct?" He nodded and bowed, and she smiled. "How are you enjoying your home?"

Home? He thought. How could this be home? What he said was, "It's fine, milady. Lady," he asked respectively, "have you seen Sarra lately?"

"Come to think of it, no," she replied after a moment. "Not in almost a month. How is she?"

"Well, that's what I came about," he answered nervously. "Milady, your husband- milord, I mean- he's been-" he paused, not quite sure how to go on.

"Again?" She said in a voice somewhere between a horrified whisper and a groan.

"Pardon me?"

She looked at him, tears in her eyes. "He's been doing it again, hasn't he?" She asked sadly. "Every couple of years he picks a new one… if she doesn't go along willingly… but he hasn't done it in a long time, I really thought he was better…"

"Milady," Liam breathed, "do you mean to tell me you knew-?"

"Of course I knew, I'm not an idiot," she snapped, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"But, milady, you can press charges. Even if Sarra doesn't directly report him, if you know what's going on that's just as good. This isn't legal; they'll put him away for a long time. You won't even have to worry about finances. Everything he owns will pass to you-"

"I just told you I'm not an idiot, boy!" She yelled. Liam didn't cringe, as most slaves would at her yell, feeling more angry than afraid now. Continuing more quietly, she said, "I can't report him. There's no proof. It would be his word against the word of a slave, and after he won he'd come back and kill us both…"

"Milady, the Enforcers have mages in their ranks," he told her, referring to the local law keepers. "They could perform a simple truth spell, to see who's lying-"

"I can't turn him in," she said quietly. "He's my husband, I can't…"

"Begging my lady's pardon, but if you refuse to report a rapist and a murderer for a reason like that, apparently you are an idiot." Liam's voice was tense and shaky.

She stared at him for a moment. "Get out," she whispered.

He gave her a stiff, mocking bow and he left, livid. When he hit the wall outside the door a chunk of stone came off under his fist.