Heart of Flame

II. The Lady's Mistake

"You ought to be married by now, Sorne. It's lovely, it really is," Irune said cheerfully. She was one of those people so pleasant that she practically seemed to bubble with good intentions and generosity.

Sorne was doing her best to be diplomatic and maintain a polite silence as she sliced up a carrot. She was no cook, but she was trying to give the dungeon's newest resident something other than cold meat. He must have enjoyed the apple, because she hadn't seen a trace of it when she went down with his lunch. Nagar had been with them a week now. His grasp of Genev's tongue wasn't excellent, but he was nothing but polite to Sorne. He didn't talk much, but he seemed to appreciate having something to do other than pace and stare at a wall.

Irune flicked her arm. "Are you even listening?"

"Yes." Sorne fought down the urge to roll her eyes or snap. What could she say to Irune? That she didn't want to be married? The woman would be simply aghast and then every person from the keep to the capital would know her highest aspiration was to be some kind of miserable spinster. Besides, she was watching the pikemen drill outside the window as much as she could while keeping her fingers intact. "Irune, it's not up to me. It's up to Luken."

There were few things in the world that Sorne hated more than the fact that her future would be decided for her by the steward. If she had her way, the man would be burning in a very special hell. Part of it was her own fault: Luken didn't appreciate lip from the lower servants, particularly not some fifteen-year-old girl. He seemed to enjoy the punishments he meted out altogether too much for her to forgive him. Most of it was petty cruelty, but it was still cruelty. If Sorne was anything, she was hot-tempered. Her position, however, made survival contingent upon her ability to keep it in. It left her seething more often than not.

"Ooh, maybe Josu. He likes you. You know, the stablehand?"

Sorne could feel her jaw tightening. "Irune, I know who Josu is. Like I said, it's not up to me."

Irune seemed to take an impish pleasure in that response. "So you do like him."

"I certainly like silence, when I'm allowed it," Sorne said waspishly. She huffed and dropped the carrot pieces onto the plate. There was some bread, half an apple, some cold shoulder, and now a carrot. "Don't you have something better to do than nettle at me?"

"What are you doing, anyway?" Irune asked, pointedly ignoring the bite.

"Lunch." It was better not to say whose lunch it was, lest the secret slip out. Sorne was about to shoo Irune away when she heard the other girl's name being called by Hilargi, the Lady's maid.

Irune scampered off that way, leaving Sorne mercifully alone. She slipped out of the bustling kitchen and headed for the dungeon, tucking the small knife into her apron pocket as she went. It was habit now, though now and again she found herself questioning whether or not she really needed it. Nagar had been polite every time she'd come down, probably because she was his sole source of food and company that wasn't the houndmaster trying to 'tame' him.

The orc was waiting at the bars when she made it down there. He seemed to have a good sense for when she was coming, probably because his hearing and sense of smell were keener than a man's. "Sorne," he rumbled in greeting.

She put a hand on the knife as she passed into his reach, but she didn't hesitate. She watched him even as he took the plate, however. "I'd ask you how life is, but I can't imagine the answer would be good."

The orc chuckled. "Been better. What is weather?"

Sorne stepped back. "Clear, though there's a westerly breeze. We'll probably have a storm roll in from the coast in the next few days."