Free WINDKEEPER by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Liza’s, going through, and beyond, her.
    Liza shivered as though she had been blasted with a gust of frigid air. The rune stone around her neck pulsed against her flesh and she reached up to touch it.
    "A friend of yours?" she joked, for Conar’s face was devoid of color. She felt his hand tighten. She knew he had forgotten her presence, for he turned to her with a blank, stricken look on his face.
    "What?" His face was gleaming with sweat.
    "Are you all right?" she asked and when he didn’t immediately answer, she put her hand on his arm. He jerked so violently from her touch, she took a step back. "What’s wrong with you?"
    He looked at her—really looked—seeming to see her for the first time. His brows drew together in puzzlement as he saw the lines of worry on her face. He shook his head. "I’m fine." He looked back at the staircase of the main hall where the High Priest had disappeared. "I’m fine, now," he whispered as though to himself.
    "Who was that man? That priest?"
    "Tohre," he answered in a voice so low she had to strain to hear. "Kaileel Tohre."
    "What is…?" she started to ask but was shocked by the sudden rush of motion toward them.
    A young servant girl fell to her knees before Conar, her head to the carpet, her arms straight out. She did not speak, but her breath came in loud gasps of nervousness.
    Conar frowned at the girl and for some reason her position at his feet greatly angered him. His lips pulled back over his teeth and in a snarl of rage, he shouted at the already frightened girl, "Get the hell up, woman!"
    Scrambling to her feet, the young girl would not raise her head. Her hands were gripped tightly together in front of her, the fingers running over one another in agitation. She was trembling violently as she stood there.
    "What the hell do you want?"
    "Milord!" Liza warned in a steady voice. "You are frightening her more!"
    Conar would have bellowed at Liza, but she was looking at him with challenge and he felt like a fool. "I don’t like people falling at my feet!"
    "No more than they like doing it, I would imagine."
    He clenched his jaw, but managed to lower his voice as he spoke to the servant girl. "Don’t just stand there. Tell me what you want."
    "With your permission, Your Majesty," the girl stammered in a husky whisper, "we have one of the rooms ready for you. Can the lady wait until her room is done or will you be giving her yours?"
    "What the hell are you bothering me with this for?" he thundered, calming only as Liza hissed another warning. He tossed the thick gold of his hair. "Let her have the gods-be-damned room. I’ll use my brother’s until mine is ready."
    A wild look of intense terror passed over the young servant’s face, and in her fright, she forgot her training and raised her voice to her Overlord to gain his attention. "He won’t like you going into his room, Your Grace!" She opened her eyes wide with fear as the young Prince impaled her with the full force of his fierce, direct blue gaze.
    Conar’s voice wasn’t a shade warmer than the glaciers of his homeland as he spoke. "I am just as much his Overlord as I am yours, Mam’selle! If I wish to make use of his rooms, that is my right! Do you understand?" He took a step toward her, his hand fisted.
    It looked as though the girl had suddenly turned to jelly, for she collapsed to the floor in a heap, her arms thrown over her head to protect herself from her Prince’s wrath. With her slight form shivering so badly—Liza could actually hear the girl’s teeth clicking together—the poor servant huddled on the floor and began to sob hysterically.
    "Now look what you’ve done!" Liza snapped.
    "What did I do?"
    Liza knelt beside the trembling girl and would have put her arms about the heaving shoulders, but with a leap of sheer terror, the girl jerked away, her hands coming up to cover her sobbing face. There were thin white lines on the girl’s hands and forearms. Liza looked to Conar for help. "Look,