Free Master of Crows by Grace Draven Page B

understand.”
    The oranges in the bowl looked bright, lush and unappetizing this morning.  He took one and leisurely peeled the skin in a continuous spiral.  “If I hear another apology from you, I think I’ll drown you in the well.”  He swallowed a laugh when she paled.  “Martise, you must bear a terrible burden of guilt over past sins.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a person say ‘sorry’ as often as you do with so little provocation.”  He popped an orange segment into his mouth and conquered the urge to retch as the juice burst on his tongue.
    Martise went crimson but said nothing.  Silhara swallowed the bite of orange and sipped his tea to cleanse his mouth.  He peered under the table and frowned at Cael.  The hound ignored him and rolled under Martise’s foot in an obvious request to resume her caress.
    “You spoil him.  I now have a mage-finder who spends his days lolling with the swine and begging caresses from a woman.”  Gurn snorted into his tea cup, and Silhara raised an eyebrow.  “Not that I blame him for the last.”
    “I’m confused, Master.  Do you speak of the failures of men or dogs?”
    He almost choked on the second piece of orange and spat it onto the floor.  Martise’s face blurred as his eyes watered.  Gurn chuckled.  His apprentice watched him, her copper gaze steady.  For a moment Silhara caught a gleam of teasing humor in her eyes before it vanished.
    “Does it matter?  We’re often one and the same.”  He let her finish her porridge while he and Gurn made plans for market day in Eastern Prime.
    “We’ll take what we have now and deliver it to Fors the day before market opens.  He’ll try and charge a storage fee.”  Silhara poured another cup of tea.  “You’d think he’d learn after all these years of trade that I’m not an easy mark.”
    Gurn’s hands sketched patterns in the air while Silhara watched and answered.
    “Martise will be traveling with us.  The two of you can buy supplies while I negotiate with our greedy little merchant.  The sooner we’re done, the better.  There’s more to harvest, and I don’t want my fruit rotting on the trees before we can pick it.”
    He waited for Martise to eat her last spoonful of breakfast.  “Have you ever been to Eastern Prime?”
    “Not since I was a child.  It’s too far from Asher to bother.  The High Bishop sends his factor to Calderes, though it’s a smaller town and market.”
    “But well known for its luxury goods and rich patrons.”  He traced a Calderan trade symbol on the scarred tabletop.  “You’ll accompany us when we travel to Eastern Prime in ten days.  Be prepared.  You may not remember, but Prime is a port city.  Bigger and far less genteel than Calderes.  They run the slave markets there, and the whoremasters are ever on the prowl for young women.  When we’re there, stay close to Gurn.”
    Silhara frowned, puzzled by her sudden somber cast.  “It’s not a wish, Martise.  It’s a command.”
    She rose to clear her place, flinching as her free hand held the table edge in a white-knuckled grip.  She shuffled to the sink, moving more like a half-dead crone than a healthy young woman.  A gray pallor washed her skin, and she couldn’t hide a wince when she faced him.
    “Should I await you in the hall for our lesson?”
    The image of the destroyed crow played across his memory.  Silhara had set Martise on fire once during their lessons.  Brutal both in purpose and execution, the spell had been one he’d controlled through its entirety.  His apprentice had come away from the experience reeling with shock but no injuries save a burnt hem.  While he felt it fading, the god’s touch still lingered in his hands, made his fingers spasm in short intervals.  Despite his wariness of her, Silhara had no wish to mete out the same end, or something worse, to his apprentice.  If he had to kill her, he’d do it on his terms with his magic firmly under