Free Unicorn Vengeance by Claire Delacroix Page A

behind his back, a coy smile playing over his lips. As soon as Genevieve spotted the lute, she gasped, and well it seemed that he turned the instrument slightly in acknowledgment of the sound.
    Tall he was and no less lanky than the one who had addressed her, though his hair was an uncommon orange shade. Long ‘twas and fell past his shoulders, the torchlight making it look to be a river of flame. His expression was sardonic at best, but the hands that held her lute were long of finger and gentle with their burden.
    Genevieve recognized him as the one she had heard singing some days past. Fear rose in her chest as she recalled the gleam of avarice that had lit his eyes and she wondered whether he coveted her lute. ‘Twas a fine one, for her grandfather had seen fit to fetch her the best. As she watched those long hands slide over the rose engraved on the lute’s face, she knew a fear stronger than any she had ever experienced.
    â€œI have come to fetch what is mine,” she declared with bravado, determined to retrieve the lute at all costs.
    The man with her lute smiled. The others chuckled.
    â€œNaught is yours but what is on your back, and even that we may take, should we so desire,” he said confidently. Genevieve’s chin rose high.
    â€œWrong you are,” she told him, her tone challenging. “The lute is mine, as is the cloak, blanket and shoes you stole from me. I would have them returned immediately.”
    The crowd laughed to themselves, the man with her cloak pirouetting that the others might admire his new acquisition.
    â€œI say you are wrong,” the leader said smoothly. “And I am Odo. What I say is so.”
    â€œBut what you say here is wrong,” Genevieve asserted stubbornly. “My possessions were stolen from me and I would have them returned. No right have any of you to what I have earned.”
    â€œYou played without permission,” Odo claimed. “Your possessions are forfeit for your crime.”
    â€œCrime?” Genevieve demanded. “No crime have I committed. I but played my lute to earn a few coins that I might eat.”
    â€œSurrender the coin or we shall keep your belongings as ours,” said Odo. Genevieve gaped at him. Surely he did not intend to keep her lute? No right had he to it.
    But she had no coin. The only one she had earned this day she had cast at the stranger. And the coin the stranger had granted her the day before had been spent on food and lodging the night before.
    â€œBut ‘tis spent,” she admitted weakly. The assembly gasped with mock horror and clicked their tongues chidingly. Odo grinned.
    â€œWell have I been needing a new lute,” he said, and gave the strings a savage pluck. It seemed to Genevieve that her precious lute cried out for mercy with the plaintive sound and she sprang forward.
    â€œNay! You must not abuse it so!” She halted just before Odo when he granted her a chilling glance. Too far had she gone, and well she knew it, though ‘twas too late to change that. The crowd’s manner became watchful and expectant. “It must be coaxed, gently,” Genevieve said in a much milder tone. Odo arched a skeptical brow.
    â€œYou can play?” he demanded archly. Genevieve saw the glint of interest in his eye and dared to be bold.
    â€œOnly when I have my lute,” she asserted. Several onlookers gasped at her audacity, but Odo very slowly smiled. ‘Twas not a pretty smile, for something about it told Genevieve that he was interested in her ability solely for his own ends, but nonetheless, it reassured her.
    Abruptly he shoved the lute in her direction.
    â€œThen play,” he commanded.
    Genevieve barely noted his startling change of manner. Naught could she see but the lute. She grasped it the instant ‘twas offered and clasped it close. She ran her hands over it, finding no damage, and heaved a sigh of relief at the discovery before she remembered his