just going for a dance with the tribesman. My gaze flickers to Naril who’s watching me with narrowed eyes, silently judging my decision. I’ll deal with him later, I think, looking back to Vaeril. We’re attracting a lot of attention now, and as I glance up, I can see the queen staring daggers at me.
All of a sudden, I’m on the other side of the hall, looking at a woman in a pink dress with a group of elves on one side and the mountain tribesman on her other. She’s plain, a half-breed, with Vaeril holding one of her outstretched arms, almost begging her not to go. On the other side, the tribesman holds her hand as if leading her away somewhere. I give him permission to leave my side, and the first thing he does is go to her. What is it about the tramp that has everyone so enamoured? How dare they? They should be fawning over me, and instead, the human trash is all I hear about these days. I need to find a way to get rid of her before she ruins everything. I’ll make her pay.
“Clarissa!” someone calls, and based on their expressions, I get the impression it’s not the first time they’ve said my name. Blinking rapidly to clear my vision, I shake my head, wondering what on Morrowmer just happened. Glancing over at the queen, I see she’s still watching me with narrowed eyes. Was I just in her head? No, that can’t be possible.
Quiet gasps come from those closest to us. On alert, I scan the area around us, searching for whatever has caused the gasps, only to realise everyone’s looking at me—or more specifically, the arm that is outstretched towards Vaeril. The bangle that covers my slave marks and goddess mark has moved, exposing it for all to see. That on its own would be bad enough, but the mark on my wrist is glowing. Hurriedly, I pull my arm from Vaeril, move the bangle to cover the marks, and glance up at the queen—who witnessed the whole thing, her expression dark. I don’t know why I don’t want her to see it, after all she’s seen it before, but I just have a feeling that the less she knows about the Great Mother blessing me, the better.
I hear the sounds of the music starting up again and people begin moving around me, but my gaze is still locked on the queen’s hate-filled eyes, and I know for certain I’m not safe here any longer.
“Clarissa?” Tor calls again, and I finally break away from her stare, although I can still feel it on my skin as he leads me away. In a quiet stupor, I follow him without a word, my mind still foggy from whatever just happened. Part of me is shouting that I should be back with Vaeril, that I should go back to him, he’ll keep me safe, but I know Tor would never let anything happen to me either.
Coming to a stop in the center of the ballroom, he places his hands on my hips as I drape my arms around his neck, blindly following his direction. He doesn’t speak, simply giving me time to adjust to what just happened. I’m sure he’s got questions, but he just leads me into a simple dance. It’s nothing compared to the complex dancing of the elves around us, who just look like graceful, swirling colours to my slow human brain which is unable to keep up with their supernatural speed. I’m not sure how long we sway for, but it must be a couple of songs’ worth at least.
“Are you okay now?” His eyes roam over my face, and although his expression is calm as he guides me into a spin, I can sense his worry for me. “You were as white as fresh mountain snow before.”
Making sure to lower my voice, I wait until he spins me into a corner, away from the other dancers. “The queen wants me dead.” As soon as I say it out loud, a certainty fills me, and I know I was right about the odd vision. I was seeing myself through the queen’s eyes, and I could hear her thoughts—she wants to kill me. I should be terrified, but for some reason, resolution fills me.
I won’t let her have the satisfaction of killing me.
“I won’t let that happen,” Tor promises, his eyes again locked onto mine. I don’t know how he manages