slammed the back door and locked it, then sat down heavily at the table. The chair was still warm.
So, Rannagon was still watching him. And probably other people were, too. If he did anything—tried to tell someone the truth—what then?
“No,” he muttered. “No, I won’t put up with it any more. I’m going to . . .”
To do what?
The next day, Arren’s new life began. He put on his plainest and toughest clothes and went to the hatchery first thing in the morning. There he was met by Alisoun, another of Roland’s assistants, who gave him his first task for the day, feeding the chicks. After that he had to clean out and replace the straw in the pens, help round up some goats so they could be slaughtered and fed to the adult griffins, carry some heavy crates from the nearest lifter to the storeroom and then sweep the floor.
It was hard work, and boring, but he didn’t mind. He worked steadily, not speaking to anyone, his face a cold, impassive mask.
At noon he broke for lunch, which he ate with Roland and the other assistants, and after that it was back to work. He left that evening with a sore back and aching hands, but Roland had given him a small bag of coins. It wasn’t much to show for one day’s effort, but it was enough. He only needed to feed himself now.
Flell was waiting for him that evening.
Her home was only large enough to need two servants, who had already finished preparing the meal. She and Arren sat together in the dining room and ate, enjoying each other’s company.
The food was good, much better than his usual fare. Arren ate heartily, savouring the rich flavours of roasted meat and fresh vegetables, and the fine wine Flell had had brought out.
Flell watched him a little anxiously. “How’s your ear?”
Arren touched it carefully. “It’s all right. The bleeding stopped in the end. It should heal.”
“And your chest?”
“It still hurts, but I think it’ll be fine. I’ve been keeping an eye on it and I think the infection’s gone.”
“That’s good. So, how was work?”
“Hard,” Arren said. “My back is killing me. I had to carry a lot of crates; I didn’t ask what was in them, but I’d swear it was lead. I don’t mind, though.”
Flell nodded. “But how are you, Arren? And I don’t mean are you healthy; I mean, are you all right?”
“There’s no need to worry about me,” said Arren, in a tone of forced casualness.
“Isn’t there?” said Flell.
Her direct gaze was unsettling, and he drank some more wine to hide his uncertainty. “What d’you want me to say?” he said, putting down his cup. “I mean, no, I haven’t forgotten about . . . what happened. But life goes on, doesn’t it? I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself; you already made that quite clear, and you were right. And—” He tried not to think about Rannagon, or Shoa’s icy stare.
Flell hadn’t dropped her gaze. “What did happen out there, Arren?” she asked. “Why did you run off like that? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like you to do something like that. What were you thinking?”
Arren was silent. He looked at Flell, at her light-blue eyes and freckled face. He couldn’t bear the thought of lying to her. Surely . . . surely Rannagon wouldn’t kill her? Not his own daughter. “I—”
His eyes flitted toward the door. Flell’s housekeeper was standing there, watching him. She saw him look in her direction and quietly vanished.
Fear ran down Arren’s spine. “I made a mistake,” he said, a little too loudly. “I was stupid.” And it was true, he thought. He wasn’t lying to her.
“But why didn’t you ask anyone else before you left?” said Flell. “And you lied to me. Why, Arren? I just keep wondering why you didn’t tell me the whole truth. Was it because you were afraid I’d tell someone else?” She was looking at him not reproachfully, but with hurt bewilderment. “I’m not angry with you,” she said. “I just want to know why.”
Arren couldn’t look her in the eye. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“Please, Arren,” said Flell. “Just tell me. I’ll understand.”
“Because I wanted it to be a surprise,” Arren said at last. “I wanted—I was trying to impress you.”
“Impress me?” said Flell. “Arren, for gods’ sakes, you don’t need to impress me! What on earth gave you that idea?”