"Perhaps I understand what it is to be hunted. But that is not why I am here."
Her quill rolled between her fingers. In more glorious days she was quicker, nimble, as much at ease with a blade as then pen that was so often her weapon of choice lately. The choices laid before her were simple. They had to be, else she risk hesitation. There was no doubt in her mind that her good fortune of evading the wrath of the law would one day run out.
May as well be suicide, she thought, This life as Sultansworn. "An easy scapegoat," she had told Ser Crofte, and she had meant every word. She was just as she said the most visible target in the game. As long as she remained in question, as long as Taeros held her leash, she stood in perfect position to burn for the error of her peers.
"What I propose is a race."
The more she pondered on it, the more ridiculous it seemed. How could anyone bury themselves so deeply and yet remain so completely unaware? The choice seemed obvious. In the silence of her room, Delial snickered before she sighed and gave her quill a quick dab of ink.Â
"May the better woman win," Ser Crofte had said as she departed. It was true that Delial respected her fellow Highlander for what she tried to do. Of all the Sultansworn bar one she had met, Coatleque irritated her the least. In some small way, she wanted to sympathize.
It took every fiber of self-discipline she had not to laugh in her presence.
Her quill rolled between her fingers. In more glorious days she was quicker, nimble, as much at ease with a blade as then pen that was so often her weapon of choice lately. The choices laid before her were simple. They had to be, else she risk hesitation. There was no doubt in her mind that her good fortune of evading the wrath of the law would one day run out.
May as well be suicide, she thought, This life as Sultansworn. "An easy scapegoat," she had told Ser Crofte, and she had meant every word. She was just as she said the most visible target in the game. As long as she remained in question, as long as Taeros held her leash, she stood in perfect position to burn for the error of her peers.
"What I propose is a race."
The more she pondered on it, the more ridiculous it seemed. How could anyone bury themselves so deeply and yet remain so completely unaware? The choice seemed obvious. In the silence of her room, Delial snickered before she sighed and gave her quill a quick dab of ink.Â
"May the better woman win," Ser Crofte had said as she departed. It was true that Delial respected her fellow Highlander for what she tried to do. Of all the Sultansworn bar one she had met, Coatleque irritated her the least. In some small way, she wanted to sympathize.
It took every fiber of self-discipline she had not to laugh in her presence.
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