"I told you--" he began.
"--not to woo Rametta to my cause. I did not. In fact, I said I had changed my mind, and I no longer desired the walks, as the very request had angered you, and I could not afford to anger you. I'm out of that dungeon cell, and I'd not like to be thrown back in."
"I never threatened--"
"I told her that while a walk would be enjoyable, the cost of pursuing the matter was too high." She looked up at him. "I know my place now."
She swore she heard him grinding his teeth.
"Don't play the submissive, Keeper. You do it poorly."
"If you'd like me to apologize--"
"Ancestors forbid," he muttered.
She lifted her gaze to his. "I was going to say that I'll do that. Happily. I sincerely apologize for any misunderstanding with Rametta. If there is anything else you'd like me to apologize for, Lord Gavril, you need only to ask. If it would help to issue a blanket apology, for all past, present, and future grievances and insults, real or imagined--"
"By the ancestors, stop," he said through gritted teeth. "Just stop talking."
"I'm trying to figure out what I need to do"--she looked him in the eye again--"to make you leave my cell."
His cheek twitched, and his folded arms tightened. "I am not here on a social visit, Keeper. I came to inform you that you'll have your walks. Twice daily. You'll be accompanied by two guards. I asked for four, but my father thinks it sends the wrong message to suggest a girl requires so many warriors. He seems to believe there is no danger of your escape."
"He is correct, because the compound is far too secure for such a thing. You needn't worry about me, Lord Gavril. I'll not even glance at the walls."
He snorted under his breath and muttered, "I've warned him. That's all I can do." With that, he turned on his heel and marched out.
And so, Moria got her walks. Twice a day she was escorted by Orbec's nephew, Brom, and a second guard. Brom was a pleasant companion, a not-quite-handsome young man who enjoyed the attentions of a young woman. Moria would do nothing to cause him trouble, but if he found their discussions pleasant and her attention flattering, she was hardly going to discourage him . . . or warn him when he spoke too openly of the compound. The other guard saw no harm in it, though admittedly, he did seem less than intellectually alert. So Brom and Moria walked and talked, and Moria soon knew the layout of the entire compound, where each sentry was posted, and the schedules and routes of the patrolling guards.
Gavril was right. The northern portion of the sprawling camp was indeed underutilized and under-guarded. The compound was as big as the village of Edgewood. Moria had no idea where it was located--she could not see far enough beyond the walls to identify the landscape and, truly, Ashyn was better suited to such things. Moria focused on what she could see and how to escape it.
During her walks, she also looked for any sign that the children were here, but found none, and discreet questions to her guards were met with confusion. Disappointing but not surprising--if Alvar was trying to convince his men that he was no monster, he'd hardly be holding children captive here.
For six days, Moria lived in her new cell and walked the grounds and gathered intelligence. She'd catch sight of Gavril on her walks, but he'd pretend not to notice her and she'd do the same, and they were both happier for it. Sadly, it was not an arrangement that could last forever. On her eleventh day of captivity, Gavril walked into her cell, holding a bundle of fabric at arm's length, as if it was plague-cursed. Rametta accompanied him.
Gavril held the bunched fabric out to Moria, not saying a word. When she only stared at him, he tossed it onto her sleeping pallet. Rametta tut-tutted and scurried over to lift it up, jabbering at him in her own language. Gavril replied in the same tongue. His words were harsh and abrupt, the language only making them more so. Moria expected the old woman to take affront. But she smiled, and when she looked at him, her smile was indulgent, pleased. No, not pleased. Proud.
Rametta may have been Alvar's nursemaid, but it was obvious she was fond of Gavril, and Moria was grateful that she'd not spoken against him.
Moria rose from her cushions and set her book aside. "Lord Gavril, to what do I owe . . ."
She trailed off as Rametta lifted the bundle of fabric, straightening and smoothing. It was a dress. Not a simple dress, but the many layers of a formal gown.
When Moria saw it, ice trickled down the back of her neck. She found her voice and said, "That's a truly lovely dress, Lord Gavril, and while I cannot say that I appreciate gowns as much as I ought, I do appreciate the gesture. However, I'm not sure it goes with my cell. Perhaps something in a shade of blue?"
"There is a reception tonight," Gavril said. "My father is entertaining several warlords who are considering joining us. Two of them are particularly pious men, and I made the mistake of suggesting we not mention that we've taken a Keeper hostage. My father pointed out that they've likely heard the rumor. My strategy was to deny it. My father wishes to embrace it."
"Embrace . . . ?"
"To let them know that we have the Keeper of Edgewood, and that she has joined our cause."
Moria laughed--a long, sputtering laugh that nearly toppled her to the floor. "Lord Gavril, I did not realize you had a sense of humor. And such a sharp one. I am truly impressed by your many hidden qualities--"
"Enough." He stepped closer, lowering his voice, though Rametta and the guard could clearly hear. "We have a predicament here, Keeper, and mocking me is not going to solve it. My father's idea is preposterous. And dangerous. But he insists. You will join the reception as my guest."
She wanted to laugh again. It was indeed preposterous. And yet . . .
She was to be allowed out of her cell. At night, with Gavril, who would be preoccupied with his hosting duties. A reception meant music and feasting and drinking--in a word, chaos. Lots of happy, drunken chaos.