Chapter thirteen
Nyleen enjoys herselfWhen Delia was thrashed she told herself that she had had enough and that as soon as her back stopped hurting she would escape.
The afternoon before had not appeared any different from any afternoon. The twin suns shone. Food was eaten and wine drunk. The harp was played. Toward evening the woman in the green gown, girded with keys, Paline Pontora, the chatelaine, told her mistress that a batch of male slaves had been brought in. Nyleen nodded. Her teeth caught up her lower lip. A slumberous look about her eyes and a marked flush of her cheeks denoted a greater significance to this information than was at once apparent.
This time the refectory was cleared of tables and benches, not for dancing but for games of a more sinister nature. The Lord Cranch
