The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) by Matt Gilbert Read Free Book Online

was
clad in iron. Aiul tested it, and found it locked just as he had
expected.
    He
spied a small view port at eye level in the door. His captors had
been either negligent or kind enough to leave it open. His view
through it was restricted, but it allowed him at least some visual
of the area beyond.
    Lamps
burned outside of his cell, whereas the pit would have had none. His
cell even included a toilet. There was no privacy around it, but
that seemed largely irrelevant. There also seemed to be no one
about.
    It
was the next morning before he saw anyone. The newcomer was dressed
in black mail as a guardsman of Nihlos, though his armor bore no
markings of house or rank, and he wore his helmet with the visor
down.
    “You,
there!” Aiul shouted. “What is the meaning of this?
Where am I?”
    The
guard ignored Aiul and went about his business. He refilled and
relit lanterns, then turned briefly toward Aiul’s cell, as if
verifying all was in order. “The traitor lives,” he
called out in a loud voice, as if he were informing others.
    Then
he turned and disappeared up the stairs.

    Shirini stirred at the steaming
pot of soup again. It was sooner than necessary, but she had her
rituals. When troubled by events beyond her control, she gave extra
attention to the details she could actually influence.
    She had no real need to even be
here. As a Principal of House Noril's slaves, she had many
underlings she could task. She might have spent her time gossiping,
even napping, though of course she would be held responsible if her
people made a mess of things. That, she supposed, was part of why
she was here, but the greater part was simpler, and something she
would never admit to the others: she loved the work. Cooking was a
joy, an art, a solace. She needed it now.
    Parala and Cyndi, both young
trollops who spent far too much time sowing dissent amongst the male
slaves, tittered as they cut and laid out biscuits on a pan. Shirini
scowled at them in disapproval, but said nothing. She had been
young, once, too, and had done her share of gossiping. But I kept
my skirt down more than the two of them, that's certain.
    Cyndi pressed a cup into the
flattened dough and giggled at the farting sound it made. “What
do you reckon he did? The man in the prison?”
    “I heard he stole from
the house,” Parala said as she slid a tray of biscuits into
one of the many ovens.
    Shirini stirred her soup again
vigorously, scowling, not deigning to look up as she spoke. “You
two cluck like hens, and with about the same result. There's no man
in the prison.”
    Cyndi gaped at her. “Yes
there is! Everybody knows it. My boyfriend saw them bring him in.”
    Shirini turned to her and gave
her a hard look. “Which one would that be, missy? The liar,
the tale-spinner, or the one too stupid to mind his own business?”
    Cyndi, chagrined, stared at the
floor and said nothing. Shirini waved her spoon at the two of them.
“There ain't no man in the prison, you hear me? If you know
what's good for you, that's the tale you'll tell. Don't test me.”
    The two girls grew somber, but
Parala brightened quickly. “How about the woman in with Master
Davron?” she asked, a leer on her face. “Can we talk
about her?”
    Shirini sighed and turned back
to her pot. “If you keep your voice down. And you better keep
up on them biscuits, too. It wouldn't do for us to lay a poor
serving for her, would it?”
    Cyndi snickered at this. “If
we make a good impression, maybe the Master will get himself an
heir.”
    Shirini heaved a deep sigh and
slapped her spoon on the counter. She turned to face them with an
air of resignation. “First off, it's not your business to be
meddling in such things.” She allowed herself a wry smile as
she continued, “And how the hell can we hear what they're
saying if you two keep nattering on?” She folded her arms
across her chest, smiling with satisfaction as the girls' eyes
widened, and they nodded in conspiratorial agreement. Cyndi