Uriel crushed the order cylinder against her ribs while briars shredded her sleeve and six household retainers crashed after her. Their hounds splashed across the creek bed at her back as her bare foot came down hard among the shale.
'Those slippers died halfway through twelve miles from the hunting lodge, so find some grass.'
"Stop running, Lady Uriel," Orick shouted from the trees, "give us the orders and return to your chambers."
She clutched the cylinder harder against her chest and clawed her way up the bank.
'Get up that bank, he can't buy a signature from somebody standing on the far side.'
Beyond the trees, the fortress watch fires burned much too far away for any scream of hers to reach them. Every ragged breath dragged her back into the tower, three days behind a locked door while her uncles bargained outside.
'Twelve thousand bushels of winter wheat buys Rovan Dask my signature, and nobody ever asked what I wanted.'
