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It had a funny smell to it. Trevarre, however, drank deeply,
thanking the woman for her hospitality - all politeness, as
his Measure called for, Matya supposed with a frown.
"And now, my lady, you must tell me why you have
called to me," Trevarre said. Ciri smiled at him, a sweet,
sorrowful smile. "And I hope your reason is a good one,"
Matya noted, crossing her arms. "It was no mean feat
getting this knight here, I'll tell you"
Ciri turned her gaze toward Matya for a moment, and
suddenly her smile was neither sweet nor sorrowful. 'Tor
that, I do thank you, my good woman," Ciri said. Matya
could not mistake the coldness in Ciri's otherwise lovely
voice. It was clear that Matya's presence had not been
expected; neither was it wanted.
Ciri's gaze turned soft again as she regarded the knight.
Matya scowled, but she said nothing. If the young woman
feared competition for the knight's attention, then she was
as much a fool as Trevarre. There was little room in a
bargain driver's life for love. Such fancies dulled the sharp
edge Matya depended on for her livelihood. Besides, there
was nothing about the knight she liked, even if his pale eyes
were strangely attractive and his voice DID remind her of a
trumpet's call.
The gloom of twilight descended outside the cottage's
window. Ciri began her tale. "I fear the fate that lies before
me is dark, my knight. A terrible wizard - my uncle - means
to force me to marry him, against all propriety and my own
wishes. He is a mage of great power, feared by all the folk
of Tambor, and even beyond
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