Cathrynne’s pulse leapt. A sweven used the ley to transfer memories from one person to another. It was done with a simple spell, but if she allowed it he would have access to everything, including her feelings for Gavriel, their kiss at Red Dog Camp—and even worse, her visions.
And if the White Foxes discovered that she was a seer, they would take her straight to the kloster and she’d never come out again.
“That’s a ridiculous request,” she said flatly. “I’m not letting you inside my head.”
His brows rose. “Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. I cannot set you free until you permit the sweven. It must be given voluntarily, as I’m sure you know. Swevens cannot be extracted against a person’s will.” His tone implied that this was a minor obstacle.
“Then you’re out of luck,” she said. “Sorry.”
“I can make your problems in Arioch go away if you cooperate. Call off George Claymond and Audrey Hayes.”
She laughed. “Lump and Crump? They don’t scare me.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “I know who you are, Cathrynne Lenormand.”
It took all her fragile self-control not to react. “My name is Cathrynne Rowan,” she corrected, though she could hear the lie in her own voice. The fear.
“And mine is Markus Viktorovich,” he offered with a slight inclination of his head. “But we both know the truth of your lineage.”
Something about him nagged at her. She studied his face but felt certain they hadn’t met before. He was in his late middle years with tanned skin and thin lips. Attractive, in a ruthless way.
“Take some time to think about it,” Markus said, walking to the door.“I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Once the bar settled into place behind him, Cathrynne resumed the search for weaknesses in her prison. There were none.
Darkness fell. Footsteps came, two sets this time. Markus’s lackeys, Ash and Kane, opened the door.
“Stand back,” Ash ordered. “All the way to the windows.”
Cathrynne complied. They left a tray of food on the floor and retreated. Steam rose from a bowl of soup, alongside a chunk of dark seeded bread. She turned her back. Better to go hungry than be drugged. She curled up inside the footwell of the desk with the broken chair leg in one hand and fell asleep.
Morning light was filtering through the windows when Markus returned.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” he asked.
She sat up. “I’m not giving you the sweven.”
He eyed the untouched tray. “There’s no purpose in starving yourself.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, as her stomach betrayed her with a growl.
Markus stood aside as Ash and Kane replaced the tray with a fresh one. “It isn’t poisoned,” he said.
When Cathrynne didn’t reply, he broke off a piece of bread and ate it, then sipped from the bowl. “Satisfied?”
She still said nothing, but once they’d all gone, she fell on the food and devoured every bit. It helped her think. Markus was careful. He wore no gems she could try to take away. The room was stripped of anything useful.
She would have to put him off guard, and then strike when he least expected it.
A week passed. Each day, Markus brought her a breakfast tray, his manner unfailingly courteous as he asked the same question: “Will you give me the sweven?”
Each day, Cathrynne refused.
He never raised his voice. Never threatened. But she knew that wouldn’t last forever.
However, she did figure one thing out.
On the third day of her captivity, she noticed a red squirrel darting across the lawn. It paused to unearth an acorn before bouncing away. The next day, she saw what appeared to be the same squirrel, digging in the exact same spot.
