Page 16 of Truth's Blade

“Is this revenge? Some petty game because you think I underpay you?” he asked.

“Revenge?” she drew back, eyebrows raised. “I went for a walk, met a friend, and walked back. What part of that is a game?” She looked him in the eye. “And I don’t think you underpay me. I know.”

“You will not go out.” His face had gone frighteningly blank, and she had to draw on all the courage in her to keep her face unmoved.

“Am I a prisoner here, Vinest?”

He finally released her arm. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean you can’t spend your free time as you will, but Betts made dinner and you disrespected her by not coming in in time.”

“I want more pay, so I can move out and get my own place.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure Betts would be as happy with that solution as I would.”

“Is this . . . friend of yours responsible for this new foolishness?” Vinest’s eyes narrowed.

There was no sense talking about this anymore. Nothing she said would make any difference, and she didn’t plan to stay anyway. Trying to negotiate more pay was a moot point, as was the squabble about food.

“No.” She moved past him and went to her room. She turned back to look at him from the doorway. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What about dinner?” he said. “I don’t want you going hungry. As you said, you worked hard today.”

“I told you, I’ll freshen up and then go back to the square and get some dinner from the stalls.”

“Nonsense. Betts has made a wonderful pie. No sense spending good money on food when we have plenty here.”

She extended both hands, palms up. “You refuse to let me eat, you order me to eat. Which is it?” she asked him softly, lifting one hand and then the other.

“I was angry you didn’t come home, especially after our . . . words earlier.” Vinest tried to look calm and fatherly. He was not succeeding, but she didn’t think he realized that. “I don’t want you to go out in the dark, and feel as if you aren’t welcome in your own home.”

“I don’t feel welcome here, and you’ve made it clear it isn’t my own home, or I wouldn’t have to account for my every movement.” She stepped into her room. “We can talk about this later, Vinest. I’m tired and I’m hungry and I don’t feel like arguing with either of you.”

She closed her door, and not for the first time wished she had a key to lock it behind her. Vinest had claimed it was lost, and when she’d asked for a new one to be made, he had looked sadly at her and asked if she didn’t trust him and Betts to keep her privacy.

She moved quickly, choosing sturdy trousers and shirts, plenty of socks and a few knitted tunics to wear under her coat.

She thought she heard someone outside her door and stopped, turning to see if Vinest would knock.

Instead, she heard the distinct click of a key turning in the lock.

CHAPTER 8

The joke was on her.

The home Melodie thought she’d had for the last six years was all an illusion.

She had been too traumatized and young to notice anything off when she’d first moved in, and she’d been grateful to Vinest and happy to follow his wishes.

She’d enjoyed learning to be a gold and silversmith, using the skills her metalsmith father had taught her, but on a more delicate scale.

It was only now that she chose not to accept Vinest’s rules that she saw the conditionality of their relationship.

Her father would be devastated that the friend he trusted would treat her this way.

And she had no way out.

No obvious way out, anyway.

She was on the second floor, and there was no convenient tree or roof top for her to shimmy down near her window. It was a straight drop down to the paved back yard.

She stood at the window and looked down anyway, mulling over her options.

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