Aritka struck another match and lit the last few candles on the table.
“Oh, skies!” exclaimed Geneeva then. She grabbed Aritka’s arm and examined the wrist. “What are these irritations?”
“That is where the rope was tied,” said Aritka.
“Hadrian, you can’t possibly have allowed this,” protested Geneeva. She retrieved some bandage from her medicine bag and wrapped it around the chafing.
The black rider silently volunteered to carve the goose. “They say the prince is more sympathetic to those who have been injured by their journey,” he said. “A regrettable effect of rope but necessary all the same.”
Geneeva grunted. “Pity?” she scoffed. “If he had any genuine pity for those poor girls, he’d throw the perpetrators of such maltreatment into prison.”
“There is no admirable morality in this prince,” observed Aritka coolly.
Geneeva glanced approvingly at her. “What will you do with Aritka if you do not get the reward for her?” turning to the black rider.
“Someone might pay a good price for a new slave,” he said. “I will not need her any longer. I have a plethora of my own slaves.”
Geneeva exchanged frustrated glances with Gangar.
The black rider knew they were trying to trap him into telling what he thought of the girl, but he thought naught of her. Perhaps she was noble and beautiful, but he tried not to think of her at all. “Aritka, hand me your trencher,” he said.
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