“We’re not having the lesson in the great hall?” Her voice warbled. Silhara cocked his head, puzzled. The same woman who’d grappled with a soul eater and snuffed it out like a candle flame still feared his lessons. Regret surfaced, annoying and unwelcome. He’d had his reasons for subjecting her to harsh treatment when she first arrived. She’d withstood everything he’d thrown at her. Brave and surprising. That abject passivity was an act. Martise might be afraid of her lessons, but she had grown comfortable enough in Neith now to reveal glimpses of a more forceful personality.
