CHAPTER 3

Idira woke to voices shouting. For a heartbeat she didn't know where she was. She looked around the shadowed room, disoriented. She sat up, her eyes drawn to the huge window and the distant sea, black dark, shifting and uneasy under a low moon, waiting for the sun to breach the horizon.

The shouts rose up again, muted by distance. Idira pushed back the warm quilts and slipped out of the bed. Sometime in the night, Blackie had left her hiding place to curl up by the bed's footboard. Idira stopped to pet her, listening to the raised voices coming from far below. Clad only in her nightdress, she opened her door and peered out into the hall. The flickering light of a lamp on the landing below kept the worst of the shadows at bay. She crept down the stairs and leaned over the banister. The voices had lowered. Idira could only make out one word. Benny.

Alarmed, she broached the next flight of stairs, careful not to make the polished boards creak. At the bottom, she paused to make sure no one was around before padding across the thick carpets of the vast entrance hall to the front reception room. The grand room's glazed double doors stood slightly ajar. She peeked in. Papa was already dressed for the day in his black leather armour. He stood with his back to the big marble fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest.

Close by, Myra perched on one of the pretty pieces of furniture, a little upholstered sofa done in shiny green material. She clutched her ruined dress closed over her breasts. All the little flowers in her hair were gone and her blonde tresses hung loose, tangled and messy.

"Papa, please. I love Benny."

Papa glared at Myra, who quailed under his severe, hateful look. He jerked his head in the direction of the big house.

"Did he hurt ye?"

"No . . . but—"

"There is no 'but'. It's time ye learned about life. Powerful men like VanCleef allus gets what they want and ye better get yer head around acceptin' it. Benny'll accept it, ye can count on it."

Myra stood up, outraged. "That man slept with me, witout so much as a by yer leave! He took what belongs ta Benny, and ye say Benny'll jus' accept it?" She stood there, trembling, tears burning in her eyes and spat. "If ye won't defend me, Benny will. He'll kill 'im."

Papa laughed, a short, harsh sound. "Wimmen, and ye're wild expectations, ye're a copper a dozen till us. If VanCleef wants ye, Benny'll give ye up ta him afore ye can say Westfall."

Myra blinked, taken aback. She sank back down onto the sofa, shaking her head. "No. I don' believe ye. Ever since Mama died, ye've changed. Ye wouldna' say such things if Mama was still here."

Papa clenched his jaw at the mention of Mama. He let out deep breath, like he was trying to find patience. "Times change Myra. VanCleef asked me about ye, awhile back. Benny, the fool, had been braggin' he had the best lookin' girl in Westfall. I tried ta divert VanCleef but ye'll find he's not the kind ye can divert." He eyed her dishevelled hair, and torn gown. "Ye're his now Myra, best ye get yer head round it, sooner rather than later, fer all our sakes."

"And what's that supposed ta mean?" Myra snapped, like a wounded animal.

Papa knelt in front of Myra and took hold of her chin, she fought him, but he held her firm, jerking her face back to his. He looked at her with his hard eyes. "It means Benny's been sent ta the borders o' Elwynn ta patrol. He's been told what's what. Ye're VanCleef's now. Best ye get ta likin' it. So long as I'm Enforcer, ye ain't never goin' ta see Benny again."

Myra cried out, tears bursting from her eyes. Papa let her go and stood up, straightening his tunic, looking at her with eyes as cold as a fish.

"I'm leavin' fer a fortnight to gather forces in Redridge, but ye mark me words, VanCleef's men'll be keepin' an eye on ye, so don't ye be trying anything funny. If VanCleef sends for ye, ye'll go ta him, looking as pretty as a princess, ye hear me?"

Myra didn't answer. He raised his leather clad hand high and hit her hard across the face. She flinched and bit back a cry.

"Ye hear me wench?" he bellowed.

She nodded, squirming to get away from him.

He turned and strode towards the glass doors, his booted feet loud on the wooden floorboards. Idira had just enough time to scurry away and hide behind a potted plant. She peered at him from between the plant's leaves as he went out the big front door. He yanked on the handle and the door slammed shut behind him, making the framed portraits on the walls rattle.

She crept back to the front room. Myra had lain down face first on the sofa, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed, deep, heart wrenching cries. Idira went to get her sister a cup of water, it took a long time to find the kitchens, then a cup, and finally a jug of water, but she managed. She came back and found her sister sitting up, staring at nothing, her rent dress hanging open, her full breasts exposed, a massive bruise had begun to purple the side of her face where Papa had struck her. Idira held up the cup.

"Want some water?"

Her sister nodded. Idira brought it to her and waited while she drank. Myra wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, flinching when she touched her injured jaw. Idira sat down beside Myra, and took her sister's hand.

"I'll help you," she said.

Myra scoffed but didn't pull her hand away. "How?"

Idira shrugged. "I don't know. If Benny comes ta town I can take a message ta him for ye."

Myra turned and looked at Idira for what felt like the first time in Idira's life. Idira bit her lip and waited. Myra's face softened. "Ye're allus so good. Even when I'm bad to ye, ye don' do bad back. Why?"

Idira shrugged again. "Ye're all I have. Like a Mama. Anyway Papa gives ye enough trouble as it is."

Myra's face crumpled and she started to cry again. "Mama would hate me fer how I've treated ye. Afore she died, I used ta be nice, Papa used ta be nice, too. Well, nicer'n now anyway. Everything went bad when . . . " She shook her head and looked in the direction of VanCleef's house. She sniffed. "Maybe I'm gettin' what I deserve, fer all my badness."

Idira thought about the black haired man in his fancy armour and how deadly he looked as he used his two swords. He had looked at Myra like he was going to eat her with his eyes.

"Are ye going ta marry that man, instead of Benny?"

A fat tear rolled down Myra's face and splashed onto the top of her breast. She laughed, brittle. "I don't think he's the marryin' type. Especially not ta someone like me."

"Why not?"

Myra shook her head. "Ach ye should see that house, and the way people act around him. He's rich, smart and powerful. I'm jus' a poor farm girl who happened ta take his fancy."

Idira nestled closer, savouring the sudden intimacy of her sister's company.

"What's he like, really?" she asked, her curiosity overcoming her.

Myra lifted an eyebrow as she considered the question. "Well, apart from ripping me dress open and carrying me off ta his bed without the askin' o' it, he wasn't so bad, as men go I suppose. He said some new things would be delivered today, ta make up fer my ruined dress." She plucked at the torn material, shy. "He knew what he was doin', better than Benny. I won't lie, some of it was quite nice. Not all o' it, mind, but some."

Idira didn't say anything. A couple of months before she had seen Benny and Myra on the beach behind some rocks, with Benny on top of Myra, moving up and down, his mouth hanging open and making a stupid looking face. Idira had laughed all the way back to the house. So that was what they did when they went 'walking'. Being a grown up was strange, saying one thing and doing something else. Walking was walking, not that whatever that was. She tried to imagine the elegant man from yesterday looking like that, she couldn't.

"Did he make a funny face?" Idira demonstrated.

Myra snorted and giggled a little, despite herself. "How d'ye know about that?"

"I saw ye and Benny once down at the beach. He looked like that."

Myra blushed a little under her bruise. "VanCleef's a man full grown, near twice me age. He's had more time'n Benny ta practice. No faces." A fresh tear leaked out, and slid down, silent.

Idira leaned her head against Myra's shoulder and looked at the opulent dark green curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the window arches above the closed shutters, Idira watched as a new day dawned, the sky's hues shifting from a colourless grey-blue to a deep pink. Within the house the sound of servants cleaning out fireplaces, opening shutters and scrubbing the floors drifted into the room. A maid came in. Her eyes widened at the sight of Myra before she bowed and backed away, pulling the doors closed behind her, quiet.

"He tol' me he loved me," Myra murmured.

Idira kept looking at the sky, watching the colours change. This was her favourite part of the day. "Benny did?"

Myra didn't answer.

"VanCleef?" Idira asked without thinking. She regretted it immediately, and braced herself for a smack.

"Yes," her sister whispered.

Idira looked at Myra, surprised. "Has Benny never—even after," she made the face again, "that?"

Myra shook her head, stricken, her eyes bright with tears once more. "I allus wanted him to. He used ta laugh an say real men don' say things like that."

Idira kept her mouth shut, she knew what her sister was thinking. VanCleef was a real man and he had said it, which meant if Benny didn't say it, maybe he never loved her sister after all. She took her sister's hand and just held it while her sister cried until she couldn't cry any more.

A pounding came to the front door. Idira sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Outside, the sun was up, but only just. Shouts came from the entrance hall, escalating as the pounding at the door increased, a heavy boom made her ears ring. The sound of fighting. Another boom. Silence fell. The double doors burst open. Benny rushed in wild-eyed and panting, carrying something Idira had never seen before, like a metal tube. One end of it smoked. He didn't look stupid now, he look big and dangerous. Myra sat up, her face all puffy from crying. She made a little sound, something between a cry and a sob, her hands moving over her dress, pulling the pieces together once more.

He looked her over, his expression anguished. "Ye're coming wit' me. He'll not have ye. I'll die first."

Hope bloomed in Myra's eyes. She ran to him. He caught her with one arm and held her against him, possessive, eyeing the big bruise on her face.

"Did he do this to ye?" he asked, his voice as hard as rocks.

Myra shook her head, clinging to him, tears sliding free, staining her face even more. She hiccupped.

"No. Papa did it."

Benny's eyes narrowed to slivers. "I'll kill the bastard."

"Oh, I don't think so, Mr Blaanco."

VanCleef strolled into the room, wearing only a pair of dark leather breeches, boots and a white shirt. The ties of his shirt hung open. Idira glimpsed sleek, defined muscles. He didn't have any weapons, at least none Idira could see. Benny tightened his hold on Myra and held the metal thing up, pointing it at VanCleef's face.

VanCleef glanced at the thing, unimpressed. "You aren't going to shoot me, we both know that."

He walked around the room, his back to Benny, looking at the fine things on display as if he had just popped around for a visit. Idira watched him, wary. He smelled like danger. He glanced over his shoulder.

"You see, Benny, Jac Northshire is really rather useful to me. A brute, to be sure, but useful all the same." He turned and looked over the pair, locked in their desperate, defiant embrace. He nodded, a look of respect flickering over his features. "I admire you Benny, you aren't going to give up your woman without a fight. I like that." He plucked a piece of fruit from a bowl on the table and popped it into his mouth. He wandered around some more, chewing, taking his time. When he was done, he propped his booted foot up onto one of the fine chairs and rested his elbow on his knee.

"However, I am also not going to give up Ms Northshire without a fight. Here's what I propose: a duel. Whoever yields, loses Myra. You may choose the weapons."

"Fists," Benny said without hesitation. Idira glanced at VanCleef, hoping to see a reaction. Benny had often bragged he had never been beaten in a fist fight, not even when it was three against one. Looking at Benny's solid bulk and massive fists, she could believe it. There was no way VanCleef was going to beat Benny in a fist fight.

VanCleef smiled. He looked pleased. Idira had to admit he was very nice to look at when he smiled, although she couldn't see what there was to smile about, he had lost Myra for sure.

"Let's finish this then, shall we? Follow me."

He strode past Idira. He even smelled expensive.

Myra moved out of Benny's embrace. VanCleef slowed, noticing her battered face. His eyes darkened.

"Did Jac do this to you?" he asked, his voice low.

Myra nodded, her eyes downcast.

VanCleef didn't say anything, but Idira could tell by the way his posture stiffened just a little he was very angry. He swept out of the house and down the steps, silent, like a cat.

Benny turned to Myra and pressed his lips against hers, gentle since she was sore.

"Cover yerself and come wit' me. I can't lose. I want ye ta see him yield ta me."

He found a cloak for Myra and they left. Idira hesitated for a moment, then hurried after them. No one seemed interested in her anyway. She skirted the little groups of servants huddled around the injured in the front hallway, and ran out after her sister and Benny. The town was still only just waking up, but the few who were about gaped at the sight of them. They must have looked strange going after VanCleef with Benny still holding that metal thing in his hand and Myra trailing after him, holding her cloak tight around her, her face all smeared with cosmetics and half covered in a big ugly bruise, followed by a little girl in her nightdress and bare feet. Idira would have laughed if things did not feel so terrible.

She looked up at Benny as he went into the big house, his face hard and mean looking. He wasn't going to be nice. He was going to be scary. Idira didn't want to see it, she turned to go back. Myra caught her hand. She held it so tight, Idira's eyes watered.

Once more they were led through the house and into the central courtyard, where this whole mess had begun. Idira felt a bad feeling well up inside her. Benny wasn't going to win. She wanted to be wrong, but she could see it. She could see Benny falling. She shook her head, trying to make the image in her mind go away. But it wouldn't stop. She rubbed at her eyes, frantic, trying to clear her vision.

"What's wrong with her?" Idira sensed someone kneeling in front of her. They took her chin in their hand. She smelled the scent of VanCleef. She couldn't see anything except that same image over and over. She started to cry, panicking.

"Look at her eyes, they're glowing," he said, intrigued.

"Please make it stop," Idira cried, "I don't want ta see it."

"See what?"

"I don't want ta see Benny losing ta ye."

"How can you—" VanCleef slammed into her sending her sprawling. Myra's hands came to her, dragging her away from the commotion.

"What's happening?" Idira screamed, clawing at Myra's cloak, blind but for the image playing in her mind.

"Benny started the fight while VanCleef was lookin' at ye," Myra said as she pulled Idira tighter against her.

The sound of violence filled Idira's ears. She tugged on Myra's cloak, begging her to tell her something, anything, but Myra wouldn't answer. Her breathing turned shallow, matching the heavy pants of the two men. The dull thud of fists hitting flesh and bone punctuated the quiet. A crash at the opposite end of the courtyard, then another crash, louder this time. One of the men yelled, furious, but Idira couldn't tell who it was. Running feet, silence, someone must have leapt into the air. A heavy thud. Myra screamed. Idira blinked. Benny lay on the ground just as she had seen in her mind. VanCleef stepped over Benny, straddling him. His fists bloody, he lifted Benny up by his collar.

"Yield," he spat. "Or my next blow will be a killing one for harming the little one, you devious cheating bastard."

Blood bubbled out of Benny's mouth, his face had been so badly beaten, he was almost unrecognisable. He stared at VanCleef, filled with hate, and said nothing, defiant.

"Yield!" VanCleef bellowed.

Benny spat at him. A bloody gob splattered against VanCleef's mouth.

VanCleef let go of Benny's collar. Benny's head hit the flagged stones with a smack. His eyes cold, VanCleef wiped the back of hand against his mouth and went to one of the weapon tables still left intact. He picked up a stiletto and strode back to Benny, spinning the blade round, preparing to strike.

Myra cried out and raced across the courtyard, putting herself between them, her arms spread wide. Her cloak fell open, exposing her breasts once more. They heaved up and down, following her ragged breaths. She looked like a banshee with her torn gown, wild eyes and tangled hair.

"He yields!" she screamed. "He yields! Ye have won me. Please don' kill him, I beg ye." She fell to her knees, overcome. "Please . . . if ye love me, don' kill him."

VanCleef stopped, rigid, his fingers tight around the stiletto's grip. Benny groaned and blacked out. VanCleef's lips twisted, and Idira knew Benny had made an enemy for life. Benny shouldn't have cheated, that was a bad thing to do.

VanCleef threw the stiletto aside, its clatter loud and jagged as it ricocheted against the stone flags. He went to Myra and pulled her to her feet, yanking her cloak off, then her dress, and finally her shift until she stood naked before him, surrounded by a puddle of clothing. Idira gaped. Was he going to 'walk' with Myra right now? Idira stood rooted to the spot, afraid to move. VanCleef walked around Myra surveying her, his eyes glittering, dangerous.

He took hold of her shoulders and kissed her, hard, like he was angry. Myra let him, even as her tears for Benny slid down her face. VanCleef pulled back, breathing hard, the muscles of his chest rising and falling, straining against the material of his shirt.

"Your things will be brought here," he said, his voice hard. "This is your home now. No one is ever going to hit you again. Ever." He glanced at Idira. "The little one stays, too." He let Myra go. She staggered, losing her balance. Without looking back, he went into the house. A door slammed. Silence fell.

Shaking, Myra picked up the cloak and pulled it around her shoulders. She knelt beside Benny and reached out to him, whispering his name.

Footsteps approached. Two of VanCleef's leather-clad men made their way across the courtyard and put themselves between her and Benny. Myra fell back onto her haunches, watching, helpless as they hefted Benny between them and hauled him toward the back of the house.

His head lolling, Benny's feet dragged behind him, banging against the stone steps up from the courtyard. It looked like it hurt. The little group disappeared into the house's depths. Another door slammed. The men returned and began the work of removing the broken tables and collecting up the scattered daggers, knives, and stilettos, neither of them looking at Myra.

Idira went to Myra and knelt beside her. Myra stared at the place where Benny had last been, her whole body quaking. Not knowing what else to do, Idira collected up Myra's clothes and wadded them into a ball. A woman appeared at the edge of the courtyard. Idira glanced up. Lanira. Idira shrank back against Myra. Not her. Not now.

Lanira hastened over to them, nervous and skittish, nothing at all like the dominant, bossy woman Idira had come to dislike. Lanira's hands fluttered together. She wrung them, fretting.

"Please," she whispered, glancing at the two men setting a table upright. "Come with me, you can't stay here. I must remove you, he is coming back with his men, to practice."

Myra didn't look at her, Idira wasn't even sure if Myra knew Lanira was there.

A door slammed in the house again, the footsteps of a dozen men approached. Lanira jumped, her eyes darting to the doorway.

"Idira," she gestured, frantic, "help me."

Lanira crouched down and hoisted Myra to her feet. Still holding Myra's clothes, Idira wrapped her arm around Myra's thin hips and followed Lanira up the steps out of the courtyard. They stumbled into the shadows of the house just as VanCleef returned, wearing his armour. A maid rushed over to take Idira's place, her face full of pity. They went up the grand curving staircase and down a wide hallway into a sumptuous room, its high-ceilinged opulence far too overwhelming for Idira's mind to comprehend—at least not while her sister sat slumped on the floor, staring at her hands, whispering to herself.

"She's in shock, poor thing," Lanira muttered as she hurried to the floor-to-ceiling windows and pulled the thick burgundy curtains closed. "Just look at the state of her."

She sent for hot water. Maids came and went, quiet and discreet. Behind a wooden folding screen, one of the maids bathed Myra in a big ceramic tub. Beautiful smells emanated from behind the screen, complex scents Idira didn't know how to describe. All she knew was the scent of the sky, the land and the sea, she had no idea there could be so much more. A delivery arrived with a card attached to an enormous box, tied closed with a silky yellow ribbon.

Lanira read the card.

"Fools," she sneered as she tossed the card aside. "If the merchants of Moonbrook think it'll only take a few new frocks bought in Stormwind for VanCleef to be satisfied with their donation to the Brotherhood's cause, they'll see soon enough just what will be expected of them."

Lanira set the box on the bed, it was too big to go anywhere else. Curious, Idira got up onto the bed and pulled the ribbon away. She slid the lid off. Inside, four beautiful new gowns lay wrapped in folds of pale pink and green tissue paper.

She looked up and caught Lanira watching her. A smile tickled the corners of her minder's downturned mouth. "You don't say much, but one thing's certain, you do love the pretty things, don't you?"

Idira nodded, her attention drawn back to the box with its sumptuous fabrics peeking out between the soft paper. She ran her fingers over the material, reverent, awed to touch something from the fairytale city of Stormwind, where the good Queen Tiffin used to live.

"Come then." Lanira bustled around to the other side of the bed, and set the box's lid against the wall. "You can make yourself useful. Get those gowns out before they wrinkle up. Lay them out on the bed nice and neat so Ms Northshire can choose which one she wants to wear today."

Idira did as she was told, filled with delight to be given such a great responsibility. Myra came out from behind the screen wrapped in a towel, her eyes smudged with dark shadows. Idira showed her sister the new dresses, by Myra just looked at them, expressionless and said nothing. She went to one of the chairs, sat down and closed her eyes.

Lanira's lips thinned, but she didn't say anything. She clapped her hands and pointed at the lavender gown, its bodice and hem embroidered with little flowers, wrought in silver thread. Myra's attendants came forward and helped her to her feet. They dressed her in total silence under Lanira's watchful, critical eye. When they were done, Lanira put fresh colour on Myra's lips and eyelids, tutting to herself over the bruise. She sent for a cold steak and gave Idira the task of holding the slab of meat against Myra's purpled cheekbone and jaw. Lanira went to the fireplace,wrapped a cloth around her hand and pulled a metal instrument from a rack in the fireplace. Idira watched, fascinated, as Lanira began the long work of curling Myra's hair.

"Well Idira, what do you think of our new home?" Lanira asked as she twirled a tress of Myra's hair free from the iron. Idira switched the steak from one hand to another, it was hard work to hold the thick slice of meat up for so long.

Idira squinted up at Lanira. "I miss Blackie."

"Your cat?"

Idira nodded. She bit her lip, worrying. Blackie was probably hungry by now without anyone to bring her food.

"You are a funny thing. Here you are under VanCleef's wing, living in privilege and all you care about is your farm cat."

Idira looked down at her bare feet and scuffed them against the thick burgundy rug. Poor Blackie. She had only been able to have one day of a nice life.

"You are lucky Mr VanCleef is partial to cats," Lanira continued, as she freed another curling tress. "I am certain he won't mind if I have your cat brought to you."

Idira smiled, pleased. She caught Myra looking at her, her eyes hollow and bleak.

"I wish I was you," she whispered, and began to cry again.

Despite Lanira's desperate attempts to soothe her, Myra was still grieving when the hour of the evening meal drew near. Idira's things had been brought round—what little she had—and Blackie now prowled around a new room, three times the size of the previous one. Idira's new room wasn't blue, but pale pink and white. Otherwise it was much the same as her old room, except everything in it was bigger, grander and more ornate. Her bed had four posts and a pink canopy over it. Idira loved it. She could pretend her bed was a boat, and her room the sea.

Dressed in her pink dress and slippers, a maid brought her back to Myra's room. Idira went in and found Lanira holding a glass filled with a ruby red liquid up to Myra's mouth. Myra shook her head and pushed it away.

"Drink," Lanira pleaded, her face tight with anxiety, "you must calm down, the Master will not put up with your weeping for much longer. Please, calm yourself and go to dinner."

Myra ignored her, her tears slipping silent down her face and onto her gown, staining it.

Exasperated, Lanira stood up and rubbed her hand across her forehead. A thought must have struck her because she bent down and wagged her finger in front of Myra. "You must pull yourself together. If you continue like this, the Master will turn you out and you will have no one. Jac will turn his back on you, and so will everyone else, you won't have a friend in all of Westfall."

"Benny will—"

Lanira's hand clamped over Myra's mouth. "You hush your mouth, you will never say his name again. He's gone, you hear me. Gone. The Master had the lad on a wagon out of Moonbrook before he even came to. I heard he's been sent to your father in Redridge. It's over. Jac will come down hard on him, you can count on it."

Myra pushed Lanira's hand away. "I hate ye," she spat. "Ye're just another one o' VanCleef's lackeys. All ye care about is his wealth and power, fawnin' over him as ye scrabble around trying ta catch his leavings. I had love, real love. My man loved me. I don't care what anyone says. He loved me, and I loved him."

Lanira held the glass up in front of Myra. The older woman's eyes flashed, dangerous. "Then be smart, and bide your time in luxury. Maybe one day all of this will come to nothing. But for now, you have to play by his rules. Don't be a fool. Survive."

Myra glared at Lanira for a long time. Idira held her breath, waiting. She hoped Myra would listen to Lanira, even if the woman was sharp around the edges, she made sense. They didn't have to live with Papa anymore, VanCleef had promised Myra she would never be hit again. Blackie was safe. Please Myra, she begged, silent, drink the wine.

Myra took the glass, and emptied it. She handed it back to Lanira.

"More."

Lanira refilled it, and Myra drank all of that, too. She swayed a little, quieting as the wine took its toll on her.

Hurrying to fix her ruined cosmetics, Lanira tidied Myra up as best she could. A knock came to the door. Before anyone could open it, VanCleef walked in, wearing tight fitting black breeches, soft leather boots that went over his knees and a black shirt, open at the throat. A red silk scarf encircled his neck. He looked sleek and elegant. Idira tried not stare, but there was something about him that made her want to look at him. Somehow his presence filled up the whole room.

His eyes went straight to Myra, who despite Lanira's frantic efforts, wilted in her gown, pathetic after a day spent in grief. His jaw clenched.

"Leave us," he said.

Stricken, Lanira bobbed her head and curtseyed. She took Idira's hand as she passed by.

"The child stays," he ordered, his eyes still on Myra.

Idira looked at Lanira, frightened. She didn't want to stay. Lanira shook her head, her eyes filled with warning. She shook off Idira's hand and left, her expression so taut her face looked as if it would crack if someone touched it.

The door closed behind her. VanCleef drew a deep breath and pulled a chair towards him. He turned its back around and straddled the seat in front of Myra, his hands on his knees.

"Look at me," he said, his voice much softer than before. Myra lifted her eyes to his, wary.

He touched her bruised jaw. "I can't promise I won't ruin more of your dresses, but I will never hit you, ever. And if anyone dares to lay a hand on you from this point forward, I will kill them myself. I swear it."

Myra didn't say anything. A fresh tear slipped free.

"He doesn't deserve you," VanCleef murmured as he brushed away her tear. He sighed. "But I understand. You need time. You will only hate me if I force you. I do not want your hate, I want your love."

He stood up and put the chair back exactly where he had taken it from. He turned back to her.

"So here is what I propose, you have six months to live here with me, enjoying everything I can offer you. Rank, prestige, wealth, protection. At the end, precisely six months from tonight, I will be waiting in my rooms. If you do not come to me willingly by the stroke of midnight, you and your sister will have to leave to find your own way in Westfall."

Myra looked up, hope filling her eyes.

"Ah you are an easy book to read," he smiled, though it was not unkind. "You hope to return to Benny? Well, you could, but perhaps you might want to know how and why you ended up here with me." He paused, to make sure he had her full attention. "Benny lost you to me in a game of cards."

Myra went so pale, even her bruise faded away. She clutched at the seat of her chair, swaying. VanCleef caught her as she fell and carried her to the bed. He laid her down with such gentleness it was hard to believe this was the same man who had almost killed Benny. He poured her a cup of water and helped her to sip.

Idira moved closer to the bed, watching him. He looked at Myra, his expression soft and tender. He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

"I didn't plan for this, lovely. I had only thought to claim my winnings and send you home, but you have captured my heart. There is none to equal you, not even in the palace of Stormwind."

Silence fell, as Myra digested his words. She looked up and met his eyes. He smiled and touched his fingertips to her lips.

"But," Idira blurted, interrupting, "when we came here yesterday, why did ye say ta Papa he didn't lie when he told ye Myra would please ye if Benny was the one who lost her?"

Myra bolted upright and pulled herself away from VanCleef, her eyes sharpening, filling with suspicion.

VanCleef nodded. He moved around the bed and crouched down in front of Idira, his leather boots creaking. He took hold of her chin and examined her face, turning it from side to side, his calloused fingers gentle.

"Well aren't you the clever one. So quiet and observant. I like you, even if your question has annoyed me." He stood up again and returned to Myra. A look of discomfort slid across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the wall, staring at something only he could see. "However," he continued, his voice turning cold, "perhaps some questions are better left unasked."

Myra pulled her knees up to her chest, defensive. "No. I want the truth."

He glanced at her, his expression softening anew. "You have suffered enough today, I would not hurt you more."

"Tell me. Please," she whispered, even as her fingers tightened on the folds of her dress, betraying her apprehension.

VanCleef shook his head, resigned. "Very well. Your father lost you first, over a trivial stake. A handful of silver coins. Benny tried to win you back, the stake if he lost being his allegiance to me for the rest of his life. He lost, as you already know. That makes you mine twice over. I'm sure you can understand how there is now no possibility for Benny to be with you again, now or six months from now. I would kill him, of course."

Myra slumped, her back against the headboard. Idira took a small step backward. So here was the man Lanira feared. She wondered if he was always like this, complicated and clever, and always used to winning. She wished she had kept her mouth shut, it would have been easier if Myra had only known the first version of VanCleef's explanation.

He poured himself a glass of wine, sipping as he paced back and forth at the end of the bed. "But let us move onto more pleasant matters. I should like your permission to have Idira schooled, to learn to read and write, and for both of you to have elocution lessons. Your quaint provincial dialect only serves to alienate you here."

Myra's expression had gone blank, she wasn't listening anymore. She was going to cry again, Idira could tell. She climbed up onto the bed beside her sister and took her hand.

"Myra, can I learn ta read and write please, and ta speak better?" Idira prodded.

Myra started out of her thoughts. She glanced at Idira, vague and nodded.

"Good, that's settled then." VanCleef set his wineglass aside. "So it's agreed, at the end of six months you will give me your decision." He brought Myra's hand to his lips and whispered, "You are, of course, always welcome to come to me sooner. I shall be longing for you until then."

Myra nodded again, numb, his poetic words sliding off her, useless.

He went to the door, and looked back at them, huddled together on the bed, he shook his head. "I can make you so very happy Myra, if only you'll let me. Please, let me."

He didn't wait for her reply. When he was gone Myra cried until she threw up, the red wine she had drunk ruining the beautiful white bed cover. Lanira came in and flapped and scolded, ordering the maids around and cursing the day she had been born.

Idira slipped away and left the chaos. Hungry, she wandered into the deserted kitchen in search of food. All of its surfaces had been cleared and scrubbed down for the night. Within the fireplace, a banked fire glowed under its heap of slack. On the hearth lay a basket padded with a red blanket. Two cats lay curled up together in it, sleeping. In the middle of the room, a massive wooden table dominated the space. Three sets of candelabra filled the table's length. Each burned with a dozen sweet smelling candles, yet even their light couldn't reach all the corners of the vast room.

Set on a platter under a glass dome, a roasted haunch of meat rested on the table. Idira's mouth watered. It looked like boar meat, the same as she had had last night. She went to it and hefted the dome away. She picked up a slice and tore bite-size pieces from it, filling her mouth until her cheeks puffed out.

A door opened. VanCleef came in, followed by two of his henchmen. He stopped when he saw Idira. He made a gesture. Without a word, his men disappeared. Idira stared, mid-chew. They had just vanished, right in front of her eyes. She turned around searching for them, the skin on the back of her neck prickling.

VanCleef went to a cupboard and pulled out two plates. Rummaging in several other cupboards he filled the platters with slabs of cheese, bread and meats. He put the two plates on the table and sat, patting the bench beside him.

"Come, eat."

Hunger made her go to him. She climbed over the bench, her legs hanging down, her feet not touching the floor. She picked up a piece of meat on her platter. It was white and a little greasy. She ate it, it tasted good. She looked up at VanCleef and smiled.

He smiled at her, his eyes kind. "You like chicken then do you?"

She stopped chewing. Not the chickens, they were her friends. She forced herself to swallow the meat, guilt overwhelming her. She reached for a piece of cheese, that was safe. She nibbled on it, watching him as he ate with his knife, spearing pieces and sliding them into his mouth without cutting himself on the sharp blade. It looked dangerous.

"Is it true?" she asked.

VanCleef put his knife down and turned to her, curious. "Is what true?"

She picked at the cheese, breaking it into little pieces. "Did Papa really lose Myra ta ye in a card game?"

He lifted a brow. "Yes."

"Well, why did ye let him bet her? Ye could have said no."

VanCleef looked at her in a funny way, then answered. "Because I'm a man, and I wanted her."

"Oh."

"You think I'm a bad man, don't you?"

Idira shrugged. "Ye seem bad, and ye look a little bad, but I think ye can be nice too. All I know is ye made Myra cry until she puked. So far ye've been nice ta me, though."

VanCleef didn't say anything for a long time. He just sat there, fiddling with his knife, its blade catching in the light of the candles. He put the knife aside.

"I'm not a bad man, I'm just trying to right a wrong. I do love your sister. I fell in love with her the moment I looked at her."

Idira looked up at him, he seemed sincere. "But ye ruined her pretty dress. She never had one like that before."

He looked a little embarrassed. "Well, I do that sometimes, it's something I like to do. When you grow up, you'll understand. Sometimes women like it, too. Myra unfortunately, did not." He cleared his throat and rubbed his palms against his thighs. "So, it seems you can see the future with those violet eyes of yours. You saw it today, didn't you?"

Idira half-shrugged, she didn't want to talk about it. It was scary.

He picked up his knife and began eating once more. "We can talk about it later," he said between bites, "we've had enough excitement for one day, don't you think?"

Idira shoved a piece of bread into her mouth so she wouldn't have to answer, but he didn't say anything more anyway. They ate in companionable silence until she couldn't eat another bite. She made a little pile of boar meat on her plate for Blackie and shuffled off the bench.

"Well, bye."

"Bye," he said, a soft smile hovering on his lips. "Sleep well, little one."

As she went out the door, she heard him say, quiet. "Please don't think I'm a bad man."

She ran up the stairs to her room and fed Blackie on the bed, revelling in the sudden decadence of her life. That night she dreamed of Myra, and Benny, and Papa and VanCleef. All the events of the previous two days jumbling together, messy and disorganised.

The dream changed and became vivid, as clear as waking life. She found herself standing on a balcony in a beautiful floating city, it was magical, like a fairytale. A handsome man, someone she had never seen before, stood before her, his grey eyes looking at her the way VanCleef's looked at Myra, only when she looked down at herself, she wasn't a little girl anymore but a grown woman, wearing a plain blue dress.

She woke up, her heart pounding. It was the middle of the night. Her bedroom glowed, soft, the colour of violet. It looked pretty, and terrifying.

She pulled Blackie up close, seeking comfort. Her future. She had seen her future. She was certain of it.

After a little while, the violet light faded and the room grew dark once more. With Blackie purring beside her, Idira thought about the strange city and the enigmatic man from her dream, his eyes the colour of polished steel. She found herself wishing the time would hurry up and pass, so she could grow up and meet him, the man with the kind eyes.

She pulled the blankets closer around her. Twice in one day she had been able to see the future. A thought struck her. At dinner VanCleef had mentioned her violet eyes and her ability to see the future. What if he wanted to use her to help him with his so-called Brotherhood? Idira didn't like the thought of that one bit. Those men were bad men. Men like Papa. She didn't want to be bad.

She stared up at the bed's canopy, fretting, trying to find a way out of her predicament.

It was a long time before she fell asleep again. She dreamed once more. Green fire rained from the heavens, incinerating everything it touched. Horrible, terrifying dog-like creatures with red scales stalked the land, their huge, sharp teeth tearing those they caught apart, uncaring of their anguished screams.

She woke up, her room violet once more. She cried out, was that the future too? She ran to Myra's room and got into bed with her. Her sister didn't move, an empty pitcher of wine sat on the bedside table. It didn't matter. So long as Idira wasn't alone.

She huddled up to her sister, and waited for the sun to rise, too frightened to sleep again.