Roslyn Sinclair

Ari stared back, and then swallowed very hard, feeling like she’d never be able to move again. “Me?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well, either.” Mír glanced out of the huge window again. This time her chuckle was rueful. “I always slept well when you were there. You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve kicked myself for not bringing you with me when you asked.” She shrugged. “Though that would have been unwise at the time. I didn’t know what was going to happen. How safe I could keep you.”
“Lord Koll said I was all you were asking him for,” Ari said.
“So far,” Mír said. “I will have more from him. But yes. You were the first thing I wanted.”
The first thing. Not person. Thing.
“Am I your slave now?” Ari whispered as her anger—at Mír, at herself—vanished in a cold wave of dread.
Mír regarded her thoughtfully. “That would be a neat trick, wouldn’t it?” she said. “Our roles reversed. Very tidy. I began as your slave; you end as mine.”
“You were never my slave,” Ari said. How many times had she said so, to Mír and everybody else? “You were my father’s. I never thought of you that way, ever. I let you go—”
“Yes, I know, and yes, you did.” Mír’s gaze grew even sharper.
Ari shivered at the sight of it.
“What is a slave, I wonder?” Mír continued. “Certainly, I will never call you ‘Slave.’ I will never deprive you of your name. I will never force you to do anything—not even to be my lover, should you refuse. Will you, by the way?”
“I-I don’t know,” Ari stammered, wondering if she could refuse if Mír touched her again, and even if she should. It was probably a terrible idea to refuse pirate queens something they wanted. She remembered yet again the story of the mercenaries who had tried to deny Mír what she’d demanded—and how that had