Читать книгу Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 11

‘To you?’ Sela’s mouth went dry as the word echoed in her brain. The walls of her father’s chamber appeared to have shrunk, pushing her towards him, towards his hard unyielding body.

Unbidden, a memory of the last time they had joined assaulted her senses, the way his hands had stroked her body, playing it as expertly as he played the lyre, how his mouth had drawn the cry from her throat as the two reached their peak at the same time. She pushed it away, back in a place where she never ventured. She refused to remember what it was like before his betrayal, before she had learnt the truth. She forced her lip to curl.

‘I will pass, thank you very much.’

‘A challenge? You know I am never one to resist a challenge.’ A hint of laughter echoed in his voice. Sela remembered when that particular sound had sent shivers of delight down her spine. Such things had vanished years ago, along with her girlish illusions. She had grown in the four years since she had last seen him, become a different person. And the person she had become would not be attracted to him and his easy charm.

‘A refusal.’ She crossed her arms over her breasts, stared into his eyes and forced her lips to smile. ‘Surely by now, you must know the difference.’

A muscle in Vikar’s cheek jumped and his body grew still. Sela swallowed hard. Had she gone too far? A tiny shiver passed over her. She took a step backwards and tried to look somewhere other than at the green flame flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Vikar’s hands closed around her upper arms. He hauled her towards him until their bodies collided. The softness of her curves met the unyielding strength of his muscle.

‘Are you saying we were not good together? I seem to recall differently.’

He lowered his lips, captured hers, plundered them with expertise. His mouth drew the breath from her body, replaced it with a growing heat. Her body began to melt. A soft sigh escaped from her throat. His arms came around her, cradled her firmly against his body as her lips gave way under the onslaught.

Practised. Planned. Cynical.

Sela pushed against his chest with her last ounce of resolution, controlled her breathing and his arms fell away. Cool air encircled her as she sought to regain control of her breathing. Even in that brief span of time, her lips ached, longed for the warmth of his touch again, but she forced her body to remember how he had trampled her heart in the dust. She hoped he had missed her response.

‘My point proved.’ He inclined his head and a dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘We were good together. You and I.’

‘There is more to marriage than sexual attraction.’

‘Agreed, but it does help.’ He ran a finger down her cheek, and another pulse of warmth went unbidden through her. ‘It makes everything easier, less complicated.’

‘Our marriage died a long time ago.’ Sela jerked her head away. ‘It cannot be remade.’

‘I don’t believe I offered marriage. I simply stated the obvious.’ His eyes hardened. ‘You need a protector.’

Sela crossed her arms over her aching breasts. She gave a short laugh. Brittle and too high pitched. She swallowed hard and tried again.

‘I agree—I need protecting…from you and men like you. Men who use and discard women.’ A small sense of satisfaction filled her as Vikar’s jaw tightened. The barb had hit home. Good. She waited another heartbeat, then continued, making sure her voice dripped honey. ‘And you? What does your new wife think of your adventures? Is she more accommodating? How many concubines do you keep?’

Sela sought to keep control of her emotions. She was over him. She had to remember what he was like. She had seen the evidence, seen them with their heads together, laughing over some quip, her hand touching his cheek. It had been a knife in her heart.

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

‘I have yet to remarry.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘Like you, my first experience left a bitter taste, but Thorkell keeps trying to convince me that marriage is a worthy state. Apparently I need children tumbling about my hall, like young puppies. Haakon agrees. He says it will change my life. The touch of my own flesh and blood clutching my finger.’

Sela’s heart constricted and she shifted uneasily. How could she explain, if he did not know? How could she tell him about his son? How could she have Kjartan torn from her? She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand.

‘And Asa? What does she say on the subject?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them—anything to keep away from the potentially disastrous subject of children. It was only when they echoed through the chamber that Sela realised how mean spirited they must sound.

‘Asa understands my reasoning.’ The green in his eyes grew cold. ‘It was a deep regret of hers that you two never became friends.’

Sela tightened her lips. Asa had had no intention of ever being friends with Sela all those years ago. She had taken great delight in humiliating her, pointing out her every mistake, laughing at her dress sense, shaking her head in mock despair at Sela’s unsophisticated ways. It was only when Sela discovered Asa’s love token beside her bed that she had known the truth. But that was in the past. And the past was finished. There was no return. There was only the future.

‘I do not want to make a rash decision. Can I have some time to think about your generous offer?’ Sela nodded towards the hall as the shouts of the men grew louder. ‘Your men will need your expert direction about what to steal.’

Vikar looked at her for a long time. Suddenly his green eyes blazed. ‘There can only be one answer, Sela.’

‘There is always more than one answer in life, Vikar. Haven’t you learnt that by now?’

‘I have bandied words with you for long enough.’

His hand closed around her arm, and he led her to the little room where her father did his accounts.

‘Why have you taken me here?’

‘It is a place for you to be alone. A place where I know there are no secret passages—only one entrance and exit.’ He gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘And the lock is complex. You need to turn the key three times.’

Sela gritted her teeth. Vikar had neatly trapped her. There would be no escape from here. ‘My father gave you too many confidences. How will I get released from here? What must I do?’

‘It will be your choice, Sela. Just as it was your choice to end our marriage. But you have a protector.’

‘And if my father is found?’

‘You will become his responsibility, not mine.’

With that, he swung the door and Sela heard the lock click into place. She sank to the floor and put her head on her knees.

How long until Vikar discovered that she was hiding more than her father?

‘Bose the Dark escaped into the woods,’ Ivar reported when Vikar returned to the dragon ships. ‘It has been confirmed by three of our men.’

The shoreline remained littered with fallen bodies and armour. Vikar shook his head. So much waste. All for what? Sela had to have known that she stood no chance with her host of ill-prepared and badly equipped men.

Why had she fought? Why had her father let her fight while he had escaped? The image of Sela standing there, proud yet vulnerable in her borrowed armour, was one that would haunt him for ever. He should have seen, should have realised earlier. Thankfully, Odin had allowed him to reach her before she had been injured.

‘Who has gone in the search party? How many men did you send?’ Vikar glanced towards the dark forest. He knew the answer from Ivar’s slightly shifting stance.

‘By the time I had received word, he and his party were long gone.’ Ivar fingered the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face, but did not meet Vikar’s eyes. ‘Our men would not have stood a chance in those trees. It is the realm of the wild men. I know the tales of how Bose the Dark subdued them, but they still lurk out there.’

‘Bose the Dark has spread many tales. Remember, this hall was supposed to be impossible to conquer.’ Vikar gave a satisfied smile. ‘I stopped believing in such things about the time I discovered a woman’s chest makes a soft pillow on which to lay my head.’

‘And I am sure many women would willingly provide that pillow.’

‘Not all.’ Vikar pressed his lips together and glanced towards where Sela was imprisoned. ‘I have no illusions, old friend.’

‘But you have proved luckier than most. Your bed is always warm. Whereas a man like me…’

‘Some might say that.’ Vikar stared over his friend’s shoulder.

There was little point in shattering Ivar’s illusions. Vikar’s bed had been cold for weeks, months. He wanted something more than the physical release, something indefinable. The succession of bedfellows, amiable as they were, did nothing for him, except increase his sense of dissatisfaction, his sense that there was a huge gaping hole in his life. He felt more in that brief kiss with Sela than he had done with any of his recent bed-companions.

Vikar turned his thoughts away from the memory of Sela’s lips trembling under his. Now was not the time for such things. He had an elusive jaarl to find, one who would employ every trick he could to stay one step ahead. One who would retake the hall and bring devastation to Viken if he could. A wounded animal was often the most dangerous. An old saying, but a true one.

‘How many men have you sent after Bose the Dark?’

‘None.’ Ivar banged his fists together. ‘I have no wish to send men on a fool’s errand. The pathways in that forest are many. He could be anywhere.’

‘Find a guide.’

‘None of his men will go. I tried threatening them. Offering gold. They are a poor lot, no spirit in them.’ Ivar hooked his thumbs around his sword belt. ‘And I would not trust them either. There is some mischief here that I don’t understand.’

Vikar gave a nod. Ivar was right. They needed someone they could trust to send them in the right direction, someone who would lead them directly to Bose. He would discover the truth of what was happening on Thorkell’s northern border and he would ensure peace. Bose the Dark had to see that his time of mischief-making was over. ‘Bose is obviously making for a sanctuary, a place where he can regroup or call in favours from other jaarls.’

‘But why would he leave his daughter?’ Ivar said. ‘Surely he must know her value as a hostage, if he should try to regain any of his land.’

‘It is the one piece of the puzzle I don’t understand,’ Vikar admitted. ‘Bose the Dark’s devotion to his family is legendary. Why did he deliberately put her in danger?’

‘Perhaps he grew tired of her and her demands. His daughter is reputed to be quite strong-willed and unmanageable.’

Strong-willed was an understatement. Stubborn beyond any sense was a better description. Her earlier refusal rankled. He had felt her lips move against his, her body begin to arch towards him. She was not as indifferent as she pretended. He had not mistaken the passion they had once shared. They would share it again, and he would be the one to do the leaving.

‘It is a possibility.’ Vikar rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. ‘But what I am more worried about is the remainder of Bose’s men. We are vulnerable to attack should he succeed in contacting one of his allies.’

‘Our situation?’ Ivar ran his hand through his hair. ‘Only two of our number made it to Valhalla. The other injuries are not life threatening. Surely it is a cause for celebration.’

‘Our victory was too easy.’ Vikar shook his head. ‘It was almost as if he wanted us to win. How quickly could he raise support?’

‘Would that all our fights were that easy! The gods were with us, but we did fight, Vikar.’

Vikar stared out towards the fjord. The water lapped at the ships. Had he inadvertently led his men into another one of Bose the Dark’s traps? Would he be the one defeated? He who had so proudly proclaimed that Bose could no longer manipulate him. Unthinkable, and yet the prickling sensation at the back of his neck refused to go. He had to find a way to discover Bose and force his surrender. While he was out there in the blackness, his men remained in danger. Bose had to formally surrender and accept him as the master of this hall. ‘It is not over yet.’

‘How so? We fought, they died. We won. It is the end.’ Ivar clapped his hand against Vikar’s back. ‘Stop seeing shadows where there are none. Our men deserve a victory feast.’

‘That army was commanded by a woman and the warriors were either past their best or untried. Someone wanted us to win here today. Someone knew we were coming.’ Vikar’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his dagger.

Ivar’s face showed his utter dismay. He glanced backwards as if he expected to see another host rising from the forest. He let out a soft sigh as the dark pines and birches remained devoid of life.

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘Find Bose. He is the key to unlocking this problem.’

‘Find him?’ Ivar’s eyes opened and his beard quivered. ‘He is in the forest, I tell you—he and two others—a woman and a child.’

‘So there were others. You should have told me to begin with. There will be a reason for that child.’

‘It is why they were let through,’ Ivar explained. ‘The old man looked harmless, leaning on his stick, and his face half-covered with a cloak. It was only after he was gone that someone noticed the resemblance. It had to be him—we have searched everywhere else.’

‘It will have been him.’ A faint breeze ruffled Vikar’s hair. The currents in this hall ran deep. He knew that nothing was ever straightforward. Sela knew far more than she was letting on. She would go to her father, if she could. She had always run to him after their fights.

‘Why would he have a child with him?’

It was not a question Vikar cared to answer or even speculate on.

What was the child to Bose the Dark? A shield and ruse or something more? The answers could only come from one source.

‘Bose has always been known for his personal bravery. If he can walk, he can fight. He remains a danger. Everything he does is for one purpose only—his personal gain and glory.’

‘But how are you going to find him?’ Ivar tapped a finger against his mouth. ‘No one knows where he has gone.’

‘Sela does.’ Vikar nodded back towards the hall, towards where she was imprisoned. ‘And she is going to try to reach him, if I allow her.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’ Ivar’s eyes widened. ‘Women are unreliable creatures.’

‘Sela reveres her father. She will go.’ Vikar permitted a smile to cross his face as he remembered Sela’s reaction to his suggestion. Concubine to a jaarl. Most women would have taken a pragmatic approach. But Sela made it seem as if he threatened to send her to the frost giants. ‘I have given her every incentive to go. I know the woman well. She will escape and I will be with her, dogging her footsteps.’

‘And how will you make certain you don’t lose her? I heard that when she divorced you, she vanished into thin air.’

Vikar gazed up at the sky—a hazy blue, signalling it was late in the day. The sun would not properly set this far north. He preferred not to think about that day when he had gone back to their lodging and discovered Sela gone. Later Hafdan had taunted him, beaten him. Vikar fingered his long healed jaw. He had learnt a lot since that day. It was then that he had lost his illusions, and had begun to grow up.

‘She escaped me once, but she will not again.’ The muscles in his neck tightened. ‘We must work out how many will guard the hall and what needs to be done to repair its defences. Bose has become lax in recent years.’

‘The men deserve a feast. They will want to sample the spoils. You seek to deny them their right.’

‘We feast tonight, and tomorrow you begin the work. This hall will not fall so easily again. I will find Bose. I promise you that.’

‘Very good, Vikar.’ Ivar adjusted his sword belt. ‘Can I help you with your problem? Is there anything more you need?’

‘Allow me to handle my former wife, my own way.’ Vikar put his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘I have planted the seed. Let us see how she reacts to a bit more subtle persuasion.’

Concubine? To Vikar? After what had passed between them? He was determined to humiliate her. Determined to show the world his total mastery of her and her world.

Sela shook her head in amazement. Even now, some time after Vikar had locked her in the blackness of her father’s room, her lips ached slightly, giving lie to her declaration that she felt nothing for him. His final words circled around her brain, making it impossible for her to think of anything else.

Join with him? Willingly? Again?

Surely he had not been serious? He was trying to worry her, to make her act without thinking. He would offer some other man and then expect her to fall on her knees in gratitude. It would be entirely like him.

The man was insupportable. And there was no way of escape from this particular room except through the door.

Sela stamped her foot and felt a floorboard give way slightly. She sank down on the hard ground and her fingers searched for a bit of purchase. She tugged and pulled. The board gave way without warning, and she flew backwards, landing on her bottom. Gingerly Sela reached into the cavity, felt around the narrow space. Her fingertips touched the hilt of a dagger.

Hurriedly, Sela withdrew it and stuffed it into the waistband of her trousers. She felt better now that she was armed. She shrugged out of the chain mail and let that fall to the floor with a thump. Immediately her shoulders and back became lighter. Whatever happened, she had no intention of wearing that cumbersome piece of clothing again.

She bit her lip, trying to come up with some semblance of an escape plan. Vikar knew the ways of the hall as well as her father.

In those happy days when they were first married, she had taken great delight in showing him some of the secrets. Not all—thankfully there had not been time to show him where the safe houses were. It was always something she was going to do some day, but then their marriage had fallen apart.

She stretched her limbs.

Had it ever really begun?

Vikar had been a skilful lover and she, young and untried. Her body had responded to his skilled touch, but he had not cared for her. She had been naïve, overwhelmed that such a great warrior would want her. They had barely known each other. It had been a political match and it had been unfortunate that she had imagined otherwise.

The only part of the marriage she did not regret was Kjartan.

The door creaked, and Sela lifted her head, every nerve on alert. Her hand reached for the dagger, but she resisted the temptation. She’d wait, and only attack if provoked.

‘Who goes there?’

‘Vikar sent me.’

An unfamiliar giant of a man put a plate of dry bread, a mug of ale and a small rush light down on the floor near her, but not so near that she was tempted to rush him, and then backed away.

‘Why have you brought me these?’

‘Vikar says you are to eat. He will not have you starving.’ The guard leered before throwing a fur at her feet. ‘And he does not want you to be cold. You should sleep; soon you will not get much rest.’

‘How very generous of him.’

She examined the guard from where she sat. The man resembled an over-fed ox. Vikar had chosen well. She would have to trust Loki that another less obvious way to escape would appear.

The guard made another bow and slammed the door shut. Sela waited for the sound of the lock clicking into place. But there was only one click. Then the sound of heavy footsteps retreating, going out of the room.

There was only one click. Had Vikar forgotten to tell the guard?

She pressed her hand against her head and tried to think of how to open the door. Her heart pounded in her ears. Loki had heard her prayer, and given her a sign. Freedom beckoned, if she was careful.

It was easy, her father had often boasted. She simply had to…And her mind went blank.

Sela went over to the door, and attempted to turn the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried the other way. Nothing. Sela held up the little rush light, trying to find the secret way, but the wood looked smooth. It had no wish to deliver up its secrets. She beat against the handle with her fists, but it remained stubbornly shut.

‘Father! You created a trap for your own daughter!’

She kicked the bottom of the door and it swung open. Sela gave a strangled laugh. The answer so easy that it was in front of her. She wiped her hands against her trousers and peered out into the darkened chamber.

No guard stood there, waiting. Her brow wrinkled. Vikar must be losing his touch. Or perhaps he thought her incapable of escape. Whatever it was, it did not matter. The only thing that mattered was breaking out of the hall, rejoining Kjartan and getting as far away from Vikar as possible.

Vikar, arrogant in his superiority, had miscalculated. His own man had failed him.

She would be free. They would not soon recapture her.

She started towards the entrance to the chamber as the sounds of feasting swirled around her, then stopped.

Her escape would only work if it was not quickly discovered. She retraced her steps and arranged the armour and fur to look as though she slept. She then held up the sputtering remains of the rush light. Not perfect, but it was the best she could do. If the guard checked tonight, it would be late, probably after the feasting.

Voices rumbled outside her father’s chambers and Sela quickly doused the light, pulling the door to her former prison shut. She flattened her body against the wall, ready to run, if they entered the room.

Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she thought they must hear. Just when she thought she could no longer bear it and would have to act, the footsteps moved on and the voices receded. Sela relaxed against the wall. Waited. Risked a breath.

Staying here was asking to be recaptured. She might as well try to march through the centre of the feast and announce her plan to the entire hall. She had to move. She had to find a way. Kjartan was counting on her.

She eased the door back and looked out. The passage was silent. Beyond it, she could see the flickering light of the hall’s fire and hear the laughter as a skald started his tale. Sela clenched her fists. Vikar had wasted no time in making himself at home. These men were making free with the stores she had worked so hard to build up.

Cautiously she made her way along the passage, keeping to the shadows. She peeped out into the great hall. Vikar sat at the high table, with his back towards her. Over-confident in his finery and hearty laugh, but breathtakingly handsome. She stood watching the way his long fingers held the goblet.

A sudden burst of laughter at a poor joke about her father by the skald brought her to her senses. She should have expected it, but it still bothered her.

She fingered the knife and took a step forward. He deserved to suffer.

Her toe hit something—a little wooden horse. Rapidly she bent down and picked it up. Kjartan’s favourite, the one he took everywhere with him.

Tears pricked her eyes and she used the back of her sleeve to wipe them away. Kjartan would be lost without his horse. He must have cried when her father led him to safety. Sela straightened. There were more important things than exacting her revenge. And this horse would be her talisman.

She had loathed that tunnel ever since her brother had lured her there as a child. Her nurse had rescued her, shaken and dishevelled, after what seemed like hours in the company of bats and spiders’ webs. But there was no hope for it. She did not dare risk the kitchens or going through the main hall.

She would have to brave it and hope the bats had gone. Even the thought of the creatures in her hair turned her stomach. After the tunnels, the woods and then the long way around to the hut. It was safer and was bound to be the route her father had taken with Kjartan. She might even reach them before the fording place, if she hurried.

A sudden burst of applause as the skald reached the high point in his recitation of the saga about the Lindisfarne raid forcibly reminded her that she could not simply stay here, pressed up against a wall for ever. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to run to the next group of shadows. Vikar called something out to the skald and the place erupted in laughter. Coarse rough laughter from men who had filled their bellies with meat and ale. At the sound, she darted. Made it.

She kept to the shadows and reached the tunnel’s entrance without being challenged. The outlines of the trapdoor were clear for anyone who knew where to look. She would make it through. The way was clear. There were not hidden twists or turns. She simply had to keep going until the end.

‘Concubine?’ she whispered before raising Kjartan’s horse over her head in triumphant. ‘I choose another path.’

The trap door creaked slightly as she lifted it. She descended a few steps, pulled it firmly shut and allowed the blackness to envelop her.

‘Vikar,’ Ivar said in an undertone as the skald began another song. ‘The food has been delivered to your prisoner.’

Vikar drained his horn of ale, wiped his hand across his face and lifted his gaze to the shadows. ‘I know.’

‘But how can you know? The guard has just returned. He was waylaid in the kitchens. There is a lusty serving maid who caught his eye.’

The shadows shimmered and parted as a figure moved stealthily along the wall. Vikar permitted a smile to cross his face. He knew his former wife well, even after all these years. It pleased him that she had been so accommodating, so willing to take the opportunity and so foolish not to see that the way had been made clear for her. And she would be his, on his terms in the end. ‘The mouse has taken the bait, as I predicted she would.’

‘You are taking an awful risk, Vikar.’

Vikar raised an eyebrow. ‘It is a risk, yes, but it is the fastest way of discovering where our host for this feast is hidden.’

‘Someone else should go.’

‘No.’ Vikar banged his fist on the table and the skald stopped speaking, looking at him in amazement.

Vikar winced, remembering Bose the Dark’s reputation. The skald probably thought the tale had invoked his displeasure. He gestured for the man to continue with his saga.

Once the skald’s words flowed again, Vikar continued. ‘We have been over this, Ivar. This is my quest, my duty. You are to remain here and direct any defence that is needed. I know what my former father-in-law is like. I and I alone will bring him back for the surrender. Then, none in the Sorting will whisper and plot.’

‘I will do as you ask.’

Vikar knocked his horn with Ivar, before he drained the remainder. ‘Take care of the men until I return.’

‘May Odin and Thor speed your journey.’

The grey light, which a few steps ago had seemed only a cruel twist of the tunnel, grew brighter. Sela heaved a sigh of relief. She was nearly through the tunnel without incident. Her earlier fears seemed foolish now, but still she would be pleased when she made it through to the woods, when she no longer had to worry.

She reached the exit and gulped the fresh pine-scented air, a welcome relief after the close stale air of the passageway. She had lost count of the number of spiders’ webs she’d had to brush through, a sure sign that her father and Kjartan had gone a different way.

But they would be in the hut. They had to be. Sela clenched her fists, refused to give way to panic. They had agreed.

She dashed across the few open yards and made it to the screen of trees. There she waited to see if the alarm would be raised, but, except for the lone bark of one of the elkhounds, the yard was silent. She thought she saw the shadow of a man, but it vanished so quickly that she decided it was a trick of the light.

Her knees gave and she sank into the soft moss under the silver birch. A jay scolded her slightly and then flew off lazily into the hazy sky.

She listened to the sound of her heart beating and fingered Kjartan’s wooden horse.

Safety of a sort. After her breath had returned, she’d be away. And would not return except to free her people from Vikar. First her son, then her people. Somehow. Some way. She would prevail.

‘This is not the end, Vikar. This is only the beginning. I will regain everything. Everything!’

Sela raised her fist in the air and shook it towards the hall. Useless bravado she knew, but the little gesture of defiance made her feel better.

Her hair fell forward and she pushed it back behind her ears, pressed her fingertips into her eyes, concentrated on remembering the landmarks and their correct order.

In many ways, escaping from the hall was the easy part. Now she had to find her son. The thing she wanted most in the world was to scoop up Kjartan, hold him tight and never let him go.

She took a deep breath and plunged into the wood, picking her way along the faint track and keeping her eyes peeled for the faint signs her father had left to show the way—a cut in the bark here, a pile of stones there. To keep her spirits up, she hummed one of Kjartan’s favourite songs, a great rollicking one about a brave warrior.

Twice she lost her way and the track vanished into a pond or off a cliff, and she had to retrace her steps, going ever deeper into the woods. She kept one hand clasped around the dagger at all times.

A noise caused the hairs on the back of Sela’s neck to prickle. She stiffened and tightened her grasp of the hilt.

An animal? Bear? Wolf, or worse—one of the berserkers who had lost their minds and become more bear than human?

She half-turned, caught a flash of dark blue cloth. The energy drained from her body. So close and yet she had achieved nothing. She could throw herself down on the soft moss and weep.

‘You have had your amusement,’ she said, carefully enunciating her words so there could be no mistaking them. She put her hands on her hips and stared at the place she was certain he had concealed himself. ‘I wonder that you let me get this far. When did you plan to let me know that my attempt was pitiful?’

‘Your escape showed faint glimmers of ingenuity, Sela, I will give you that, but they have faded. Will you never learn about concealment?’