A night of shivering in the unheated cell had left her weak and headachy, with stiff knees, but she was determined not to let the tribe break her will. “You look more like a slave than a princess now,” said the rough voice of the chief wife. “Come here, girl.” Clutching the scratchy blanket like a cloak, free hand extended in front of her, Shalira walked to the location of Arananta’s voice. I’ll save my defiance for a moment when it might do some good. Grabbing her by the elbow, the wife gave her a shake. “Don’t dawdle when I summon you. Fortunately for you, my husband needs you to be presentable this morning. But there’ll be more work later, I promise.” Shalira said nothing as they hurried along, first outside in the bone-chilling cold, then entering the tent complex. Despite the anger burning hot inside her, she counted steps. The more she could picture the layout in her head, the greater her chance of escaping. Better to die of exposure in the forest than live as a slave.
