The Black Hart

"And you didn't mind that he would kill you," she accused. "The deathwish has to end, John. I can't have you constantly trying to get yourself killed."

"Your admonition comes somewhat late," he pointed out.

Cassandra made a dismissive gesture. "Uncle Mordecai will deal with that. He's got a soft heart and still feels somewhat at fault for what happened to you."

John gaped. He respected Mordecai Howell. He even liked the man. But describing him as 'soft hearted' beggared the imagination.

"And he recognizes your value to us. So there won't be any killings today. Later, perhaps," she continued.

John felt himself on safer ground here. "A useful tool?"

Cassandra approached and straddled him, sitting on his lap and putting her arms around his neck.

"A tool," she agreed. "But not just a tool. Those things you taught me? The things I mostly knew?" She leaned forward and whispered in his ear "I had an extensive education on the theory. But never tutorials on the practice."

"Ah," he managed.

"And you only covered a portion of the material. Do you know what I can do if I take my finger and insert it..."

"Why are you telling me this?" he interrupted.

She pulled back and looked at him. "Isn't it obvious?"

"You're manipulating me?"

"Yes!" she laughed. "Oh, you're going to be so very useful in the field, John. I'm really looking forward to this. Mazares has gone to Peshwatta and we're to track him down. Father thinks I should be an expatriate lady fleeing scandal but Uncle and I agree that the Peshwatti won't tell a woman anything. They'll brag excessively in the presence of a slaver and his personal slave, however."

John felt as though his heart might stop and struggled to control his breathing. "What port do we sail from?" he asked.

"Westport," she replied.

"Westport?" he parroted.

"Westport," she confirmed.

"His obedient slave?" he whispered.

"His willing slave," she whispered back.