“What is it that you want?” he shouted. Her quiet manner
was infuriating.
“Did I ask for something?” she teased.
“I can be of great service to you,” he said. “I know many,
many things.”
“What makes you think I am interested?” she chided him,
sounding bored.
“I can tell you the location of the Baron’s keep.” He had
begun his negotiation, hoping he might find a way to
secure his continued existence.
“I already know where the Baron’s keep is,” she lied.
Quickly, she pulled the hot poker from the fire and
brought it down on the bare flesh of his right shoulder.
The room was immediately filled with the stench of
burned hair and flesh. Napier launched himself up against
his bindings, screaming and cursing in anger and pain. She
placed the end of the poker back into the fire.
“There are booby traps,” he told her, when he had
recovered enough to speak again, “all along the entrance to
the keep.” He tried another bargaining chip. “I can tell you
how to defeat all his defenses.”
“What do I care for your silly little booby-traps,” Lisle
laughed, keeping up the charade. She knew that the Baron
had held this keep for two centuries at least, its defenses
near impenetrable. She pulled the poker from the fire once
more and applied it to the back of Napier’s hand. Once
more he bucked and surged, spit flying, tears streaking his
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