“Was this mark in the service of a magus?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “My master, Warlord Grimore, does all he can to oppose the magus plague.”
“Grimore, you say?” Troy’s gaze slid over to me. “I thought you called her companion.”
“She is.”
She tensed at Troy’s tone. “I misspoke. Grimore is my former master. Master Whispier is now my master.”
“Companion,” I corrected. She lifted her face and met my gaze across the table. “You are my companion, and I am yours. We are equals in this bond.”
The depths of her dark eyes flashed with sudden, intense emotion. Troy moved to speak, but I lifted my hand to stop him. “You wish to say something, Avril?”
“There is nothing equal about our bond. I agreed to spend time in your presence. What have I received in return?”
“Safety, security, food, rest—”
“And no freedom.”
“Hardly. You can come and go as you please. Just return by nightfall.” I purposefully picked up my glass with a careful movement. “I told you that you were free to do anything short of attacking me.”
A biscuit bounced off my head with such force that it rebounded across the room and struck the far wall.”