“We need to talk,” the slave said as if he had such a right. Nyphron even noticed a dash of demand in his voice.
Malcolm had been more useful than Nyphron had expected, but the Rhune was taking too many liberties with their relationship, which had started out cobweb thin and over the last few months had begun to fray. Malcolm had already served his purpose, but apparently he didn’t know that.
“Indeed, we do,” he replied. He got off the pot and entered the sitting room where he found Malcolm on the cushioned chair near the fireplace. His legs were stretched out, his arms folded across his chest, a stern look in his eye. I’ve let this go on way too long. Give a slave a pair of shoes and they will walk all over you. “Let’s begin with how you’re not allowed to enter my chambers unannounced. For that matter, let’s go over the fact that you’re not even allowed in the Kype anymore. You’re a—”
“I want you to tell Arion and Suri to hide the archers,” Malcolm instructed.
“What?”
“Tell them to hide the existence of Moya and her archers from the fane’s army. Then tell Moya to concentrate her attacks on the Spider Corps.”
Nyphron was too stunned to reply right away, and he just stood staring in disbelief. The little Rhune was giving him orders—military orders. “You don’t make demands of me, slave.”
Malcolm had the gall to roll his eyes. He actually looked annoyed.
I’ve ruined this one. I let him think too much of himself. Letting him breathe free air for so long has overinflated his little Rhune lungs and poisoned him with a taste for things he can’t have. Why didn’t I see it before? I might have done something, but now—
“We’ve been over this.” Malcolm pointed to the missing collar that wasn’t on his neck. “I’m not your slave. And if you recall, not even your father, who had the right to do so, treated me as one.”
The callous disregard, the lack of respect, was too much. “We aren’t in Rhulyn anymore. This is Alon Rhist, and here you are my property.” Nyphron was shocked to see Malcolm smile, as if the man found the comment amusing. Nyphron sneered back. “Did I say something funny?”
“You might be forgetting that Alon Rhist is no longer under Fhrey control. In this place, my people already conquered yours, so I wouldn’t be so quick to throw around terms like slavery, property, or who owns who or what. You might find yourself on the wrong end of that discussion.”
Surprise, which had shifted to sympathy and then irritation, gave way to anger. “And you shall find yourself on the wrong end of my sword.”
Malcolm replied with a humiliating look of pity.
Nyphron, not ever having been the object of such an expression—from a Rhune, no less—paused for a moment. Intuition told him he couldn’t be so far off in his assessment. Something was wrong. Very wrong. When a strong defending force retreated too easily, he knew to expect a trap. When a warrior was overconfident, he knew to look for a secret, a hidden dagger or an associate hiding in wait. Malcolm was too relaxed, too sure of himself.
“I’m not joking, Nyphron,” Malcolm said in an oddly stern tone. “You need to do it, and do so now before anything is given away.”
Nyphron took a threatening step toward him. Most men, most Fhrey, would have cowered. Malcolm didn’t even flinch.
What am I missing?
Malcolm’s expression turned from pity to annoyance. “I understand that you think of me as a common slave. Understandable, given that you grew up in a household where I played such a role. I also realize you have an ego the size of Mount Mador, but you need to set that aside and do as I say. If you want to be fane, then listen. I didn’t work this hard, for these many long years, to have you ruin everything because you see me as being beneath you.”
“You are beneath me. Very, very far beneath me.”
“Yes, fine. I’m beneath you. Now please go tell Arion to cloud the archers.”
Nyphron felt the blood throbbing in his temple. He was rarely ever this angry when not swinging a sword. Still, he held back. Every fiber of his being was telling him not all was as it seemed. There was something here, something unexplained. Discovering a surprise of this magnitude hiding beneath his feet was shocking to the point of being frightening. Nyphron hadn’t been scared in centuries. He had been a little worried when Gryndal exploded Stryker, and he admitted to himself—and only himself—that he’d been quite concerned in Arwal when they had been surrounded and Tekchin had nearly died, but he hadn’t been frightened. Only the unknown had the power to scare him, and Malcolm was creeping into the Realm of the Scary. For one thing, Malcolm was right; Nyphron’s father had never treated Malcolm like a slave. The only work Malcolm had ever done was serve wine at parties and meetings—a perfect way to listen to conversations, Nyphron just realized. For as far back as he could remember, Zephyron always treated Malcolm as—