She watched him as he spoke, hands pressed together, her head cocked, her eyes narrowing, the corners of her mouth turning down by slow degrees.  The sword didn't intimidate her.  Yes, she had no doubt he would kill her and feel nothing at all, but the weight of the unknown world above her was enough to smother any hope of rebellion.

[i]Yes,[/i] she thought, [i]yes I understand, Gregor Ravenor Nykerius, I understand better than you think and once you would be cut in two and fed to wild dogs simply for looking at me in that way but here I am in this hungry tomb a thousand miles from freedom and the only path I might take is upon your leash, you who hate me and would sooner see me dead.  I wonder what kind of man you are, beneath that bleak mask.  I wonder what manner of people do battle in this way, like thieves in the night, skulking amidst their own kind.  Come then, master and foe; but have a care should you stare long into the sun.[/i]

The thoughts were hot coals, and she swallowed them in silence.  In the end, she only nodded, bitterly, and stood on her cramped, aching legs.