"Mearch, listen well. I was given an ill-mannered, ill-treated
ruffian-girl straight from the slave fields, when she came to me. She
was as fresh as the clay on the banks, and it was my job to train her
up in all ways needful until she was found fit to present in court as a
royal officer. I worked hard on polishing her coarse ways, and she has
repaid my efforts beyond all expectation, which pleases me greatly as I
do not relish the prospect of being made a public spectacle by having
fools for underlings.
"Furthermore," Ibi went on, "she is still of tender years, and has
taken a vow of silence for life, and I will not stand for her being
given the customary business-as-usual rough handling at the coarsened
hands of your cocky young studs. If she cannot speak, she cannot
protest, but it would be a fatal mistake to think she is as easily
intimidated as all that. The Emperor himself failed to get a word out
of her, in spite of Borla's ready sword held close under her pretty
little nose. I saw it myself, and it was most impressive."
Whether it was Si'Wren's beauty or her fearlessness that he found so
impressive, Ibi did not elaborate, although a fondly doting Mearch
seemed to have his own ideas already.
"She has since found favor in his Majesty's eyes," Ibi went on dryly,
with an acid look for Mearch's wayward eyes, "and gives better reports
in fresh clay than others seem to manage out of so much bad breath! Am
I getting through to you?"
Ibi held Mearch's eyes for a long, hard moment of utter silence, while
Si'Wren stood self-consciously with eyes downcast, trying to appear as
if the last thing on her mind was to get in anybody's way.
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