Before he could ask me the question I saw forming in his silver eyes, at the pain he must have discerned on my face then, a melodious voice called us over.

“Thank the Goddess you’re here,” Dexter sighed dramatically, her whiskey eyes taking me in with relief. “I can’t get the slaves to tell me anything. They keep looking at me like they expect to be my next meal or something.”

“Not surprising,” Archer chuckled, his earlier concern wiped from his face, for her sake, because he ...