This shift in the wind calls to mind the desert. The first tickling of unease skitters down her spine like hundreds of spiders. Irriella shifts against her chest.

"If it were, would you hold me in less regard than you do now?" She doesn't much care, either way. She's been chained, sold, and beaten. Being looked down upon for desiring retribution would be the least of those evils, though this silly one forgets that they made mention of revenge not even moments ago. "And do you believe my hope of achieving it is due to my slain consort?"

Consort. The word tastes like ash on her tongue. But this is an important question: how much does Kebechet know of her and her mind?