Fay clawed at her own hair and tried to think with the clock on her throat.
Words would be a rope or a noose. Radeon wanted the right ones. He always did.
"Five," he said.
Her mouth went dry. She knew, the answer was not comfort. It was not excuses. It was truth.
"Four."
"Master," she blurted, her voice cracking. "I, I wanted to hold on to what we had. I dreamt of you each day. And when you cast me out there, I, I felt betrayed," she said, weeping, certain of her hurt.
She paused, heart beating too loud in her ears.
"I." Her tongue stumbled. "I was there for almost a year. I would not dare lie to you again, not even by a single word. May Heaven strike me down if I deceive you, or scheme, or harbor ill intent toward you. Just please. Don't take this away from me."
Radeon watched her plead the way men watched a condemned neck search for mercy. He did not flinch at her oath.
