22
Ladies of the Mountain
Asherley’s gown was crafted of pure alabaster silk. Even to someone who had never denied herself anything, this was an indulgence. The winter fruits left in her bowl while she was sleeping were another, as were the rich stews of tubers and squash prepared and slid into her room. There was no meat. Their abhorrence to it was another piece of information she had stored somewhere, for when it might matter. As it happened eventually with most of these things, the time of mattering had arrived, though she wasn’t sure her diet was as important as the reason she’d been brought here.
She couldn’t say whether Midnight Crest was as she expected, because she’d not been allowed outside the small but well-appointed room. There was no lock, at least not of the physical kind,
