But they had a year from the ritual to present her to the Siblin Council as their anthata. They had eleven barrels of Dorsa wine to trade and they wanted a life with her.
“I think she’d let us tie her up if we explained,” Isidor said low.
Isidor had obviously also been thinking along the same lines, although he looked guilty even suggesting it. That idea had occurred to Winter as well.
“It wouldn’t be right,” Winter muttered.
“I know,” Isidor agreed.
Soule was their anthata, not their prisoner. She was herself. They would tie her for pleasure eventually, but not for true, not to keep her with them if some part of her wanted or needed otherwise. She was a free person. It felt wrong. The idea of it made him almost as uncomfortable as taking her through the Brecca rocks.
Soule showed up
