The two wardens forced James onto Leticia’s chamber bed, the soft feathered mattress dipping and puffing under his weight. They anchored the metal links curling around his neck to a steel hook in the wall, just above the headboard, then removed the chains from his ankle and wrists—only to cuff him to the bedposts. Leticia had brought slaves here before, Grace realized.
The posts were damaged, the intense grooves evidence of their hostility. A lot of friction. How many times had James undergone this sort of indignity with the mistress? At least he didn’t try and bite the wardens, and they didn’t try to harm him, and Grace didn’t have to side with a “slave,” fueling suspicion. Already she felt as if she had a neon sign blinking over her head: Fake Sorcerers
Thank God, Levy hadn’t realized
