"She is new," Silas replied, his voice dropping, becoming sharper. "She is terrified. She took a wrong turn. I found her, I corrected her, and now I am returning her. Is her momentary confusion a matter of such great importance that you feel the need to trouble Lord Varroque with it? Or can you return to your post and do your job?"
The air crackled with tension. Jorrel's jaw tightened, his piggy eyes burning with resentment. He was a beast of muscle and cruelty, but Silas held a different kind of power. The power of rank, of intellect. Jorrel was a dog on a leash, and Silas held the other end.
With a final, venomous glare at Isadora, Jorrel turned and stalked away.
Silas waited until he was gone before turning to her. "Go back to your station," he said, his voice once again a low murmur for her ears only. "Touch nothing. At the next bell, you will be returned to your cell. Do not speak to anyone. Do not look at anyone."
