Sylas stopped his pacing, his smile widening slightly. "Very good. I knew your memory hadn't completely rotted down here."
"What of her?" Ishara's voice was low, laced with a sudden, vicious edge. "You had me dragged here in chains because I wove that spell, that cursed her. You locked me beneath your mountain to keep me from finishing the work and my attack on Virelia." Her thin lips curled into a bitter, knowing sneer.
"I wonder what the Storm Lord would do if he discovered the improper, obsessive thoughts you harbor toward his precious wife. Does he know how many spymasters you employ simply to track the color of her gowns? Or the color of her underwear?"
