Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) by Shannon M Yarnold

now pressing her for information against the Master. Whatever happened she would be beaten, the only variable she could not count on was how severely. She raised her eyes and met with the man’s, they were a beautiful, clear blue and for a moment she was speechless, all thoughts of pain driven from her mind, but the pressure of his hand on her shoulder brought her back and she whispered, so quietly that the young man had to strain to hear her, “The Master.”
          Wynn waited as the words left her mouth, ill word against the Master earned lashes from the General and she had not only spoke against him but was trespassing in his stables. The horses had stopped shuffling in their boxes and the puppies had stopped whining, as though listening to the conversation. A tense silence stretched through the stables, Wynn stood awkwardly in front of the man, unsure what to do. She had never met a male who did not try to hurt her or man-handle her. She could feel her muscles were tensed, in preparation to defend herself, but the man did not move; he merely stared into her eyes. He had never met someone with such green eyes, the colour of emeralds. It made him sad to see that her eyes were so cheerless, yet they sparkled with such determination that he instantly felt stronger just from gazing at her.
          The man suddenly realised his hand was still rested on Wynn’s shoulder and he quickly lifted it off, clearing his throat. Wynn stepped back, leaving a sizable gap between them, he had not hurt her or belittled her and had seemed genuinely concerned over her split lip and scratches in a way that a man never was and never had been to her before. Was it a trick? She swallowed and turned to leave before the man changed his mind, but stopped and looked at him once more.
          “You never told me your name,” she said softly.
          The young man smiled, “Byron.”
          Wynn nodded and curtsied messily before quickly sprinting off the kitchen, knowing Cook would have countless chores for her. As she ran into the kitchen, which was damp with condensation and warm compared to the brisk morning air outside she took a deep breath and pushed the meeting with Byron out of her mind. Over the fire the whole carcass of a deer was attached to the spit. A sullen looking boy stood turning the handle, to ensure the meat was cooked thoroughly and evenly. Cook looked up from the potatoes she had been peeling when Wynn entered and beckoned her over.
          “We have run out of a few supplies and the errand boy is far too ill to go, I checked on him myself, it is the bloody flux. If the Master found out he would surely whip the boy, can you go in his place? You know I would not ask...”
          Wynn hid a grin at Cook’s attempt at subtlety – Cook was loud and was never one to be silenced, the only person able to do that was the Master and Cook obeyed him very grudgingly – and listened intently to the long list of supplies that was needed, accepting a small wicker basket and copper coins as though they were solid gold. With a nod she ran to her room, picked her thick black cloak up from the floor and wrapped it around her neck before rushing out of the back door, more money than she had ever owned clinking in her cloak pocket.
    ***
    Wynn had scarcely visited the town in all her years serving the Master. It was a world completely alien to her, for her life revolved resolutely around the Master and the Manor, and yet every visit it seemed was the same. The army positioned themselves on horseback at every shop entrance and lazily leant against walls, randomly stopping people and searching their shopping, taking anything they fancied. The villagers as a whole kept their heads low, trying desperately to blend in, to be boring, walking quickly with their heavy loads to their homes.
         Wynn knew exactly why Cook was anxious to protect her, and why she had been loathed to ask her to take the errand boy’s place.