What was that?” Sygarius demanded.

It was later that night; he’d sent Terix to fetch me from my bed after the banquet had ended and the riled Franks had gone to their slumber.

“I don’t know, my lord. I am so sorry.” I looked at my feet, fearing his wrath, fearing what he might read in my face. Fearing, as well, that my performance this evening had revealed more than I ever meant to reveal to him about the prophetic gifts I might have.

“White horses. Shields and swords. Did you truly have a vision of Childeric’s death?”

I shook my head. “I saw the horse and the rest; it did not mean anything to me.”

“It meant something to them.”

“I cannot help that. They see what they wish to see.”

Sygarius snorted. “I doubt they wished to see that! What other visions have you seen?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Only bees. Lots of bees.”

“What do you see of me?”

I raised my face, meeting his eyes. How tired he looked; how worn by responsibility. It came to me how ill-timed my visionary song had been; how it had complicated his negotiations with the Franks, adding to his burdens. Ever since he’d been old enough to be of help to his father he had devoted all his energies to maintaining the province of Soissons, the last vestige of the Western Roman Empire. The last vestige of advanced civilization, amid a sea of barbarian invaders. I knew he dreamt that someday soon, all of Gaul would once again be Roman, that the emperor in the east would send troops and recapture all of Europe.

I had jeopardized all that this evening, by enraging the Franks. I was lucky Sygarius hadn’t taken my head off.

“I don’t see anything of you,” I said, thinking carefully. “The white horse, the forest . . . it was a waking dream, nothing more. I do not tell the future.” If Sygarius thought I could predict the future, nothing would induce him to let me go. Ever. What ruler would let a seer out of his hands?

I could hope that the same thought possessed Clovis, and that it would add strength to his determination to work whatever manipulations he could to get me into his power.

He’d free me if he had me, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t keep me as a slave. He wouldn’t use me. That wouldn’t be what he wanted me for.

Would it?

Was it better to be wanted for sex than for prophecy? It dawned on me that neither man, Sygarius nor Clovis, knew anything about me. To them, Nimia was a pretty girl with exotic tattoos and eyes that glowed copper when she was aroused by any passion, be it lust or anger or grief. They knew nothing of what went on inside me.

Clovis, at least, seemed willing to learn more.

I was no more than a sexual fantasy to Sygarius. The power of that was not to be underestimated, but there was more to me. The tattoos upon my body were a reminder of that, if nothing else was. My mother had put those marks upon me, over endless hours while I, a small child, had been drugged against the pain. When I’d cried at being told that more tattoos were coming, she’d told me I was Phanne. To be Phanne was to be decorated with these designs, whose meanings I would learn when I became a woman. “They’re your destiny,” my mother had told me. “And they will never let you forget who you are.”

Sygarius made a noise of disgust. “Superstitious fools! They almost had me believing you could make prophecies.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Look what a mess you’ve made. What’s wrong with you? How could you sing such nonsense to them? I ought to have you beaten for the trouble you’ve caused me. And the gold, no doubt.”

“You won’t give me to them?”

“I should. It would serve you a fitting punishment. And it could be useful to have a spy amongst them . . .”

I stared at him, willing my face blank. I trembled, but prayed he’d think it in fear, not hope.

“Why did you have such a spell of madness, Nimia? You’ve never done such before.”

“I . . .”

I looked down for a moment. These visions had been growing in me since I’d first shown signs of becoming a woman, and I suspected that losing my virginity had been the final uncorking of my prophetic wine. So to speak.

“I have been in a terrible state since the last lesson you gave me. I cannot think clearly. My body does not obey me. My thoughts wander. I cannot concentrate.”

The ill temper on his face smoothed out. His eyes crinkled. He chuckled, then laughed outright. “By Jupiter!” He laughed again. “So it’s my fault, for teaching you too well. If there was ever any sign that it was time for your lessons to end, this is surely it.” He grinned at me, then shocked me by laying his hands on my hips and pulling me toward him. He didn’t touch me elsewhere, but I felt the strength and heat of his palms on my flesh.

After being with Clovis, I thought I would recoil at another man’s touch. But I didn’t. When Sygarius gently squeezed my hips, I felt an answer in my cunny.

He had taught me too well.

I didn’t want him. I wanted my freedom. I wanted Clovis.

But Sygarius had made me his slave, and it was more than a golden torc that held me.