Unicorn Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page A

coin flying from his fingers! No acceptable explanation had he for its absence and none could he give. That he had granted alms would do naught but earn him a reprimand. Alms were granted by the house on Tuesday morns and calculated as a percentage of the week’s revenues.
    No right had Wolfram to independently grant alms. To tell the truth would gain him naught.
    But he could lie.
    The very thought was shocking for its very traitorousness. To lie to the Master was a crime of the worst order, and Wolfram could barely countenance that he had even conceived of doing so. Never had he lied. Never had he even conceived of lying. Never had he broken the Rule, and he could make no explanation of why such a thought would occur to him now.
    The fog of Montsalvat might well have addled his wits, but ‘twas the song of the lute that undermined all he knew. He should never have paused to listen.
    And he should never have granted to her a coin that was not his own.
    Wolfram could not tell the truth about what he had done and he could not lie. ‘Twas a predicament of the first order. He scowled as he rode his horse into the stables and dismounted.
    He could retrieve the coin.
    Wolfram paused in the shadows and considered the wisdom of that option. Indeed, he knew not why he had even granted the lutenist the coin in the first place, he thought with annoyance. Had he been logical, he would never have created this difficulty for himself.
    Although no sweeter sound was there to Wolfram than that of the lute. ‘Twas only here in the shadows of the stables that he admitted that he had near forgotten that fact. No other music was there that could coax free the distant memories tidily packed away in his mind.
    He had locked those memories safely away at the mere age of four, for the sake of his sanity. He would not unleash them now and threaten all that he had gained. He would not, though he was sorely tempted.
    Wolfram felt naught, he reminded himself sternly. He believed naught. He trusted none but the Master. These were his own rules. ‘Twas this resolve alone that had kept him sane. He would not toss away all he had gained for the stirring sounds of a lute, or even a fetching lutenist.
    Yet the lute’s music showed neither restraint nor respect for Wolfram’s own desires. It threatened to slide the bolts and set those tender memories free once more. He had let the music wend its way into his ears for but a heartbeat before it held him powerless within its silken grip.
    A mistake it had been to lend an ear, and he would be a fool to listen again.
    But when the lutenist had looked up, the shock in her wide green eyes had broken the spell she was weaving. Even now, Wolfram sobered when he recalled the flash of fear that had lit those remarkable eyes when she first discerned his features. Cold fingers grasped his gut and he shuffled his feet as though he could dislodge their grip.
    â€˜Twas almost as though she had seen his secret in that one glimpse. He had felt naked, vulnerable, bare to the elements as he never had before. Every terror he had ever had of discovery had flooded through him in a blinding flash. For an instant, he had been certain that she knew what and who he was, and the exposure he always dreaded had held him captive in its viselike grip.
    â€˜Twas then Wolfram had impulsively cast her the coin. A penance? An appreciation of her skill with the lute? An offering born of the sheer delicacy of her and the certainty that she would have to find some shelter? ‘Twas all that and more that had prompted Wolfram’s hand, though now the gesture made little sense.
    Whimsy, he scoffed. What had he hoped to gain? ‘Twas impossible that she could know what he did. Impossible. And even if she knew, by some fantastic twist of fate, who would believe the tale of a lutenist who worked in the street? None of repute. He was seeing threat where there was none and letting his customary fears outside the