Yara followed Basilisk through the cavern, her mind racing as she took in her new surroundings. The sleeping wolf, Wylan, stirred slightly when Basilisk kicked him awake, but Yara felt no sympathy for him. His failure to guard the market had contributed to her capture, and she had no patience for incompetence.
“Your new home is called the Armada. Your Master,” her ears twitched at that amused infliction in his voice, “is Basilisk. You can address me as Warlord, or Master.”
Yara's heart sank at the realization of her new reality. The cold stone walls of the Col felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the freedom she had once known. The guards at each end of the Col stood as silent sentinels, their presence a constant reminder of her captivity.
Basilisk's question pulled her from her thoughts. “Can you read?”
Yara hesitated, feeling a flush of embarrassment at her ignorance. She had never been taught to read; it had never been necessary in her previous life. But now, it seemed, it was another way in which she was at a disadvantage.
"No, Warlord," she replied softly while speaking the name that seemed less degrading, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of regret for what she was about to say. "I cannot read." She kept her gaze on him, her mind curious as to what he would think. Perhaps this lack of knowledge could be used to her advantage, a way to appear more submissive and compliant while she bided her time and looked for an opportunity to escape. The thought made her lower her gaze respectfully; every interaction with Basilisk would be a delicate dance of obedience and resilience, and Yara was determined to master it.
