’ She thought supplying my choice in art would make up for killing the slave that taught me to paint.“Uh, it wasn’t for teaching me,” he added...when he saw her shudder, looking up at him in horror. “I had just come of age. I kept her here most of the time. We didn’t have the chance to get far in our lessons before she was,” he sucked in a breath before finishing in a rush, “selected for the ambassador.”Shaking his head, he strode over to a table that had several unfinished paintings strewn. In a minute or two I expected to hear the phone ring, but I would stay right where I was. I had even closed the curtains on my window so that she couldn't call me from across the way. I had built up an impenetrable fortress around myself, a mighty castle that would never be breached by a mere girl like Sarah.But sometimes fate has a way of intervening. My mother, always a bit of a perfectionist, always a little protective, never left the house without locking the door behind her. Except. More

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