After the night had passed into the hours of the early morning, Sindra retired to the ambassador's apartments to wait for him, as he had asked. She let her hair loose, combing out tangles.
Sindra was sitting on a cushioned bench by the fireplace when Signori entered, calling her name. The servants had come and gone, lighting the flames to warm the room; it felt odd to view them this way when, by all rights, she was something less than they - a slave, a piece of property.
She stood up, stepping around a folding screen. "I am here, Signori."