““Prickly Cantii bitch. Think you’re better’n me?” “I know I am,” I said. “Ha!” he barked. “I’m not the one with the collar around my neck.” “No,” I said. “I suspect your thieving kind wouldn’t know the feel of metal around your neck.” He grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head back, thrusting his face so close that I could feel his hot, sour breath in my ear. “Don’t insult my honor, little thrall,” he growled. “You stink of the swamps and the muck of that bloody island same as I once did.” “At least I don’t stink of Rome,” I said through gritted teeth.””
