There were cobwebs in her short, almost-curly black hair and her face was dirty too. Cutting through the dust and grime on her pale cheeks were obvious tear-tracks. It looked like she’d gone down into the subbasement and laid on the dirty ground crying for hours. The thought brought back the memory of holding her in the Rec Yard, the feeling of her shoulders shaking as he tried to comfort her and hide her pain from the rest of the inmates. The softness of her small body in his arms…how right it had felt to finally hold her…
Angrily, Lathe shoved the memory away. He refused to think of that now—refused to let himself be weak around her. Refused to let himself have feelings for the female who had lied to him and strung him along.
“Look at you,” he said roughly. “Don’t you know the Yonnites expect their slaves to at least look presentable?”
“What?” She looked at him, wide-eyed and Lathe blew out a breath of frustration.
“Come here.” Taking one of the soft cloths the Mistresses used to clean their hands between courses, he wet it at the sink and pulled Ari to him. With swift, efficient strokes he cleaned her cheeks, wiping away the evidence of her tears as well as he could.
He half expected her to protest his brusque treatment but Ari stood quietly, allowing him to do as he wished with her. Her red-rimmed eyes cast down, she waited until Lathe finished the small cat-bath.
Somehow her submissive posture made him even angrier. He wanted her to fight him or protest or insult him as she had when she’d first come to the prison. Instead she just stood there, as pale and quiet as a statue. It was as though she thought she deserved whatever he wanted to do to her and she was willing to endure it, no matter what.
She does deserve it, whispered a voice in his head. After what she did…what she made me do…
He pushed the angry thoughts aside and stepped back, examining his handiwork.
“There. At least now the Yonnites won’t throw you into the hole for the offense of being offensive now,” he growled.
“Are they that particular?” Ari asked, looking up at him.
Lathe raised an eyebrow at her.
Have you ever served a Mistress before?”
“Um, no.” She shook her head. “Although I have been served for most of my life so I think I know what’s expected.”
“Been served, huh?” Lathe frowned at her. “Are you one of the Yonnites yourself then?” It wouldn’t have surprised him a bit—just another one of her lies. But Ari was quick to contradict that idea.
“What? No! I hate those evil shivaths!” She made a face. “But my family are kind of a minor nobility on Phobos. It’s not a big deal or anything—I grew up with servants but really they’re more like part of the family.”
“I see—minor nobility,” Lathe said, not sure he believed her at all. “So who do I have the honor of addressing?”
“Lady Arianna Blackthorn, at your service, sir.” Ari spread invisible skirts and dropped him a very passable curtsy that made Lathe raise his eyebrows again. Could she really be telling the truth this time? If so, what was a noblewoman from Phobos doing in BleakHall? How had she gotten here and why?
His questions would have to wait because just then a loud blast of shrill, self-important music sounded over the com-link system and a deep male voice called out,
“Behold, Mistress Hellenix of Opulex, Capital of Yonnie Six has arrived!”
“They’re here,” Lathe murmured to Ari. “Just follow my lead and act like the other body slaves.”
Taking a tray of expensive sugar-jeweled kanjee fruit, he strode from the food prep area into the lushly-decorated dining hall, which held a long, low table surrounded by six elaborately carved lappal-wood chairs upholstered in tongle fur. Ari followed him with a dish of spiced hinja-frog intestines and the two of them set their trays on the dining table.
Stalking into the room was a diminutive mistress with long, straight black hair and large, dark, almond-shaped eyes. She was wearing a leather harness which left her large, full breasts bare and almost covered her pussy mound. A pair of stylish leather thigh-high boots completed her look which Lathe thought was kinky in a minimalist way. As a finishing touch, her nipples were dusted in some kind of colored sugar—reddish gold on one breast and silvery blue on the other.
Standing by the doorway which led to the Mistress’s private landing area was a huge Kindred warrior with wheat-blond hair and a neatly clipped beard of the same color. He also had pure silver eyes. It was he who had been announcing his Mistress’s entrance and now he stood silent, as though awaiting her orders.
The slave’s outfit was scarcely more decent than hers—consisting of a thick pain collar around his neck and a pair of crotchless black leather trousers which showed a silver-wire chastity device that caged his large shaft.
Lathe felt a shock of recognition when he saw the huge male. This must be Malik—the Volt Kindred who was enslaved to Mistress Hellenix, whom Commander Sylvan had told him about! He wished he could get the male alone for a moment to ask him some questions but clearly that was not to be—not with the Mistresses arriving and expecting to be served.
“That was a rather good announcement, Malik,” Mistress Hellenix remarked, throwing herself into a plush, fur-lined chair and draping one leg over the padded arm, apparently careless of the fact that this put her scantily-clad crotch on display.
“My Mistress honors me,” the Volt Kindred murmured, his face stony, his eyes facing forward.
“Just stand there and announce the others as they come in,” Mistress Hellenix commanded. “Mistress Poofinpah isn’t bringing her slave, who usually does the announcements so you’ll have to manage instead.”
“I will do as my Mistress wills. In this, as in all things, it is my pleasure to serve her.” The big Volt Kindred spoke blandly but Lathe thought he saw a spark of fiery hatred far back in those pure silver eyes.
Mistress Hellenix, however, appeared to notice nothing.
“Pretty words, Malik,” she remarked, reaching for one of the chewy spiced frog intestines and popping it into her mouth. “Mmm—lovely! I’ll feed myself until you’re done announcing since these two prison idiots are too thick to help out.”
She glared at Lathe and Ari as she spoke and Lathe was quick to respond.
“Mistress, can I help you in any way?” he asked. “Would you like me to feed you?”
“No, no…” She waved him off airily. “I prefer to wait for my own slave. But see to it that you’re quicker in serving the others when they come. In the meantime, I know there must be more food than this. I ordered at least a thousand credits worth from the caterers. So bring it out at once!”
“Yes, Mistress.” Lathe bowed and Ari echoed his words and bowed as well.
“Bossy shivath,” she muttered when the two of them were in the kitchen again. “Those freaking Mistresses think they own everyone and everything, don’t they?”
Lathe was surprised to see her dark blue eyes were snapping with anger.
“That’s not the half of it,” he said grimly. “Just be sure you keep them happy and hope they didn’t bring any extra pain collars with them. Come on—let’s get these dishes out.”
“Mistress Chokeapig of Taber Island, Yonnie Six,” Malik, the Volt Kindred was announcing when they came back with more platters.
Mistress Burnabush and Mistress Jankypoo as well as two others soon followed and in short order all the Mistresses were assembled in the fur-lined chairs around the low oval table.
“Very good, Malik,” Mistress Hellenix clapped her hands approvingly when the Volt Kindred had made the last announcement. “Now that everyone’s here, we can begin.”
Malik came around to his Mistress’s side and began to feed her delicacies from the various trays. The other body slaves were doing the same and Lathe was quick to find one of the Mistresses who was lacking a body slave and point the other without a slave out to Ari. The two of them stood by and put dainties into the Mistresses’ mouths so that they didn’t have
to bother feeding themselves.
For a time the Yonnite Mistresses ate and chatted of this and that, all the time completely ignoring the slaves who were serving them except to scold or complain periodically. But finally when everyone had eaten enough, Mistress Hellenix clapped her hands for silence and spoke.
“Now then, it seems we’ve all had just about enough so it’s time to get down to the business of this meeting—the future of BleakHall.”
“But Mistress Hellenix, ought we to speak so freely before, eh-hem, the prisoners?” Mistress Jankypoo nodded delicately at Ari and Lathe.
“Not to worry.” Mistress Hellenix made a shooing gesture. “They’re witless males. The two of them didn’t even have the intelligence to set the table until I told them to. We may speak freely, I believe—at least for now.”
“Oh, very well then.” Mistress Jankypoo, who had a rather ridiculous looking poof of bright pink hair, looked relieved and nodded at Hellenix. “Do go on then, Mistress Hellenix.”
“I certainly will. As I said, the future of BleakHall hangs in the balance.”
“What are you talking about?” Mistress Poofinpah, whom Ari was feeding, batted away the piece of sugared fruit Ari was trying to put in her mouth and glared at Mistress Hellenix. “We turned a handsome profit last quarter—despite that ridiculous laser ceiling we had to have installed over the Rec Yard.”
“Yes we did, thanks to switching from humanoids to Horvaths as guards,” Mistress Hellenix agreed. “Unfortunately, that is part of the problem—some of our clients have been complaining that the guards are too rough.”
“Too rough? Oh please!” Mistress Burnabush—a plump woman with curly purple hair—made an incredulous face. “The prisoners don’t deserve to be treated gently. BleakHall houses the worst of the worst. Rapist…murderers…sociopaths…”
“Not to mention slaves who prove intractable or impractical to keep in our homes on Yonnie Six,” Mistress Hellenix interrupted her. “Let’s face it, ladies…” She looked around the table at the assembled board members. “BleakHall has become a dumping ground for unwanted slaves—many of whom are really only guilty of being annoying or stubborn.”
“Well, one has to send them someplace,” Mistress Tingleteller, a thin woman with white-blonde ringlets arranged in a halo around her head, protested haughtily. She looked around the table. “Raise your hand anyone who hasn’t gotten rid of an annoying slave by sending him to BleakHall.”
Not a single hand went up and Mistress Tingleteller looked at Mistress Hellenix triumphantly.
“See? Everyone does it. Not just us, either—BleakHall is an open secret in Opulex. For a fee—paid very discreetly, I might add—I personally facilitate putting unwanted slaves here.”
“I do as well,” Mistress Poofinpah remarked. “It’s a lucrative side business.”
“Of course it is,” Mistress Hellenix exclaimed. “We all do it—I’m not saying we should stop. I’m just saying we need to be more discrete about it. Especially when the slave you’re getting rid of wasn’t born and raised on Yonnie Six. Males who are imported from the slave markets are more likely to come from ignorant male-dominated worlds where they might be missed if they’re sent to BleakHall.”
“But the ones who are born free are the most fun to break!” Mistress Jankypoo protested.
“And the most difficult to break.” Mistress Hellenix raised a finger at her. “Which is why they so often wind up in BleakHall and why the complaints are piling up when the Horvaths kill them.”
“Well there’s not much we can do about that—we knew the Horvath guards were violent when we hired them,” another Mistress objected. “It’s one of the reasons why we hired them—to keep the male scum in this place in line.”
Lathe felt sick but he struggled to keep his face calm. They were talking about taking and discarding slaves so casually—as though they weren’t even people. As though they meant less than nothing.
As I’m sure Thonolan meant nothing to the Mistress who bought him on the black market, he thought angrily. I wonder if the one who bought him and sent him to BleakHall when he wouldn’t bow his head to her is sitting here now? I wonder—
His thoughts were cut off abruptly when he looked across the table and saw, to his shock, that Ari’s face was a mask of white fury. She had stopped even pretending to feed Mistress Poofinpah and was standing there with her hands clenched into fists, looking like she wanted to kill everyone at the table. What could have made her so angry? Whatever it was, she couldn’t stand there glaring at the Mistresses or she was going to get in trouble.
Catching her eye, Lathe gave a small shake of his head and made a motion at his own face with one hand. At first Ari glared at him but then she took a deep breath and seemed to make a visible effort to calm down. Lathe hoped no one had noticed her dark looks but a glance around the table let him know they were being ignored since slaves didn’t matter. At the head of the table, Mistress Hellenix was still speaking.
“So I’m not saying we shouldn’t send unwanted slaves here to BleakHall, just that we need to be a bit more discreet. I have it on good authority that the complaints have reached the Sacred Seven and they are considering giving us a fine or even shutting us down.”
“What?” Several of the Mistresses nearly choked on the dainty morsels their slaves were feeding them.
“Shut us down?” Mistress Jankypoo gasped. “But I have so much credit invested in BleakHall!”
“As do we all,” Mistress Hellenix said grimly. “Which is why I have come up with a plan to keep anything from happening.”
“What? What?” All the Mistresses were looking at her eagerly.
Rising to stand at the head of the table, she looked around at the others and answered their questions with one of her own.
“What happens if the ones who are making the complaints disappear? Or rather, the one? Because there is one male in particular who is bringing BleakHall to the notice of the Sacred Seven—he is the troublemaker.”
“So what are we going to do about him?” Mistress Burnabush demanded.
“I’ll tell you. But we must have a consensus before I put my plan in motion. I refuse to be culpable all by myself,” Mistress Hellenix declared.
“Well tell us and we’ll vote,” one of the other Mistresses suggested.
“I will. But first, I want all of the body slaves to leave the room,” Mistress Hellenix said.
“Really? But they’re only males,” Mistress Jankypoo protested. “I thought you said they were of no consequence.”
“They aren’t but this decision must be kept from everyone’s ears but our own,” Mistress Hellenix said decisively. “I’ll even send my own slave out. Malik—go,” she directed him, pointing towards the door. The big Volt Kindred nodded mutely and left the room, followed by the rest of the body slaves.
Lathe and Ari left too but as soon as he stepped out the door of the dining room, Lathe felt a hand on his arm.
“Come, Brother,” Malik growled in his ear. “I have something to say to you. Is there a place for privacy here?”
Wondering what the other Kindred could have to say, Lathe nodded at the conference room across the hall.
“Good. Come on.” Malik led the way and they shut themselves into the plush conference room after Lathe gave Ari a sign to stay outside the door and keep watch.
“Can we speak freely in here?” Malik asked in a low voice.
“As freely as you like. This conference room has soundproof walls,” Lathe told him.
“Good, I’ll be brief—I know my Mistress’s plan. She wants to assassinate Commander Sylvan—the head of the Kindred High Council.”
“What?” Lathe looked at the other male in shock. “Are you certain Commander Sylvan is her target?”
“Positive,” Malik said grimly. “She tells me everything because she thinks I am completely loyal. She thinks I love her.” He barked a bitter laugh and Lathe didn’t have to ask what his true feelings were. The expression o
f loathing in the other male’s silver eyes spoke far more eloquently than words could have.
“So…she believes that if she gets rid of Commander Sylvan the complaints about BleakHall will go away?” Lathe asked.
“She does and she’s probably right,” Malik said. “It is the Kindred who have been complaining the most vocally to the Yonnite Council of Mistresses—the Sacred Seven who rule Yonnie Six. Commander Sylvan is leading the charge, so to speak. Hellenix is poised to put a price on his head, hoping that once he’s disposed of the complaints will be silenced.”
“Gods!” Lathe raked a hand through his hair. “I must warn him!”
“You have to because the Goddess knows there’s no way I can,” Malik said grimly. “Hellenix keeps me with her night and day—I get scarcely a moment’s breathing room.” As he spoke, a crackle of silvery sparks ran between his fingertips—almost as though the power inside him, held so long in check, was seeping out.
“Why do you stay with her then?” Lathe asked quietly. “It’s clear you despise her. Commander Sylvan told me he tried to get you away from her but you refused to go.”
“He told you correctly.” Malik sighed. “It’s a long story I don’t have time to tell all of right now. Sufficient to say my Mistress is a collector of…oddities. And there is something in her collection that I hope might help me restore my home world.”
“You mean Uriel Two?” Lathe frowned. “But wasn’t it completely overrun by the artificial intelligence your elders allowed to run your communications and weapons systems?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Malik growled. “But that doesn’t mean it cannot be reclaimed. The AIs that run Uriel Two are sentient—they’ll even make deals with the likes of my Mistress because of the artifact she possesses. If I can just get my hands on the—”
A swift knock sounded on the door and Ari poked her head in.
“Sorry but they’re calling for the body slaves,” she said quietly. “Thought you might want to know.”