“I’m sorry.”
Blackthorn’s quill on parchment was the only sound for a long while. Another growl from her stomach interrupted the silence. He stared at her.
“May I be allowed to know how long I must stay like this?”
“That is the first permissible question you have asked. The answer is ‘no.’ You will stay there as long as I see fit.”
She swallowed hard and shifted her legs, maintaining the kneel. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she had no way to wipe or hide them.
“Why are you crying?” he demanded.
She sniffled, and then moaned her answer. “Because I hurt and I’m hungry and I don’t understand what you want from me. And even if crying is forbidden, I can’t help it.”
“Crying isn’t forbidden,” he said with slightly less ice in his tone. He wrote more, looking back and forth between the parchment and her. Finally, he set the writing implements down. “The purpose of this session is to teach you that you are no longer free.”
She nodded, resisting the urge to point out that she was acutely aware of that already.
“You do not need to know why an order is given. All you need to do is obey. You must not question your owner’s right to lock you up. He has invested gold in you. You owe him unquestioning obedience. You’re here to learn the proper attitudes toward your station.”
“I understand.”
“Excellent.” He gathered his parchment and quill and headed for the door.
“If I have learned the lesson, won’t you unlock my arms now? Please?”
“You must remember that I am always testing you, slave. Hold your tongue unless it’s necessary.”
“I’m sorry.” The tears renewed their fervor, dropping silently and steadily.
He gave a frustrated sigh, then returned and crouched with the key, slipping it into the padlock. It clicked open and he removed it from her bands. She didn’t move. He stood and circled her, showing her the padlock. Timmilina nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t move her arms.
“You may relax now,” he said, sounding pleased.
She pulled her hands around and crossed them over her chest, pressing her fingers into sore arm muscles. Manacles clunked against her shoulder. Blackthorn reached toward her. She recoiled.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered. He assisted her to her feet. Her legs wobbled with the uncertainty borne of numbness, but he steadied her. “There now. I promised you food, didn’t I?”
“If I did well with training,” she added sadly. Her guts wrenched with hunger she knew she’d have to endure.
“You did fine for a first day.”
Did fine? Was she dreaming? She must have hit her head when Jonpur yanked her down. “I did fine?”
“I’m not allowed to reveal your scores, but you did well enough to eat.” He ushered her to the table and into a chair.
Timmilina clenched her teeth to withstand the stinging needles of returning circulation. Blackthorn set a bowl of fruit down on the table, then returned attention to his notes. She grabbed a handful of berries and shoved them into her mouth.
“The duke is coming tomorrow. If you want to have any chance at catching his eye, I suggest that you use better manners than that. Or do you fancy Hannon Jonpur?”
“What does it matter?”
“I have to stay out of sales, but Duke Vahn has had a standing request for someone just like you for nearly a year now. I don’t know if Jonpur would sell you, but if you’re too stupid to see that you’d be better off with the duke, then you don’t deserve to serve in his house.”
“What do you mean, just like me?” she said around a mouth full of berries.
“A respectful Elva female who can lead his other house slaves with humility. The duke has the means to pay Jonpur double what he paid your father. Your father could have made much more if he had auctioned you.”
Timmilina laughed so hard she nearly choked on berries. “Serves the bastard right,” she muttered under her breath. Ruefully, she realized that she was the one cheated. She’d rather have her term reduced than have Gil make more gold.
“If the duke buys you, you’ll have to learn third-person speech and strict protocols. His standards are very high and he pays us well to ensure we uphold them. But I’ve never known him not to give a slave a decent name—not majuscule or longer than two syllables, of course—but a name nevertheless. And he rarely hits his slaves.”
“He doesn’t punish?” she asked, tearing open an orange.
“Not all men are like your father and Jonpur. He wouldn’t hit you for saying ‘thank you’. His kind of punishment cleanses the soul.”
That was just what she needed—someone who would justify beatings by passing it off as spirituality.
Blackthorn lowered his voice. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s rumored that he doesn’t exercise conjugal rights with his slaves. Perhaps he doesn’t want to sully himself with Itzi. That’s all he owns now. But you cannot refuse your owner, whoever he is.”
Timmilina swallowed the pulp she’d barely chewed. No doubt, Jonpur would spend plenty of lust on her. Surprising he hadn’t done it in front of Gil before dragging her off. All she could think about was survival, but this trainer wanted her to hope she still had a chance at marriage? Ridiculous! No one would want her in three years, used or not. Still, she couldn’t shake Blackthorn’s words. If she had to be ravaged, better by anyone than Jonpur. She didn’t look up as she replied, “Do you really think the duke would buy me?”
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t think so. But I have to remain neutral. Right now, Jonpur is the paying customer.”
She nodded and scraped her teeth across the orange peel, sucking the last bit into her mouth. “Can you tell me how a slave should act in the presence of royalty?” she asked around the food.
He smiled. “Don’t say anything unless he asks you directly. Keep your head bowed and hold your back straight. Other than that, don’t do anything. Let him see you for a bargain, not a charity case.”
She coughed at “bargain”. Jonpur wouldn’t part with his new toy cheaply, especially if some rich nobleman showed interest. Did she dare have any hope? She pushed the fruit bowl away. “Thank you for the food.”
He didn’t acknowledge her thanks. “He’s due tomorrow near meridian toll. By that time, I’ll have all your tests finished so you have a complete score. Let’s get you down to the cells now. Training starts early.”
He reattached the leash and led her to the slave quarters. They didn’t reek of urine and excrement like she expected. Pungent citrus oil predominated instead. Stone halls echoed with weeping and moaning; none of the cells had doors. Each cell held four metal beds. Girls and women, the majority Itzi, were chained to the beds. Blackthorn stopped at an empty cell, locked her leash to a ring on the wall and her ankle to the bed frame.
She was so tired and the crude mattress so welcome that she didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity or concentrate on her pain. Slumber rescued her. Others’ cries and her own nightmares woke her several times, but sleep always came again.
Morning brought Blackthorn to unlock her from the bed and lead her on to more tests and lessons. Do this. Do that. Remember your place. Forget your will. Keep quiet. Kneel and grovel and answer questions. She did her best to comply, but she became more and more convinced she was failing. He didn’t even believe her and forced her to drink a truth potion, then drilled her again.
Through it all, Blackthorn never struck her. He had to be holding back because of the anticipated sale—didn’t want to damage the goods any more than they already were.
He left her alone in the training room while he went to meet Duke Vahn. She alternately paced the floor and sat on a wooden chair. Surely upholstered furniture wasn’t for her use. Her trainer was gone at least a half an hour by her uncertain reckoning.
Blackthorn opened the door and announced, “His Royal Highness, Prince Vahn Rebono, duke of Latoph.”
br /> She knew she should kneel and bow, but she couldn’t resist getting a look at him first.
A tall young man entered with a graceful and confident stride. He was dressed entirely in black—a silk poet’s shirt, tailored jerkin, butter soft kidskin breeches, and polished boots. A silver and onyx tasseau fastened a velvet mantle that draped from his shoulders to the floor. He had a lean frame and an angular jaw line.
Timmilina caught herself before she ventured a look into his eyes. She slipped to her knees and bowed her head.
“This is the slave, your highness,” Blackthorn said.
Gleaming black boots crossed the room. Timmilina clamped her jaw shut to keep her teeth from chattering. The boots stopped a few feet away. She closed her eyes and held her breath.
“Good afternoon,” said a honey smooth voice.
“Good afternoon, your highness,” she replied nervously.
“You may lift your head,” the duke said.
Timmilina lifted her head, but not enough to look up to his face. It wasn’t Blackthorn’s earlier warnings that halted her. Even if she had met him as a freewoman, she didn’t think she’d be venturing a look.
The duke gasped. “Why in Byntar…?”
“Oh, I forgot to warn you,” Blackthorn explained hastily. “We didn’t do that. Her father and owner did that yesterday—before she got here.”
“But what did she do to warrant it?”
“It would be a breach of confidentiality for me to tell you, your highness. I have questioned her about it under truth potion and I do not believe her ‘violations’ would affect her service were she to belong to you.”
“I see,” he said thoughtfully. The duke extended his hand toward her face. She flinched. He withdrew. “What’s your name?”
“Slave,” she answered.
“No, I mean your given name.”
“She is answering as her owner requires,” Blackthorn said.
“Do you know who I am?” the duke asked.
“You are the king’s son, the duke of Latoph, and the master of Rebono Keep.”
“You are correct. And why should I purchase your contract?”
His choice of words touched her. Not ‘why should I buy you,’ but the contract. She shook her head. “I do not know that you should, your highness. Master said you might be interested, but I do not presume to know why.”
“Your master knows of my interest?”
She furrowed her brows in frustration. “My trainer-master said that,” she said, gesturing to Blackthorn. “I do not know what my owner-master knows. I have not seen him since yesterday.”
“He does not know yet,” Blackthorn added.
The duke strode away and motioned Blackthorn to join him. They stopped ten feet from her and lowered their voices, but she could still hear.
“I want her,” the duke said.
“I thought you might,” Blackthorn replied. Timmilina detected a chuckle in his voice. “That’s why I sent for Hannon Jonpur.”
Timmilina felt a chill course her spine at the mention of that name.
“What did he pay for her?” the duke asked.
“Three hundred gold. And her father signed off three years.”
“That’s barely enough for one year! Does he plan to auction her after training?”
“He intends to keep her himself.”
“Then he may be resistant. Does he have any idea what she’s really worth?”
“I am ethically bound to tell him her score. However, I am not obligated to mention that she’s the highest scoring Elva we’ve had in ten years. And I never like to get into pricing.”
“I owe you one.”
“No, your highness. If you manage to buy this girl, I will be just as pleased as you.”
The duke chuckled. “Thank you for showing her to me. You were right. She is just what I want as head of my house.”
“Never let it be said that Galen Blackthorn can’t spot an optimess for a good customer. I need a minute with Jonpur then I’ll leave him for you. He’s next door.”
“Very pleasing.”
Blackthorn slipped out the door and the duke returned to Timmilina. “When he returns, I’m going to negotiate with your owner. Unless you object?”
She shook her head. “No, your highness. If you would count me worthy to join your house, I would be honored. I swear that I will work hard for you.” She wanted to add a promise never to attempt escape, but if he did too much “cleansing the soul”, she didn’t trust herself.
“That’s about the best pledge a slave has ever made to me. If I manage to buy your contract, I’ll be hard-pressed to match it.”
Match it? What did that mean? They waited in silence.
“He’s ready for you, your highness,” Blackthorn said as he reentered.
“Do me a favor while I’m gone, Lord Blackthorn?”
“Of course, your highness.”
“I want silver bands for her. High polish.”
“Those have to be made to order and she can’t wear them during training because there is no way to attach locks or chains. Ringed bands are required while she’s here.”
“Very well. At least procure some good steel ones then. That iron is hideous. Those come off the minute she’s mine.”
Blackthorn laughed. Timmilina wondered whether it was because the duke was so opinionated about the metal or because he was so sure he’d succeed. The duke left first, then Blackthorn spoke to her from the door, “Get off your knees a while. I’m going to hunt down some steel bands. Pray you get to wear them.” The door clicked shut.
She stood and gazed out the barred window. In the distance, past the limestone buildings of the city, she could see the ocean. Had it been less than a day ago that she’d been there, agonizing over whether she owed her father any more care?
The duke returned before Blackthorn. He waved a key and a piece of parchment. “Got it,” he said.
It had to be her contract. She smiled as widely as bruised cheeks allowed. “Thank you, your highness.”
He slipped the key into her neck band. The lock clicked and the seam opened. As he removed it from her neck, he spoke in soft tones. “I’d like you to address me as ‘Master Vahn’, please.”
“Thank you, Master Vahn,” she revised. When the iron was removed, she marveled at the weight lifted.
He dropped the rusted collar to the floor with a thud and frowned at the abrasions on her neck. “You’re welcome. Now for your name.” He paused in his unlocking to scan the contract he’d set aside. “How about ‘timna’?”
Society would call her foolish for being so pleased with a diminutive, but she was grateful to bear anything besides “slave”. Beyond that, he’d taken the trouble to choose something close to her given name. “timna likes it very much, Master Vahn,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Blackthorn said you hadn’t been trained in third person speech, the sly old fox.” Manacles dropped to the floor next.
“I—I mean—timna hasn’t yet. But he told m—timna that you favored it.”
“I do indeed, and I’m pleased that you’re trying already. That dreadful ‘slave’ moniker would never work. If I yelled ‘slave!’ in my house, four or five girls might trample each other trying to answer.”
timna tittered a small laugh.
He lifted her chin. “I’m glad to see they didn’t break you.” She averted her gaze quickly. “Please look me in the eyes,” he said.
Hesitantly, she peered up into his face. Never had she met a man so soft-spoken and gentle. His face was handsome, but betrayed his youth. His eyes were black, the pupil indistinct from the iris. While she wanted to explore the fathoms of his gaze, she couldn’t bear him looking at her bruised face. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, reminding her how much they still hurt.
“I always allow that once, so there’s no curiosity,” he explained.
“timna will never look again.”
“Very pleasing. Now let’s get those infernal iro
ns off your ankles.” He crouched with the key, unlocked the bands, and discarded them into the pile with the rest. “Much better.”
“Thank you, Master Vahn.”
“You’re welcome. That’s not permanent, but the new ones will not be so heavy.”
“You are very kind,” she said sheepishly.
“I’m glad you brought that—”
Blackthorn bustled in through the door. He blinked at them, his gaze darting between timna unfettered and the pile of rusty irons. “That was fast.”
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Master Vahn said with a tone that suggested that he’d used persuasions beyond gold.
“I don’t doubt you did,” Blackthorn chuckled. “Looks like I’m just in time with these.” He offered the new hardware, pewter-colored and half the thickness of the iron.
Master Vahn shook his head. “Actually, if you could give me a room, I’d like to spend some time alone with her. I’ll put the bands on when I’m done.”
“Of course, your highness. Is this room acceptable?” Blackthorn’s gaze lingered on the couch.
“Quite acceptable, thank you. Do you have a basin I could use?”
“There’s one in the inhouse.”
“Meet me back here in an hour then?”
“As you wish.” Blackthorn set the bands on the table and slipped out.
“timna, would you please fill that basin and bring it to me?”
She was his slave, bands or not, and yet he still said please and asked rather than ordered. That earned him much in her estimation. “Yes, Master Vahn.” She used the handpump to fill a glazed terracotta basin. She returned to him, carrying the water carefully.
In her absence, he’d taken a seat on the couch. He pointed to an end table. “Please set it there.” She obeyed. He gestured to the floor at his feet; she caught his meaning and knelt where he’d indicated. Odd, but her backside didn’t hurt so much this time. He removed a handkerchief from his jerkin and soaked it in the water. He wrung it, and then looked at her. “I’m going to touch your face now, all right?”
It wasn’t a perfunctory question, not that he had to ask to begin with. He waited for her approval. “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.
“I know I don’t. I could have just as easily ordered you to do this yourself. But I elected to stay here with you for a reason. Can you guess why?”
It was rather obvious. He was seventeen and had just paid dearly for a virgin. She found it sweet how he wanted to wash her face and make her pretty first. However, with her bruises, it was an impractical goal. “Master wishes to deflower his virgin, yes?”