by Clare London
As I did every year, I thought about the day I might see one of my Mistress’s sons in the ring, one that may have sprung from my own loins. There were still a few years to go before any would be old enough to come to a Choosing, for boys were rarely taken before eighteen. I’d never confessed this curiosity and never would. It was a shameful, private pride of my own. But that wasn’t to say I could repress it entirely. I looked around at the few Gold Warriors who had accompanied their Mistresses here today and wondered how many of them were thinking the same. It wasn’t for us to know if we’d sired a son, if it had been our seed that had been fruitful. Every child was the property of the mother and joined the central City Nursery and School within days of its birth, both male and female. The only connection a Mistress might have with her child after its assisted birth would be to see them procured by another Household within the city, hopefully one she admired. She would be thankful, then, that she’d contributed a child who would be of service to Aza City.
Was I selfish in my thoughts? I’d always tried to be a devout citizen, as taught by the school and then my trainer. And, of course, by my Mistress. Devotion to the city is everything. Service to the city is our reward. That was one of the many phrases we learned over the years, one of the many chants to express our loyalty to the city and gratitude for our life.
I gazed back at the youths in the arena. Any boy child who was not chosen would be returned to the school. There were usually a few who didn’t meet the standards, despite having been put forward. Perhaps it was unfair in some years, when the rest of the boys might be unusually fine. But they each had three chances to be procured, through attendance at three Choosings. Then, if unclaimed, they became a Remainder for the rest of their life. Remainders worked for the city, of course, but only a small proportion of them would ever serve in a Household. It was by no means a shameful fate, for most of the population was designated a Remainder. They had their own pleasures and achievements. That’s what the chants told us. Service to the city was the only way for us all, regardless of final career.
I knew all the Mistress’s sons would attend a Choosing at some stage. They were bred from those who had been chosen themselves, and this arrangement had stood for the many generations that our society had been established, ever since the first colonization here and the establishment of the cities by the Four Queens. The process usually produced very splendid specimens. It meant everyone had the opportunity to choose their Bronzemen from a central resource and enabled the strengthening of some houses, both in bloodline and in military prowess. It also calmed any inappropriate loyalties that might conflict with Devotion to the City. Since the day our race came to this planet, the system had been carefully planned and promoted by the Queens, and we would never question that.
I looked carefully over the boys today for my own purposes. My Mistress would listen to my advice, though the decision was always hers. I looked for a strong body and confidence in bearing, an awareness of growing limbs and good coordination. Some would be my soldiers; the rest would be allocated to the Household’s other two Gold Warriors for training. I was pleased Mistress Luana often allowed me to make my own choice after her initial procurement.
And she? Well, I knew that she looked for the same promise… and then she also looked for those with blond or copper hair, for I had been one myself, ten years ago. I knew that she liked a tall youngster, one with slender hips and limbs, like a young colt. She sought a look in their eyes for intelligence and wit, for she could see through the nervousness and the fear to the real potential of these boys. She wasn’t only looking for a strong and loyal Guard; she was looking for the future breeding and prestige of her Household. The Household of the Exchequer already had a fine reputation, and its boys commanded an excellent level of credit at the Choosings. She’d want to maintain that reputation.
When I looked across at her today and saw the shine in her eyes, I wanted to smile. I knew she looked for fun, as well.
MISTRESS LUANA had eaten the snacks that the Remainder servants brought around and was relaxing on a folding chair. Many of the Mistresses had retired to the back of the arena, once their business was concluded. She’d drunk plenty of wine, which she loved, and settled her account with the Negotiator. Many of the Mistresses had already left. Some could afford more staff in their Household than others, of course, and Mistress Luana was a member of the Queen’s Central Council, so she had additional privileges and a wealthy supply of credit. She had already chosen a fine selection of six. I was pleasantly surprised with the quality this year and was looking forward to the training of the new Bronzemen.
“There’s a sparkle in your eyes, Maen, that reminds me of the boy you were ten years ago,” she called to me happily.
Justes knelt at her side, passing the wine as she required it and reveling in the touch of her hand on his neck. I was more relaxed now. The honor of the Household didn’t seem as critical as the day wore down and the arrangements came to an end.
“You’ve chosen well, Mistress.” I smiled. “As you always do. I’ll arrange the transport for them to the Household tomorrow.”
“Sir.” Orven moved hesitantly beside me. He looked very remorseful for his earlier inattention. For Devotions’ sake, perhaps I wouldn’t have him beaten. Perhaps I needed to make allowances for this being his first Choosing as a Silver. Mistress Luana told me occasionally that I was too harsh with my men, and I was definitely guilty of that with Orven. Something about him sat uncomfortably with me, and I found it difficult to trust his motives at all times. That was a dangerous weakness in a soldier of my Guard.
“Sir, there are still some boys in the ring.”
I glanced at Mistress Luana, who was looking back into the ring. It looked like they’d forgotten a last batch of youngsters. The Negotiator’s assistants looked flustered and embarrassed—a Choosing wasn’t usually such a disjointed event. But they wouldn’t want to miss the chance of having these last few chosen, and to avoid waiting another year to put them forward. There were low, angry discussions, out of earshot of most of the crowd, and the harsh sound of a slap on someone’s head. The dirt floor of the ring had been well and truly scuffed, the Negotiator’s voice was a little hoarse, and the sun, although lower now, still beaded sweat on everyone’s brow. It had been a tiring day.
Then the decision was made, the final boys pushed forward and arranged for viewing. There were five of them on show, standing in a line, the matching sets of bare toes turned inward nervously, their hair glossy with their own sweat and the fresh washing. Two of them clenched their fists at their sides, shaking a little; two others looked angry they’d been left until last, when many of the best Households had already left the arena. The fifth one stood a little way apart, a tall, white-blond boy with a broad shoulder span and pale skin. His chest and stomach already showed good muscle definition. The cloth on his groin was a little grayer than that of the others, his hair a little less shining. But he stood steadily, his body well balanced, and he exuded an air of challenge none of the others had, almost as if he were hostile to this whole event. I found that an unusual—and ungrateful—attitude.
But he was the only one who caught my eye.
“Maen.” The Mistress’s breath brushed my ear. Her voice sounded sly. “You seem entranced. Is it that blond child on the end?”
I made some murmur of protest. I was merely interested in an uncommon specimen, I assured her. I listened to the lineage announcement and heard the ripple of scorn around the remaining audience. The fifth boy was a Remainder child—he had no Household lineage at all! It was a rare situation. The Remainder children were bred for the Utilities and other support functions within the city, in a calculated program controlled by the Mistresses and the Central Council so as to protect their numbers and match the available resources. The male children could theoretically be considered at a Choosing, but the Remainders had largely withdrawn from the event in past years. They rarely contributed specimens fine enough to be attractive. A Ch
oosing wants only the best, only the strongest, only the most handsome.
This boy was all of those things! He had every right to be here at the Choosing, and a better right than any my Mistress had chosen so far today.
What was I thinking? That this boy was the best-looking candidate I had seen during the three years since I’d been promoted to Gold Warrior? That was exactly how I felt.
My pulse pounded in my head and my mouth was dry. He looked as bone thin and immature and basically unformed as all the rest, but there was something about him that shouted to my senses, alerting every intuition I had. It was so strong, I almost imagined he could sense my stare, that he would look up and meet my gaze. But the arena was wide, and our position was still some way back. He continued to stare into the middle distance, his eyes dark and fierce. He focused on none of us.
“Do you want him, Maen?” Mistress Luana’s voice was serious now.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said before I realized I was speaking aloud. “You must choose him. For the Household.”
She raised her eyebrows, probably at my insolence in presuming to tell her what to do. My past history with her didn’t allow a complete disregard for protocol. “The decision is already made, Gold Warrior. He is mine. I bid while your eyes boggled and your tongue tried to lick life back into your dry lips. You know what a fondness I have for blonds.” Her laugh was soft, but it didn’t sound as carefree as before. I looked at her and couldn’t read her expression. It was easy for people to see her slight, feminine beauty and forget her sharp intelligence. I didn’t want to be accused of that myself.
“Settle with the Negotiator,” she said curtly. “Justes will see me back to my carriage.”
I nodded, wondering why my throat was so tight. Surely it was from the dust and the heat. Then my Mistress seemed to relent a little, and she touched my hip as she turned to leave the arena.
“Come to me later, Maen,” she murmured. “Come at midnight. I will have worn the Silver boy out by then.” She looked up at me, her questioning gaze belying her vulgar jokes. “Come to me tonight, Maen. I need you.”
Chapter Two
BACK AT the barracks, I spent several hours registering the new Bronzemen and supervising the preparation of their quarters. The Silvers were dutiful yet surly—perhaps Mistress Luana had been right when she said how unsettling it was for these ranks at Choosing time. I ignored such nonsense. They were professional soldiers. They had no expectations of attention, only to earn the respect of their Guard and their city. They’d all had their time as Bronzemen, but that was in the past. The heady excitement of that time was well compensated by the benefits and maturity of a Silver Captain’s status.
I knew my beliefs were not shared by all; I was no fool. But I was a devout citizen, and I knew the duty required, both of me and my men. While they were in my Guard, they would abide by it. Or know my anger.
Surprisingly Orven had worked particularly hard, so I praised him for it. He’d escaped my wrath after his attendance at the Choosing. He wasn’t as well built or as stocky as many of the other Silvers, and to be honest, he’d struggled during some of the training to reach the same standards of physical fitness. But his musculature was developing well, and his upper body strength had increased substantially. He had a gritty determination that carried him along even when his body weakened. And his blade skills were within the top five best of my Guard.
But he wasn’t popular in the barracks. Although I didn’t give gossip any formal attention, I was aware of it. According to his fellow soldiers, Orven had alienated most of them with his arrogant and greedy behavior. I couldn’t be concerned with such inappropriate things as popularity, of course, but I kept it in mind.
Otherwise I received the usual commitment and quiet obedience from my best Silvers, including Fremer and Grien. I went back to my office, leaving them to conclude the work in the quarters and disseminate the orders for the week ahead, including the duties for collecting, cleaning, and dressing the boys the next day. My Mistress would inform me of the allocation of the boys to their trainers, and I’d brief the other Gold Warriors as required. My Guard was the largest and the strongest. Although the other Gold Warriors did not officially report to me, my Mistress often used me as the senior authority.
A quiet cough by the door to my room made me look up from the papers on my table. A Gold Warrior had an office within the Household’s military block to carry out his administrative duties, though he must return to the main living quarters in off-duty time. I spent a lot of my time in that office. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable room, cramped and sparsely furnished, but it was a quiet place. I’d never been afraid of my own company. My Mistress had always understood this, for which I was grateful.
“Busy time, eh, Maen?” Grien smiled broadly at me.
He had a very friendly manner that often cheered me, though I was concerned it would prevent his promotion to Gold Warrior. He worked well and was physically very accomplished—he was our current champion in the spear and axe events, as well as an excellent wrestler; he beat me more and more easily as years went by. A tall, attractive, dark-haired man, he’d always been called frequently by the Ladies and designated a favorite by many. Even my Mistress had spent longer with him when he was a Bronzeman than most of the others. I liked him. While that wasn’t of significance, I couldn’t deny his assistance helped me run the barracks more easily and pleasantly. Even if he sometimes lacked the gravitas needed to progress in the service of the city, I reckoned that would eventually come.
When my Mistress looked at him, she’d smile gently, but she didn’t look as if she’d trust him with full control of her Household. I’d always believed that to be the most important part of our duty, but then I’d see him at work or share a joke and a drink with him, and I’d question that certainty.
I was delaying his appraisal for these very reasons. I had some latitude in scheduling the periodic reports, but I couldn’t delay it for much longer.
And now he was here, smiling at me with easy warmth. I pushed the papers aside and smiled in return. “Supper’s ready?”
Grien lowered himself down into my one other chair and nodded. “Devotion in half an hour, then food.” He moved gracefully for a grown man. He wore only the sleeveless vest that we have on under our armor, and rough, loose trousers tucked into his boots. He’d removed his belt and carried no arms, not even a knife. Grien could be an almost reluctant soldier; he fought with a ferocity that few matched, but when he was off duty, he dropped the clothes and insignia of the military at the earliest opportunity. None of us had many personal clothes, for they were not required for city service, but Grien had the most of us all.
“It went well, I hear, the Choosing. That fool Justes has been boasting he’s been called by my Mistress, and a couple of the others have also been called by the Ladies. Their lusts are high in anticipation of the new Bronzemen. They need some reminder of the technical details, eh?” He smiled at his own wit, knowing he could be fairly relaxed in front of me; we would both soon be off duty. “The rest of us on late shift are going into the city for a drink or two.”
“Or three,” I said, though teasingly. Everyone knew Grien loved to drink.
“Or three,” he agreed with a laugh. He peered at me, searching my expression, and his eyes suddenly clouded. His moods could change like that, very swiftly. “How many will it take, then?”
“What do you mean?”
His voice was low. “How many must I—or you—drink before you’ll join me in the quarters tonight?”
I tensed, my hands suddenly tight on the side of the table. I knew this was an invitation beyond a casual drink with the men. This wasn’t the first time Grien had asked, nor the first time I’d refused. Understand this: I wasn’t offended, far from it! But it wasn’t my wish tonight.
“You need some relaxation, sir,” he said, in the same low, vibrant voice. The title sounded mocking in his rich tone.
“I’ve been called by my Mistress a
t midnight,” I replied, quietly. “I can join you in town until then. After that, though, I have no idea when I’ll be back in the quarters.”
Grien bit at his lip, a slight flush on his face, though he wasn’t usually a man to be embarrassed. “Of course. You are one of her favorites. Though after tomorrow, she’ll have new blood to entertain her for a while, eh?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to say anything more. The air in the room was tight with tension.
Grien stood up suddenly, his chair scraping across the floor. He stretched out his long, athletic limbs. He was a very attractive man indeed, and he knew I was watching him. “She won’t call you forever, Maen. And there’s no restriction on enjoying yourself with the rest of us, is there?”
He was right, of course. The Silvers were expected to maintain their prime condition, and the development of a strong body led to an equally healthy libido. It was important they were able to enjoy whatever pleasures of the flesh they could. Therefore, if a Lady didn’t call you, there was no shame in coupling with the men of your Guard, your fellow soldiers, even the Golds. In fact, it was encouraged. The Silvers must be kept satisfied; it allowed them to concentrate all their mental energy on their military duty to the city.
Grien moved over to the table, graceful like a feral cat, his movement almost predatory. He landed a hand on either side of mine, the thump on the wood startling me, and he bent his head. I could smell fresh, cold water on his skin from his wash after the day’s work, the underlying muskiness on his vest of leather straps, the tang of metal from the armor he’d worn all day. On his breath, I could smell the ale he must have already supped in the barracks kitchen. He had allies there who’d supply him in advance of a meal.
“Don’t you feel the need anymore?” he said more softly. “Is that what it is to be a Gold? You take the requisite Devotions, and in return you’re driven to avoid your natural desires, to repress your urges, to devote yourself to your paperwork instead?”