“You were in Furmelle, my lord?”
“Unfortunately.” He glanced at her and then slid down the short bench. “Please, sit. You know what I am. It’s foolish to pretend otherwise.”
“You are a freeman and a master now.”
“And I was once before, too, until my circumstances changed. Please sit.”
She did, facing carefully forward on the bench, her back straight.
“How did you know to read before your training?” Luca asked. “Were you freeborn, too?”
“Oh, no, my lord.” She gave him a quick, embarrassed smile. “No, I had some schooling from my mother, who was also a born slave. I’m not sure where she’d picked it up, but she was always clever with it. We were part of a country estate, you see, until the old master died without an heir. For a couple of years after that, a proxy steward managed things. Then rumor came that the estate would go to someone else, a reward to some royal favorite, and our steward knew he was going to be replaced. He made it a point to squeeze as much money from the place as he could before he left, including selling off a number of us.”
“Your mother was still with the estate?”
“Yes, my lord. I was, if you’ll allow the telling, terrified, sure I’d end up in a brothel or a rich pervert’s bed. But Master Thalian found me first, and I became an aelipto.” She looked at him. “We heard stories about Furmelle, many stories.”
“Whatever the worst were, they were true.” Luca hunched his shoulders. “Be glad you weren’t there.” He paused. “Why don’t you say what you think?”
“My lord?”
“Your master brought you a flogged man whose siblings sold him into slavery. Most people would be at least startled by this, and yet you say nothing.”
“It is not my place to comment on my master’s friends.”
“You were free enough in your speech at other times, teasing my ignorance—not that I minded. And you act as you will, offering help even when I didn’t know I wanted it. You are not timid, you merely hold your own counsel.”
She glanced down, suppressing a smile. “I—at first, I guessed you were a leper.”
Luca gaped and then laughed aloud. “A leper? Because I hid myself?”
“Exactly.”
“Your master would never permit it. I suspect an aelipto is too valuable to risk.”
“An aelipto is somewhat costly, but I couldn’t imagine why else you were wrapped and cloaked.”
“A leper.” He chuckled again. “I’ve not been that, yet.”
“I’ve never actually seen a leper,” Marla admitted. “I’d only heard stories from old Gehrnzarse—” She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, as if to catch the word before it had gone too far.
Luca grinned. “Which one was that? The proxy steward or your instructor?”
“Master Thalian,” she confessed, blushing. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
“I am not your master. I won’t mind what you call them.”
“We actually liked him, we did. He was very fair, patient, never touched the women nor the men in training. But we called him that because that’s what he said whenever he did get irritated.” She smiled with the recollection. “It took us months to learn what a Gehrn’s arse even was. The Gehrn are a cult—”
“A militaristic cult, worshiping war, specifically strength and the display of it. Their central citadel is in Davan.”
She sobered; he must not have kept the bitterness entirely from his voice. “You have some experience with them?”
He hesitated. “Some.” He glanced down at his fingers, clenching white in his lap. “I have seen them, yes.” His fingers spasmed. She would have needed to be both blind and stupid, and she was neither. “If ever Falten Isen takes it into his mind to sell you, and you think you might go to the Gehrn, break every law and run.”
His eyes were on his white fingers, so he did not see her expression. But her body shifted nearer on the bench as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s only—this has been a day of unpleasant memories and worse speech. There was no reason for me to say such a thing.”
She smiled. “Fortunately, I believe my master has no inclination to be rid of me. And it seems unlikely you will ever see the Gehrn again, either.”
“Not one, at least. The high priest is in prison in Alham.” Luca relaxed marginally.
“In prison? Did your brother do that?”
Luca snorted. “Jarrick? No. Jarrick came to Alham on business, that’s all. Flamen Ande was arrested when the shield collapsed during his ritual.”
“The shield?”
“You’ve heard of that, surely. The Great Circle made a magical shield to repel the Ryuven. It stretched over all of Alham and beyond, over the kingdom, maybe the entire world, I don’t know.”
“Yes, we’d heard of that. You were with the high priest when it collapsed?”
He grimaced. “The Gehrn ritual required a prisoner of war, and I was a Furmelle slave. Near enough.”
She caught her breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad of it, in a way.” He exhaled. “After the shield collapsed, Master Shianan took me from the prison. He treated my wounds and he made me human again. If not for the ritual, I would have stayed with the Gehrn, I would never have known my friend, I would never have seen my brother.”
“Master Shianan?” she repeated. “That’s an odd...”
Luca smiled faintly. “It is indeed Master Shianan, not Master Becknam. He—we were friends, really. More than a master and slave. Nearer brothers.”
“He is not the one who came with you? Who brought my lady this morning?”
“No! No, that’s Jarrick, my brother by birth. No, Master Shianan is entirely different.”
“He is the one you honored by practicing on the roof.”
He glanced at her, surprised. “Yes.”
“He must have been a fine man. And then your brother found you?”
“He came for business with Master Shianan, and—and I recognized him.”
“You must have been so happy,” Marla supposed. “If I saw my mother here...”
Luca bit at his lip. “I did not know if I was pleased. It was my own family which sold me. I wanted to go home—but I was afraid of them.” The words surprised him. “Yes, afraid of them. That is why, this morning...”
“But you came with your brother.”
“I had no choice.” Hot, dark emotion flooded him. “Master Shianan sold me to Jarrick. Sold me! After he’d promised that he would never... Yes, it was my brother and not a trader for auction, but—but he knew I was unsure. He knew I was afraid to go home.”
“Perhaps he knew, but wanted you to be with your family. If his family is close—”
“Ha,” Luca snapped. “He has no family—he never has. He is a bastard son. His father won’t acknowledge him, his half-siblings disdain him, his father’s wife hates him, I’ve never heard any mention at all of his own mother. That is what we were to one another, both rejected. His family is not close. He doesn’t have a family to be close.”
Marla spoke softly. “And your brother wanted you.”
Luca stared at her, and gaping understanding opened before him. “I hadn’t thought—you’re right.” He heaved a great sigh. “Of course. And only the Holy One knows what Jarrick said. How could he have refused? He would give his own blood for a word from his father or brothers. He would never have kept me from—he must have thought he was giving me the chance he could never have.”
“He was a good friend to you.”
Luca nodded silently.
“You could write to him.”
Luca nodded again. “But—not yet. Not until I can say I am settled here.”
They were quiet a moment. He could feel Marla’s nearness, aware of her in a way that he had long thought he’d forgotten. He glanced at her and wondered.
He felt comfortable with her, of
course—not only in submitting to her healing touch, but in speaking with her, in telling her too much, in chuckling as she gently mocked him. He’d craved her stability and calm. He could be good friends with her, he knew. But there had been a charged tingle when her hair brushed his skin, a tension of more than mere friendship.
But he had hardly thought of such things. Yes, he’d entertained fancies and dreams when he was a tutor in the Vadis household, eying the pretty female slaves, and then had come the failed and gruesome rebellion. And then he had gone to the Gehrn... A man did not indulge in fantasies when he lived in daily fear.
Marla looked at him, a slow recognition dawning in her eyes and, with it, a faint wariness.
“No.” Luca clenched his fists. “No, you needn’t worry on that, I swear. I have been a slave myself, and I will not take advantage.” He gulped. “And I would not dare to ask you. I am free, they say, but I feel myself a slave still. I only...”
Marla shook her head. “It was only a moment, my lord. You were thinking of other things, and you made no approach to me. I accepted the offer to sit beside you and was caught in the heady rush of privilege. We neither of us—”
Luca’s hand twitched toward her, wanting to catch her but not quite daring to touch her. “Wait. Please, if for just one moment you were not a slave and I were not a freeman—would you...?”
She glanced down, and her head moved slightly. “No. I’m sorry.”
His breath caught, and embarrassment scorched through him.
“And I am married.”
Luca blinked. “You are?”
Marla gave him a quick, mocking smile, herself again. “Slaves do marry, you know.”
He gestured, glad for the excuse to look about the room. “You were alone here... I assumed...”
Her mouth stayed in a smile, but her eyes shifted away. “We were separated.”
Luca’s stomach sank. He should have guessed. “I am so sorry.”
Her face tightened, pressing her lips together. “I keep a hope that I will see him again. It’s possible. Why shouldn’t it happen?” Her throat moved.
Useless, helpless sympathy chafed at Luca, and he wanted to reach out to her, to offer comfort. But he dared not move toward her, not after his tentative advance, and she would not want it. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “Maybe you’ll find him.” He needed something more to say. “Where is he? Er—what does he do?”
“He’s a clerk,” she said. “My mother trained him; that’s how we met.” She took a breath and then exhaled sharply. “Enough, that’s no interest to anyone.” She slid from the bench and made a hasty bow. “I will go for my lord’s supper.”
She was upset, but not angry. He had carelessly stumbled upon a hurt, and there was little to be done for it.
Luca was left alone in the darkening room, feeling the tangible absence of Marla, of Cole, of Jarrick, Sara, Shianan. He twitched restlessly on the bench, feeling hot disappointment and frustration mix with his bitter loneliness.
Had it been easier as a slave? No, no, of course not—he had only to think of any single day under Ande to know that, or to recall again the constant weight of the chain linking his wrist to the tinker’s cart. Even as a tutor he had chafed and fretted, though if he had known what lay ahead, he would have been pathetically grateful to face only moody children and petty fellow slaves.
But he had known his place, at least. He had known that nothing was available to him, that he dared not hope. As the youngest son of a merchant house, he had been nominally respected, but the attention and prizes had always gone to his elder brothers. He had contented himself with their leavings, entertaining the client’s less-fair daughter or attending the lesser gatherings, but the bright hope of more had always teased him. As a slave, he’d learned to expect nothing, and he had never been disappointed.
And then Shianan had given him more, surprising him wholly, and he had begun to dream again. And then he had come here, where he was more than a slave but less than a freeman, excluded from slaves’ conversation just as he no longer moved comfortably among the free.
He stared at the remaining paper and ink, but there was no one to whom he wished to write. He clenched his fist and rose, shoving the bench back. He could not sit quietly, could not be idle after years of forced activity, could not be still with thoughts whirling within him. He climbed the stairs to the roof.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MARU DID NOT KNOW HOW long he had sat in the cell. There was no sunlight to mark the passing of days, and the guards’ schedule was irregular, he guessed. They were largely unconcerned with the Ryuven, and aside from the inconvenience of bringing food and water, the guards barely troubled themselves with the prisoners. Once in a while they brought a bucket into which he could empty his soil pot—not often enough—but if there were still experiments as the other prisoners had described, Maru was not taken for them.
His broken wing ached in the cold. He could not fold it, but it was tiring to hold it above the chill, damp floor. He braced an edge against the wall, wincing at the pressure but losing less heat to the stone. His good left wing he kept partially extended, wrapped about his shoulder and arm for warmth.
There was another Ryuven in the cell to his right, and one beyond that, nearest the door. No one ever went to the empty cells to Maru’s left. There was no physical escape through the stone and rusty iron, even with the reduced guard, but he could call to the prisoner beside him.
“Cilbitha’sho.” They did not bother to whisper. There was no one to hear them.
There was a grumble from behind the wall. “I was trying to sleep.”
Maru pressed his fingers against his arms. “There’s plenty of time to sleep.”
“It’s the only way to pass the time. Do you think I want to listen to a nim’s prattle?” There was a sigh. “What did you have to say, Maru?”
“I—nothing in particular. I just—it’s so silent. So dark and silent.”
“Like we’re buried. Maybe we are. Maybe this is dead.”
“Shut up, Cilbitha,” came a more distant voice. “Look, lad, can you move?”
Maru extended his good wing an arm’s length, until it bumped the opposite wall. “Yes.”
“Exactly. You ever seen a corpse move? We’re not dead, then, Cilbitha.”
“Of course not,” snapped the Ryuven between them. “But we might as well be. And given their failing interest, we might be soon. If they don’t kill us, they might just forget to feed us.”
“That’s so,” admitted Parrin at the far end. “I don’t think they remember as often even now.”
“How’s your wing, nim?”
“It hurts.” Maru shifted. “I keep hoping—they say Subduing can wear off after time.”
“I’ve heard that too,” said Parrin. “But I’ve been here a long time... Sometimes it never comes back. You’re just burned out and empty forever.”
“And what of that?” Cilbitha snapped.
“It would hardly make a difference to me,” Maru added. “I’m only nim. No one would notice if I were Subdued forever.”
The others laughed with the grim humor of the condemned. As the cells fell quiet again, Maru blinked unseeing into the dark. What he’d joked was untrue; nim had the least power of any Ryuven, yes, but they could heal themselves of many injuries, given time. There were moments when they chose not to—one never augmented healing of a wound given by one of a higher caste, for example, at least not within the other’s sight—and magical injuries were easier to heal than physical, but ordinarily even a traumatic injury like his snapped wing should have troubled him no more than days.
Without his innate magical ability, though, his wing was knitting too slowly, and anyway it was not the type of injury which should be left alone to heal. A bone could join, but if misaligned, it still could leave its owner a cripple.
Maru choked back a sob and pressed his fist hard against his mouth, lest the others hear his distress. It did not matter whether his wing heale
d properly or not, whether he ever recovered his natural abilities—he was trapped in a tiny, cold, wet world without sunlight, and he was as good as dead. Nothing else could matter.
A rattling of iron echoed to them, as hinges creaked and a flickering light crept down the corridor. Maru instinctively leaned toward the bars, as a plant might bend toward light, and his wing twinged sharply.
“We just got the three of them, my lord mage,” a gruff voice explained. “We was told we wouldn’t be needing the rest, anyway.”
“I understand.” The footsteps sounded sharp in the damp atmosphere. “Bring the light. I want to see them.” One set of footsteps hurried as the other stilled. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon, is it?” came Parrin’s dry tone. “I wouldn’t know.”
“I’m Ewan Hazelrig, White Mage of the Great Circle,” came the even reply. “I’m looking for a Ryuven.”
“You’ve found one, it seems.”
Maru’s heart quickened. The White Mage Ewan Hazelrig... This man had known Tamaryl. This was the man to whose office door Maru had carried the letter.
“I was rather hoping for one in particular,” the mage answered. “I want a nim.”
There was silence from Parrin’s cell. The guard cleared his throat. “What’s a nim, my lord mage?”
“It is a common Ryuven,” answered the mage absently. Maru thought he sounded vaguely annoyed, as if he disliked being distracted from his business.
“Common, my lord? It’s a type of Ryuven, then?”
“Yes. Most of the Ryuven who came here were nim.”
“Common like a garter snake?”
“If you please, guardsman, I have work here.”
“Yes, m’lord mage. Sorry.”
“I may assume, then, you are not nim?”
It was Cilbitha who answered. “What do you want with a nim?”
The White Mage came further down the corridor, followed by the guard with the torch. The light hurt Maru’s eyes. “You’re nim?”
“I’m sho. I’m worth good ransom, if you’d only think of it.” The veneer of bravado in his voice began to crack. “Take us out of the dark, mage. If you know we’re of rank, you know we could have higher accommodations. We’re no good to you down here, none at all.”
Blood & Bond Page 22