by S. U. Pacat
In Vere, the problem was one of neglect. The Regent had not taken any of the slaves to bed. The Regent was a largely absent figure, busy with affairs of state, served by pets of his own choosing. The slaves were left to their handlers, and to the vagaries of a bored court. Reading between the lines, they were treated as animals, their obedience a parlour trick, and the ‘tests’ thought up by the sophisticated court, which the slaves struggled to perform, were in some cases truly sadistic. As in the case of Erasmus. Damen felt sick.
‘You must crave freedom more than I do,’ said Damen. The slave’s courage made him feel ashamed.
‘Freedom?’ said Erasmus, sounding scared for the first time. ‘Why would I want that? I cannot . . . I am made for a master.’
‘You were made for better masters than these. You deserve someone who appreciates your worth.’
Erasmus flushed and said nothing.
‘I promise you,’ said Damen. ‘I will find a way to help you.’
‘I wish—’ said Erasmus.
‘You wish?’
‘I wish I could believe you,’ said Erasmus. ‘You talk like a master. But you are a slave, like I am.’
Before Damen could reply, there was a sound from the paths, and, as he had done once before, Erasmus prostrated himself, anticipating the arrival of another courtier.
Voices from the path: ‘Where’s the Regent’s slave?’
‘Back there.’
And then, rounding the corner: ‘There you are.’ And then: ‘And look who else they let out.’
It was not a courtier. It was not petite, malicious, exquisite Nicaise. It was coarse-featured, broken-nosed Govart.
He spoke to Damen, who had last faced him in the ring in a desperate grapple for purchase and mastery.
Govart casually clasped the back of Erasmus’s gold collar and dragged him up by it, as an uncaring owner might heft a dog around. Erasmus, a boy not a dog, choked violently as the collar dug into his tender throat, caught at the join of neck and jaw, just above his Adam’s apple.
‘Shut up.’ Govart, irritated by the coughing, slapped him hard across the face.
Damen felt the jerk of restraint as his body hit the limits of his chains, heard the metallic sound before he even realised he’d reacted. ‘Let him go.’
‘You want me to?’ He shook Erasmus by the collar for punctuation. Erasmus, who had understood shut up, was wet-eyed from the brief choking, but silent. ‘Don’t think I will. Got told to haul him back. No one said I couldn’t enjoy myself on the way.’
Damen said, ‘If you want another go around, all you have to do is take a step forward.’ It would please him a great deal to hurt Govart.
‘I’d rather fuck your sweetheart,’ said Govart. ‘The way I figure it, I’m owed a fuck.’
As he spoke, Govart pushed up the slave tunic, revealing the curves beneath. Erasmus didn’t struggle when Govart kicked his ankles apart and lifted his arms up. He let himself be manhandled, and then stayed in position, awkwardly bent over.
The realisation that Govart was going to fuck Erasmus right here in front of him hit with the same sense of unreality that he’d felt when faced with Ancel. It wasn’t possible that something like this was going to happen—that this court was so depraved that a mercenary could rape a royal slave a scant distance from the gathered court. There was no one within hearing distance except for the disinterested guard. Erasmus’s face, red with humiliation, was turned determinedly away from Damen.
‘The way I figure it—’ Govart used this phrase again. ‘—your master’s the one who fucked us both. He’s the one who should really be getting it. But in the dark, one blond’s as good as another. Better,’ said Govart. ‘Stick your cock in that frigid bitch, he’d freeze it off. This one likes it.’
He did something with his hand under the bunched up tunic. Erasmus made a sound. Damen jerked, and this time the harsh metallic noise suggested loudly that the ancient iron was about to give.
The sound of it shook the guard loose from his post.
‘There some problem?’
‘He doesn’t like me fucking his little slave friend,’ said Govart. Erasmus, mortifyingly exposed, looked like he was silently breaking down.
‘Fuck him somewhere else then,’ the guard said.
Govart smiled. Then he pushed Erasmus hard in the small of the back.
‘I will,’ Govart said. Shoving Erasmus ahead of him, he disappeared along the paths, and there was absolutely nothing Damen could do to stop him.
Night turned to morning. The garden entertainments ended. Damen was deposited back in his room, clean and tended and chained and powerless.
Laurent’s prediction regarding the reaction of the guards—and the servants, and all the members of his retinue—turned out to be stingingly accurate. Laurent’s household reacted to collusion with the Regent with anger and enmity. The fragile relationships Damen had managed to build were gone.
It was the worst possible time for a change in attitude. Now, when those relationships might have brought him news, or been able in some small way to influence the treatment of the slaves.
He had no thought of his own freedom. There was only the constant pull of concern and of responsibility. To escape alone would be an act of selfishness and betrayal. He could not leave, not if it meant abandoning the others to their fate. And yet, he was totally without power to affect any change in their circumstances.
Erasmus was right. His promise to help was an empty one.
Outside his room, several things were happening. The first was that, in response to the Regent’s edicts, the Prince’s household was being cut back. Without access to income from his various estates, Laurent’s retinue was substantially diminished and his spending curtailed. In the whirlwind of changes, Damen’s room was moved from the royal pet residences to somewhere inside Laurent’s wing of the palace.
It didn’t help him. His new room had the same number of guards, the same pallet, the same silks and cushions, the same iron link in the floor, though this one looked newly installed. Even short of funds, Laurent didn’t seem inclined to skimp on security for his Akielon prisoner. Unfortunately.
From snippets of overheard conversation Damen learned that, elsewhere, the delegation from Patras had arrived to discuss trade with Vere. Patras bordered on Akielos, and was a country of similar culture—not traditionally an ally of Vere. The news of talks concerned him. Was the delegation here simply to discuss trade, or was it part of some larger shift in the political landscape?
He had about as much luck finding out the business of the Patran delegation as he had had in helping the slaves, which was to say none at all.
There had to be something he could do.
There was nothing he could do.
To face his own powerlessness was awful. He had at no point since his capture truly thought of himself as a slave. He had played lip service to the role, at best. He had viewed punishments as no more than minor obstacles, because this situation in his mind was temporary. He had believed that escape was in his future. He still believed that.
He wanted to be free. He wanted to find his way home. He wanted to stand in the capital, raised on its marble pillars, and look out over the greens and blues of mountains and ocean. He wanted to face Kastor, his brother, and ask him, man to man, why he had done what he had done. But life in Akielos went on without Damianos. These slaves had no one else to help them.
And what did it mean, to be a prince, if he did not strive to protect those weaker than himself?
The sun, sinking low in the sky, brought light into his room through the grilled windows.
When Radel entered, Damen begged an audience with the Prince.
Radel, with obvious relish, refused. The Prince, said Radel, did not care to trouble himself with a turncoat Akielon slave. He had more exalted business to attend to. Tonight there was a banquet in honour of the Patran Ambassador. Eighteen courses, and the most talented pets entertaining with dance and games and performance
. Knowing Patran culture, Damen could only imagine the reaction of the delegation to the more inventive entertainments of the Veretian court, but he stayed silent as Radel described the glory of the table, and the courses in detail, and the wines: mulberry wine and fruit wine and sinopel. Damen was not fit for that company. Damen was not fit to eat the leavings from the table. Radel, having made his point at satisfactory length, left.
Damen waited. He knew that Radel would be obliged to pass on the request.
He had no illusions about his relative importance in Laurent’s household, but if nothing else, his inadvertent role in Laurent’s power struggle with his uncle meant that his request for an audience would not be ignored. Would probably not be ignored. He settled in, knowing that Laurent would make him wait. Surely not longer than a day or two, he thought.
That was what he thought. And so, when night came, he slept.
He woke amid crushed pillows and disturbed silken sheets to find that Laurent’s cool blue gaze was on him.
The torches were lit and the servants who had lit them were withdrawing. Damen moved; silk, skin-warm, slid away completely to pool among the cushions as he pushed himself up. Laurent paid it no attention. Damen recalled that a visit from Laurent had woken him from sleep once before.
It was closer to dawn than sunset. Laurent was dressed in court clothes, having come, presumably, after the eighteenth course and whatever nightly entertainments had followed. Not drunk this time.
Damen had expected a long, excruciating wait. There was slight resistance from the chain as it dragged across the cushions, following his movement. He thought about what he had to do, and why he had to do it.
Very deliberately, he knelt, and bowed his head, and lowered his eyes to the floor. For a moment, it was so quiet that he could hear the flames from the torches fluttering in the air.
‘This is new,’ said Laurent.
‘There’s something I want,’ said Damen.
‘Something you want.’ The same words, precisely enunciated.
He had known it was not going to be easy. Even with someone else, not this cold, unpleasant prince, it would not be easy.
‘You get something in return,’ said Damen.
He set his jaw as Laurent slowly paced around him, as though simply interested in viewing him from all angles. Laurent stepped mincingly over the chain that lay slack on the ground, completing his tour.
‘Are you misguided enough to try to bargain with me? What could you possibly offer that I would want?’
‘Obedience,’ said Damen.
He felt Laurent react to that idea. Subtly but unmistakably, the interest was there. Damen tried not to think too much about what he was offering, what it would mean to keep this promise. He would face that future when he came to it.
‘You want me to submit. I’ll do it. You want me to publicly earn the punishment that your uncle won’t let you mete out? Whatever performance you want from me, you’ll have it. I will throw myself on the sword. In exchange for one thing.’
‘Let me guess. You want me to take off your chains. Or reduce your guard. Or put you in a room where the doors and windows are unbarred. Don’t waste your breath.’
Damen forced the anger down. It was more important to be clear. ‘I don’t think the slaves in your uncle’s care are well treated. Do something about it, and the bargain is made.’
‘The slaves?’ Laurent said, after a slight pause. And then, with renewed drawling scorn: ‘Am I supposed to believe you care about their welfare? How exactly would they be treated better in Akielos? It is your barbaric society that forced them into slavery, not mine. I would not have thought it possible to train the will out of a man, but you have managed it. Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.’
Damen said, ‘One of the handlers took a heated iron from the fire to test whether the slave would obey an order to stay silent while he used it. I don’t know if that is usual practice in this place, but good men don’t torture slaves in Akielos. Slaves are trained to obey in all things, but their submission is a pact: they give up free will in exchange for perfect treatment. To abuse someone who cannot resist—isn’t that monstrous?’
Damen said, ‘Please. They’re not like me. They’re not soldiers. They haven’t killed anyone. They’re innocent. They will serve you willingly. And so will I, if you do something to help them.’
There was a long silence. Laurent’s expression had changed.
Finally, Laurent said, ‘You overestimate my influence over my uncle.’
Damen began to speak, but Laurent cut him off.
‘No. I—’ Laurent’s golden brows had drawn slightly together, as though he had encountered something that did not make sense. ‘You would really sacrifice your pride over the fate of a handful of slaves?’ He had worn the same look on his face at the ring; he was gazing at Damen as though he was searching for an answer to an unexpected problem. ‘Why?’
Anger and frustration broke free of their bonds. ‘Because I am stuck here in this cage and I have no other way to help them.’ He heard the rage lash in his voice, and tried to force it down, with limited success. His breathing was uneven.
Laurent was staring at him. The little golden frown was etched deeper.
After a moment, Laurent gestured to the guard at the door and Radel was summoned. He arrived presently.
Without taking his eyes off Damen, Laurent said, ‘Has anyone been in or out of this room?’
‘No one but your own staff, Your Highness. As you ordered.’
‘Which of the staff?’
Radel recited a list of names. Laurent said, ‘I want to speak to the guards who were watching over the slave in the gardens.’
‘I’ll send for them personally,’ said Radel, departing on the errand.
‘You think this is a trick,’ said Damen.
He could see from the assessing look on Laurent’s face that he was right. The bitter laughter just came out.
‘Something amuses you?’ Laurent.
‘What would I have to gain from—’ Damen broke off. ‘I don’t know how to convince you. You don’t do anything without a dozen motives. You lie even to your own uncle. This is country of deviousness and deception.’
‘Whereas pure Akielos is free of treachery? The heir dies on the same night as the King and it is merely coincidence that smiles on Kastor?’ said Laurent, silkily. ‘You should kiss the floor when you beg for my favour.’
Of course Laurent would invoke Kastor. They were alike. Damen forcibly reminded himself of why he was here. ‘I apologise. I spoke out of turn.’ Grittily.
Laurent said, ‘If this is a fabrication—if I find you have been moonlighting with emissaries from my uncle—’
‘I haven’t,’ said Damen.
The guard took a little longer to rouse than Radel, who presumably never slept, but they arrived reasonably promptly. Dressed in livery and looking alert, rather than, as might be expected, yawning and trailing bed linen.
‘I want to know who spoke with the slave the night you watched over him in the gardens,’ said Laurent. ‘Nicaise and Vannes I know about.’
‘That was it,’ came the answer. ‘There was no other.’ And then, as Damen felt a sick sensation in his stomach: ‘No. Wait.’
‘Oh?’
‘After you left,’ the guard said, ‘he got a visit from Govart.’
Laurent turned back to Damen, blue eyes like ice.
‘No,’ said Damen, knowing Laurent believed this now to be some scheme of his uncle’s. ‘It’s not what you think.’
But it was too late.
‘Shut him up,’ said Laurent. ‘Try not to leave any new marks. He’s caused enough trouble for me as it is.’
CHAPTER 7
SEEING NO REASON whatsoever to cooperate with that order, Damen stood up.
It had an interesting effect on the guard who brought up short and swung his gaze back to Laurent, seeking further guidance. Radel was also in the room, and at the door stood the tw
o guards who were on watch.
Laurent narrowed his eyes at the problem, but offered no immediate solution.
Damen said, ‘You could bring in more men.’
Behind him were strewn the cushions and rumpled silk sheets, and trailing across the floor was the single chain linked to his wrist-cuff that was no impediment to movement at all.
‘You are really courting danger tonight,’ Laurent said.
‘Am I? I thought I was appealing to your better nature. Order whatever punishment you like, from the coward’s distance of a chain-length. You and Govart are two of a kind.’
It was not Laurent but the guard who reacted, steel flashing out of the sheath. ‘Watch your mouth.’
He was wearing livery, not armour. The threat was negligible. Damen looked at his drawn sword with scorn. ‘You’re no better. You saw what Govart was doing. You did nothing to stop him.’
Laurent raised a hand, halting the guard before he could take another angry step forward.
‘What was it he was doing?’ said Laurent.
The guard stepped back, then shrugged. ‘Raping one of the slaves.’
There was a pause, but if Laurent had any reaction to these words, it didn’t show on his face. Laurent transferred his gaze back to Damen and said, pleasantly, ‘Does that bother you? I recall you being free with your own hands, not so very long ago.’
‘That was—’ Damen flushed. He wanted to deny that he’d done anything of the kind, but he remembered rather unequivocally that he had. ‘I promise you, Govart did a great deal more than simply enjoy the view.’