She remembered the look on his face, the slump of his shoulders, his near incoherence, the way he’d spoken his final farewell to his charge. She didn’t know much about his history with Rowena, but she was certain he was innocent of any wrongdoing relating to the woman’s death. Still, if she went to the City of Light, she couldn’t approach the Council or assist him in any meaningful way without disclosing the facts about the girls—and the fewer who knew of their existence, the safer they’d remain.
“Sometimes staying out of things is the hardest,” Nina said.
Mara nodded.
“When I was in Chiran, there were many times I wanted to take action, but I couldn’t because of the danger it could bring to others. In the end I left, but my daughter paid for that. She paid with her life.”
“Will you tell me about Chiran, Nina?”
“I was brought up in a small village outside the largest city, Fallique, where the emperor’s palace is located.” Nina poured herself a glass of wine, propped some pillows up, then reclined.
“My parents were very poor. The emperor, Zarek, cares nothing for the people. He lives in luxury while they suffer. If he desires anything, he sends raiders into Fallique, or out to the surrounding countryside. They take whatever he orders. They plunder the villages.” She sipped at her wine.
“I was one of six children. Unfortunately, for my parents, four of us were girls. In Chiran, girls are a liability, an expense to a family. The cost can be devastating to a poor one.”
“I’ve heard that in Chiran, some people destroy their infant daughters and keep only their sons,” Mara commented.
“That is so today. But things were a bit different when I was a child.” Nina hesitated as footsteps came down the hall, passed the door, then grew quiet.
“As I said, there were six of us. Every winter grew a little harder as our stomachs grew a little larger.
“My brothers helped my father farm, but my parents feared for us girls. They knew Zarek’s men could come at any time and that they raped the land and the women, taking whatever they wanted from whomever they chose.” She swallowed hard. “My family tried to protect us, but eventually the pressure became too great.”
“What happened?” Mara pulled her chair closer.
“Zarek’s men caught my oldest sister, Marise, on her way to the well one afternoon. They . . . enjoyed . . . themselves with her for the remainder of the day.” Nina’s eyes spilled great tears. “They left her a shell of her former self. Worse—they also left her with child.”
“Oh, I am so sorry.”
“She was never the same again. But now we had yet another mouth to feed—and wouldn’t you know it—another girl at that. My parents were desperate.”
The young woman took another taste of her wine. The flavor she might have savored at any other time was bitter now as her story unfolded. She put the glass down, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.
“Our circumstances were dire. We didn’t have enough food for the approaching winter. There hadn’t been much to begin with, and then Zarek’s men raided what little stores we’d accumulated.
“About that time, Zarek put new policies into place. He decreed that he’d pay families who had sons an annual royalty, while he’d charge those with daughters double the amount as a penalty.
“So my parents were to receive two royalties for my two brothers, but were to pay ten penalties for my three sisters, my sister’s child, and me. We were going to starve.” Her body tensed as she recalled her memories.
“And then?” Mara prompted.
Nina bit her lip. “Then a handler came to my parent’s farm.”
“A handler?”
“Yes. Zarek sent handlers out to purchase servants for his palace and women for his troops.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Nina whispered. “The handler explained to my parents that they would pay enough for a single one of their daughters for them to make it through the winter.”
She closed her eyes. “I cannot imagine the horror they must have felt. Still, they thought they might save five children and a grandchild, by sacrificing one of us.
“When the handler returned a few weeks later, my parents offered Marise. She’d become nothing more than a mouth to feed. But the handlers refused her. So my parents offered Erin. She didn’t know they’d sold her. She thought the handlers were taking her to Fallique to work so that she could send money back home.
“My parents told the rest of us nothing more at the time. I imagine it must have been very painful for them.”
“I’m sure.”
Now that Nina’s story had begun, the telling was becoming easier. Even so, she wept.
“The second year they sold my next eldest sister, Yanny. Then the third year approached. Things had continued to spiral down. I was the only one remaining that could bring my parents a suitable price. It was only later I learned that I was considered something of a beauty, so the handlers were willing to pay more for me than they had for my sisters.
“I still have to believe my parents thought they were selling me into service for the palace as a servant, but in fact,” she said in a voice now devoid of any emotion, “I was sold to the palace as a whore for Zarek’s men.”
“Oh, how awful.” Mara stroked the young woman’s arm.
Nina nodded, acknowledging the sympathies. Taking a deep breath, she bore on. “I served . . . Well, I guess it would be more accurate to say that I ‘serviced’ Zarek’s men for about a year when I became pregnant. Whenever that happened to one of the girls, the authorities sent them away for the last few months. Most returned later, and they all told the same story. If the child was a boy, he was taken away. We believed Zarek made arrangements for them to be raised as future soldiers. The girls—” She choked back a sob. “The girls they . . . killed.”
“No!”
“In front of their own mothers’ eyes. Immediately upon birth, if the child is a girl, the attending midwife calls for a guard. When he arrives, he bludgeons the child to death.” Nina, sobbing, dropped her head into her hands.
Mara sat beside her and held her in her arms, rocking her gently and rubbing her shoulder softly. “I’m so, so sorry.”
After some minutes, the young woman’s crying subsided.
“So that’s why you escaped. Right? So they wouldn’t harm your child?”
“Not right away.”
“But you lost your child on your journey to Oosa.”
“No. I lost my third child on my journey.”
“Your third?”
“Yes.”
Mara filled Nina’s glass and handed it to her, urging her to drink. “Tell me of your first child. Was it a boy or a girl?”
“Oh,” Nina cried, “I had a beautiful boy! A boy I’d recognize to this day if I saw him, and I hope one day that I will. It doesn’t matter that his father was a beast. He’s my flesh and blood.”
“How would you recognize him?”
“By his birthmark.”
“Oh?”
Nina smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, bringing back the memory. “He had a birthmark on his left temple. Right here,” she said as she pointed to the place on her face. “It was only about this big,” she made a circle with her thumb and pointer finger, “except that it wasn’t exactly round. I’d recognize my boy by that sign in a heartbeat. Anytime. Anywhere.”
“So they took him away,” Mara said after a moment of silence.
Nina cleared her throat. “Yes. About a year and a half later, I became pregnant again. I was so afraid. I started making plans to escape, but . . . it was not to be.”
“You bore your second child?”
“A beautiful baby girl.” The young woman’s body shook. “She was just minutes old. The guards . . . slaughtered her.” She gulped back tears.
“The midwife told me it was my own fault for having had a girl and that the next time, if I wanted to see my child survive, I’d best bear a son.”
N
ina was quiet for a minute, lost in her thoughts. “A year or so passed,” she finally said.
“And then?”
She took another taste of her wine. “Shortly before I became pregnant for the third time, I was chosen to attend a special event in honor of some of Zarek’s prized soldiers.” She closed her eyes and lost herself in her story.
The house matron called out the names of those who would attend the evening’s event for the emperor and his men, a dinner to celebrate Zarek’s latest success in battle and to honor his warriors. She’d already chosen several women. Nina dreaded the prospect of hearing her own name called.
The matron was an elderly buxom woman with a sadistic streak. In charge of the house in which the slave women lived, she saw to their basic needs. In exchange, she expected no grumbling, and no trouble. The slaves knew the price for misbehaving: death. Their fear kept them docile.
“Tamara!” she called.
A young woman of exquisite beauty stepped forward. Her smoldering black eyes maintained their blank expression. Dressed in the standard robe that was all any of the women had to wear when not working an event or called for by one of Zarek’s men, she was regal, notwithstanding her surroundings.
“Nina!”
She made her way to the fore. The matron told the women it was a great honor when someone specifically requested them, but Nina found no glory in being a whore to the emperor and his vile henchmen. She hid her disdain.
“Mandy!” the matron shouted.
A young woman stepped forward.
“That will be all.”
As those not chosen filed out of the room, the matron turned to the dozen women before her. She looked them over, walking from one end of the line to the other.
Satisfied, she gave her instructions. Her assistants would take them to be bathed, and for hair and makeup, then would provide them gowns for the evening. “Any questions?” she asked as she ran her finger over her light mustache.
No one moved.
“In that case, you are dismissed.”
As the afternoon wore on, assistants processed the women. The matron had selected a gown of exquisite bright blue silk for Nina who thought the dress must be beautiful, but she could no longer see it as such. To her, it was nothing more than a visual representation of the chains, the bonds, that held her to a life of slavery.
When it was her turn, she approached the makeup station to which the matron directed her. Before her, on a dark wooden table, sat a tray of eye shadows, rouge, and lipstick, and on the wall, a mirror.
She gazed at her reflection. Looking back was the empty shell of a person. Her looks had changed. Once her countenance had held signs of life and interest, but no longer.
The face of the young woman who was to assist her came into the mirror.
Nina froze. “Erin!” she gasped.
The assistant looked at her with pure disdain. “And you would be?”
“Erin, it’s me, Nina.”
“I know no one by that name.”
Nina was shocked. She turned back to the mirror. Her own sister wouldn’t even acknowledge her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she dared not cry. The matron wanted the women to be beautiful. Red and puffy eyes would never do.
“It’s not what you think.”
Erin refused to look her sister in the eye, either directly or in the mirror. She selected the product she intended to use.
“Erin,” Nina tried again, “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve thought of you so many times and have worried for you.”
“I said I don’t know you.”
Though hurt and angry, Nina held her tongue.
When Erin completed her task, she turned away. “You’re free to go.”
Nina stood, then grasped her sister’s arm. She tried to get away, but Nina held fast, pulling her forward.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she seethed. “You’re a slave to the great emperor’s house and have no say in what your superiors demand of you, but you think, while you prepare his whores for his bidding, that you bear no moral responsibility for your actions, whereas I am to be held accountable for mine. You may not have to lie down for those dogs, but you’re every bit as much a whore as I am. You do what you must to survive, as do I. Don’t think for one minute that if they demanded you do as they’ve forced me, you wouldn’t do the same as I have. You sicken me.”
She loosed her sister’s arm roughly, then marched from the room.
She saw Erin several more times over the next months, but whenever it seemed she might be called to her table, she changed places in the line up. After avoiding her sister for some time, Nina was unable to do so one evening. She approached the station and sat down, ignoring Erin’s presence as best she could.
Erin’s hands trembled. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no right to say those hurtful things.”
Nina looked up. She fluttered her eyes in an effort to hold back her tears, then smiled weakly. “I’m sorry too. I love you, my sister.”
After that night, the two talked whenever they could. They filled one another in on the details of their lives as Zarek’s slaves. While they dared not let others know of their relationship to one another, they each took comfort in the presence of the other. Eventually they spoke of the possibility of escape.
Erin’s work with the slave women was just one of her many duties. During the daytime she ran one of the emperor’s private kitchens. The position required that she prepare orders for food, kitchen utensils, linens, decorations, and other assorted goods. Non-slaves oversaw all of her work.
It would be difficult to collect items on the sly or to order shipments not deemed reasonable. Still, a plan slowly took shape. She would order product from select vendors whose enterprises were located well outside of Fallique. When a delivery from one of them was due in, and if Nina was to attend that evening’s event, they would steal away with the departing vendor.
Erin stole three long blades that they could hide in their skirts while making their escape. Also, on the sly, she rummaged through items palace visitors threw away, eventually piecing together sufficient clothing for her sister.
Meanwhile, Nina became adept at lifting coins and jewelry that the men thoughtlessly laid about. Whenever possible, she left them with Erin. She’d place them in her sandals, then pass them on when getting a pedicure.
Then one day, a problem arose: Nina’s third pregnancy. For the first few months, she successfully kept it hidden. As she entered her second trimester, she urged her sister to move up the expected date. Erin added more items to her request list—items that only one of her select vendors could deliver.
Just when Nina had lost all hope, as the authorities had sent her away for the remainder of her pregnancy, the matron called on her to serve at an event. One of Zarek’s men preferred his women in her condition. Now, well into her sixth month, she could claim she was ill, but she dared not let the opportunity to escape pass her by.
On the day of the event, Nina made her way to her sister’s table without raising suspicions. The Good One must be looking out for them, Erin said, for a vendor was due that very afternoon. She directed Nina to feign illness, then to go to the medical area reserved for the women. Erin would follow as soon as possible.
Nina found the clothing her sister had hidden for her—clothing that only a free woman would wear—in a hamper. She changed quickly.
Erin collected the coins and stolen jewelry she kept in an old flour bag in the back of a cupboard, then found Nina.
Together, they made their way to the kitchen.
The vendor was unloading his goods. Erin spoke to him and while she diverted his attention, directed her sister into his wagon.
Nina climbed up. She made her way to the back, found a crawl space behind some wooden boxes, and sat.
Erin offered the vendor the bag she placed in his hand to take her away from the palace. She didn’t mention her sister’s presence.
The bag jingled as he peeked inside. He agreed t
o the plan, then dropped the purse into a hole in the canvas covering the back of the wagon.
“Krippet!” someone called out.
Nina stiffened. The voice was very near.
“Is there a problem here?”
“Oh, no sir, no problem,” the vendor responded.
“Is this slave bothering you?”
“No, sir. Not at all, sir. She was merely thanking me for the fine product I delivered.”
Nina placed a hand over her mouth, closed her eyes tightly, and held her breath.
“Very well,” the guard said. “Woman!” he then shouted.
Nina flinched.
“Off you go!” he ordered.
Tears welled in Nina’s eyes as she imagined her sister returning to the kitchen.
Footsteps approached the back of the wagon. “Let me help you with those last crates.”
Nina wanted to shout, she wanted to cry, but she dared not let so much as a squeak escape her lips. She feared her life was forfeit. Her hands shook. She thought she might choke, it was so hard to breathe. She willed herself to listen for more.
“Not for delivery?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Krippet said. “The rest is for delivery in Mansk.”
“Mansk, you say?”
“Just down the road an hour or so south.”
“Make your way out quickly then,” the guard ordered as he walked away. Then, just as Nina was about to take a breath, his footsteps pivoted back toward the wagon. “And next time, don’t let me catch you loitering or chatting it up with any of the slaves again. You got that?”
“Right, sir. Absolutely, sir. I understand, sir.”
“Be off then!”
After what seemed an eternity, the cart moved forward.
Nina’s hands flew from her face as she gasped for air. Shaking, she opened her eyes. There, just inches away, sat the bag of riches she’d pilfered.
She knew then what she must do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Oathtaker Page 18