by Tamsin Baker
Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2016 Tamsin Baker
ISBN: 978-1-77233-739-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE HIDDEN FIRE IN FIERRE
Slaves of Electa, 2
Tamsin Baker
Copyright © 2016
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Cold water droplets hit the back of her neck, over and over again. The hairs on her body crinkled up in protest, and her mind screamed as her body shuddered.
No!
Fierre sat bolt upright in her bed, rain streaming down her windows and her heart thundering in her chest.
She gasped for breath, bile rising in her throat as her nightmare flashed through her brain once more.
“You're okay. You're out. It's all right now.”
She pulled her blankets up her body, now drenched with sweat.
“Damn.”
She slipped out of bed, shivering all over as the cool night air wrapped around her like a frozen shroud.
She pulled off her sleeping clothes as quickly as her shaking hands would allow and tossed them in the corner of her room. The next job was to pull the sheets from her bed.
All wet.
Another shiver coursed through as memories of her wet dungeon and lack of clothes bombarded her conscious brain.
Enough!
She wrapped her body in the remaining dry blankets and curled up on the mattress, the darkness of her room telling her that it was not yet time to wake.
It's okay. You're okay.
She kept repeating the mantra to herself as the warmth from her covers slowly infiltrated her tiny frame.
The shivering stopped, and her teeth stopped clanking together. A soft sigh left her, and she let her eyes close once again.
She was in a new home. She had a new job and new friends.
Friends … who would have ever thought?
A picture of the beautiful new girl Amyex filled her mind, and she let a smile lift her lips, relaxing her. Amyex was a funny one. So quiet. How she ever survived her slavery Fierre would never know.
****
“In here again, Fierre? You must have the cleanest room in the history of clean rooms.” Karin, the supervisor of their group home and the woman responsible for signing back her freedom to her, poked her head in the laundry where Fierre was washing her sheets and blankets, again.
She turned to the tiny woman and forced a smile to her lips.
“I like to sleep on clean sheets. It feels beautiful.”
The woman grinned her characteristic, all tooth smile.
“How's the new job going with Thomas?”
Heat spread through Fierre, and she looked away, focusing back on folding her wet blanket. She would hang it outside in the sunshine soon, and that would make is as fresh as new. She never got sick of that smell.
“Very good. Master Thomas is very nice to me.” Behavior she wasn't used to at all. He'd raised his hand to reach for something over her head once and she'd dropped to his feet so fast she was still embarrassed by the memory. Retraining herself not to feel and think like a slave was much harder than she'd thought.
“Are you sure? Because you know he is not your master, Fierre. You are a free woman. If you aren't happy there you know you only have to tell me and I'll have you relocated immediately.” Karin had moved up next to her, so that Fierre had no choice but to look at her.
She lifted her eyes, despite the heat she could still feel in her neck and cheeks.
"No thank you, Karin. He really is a kind Master … I mean employer. I'm just adjusting to my new life a little slower than I would have liked."
“How so?” Karin tilted her head like a strange bird and continued to stare at her.
Fierre released a sigh then grabbed at her basket. “I need to hang these outside. Karin, can we talk later?”
The tiny woman shook her head, “No, I have time now, but I'll help you hang out your sheets if you need to hurry.”
Karin turned and walked out of the laundry, and Fierre huffed out a laugh. She may be tiny, but Karin had nerves of steel. Something Fierre would love to own herself. She tried to be tough, but the strength she envied in others wasn't as natural as she'd like it to be inside her just yet.
She placed the basket on the small table outside in their courtyard, grateful for the sunshine that blessed their day.
“I'm glad the rain stopped.”
“Rain?”
“Yes, it rained throughout the night.”
“You were having nightmares again?”
Fierre turned away and began pinning up her wet sheets. She'd confided in Karin early on in her transition from slave to servant, and she often regretted her lack of control. She didn't like someone knowing so much about herself.
“Yes, a few, but they're much better.”
Karin helped her lift the heavy blanket onto the line, her mouth pulled together and tight.
“Are you sure Thomas has not been doing anything to trigger you off? We choose our employers very carefully, and I would hate to think we sent you some where you weren't being taken care of.”
“Oh no, Master Thomas is truly wonderful. It’s me that has the problem adjusting.”
“Well, tell me about that then.”
Karin took Fierre's hand and led her over to the small table and bench in the courtyard.
She sat, withdrawing her hand from the woman's grasp. The touching thing was a little unsettling still, despite the fact she knew that Karin wouldn't hurt her.
"What does he do that makes you feel uncomfortable?"
Fiery wanted to scream everything, but instead let out a strange laugh instead.
“It's hard to explain.”
“We know that your last master kept you in very bad conditions, Fierre. If he hadn't died, you would have continued in his home a lot longer.”
A shudder coursed over her body like the thundering hooves of Electa beasts on the hills around their city.
“More years like that, Karin—I don't even want to think about it.”
“When I got out of the slave home I was in and went to work for Mister Salingy, I found it very hard to accept clothes, food, or even money from him.”
Mister Salingy was their minister for freedom, and from all accounts a very good man. Karin had been the first slave freed from her bonds, and she had gone on to work with her new employer, helping all the other slaves as they came out of the ditches and stepped into the light.
“Yes, I can empathize with that.” Although she got to buy her own clothes and food, accepting money for her work was still a little strange.
“But the biggest problem of course comes from their kindness, doesn't it? Being treated like a person, someone with feelings and rights.”
Fierre found herself nodding, tears stinging the back of her throat and her eyes. It was nice to talk to someone who understood something that to any person not born into slavery would seem absurd.
“Yes … um … I'm going to be late for work. I'm sorry.”
Karin nodded and let her go, for which she smiled her gratitude at her mentor. Fierre ran to her room, grabbed her small bag and made her way to her new master's house
. She shook her hands as she walked, trying to get rid of the Master title in her head. Master Thomas had asked her to call him Mister Thomas, or even just Thomas, but her brain would not allow her to do such a thing yet. They had agreed on Master Thomas until she was able to change the way she spoke. He was too thoughtful of her feelings really. Her old master would have just starved her until she did as she was told, which considering her stubborn streak, could sometimes take days.
She used her key to open the front door, her fingers touching the metal of the key in reverence for a moment before pocketing it once again. Her own front door key… It still amazed her that she owned such a thing.
The house was silent except for the kitchen, where the quiet sounds of the quirky chef making breakfast made it to her ears.
“Good morning, Neiall.”
The dark skinned woman turned towards her, her yellow teeth flashing in a huge smile.
“Good morning, beautiful one. How was your rest day?”
Fierre rolled her eyes and frowned. “We sat around eating and talking all day. My hands itched so badly to do something I ended up sewing a new skirt for two of the girls there.”
Neiall chuckled and pushed a plate towards her. “Here, eat this before you take Thomas his breakfast.”
Fierre clenched her teeth and glared at the chef. There were only two things she actually enjoyed eating, and the cinnamon bread in front of her was one of them.
“Neiall! I've told you not to waste the Master's money on me.”
“Thomas told me to make you everything you like to eat. You're too skinny.”
Fiery looked down at her chest, proud of the ribs protruding through her skin. That was the way slaves were meant to look.
“I am not. Fatness indicates laziness. I am not lazy.”
Neiall raised an eyebrow and plumped her huge bosom together. “Oh really, Fierre?”
Fierre sighed and sat down in the chair, pulling the bread towards her. “I didn't mean you. I meant…”
“You were spouting stupid nonsense from your old master who thought that if he kept you starving and ill then you could never escape. Eat, or I'll tie you up and force feed you until you make me look like a skinny little girl.”
A surprised laugh burst forth from her lips, and Fierre picked up the bread, her mouth watering as the rich buttery flavors and the cinnamon scents curled up her nostrils.
It was impossible for Neiall to do such a thing, but she understood her point, and she was right. Believing anything her old master said was lunacy, but almost fifteen years serving a man that beat her with her lessons every day, was a hard thing to deprogram.
She forced the whole slice of bread down, despite her own small breakfast already sitting in her stomach. She swallowed hard, pain burning in her throat as her body threatened to empty onto the floor.
“Thank you, Neiall.”
She picked up the tray for Master Thomas and ascended the stairs, a rolling cramp through her stomach making her waver. She stood still for a moment and took a deep breath.
All was well. It was just food.
She opened her eyes again, concentrating on her task of bringing food to the man she called Master Thomas.
Her employer was a teacher at the city's university. He was one of the most articulate and respected men in their town.
She was proud to serve him, despite his strange looks.
She pushed on the heavy wooden door and opened her mouth to greet him, but the words got stuck in her throat as she stared at the vision before her.
Master Thomas stood in his bathroom drying himself after a shower. His long silver hair hung in wet tendrils down his back as he ran the towel all over his muscled body.
His legs were lean and powerful, his chest strong and wide. And between his thighs lay his cock, the male organ she'd heard so much about.
“Fierre.” Master Thomas stared directly at her, their eyes locking for a moment that caused a wave of heat to flood her belly and beyond.
Her hands began to shake, and the plate rattled on the tray she was holding.
He twisted away and came back a second later wrapped in a white robe.
“I am so sorry, Master Thomas.” She dropped her eyes and hurried forward to place the tray on his table.
“Eyes up, Fierre.”
She stopped her fussing and stood up straighter as her master had asked her, forcing her gaze up to his. It was one of the many things they were trying to undo in her. She would never bow down to a man again.
“Thank you for my breakfast.”
His eyes were a dark purple, his skin a pale pink. He looked like no other person on their planet, which probably explained his amazingly intelligent mind.
“Thank you for mine, Master.”
She bowed herself out of the room and ran to the cleaning closet, her pulse hammering in her throat with the strength of a fist against her windpipe.
She gasped for air, bending over and wrapping her arms around her stomach to change the feelings rolling through her body.
Why had his body been so attractive to her? His strange skin had always made her wary, but when fully naked, the tones of pink complemented his hair, and the strength and virility of his body made her own female organs clench with need.
She forced herself upright, breathing fast.
She'd never had a man. Her original master had been cruel, but he had also been impotent, or so he'd said. A fact she'd thanked the gods for every day.
Fierre had learnt about female/male couplings from the other slaves, and knew what could be done to her if a man chose her.
But many women mated and bore children, so it could not be quite so unpleasant as some of the other slaves had led her to believe.
Would she ever know what that would feel like? To have a cock in her body? A child growing inside her?
She shook her head and prepared the buckets and cloths for her days work.
She wasn't sure, and at this moment it didn't matter. She was alive and well, and that was what she needed to focus on, not her master's arousing body and glistening skin.
****
That night she returned to her group home to the most astonishing news. Amyex had accepted a marriage proposal from her old master!
“But why did he free her if he wanted to marry her?” a girl behind her asked, a little blonde woman by the name of Olivex.
Fierre would like to know the same thing. Amyex's old master had been a warrior, a man who was held with great respect within their community and its people. How would they respond, knowing he chose to marry a slave?
She shuddered and waited for the answer from Karin.
“Because he loves her, and he wanted her to have the choice of whether or not to be his wife. Legally, he couldn't marry her while she was still his bound slave, and he didn't want to take her as a mistress.”
A rumble went through the crowd of people around her.
Men such as he could love ones such as they? It seemed impossible, and yet the proof was in front of them.
“Now please, eat your dinners and have a good night. I must go home.”
Karin left, and Fierre curled up on one of the small couches, her brain spinning like a whirling storm.
Amyex's master's actions made no sense to her. Why would he free then marry his own slave if he could have any free woman?
One of the other ex-slaves, a man named Dominiq, sat down next to her. He bore many scars across his body of various severity and length. Some rather nasty whip lines ran the length of his back and arms.
Her stomach clenched as she stared at him for a moment, the horror he must have faced causing a true sickness to rise in her heart.
“That is pretty amazing news then.”
She nodded, straightening up to her full height to try to bridge some of the gap between them.
“It is. I’m happy for her.” Her gut was tugging at her, and she swallowed the strange taste in her mouth.
She’d felt many things in her li
fe, but jealousy of another slave had not been one of them.
It seemed there was a first for everything.
“He must have been a very unusual master if he freed her just so he could ask her to marry him.”
Fierre snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. That was an understatement.
“Yes. But most of you had good masters, didn’t you? Most of you were freed by them.”
The man next to her nodded and sighed. “Yes, it’s rather ironic, isn’t it? That we who have the best masters and don’t want to leave them are the ones that are freed. What was your master like?”
Fierre shuddered and released her arms, running her hands up and down her bare legs.
“My master died, which was why I was freed. Tell me about yours.”
She stared at the floor, unable to meet Dominiq’s eyes. She’d seen too much pity in her lifetime to deal with any more, especially from a man covered in physical scars that would never heal.
“My last master was a wonderful man. He is from an old, rich family, so he uses his money to buy slaves, keeps them for a few years to show the Church of Electa they are good people and then frees them. I’m his tenth, I believe.”
The softness of his voice made her stretch up again and turn, the whimsical smile on his face making her chest hurt.
She was sick of hearing the good stories. She knew there were kind masters now. But had this man gone through similar things to her? His scars said yes, and yet she ached to hear more of it.
“But your master before that wasn’t good, was he?”
His face clouded over like a winter storm, his smile turning to a grimace, his eyes darkening.
He lifted a hand and ran it over his shoulder, his fingertips touching each of the white marks there like a harpist who played the strings.
“Yes, he was evil. A truly, sick man who I worshipped for a long time. Disgusting when I think about it, but I’m better now.”
He bumped her with his elbow, his eyes skating over her, looking for similar signs she assumed.
“You?”