Sex is a chore to him. And these women might boast to each other, but I’m fairly certain it’s all talk, just to put the seed of doubt in the other women’s minds. It certainly seems to mean something to these women, which of their stories is most believable, seems to give them a credibility, a ranking.
I’m more than happy not to be part of it.
When the other women have all had two nights each with him, and I still have only had that first, rejected, night, the whispers start.
“She must be abnormal, down there.”
They always speak in loud whispers, and I know they want me to hear.
“He told me she’s so disfigured that he was repulsed by her, that he would never want to have a child by her anyway, even if it turned out she was the only fertile woman amongst us.”
They giggle amongst themselves.
I roll my eyes. They have no idea what happened in that room, and if their talk is meant to make me feel terrible, it’s failing.
I resist pointing out that if that were truly the case, he would have sent me off, elsewhere, and yet I’m still here, still required to dress up every night, just in case I’m chosen.
Instead my friendship with Darla only grows stronger. It’s a life saver. Or a sanity saver, really. Her presence makes this the best place I’ve ever lived, since I was first taken from my family.
“I heard you’re a witch?” she asks one night, after Sidney has chosen his woman, and the other girls have gone to remove all those hours of make-up and dressing.
We’re sitting in the kitchen, having our usual cup of tea.
My eyes widen, but I try to act casual. “Where did you hear that?”
She must sense my fear, because she squeezes my hand.
“I won’t tell a soul, I promise.” She pauses, her eyes seeking out mine. “One of the servants said the Master paid significantly more for you than any of the other women. Is it true?”
There’s a lump in my throat, and I swallow it back.
“It’s true,” I admit.
“And you’re still here, still trapped in all this, as a breeder?”
“Ha.” I force a laugh. “I’m here because magic isn’t as simple as it seems, and the Master doesn’t want to pay the price.”
I glance up into Darla’s confused gaze.
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got all night.” She smiles.
I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. “When I was first taken to be a slave, my whole family was captured. We were taken to an army base, and surrounded by shifters of all types. They held guns at my families heads, and forced me to sign a contract that bound my power to my Master. There’s no way I could’ve done magic to save them all, even to save one would have taken more time than it would for those soldiers to pull the trigger. So I signed the contract, and while that contract exists, and is passed from one Master to the other, my power is not my own. I can’t access it, no matter how desperately I’d like to.”
“Oh Lauren,” Darla gives my hand another squeeze. “That’s terrible.”
I nod. “The worst thing is, as soon as I sighed that contract we were separated. I still don’t know where they are, how they’re faring, whether they’re alive, or whether I gave up my powers for nothing. Maybe they were killed anyway.” My voice breaks and I take a sip of my nearly cold tea. “If I had my powers, I could free everyone. I could have saved thousands of people this awful fate, and instead I’ve left us all to suffer, just so I could save my family.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same,” Darla tries to reassure me. She watches me for a moment. “You could save everyone, you say? Just like that?”
I shrug. “It would cost me. To take the life of all the masters, which is probably what I’d have to do, would require some sort of payment. My own life, probably, or those of my loved ones. Most likely all of the above. But I think if I could save some people the misery, maybe it would be worth it?”
“How is the payment taken? Is there no way to avoid it?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean, you could avoid it for a little while, perhaps, if it was a life, for instance, you could hide away from the world, reduce the risk of getting killed by some outside force, but eventually it would catch up with you. Avoiding responsibility just spirals the power though, everything is magnified. If you did a spell you knew meant costing your own life, and you faced up to it, the death would be quick, and easy. Painless. But if you avoid it, then it becomes harder, a terrible illness perhaps, some accident that leaves you suffering for days until death finally takes you. It’s not worth it.”
Darla shakes her head. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone as selfless as you.”
“Ha.” I snort. “I’m not selfless. I’m trapped. And trapped people will always think of the things they could’ve done or should’ve done or would do, if ever the opportunity arose. I bet I wouldn’t even do any of that. I’d just be so relieved to be free.”
Darla takes a sip of her own tea as she listens to me. “No,” she says. “I think you would help others. Maybe not to the extent of losing your family, or your own life. But I have no doubt you’d help others in whatever way you could. Besides. You can’t help people much when you’re dead. Better to be alive and able to offer ongoing support, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “Maybe?”
She holds my gaze. “If I ever find that contract while I’m cleaning, I’m tearing it up, there and then. If the opportunity ever arises, I’ll set you free.”
I laugh. “If you could do that, then I’d make sure you were free, in an instant.”
“And wouldn’t that be nice,” Darla says with a smile.
Chapter 4
The weeks pass. Every night, Sidney’s gaze meets mine, his eyes drop to roam over my body, and I’m certain he wants me, certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that tonight is the night he’s going to pick me. And every night he picks someone else.
There are obvious favorites. The youngest woman is selected several times, an older woman, who has developed a particularly cocky attitude as the weeks have progressed, is selected at least twice a week, sometimes more.
But even those who he selects less often seem to be selected in an order. If Jane is selected tonight, then everyone knows that if he doesn’t pick a favourite the next night then Alice will be his choice.
I fall into a false sense of security. I start to have fun with all the dressing up we have to do. I try make-up styles I would never have attempted before, dark lines of eyeliner around my eyes, bold colors I would previously have avoided.
Once the other women have chosen their own dresses for the evening I trawl through what is left, matching short skirts with low cut tops, layering dresses with scarves.
It’s fun, though the women snigger behind my back.
“Someone’s getting desperate.” The ringleader of the group, whose name, I have learnt, is Nancy, no longer hides her cruel words behind her hands. None of the other women have ever stood up for me, or tried to find out any sort of truth about that evening, or any other truth about me for that matter. I guess Nancy feels confident in her position, she knows now that no one will criticize her, that she has all the power she wants.
“Does she think dressing up like a desperate old bag lady is going to help her?”
Some women laugh, some just look at me with disdain. I shrug it off. They have no idea of the truth, let them think what they like. The ones I hate are the ones who look at me with pity, as though I need some sort of help, as though I must be desperate. Alice looks at me with pity, and for some reason that annoys me the most, because she is also hardly chosen. If there have to be teams, or sides, shouldn’t we be on the same side?
Some of the women do have some empathy, though, because they have the decency to blush and look away. Jane is one of these women.
Perhaps I’ll be kinder to them, if I ever get out of here.
I smile at Nancy, and give a little twirl. “Innovative, don�
��t you think?”
Her face sours, and I can’t help but smile.
Right there, the proof she doesn’t have all the power she wants. She wants to ridicule me, to make me feel small, but that’s up to me to determine how I feel. If I can stay strong, and never give her the satisfaction of seeing me cowering, then I’m the one who’s won, not her.
We head across to the Viewing Room, and line up.
While some of these women have only spent a couple of nights in the Master’s rooms, some of these women have now been with Sidney four or five times. It shows. Those who have seen him most stand taller, smile wider. When he enters the room they look at him with their ‘come hither’ eyes, confident that if not tonight, then they’ll most likely be chosen tomorrow night, or the night after.
Those who haven’t been with him that often are desperate, clingy, reaching out to grab at his clothes, forcing a confidence that they clearly don’t feel.
It’s sickening.
I stand in my place in the line, though it’s not a line once he arrives, as the women all move to fawn over him, and smile sweetly.
He’s irritated tonight. He brushes hands away, frowns more than usual.
“Are you ready to try for a child, my Master?” Nancy’s voice sings sickly sweet above everyone else’s. “I’ve been tracking my cycle, and I’m at my most fertile tonight.”
Tracking her cycle my ass. She’s marked some dates on the calendar in the toilets, the time of her last period. As if noting down the dates of one period is ‘tracking her cycle’. She needs months of that information to determine what her body is doing. To make sure it is in some sort of cycle. And if she is anything like me, or any of the other female slaves I’ve ever met, her cycle is probably all over the place, irregular, coming in fits and starts depending on how healthy she’s eating, and whether or she’s been feeling particularly stressed in recent times.
Though the master probably doesn’t know that, and that’s exactly what Nancy would be counting on.
For the briefest moment I’d admire these women. To pretend that what goes on in that bedroom is an amazing night of love-making takes skill. I don’t know that I could have done it, pretended it was wonderful, after being told to strip, and then probably to lay down and take it.
But when I look closely I can see the desperation in all their energies. They’ve taken on the knowledge that Sidney is infertile, and they know the only way to maintain their place in this house, and therefore the most comfortable life they can ever expect, is to please him in bed.
I shouldn’t judge them.
They’re doing the best that they can to survive the situation.
If I judge them, that makes me just as bad as they are.
“Lauren.” Sidney’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. His voice is gravelly. And now I look at him properly I know straight away something is wrong, his energy swirling and chaotic, or more so than usual, anyway.
There’s a collective gasp from the women. He never uses anyone’s name, just points, and says ‘You’. I didn’t even realize he knew my name, though I suppose it wouldn’t be too hard to find out.
“But Master.” Nancy grabs hold of his arm, her voice a whine. “You had her once, and she was no good, you rejected her.”
Sidney pulls his arm from her grasp, and glares at her.
“Don’t pretend you know what goes on in the privacy of my bedroom!” His voice is a roar, and it’s clear none of us have ever heard him speak this way, because we all flinch.
He turns to me, his brow still furrowed, and I see his breathing is shallow.
“Lauren,” he says. “Will you come with me, please?”
I nod, and as he turns and leads the way out of the room, I follow behind, my head held high.
The women watch me in total shock, there’s not a sound as we leave the room, and I don’t hear anything even after the door shuts behind us.
Part of me, the part that is still sixteen years old, and free, instead of thirty, and a slave, wants to go back and laugh in Nancy’s face, to point out that maybe she doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does. That maybe others are desirable even if they are different.
That would be foolish, of course, and yet that same part of me feels a little stab of arrogance that I’ve been chosen, in my experimental attire and over the top makeup.
The part of me that’s thirty is not so cocky. She’s wondering where this is going to lead, and dreading the moment when I will have to strip, and open my legs. Because there’s no way I can avoid it a second time.
But when we get to the bedroom, Sidney doesn’t ask me to strip. Instead he offers me a chair, and a glass of whiskey.
I accept, too stunned to do anything else. Surely my comments on that first night didn’t change his actions? Maybe the women are looking forward to this because he has become more charming. Or perhaps he’s figured out that alcohol helps relax people, which has got to make the whole ordeal easier, for everyone involved.
He passes me a glass, and then pours one for himself, and perches on the edge of his bed.
He clears his throat. “I’ve had tests,” he says, looking at me.
That’s not what I was expecting him to say. “Tests?”
He frowns. “Yes. Tests. For… for the possibility we discussed last time.”
“Last time?” It’s been weeks. I don’t think I would call any part of our conversation a discussion. So what possibility could he be talking about? My mind goes back and I realize with a start what he’s talking about.
“For your fertility?”
“Shh!” His frown deepens, and he glances around the room as though someone might be hiding behind the bed, listening in.
“No one must know,” he whispers. “I had to travel, to have the tests done elsewhere, so no one would suspect. It has to be a secret.”
“Okay.” I nod, the glass of whiskey forgotten in my hand.
“I’m… You...” He sighs, and sculls the contents of his glass in one mouthful. Then he takes a deep breath. “Your suggestion was correct,” he says.
“Oh.” Is this where I admit that my powers led me to know about his problem, rather than some random guess? I tend to think that offering more information about what I can do is probably not helpful to me, so I keep my mouth shut.
He nods, and watches me. I know he’s waiting for me to offer a suggestion, a spell to get him out of this, but I’m not going to suggest anything. All spells come with a price, and I’m not going to be punished for suggesting a spell with a particularly high cost, when he might come up with a different idea all on his own.
The silence becomes uncomfortable.
“Is there anything they can do about it?” I ask. I know there’s not, but this conversation has to go somewhere.
He gets up, and crosses the room to pour himself another glass of whiskey. His back is to me now.
“I thought perhaps you might be able to help.”
I nod. “I might.”
He turns to look at me. “I understand if it’s beyond your abilities, but it seems that magic is my only hope. I could find another powerful witch somewhere, I’m sure, but I thought I should start at home, seeing as I have a witch of my very own.”
Is he trying to insult me? That’s cute, in an irritating sort of way. Has he already forgotten that I can’t refuse any spell he asks me to do?
I shake my head. “It’s not beyond my powers,” I begin. “But you must realise there will be a cost. You will have to pay something. There has to be a sacrifice of sorts.”
“I have plenty of gold, plenty of servants.”
I frown. I don’t understand what he means.
“Do you not remember our conversation? You cannot pay with gold, or with servants. The universe doesn’t want money, or slaves—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupts. “I can give you a slave, if you need to sacrifice something.”
Realisation dawns.
“No. Sorry. That’s no
t how this works.”
He frowns. “You want a sacrifice, I’m offering a sacrifice. And the gold – I can buy whatever you need, animals, people, we can sacrifice a village if that’s what it takes.”
I can see the desperation in his eyes, but still his words sicken me.
“No.” I repeat, my brow furrowing. “That’s not how this works. You want to get something, you have to give something. You don’t get to claim the prize, and palm the cost off to someone who can never benefit. You want to have children, you have to balance that out somehow.”
He frowns, downing yet another glass of whiskey.
He slumps on the edge of the bed again.
There’s something childish about his expression. Petulant. Like someone who’s used to getting their own way, finally being denied.
It feels rather good to be the one making someone else grow up, even if I’m only the conduit and not actually in any sort of control myself.
“Fine,” he says, his gaze boring into me. “What is the sacrifice?”
I shrug. “I need time to determine that. Space, silence.”
He scoffs. “Your own personally appointed room in the castle, I suppose?”
I shake my head. “No. Just a quiet space. I need to be warm, and comfortable. But I don’t need any luxuries.”
He watches me for a moment, certain, I’m sure, that I’m simply fooling him.
“How long will it take?”
In truth I could have the information in minutes, but I’m feeling a surge of power, and I want to see how far I can push it.
“One night.”
He nods. “There is a spare room in your quarters. Usually we have two kitchen staff per room, but with less women, we’ve needed less workers in the kitchen, so we have a room free. You can have that room tonight.”
He rings a bell, that echoes down the hall. In moments there’s a knock.
“Enter.”
Sold To The Master Page 4