by E B Rose
At his instructions, Lion dashed to the first, second, or the third cup, then withdrew back as quickly as possible. Badimar named the cups in random order and Lion lunged at them with a speed that left no room for hesitation. Every time he ran, Badimar pulled the rope back, putting all his weight on it, trying to slow him down and keep him in place. Lion had to listen carefully, decide quick, run fast, and drag Badimar’s weight behind him.
At the end of fifteen minutes, they were both out of breath. Badimar was wearing thick, leather gloves to protect his hands from rope burns, but his knees and elbows were grazed from tripping and falling so many times. He never got mad at Lion for dragging him on the floor. He only yelled at him when he couldn’t pull hard or quick enough.
Lion couldn’t help but respect him. Badimar was a great trainer; he was dedicated and he pushed Lion hard. Even with an ugly hangover, he gave his best to the drill. Lion feared and admired him at the same time.
Lion took the leather belt off and got a drink, while Badimar set up the next exercise. It was a balance drill. Lion climbed up on a pole, six feet high from the ground. There was hardly enough room to keep his balance on his toes at the top of the pole. Badimar handed him a small, round shield. Then, the Master of the Beasts started throwing rocks at Lion, while he either dodged or parried them with the small shield, at the same time trying not to fall.
They ran two more drills - agility and footwork - then finished up for lunch.
All of Badimar’s drills required Lion’s full concentration. He had no room to think about the girl. However, as soon as he was heading to the kitchen for his lunch, Lion’s mind went back to what was waiting for him in his room.
That disturbing feeling he couldn’t name had returned, along with his nausea. He struggled swallowing his food and keeping it down.
After lunch, Lion went to Vanalten as he was told to. The old physician examined his shoulder. He put an ointment on the burn mark on his chest, which intensified the pain. The ointment would make the mark more distinguished and permanent. An identifier he’d carry all his life.
Lion went back to the main training yard, gritting his teeth and flinching every time his tunic touched the burn.
Afternoons were reserved for weapons training and sparring between beasts, but Lion was excused from these today, due to his shoulder. Badimar instructed him to sit and observe the fights instead. He asked him questions about them; what did they do wrong, what could have been done differently, what techniques could be used to counter that move or disarm the opponent from that position.
He never praised when Lion gave the correct answer, but he punished him with his Pain Word when Lion’s answer didn’t satisfy him. It inspired Lion to pay more attention; to be a better beast. He was a damn good trainer, Badimar was. By the end, Lion had only heard his Pain Word twice.
Once the beasts switched to weight training, Lion was sent to the servants’ bathhouse to clean up. He was the only slave who had permission to use this bathhouse. He got into the steaming pool and scrubbed the day’s filth off his skin. After dressing up, he went to the kitchen for supper.
He had to wait for Caesh to come and supervise his meal preparation. He didn’t complain; he would do anything to delay going back to his room. He ate his dinner - roasted beef, potatoes, and green vegetables - slow enough to make Caesh question his appetite. He had to speed up to convince the trainer that he wasn’t unwell, though he felt like he could throw up any moment.
On his way to his room, Lion’s feet felt like stones. He had to drag them across the floor, each step heavier than the previous one. When he got to his door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Closing his eyes, he worked himself up for what he had to do. He resorted to his training, desperately.
I live to serve; I breathe to please.
His only purpose was to obey. He had no choice.
It’s not my body, it’s their property.
He didn’t have any control in this. He had no choice.
The girl had no choice either. Her Owner wanted her to carry Lion of Zarall’s offspring. It didn’t matter how she felt about this. It didn’t matter how any of them felt about this.
Lion pushed the door open. His face was as hard as Badimar’s fists.
The girl jumped off the bed where she’d been sitting. She was wearing a plain, dirt coloured dress and her hair was splayed around her shoulders. She scowled at Lion’s expression and took a small step back.
Lion closed the door behind him. He was tired, in pain, and he wanted to get this over with, so he could close his eyes and leave this day behind. He pulled his tunic off, then kicked off his shoes.
“No!” the girl said firmly. Out loud. Commanding. “I don’t want this.”
Lion’s hands halted on the straps of his pants. His lips curled into a menacing snarl.
She didn’t want this? Stupid freeborn thought she could want or not want anything? Not to mention, she was talking out loud, committing an Act of Defiance, and disobeying her orders too.
Fury raged inside Lion. She needed to learn her place.
The girl shrieked when Lion snatched her wrist and swung her to the bed. He climbed on her and covered her mouth with his palm like he did before. This time, she bit his hand, stealing a surprised groan from him.
“Get off me!” she screamed, slapping and kicking.
Lion growled softly. Blood trickled down his hand. Her teeth had left a mark at the base of his palm.
He tossed his head back in time to dodge a wild punch. Grabbing her wrists with one hand, he pinned them against the bed.
She was still screaming: “No! Let me go! Get off me!” Her legs were kicking wildly, and half her kicks had landed against the wall between Lion’s room and Badimar’s.
There was no way Badimar wouldn’t hear this.
Worry twisted Lion’s stomach. He tried to straddle her legs, pinning them under his weight. She managed to pull one of her arms free and scratched the side of Lion’s face.
Blood filled his sight.
With a snarl, he caught her arms again and pressed them down on the bed. She was still screaming like a wild cat. Lion ran his free hand over his face, trying to locate the source of the blood. She’d scratched the side of his face, barely missing his left eye.
Horror filled his chest when he noticed how close she got to blinding him. If he’d sustained any injury that could impact his ability to fight…
Before he could react, the door swung open.
“What the fuck is this ruckus?”
When Badimar barged into the room, half-dressed, Lion sprung off the bed, lowering his head. The girl climbed up and stood ready as well. At least she had enough training to know how to behave in the presence of free men.
Badimar’s granite eyes scanned the room and stopped on Lion’s face.
“What the…”
The Master of the Beasts grabbed Lion’s beard and tilted his head up. He wiped the excess blood off Lion’s face, trying to understand how bad it was. His eyes widened when he realized how close the girl’s nails had been to his eye.
“You stupid bitch!”
Badimar knocked the girl down to the floor with a backhanded slap. She yelled out in pain. When she raised her arms up to defend herself, Badimar kicked her in the guts. Grabbing her by the hair, he slammed her face against the wall. He kicked and punched her repeatedly, while swearing and yelling.
“Are you trying to blind him, you fucking whore?”
Lion locked his eyes on the floor while Badimar beat the girl up brutally. She’d deserved this. She had it coming. She was untrained, unruly, disobedient… She needed to know her place, follow her training, and please her Owner. A good beating always inspired freeborn slaves to learn quicker.
She’d deserved this.
At least that’s what Lion was telling himself as he subtly wiped the blood on his right hand against his pants. He curled his fingers into a fist to hide the bite marks in his palm. Seeing more blood on Lion�
��s sword hand would just piss Badimar off even more.
When the girl started begging him to stop, Lion barely kept himself from grimacing. She had to stop speaking without permission, if she wanted this to end quicker.
Badimar’s rage fired up. Last time Lion had seen him this angry was when one of the cooks had used bad meat in slaves’ food and all his beasts had been sick in bed, vomiting and writhing with violent stomach cramps, just before a lesser tournament. Badimar had beaten the cook bloody, almost killing him.
He eventually stopped, maybe realising she belonged to someone else. He grabbed her hair and yanked her bloody face towards him. “Are you going to behave, slut?”
“Yes, Owner,” she sobbed, tears flowing down her face.
Badimar slapped her again. “I’m not your Owner, stupid freeborn. It’s Master to you.”
“Yes, Master.”
When he released her, she curled up next to the bed, hugging herself, trembling and whimpering quietly.
“And you…” Badimar turned to Lion.
Lion didn’t flinch, neither did he change his expression. He kept his grey eyes on the ground, face perfectly neutral, just like he was trained to do.
Badimar yanked his beard again and took another look at the scratch, making sure it wasn’t serious enough to warrant an emergency visit to Vanalten. His face darkened when he saw how close one of the nails had been to the corner of Lion’s eye. He glared at the girl, his body tensing, as if hardly restraining himself from hitting her again.
Lion’s heart beat faster.
Badimar pressed a bloody finger against Lion’s chest. “I’m giving you permission to beat her unconscious if she so much as lifts a finger,” he said loudly, making sure the girl had heard him too. “If she resists again, break her arms and legs.”
It was a clear order.
“Yes, Master,” Lion said compliantly.
“Can I trust the King’s champion Beast to fuck a girl without getting his ass kicked?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Get it done, Lion,” he growled. “I don’t care how you do it. And keep her quiet.”
“Yes, Master.”
Badimar stormed off, kicking the door closed behind him. A couple seconds later, the door next room opened and slammed shut. Lion heard him stomping around the room, pulling his drawers open, cursing and swearing at himself. Not long after, the door opened and closed again.
Lion held his breath, half-expecting him to come back and deliver the girl more ‘training’. However, Badimar’s fast-paced steps walked away.
Lion let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. His heart was still beating rapidly. His stomach churned when he eyed the girl’s bloody frame. She was facing the wall, cradling herself, sobbing and crying uncontrollably. There was blood on her hair and dress, which was torn at the back, revealing her bruised skin.
He had his orders.
Get it done.
Break her arms and legs if she resists.
He couldn’t disobey.
Get it done.
The girl’s slender shoulders trembled with broken sobs. She tried and failed to suppress them as they kept coming.
Lion couldn’t take his eyes off her. His muscles were frozen, refusing to move. He had to get it done. He had his orders…
What if she resists?
He imagined his fists landing against her fragile body. He’d never felt any reluctance against hurting another slave. He was raised to hurt, to kill. His life’s purpose. Yet, this felt different. The idea of breaking the girl’s bones left him paralysed. Sick. He closed his eyes, tensed and flexed his fingers.
He couldn’t hurt her.
He couldn’t disobey his orders either.
His stomach cramped painfully. He’d never felt this helpless before. He was trapped between two impossible outcomes.
What if she resists?
He couldn’t move. As soon as he took a step towards the girl, she was going to start screaming and fighting him again. He was ordered to break her if that happened. His head was spinning.
Can’t disobey.
Can’t disobey.
Her sobs were tearing a chunk out of his heart. She was hurting.
I don’t want to…
His eyes snapped open. He didn’t have the luxury of wanting or not wanting. He wasn’t some untamed freeborn. He was a purebred. He was mentally lecturing himself of that, when he heard a movement.
The girl stood up with a groan. She was still sobbing quietly, though she seemed more controlled now. Lion held his breath as he watched what she would do next.
Don’t resist. I can’t disobey. Don’t resist…
She walked past him, holding her head down, and went to the sink. She filled the basin with water and started washing the blood off her face. She had a busted lip and a bleeding nose. Bruises were forming at the side of her face. She gasped softly and shuddered when the cold water touched her skin. The water in the basin turned pink in no time.
She straightened up, dried her face with Lion’s towel, leaving pink stains on the fabric. Then, she unbuttoned her dress and slipped out of it.
Her milky white skin was tarnished by ugly bruises and several weeks old lashes. Still keeping her head down, she went to the bed and crawled under the blanket.
She wasn’t going to resist.
A heavy weight lifted off of Lion’s shoulders, though he still felt sick. The girl’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling, her eyes empty. Lion recognized that expression. She had just discovered ‘the hole’.
When Lion was a young boy, back at Faychill Ranch, he’d discovered that there was a dark, little hole, deep inside his mind. Whenever he needed to, he could escape through that hole, leaving his body behind. He could disconnect from the moment, from whatever was happening to his body.
It’s not my body, it’s their property.
His mind would be safe inside the darkness of the hole, until the experience was over. Ever since he’d discovered the hole, Lion had become a better slave.
And now, the girl was discovering it too.
Lion tugged his pants down and climbed on the bed. She twitched when Lion touched her. He was wrong, she hadn’t fully escaped into her mind yet. When he moved to spread her legs apart, she tensed and clenched them together.
A suffocating feeling sat on Lion’s chest. She was resisting. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing and trembling violently.
Can’t disobey.
Lion closed his eyes, preparing for what he had to do. He opened them back, a new idea blossoming in his mind. Badimar had also told him, he didn’t care how he’d do it, as long as he ‘got it done’.
He didn’t have to hurt her. He just had to make sure she wouldn’t resist.
He decided to wait.
It worked. She took deep breaths until she was able to recollect herself. She steadied her eyes at the ceiling and made another attempt to escape mentally. Her muscles relaxed and didn’t resist to Lion’s touch when he spread her legs apart. He positioned himself between them and paused when she tensed again.
He didn’t care how long it would take, as long as he didn’t have to harm her. He studied the wild shapes her red hair had formed on the pillow. They reminded him of untamed flames.
She brought her hands down and gave him the most subtle nod. It was so obscure; it could have been nothing more than a supressed shiver. Whatever it was, it eased the knots in Lion’s stomach. He continued, carefully avoiding the sore bruises all over her body, and monitoring her reactions.
He stopped every time she placed her hand on his shoulder, and moved when she gave him that little nod. They were communicating, without speaking. Without breaking any rules. It was intimate, and exciting, beyond anything he’d ever experienced before.
When he was done, he lied next to her. The bed was so small, their bodies were moulded together. He’d just closed his eyes, drifting into sleep, when she spoke softly.
“Saradra,” she whispe
red, barely audible. “My real name is Saradra.”
No, it’s not, Lion refuted silently in his mind. She was ‘the girl’. ‘The female slave’, or whichever name her Owner chose for her. She didn’t possess her previous name anymore.
Without opening his eyes, he pressed a finger against her soft lips. She didn’t speak again. She turned to face the wall, her back nestled against his chest. Her hair tickled and irritated his brands, but he didn’t mind. He fell asleep, breathing the smell of her hair.
9
OLIRA
Olira saw Jygan’s riding horse before she saw the tanner himself.
Not many people in Oxreach or neighbouring farms kept horses. Mules and donkeys were more affordable, and perfectly suited for hard work. A few of the larger farms down the south of Oxreach had plough horses, slow but sturdy. Thoroughbred riding horses like Jygan’s was a luxury.
Jygan hardly ever travelled outside Oxreach. Rarely left his tannery where he lived alone. Yet, he adored the old, chestnut mare.
And, the sight of the horse, hitched right outside her farm, brought a tired smile to Olira’s lips. Jygan was here. At least one thing was going her way today.
No, not one. Two.
She glanced over her shoulder. The slave had slumped on Warrior’s back; his face was buried in the mule’s mane. He was as still as a corpse, but Olira could clearly hear his laboured breathing.
She knew purebred slaves didn’t have rhoas. They were abominations, not even human, not worthy of the Twelve Riders’ grace. Yet, Alunwea must have been smiling at him. The Goddess was the most merciful after all.
When she was near enough to see the whole of the modest, one storey farmhouse, the vegetable patch, the barn, and the shaded, fenced off exotic herb garden, she hooked two fingers between her pursed lips and whistled.
Less than ten seconds later, Gilann jolted out of the front door of the farmhouse, closely followed by Jygan and Torren. When they spotted her down the road, three of them broke into a sprint.
Gilann was the first one to reach her. At sixteen years of age, he was the oldest of Olira’s four younger brothers. His mousy hair was the same colour as Olira’s and his pale brown eyes were too serious for anyone his age. Worry was etched on his face and his brows were drawn into a tight knit when he noticed the man on Warrior’s back.