Slave

by Candace Blevins

  She’d chosen a pretty summer dress for me, but I wasn’t used to wearing clothes. I picked at my food when we finally sat down to eat, but thankfully she only insisted I drink my juice.

  I cried when Nissa came to get me from the Queen’s bedroom, and cried even more when Her Majesty teleported us to just inside the castle’s immense front doors. I’d never gone in or out these doors. Only free-people enter and leave through them. Slaves may pass through while helping a freeperson, but not when arriving or exiting. Slaves must be processed through the side door, where guards can make sure the paperwork is handled. Slaves are delivered and sold. Deliveries never happen through the front door.

  “Goodbye,” I told Nissa with a hug. “You’ve been a valuable friend. Thanks so much for everything you’ve done for me.” Nissa was a slave, I could thank her without the land recording it. Slaves can’t owe anything to a freeperson, because slaves aren’t people. I was a freeperson now, and Her Majesty had warned me against using words or phrases so Faerie would record a debt.

  “Take care of ye self,” she said, and she hugged me back. “I’m happy for ye. Life’s different for free people, and ye’ll need time to get used to it. Ye have family who wants ye. Let them help ye.”

  I stepped out of the ornate front entryway of the Winter Queen’s palace for the first time, looked to the fancy carriage waiting below, pulled by the most beautiful, majestic horses, and I turned to go back in, but the guard behind me, carrying my suitcase, blocked the way.

  “Down the steps to the carriage, Miss Winter, Ma’am. I believe the tall gentleman is your Grandfather.”

  Being called Ma’am made me freeze. This guard had used me more times than I could possibly count, and now he was calling me Miss and Ma’am. The pieces of my shattered heart rattled in my chest, slicing me in new ways. Having the guard with me didn’t mean I’d still be used by Her Majesty — not even by proxy.

  I’d arrived through a side delivery gate, and was leaving in a carriage with a member of the Queen’s personal guard to keep me safe. How does a freeperson walk? I hunched my shoulders in as I walked down the stone steps, but in a fit of rebelliousness I stood straight, pulled my shoulders back, and decided to walk with poise and grace.

  I didn’t know how a freeperson walked, and I supposed I’d have to learn, but for now, I’d put one foot in front of the other and just move.

  The tall gentleman with fiery-red hair walked to me when I neared the bottom step, and I stopped while I was the length of a person away from him. I was taller than him because I was several steps above him, which meant lowering my eyes didn’t keep me from meeting his gaze. I looked to his feet. He wore a suit and a top-hat, and looked more like royalty than a commoner, but surely Her Majesty would’ve told me if he was royalty.

  “What shall I call you, Sir?”

  “I’d be honored if you’d call me Grandfather. I understand I’m to call you Tabitha?”

  “That’s what I’m told, Sir.”

  “Please don’t call me Sir. I hope we aren’t strangers for long. Come, let me take you home?”

  My guard put my suitcase inside the carriage before stepping onto the back so he could ride outside. Inside, it was just me and the tall man who wanted to be called Grandfather, and I had no idea what to say. The carriage was gilded, and edged with purple and green accents matching my nails. I looked to my Grandfather’s hands and noted the same swirled colors, though his nails were trimmed short.

  “The upholstery in here matches our nails.” It was a stupid thing to say, but the silence was awkward. Slaves don’t just blurt things out, but I was wearing clothes and expected to act like a... granddaughter.

  I’d promised Her Majesty I’d try, so I was trying.

  “The Queen gave you her surname, but you’re still an Amethyst, little Tabitha. The entire family is anxious to meet you, but I thought it might be easier if I came alone to pick you up. A few of your cousins will be at my home to help you get settled in, and we’ll branch out and let you meet more of the family as you feel comfortable doing so.”

  “I’ll find some way to repay your kindness.” Free people never admit to owing others, but I wasn’t used to being free.

  “You owe us nothing, little Tabby. I regret not knowing about you. My son never married your mother, so I never discovered your existence. The slavers stole your childhood. What hell must you have been put through? I can’t imagine.”

  I was certain he didn’t want to imagine, so I didn’t give him any details.

  The next hour passed in silence, and was broken when we stopped so the horses could get a drink. My guard walked me to a restroom, and I recalled how I’d had to jump off the cart to go in the dirt when I’d been taken to Her Majesty’s castle.

  My Grandfather told me about the village we were in, and how it was the last stop before we climbed a mountain range. Food was delivered to the carriage, and we ate once we were on our way again.

  We stopped at the top of the mountain and got out of the carriage to see the magnificent views. My Grandfather put his coat on me when he realized I was chilled.

  “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  For the first time, I felt Faerie record a debt, as if it were a tiny weight on my soul, but I didn’t care. He’d shown me a kindness and I owed him. It was only right to record it.

  “It isn’t an honorific you’re required to use when speaking to me, Tabitha.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”

  He turned away, his eyes sad, and I tried to fix it. “Please, I’m sorry. I was just told this morning I’m a freeperson. I’m trying, but it’s hard not to say Sir, or Master, or something when I speak.”

  He turned back to me, his eyes still sad. “Then call me Grandfather, if it makes it easier — it’s so much better than Sir. We’ll figure everything out, Tabby.” He sighed. “You won’t be allowed around anyone outside of family until you learn not to thank people. We won’t take advantage of the debts you rack up, but the same can’t be said of outsiders. This means I don’t have to reprimand you for thanking me, because we have time for you to learn later. Baby steps. It’s going to be fine.”

  “Where am I to live?”

  “Your cousins have set up a bedroom for you in my house. You’re welcome to live with me as long as you wish.” I felt Faerie record the promise, and I breathed a little easier, though part of me was sad because while I lived with him, I couldn’t live with Her Majesty.

  Grandfather and I barely spoke during the rest of the ride — a few stilted conversations about the weather, and he pointed out various landmarks as we passed them.

  We made it to his home in time for a late dinner, and, as promised, I met three cousins who seemed excited to make my acquaintance.

  Grandfather realized I was overwhelmed, and sent two of them away within moments. He told the last cousin I was tired and needed my rest once she’d shown me my room and where my cousins had put things. My female cousins had gone shopping for clothes for me, so my closet was already nearly full without unpacking the trunk Her Majesty had provided.

  Mostly, I was in shock that I looked so much like them. I hadn’t understood family would mean we’d be the same. Our hair, our nails, our breast size, the way our waists flowed into our hips. We were different people, but shaped from the same mold, the same clay.

  Chapter Ten

  Tabitha

  I was given a huge, lavish bedroom in my Grandfather’s house, but I was expected to dress for breakfast and find something to do with my days. Staying in bed the whole day wasn’t an option.

  Grandfather was patient with me and helped me make decisions when I couldn’t, but wouldn’t make them for me. Instead, he asked questions until I figured out the best choice, and then hugged me and told me how proud he was of me when I made choices.

  My first decision came the next morning, when he asked me what I wanted for breakfast. I don’t think he’d understood until that moment, what it was going to be like to train a slave to
be a freeperson. Finally, he’d given me the choice of two different plates, and had asked questions about my favorite foods until I’d just chosen the first option he’d given me, so we could eat.

  Four days later, he figured out I just picked the first option, whatever it was, and he stopped giving me multiple choice. I had to tell him the options, and then I had to answer his questions until I could figure out which choice was right. Some mornings, I was in tears before I decided what I wanted to eat.

  I thought him horribly cruel for not just telling me what to eat, but he was always kind while he helped me work through it.

  It turns out, there isn’t always a right or wrong answer. Most of the time, actually, it isn’t about right and wrong so much as what you prefer in that moment. Breakfast, your outfit for the day, whether to walk or run. My cousins would ask if I wanted to go shopping with them, and I didn’t know if I did or not. In this, my Grandfather interceded and told me I wanted to go with them — once I’d stopped saying thank you every other sentence. Before then, shopping hadn’t been an option.

  The decisions were never-ending — when to go to bed, what to read, and what to do. If no one tells you when to go to sleep, you have to learn yourself enough to figure it out. Slaves are told when to do everything. I’d never thought, “Oh, I’m sleepy, I should go to bed.” The thought had never been an option for me.

  I stayed up all night once, and Grandfather told me small children need to figure out how to regulate their sleep, and that everyone needs to stay up all night and face the following day at least once, so they can learn their body’s needs. He said that since I’d never had some experiences as a child, it made sense I’d need to sort through them now.

  Later, I understood he was letting me make my own mistakes under the security of his watchful eye, so I could learn in safety. Free people are given two decades to mature into an adult who makes good choices, and I had to do so in a crash course.

  Eventually, I gave myself a bedtime and came up with something of a schedule, so I didn’t have to make as many decisions throughout the day. I awoke, ran, ate breakfast with my Grandfather on his schedule, went for a walk, observed the townspeople as they went about their day, ate dinner with my Grandfather, and spent time talking with him before bedtime.

  The guard had been instructed to observe only, and not to converse with any of us. I tried to start a conversation dozens of times, but he didn’t respond. Once, I stopped running in the middle of the forest and asked him if he’d fuck me, but he’d merely motioned his hand for me to keep running. I felt safe with him near, and in my mind, having him around equaled Her Majesty still being close, even if only by proxy. She still cared about me because she was seeing to my safety.

  During the first month at my Grandfather’s manor, I cried for Her Majesty every night, and sometimes during the day too. I tried to keep my tears from my Grandfather and cousins, but I wasn’t always successful. I did my best to please them, and I soon discovered any reminders of my former slave status made them terribly uncomfortable, so I worked hard to keep from reminding them of what I’d been.

  I went from being a sexual plaything to nothing sexual at all, and I lay in bed frustrated at night. Also, I needed pain in the worst sort of way. I’d get out of my huge, canopied bed, fling my nightclothes off, and sleep on the hard stone floor, cold and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a substitute for being bound in Her Majesty’s suite. I usually awoke early enough my family didn’t know, but when they found me, my Grandfather would pick me up and put me back in bed, tuck me in, and tell me it would be okay. I grew to love him for his gentle kindness, but I’d have loved him more if he’d have beat me.

  For so long, I didn’t know what to do with myself, even with my made-up schedule. I went shopping with my cousins, and ran through the woods until I was beyond exhausted, but the days were long with nothing to fill them. Once Grandfather hired tutors for me, the days were easier to fill, but more difficult because some of the lessons were so hard.

  At least once a week, and often more, my cousins took me with them into the village. This was always a trial because the requirement to look everyone in the eye seemed impossible. I did it, but my nerves were always on edge. It was as if I had an adrenaline spike every single time I met a villager or shopkeeper’s gaze.

  Still, my Grandfather insisted I go with them, and I truly enjoyed time with my cousins, so I feigned a confidence I didn’t think I’d ever feel. We had our hair and nails done once a week, and we shopped every time one of my cousins needed something — a new outfit, shoes, or even just a book to read. They had no problem telling me which dresses to buy, or how my hair should be fixed with a particular outfit, but when they weren’t around I was at a loss.

  When we made purchases, we signed our names on documents that listed what we’d had done, or what we were buying. No money or coins changed hands, but my cousins assured me my Grandfather would pay the merchants. As my Queen had requested, I didn’t tell them I had my own money.

  One day, we went shopping for hats and sunglasses, put our hair under the hats, polished our nails different colors, and then they took me to a travelling carnival in the neighboring village. It was full of naughtiness, and there were slaves on a stage, bent over a bar so patrons could pay to fuck them. I wanted to be bent over like that for my Queen worse than anything, and I was glad the large, dark sunglasses hid the tears in my eyes.

  I knew they’d be uncomfortable if they learned the slaves made me sad, so I coaxed a few cousins into riding a magical coaster I knew would make me sick, so I could stem my tears before they slid down my cheeks.

  When I had my emotions in check, I made an excuse to go back to get something, and managed to get away from my cousins. It took a good five minutes to circle back to the available slaves, and my heart was in my throat, but I needed to do this.

  I found an employee off to the side, and walked up to him. “I’d like to pay for services in private, please. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  He looked around and motioned me into a three-sided tent.

  “I’d like to pay you to whip me. No blood, and keep the bruising to areas of my body easily concealed by clothing. How long will this buy me?” My cousins had said we needed coins for the carnival, so I had some with me. I showed him the amount a pair of shoes and a dress would cost, which was twenty times what they charged to use one of their slaves for six minutes. I was hoping for a twenty minute beating, at least.

  “I can’t whip you, Ma’am. I can offer a slave to fuck you or pleasure you with his mouth. We have some private stalls, and you can have a slave for thirty minutes for a quarter of what you offered.”

  “Would you whip me for double the amount? You handle the slaves, so you must know how to handle a whip.”

  “I do, and I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I can’t do it for even ten times the amount. It isn’t allowed.”

  He looked behind me, and I turned to see one of my cousins.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Tabby. Something seemed off, so I followed you.” She walked to me and hugged me, and I collapsed into tears.

  “Please don’t tell Grandfather. He’ll be so disappointed. I won’t try this again!”

  My heart ached because I couldn’t get the whipping I so desperately wanted, but also because I knew my family would be hurt if they found out.

  “I won’t tell. Come on, let’s get a frozen treat. You’ve been doing so good, it’s okay to slide back into old habits.”

  I let her lead me out, and by the time we met up with everyone else, I’d composed myself once again.

  Little did I know, but on this day, I turned twenty-one years old. I knew my birthday was in the summer, because my virginity had been taken when I’d come of age — twelve, in Faerie — but I had no idea of the actual date. My Great-Grandfather arranged a surprise Birthday Ball in my honor, so on the same day someone refused to whip the pathetic former slave, I was the guest of honor at a ball.

  But I didn’t k
now about the ball right away. My Great-Grandfather, Grandfather, and other assorted relatives greeted us in the parlor, where I was presented with a wrapped birthday present. I opened it to find a beautiful, over-the-top jeweled ballgown with matching shoes, and my cousins rushed me off so we could all get changed. When I returned, everyone was in formal wear, and we entered the ballroom to see food and decorations fit for a princess — and another hundred plus family members who were ready to wish me a Happy Birthday.

  It seemed I opened presents for an hour or more. I received clothes, shoes, books, pens, and more jewelry than any one person could possibly wear. I’d attended birthday parties for my cousins, of course, but it’d never occurred to me I’d get one.

  Then there was the dancing, and at the end, I was asked to come onto the dais for my birthday spanking.

  Every nerve in my body came alive at the prospect of being spanked, but the first twenty strikes were just token swats, and only the last landed with enough strength to provide a little heat. Still, it was a good ending to a long, emotional day.

  I had a family, and they loved me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tabby

  Even my tutor didn’t know what to do with me, at times. On a particularly beautiful day, he sent a messenger with instructions to take my lessons out to the garden to study for the test I was due to take, so he could meet me out there when he arrived, but then he was terribly upset when he found me kneeling on the ground beside the lounge chairs, studying intently.

  Grandfather fired my teacher when he overheard him speaking sharply to me, and I received my lessons from either my Grandfather or one of my cousins for several weeks, until Grandfather found someone he said could be trusted to teach me with respect. It was yet another reminder I’d likely never be whipped again.

  So, I dove even harder into my lessons. I’d been taught proper grammar and etiquette as a child, destined to be sold to royalty, or at least someone rich enough to afford me. My time in the pleasure parlor was supposed to be the equivalent of post-graduate work, so I could pull in the highest price, which I suppose I did, when Kalonymos purchased me. It was important I speak and act with decorum, and these things had been drilled into me from a young age.