Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3
Page 57
Meagan looked sick, as well he might. Blaise’s operation was strictly small time compared with Herstal, but backed by Athione’s treasure it could become much more. Certainly more than enough to threaten markets that Meagan had long held to be his alone.
“You haven’t agreed?”
“Not yet,” Keverin said cheerfully. “I had planned to tell him when next we meet.”
“You don’t want to become a merchant,” Meagan insisted.
“Oh… I don’t know. It might be interesting. Blaise is very enthusiastic about our partnership.”
“You know nothing of dyes.”
“No, but Blaise does.”
Meagan sat behind his desk, slumped rather, and said plaintively, “What do you want?”
Keverin told him.
Less than half a candlemark later Meagan escorted them to the gate where Brian and Echion were waiting. Keverin lifted Julia easily into her saddle and then mounted Cavell. Brian and Echion reformed the men and Keverin began to lead the column back down the hill.
Meagan watched them in silence, but then, “Lady Julia?”
Julia looked back. “Yes?”
“My gate… please?”
Julia nodded and gestured at the keep. There was a loud crunch followed by the sound of heavy timbers falling. She had snapped the locking bar clean in two. She faced forward and rode away without another word.
“Thank you,” Meagan said under his breath. “Thank you for proving me right. It’s time I told Demophon my decision.”
None heard him.
* * *
Interlude I
The cane landed upon Nisim’s back in a flare of agony. He grunted but stared at the others without flinching. They flinched for him—in sympathy. They knew what it was like. They were slaves like him, forced to watch his punishment so that they might learn the penalty for disobedience.
“Nine!”
Thwack!
“Ten!”
Thwack!
“Now get back inside you lazy good for nothing beasts!” the mistress yelled. “Let this be a lesson to you all.” She looked back at Nisim. “Cut him down.”
Nisim stared at her with loathing, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him fall as the ropes were cut. It took all his self-control to stand straight and rub circulation back into his hands without giving away the rage he felt. He stared unblinking into her eyes and watched uncertainty flicker in their depths.
Mistress Lakshmi firmed her grip on the cane and backed away then spun to flee inside.
“You bring this on yourself, Nisim,” Trista said from where she stood holding the ropes in white knuckled fists.
“Never say that to me,” Nisim spat. “The mistress is all to blame, not me.”
“But you’re the only one she has ever caned! She’s good to us.”
“I’m the only one she has ever struck personally,” Nisim said with a nod. “Not the only one she has had struck. There’s a difference.”
There was a gulf of difference between the two. He had lived in the Matriarch’s palace for years and had never been hit let alone caned. The only violence he had received was his branding. That had been necessary to make him the Matriarch’s body slave, and though painful he had eagerly accepted the anguish to be near her. Nisim stroked the ribbed flesh on his shoulder. The stylised M surrounded by thorns said that the Matriarch owned him personally—or she had before he made his mistake. Chamberlain Jarek had saved him from the noose, but how he wished the old man had not done so.
“You’re doing it again,” Trista said.
“Doing what again?”
“Stroking that hideous brand like it was a lover. Do you really think it makes you special?”
“No of course—”
“Don’t lie to me, you’re no good at it!” Trista snapped. “When will you understand that you are nothing? We are slaves—less than beasts in the field! Talitha is far above us. Should she deign to look she would see nothing but two slaves among thousands.”
“I know—”
“You don’t know!” Trista blazed. “When have you ever truly lived like a slave? Never have you woken in the morning and trudged a league to the fields like my mother. When have you ever worked until your hands bled and became so slippery on the haft of a mattock that you couldn’t pick it up?”
Nisim took Trista’s shoulders. “I do know,” he whispered to calm her. “My mother was a whore like me, but my father worked on the docks. I worked there too before Jarek came for me. I do know Trista, but in all that time I’ve never been caned or flogged. The mistress is to blame, not me.”
Trista shrugged him off. “You just won’t see. You walk around like a prince with that brand as if having it makes you free. We all see it except you, Nisim. You don’t act as a slave should act. That’s why you bring grief down upon yourself. If you weren’t caned before it’s because your owner made allowances.”
Nisim sighed as Trista bolted back inside.
Jarek had been good to him, but sending him here was a terrible mistake. The mistress hadn’t liked him the moment she saw him. He truly hadn’t done anything to upset her, but she had strapped him with a piece of leather on his very first day. The pain was nothing. It was the shock of being hit that had made him shout. All he had done was smile at her. Jarek had told him that mistress Lakshmi was a friend. He could hardly believe they knew each other let alone that they were friends. How did it happen that a gentle soul like Jarek called this harridan a friend?
Nisim bent to retrieve his shirt and wandered back inside the brothel that was his home now. It was early yet, but he had to wash and dress before the patrons arrived. Already some of the others were lounging around the main room in seductive poses chatting together. Knowing his luck, he would have to do two at the same time. He sighed and trotted down stairs to the slave quarters. He didn’t notice his hands knotting his shirt into a useless mess as he walked inside.
Nisim stripped and washed. Bruises covered him, but the cane hadn’t cut his back. The mistress wouldn’t want to scar him, but accidents did happen. He was pleased to see the stripes would fade. He pulled on tight trousers and struggled to stretch the leather enough to button the buttons. Was he putting on weight? He turned sideways to the mirror but decided he wasn’t, it was the leather. They were always too tight. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if he would be wearing them for long. His shirt was too crumpled to wear, so he pulled another out of a drawer full of them. He frowned at the plain shirts he found. Garym and Kim were already dressed and sitting upstairs. They had taken the best ones. Kim always did like the lace and Garym was as bad. He sighed and pulled the shirt on. It wouldn’t hurt for him to look plain for once. He grinned. It might give him a quiet night and lose the mistress a fist full of gold! Nisim snickered as he buttoned his shirt buttons. It would serve her right if she lost a fortune!
The cotton was cool on his back. It was soothing at first, but then it began to irritate him. “Oh, fine! That’s all I need.”
“Nisim?” Nona said hesitantly from the door. “Can I come in now?”
“Of course you can.”
Nona came slowly inside. She was young and new at all this. The mistress had bought her only recently. Nona was unused to sharing a living space with so many, but she would have to get used to it. All the whores used this place to sleep during the day.
“I’m sorry about your back.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Nisim said but as he did, he felt a twinge in abused muscles and his back began to ache.
“The mistress says I have to serve upstairs tonight.”
“Tonight?”
Nona nodded nervously.
Nisim took her hand and led her to the nearest bed. “Sit here,” he said and sat next to her. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But what do I do?”
“You dress up like the others and sit around the main room until a man chooses you. He will take you to one of the upstairs rooms and you wil
l undress for him. He will tell you what to do. Don’t worry, it’s easy, you’ll see.”
“But what if no one likes me? I don’t want to go to the fields,” Nona said close to tears.
“Hush! Any man will want you. You’ll see.”
Nona was a little bird—lovely and charming, but she was quiet and timid with it. He prayed to the God for a kind man to be her first. He wouldn’t entertain the thought of her hurt.
“Will you help me?”
“Help you? I don’t under—”
“With dressing up, silly!”
Nisim sighed in relief. He had thought that she meant… never mind. Nona was virgin. If he touched her in that way they would both die. The mistress would be expecting a great deal of gold for Nona’s first night and she would literally kill him if he ruined it.
“You know the mistress wouldn’t like it.”
Nona nodded with a sad sigh and stood to leave.
Nisim clenched a fist. “All right,” he said praying he wasn’t being a fool about this. “I’ll help you.”
Nona clapped her hands in delight. “What’s first?”
“Well… have you washed?”
She nodded eagerly. “This morning.”
“Better have another one,” Nisim said thinking about what he needed to make Nona’s first time special. “You go ahead and wash. There’s water and soap there,” he said and made for the door.
“But where are you going?”
“I’ll be back in a while. I want to get you some special things.”
“Special?” Nona said looking excited. “Special like what?”
“It’s a surprise.” He smiled and strode out the door.
Nisim clambered up the stairs two at a time. The others would help him if he said it was for Nona. Everyone loved her. It was a shame she was a slave. Any number of men would have married her for beauty alone, but she was a special person besides that. She could sing like a bird, but none ever heard her outside the kitchens or slave quarters. Just as well he supposed. Some prince or other would lock her away for his enjoyment and she would pine away for company.
Nisim looked around the main room and found Trista and Magda talking quietly together. Magda was plain in her face except her eyes, which were a startling liquid brown. Men had fought to have her for the night. She had a spectacular body and knew what to do with it. Trista was… Trista. She was his friend and older than the others. She still had men ask for her, but they were of an age with her. What was in her heart counted more to them than youthful beauty. She said that men of a certain age needed the reassurance she could give them.
“I need help.”
Trista looked at him coldly—still angry with him perhaps, but Magda smiled.
“What with?” Magda said.
“The mistress told Nona it’s her time, and she asked for help her with her dress—can I borrow a few things?”
“We’ll help,” Magda said and elbowed Trista. “Won’t we?”
“Yes, we’ll help,” Trista said glaring and rubbing her arm.
“Thanks. She’s having a wash downstairs. I thought some perfume and your blue silk Magda.”
“Good choice,” Magda said. “I’ll go get it.”
Trista watched Magda hurry away. “And from me?”
“Do you still have that headdress?”
“You know I do,” Trista said and went to fetch it.
Nisim was sad that Trista was angry with him, but he tried to put it out his thoughts while he collected a few things from the others. Calli gave him her best small clothes laughing as he tried unsuccessfully to explain that they weren’t for him. Dagmar gave him her paints and perfumes, but she made him promise to bring them back as soon as he was finished with them.
“The mistress bought them special. You won’t let anything happen to them will you?” Dagmar said biting her lip.
Nisim took them from her and started to leave, “Would the mistress beat you?”
Dagmar looked frightened and nodded jerkily. “Of course she would.”
Nisim nodded and left. He knew he was right. It wasn’t him, but the mistress who was to blame for his stripes. Trista didn’t see it, or maybe she had never witnessed it before today, but whatever the reason for her dislike of him, it was the mistress’s fault and none of his.
Nisim trotted downstairs and entered the room to find Nona standing naked before him. He gasped at the sight. The scene reminded him that strongly of the palace. It was almost as if he were back there again. Nona could easily have been the Matriarch standing with her girls as they dressed her. Nona was standing in the middle of the room with her arms raised as Trista and Magda dried and powdered her. Her hair was roughly draped over one breast lending her a tussled look that appealed to him immensely. He couldn’t stop his eyes roving and fixing on the dark triangle below her flat belly. He pulled his gaze reluctantly away and found her eyes. She blushed at his frank regard.
“You see?” Magda said with a chuckle. She aimed a grateful smile at Nisim. “Any man would want you.”
Nisim nodded eagerly. “I told you that.”
Nona blushed and tried to cover herself when she realised that she was just standing there letting him look.
“No, no! You mustn’t do that.” Trista said and pulled Nona’s hands away. “Nisim doesn’t mind, but a patron won’t like you covering up.”
“But I feel silly,” Nona said with her almond skin darkening still further.
“There’s nothing to feel silly about,” Nisim said with his eyes sweeping over her thighs, the curve of her hips, and then on to her smiling eyes. “You’re beautiful Nona. They will be fighting over you.”
“Really?”
“Really, I swear it,” Nisim said with a nod and Nona relaxed a little more. “I have Dagmar’s paints,” he said to the three.
“I’ll do her face,” Magda said.
“I’m doing her hair,” Trista said.
Nona looked hopefully at him. “Oh all right! I’ll do the rest of you. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Nisim teased as he found the file. He crouched down and she raised a delicate foot onto his knee. “Never had to do this for a woman before,” he grumbled.
“No,” Trista said. “He had a palace full of women doing his!”
Nona giggled and Nisim grinned not letting her see the truth. He did have one of the girls do his, but he had never let her paint them.
“When I’ve done this, what colour would you like?”
“Blue?” Magda suggested.
“No, the dress is blue,” Trista said.
“How about pearl?” Nisim said. “Talitha liked…” he broke off with a frown.
“The Matriarch?” Nona gsped. “Can we?”
Trista looked down at Nisim and shook her head in pity. He stared up at her with sorrow crushing him down. By the God, what was he going to do? He loved the Matriarch, he knew he did, but Jarek was right. A slave had no place and no status. The thought of the Matriarch and him together was ludicrous and he knew it. He was a prisoner in this city. He would never escape. He knew it now, but he had to wonder if Jarek had always known. The old man had held hope out to him last year but…
“Can we Nisim?” Nona said again.
Nisim smiled at her. “Of course we can. Dagmar gave me the whole set.”
Nona squealed and clapped her hands, but Trista was still looking at him with pity. He nodded for her to go back to her pampering. She gave him a long look then turned her attention to Nona.
Nisim filed Nona’s toenails and carefully painted them, and then he rose to do her hands. Trista arranged Nona’s hair to frame her sweet face and to give the jewelled headdress a backdrop. The jewels were only coloured glass, but the gold and silver was real, and so was Nona’s beauty.
“There,” Trista said. “Are you done?”
“Just about,” Magda said.
Nisim nodded that he too was finished. “Don’t touch them,” he warned. “They’re still wet.”
“More than all right,” Nisim said. “It’s splendid.”
Magda and Trista agreed with emphatic nods.
“A little powder and perfume?” he asked them.
“Her breasts need something,” Magda said tapping her lips.
“What? They look good to me.”
Trista coughed. “Of course they do.”
“You’re a man,” Magda added by way of explanation.
“So?” Nisim said even more puzzled.
“All men like a woman’s breasts. Makes them remember their mothers!”
“So? If they look good to me then they must be good for the patrons—right?”
“Maybe, seeing as it’s you we’re talking about, but you’re a whore. Whore’s see things differently. They look too dark to me.”
Nisim tilted his head. Nona had very nice breasts. They were small, but their shape was good. They were nicely rounded and the nipples jutted upward in challenge. They looked just right to him.
Nisim shrugged. “If you say so.”
Magda found the powder. “A little of this will lighten them, and a bit more for her cheeks, I think. Then some paint on the nipples—not too much mind!”
Nisim watched Magda work and he did see an improvement. Nona was already gorgeous but she was even more so when Magda was finished. She was glowing, like a girl at her wedding. Nisim’s good mood plummeted at the thought. Nona was a whore like him, or she would be after today. She would never have a wedding.
“Now the perfume,” Trista said. “Essence of Saposia,” she said inhaling the essence.
Saposia was a mountain flower with a sweet scent. It was very expensive. Talitha liked it a lot and always bought it when the traders came from Deva. It grew in many high places, but the Elvissan Mountains were too cold for it to flourish. Trista dabbed the sweet smelling liquid in strategic places on Nona’s body—her neck, between her breasts, and finally between her legs.
“That tickles!” Nona said squirming.
“If you think that tickles wait until tonight!” Magda said with a smirk.