She shivered. There were rumours that pairings were once desired—that there was a reason the Narada kept the women in isolation to ensure they bred only with the men specially chosen for the task. She couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine wanting that.
She tucked her blanket further around her, nuzzling the fabric against her nose. It was beginning to soften with age, no longer a harsh rasp of fibres against her skin. It was soothing, in its way, and she hoped wistfully that it would come back to her soon. Nothing was theirs. Everything was cycled through all of the thralls, given and taken at seemingly random intervals. Or if there was a pattern to the collections, she had never been able to reason it out.
Sleep did not come easily, but eventually it did come, full of dark images and frightened pants, her worries tainting her dreams until she awoke with a gasp. The master was there, and he eyed her for a moment, and she waited tensely for a rebuke that never came.
The cloths were distributed, and her cheeks didn’t even burn anymore when she brought it between her legs before she held it out to the master.
He looked at it as he did the others.
And as she dreaded, she was ready for another implantation.
She followed obediently, not looking at the other girls. None of the others were ready, but they would not try to urge the master to let her stay another day with them. And if she looked, there would be no commiseration, no comfort.
For each thrall was entirely alone.
“You will produce this time,” the master was instructing her, and she forced herself to listen lest part of the order somehow differ from the previous attempts. “What is your purpose?”
She swallowed thickly, not expecting to be questioned but knowing she now needed to respond. “To serve.”
He paused, looking down at her. “And have you served properly?”
“No,” she admitted miserably, staring down at the floor.
“And you will do better?”
“Yes,” she was quick to assure him, but her stomach roiled. It was not a promise she could make. She didn’t know what she was doing wrong and why the implantations had failed. Perhaps it really was that she was a bad thrall. She bit her cheek hard. The master had implied it, so likely it was true.
“This one has produced many offspring. Hope that you are equally receptive.”
Ness bowed her head, wanting to obey but finding it almost impossible. She didn’t want any of this. Didn’t want to be locked in that room ahead. Didn’t want another man looking at her, didn’t want him touching her, forcing her, frightening her as he completed his task.
But as she had always known, what she wanted did not matter.
And so it happened anyway.
1. Sold
She was sore in the days that followed. She was locked in a small room, with nothing to do but remember, to focus on each twinge and pull of abused muscle.
She was allowed out eventually, to return to her more menial tasks. She worked with a needle mostly, mending and occasionally making new things under the watchful eye of both a master and Nell, a woman much older than herself. Her hands were wrinkled with age, her knuckles large and slightly crooked, but she had skills that made her valuable and so she remained, not culled like some of the eldest.
Ness liked the work. Liked that at the end of her day she had accomplished something, as she’d begun to fear that she couldn’t do anything right at all. But Nell had given her a nod of approval over her completed blanket, and Ness swelled with satisfaction.
If only she could please the masters that way. Yet that was not something she seemed able to do.
“You are a disappointment. You have been given ample time and opportunity, yet still you fail.”
Ness couldn’t contain her sob, no matter how she tried. The master was furious with her, with the blood between her legs. She had failed. Again. And what little patience he had for her had long passed away.
She choked down her apologies, her pleadings. He had not given her leave to speak, and she would not anger him further by being disobedient now. The others in the dormitory were led out by another of the masters, and she did not look at them as they filed out. She could not bear the shame, having fallen so short in what they had all already accomplished.
“How do you bring honour?” he asked her, his voice hard.
She was still on the floor, the blow he’d given her when she’d shown him the cloth strong and unyielding. Her cheek still throbbed, but she did not raise her hand to cradle it. She simply sat, ready to accept more of his ire.
She tried to control her voice, to keep the edge of hysteria from provoking him further, but she was not entirely successful. “To produce more thralls for the masters.”
His eyes narrowed at her, hard and entirely without sympathy. “And have you succeeded?”
She hiccoughed. He knew she hadn’t. And he also knew that she was perfectly aware of her failure. Perhaps making her admit it aloud was part of her punishment, her humiliation utterly complete. “No,” she managed to choke out.
“Then what house can you honour with your service if you have no honour to give?”
She bowed her head low, already knowing the answer. “None.”
“And do you know what happens to a thrall that has no purpose?”
Her throat tightened, knowing the answer, yet unable to push the words from her uncooperative lips. But the master did not wish to wait, and he prompted her to answer with a yank to her hair. “Well?”
“T-they die,” she forced out at last, being careful not to look at him directly, even with the hold he had on her. This was likely a test, and if she was to... to die, she didn’t want to make things worse. They could make it painful, make it linger, and if... if it had to happen...
She sobbed again and he released her, returning to his full height. She kept her head bowed, her hands tightly clasped, wishing that she could simply disappear. There was too much she didn’t understand, too much she wanted to be different. But none of that mattered. It never did.
“Ordinarily, yes,” the master conceded, his tone cooling somewhat. It took every bit of will to keep from looking at him in surprise.
She would be granted another chance?
Her desire to live outweighed her disappointment at having to endure the process again. She opened her mouth, ready to thank him, ready to offer what pitifully inadequate assurances she could that she would do better the next time, but she caught herself in time.
“But a situation has arisen that could provide you with a unique opportunity to attain your worth through other means.”
Ness stilled, uncertain what that meant.
The master reached down, grasping her chin in his large hand, inspecting her face. “Tell me, do you believe yourself a worthy specimen?”
Ness’s eyes widened, not at all certain how to answer such a question. It must be another test, and she could not afford to err. Not now.
“I did not do as was asked of me,” she answered slowly, his grip on her chin tightening and growing painful. “It is right for you to be angry with me.”
The master released her roughly, his mandibles clicking in disapproval. Her heart sank and she realised she had answered wrongly. “But I wish to be better!” she hurriedly amended. “I do not... I do not wish to be bad! I’m... I am terribly sorry that I haven’t done what you’ve asked.” She was crying again, even though she tried desperately to contain it. But she was confused and frightened, and her body seemed disinterested in what her training dictated.
“Come,” he said at last, and she scrambled to her feet, uncertain why he was not killing her on the spot. Probably because the other thralls would already be tending to their tasks and none would be there to clear away her body. She closed her eyes, all too able to imagine her own death.
She followed, not knowing what he intended but knowing better than to argue. He did not call for any others, so it was possible she would be afforded a private execution. Instead of comforting
her as perhaps it should have, she only thought that it sounded like a lonely death with no one to witness her passing.
He took her through an unfamiliar tunnel, his pacing never slowing. The torches on the walls grew fewer, but the passage surprisingly did not darken. Her heart quickened as she recognised the incline. She’d gone above before—the Narada seemed to realise that their thralls could grow sickly if they were confined solely to the tunnels the masters favoured, so the children were taken up in small groups somewhat regularly. She remembered the excitement mingling with trepidation, the outside almost too open, too sparkling and new to be for her, and she was almost glad when the masters had commanded they return to the darkness below.
She was proven correct when they emerged from the tunnel, the sudden sunlight a sharp pain in her eyes. She closed them tightly, barely able to stop from hiding them behind her hands and whimpering, so jarring was the difference. It had been... quite some time since she had been permitted outside. For thralls beyond childhood, it was a reward for exemplary service. She had never qualified.
Her stomach clenched uncomfortably, still waiting for a swift end to meet her.
But the master kept walking, his hand at her arm so he could direct her steps. She was a little surprised he did not order her to compose herself more quickly, to adjust to the harsh light of the suns and cease her foolishness.
But such an order did not come.
She heard voices, and she forced her eyes to open. She winced at first. The two suns were high, and there were only a few trees to offer respite from the uncompromising brightness. Her quick peeking showed a few Narada, their expressions angry. She did not recognise the other two they spoke with, their species wholly unfamiliar to her. She grew even more wary, her confusion only adding to her fear. These strangers did not look like the masters, but they were not like her either.
They were... bulky.
She tried not to stare lest she get in trouble when they noticed, but it was difficult not to. The Narada were sleek with their almost shell-like exteriors, but these people were broad with large muscles that left it perfectly plain how even a single blow would hurt horribly.
She bit her cheek, her fear magnifying. Why was she here?
The strange men—for she was fairly certain they were male, since nothing seemed remotely feminine about them—shook their heads irritably, and as they neared, she could overhear some of their argument.
She shouldn’t listen. It wasn’t her place and likely had little to do with her. But she comforted herself with the reminder that if she was to be punished for overhearing, it would likely pale in comparison to what she was to endure for her previous failures.
“Just pay us and we will be on our way!” one was growling, his exasperation evident.
She glanced fearfully at the master he addressed, waiting for him to attack. Or... perhaps he would not? These men clearly were not thralls. They were too big and powerful looking to be easily enslaved. Not like her own weak race.
“The agreed price is unreasonable,” the master said instead, his voice hard but not overly hostile. “It should never have been accepted.” Ness noticed that he gave a glare to one of the others in their midst. That one clicked disagreeably, obviously disliking the suggestion that he had been in error, but the two at his side restrained him with heavy hands on his shoulders.
The strange man shook his head. “That does not change the fact that it was agreed upon. Are you reneging on your word?”
Ness’s eyes widened at the suggestion. A master did not lie, and a master was never wrong. She fixed her eyes on the ground. This was clearly not for her to witness.
Little wisps of green grew along the path, and she wished she would be given permission to kneel so perhaps she could touch it. Anything really to distract her from this entire volatile exchange. She had no business being here at all, and yet...
A master had brought her, so clearly this was not a mistake.
When the master did not answer the man, he chuffed out an annoyed breath. “Then we will simply take them back and you can trade with another for your weapons. The Arterians perhaps? Or are you still at war?”
Belatedly she noticed the large cart beside them, a thick covering concealing the weapons apparently stored beneath. She vaguely wondered why the masters did not simply attack and take them by force—she had seen them act thusly plenty of times before, at least with their slaves. But if they did not, then they must have their reasons, whether knowable to her or not.
“Stop,” the master commanded as the strange men went to the cart and began to push it back from wherever they’d come. It was large, the wheels digging into the dirt, betraying its weight. It was another testament to their strength that they had managed it on their own. She swallowed thickly, looking purposefully away from their large muscles.
“We will give payment,” the master conceded, his jaw tight and betraying how begrudgingly he agreed to the exchange. “But as the terms did not dictate its currency...”
She felt his eyes land on her, a prickling awareness on her skin that caused her heart to race.
What did she have to do with it?
But his eyes lingered, the attention of the others turning to her as well. She wished that the ground would give way beneath her, that it would simply swallow her up and return her to the dark, where if not exactly safe, at least it was known.
She paled, certain she had misunderstood. Her people were for the Narada. To serve them in whatever manner they required.
Did... did that include being given to other people as payment?
Her breath grew short and she startled at the incredulous bark that issued from the man. “You cannot be serious.”
She did not need to look to know that the master’s eyes would flash at the accusation. “I do not speak falsely. I will give you half the agreed price as well as the thrall. The matter will be settled. Our agreements stand.”
“I think not!” the man protested, and she saw his large hand clench into a tight fist. “These klaymirk are good work, and you might place value on... on that sort of thing, but we certainly do not!”
She couldn’t explain why the disgust in his voice hurt her so. She already knew how useless she was, how inadequate in every task the masters had given to her, so it seemed foolish that this stranger’s rejection should sting as much as it did.
But she had long ago learned that her feelings rarely submitted to anything resembling logic, so she simply bit at her cheek and hoped that all of this would be resolved quickly. And, perhaps, if it was at all possible, in a way that meant as few hurts for her as could be managed.
She tried not to think about what it would mean to leave with these men—to be so lost and confused, with no knowledge of what they wanted of her. She remembered when the wilders were brought. She had not seen or heard of how they fared, but realised with mounting sympathy that she might soon face as difficult a challenge as they surely did.
Would they send a human male with her, the expectation to breed extending even to her new service? Or, she thought with a jolt of fear, was she to... with... with one of them?
She could not quite stop her trembling step backward, her instinct to flee, to run overpowering what little remained of her good sense. A hand clasped at her shoulder and she could feel the master’s glare as he held her in place. She expected a slap, but he merely gripped her hard, a bruising hold that reminded her that she was not permitted to move of her own volition.
Her lip trembled, but she blessedly did not begin to cry.
“Bendan, wait.”
Ness stole a glance toward the strange men. Another had approached the one who had objected to her as payment. He was looking at her, and she quickly returned her gaze to the ground. A tiny, winged insect was scuttling along the grass, and she wished she could be like him instead—could be anything else at all. She would fly far, far away, and...
Do what?
She was a thrall and nothing more. And no amount of
wishing would change that.
Bendan turned to the other man, his expression aghast. “Olivar, we cannot take her!”
Olivar did not seem to agree, as he took a step forward. Not toward the master as she expected, but toward her.
Every muscle ached to move backward, to run back into the tunnels, to hide away until this entire confusing exchange melted away into memory. Or perhaps she awoke from the strangeness of this dream. Either outcome was acceptable.
Him crouching down so he could look at her was not.
She froze, uncertain what she should do. If he was one of the masters, she would collapse to her knees in an instant—there was no cause for her to remain standing if they were required to kneel. But she was not certain if they were to be considered masters, not when their species was so different. She glanced to her master for guidance, but could not seem to make out any direction from his loathsome look.
She cringed, her limbs suddenly deciding for her as she knelt, bowing her head and keeping her gaze carefully away from the man before her.
She must not have done too wrongly for the master let her go, his grip releasing as he seemed to recognise her intention.
But when the man reached out and touched her chin, she whimpered, flinching back. It hurt, the master’s earlier grip leaving her tender as he had assessed her down in the tunnels. He now gave her a swot on the back of the head when she recoiled from the new man, and she recognised that yes, these strangers were to be treated with similar deference.
If the man wanted to touch, he was to be permitted.
If he wanted to hurt, she would accept it without complaint.
She sniffled, pushing away her tears, the realisation a dreadful sort of comfort.
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 2