by Stella Cassy
I walked through one of the sliding partitions that led to an arched tunnel corridor with light filaments recessed into the spherical ceiling. We walked the length of it until we reached the petal orb that served as a doorway to the back chambers of the ship. The petal orb opened gracefully and allowed us to step into the dimly lit passageway that led to the kitchens and the scullery.
“Through there is the kitchen,” I told her, gesturing towards the large square doors that slid open easily with just the press of a button. It was one of the few parts of the ship that was accessible to all. “You’ll have to follow the cook’s orders. This is where you will work most days,” I said as we reached the scullery.
“Go on,” I said, gesturing for her to walk inside.
She moved into the scullery with careful steps, as though she were worried I would attack her suddenly when her back was to me.
“You will wash the dishes, scrub the floors and—"
“I know how to be a scullery maid,” she interrupted, turning on the spot. “In fact, I’ve been a scullery maid before.”
“Have you?” I asked. “And how did that go?”
Her face dropped noticeably, though she tried hard not to give herself away. I was mildly amused, but I kept my expression straight and domineering.
“I will… it went reasonably well,” she replied.
“Reasonably well?” I repeated. “That doesn’t sound like an answer.”
She looked up at me with large doe eyes. They were a soft honey caramel that stood out against the dark earthiness of her hair. Her face was small and oval shaped. The one cheek that hadn’t been marred by her clover tattoo was rosy even in the absence of a blush and she had two tiny birthmarks just beneath her right eye. I had a feeling that among her kind, she would be considered beautiful.
“I… uh… there was an incident when I was in charge of the kitchens,” she admitted, at last. “A small fire…”
“You caused a fire?” I asked.
“It was a small one,” she said quickly, as though that information was meant to be comforting. “And they managed to put it out fast. Only a few people were injured. No one died.”
I raised one eyebrow and surveyed her with clinical interest. “Why do I get the feeling that people dying around you is a common occurrence?”
Her face paled visibly, and I realized I had touched a nerve. I saw her jaw tremble slightly and her body turned inwards somehow, as though she were trying to hide in plain sight.
“This mark on my face,” she whispered, lifting her hand to her right cheek. “Do you know what it means?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Bad luck follows me everywhere.”
“I can see that.”
“The Pax didn’t give me to you to be kind; they were trying to get rid of me.”
“I’m aware,” I nodded. “One of their better plans.”
“If you knew what I was… why did you buy me?” she asked.
I wondered what had emboldened her to think she could ask questions of me. Perhaps this was my own fault. I was the one who had engaged her. That was the thing about humans. Sometimes they forgot they were slaves. They clung stubbornly to their autonomy as though it were theirs by right.
“Because I don’t believe in bad omens,” I heard myself reply. “I don’t believe in good luck or bad. I believe that luck is what we make.”
She looked down, a small, sad smile playing against her face. “I used to believe that too.”
“But you don’t anymore?” I asked.
“No,” she said, looking towards the dirty dishes that formed a leaning tower on one of the three large sinks. “I attract bad luck.”
“Maybe believing that attracts the bad luck in the first place.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment. “I… maybe you’re right.”
“I usually am,” I said. “Now get to work.”
She seemed taken aback by my blunt command. Instinctively, she looked down at her broken finger. “I— how can I do anything with this?” she asked.
I set my jaw firmly and took a few steps towards her. She shrank back with renewed fear and I took a small amount of pleasure from the uncertainty in her eyes.
“I don’t give a damn,” I growled, making my voice as menacing as possible. “You are a slave. You do what you’re told to do.”
I saw her eyes grow cold at my words, but she nodded slowly.
“Good,” I nodded, before turning to leave.
“Yvette.”
“What?” I asked, turning back to her.
“My name is Yvette. I thought you should know that.”
I knitted my eyebrows together, trying to figure out this strange human. She looked broken and defeated and yet, there was hidden steel lying just beneath the surface. I was fairly certain not even she realized that yet.
“I don’t care what your name is,” I said, even though the sound of her name was already imprinted in my memory. “You are nothing more than a slave to me.”
“Is that why you took me to the medical room and helped me with my finger?” she asked.
“Careful now,” I said, glaring at her. “Careful. Just because I accepted you from the Pax does not mean I can’t return you to them.”
She looked down and I saw her shoulders hunch from the weight of all the words she was leaving unsaid. I was walking back towards the door when I heard the shattering of glass. I turned and saw the bones of a fallen plate scattered across the floor before her feet.
“Apparently even breathing is dangerous with you,” I said.
The rise and fall of her chest was decidedly panicked. I decided to capitalize on the moment, so I walked towards her with exaggerated slowness.
“Perhaps keeping you around was not the best idea,” I said, licking my lips. “Perhaps I should just throw you out of my ship once we’re in the air.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, as though the sight of me was too much for her. I savored that feeling for a second. It was nice to be feared. The moment the fear was gone in an instant; so too was the control.
5
Yvette
Once Ranel had left I felt like I could breathe normally again. What was it about the strange Drakon that had me feeling flustered, frightened and self-conscious all in the same breath? I had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the way he looked at me.
Most other creatures looked at me with oblivious lasciviousness; it was as though they were undressing me with their eyes. With Ranel it felt more like he wanted to see past my clothes, to the core of who I was. Knowledge was power. If you knew a person well enough, you could use their secrets and their weaknesses against them. Which was why I reminded myself to be extra careful around the intimidating Drakon. He was smarter than the rest; I had seen that in his shrewd eyes.
I tried to push his image from my mind as I turned my attention to the scullery’s design. It was certainly a large space, with three massive sinks installed into one of the scullery’s walls. I walked around the space, familiarizing myself with the plate racks, drainpipes, storage shelves and two long worktables that contained various coppers for boiling water.
There was a long line of storage cupboards to the left of the scullery and it contained an extensive collection of mops, brooms, vacuums and other cleaning tools, only some of which I knew how to use. I was examining a strange oblong piece of equipment that had been stored next to the brooms when the adjoining door to the kitchen slid open soundlessly to reveal a round-faced Nortian.
He had a thin mane and sallow blue skin. His expression was bitter and impatient, and he looked at me with distaste.
“You’re the temporary scullery maid,” he growled. “A human – bah!”
I sighed inwardly. “I’m a hard worker.”
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
I looked down at my broken finger. “Um… it’ll heal.”
“And a broken human,” the Nortian cook complained, shaking his head so
that his mild-mannered mane shivered slightly. “Stay out of my sight human. You will come only when commanded and speak only when spoken to… understood?”
I nodded silently.
The Nortian narrowed his eyes at me and then nodded with some satisfaction. Before I could ask him what the contraption in my hands did, he turned, and the door slid closed on his back.
I put the oblong cleaning utensil back in the storage cupboard and turned towards the pile of dirty dishes and platters that were piled high on a large trolley that had been parked beside the first sink. Left with no choice, I started on the washing, moving slowly so as not to disrupt my broken finger. It proved to be far more challenging than I had anticipated but it kept my mind occupied.
Once I had finished with the plates and dishes, I decided to take a stab at cleaning the floors. They were incredibly sticky, and I could tell because there was a bit of pull every time I lifted my feet. The thread-bare woven slippers I wore created only a thin barrier against the worst of the grime. My finger posed somewhat of a challenge, but I managed to work around it. I was just mopping the area when the doors to the scullery opened and I saw someone’s shadow cast itself along the entrance.
For a moment I was worried that it would be Ranel come back again to make me feel small and inadequate. But when I turned, I realized the person standing before me was blonde, fine boned and very human.
“Hello,” she greeted. “You must be the new scullery maid. I heard you were human and I thought I’d come down here and see for myself.”
Who was she? She was wearing the leathers of the Hielsrane. Her blonde hair had been braided several times and wound into a topknot at the back of her head. Her stance was one of authority and most glaring of all – there was no collar around her neck.
“I’m Carissa,” she continued, when I said nothing.
“Carissa,” I croaked awkwardly. “You—”
“Don’t worry,” Carissa said, walking up to me. “You needn’t fear me. I mean you no harm. Ask me anything and I will answer it for you. But first, will you answer a question for me?”
I paused. “I’ll try.”
Carissa smiled. “What’s your name?”
My name… why did it feel so good to be asked that question? Maybe because it was the core of my identity, the start of who I was and who I would end up being. I had gone through entire years without anyone ever mentioning my name. After a while you start to see yourself the way others see you— a nameless ghost with no life, no family and no future. It always started with a name.
“Yvette,” I said, wishing I sounded more confident.
“That’s a lovely name.”
“You’re not wearing a collar,” I said, the thought burst from my lips before I had a chance to second-guess myself.
“No,” Carissa said, shaking her head. “I am not a slave.”
“Then… what are you?” I asked.
It sounded like a silly question, but I genuinely wanted to know. She was human and the only thing humans were valued for in the greater universe was their role as slaves.
“I am the same person I’ve always been,” Carissa replied. “But I kept my wits about me, and I refused to let the collar around my neck define the person I was.”
“So you were a slave at one point?” I asked, wondering if she had meant to tell me that or if it had just slipped out in the moment.
“I was a slave, yes,” she replied. “And now I am second in command to Captain Tarion.”
“Second in command,” I whispered, in awe of a story that seemed too far-fetched to even dream about. “How did you manage that?”
Carissa smiled and came forward as if we were old friends who were catching up after a decade of absence. “Well… marrying him helped.”
I knew my jaw was hanging down and my eyes were wide with disbelief, but I couldn’t hide my reaction.
“I had heard that some Drakon took humans to the marriage altar,” I admitted. “I just never thought—"
“It was actually true?” Carissa offered.
“Well… yes.”
“It’s true,” Carissa nodded. “In fact, it’s more common than you might think. Tarion and I are only one of many mixed species couples in the fleet.”
“But… you were his slave,” I said.
“I was,” Carissa agreed. “But no one has any control of how they feel… not even Drakons. No matter how strong and powerful, even they are slaves to their feelings.”
“So… you fell in love with one of them?” I asked. I was aware that I was prying but I didn’t really care enough to stop.
“I did,” Carissa nodded. “And he fell in love with me. I know it’s a difficult concept to wrap your head around…”
I thought about Ranel and the exchange we had shared this morning. I couldn’t deny that I was curious about him. He was an enigma that I wanted to figure out, but he owned me. I was his plaything, no better than an object in his world. I couldn’t imagine looking at him with anything other than resentment.
“I went to slave school,” I blurted out.
Carissa stopped short. “You went to Servos Scholarm?” she asked, using its given name.
“I spent almost a year in that prison… hearing about how I no longer existed,” I exclaimed. “I was nothing more than a tool to be used at my master’s pleasure. I was whatever he wanted me to be. If he wanted me to cook, then I would make his meals. If he wanted me to dance, then I would learn as many steps as it took. If he wanted me in his bed, I had no choice but to satisfy his every need.”
“I know how you feel, Yvette,” Carissa said gently.
“How can you possibly—"
“Because I went to Servos,” she said, cutting me off.
I stared at her. “You… you too?”
“Yes,” Carissa nodded. “I completed all three years before I ‘graduated’.”
“I can’t remember you…”
“No, I was there before your time,” Carissa nodded. “It has been almost two decades since I’ve seen those nightmarish grey battlements.”
I shuddered under the memory. I remembered the battlements perfectly. The slave school was built like a fortress with high walls that ended in crenellated tops and flying buttresses that were fitted with special microscopes that caught every single movement in a three hundred and sixty degree radius. It was impossible to escape. Many had tried and their skeletons now decorated the highest watchtowers within the fortress.
“When did you graduate?” Carissa asked. Her tone was tempered by regret and sympathy.
“Five years ago,” I replied. “I spent three years there under Magdasa-Urie’s charge.”
“I haven’t heard of her.”
“No,” I said, my eyes flitted back to the past for a moment. “No… she arrived at the school shortly before I did. She was a Gorbeck… one of the most ruthless Gorbecks I’ve ever met. It was rumored that she ate the skins of any slave that attempted to run away.” I focused my eyes on Carissa and stared at her unblinkingly. “I still believe she did.”
“The school was never a place for happy stories,” Carissa said.
I recognized the detachment in her tone. Years of freedom had taken the edge off her memories and left them feeling distant. If she had pain, it had been washed away by decades of happiness. I hated her for that.
“They ripped me from my home,” I flared up. “They stole me away, pulled me into a galaxy I wanted no part of and brought me straight to that hell hole in the middle of the universe to be ‘trained’. They took everything from me. They must have done the same to you.”
Carissa glanced down. “My story is… similar, yes.”
“Then why aren’t you as outraged as I am?”
Carissa sighed. “Because anger is not useful in this life,” she said. “There are other emotions that are more effective.”
I looked down, unable to relate to this woman… this stranger with a familiar face. When I had first seen Carissa, I had been relieved
. Another human on board meant an ally against the Drakon. But in listening to Carissa speak, I realized something. She was one of them now. She may have looked human, but I saw the hard lines around her eyes and the way she held herself. They had made a Drakon out of her.
“Yvette,” Carissa started.
I turned away from her and continued with my mopping. “I should get back to work ma’am,” I said, using a tone of mock respect.
“Yvette, you don’t have to do that,” Carissa said, stepping around me. “You can use my name.”
“Would your husband like that?” I asked. I tried to contain the aching sense of betrayal I felt looking at Carissa, but I was battling with too many competing emotions in one day and I had never been very good at hiding how I really felt.
“My husband has come to see the human race in a different light,” Carissa said. “If he hadn’t, then I would not be by his side now.”
“Does your husband own slaves?” I asked pointedly.
Carissa hesitated. “We treat them well… with respect and kindness,” she insisted. “They are better off being slaves to us rather than the Pax Alliance. If we free them, they won’t survive on their own. The Pax will hunt them down and put them up for auction in another slave market on another planet. At least here, they’re safe.”
I turned my back on her. “I’m a slave in your fleet and I don’t feel safe.”
“Has anyone harmed you?” Carissa asked.
I hesitated.
“If you were my slave, I would have freed you Yvette,” Carissa said. “But you do not belong to me or my husband.”
“No, I belong to that brute in red scales,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Ranel… he can be harsh at times—"
“Harsh?” I repeated incredulously. “Is that how you would describe him?”
“He’s gentler than he seems,” Carissa said. “And kinder than you’d imagine. He just… he has been through a lot.”