| |
LUCA RAKED HIS FINGERS through his hair and stared at the words covering half a sheet on the desk before him. This was hard, this was excruciatingly hard. How could he hope to convey the depth of his apology and grief through mere paper?
But paper was safer, of that he was certain. Paper could not betray him, could not come upon him suddenly, could not interrupt him mid-sentence with words that would disrupt his meaning. If he were to make a proper apology, it must be through paper.
He absently pushed his hands through his hair again and read over the lines. My beloved Sara, dearest sister, I cannot begin to convey my regret. I owe you the greatest apology. In the hundreds—thousands—of times I imagined meeting you again, never once did I think I could say such things to you.
That was not a very good beginning, but it was the best he had managed thus far.
If I had been prepared to meet you, I think it might have been different. I would not have chosen to present you first with such a graphic view of my years away. But as it was, my first thoughts were of deepest shame, not of my joy at seeing you. And somehow I lost the moment, lost that I was seeing my sister again at last, and all I could feel was my own humiliation, and the fear and the pain and the resentment— yes, I would lie to deny it—and I could not think of anything but escape. I don’t ask you to understand, Sara, because I’m not sure I understand it myself. But I need you to know that I did not mean all that I said.
Marla entered and set a mug on the desk beside him. “Soup,” she offered. “Take some.”
He brushed back the hair which had fallen over his eyes as he read. “Thanks.”
He heard Cole enter the kitchen on the other side of the wall, dropping firewood noisily into the stack. Then the slave came into the room, dusting his hands and tunic. “I’ve raked out the goat shed and cut back the vines. Is there anything else, my lord?”
“No, Cole,” Luca sighed. “Not at the moment. I hope to have something for you later, though. Go and bathe.”
“Where?”
Marla straightened. “We always use the bath beside the storeroom. Go ahead.”
Cole nodded. “All right. I’d wondered, since I’m not staying in the house...”
“Why did you choose the shed?” asked Luca distantly, rubbing his aching temples.
Cole glanced at Marla. “She put me there, master,” he answered with the faintest trace of indignation. “Made me up a nice pallet, sure.”
Luca looked from Cole to Marla, whose mouth twitched faintly. Ah, that made sense; the lone female slave might well place the large stranger in an outbuilding. He nodded dully. “Go and bathe, then. Your clothes, too, or see if you can find something else to wear. I don’t want to send you wearing goat dung.”
Cole nodded. “Yes, master.”
Luca reached for the mug and held it for a moment, savoring the warmth on his fingers as he pinched at his forehead with the other hand. Whatever peace and comfort he’d felt that morning had evaporated with Sara and Jarrick’s arrival, and his head was pounding with unhappy thoughts. He closed his eyes and saw the letter dancing before his mind.
“My lord?”
He shook his head, opening his eyes. “I’ll be all right,” he answered wearily. He took a drink of soup. “It’s only—I wish this morning had never happened.” He sighed. “But then, I could wish a lot of things had never happened.”
“If my lord will excuse me.” She leaned over the desk and rubbed a cloth over his hairline. “You’ve inked your forehead.”
“What?”
“Probably running your fingers through your hair.” She smiled gently. “You’ve done that a few times.”
“I have?” He hadn’t been aware of the habit. Had he always had it? He remembered watching Shianan rake at his hair. Had he adopted it?
“Would you like anything in addition to the soup?”
He sighed. “I doubt you can supply what I need, but thank you.”
She left and he stared at the letter, adding lines occasionally as he considered. He had somehow to ask to meet Sara again—to meet both of them. The thought made him cringe, but he could not hide here forever. He had to face them.
I will come to supper tomorrow night, if you will have me. I do want to see you again, Sara, and talk with you. Will you admit a boorish once-slave, if he vows to comport himself in a more civilized manner?
“I’ve brought some tea, my lord,” Marla said. “The soup was not to your liking?”
“What? Oh, no, it’s fine, I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “It has been two hours since I left it.”
He was gnawing at his thumb. That was another trait Shianan had displayed when nervous.
“Is there anything I can offer you, my lord?”
“Aside from a brilliant solution to my miserable morning?” He bit down on his thumb. “I was monstrous this morning. Heinous. And I don’t know why I’m saying this, you saw it yourself, and it’s nothing to do with you.”
She blew out her breath. “My lord... As you’ve already spoken, may I suggest a point?”
“What? How?”
She tapped the desk. “Write something to the effect that you understand and appreciate what she meant to do. She needs to know you saw her intentions were true. Her fault today was that she was too eager to see you again to hear a slave’s protest.”
He stared at her. “You’ve guessed at it all, haven’t you? We’ve all said enough, and you know everything.”
“No, my lord. I heard only a little, and I know only as much as you will that I should.”
He tapped the letter. “And you know I’m writing to her, not to him.”
Her eyes shifted nervously. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
Perhaps one became inured to humiliation with repeated exposure. He merely set the pen aside with a sigh. “It will be less awkward if you aren’t reading over my shoulder or upside down from across the desk. And please, go ahead. I clearly cannot afford to refuse help.”
“My lord...”
“Please. If you can help me to reconcile myself with my sister, I’ll be in your debt.”
She gave him an odd look and then turned to the letter. He watched her start again, her lips moving occasionally as she tested a phrase. Finally she took a slow breath. “I do not know my lady,” she began cautiously.
Luca made a gesture of futility. “Clearly, neither do I.”
“I think, though, you have made an admirable attempt. There are a few small changes you might consider, my lord, and then the assurance that you do understand her intention...”
Luca took up the pen. “Please, help me. I cannot let this morning stand.”
Half an hour later, he finally blotted and folded the letter. “Shouldn’t I recopy it?” he asked.
Marla shook her head. “No, this one looks real. Honest. The ink blots show you were pausing, considering, worrying about what you wrote. You don’t want to send a clean sheet that looks rehearsed and unfelt.”
Luca sealed it and wrote Sara Roald across the outside. “Cole!” he called.
The slave entered, fidgeting with his faintly damp clothing. “Yes, master?”
“I have a letter for you to carry. Take this to the house of Roald in Ivat and give it to the young lady. See yourself that she has it directly; don’t entrust it to any of the servants.”
“Yes, master. Will there be a reply?”
“I—I don’t know.” He extended the letter. “Be careful of it.”
“I will, master.”
The slave left for the gate. Luca slumped wearily. “Thank you,” he said numbly to Marla. “I appreciate your help.”
“Of course, my lord. I only offered my humble opinions. I hope they serve.”
“We’ll see.” He sighed. “So, an aelipto is trained to read and write as well as to treat muscles and ligaments?”
“Actually, I was chosen for training because I could already read and write. Master Thalian was looking for bright new students.”
“He buys common slaves and sells them as aelipto?”
“After training, yes. It benefits all involved.”
Luca nodded. “It was education that saved me, too. I should have been a field slave, coarse labor, but I was able to recite a snatch of history and found myself a tutor instead. It kept me out of the wagon shafts for a while, anyway, until Furmelle.”
“You were in Furmelle, my lord?”
“Unfortunately.” He glanced at her and then slid down the short bench. “Please, sit. You know what I am. It’s foolish to pretend otherwise.”
“You are a freeman and a master now.”
“And I was once before, too, until my circumstances changed. Please sit.”
She did, facing carefully forward on the bench, her back straight.
“How did you know to read before your training?” Luca asked. “Were you freeborn, too?”
“Oh, no, my lord.” She gave him a quick, embarrassed smile. “No, I had some schooling from my mother, who was also a born slave. I’m not sure where she’d picked it up, but she was always clever with it. We were part of a country estate, you see, until the old master died without an heir. For a couple of years after that, a proxy steward managed things. Then rumor came that the estate would go to someone else, a reward to some royal favorite, and our steward knew he was going to be replaced. He made it a point to squeeze as much money from the place as he could before he left, including selling off a number of us.”
“Your mother was still with the estate?”
“Yes, my lord. I was, if you’ll allow the telling, terrified, sure I’d end up in a brothel or a rich pervert’s bed. But Master Thalian found me first, and I became an aelipto.” She looked at him. “We heard stories about Furmelle, many stories.”
“Whatever the worst were, they were true.” Luca hunched his shoulders. “Be glad you weren’t there.” He paused. “Why don’t you say what you think?”
“My lord?”
“Your master brought you a flogged man whose siblings sold him into slavery. Most people would be at least startled by this, and yet you say nothing.”
“It is not my place to comment on my master’s friends.”
“You were free enough in your speech at other times, teasing my ignorance—not that I minded. And you act as you will, offering help even when I didn’t know I wanted it. You are not timid, you merely hold your own counsel.”
She glanced down, suppressing a smile. “I—at first, I guessed you were a leper.”
Luca gaped and then laughed aloud. “A leper? Because I hid myself?”
“Exactly.”
“Your master would never permit it. I suspect an aelipto is too valuable to risk.”
“An aelipto is somewhat costly, but I couldn’t imagine why else you were wrapped and cloaked.”
“A leper.” He chuckled again. “I’ve not been that, yet.”
“I’ve never actually seen a leper,” Marla admitted. “I’d only heard stories from old Gehrnzarse—” She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, as if to catch the word before it had gone too far.
Luca grinned. “Which one was that? The proxy steward or your instructor?”
“Master Thalian,” she confessed, blushing. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
“I am not your master. I won’t mind what you call them.”
“We actually liked him, we did. He was very fair, patient, never touched the women nor the men in training. But we called him that because that’s what he said whenever he did get irritated.” She smiled with the recollection. “It took us months to learn what a Gehrn’s arse even was. The Gehrn are a cult—”
“A militaristic cult, worshiping war, specifically strength and the display of it. Their central citadel is in Davan.”
She sobered; he must not have kept the bitterness entirely from his voice. “You have some experience with them?”
He hesitated. “Some.” He glanced down at his fingers, clenching white in his lap. “I have seen them, yes.” His fingers spasmed. She would have needed to be both blind and stupid, and she was neither. “If ever Falten Isen takes it into his mind to sell you, and you think you might go to the Gehrn, break every law and run.”
His eyes were on his white fingers, so he did not see her expression. But her body shifted nearer on the bench as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s only—this has been a day of unpleasant memories and worse speech. There was no reason for me to say such a thing.”
She smiled. “Fortunately, I believe my master has no inclination to be rid of me. And it seems unlikely you will ever see the Gehrn again, either.”
“Not one, at least. The high priest is in prison in Alham.” Luca relaxed marginally.
“In prison? Did your brother do that?”
Luca snorted. “Jarrick? No. Jarrick came to Alham on business, that’s all. Flamen Ande was arrested when the shield collapsed during his ritual.”
“The shield?”
“You’ve heard of that, surely. The Great Circle made a magical shield to repel the Ryuven. It stretched over all of Alham and beyond, over the kingdom, maybe the entire world, I don’t know.”
“Yes, we’d heard of that. You were with the high priest when it collapsed?”
He grimaced. “The Gehrn ritual required a prisoner of war, and I was a Furmelle slave. Near enough.”
She caught her breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad of it, in a way.” He exhaled. “After the shield collapsed, Master Shianan took me from the prison. He treated my wounds and he made me human again. If not for the ritual, I would have stayed with the Gehrn, I would never have known my friend, I would never have seen my brother.”
“Master Shianan?” she repeated. “That’s an odd...”
Luca smiled faintly. “It is indeed Master Shianan, not Master Becknam. He—we were friends, really. More than a master and slave. Nearer brothers.”
“He is not the one who came with you? Who brought my lady this morning?”
“No! No, that’s Jarrick, my brother by birth. No, Master Shianan is entirely different.”
“He is the one you honored by practicing on the roof.”
He glanced at her, surprised. “Yes.”
“He must have been a fine man. And then your brother found you?”
“He came for business with Master Shianan, and—and I recognized him.”
“You must have been so happy,” Marla supposed. “If I saw my mother here...”
Luca bit at his lip. “I did not know if I was pleased. It was my own family which sold me. I wanted to go home—but I was afraid of them.” The words surprised him. “Yes, afraid of them. That is why, this morning...”
“But you came with your brother.”
“I had no choice.” Hot, dark emotion flooded him. “Master Shianan sold me to Jarrick. Sold me! After he’d promised that he would never... Yes, it was my brother and not a trader for auction, but—but he knew I was unsure. He knew I was afraid to go home.”
“Perhaps he knew, but wanted you to be with your family. If his family is close—”
“Ha,” Luca snapped. “He has no family—he never has. He is a bastard son. His father won’t acknowledge him, his half-siblings disdain him, his father’s wife hates him, I’ve never heard any mention at all of his own mother. That is what we were to one another, both rejected. His family is not close. He doesn’t have a family to be close.”
Marla spoke softly. “And your brother wanted you.”
Luca stared at her, and gaping understanding opened before him. “I hadn’t thought—you’re right.” He heaved a great sigh. “Of course. And only the Holy One knows what Jarrick said. How could he have refused? He would give his own blood for a word from his father or brothers. He would never have kept me from—he must have thought he was giving me the chance he could never have.”
“He was a good friend to you.”
Luca nodded silently.
“You could write to him.”
Luca nodded again. “But—not yet. Not until I can say I am settled here.”
They were quiet a moment. He could feel Marla’s nearness, aware of her in a way that he had long thought he’d forgotten. He glanced at her and wondered.
He felt comfortable with her, of course—not only in submitting to her healing touch, but in speaking with her, in telling her too much, in chuckling as she gently mocked him. He’d craved her stability and calm. He could be good friends with her, he knew. But there had been a charged tingle when her hair brushed his skin, a tension of more than mere friendship.
But he had hardly thought of such things. Yes, he’d entertained fancies and dreams when he was a tutor in the Vadis household, eying the pretty female slaves, and then had come the failed and gruesome rebellion. And then he had gone to the Gehrn... A man did not indulge in fantasies when he lived in daily fear.
Marla looked at him, a slow recognition dawning in her eyes and, with it, a faint wariness.
“No.” Luca clenched his fists. “No, you needn’t worry on that, I swear. I have been a slave myself, and I will not take advantage.” He gulped. “And I would not dare to ask you. I am free, they say, but I feel myself a slave still. I only...”
Marla shook her head. “It was only a moment, my lord. You were thinking of other things, and you made no approach to me. I accepted the offer to sit beside you and was caught in the heady rush of privilege. We neither of us—”
Luca’s hand twitched toward her, wanting to catch her but not quite daring to touch her. “Wait. Please, if for just one moment you were not a slave and I were not a freeman—would you...?”
She glanced down, and her head moved slightly. “No. I’m sorry.”
His breath caught, and embarrassment scorched through him.
“And I am married.”
Luca blinked. “You are?”
Marla gave him a quick, mocking smile, herself again. “Slaves do marry, you know.”
He gestured, glad for the excuse to look about the room. “You were alone here... I assumed...”
Her mouth stayed in a smile, but her eyes shifted away. “We were separated.”
Luca’s stomach sank. He should have guessed. “I am so sorry.”
Her face tightened, pressing her lips together. “I keep a hope that I will see him again. It’s possible. Why shouldn’t it happen?” Her throat moved.
Useless, helpless sympathy chafed at Luca, and he wanted to reach out to her, to offer comfort. But he dared not move toward her, not after his tentative advance, and she would not want it. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “Maybe you’ll find him.” He needed something more to say. “Where is he? Er—what does he do?”
“He’s a clerk,” she said. “My mother trained him; that’s how we met.” She took a breath and then exhaled sharply. “Enough, that’s no interest to anyone.” She slid from the bench and made a hasty bow. “I will go for my lord’s supper.”
She was upset, but not angry. He had carelessly stumbled upon a hurt, and there was little to be done for it.
Luca was left alone in the darkening room, feeling the tangible absence of Marla, of Cole, of Jarrick, Sara, Shianan. He twitched restlessly on the bench, feeling hot disappointment and frustration mix with his bitter loneliness.
Had it been easier as a slave? No, no, of course not—he had only to think of any single day under Ande to know that, or to recall again the constant weight of the chain linking his wrist to the tinker’s cart. Even as a tutor he had chafed and fretted, though if he had known what lay ahead, he would have been pathetically grateful to face only moody children and petty fellow slaves.
But he had known his place, at least. He had known that nothing was available to him, that he dared not hope. As the youngest son of a merchant house, he had been nominally respected, but the attention and prizes had always gone to his elder brothers. He had contented himself with their leavings, entertaining the client’s less-fair daughter or attending the lesser gatherings, but the bright hope of more had always teased him. As a slave, he’d learned to expect nothing, and he had never been disappointed.
And then Shianan had given him more, surprising him wholly, and he had begun to dream again. And then he had come here, where he was more than a slave but less than a freeman, excluded from slaves’ conversation just as he no longer moved comfortably among the free.
He stared at the remaining paper and ink, but there was no one to whom he wished to write. He clenched his fist and rose, shoving the bench back. He could not sit quietly, could not be idle after years of forced activity, could not be still with thoughts whirling within him. He climbed the stairs to the roof.