The Distance Between Us (1)
When I returned to the inn and opened the door, Ar flinched and whipped her head toward me. She must have been sleeping. Her eyes sharpened with focus, but the way she was curled up left clear traces—flattened hair on one side and a faint trail of drool at the corner of her mouth. She’d been tense about being sold, then. Now that the immediate threat had passed, she seemed a little more at ease.
“Tired?” I asked.
No answer. She simply tracked my every movement with those crimson eyes. For a moment I wondered if I was being too soft. The relationship between master and slave could stand to be more coercive. Letting her ignore me like this felt almost pathetic.
“Look, like I said before, I don’t want to treat you harshly. What’s the point? It only digs the emotional trench between us deeper. And I hate the idea of you suffering because of those restraints. So at least answer when I ask you something. Good for you, good for me. Fair deal, right?”
Still nothing. Hmm. Maybe the question didn’t require an answer? No, she could have spoken if she wanted to.
“Anyway, when did you last eat? Not hungry?”
At the mention of food her expression faltered, but it quickly settled back into that same guarded mask. As if missing a meal or two was nothing.
“Ugh. Why are you so difficult? What am I supposed to do with you?”
I muttered the words while digging through my pack to check our funds. I’d started with 215,000 marcas. After spending 180,000 on her and another 30,000 on supplies, only about 5,000 remained. Enough to eat for now, but the slim margin made me uneasy. I’d burned through every imperial bond I owned, too. Looked like I’d be hunting magic beasts first thing tomorrow. That problem could wait until morning.
I glanced at Ar again. I needed to eat, but I wasn’t sure we could manage it together. Taking a slave into a restaurant was out of the question—the empire’s rules on slavery were ironclad. Master and slave simply did not sit at the same table. I didn’t like it, but maybe that softness was part of the problem.
“Wait here.”
I went downstairs alone. The inn’s first floor doubled as a dining hall, so I slid coins across the counter and asked for two meals to be sent up to the room. When I returned, Ar had drawn her knees to her chest and sat on the floor, watching me. At least she followed my movements. She wasn’t turning away.
“Food’s on its way. Want to talk until it gets here?”
No reply. I sighed. Fine. I’d be gentle with her today. She’d lived through a cruel fate; anxiety was only natural.
“I’ve said it before, but I don’t want you in pain because of those restraints. I’ve worn them myself.”
Curiosity flickered in her eyes then—mingled with the usual wariness. Distrust and interest, balanced on a knife’s edge.
“I’m a magician. My talent ranks Grade 13, but my mana capacity is only Grade 1. Laughable, right? That’s why the tower dragged me away and kept me locked up for three years. I went through things I’d rather not describe. I wore restraints back then, too. So I know exactly how much they hurt.”
The curiosity seemed to deepen. I was reading her expression and eyes alone, so I couldn’t be certain, but a mercenary’s instincts weren’t usually wrong.
“The only spells I can cast are simple support magics—low-mana ones. Things like Strength to boost physical power, or Berserker that drives the target into a frenzy. I can’t even manage proper Grade 1 attack spells. You know the kind—Fire Arrow, Fireball, that sort of thing.”
I perched on the edge of the bed. Might as well tell her everything while I was at it. No sense repeating myself later.
“That’s why I bought you. So I can cast Berserker on you. The spell’s fatal flaw is that it makes the target attack everything in sight—ally and enemy alike. But a slave cannot attack her master. Not even under Berserker. So you and I will hunt magic beasts together. That’s how we’ll make money.”
Surprisingly, Ar listened with full attention. If she’d tuned me out, I would have been disappointed. This was progress.
“Any questions? Ask me anything. I’ll answer honestly.”
Her red eyes fixed on mine. Hesitation. The slight bite of her lower lip. Of course she had questions. Nothing smoothed a path like real conversation. I waited, patient, until she gathered the courage.
She seemed ready to speak—
Knock knock.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. Deflated, I stood and opened the door. A waitress stood there with our trays. By the time I carried the food inside, Ar had clamped her mouth shut again, the moment stolen.
I sighed. Nothing ever went smoothly. The atmosphere had been decent, too.
“Let’s eat first.”
I set the trays on the small table and beckoned her over. She froze, watching me with open anxiety.
“What? Oh—because you’re a slave? You think you can’t sit at the same table?”
No verbal answer, but her reaction told me I was right. She looked terrified. What exactly had they done to her at the auction house? They shouldn’t have damaged the merchandise.
“It’s fine. Sit. Fair warning: from now on, whenever we eat together like this, we sit at the same table. If the situation allows outside, we’ll do the same. So come here.”
She hesitated. Her gaze flicked to mine, pupils trembling.
“...Yes.”
It was the first time I’d heard her voice since I’d spoken her name. She’d finally opened her mouth. I’d take that as a small victory.
Ar rose carefully and approached the table. I gestured to the chair. After another brief pause, she sat. Raising a child would probably be easier than this.
The meal itself was decent—probably thanks to the expensive room rate, or the extra coins I’d slipped the staff. Soup, meat, bread, vegetables. Nothing extravagant, but a far cry from the rock-hard loaves and questionable cuts you had to chew for hours just to survive. People usually ate to stay alive, not the other way around.
Ar handled her knife and fork with extreme caution. The knife could be used as a weapon, after all. I didn’t react. Beyond the legal master-slave dynamic, I intended to treat her as a person. I had no intention of giving her reason to turn it on herself. If anything, I worried more about self-harm than betrayal.
While I wolfed my food down, Ar ate in tiny, delicate bites. Nibbling, really. She was a small fox beastperson with an equally small mouth; each bite was modest. She chewed thoroughly, taking her time.
But once she started, her pace gradually quickened. She lifted a piece of bread, opened that small mouth, and took a bite. It still looked like less than half of what I could manage in one go. Seeing her focused on the meal felt like a relief. Better that than being so anxious she forgot to eat. The fact that she could eat at all meant she still held onto some hope of living.
After a while she noticed me watching and startled. Her cheeks flushed faintly and she stopped.
“No, no. Why did you stop? Eat it all. I was just thinking you looked cute while eating. I wasn’t judging you.”
That seemed to have the opposite effect. She made no move to continue.
“Ugh. Just listen to me the first time. I can understand up to a point, but if you keep shutting down like this, I get tired too.”
Maybe revealing my own thoughts had helped. She glanced at me once more, then resumed eating. So direct honesty worked. Good to know.
We finished the meal in silence. Honestly, even eating felt exhausting. I was drained.
Once she was done, Ar quietly returned to her spot on the floor and curled up again, knees to chest, arms wrapped tight. Some kind of defensive posture, I guessed.
“Ar.”
Those vivid red eyes lifted to mine.
“The reason this room has two beds is for you. Go sleep over there. That’s where you’ll sleep from now on.”
Her eyes widened in genuine shock. The reaction surprised me in turn. Did fox beastpeople not sleep in beds? Or was it something else?
Then it clicked. She wasn’t a labor slave. She was a sex slave. She must have assumed I intended to sleep with her.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but even though I bought you, I have no intention of doing whatever I want with you. So stop worrying and rest. I won’t do anything you hate.”
Her eyes trembled. Relief, suspicion, and anxiety swirled together in a visible storm.
“...Yes.”
She answered. Then she stood, a little rustily, and walked to the bed.
“If you feel dirty, wash up. You can move around the room freely. You don’t need my permission for everything. If you’re really unsure, just ask. Anyway, be comfortable. Tomorrow we leave the capital and travel far.”
“Yes.”
This time the answer came faster. Her expression had softened, too.
Ar lay down, pulled the blanket over herself, and curled into a tight ball. Before long her breathing slowed and deepened—the steady rhythm of true sleep. She must have been exhausted. Come to think of it, she’d been dozing when I first came in. The extreme anxiety had probably kept her from real rest until now. Given what she’d been through, that was hardly surprising.
I lay down on my own bed. Better sleep early. Tomorrow would be a long day of travel. The real question was how I was going to take her with me. The stares were going to be sharp from now on.