She Is My Slave
A thin light leaked in and lay across the white of her skin. Among the dark-complexioned people of Ashatra she would be impossible to miss — just as the slaves of Ashatra had been impossible to miss in Parsion.
Retribution. The word had scarcely formed in Elona's mind when the clatter of stones against the cart began to thin. Before long the wagon eased its pace and came to a full stop, and in the same instant the rear door opened and harsh daylight poured in. Elona turned. Grand General Tortan stood there watching her, his face without expression.
"Step down this way. We've arrived."
"Where are we?"
"The palace. The royal palace of Perma."
It was the end of a grueling journey.
Unlike the streets outside, thick with the cheers of the people, the palace within was silent as the grave. Only Elona's footsteps, following the soldier at a steady pace, spread like ripples over halls as still as a lake.
"Where are you taking me now?"
She asked the soldier, but he walked on as if deaf, eyes fixed ahead. When she touched the hem of his coat — "Excuse me" — he jumped and rounded on her.
"Agh — filthy! Don't touch me!"
"I—I'm sorry."
He brushed off the place her hand had touched as though the contact itself disgusted him. Abashed, Elona folded her hands and walked on in silence. She went with her head bowed like a criminal, and every sharp gaze in the palace fixed upon her. Servant or official, not one of them troubled to hide their hostility.
"Is that the woman? The Parsion wench His Majesty brought back…"
"So pale she looks sickly. How long can something like that last?"
"Why keep her alive at all? Every last one of those Parsion people ought to lose their heads…"
Elona shrank in on herself, feeling the words strike her like blows. Perhaps because they were inside the palace, no one threw stones. But the murmurs at her back were sometimes so cruel that her heart ached.
"Go in through here."
The place she reached at last was the audience hall at the heart of the palace. The heavy wooden doors, shut tight until now, swung open, and a vast space unfolded before her. Elona stepped inside and drew a sharp, startled breath.
Beneath a ceiling well over thirty feet high, dozens of Ashatra's high ministers knelt on one knee like soldiers, all of them facing Kazan upon the throne. Their eyes rested only at the king's feet. Not one lifted a head, or let out so much as a breath.
At the soldier's direction she walked toward the throne on its high dais, step by measured step.
The gaze he turned down upon her was so fierce that she could not bring herself to meet it, and looked instead toward the ministers on the floor.
They have… swords…?
She was startled to see that most of them wore blades at their waists. To come armed into an audience with the king would have been unthinkable in Parsion, yet in Ashatra some unspoken agreement seemed to permit it. The Sindar King was sacrosanct, the most powerful being in this land, and everyone acknowledged it.
Just as the Grand General said. They truly regard Kazan as a god.
At last, standing before the throne, Elona raised her eyes to him. His powerful frame upon the golden seat felt like a vast wall she could never escape.
"Your place is here."
Kazan flicked his gaze toward the black cushion at his feet. It was the sort of spot one might give a palace pet, and shame flushed Elona's face. She could feel every person in the hall watching her slightest movement. If she made even a small mistake, would these ministers not rush, one over another, to demand her death? As she sat, tension dried her mouth completely.
"We have waited only for your return, Lord Sindar."
A middle-aged man and a young woman, seated near the throne, rose slowly and came forward. The older man was bald and heavyset, with a large scar across his cheek. The woman was a beauty of striking features; her straight black hair, bound high, and the upward tilt of her eyes lent her a mature, alluring air. Their faces were nothing alike, and yet something in them was oddly similar. Elona knew at once that they were father and daughter.
Kazan addressed the man.
"Harnuk Padisha. You have labored much in a critical time. I hear the merchants' guild has submitted a petition."
"Do not concern yourself with the guild, Lord Sindar. The war is over. I mean to set a decent venture before them."
The man seemed to hold no small office. Elona was surprised to see Kazan discuss the business of the realm with him so naturally — then she felt a gaze and turned her head.
The brown-skinned beauty beside the man was studying her closely. She was clearly of high rank, and yet, unlike the noblewomen of Parsion, she watched people with an openness that left Elona deeply unsettled.
Who is this woman? She seems to be his daughter, and she's far too aware of me.
Uneasy, Elona quietly looked away. Fortunately, the moment Harnuk finished, the woman's eyes went straight back to Kazan. Facing the king, her reddish-brown irises glittered with affection and awe.
"Lord Sindar, how you must have suffered, fighting in a distant land. While you were gone the palace was peaceful — but my heart was not."
The voice was soft, and seductive. Now Elona, too, began to take notice of her. Kazan answered in the same tone he had used with Harnuk.
"Irid, you've done well looking after a masterless palace. I'll see that you're rewarded before long."
The moment she was praised, Harnuk slipped in quickly.
"Lord Sindar, my daughter stands ready to devote herself to the royal house at any time. Tending the palace was only the natural duty of a court steward. Might her reward be the chance to serve you more closely? If she were permitted to reside in the palace, and attend Your Majesty whenever the hour required…"
It sounded very much like an offer of marriage. Before everyone present, Elona suddenly understood what Harnuk's display of intimacy with the king, and the invitation in Irid's eyes, were meant to convey.
These people… they're behaving as if they already belonged to the royal house.
Their manner was different from Tortan's, and from the other ministers'. They addressed Kazan by his royal name, Sindar, and Harnuk carried himself as though he were the king's own uncle. Irid's attitude was blatant enough that Elona wondered whether she might be Kazan's betrothed.
After a brief silence, Kazan answered him.
"An interesting proposal, Harnuk. It would be a comfort to have the court steward living in the palace. I'll consider a residence suited to her."
"If you so command, I will obey with pleasure. However…"
Harnuk bowed his head gladly, then turned his gaze toward Elona.
"If I may be so bold — are you not showing that Parsion wench too much mercy, and for too long? I am told you have not even set a date for her execution. What if it were carried out during the victory celebration? The people want her head."
Elona bit her lip in anxiety. Regrettably, she could not help agreeing with Harnuk herself. In this land her very existence was an object of hatred and curse.
But the voice that followed was calm.
"Ah, of course. So long as she lives, she must of course hold a slave's station. And yet, by custom, the women of a defeated kingdom…"
"Listen to me, Harnuk."
The air around him as he cut the man off was anything but ordinary. Harnuk faltered and closed his mouth, but Kazan's expression had already gone cold.
"I didn't know you held custom in such regard. If we're to speak of custom, then I, who usurped the throne, ought to have been dead long ago. Isn't that so?"
At the quiet rebuke, the color drained from Harnuk's face. Scrambling to repair the mistake, he stammered an excuse.
"Th-that was not my intention in speaking. I was only concerned for Lord Sindar's safety, and for the matter of an heir…"
"Now you bring up an heir as well. Can concern, taken too far, not become a sickness? Even if this woman bears my child, she will have no influence whatsoever upon Ashatra's future."
As Harnuk fell back, Irid, beside him, spoke.
"Then what is to become of this slave princess? Surely you don't mean to bring a woman of Parsion into the harem?"
The tone was elegant, and barbed. Kazan answered with cold certainty.
"I have no intention of keeping a harem, Irid. You make me say it, tiresomely, more than once."
When he denied it, Irid's expression brightened a little. But Kazan added words no one had expected.
The ripple his words sent through the hall was enormous. Harnuk's face and Irid's hardened at once, and even the ministers who had kept silent began to murmur. In Harnuk's place — he had already lost the courage to speak — another high minister stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, Mano Palace was built for the queen. To grant such a privilege to a mere slave…"
"You attach symbolic meaning where none is needed. I chose Mano Palace because it stands empty, and because it is nearest my own quarters. If not there, where exactly would you have me put her? Must I go without a woman and tramp a long road every night?"
The reason was thoroughly a matter of convenience, but the argument was effective. No one dared tell the Sindar King to endure discomfort for the sake of etiquette. And decisively, there was at present no queen in the royal house who might rise to oppose his decision.
Elona, meanwhile, understood that something tremendous had just occurred, and grew unsettled. Kazan was hardly likely to lose his ministers' support over a matter of this scale, but the arrows would fall on her. She was already a hated princess of Parsion, and now a slave was to occupy the palace meant for a queen. The ministers' eyes were already burning.
Then Irid's soft voice reached her.
"Please, set aside your anger. That woman is Lord Sindar's property. Our thinking was short."