《Lost Children of the Prophet》


 Memories

    If she understood the effects of a man desiring her, Ziva may


    have never dreamed about the coming day when her father


    would choose a mate for her. As she did not ¡­


    Ziva hurried down the long hall to join her father for dinner,


    her pale blue silk dress brushing softly against her legs. Why


    did I lose track of time in the bath? I did not need to dream of


    the man father will choose for my mate. Tall and handsome will


    be nice, like those boys Tawna and Kara gush about. I wouldn¡¯t


    know. I will go to the market with Tawna and Kara tomorrow.


    I do so want to have a look at those boys. How will I convince


    Father?


    Ziva slipped into her seat at the small table in their private


    dining room, breathing a sigh of relief. Father had not yet arrived.


    She sat with her back straight, legs crossed at the ankle,


    her right foot bouncing as she waited.


    Orak, her father, joined her soon after. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to be late,


    Ziv.¡± He strode into the room and took his seat. ¡°Bram kept me


    late, discussing problems with distribution.¡±


    ¡°It is fine, Father. I only just arrived.¡± Ziva smiled. ¡°What


    problems are you having with distribution now?¡±


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    2


    ¡°The city leaders want to tax our sales. Nothing for you to


    worry about. I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    Servants unobtrusively served the meal. Ziva glanced up


    and nodded her thanks to the man who sat her plate in front of


    her, then picked up her spoon to eat.


    ¡°Tax the sales? Are they not taxing each step of production?


    How greedy can they get?¡±


    ¡°I do not know, my dear. Korm¡¯s girl, Tawna, asked about


    you.¡± Orak nodded to the servants and spooned soup into his


    mouth.


    ¡°Tawna? I haven¡¯t seen her for some time. Was she at


    Korm¡¯s shop?¡± Ziv glanced up from her food.


    ¡°Tawna came to encourage Korm to hurry home. I was glad


    of it, for I knew you waited for me. She is growing into a pretty


    young woman.¡±


    The two then lapsed into silence as they focused on eating.


    Ziva thought about her friend. Though they once lived in


    houses near each other and spent much time together, they did


    not visit as often, now. When Orak and Ziva moved to this bigger


    house, the girls were separated. They shared messages


    through the day, making plans for a visit to the markets, which


    was much easier for Tawna and Kara, who were not protected


    as closely as Ziva.


    ¡°We have been invited to a party at Roven¡¯s house next


    week.¡± Orak interrupted Ziva¡¯s contemplation.


    ¡°A party? At Roven¡¯s? And I have been invited? Do you


    think Tawna and Kara will be attending?¡± Ziva tilted her head


    to the side as she peppered her father with questions.


    L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T


    3


    ¡°I believe they will,¡± Orak said. ¡°Bram mentioned he and


    his family would be going.¡±


    ¡°I feel uncomfortable at those things, especially when I


    don¡¯t know anyone there.¡±


    ¡°Of course you do, Ziv. No one likes to be in a large group


    of strangers. I will be there, too. You will not be alone.¡±


    Ziva noticed the kind look in his deep brown eyes and remembered


    how he had taken her to other parties and stayed


    close, unlike some other fathers. Most of them left their families


    at the edge of the party to seek out business cronies and city


    leaders. Orak did not. He held Ziva¡¯s small hand in his big paw


    as they walked through the crowd, stopping occasionally to


    visit with other merchants until they found Tawna with her


    mother and sisters. Ziva begged to be allowed to stay awhile


    with them. Orak bent to kiss her on the cheek and reluctantly


    left her with her friends. He then returned soon to reclaim her


    hand and walked with her to find food.


    Ziva often wondered what it would be like to have so many


    sisters. It must be nice to have a sister to share secrets with, but


    Tawna had other opinions about sisters who were always there,


    listening, and crowding her. Ziva supposed it was both bad and


    good. She would never know. She had no mother, no brothers,


    and no sisters.


    She looked up at her father and smiled. ¡°You are right, Father.


    You are always there for me.¡±


    He beamed at her, his dark eyes shone from his dark mahogany


    face. She looked at his dark hands and arms, then down


    at her pale pink arms. His eyes were dark, while hers were blue.


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    4


    His hair in tight curls, dark brown; she wore hers in soft honey


    colored waves across her shoulders.


    For the thousandth time, she wondered why she looked so


    different from her father. But, now was not the time to ask. She


    had tried before, but Orak became somber and melancholic at


    the question. Ziva tried to stay away from that subject in happy


    times. But, someday ¡­ someday, she would get her answer.


    Ziva glanced at her father. ¡°I look forward to joining my


    friends at the party. May I join Tawna at Bram¡¯s shop tomorrow?


    She can help me purchase fabric for a new dress to wear


    to the party.¡±


    Orak looked up, his bushy eyebrows lowered. ¡°And how


    will Tawna know to meet you there?¡±


    Ziva¡¯s cheeks warmed as she stared at the table in front of


    her. ¡°She sent me a message.¡± She lifted her eyes and rushed


    on. ¡°I will be careful. If we are going to a party, I do need a


    dress.¡±


    ¡°The seamstress can bring fabric for you to choose from.¡±


    ¡°I know that, but, Father, please. I do so want to go to the


    market and visit with my friends. Please.¡± She stared up at him


    through her long, light brown eyelashes.


    Orak returned her stare, thinking. At last he replied. ¡°I suppose


    I can do without Com for a span or two. Would you


    promise to listen to him, follow his orders?¡±


    Ziva pouted.


    ¡°You know the market is dangerous for young women, especially


    for young women whose fathers are wealthy.¡±


    L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T


    5


    She breathed heavily through her nose and flicked her eyes


    away. ¡°If I must.¡±


    ¡°You must, if you are to go at all.¡± Orak smiled.


    ¡°You will let me go? Thank you, Father.¡± She leaped from


    her seat and threw her arms around his neck.


    Orak gathered her close. ¡°You may go, but you must listen


    to Com.¡±


    ¡°I will. I promise I will.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    At the back of the house, buried in a huge copper kettle, Nat


    wiped sweat from his face with the back of his hand, then


    grabbed more cleansing sand and continued to scour the burnt


    vegetables from the surface of the kettle. Cleaning pots gave


    him time to think, and to remember.


    Five years earlier, Nat became part of Qinten¡¯s household.


    The scullery needed a boy small enough to crawl into the


    smaller kettles. He had been small and skinny then. In the years


    since coming to the priest¡¯s home, he had grown taller and


    stronger, now able only to crawl into the biggest kettles.


    Part of his strength came from wrestling the heavy kettles.


    The rest came from Kenji. Nat remembered how the older scullery


    boys kept the younger, smaller boys in place by beating on


    them. Kenji took an instant and personal interest in Nat.


    On his first day in the kitchens, Nat had not expected a foot


    to be thrust in his path, and he tumbled to the hard, stone floor.


    ¡°Get up scrawny,¡± Kenji had jeered.


    Nat had been warned when he arrived in Qinten¡¯s kitchen.


    ¡°Beware of the older boys. They think they own the place,¡± one


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    6


    of the young men who brought him to the kitchen had hissed.


    Nat wondered what he meant. Now, he knew.


    Nat had been carrying his kettle toward the place designated


    for cleaning. A hand in his back pushed. He stumbled. Fighting


    back would not help this situation. Much as he disliked giving


    in, he hated battles even worse. This was one battle he feared


    would be forced on him. He turned toward his tormentor. A


    bigger boy, covered with the grime of working in the scullery,


    stood glaring at him.


    ¡°Hi. I¡¯m Nat. And you are?¡± he said.


    ¡°Bigger and better than you.¡± The boy shoved at the kettle


    held in Nat¡¯s arms, knocking him off balance.


    Nat regained his balance easily enough. His last owner had


    been a drum maker and Nat had plenty of practice in balancing


    large, awkward objects of every size.


    ¡°I see. You are bigger than me. Better? I doubt that.¡± Nat


    turned to move in the proper direction when a foot reached out


    to knock his feet out from under him and sending him sprawling,


    the kettle banging across the floor.


    ¡°I was told you could manage kettles,¡± a big voice proclaimed,


    reaching down to pull Nat up by the back of his thin


    garment. ¡°Falling does not show that ability.¡±


    A red-faced man, obviously someone who mattered in this


    kitchen, pulled him to his feet and bent to stare into his eyes.


    He wondered about telling the real reason for his fall for half a


    breath.


    L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T


    7


    ¡°I usually can manage larger kettles, sir.¡± He lowered his


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.eyes. ¡°I am unfamiliar with this floor and must have tripped on


    a rough spot. It will not happen again.¡±


    ¡°Rough spot? On my floor?¡± the man roared.


    ¡°Or something?¡± Nat whispered.


    ¡°Yes, something.¡± The man softened. ¡°Pick up that kettle


    and get it cleaned.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Nat quickly retrieved the offending kettle and


    hurried toward the cleaning grounds.


    Nat had been inside the kettle, scrubbing for a short time,


    when he felt a tug on his foot. Thinking it may be the red-faced


    man, he quickly backed out, to see his tormentor.


    ¡°If you think you can avoid a beating by sucking up to


    Gowdy, you are mistaken,¡± the bigger boy had hissed and ran


    off.


    Nat shook his head and crawled back into the kettle. In the


    short confrontation, he had learned two important things. He


    knew the name of the red-faced man and he knew he needed to


    protect himself from the bigger boy.


    Over the next few days, Nat learned the most vicious bully


    of the scullery boys had a name, Kenji. Kenji decided Nat was


    his personal ¡°project.¡± The next morning, Kenji waited for him


    at breakfast. Before Nat knew what was coming, he had swatted


    Nat¡¯s bowl of food off the table onto the floor. Nat quietly


    found a rag and cleaned up the mess, earning a smile from Liana,


    the girl who had dished up the meal. He received nothing


    else, only the smile.


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    8


    ¡°Food is not to be wasted. You get only one bowl of breakfast,¡±


    Gowdy had growled. ¡°What you do with it is up to you.


    If you want to feed the floor, that is your choice. You will wait


    until the next meal for more food.¡±


    Nat left the table area and walked to the scullery, found a


    dirty kettle, and began to clean it. Later, he watched Kenji walk


    through the scullery. Kenji¡¯s more frequent assignment was the


    task of turning the spit. When he was there, Nat felt safer traversing


    the kitchen. He had managed to avoid Kenji for two


    days. Then, while Nat sat with the other boys outside the cleaning


    space behind the kitchen one evening, Kenji stood over


    him.


    ¡°Think you can avoid me?¡± Kenji sneered.


    ¡°It was worth trying.¡± Nat looked away from him.


    ¡°You are wrong. I¡¯m here and you will not hide from me.¡±


    ¡°Why? I do not like fighting.¡± Nat glanced up at the bigger


    boy.


    ¡°Because you are smaller and deserve a beating?¡±


    ¡°From you?¡± Nat voiced his lack of concern with a shrug.


    Inside he prepared himself. Would it be better to allow the beating,


    or fight back? He had seen other, smaller boys, cowed by


    this bully. They gave him their food and did his bidding. Nat


    refused to do that. He needed his food to grow. He may be a


    slave, but that was all the degradation he needed. No more. He


    would fight.


    Kenji must have believed Nat would sit and take his beating.


    He stepped forward as Nat punched him in the stomach. Kenji¡¯s


    eyes widened as he fell back. Nat stood, legs apart and ready.


    L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T


    9


    Kenji regained his balance and began to rain blows on Nat. For


    a time, Nat managed blow for blow. However, because he was


    smaller and weaker, it was not long before he found himself on


    the ground, curled in a ball, arms protecting his head. Eventually,


    the beating ended.


    Nat had never received another beating from Kenji, he remembered


    with satisfaction. Though his bruises did not lighten


    for many days and he limped a bit longer than that. Gowdy gave


    instructions to the young men to be watchful of Nat. He was


    needed to clean the kettles, and no one molested him while he


    healed. He could not depend on the young men to protect him


    all the time. It was up to him to protect himself.


    He watched the other younger boys. Some wanted to be like


    Kenji and did all they could to move closer into his circle.


    These boys watched the other little boys and ran to tell Kenji


    whenever the others did something Kenji didn¡¯t like. Nat


    marked these boys, making certain they didn¡¯t know his plans.


    As he healed, he spoke quietly with other younger boys.


    These boys saw him as a hero. He stood up to Kenji. No one


    else had. Alain was first to come, slipping to his side while he


    cleaned, whispering encouragement. Other boys found their


    way to tell him they were glad he stood up for himself. Nat


    considered two plans of attack, while watching Kenji bully and


    beat on other boys. He thought of leading a small group of


    younger boys in the fight back, but he feared if he did that, he


    would be perceived as a bully, as much as Kenji.


    Rather than involve the other boys, Nat decided he could


    handle Kenji on his own. He smiled at the other boys when they


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    1 0


    offered to help him ¡°take down that bully, Kenji¡± and shook his


    head. No. He would do this on his own.


    He found a heavy, knotted stick and used it as a crutch, leaning


    on it when walking. He hobbled around the scullery and


    into the boys¡¯ dormitory, as though he were weak and hurt. He


    had dealt with bullies before. He knew to be prepared. It wasn¡¯t


    long before Kenji found him alone.


    ¡°Thought you could hide from me inside your kettle all the


    time, did you?¡± Kenji snarled. ¡°No kettle here. Where will you


    hide now?¡±


    As Nat had expected, Kenji brought his buddies to back him


    up. Bullies rarely went anywhere alone.


    ¡°And you came with your girl friends,¡± he taunted.


    Kenji¡¯s face reddened beneath the grime. ¡°I beat you to


    nothin¡¯ before. I can do it again.¡±


    ¡°Sure you can, with your back up choir.¡± Nat worked to ensure


    Kenji was angry, so angry he lost control. He continued,


    ¡°You beat me before. I¡¯m just a little guy. You think you can


    take me on any time you want. Of course, you have to bring


    along the choir, just to be sure I don¡¯t beat you up.¡±


    ¡°Nah. I don¡¯t need my boys to help beat you up. You¡¯re just


    a scrawny bit of nothin¡¯.¡± Kenji¡¯s anger began to show and the


    volume of his voice lifted. ¡°I¡¯ll show you. Min, Drak, stay


    back.¡± Kenji waved them back. ¡°I can beat up this little piece


    of nothin¡¯ on my own.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡± Drak glanced between Kenji and Nat.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m sure. Stay back. I¡¯m goin¡¯ to stop the mouth


    of this little boy.¡±


    L O S T C H I L D R E N O F T H E P R O P H E T


    1 1


    Min and Drak stepped back. ¡°If you say so, Kenji. We won¡¯t


    join in the fun.¡±


    ¡®Good. That leaves only Kenji to deal with.¡¯ Nat watched


    Kenji ball his hands into fists and move forward, balancing on


    the balls of his feet. No, not mad enough.


    ¡°Sure you can take care of this little boy, all alone?¡± Nat


    taunted. ¡°I am such a little thing. You are sure you can handle


    me on your own?¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Kenji bellowed and rush forward, fists ready to


    pound Nat down.


    Nat leaned on his stick until he felt Kenji¡¯s hot breath on his


    face, then swung it out, crashing it into Kenji¡¯s body with a


    resounding ¡°Oof¡± and a crash.


    Kenji looked surprised, sucked in his breath, then lifted his


    fists once more to beat on Nat. But Nat gave Kenji no opportunity


    to hit him, knocking his hands back with the club. Kenji


    ducked his head, obviously determined to hit Nat in the stomach


    with it. Nat swept Kenji¡¯s feet from under him with his


    club. Kenji fell with a yell and a thud.


    Nat glanced quickly toward where Drak and Min stood.


    They had disappeared. He spun around, checking to be sure


    they were gone. Drak had disappeared, but Min was trying to


    sneak up on him.


    Nat lifted his club and swept it toward Min, knocking him


    in the head with a satisfying thunk. Min fell to the ground, making


    no more noise. Nat allowed the club to continue swinging


    him around, hitting Kenji again as he rose, prepared to attack


    from behind.


    A N G E L I Q U E C O N G E R


    1 2


    The club caught Kenji across the arm. Nat heard a loud


    crack, Kenji dropped to the ground with a scream and cradled


    his arm. Nat turned to be certain Min was still down. When he


    was certain no danger threatened him, he walked to his dorm.


    Kenji returned to the kitchen two days later. A rag tied


    around his neck supported the arm, tied between two sticks.


    There was little he could do in the busy kitchen to stay out of


    the way. Gowdy gave him the chore of toting buckets of cleaning


    sand to the boys who cleaned the kettles.


    Min spent several days in bed before he finally returned to


    the kitchen. Drak slipped into the background, staying far away


    from the trouble makers. Within two weeks, Kenji and Min


    were sold at the slave market.


    Now, Nat felt someone pulling on his legs. ¡°What now?¡± he


    muttered, tensing as he backed out of the huge kettle. When he


    realized he had been stuck in memories, he relaxed a little.


    ¡°Relax, boy,¡± Gowdy said. ¡°Cook wants to see you.¡±


    ¡°Cook? See me?¡± Confusion filled Nat. ¡°Why would Cook


    want to see me?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know, but you¡¯d better hurry in to the kitchen.¡±

 Was It Only a Boy?

    The next morning, Ziva stepped into a small carriage. Com helped her tuck her skirts around her feet.


    ¡°You remember what your father said, don¡¯t you? You will listen to me. If I say we must leave now, do not argue. My job is to keep you safe.¡±


    Com stared at her until she nodded her head. ¡°Yes, Com, I will listen.¡±


    ¡°Be certain you do,¡± he huffed as he closed the carriage door.


    I have to listen, if I want to do this again. I hope we have no problems. Ziva scooted close to the window and gazed out at the trees and walls that surrounded the houses lining the streets, hoping to keep out those who would rob and steal. She wondered why people would want to steal from others.


    They passed out of the wealthy section of the city where she lived into other sections with smaller, houses without walls, and on into the market. The road became busier, full of other carriages, people on horseback, and others wending their way between horses and wheeled vehicles, as they moved closer to the market.


    Finally, the carriage slowed and stopped. Ziva knew better than to leap from within its sanctuary. She leaned back in the seat, her hands folded in her lap. Only the tiny movement of a bouncing foot betrayed her impatience.


    The carriage door opened and Com held out his hand to help her step from its depths. They had reached the door to Korm¡¯s fabric shop and Tawna stood in the doorway.


    Before Ziva could scurry to greet her, Com grasped the hand he held and pulled her close. ¡°Remember, I am here to ensure your safety. Do not do anything rash.¡± The cold in his dark eyes caused her to shiver.


    ¡°No, Com. I will listen to you.¡±


    With that, he released her hand and she hurried to her friend¡¯s side. Tawna embraced her briefly and the two young women entered the shop as the carriage rolled away from the entrance. Com followed her inside and stood watching from beside the door.


    ¡°I never believed your father would allow you out of your house,¡± Tawna said. ¡°How did you manage?¡±


    ¡°I told him I need a new dress for Roven¡¯s party. He knows I hate parties. I told him I¡¯d go without complaint if he let me come here today. He was happy to allow me to choose fabric for a new dress.¡±


    Tawna raised her eyebrows. ¡°Your father was happy to let you come here?¡±


    Ziva twisted her mouth to the side. ¡°Well, not happy. I had to bring Com,¡± her eyes darted toward the quiet man by the door, ¡°and listen to everything he tells me. Father sees danger for me everywhere.¡±


    ¡°Your father is overprotective. There is no danger in my father¡¯s shop.¡±


    ¡°I know. Which fabric should I choose?¡± Ziva moved to the stacks of beautiful fabric.


    The girls wandered around the shop. Tawna pointed out fabrics she thought would look good on her friend, while Ziva fingered them and pulled a few from the shelf. Some she brought to her face to feel the soft texture.


    A bell above the door tinkled and the girls looked up to see their other friend, Kara, breeze through the entrance. Tawna rushed to greet her while Ziva carefully set her armload of fabrics on top of the others before turning to her friend.


    ¡°How ever did you manage to escape the close watch of Orak?¡± Kara gushed. ¡°I have not seen you outside that big, beautiful home since you moved in.¡±


    ¡°I begged. I cried. I pouted.¡±


    ¡°You?¡± Tawna and Kara chorused, their eyes wide.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Ziva laughed. ¡°But I did beg. I must have said something right, for I am here.¡±


    ¡°With your watchdog,¡± Tawna murmured, her eyes darting to Com.


    ¡°If he had not come with me, I would not be here. I¡¯m happy he would come.¡± Ziva turned back to the pile of fabrics. ¡°Which one should I buy?¡±


    The girls wandered through the stacks of beautiful fabrics, laughing and gossiping. Kara suggested a bright orange, but Ziva shook her head. Tawna pointed to a deep burgundy. After a heartbeat of thought, Ziva shrugged it away. After looking at all the lovely, soft fabrics, Ziva had reduced the stack to four: a dark golden fabric with swirls patterning across it in lighter shades, a light orchid covered with diamonds of deeper purple, a pale green, and a dark blue.


    ¡°Which looks best?¡± Ziva held each fabric near her face.


    Tawna gazed into her face. ¡°They are all lovely against your pale skin and blond hair.¡±


    ¡°I like the green. It contrasts with your eyes,¡± Kara said.


    ¡°It is pretty. The gold looks nice with your hair, too,¡± Tawna said.


    ¡°I am wearing a bright yellow. Shall we dress in similar colors?¡± Kara spun a long curl around her finger.


    ¡°My dress is orange,¡± Tawna said.


    ¡°Then, no. We should choose our own colors. Look different.¡± Ziva returned to her decision. She set the gold aside. The orchid soon joined it. ¡°Green or blue? Hmmm. Com?¡± Ziva turned toward the man towering beside the door. ¡°Which would you choose? Green or blue?¡±


    ¡°Me? You want me to give my opinion? About fabric? Never,¡± the big man growled and folded his arms across his chest.


    The girls tittered. Ziva held the last two against her face. ¡°I think I like the blue. My eyes are blue. And, I like the feel of it better.¡±


    ¡°That dark blue?¡± Kara gasped. ¡°It is so sedate, almost matronly. No young man will look at you in that.¡±


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    ¡°Then it is the fabric for me. Tawna, will you help me with the purchase?¡±


    Tawna took the bolt of fabric from her friend and carried it to the back room. When she returned, she carried a bag, heavy with the fabric. ¡°I will have one of the boys take it to your carriage.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Ziva ducked her head. ¡°I do not know if I brought enough coin.¡±


    ¡°My father put it on your father¡¯s account. Do not worry. We will be paid.¡± Tawna touched her friend on the arm. ¡°You don¡¯t do this often, do you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ziva brushed away the sparkling tears from her eyes.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go into the market, now,¡± Kara whined. ¡°I want a treat.¡±


    Ziva looked to Com. ¡°May I?¡±


    The big, dark man drew his eyebrows close. ¡°Wait here, I will check the streets.¡±


    The girls watched him slip out the door.


    Com returned and signaled. ¡°You may go but listen to me. If I say we must leave, we must leave immediately.¡±


    Ziva glanced into his eyes and saw his concern. ¡°Yes, Com, I will.¡±


    The girls left the shop and walked, with arms linked, into the market, gossiping about the party, and other things.


    ¡°Mmm, nice looking man there,¡± Kara ogled.


    ¡°Where?¡± Ziva asked. She followed Kara¡¯s eyes to see a slave, wearing only a thin rag wrapped around his waist. ¡°Oh.¡± She felt her face redden.


    ¡°He is not for us,¡± Tawna said, pulling them along. ¡°Now, he is.¡±


    ¡°Which one?¡± Ziva asked.


    ¡°The gentleman standing by the jewelers stand.¡±


    The tall, well-dressed man bent over a necklace, dangling with jewels and reflecting the light.


    ¡°Yum.¡± Kara licked her lips.


    The girls giggled and continued on. A vendor passed carrying meat pies. Kara stopped him and purchased three, handing one to each of her friends. They ate the pies as they walked, laughing and talking.


    A shout from the crowd caused them to look around. A boy pushed through the crowd with a man chasing him. The boy shoved himself between the girls and raced on through the crowd.


    Suddenly, Com stood beside Ziva. ¡°We must go. Now.¡± Ziva looked into his eyes and saw danger.


    She grabbed Tawna by the arm. ¡°Come with us.¡±


    ¡°No. We are safe. You go,¡± Tawna said, pushing her away.


    Com grabbed her by the elbow and rushed her around a corner, down a busy street, and around several other corners and down streets until they arrived at the place where their carriage stood behind Korm¡¯s shop. Ziva bent to set her hands on her knees and sucked in huge, gasping breaths. Com¡¯s breath seemed normal.


    ¡°Get in, quickly,¡± Com ordered.


    Ziva stumbled as she stepped into the carriage, falling onto the seat as the carriage moved. In no time, they were racing down the street and out of the market. The driver shouted and cursed as people rushed to get out of the way of the thundering horses hooves. Ziva held on to the strap on the side, trying to stay upright.


    Eventually, they slowed, though the carriage did not return to the leisurely pace of their ride to the market. Soon, it drew to a stop in front of Ziva¡¯s door.


    Ziva brushed her hair back into place with her hands. When Com opened her door, she asked, ¡°What was that about? It was only a boy.¡±


    ¡°The boy was a distraction. You did not see the men chasing us. They wanted to take you.¡±


    ¡°Take me? Why?¡±


    ¡°Your father would pay them a hefty price to free you, or so they think.¡±


    Ziva brought her hand to her mouth to cover her gasp. ¡°Oh. I didn¡¯t know. Thank you for saving me.¡±


    Com nodded and ushered her inside. ¡°Perhaps you will be happy now to stay here, in the safety of your father¡¯s house.¡±


    Ziva nodded.


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat stepped into the pantry, searching for ginger root. He stretched his back. Cook¡¯s helper seemed to be a big promotion, but it wasn¡¯t as wonderful as he had dreamed. Released earlier from the work, he rested in the evenings and no longer crawled into the huge kettles to scrub them clean.


    Freedom to rest at the end of the day was counterbalanced by the requirement to wake early in the morning, for Cook prepared all the meals, including the morning meal. He required Nat¡¯s assistance¡ªmostly for running back and forth to the pantry, like now, to retrieve ingredients for the many dishes presented to Qinten each meal. Thankfully, he was not also required to run for Baker. He¡¯d never stop if he had to run for both of them.


    By now, the pantry had become familiar. Nat found most of the required ingredients with little effort. Ginger root was new. He looked on the bottom shelf and found the tangy smelling root in a basket. Cook needed three. He found the best looking three in the basket and hurried back to the kitchen. Cook directed him to wash and peel the funny looking roots, then chop them for the dish he was making.


    Nat found a small, sharp knife and began to work on the ginger. He knew he would need to work quickly, for Cook would need the ginger soon, and would think of something new to send him for.


    Nat had been surprised that first day¡ªwas it only a month ago? ¡ª when Gowdy sent him from the cleaning scullery to the kitchen. Cook had simply said, ¡°I need a new helper. You will do as I say.¡±


    Nat had nodded and was immediately put to work running to the pantry for vegetables, fruits, and any other ingredient Cook decided he needed. Additionally, he helped peel, cut, and chop, as he did now with the ginger. Nat was careful and quick and Cook was pleased with his work. Cook didn¡¯t say much to him, beyond short instructions: ¡°Ginger, wash, peel, and chop finely.¡±


    He was used to working without extra instructions. He had been expected to speedily understand and complete his assignments without asking many questions by all his previous owners. Of course, he was required to ask questions in the beginning, but he learned easily and soon discerned many of Cook¡¯s needs before he uttered a request. Cook was learning to depend on Nat, and Nat liked that trust.


    The ginger was finely chopped and passed on to Cook, who nodded, too busy for further interactions. Nat hurried to the pantry for the carrots and celery Cook would need next.


    Drak stepped from behind the door, blocking Nat¡¯s way.


    ¡°Hello, Drak. Haven¡¯t seen you for a while.¡±


    ¡°No? I¡¯ve been here, turning the spit at the fire,¡± Drak said in a surly voice.


    ¡°I have not been near the spit. Cook keeps me busy elsewhere.¡± Nat kept his voice carefully neutral.


    ¡°Kenji and Min are gone. Sold to a slaver.¡±


    ¡°I am sorry, Drak. They were your friends.¡± Nat tried to sound more concerned than he was.


    Drak rubbed his forehead. ¡°Kenji never was beat like that before. How did you do it?¡±


    ¡°Got me an equalizer. I was smaller than Kenji. Knew he would hurt me bad if he could. So I got a walking stick and equalized things between us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you sure did. Guess I¡¯m glad you did.¡± Drak stepped aside to allow Nat passage through the door and into the pantry, following him in.


    ¡°Glad? How so?¡± Nat frowned.


    ¡°Less trouble with Cook. I¡¯m where I belong, not runnin¡¯ after Kenji.¡±


    Nat felt a bit of a smile attach itself to his face. ¡°You aren¡¯t angry?¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡± Drak stuck his hand out.


    Nat slowly put his now larger hand into Drak¡¯s.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Drak said.


    Nat¡¯s smile grew. ¡°Do you need something from the pantry, too?¡±


    ¡°A side of beef. Sounds like there will be extras for dinner tonight. Unexpected, so I have to get it ready fast.¡± Drak walked to the cooler back of the pantry where the meat was kept. Nat heard him lift a good-sized slab off the hook and sling it over his shoulder.


    He reached into the baskets and grabbed his needed vegetables, holding the door and following Drak from the pantry. Nat noticed raised eyebrows and open mouths from other kitchen workers.


    ¡°Did they expect us to fight?¡± he quietly asked Drak.


    Drak looked around. ¡°Must have. Disappointed them, huh?¡± A broad smile crossed his face, then he laughed. Nat joined in, surprising the others who expected a war from them

 Bait for a Man

    Ziva stood in her room staring into the mirror. Her maid, Ana, had painted her face. She wanted to use a bold, bright red on her lips and cheeks. Ziva had refused. Ana gave in to her reserved nature and painted her lips a light pink and her cheeks only a shade darker.


    Ana had argued for brighter colors on her eyelids. ¡°At least, a peacock blue to highlight your eyes?¡± she had said.


    Tigre, her yellow and black cat, stared up at her and emitted a single yowl.


    ¡°Tigre is right. Peacock is too bright. It makes my eyes fade. Do you have a blue closer to the color of my eyes?¡± Ziva compromised on this one point.


    Ana had smiled and dug through her paints until she found the shade that matched Ziva¡¯s eyes. She had wanted to use a similar color to paint her fingernails, but Ziva insisted on a light pink.


    ¡°I am still a young girl. I am not yet ready to paint myself so brightly. I do not want that kind of attention.¡± Tigre jumped on Ziva¡¯s lap, kneaded her gently with his front paws, then curled up to sleep.


    Ana had nodded and stopped pushing.


    At fifteen, Ziva felt much too young to try to appeal to men in that way. She enjoyed the feel of Ana brushing her long hair that looked like spun honey. Ana had carefully dressed her hair, placing a beautiful pin to hold the curls back from her face.


    Ziva had set Tigre on the floor and stood while a long, filmy dark blue dress, created from the fabric she had purchased at Bram¡¯s shop, had been pulled over her head and tied with braided fabric matching the dress.


    Now, she stood staring at her reflection. ¡°I guess this will work,¡± she murmured, half to herself.


    ¡°It works. You look lovely, my dear.¡± Orak¡¯s deep voice startled her.


    She glanced toward the door and smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t look too ¡­ too grown up, do I? I am not ready to leave you.¡±


    Orak pulled her into a bear hug, careful not to disturb her hair or mar the face paint. His love radiated through the hug and warm smile. She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Orak stepped back, spinning Ziva around.


    ¡°Uhm hmmm. You do look good. Almost like a grown woman.¡± He held up his hands to stop her flurry of words. ¡°Not a grown woman, but almost. I know you are not ready, but it will be hard to hide your beauty for much longer.¡±


    Ziva felt the bright red of embarrassment color her face. ¡°Oh, Father.¡±


    ¡°I do not lie, Ziva. You know my honor.¡±


    ¡°I do, but I do not like what you say. I do not want some man to claim me. Is there not a better way?¡± Great tears welled up inside her eyes.


    ¡°Be careful of your face paint,¡± Orak warned. ¡°We do not have time for Ana to redo it.¡±


    Ziva sniffed and regained control of her emotions, smiled, and reached over to pet her cat¡¯s back. ¡°Bye, Tigre. Be good now.¡± She took her father¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready. Will you stay with me awhile when we get there?¡±


    Orak nodded and smiled down on her as they left her suite. She felt comfort in his loving presence.


    When they arrived at Roven¡¯s home, she descended from the light carriage holding Orak¡¯s hand. She looked around, noting the other conveyances moving to the side of the residence. The numbers indicated neither a small party nor an enormous one. It appeared to be large enough she could stay out of the line of attention, yet small enough to find her friends. It should be a nice evening.


    Orak clasped her hand, as promised, as they walked through the doors and into the large public parlor. They nodded to other guests and wandered through the crowd. He seemed to be happy to be seen with his beautiful daughter, not interested in discussing the cares of the merchant world this evening.


    ¡°You did come!¡± Kara squealed when she caught sight of Ziva. ¡°Mother said all the eligible girls and their families were invited to this party. Bede had to stay home. She is too young. I was not certain you would come.¡±


    ¡°Oh? That kind of party?¡± Ziva stared at Orak. ¡°Father?¡±


    ¡°Roven agreed to sponsor a party to help some of the men who need a mate. It is difficult for them to meet young women.¡± Even beneath his dark skin, Ziva saw red tinting his neck and cheeks.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me? I would not have come.¡± She allowed the frustration to tinge her whisper.


    ¡°I know. That is why I didn¡¯t tell you.¡± Orak smiled. ¡°You cannot remain in my home forever, though I would love for you to do that. You know our customs. Girls need to be mated.¡±


    ¡°You know how I feel about that,¡± she said between her teeth while smiling to her friend. ¡°We will talk of this later.¡±


    Orak sighed, though he did not lose his smile. ¡°Make the best of this. Enjoy.¡±


    Ziva lifted her head, placed an elegant smile on her face, and slipped her hand into Orak¡¯s. ¡°I will. I¡¯ll find you later, Kara.¡±


    Ziva and her father strolled through the crowd, her eyes searching for Tawna. She had supposed Tawna would arrive earlier, but from behind, she heard her friend¡¯s voice calling. She turned in time to catch her friend¡¯s gentle hug. Now she felt she could enjoy this party, with Orak and Tawna¡¯s help.


    When Orak slipped away, flashing a smile in her direction, Ziva wondered briefly about his business. Then, Tawna pulled her along and they began to stroll, arm in arm, around the room.


    ¡°Your dress is beautiful,¡± Ziva said. ¡°That color suits you. I can never wear that shade of orange. It makes me look yellow.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°And your dress matches your eyes. What is this party all about? All the available girls our age are here.¡±


    ¡°Father says Roven offered to have this party to show off the eligible girls for the men. Too many young men are unmated. I suppose we are here as bait.¡±


    Tawna raised her lovely eyebrows. ¡°Bait? Rather harsh, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I suppose. You know how I feel about all this.¡± She felt her smile falling and purposefully reset it.


    ¡°I know. Maybe the man who chooses you will be kind.¡±


    ¡°You jest! These men believe we are beneath them. Female mates are property to be brought out and shown off, like prized baubles.¡± Ziva covered her contempt with a smile. Anyone looking their way would never guess. Tawna heard it and frowned.


    ¡°Do not think about that now. Dinner will be served soon. What do you think it will be? Where is Kara?¡±


    The girls strolled through the crowds, greeting friends, and discussing inconsequential things. Kara joined them, her voice adding to the general noise of the occasion.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Ziva whispered, her eyes pointed toward a man standing on the edge of the crowd. ¡°I feel his stares.¡±


    ¡°Who? Oh, Qinten. He is a priest of Lorca. One of the unmated.¡±


    ¡°He is dark. No, no.¡± Ziva blocked the protests of her companions. ¡°Not his color, though it is dark. I feel a darkness in his soul.¡±


    ¡°His soul?¡± Tawna¡¯s eyebrows arched high once more. ¡°Do men have souls?¡±


    ¡°Everyone has a soul. And his is dark,¡± Ziva replied with a sigh.


    ¡°Then you must hope he does not decide he wants you as his mate.¡± Kara laughed and patted the back of Ziva¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Truly. I pray Orak is strong, and refuses.¡± Arm in arm, the three girls swished their skirts and moved on.


    ~ ~ ~


    Ziva felt Qinten¡¯s eyes brush across her several times that evening as she, Tawna, and Kara strolled about the room. She knew her trio of friends were contrasting in looks and behavior. Her modest dark blue dress matched her eyes and showed off her pale skin, honey-colored hair, and her quiet demeanor. The only jewelry she wore was seven black, tan, and orange clay beads.


    She had long ago grown out of the length of hemp they had been originally strung on. Orak had found her crying when she was about seven. The hemp had shredded and the beads scattered. He helped her gather them from the floor, placing them in a small cup. Later he presented her with a fine gold chain and helped her string the beads on it. She wore it all the time. For some reason, it gave her comfort.


    Tawna, taller and more outgoing than Ziva, wore a burnt orange dress, with a deeper neckline than Ziva would ever wear, that complemented her dusky brown skin and green eyes. A single strand of pearls surrounded her neck.


    Shorter than either of her friends, Kara wore a bright yellow dress, matching her outgoing nature and highlighting her raisin-colored skin and amber eyes. The neck of her dress, too, dipped much lower than Ziva¡¯s, while her skirt daringly opened on the side, hand spans above her knees. Chains of gold encircled her neck and arms.


    A servant announced dinner and directed the crowd to a large dining room. Orak appeared out of the crowd and escorted Ziva toward the dining area, while her friends found their families. She and Orak chose a table near the edge of the room. Soon, Tawna arrived with her parents, brothers, and sisters, sitting on both sides of the table, nearly filling it.


    ¡°Look.¡± Ziva nudged her friend with her elbow. ¡°Qinten thinks he will sit with us.¡±


    ¡°I doubt he will find room.¡± Tawna directed her friend¡¯s attention to Kara¡¯s family who was bearing down on the table. ¡®Kara and her sisters will fill the table.¡±


    Kara sat with her parents and sisters across from Ziva. Bram greeted both Orak and Korm before he sat between his wife and Kara. Qinten sauntered past, staring at Ziva, Tawna and Kara. Ziva saw a dark look pass through his eyes as he saw there would not be room for him. He glided past to a seat.


    The noise in the room dropped significantly when servers brought each table food. Still, Ziva was aware of Qinten, sitting nearby at a table of boisterous young men who seemed not to care if the girls, and their fathers, heard their ribald remarks. She knew Orak would not give her to any of these vile men. Qinten, however, sat apart from them, choosing not to participate in their jests. She felt his gaze roam across her and studiously avoided glancing in his direction.


    Ziva enjoyed the food almost as much as the company. No cost had been avoided in its preparation, and the cool peach ice desert washed away the heaviness of the other courses. Happy the meal had ended, she rose and linked arms with her friends.


    ¡°We are going to the facilities, Father. Do enjoy yourself.¡± Ziva flashed a smile in Orak¡¯s direction as they left.


    ¡°Great dinner, but I¡¯m glad it¡¯s over.¡± She sighed and rubbed her stomach.


    ¡°Yes, too long sitting. I hope we can dance. I love dancing.¡± Kara¡¯s eyes sparkled at the thought. ¡°Will you join us tonight, Ziv?¡±


    Ziva enjoyed watching her dance, from the sidelines. ¡°Maybe, if the music isn¡¯t too wild. I don¡¯t want to shake my brains out.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what they play. I¡¯m ready to dance!¡± Kara let go of Ziva¡¯s arm and twirled around.


    ¡°Not me, Kara. I don¡¯t want to shiver and shake everything off. I don¡¯t care what the ¡®men¡¯ say.¡± Tawna shook her head as they entered the ladies room, lining up behind others with the same idea.


    When they finally managed to leave, the girls promenaded toward the ball room. The music jangled against Ziva¡¯s ears, but Kara giggled and entered the dance alone to spin and dance. Soon, a young man bowed and spun her away. Ziva could hear her laughter in the quiet spaces of the music.


    She and Tawna found seats along the wall to watch. Several of the foul-mouthed men from the table nearby asked them to dance. Both Ziva and Tawna shook their heads. Not this music. Not those men.


    When the tempo changed to something more moderate, Tawna accepted the invitation of a young man to dance. Ziva watched until another man offered her his hand. At least, he¡¯s not one of those foul-mouthed men.


    ¡°My name is Crites,¡± he said as he took her by the hand.


    She stood and whirled away with him onto the dance floor. They laughed and visited through the song and another, then the music increased in tempo and she had him return her to her seat, with a promise to return for another dance.


    The wild music brought out the shaking and shivering she refused to participate in. Tawna¡¯s escort swirled her to her seat, with a promise of drinks. The girls watched the gyrations of the dance as they visited.


    The music slowed and Kara dropped into a chair on the other side of Tawna. ¡°I need a break.¡±


    A servant offered them drinks. ¡°Orange juice for me,¡± Tawna declared. ¡°I need to clear out my throat.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to try the ¡­¡± Kara glanced at the faces of her friends, and her hand moved from the wine to an apricot juice. ¡°¡­ one of these.¡±


    Ziva asked for a glass of cool water. ¡°The sweetness of juice is cloying,¡± she said with a shrug.


    The tempo of the music picked up, and soon Kara danced out onto the floor with yet another partner. Tawna and Ziva accepted a dance with different men, and joined the mass of dancers. When the tune ended, Ziva made an excuse and returned to a chair. She did not want to be pawed by eager young men.


    Several dances later, Ziva noticed Qinten amble toward Bram. They spoke with heads together to hear above the music. The song ended and Bram signaled to Kara with a nod of his head.


    Kara joined the men and, after a brief discussion, sauntered to the drinks table with Qinten. Ziva allowed a small growl to escape before planting a smile back on her face. Not her business.


    Later, when dancing with yet another man, she noticed Kara speaking even louder than usual, her motions exaggerated.  Qinten had long since given her to another. Not good for Kara.


    After the dance, Ziva accepted another glass of water and joined Tawna in watching a slow, groping dance. Over Tawna¡¯s shoulder, she saw Qinten staring at them.

 Never Interfere

    Ziva watched Kara dance with drama and flair. She did not approve of her allowing the young men to touch her so intimately. Does she know she will lose standing with the better young men, those who will treat her better? Ziva shook her head. No, Kara rarely thinks about how her actions affect her.


    The music changed again, to a faster beat. Ziva¡¯s foot bounced to the cheerful music. Tawna nodded to her partner and sat beside Ziva, fanning herself with a fan she produced from a hidden pocket. A servant appeared, offering refreshments.


    ¡°Oh, the orange juice is so refreshing.¡± Tawna smiled at the young woman as she took a glass off the tray.


    ¡°Is there any water? It solves my thirst.¡± Ziva looked up at the girl who shook her head. ¡°Could you please bring me a glass of water?¡± She added a smile with the request.


    The girl nodded and slipped away.


    ¡°Water, again?¡± Tawna playfully tapped her arm. ¡°Only water? I have seen you drink juices. Why only water tonight?¡±


    ¡°I feel safer with water. Little can be added that I cannot see or smell.¡±


    ¡°Silly girl,¡± Tawna laughed. ¡°Who would put anything in our drinks?¡±


    Ziva shrugged.


    ¡°Would you join me in this dance?¡± Crites stood before Ziva holding out his hand. The music lilted, enticing. She took his hand and moved with him to the dance floor


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you found me, again,¡± Ziva said as he whirled her out.


    ¡°I promised you another dance.¡±


    The music encouraged movement without the ¡°shiver and shaking¡± Ziva abhorred. Crites kept his hands away from intimate touching. His friendly manner enticed Ziva. A definite positive among so many negatives. They shared small talk, and when the music changed, he led her back to her seat. He bowed, as she sat, asking, ¡°Could we do this again?¡±


    ¡°Certainly,¡± she replied and watched him walk away.


    Tawna raised her eyebrows and Ziva shrugged.


    Kara joined them. ¡°The musicians say they need a break. How can they need a break? They strum a lute or bang on a drum, maybe blow on a pipe?¡±


    ¡°The answer to your question, Kara.¡± Tawna pointed to the musicians who left their instruments and trouped to the refreshment table. ¡°They must believe they need a rest, a drink, and something to eat. They¡¯ll be back.¡±


    They were interrupted by a young man, offering sweets. Each girl chose one, then helped herself to a drink from another tray, produced by another young man who even had water for Ziva. She and Tawna sat back and listened as Kara bubbled about all the dancing and the young men.


    The refreshed musicians resumed their seats and struck up a loud, fast tune. Kara was swept onto the dance floor with yet another partner. A different man drew Tawna out to dance. Ziva sat alone watching. The priest, Qinten, who she had seen following them off and on during the evening came forward.


    ¡°Would you like to dance?¡±


    ¡°No, I think not. This music is much too fast,¡± she replied.


    ¡°I agree. May I join you?¡±


    Ziva glanced around the room and saw Orak. ¡°I am sorry, but my father is beckoning. I must leave.¡± She stood and hurried to where he stood, watching the dancing.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to dance with Qinten? He will be powerful someday.¡±


    ¡°Who is he? He has been following us around all evening. He gives me the creeps.¡± Ziva shivered involuntarily.


    ¡°Creeps?¡± Orak chuckled. ¡°Pretty strong. He is a priest of Lorca, on his way to becoming their Hight Priest. Powerful.¡±


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    ¡°I don¡¯t care. There is a darkness within him. Power and wealth are for men, not me.¡± Ziva shook her curls and stamped her foot.


    Orak shook his head. He knew well his daughter¡¯s stance on this issue. They stood together for a short time until Orak signaled a servant. ¡°Please have my carriage brought around.¡±


    Together, Orak and Ziva found Roven and thanked him for the party, then slipped out the door. Their carriage and driver were waiting.


    ¡°No interest in any of those young men, Ziva?¡± Orak asked as they rode through the quiet streets toward home.¡±


    ¡°None. Well, one. Crites asked me to dance, twice. He was respectful. He said he¡¯d come back for another dance, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªyou left before he could return?¡± Orak finished.


    ¡°Probably. I do not like parties like these. I do not like to be on display, as one of the ¡®goods for sale,¡¯ much like a side of beef in your market¡±


    ¡°It must feel like that to a young woman of your sensibilities.¡±


    ¡°Promise me one thing?¡± Ziva stared into Orak¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What? You know I will give you whatever I can.¡±


    ¡°Do not sell me to that Qinten. He is dark inside.¡±


    ¡°Not even for money and power?¡± Orak teased.


    ¡°Especially not for the money and power.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Shouting and yelling woke Nat in the middle of the night. He tried to close his ears to it, but the sound came close to the dorm room where he lay, before receding. He pulled his thin blanket over his ears to dampen any further noise. It was a temporary solution.


    Just as he felt himself drowsing into sleep, he was jolted awake. A whip lash sizzled through the air and onto the victim¡¯s back. The poor man screamed.


    Nat moved, thinking to fling the blanket back. Drak snaked his hand out from his nearby cot and latched on to Nat¡¯s wrist.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Drak breathed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t what?¡± Nat responded, his voice no louder than Drak¡¯s.


    ¡°You can do nothing to help that poor man. We have heard it before. Remember? The Master must be angry.¡±


    Nat lay listening to the lash striking the unfortunate slave¡¯s back, his terrified screams, their anguish. It was not the first time he woke to such screams. He learned early to lie still, hold himself separate, away from the sound.


    Shortly after he arrived in Qinten¡¯s home, Nat had been wakened by this same noise. The sound drew him up from sleep and he sat horrified, listening to it.


    Another boy, not much older than him could not contain his fears. He jumped from his mat and ran out to see what caused the turbulence in their kettle cleaning grounds. Nat heard the boy¡¯s shout, followed by a short silence. The boy screamed. The whistle of the lash returned. The boy¡¯s screams echoed through the garden. At last they stilled.


    The boys in the dorm lay on their mats, fearing to utter a sound, lest they, too, should be found and receive the same treatment. Nat had shuddered through the remainder of the night. His body eventually relaxed into sleep as the sun peeped through the window, the signal for the boys to rise and prepare for another day of work.


    Exhausted, Nat shuffled toward the cleaning scullery, eyes half open. The boy in front of him stopped suddenly. Nat bumped into his back.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbled.


    Rather than the usual growl and slap, the boy he had bumped into said nothing. He only pointed. Nat¡¯s eyes opened wide as he followed the pointing finger. The boy who had left the dorm lay on the ground, his back bloodied and bruised. A boy near Nat ran to the bushes lining the cleaning ground and vomited. Nat fought his stomach, refusing to be one who showed such weakness. Not with Kenji watching.


    One of the bigger boys threw his shoulders back and marched over to the boy on the ground. He touched the beaten boy¡¯s neck and shook his head.


    ¡°I expect Gowdy needs to know,¡± the boy said, looking up from the broken body.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell him.¡± Another larger boy stepped away from the mob of staring boys and sped toward the kitchens.


    Not many breaths later, the boy returned with Gowdy following close behind.


    ¡°Move on,¡± Gowdy growled. ¡°There is nothing to see here. You have things to be doing. Do them.¡±


    Nat shook himself and moved to join the lines at the latrines.


    Later that evening as the boys gathered on the grass, after working all day, Gowdy strolled from the kitchen and stood in front of them.


    ¡°Kai did not survive the lashing,¡± Gowdy said. ¡°You must learn now that your lives are important to the Master only when you do as he demands. Do nothing to make him angry. Do not interfere with the Master¡¯s punishments of another. If you do, you will receive a greater punishment. Kai interfered. He no longer lives.¡±


    Gowdy stared into the faces of the boys sitting in the grass in front of him. ¡°Never, ever interfere. We need you healthy and in the kitchen.¡± He allowed the sound of his voice to drop on the boys, before turning on his heel and leaving them.


    Now, Nat remembered those words. Never interfere. It hurt him to lay in silence and listen to another be punished. He had learned over the years that many times the punishment was undeserved. Qinten had a vile temper and when things outside his domain went poorly, a slave took the punishment.


    Nat sighed and nodded. Drak released his wrist. Nat clenched his jaws and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, trying not to hear. It did not help. The Master must be angry indeed, for the lashing seemed to go on forever.


    Finally, it ended. Nat heard the slave¡¯s quiet sobs. In the silence of the room, the others hardly breathed. Nat promised himself he would never be the one Qinten chose to expend his anger on. If that happened, Nat promised himself he would not scream. He would not give the Master the pleasure of his screams.

 Dark Soul

    Three days after the party at Rowen¡¯s, Ziva had spent the morning studying with her tutor. For a time in the afternoon, she sat with Ana and Vita, learning to paint a picture with thread on fabric. Tawna and Kara came, and spent the last of the afternoon gossiping about the party and all the men they danced with, or rather, Tawna and Ziva spent the time listening to Kara gush about all the men with whom she danced. Tigre curled in Ziva¡¯s lap and she absently stroked his yellow and black fur.


    ¡°The Lorcan Priest, Qinten, danced with me twice. He is such a good man. Didn¡¯t try to touch me inappropriately and is a good dancer. It doesn¡¯t hurt that he is handsome.¡±


    ¡°Qinten?¡± Tawna and Ziva chorused.


    ¡°He is handsome,¡± Tawna said, ¡°but a good man hardly describes that man. Why did you leave the party early, Ziv?¡±


    Ziva thought about it briefly then shook her head. ¡°I was tired.¡±


    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t. I saw what happened.¡±


    Ziva raised her eyebrows high and crossed her feet at the ankles, resettling the cat and allowing her right foot to bounce. ¡°What makes you so sure?¡±


    ¡°I was there. Remember? I walked toward you with Ti¡¯ras when Qinten approached you. You almost ran away from him. Besides, your foot is bouncing so fast, if you don¡¯t slow it down it will bounce off your leg.¡±


    Tigre dug his claws into Ziva¡¯s leg and jumped off her lap, then curled up beside her chair, safely out of reach of her moving foot. Ziva looked down at her bouncing foot and laughed. ¡°I give in. You are right. Qinten tried to talk with me, but my innards quiver when I am near him. His soul is dark. I see no good in him.¡± Ziva uncrossed her feet and set them firmly on the floor. Tigre stood and stretched, then lay curled with his tail wrapped around him in the sunshine near her feet.


    ¡°I saw you walk away from him. Didn¡¯t you want to dance?¡± Kara teased.


    ¡°No. Nor did I want to share anything from the refreshment table. Besides, Father was ready to leave.¡± Ziva bent over, picked up her cat, and hugged him to her chest.


    ¡°You said that during the party. What do you mean¡ªhis soul is dark?¡± Tawna stared at her friend.


    ¡°I am not really certain. He ¡­ feels dark when I am near him. I can¡¯t explain it, not even to myself. I just feel darkness when he is near.¡±


    ¡°But what is a soul?¡± Tawna¡¯s eyes crunched together. ¡°You speak of souls and I am lost. What are souls?¡±


    ¡°The part of each of us that is spiritual, eternal. I have always known about souls. And when a soul is dark, I tremble.¡± Ziva wrapped her arms about herself, shivering at the memory.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand, Ziv,¡± Kara pouted. ¡°All this talk about dark souls. Are they also light?¡±


    ¡°Why, yes. Especially the soul of a little child. I remember when your brother was born, Kara. When I visited and saw him for the first time, I felt incredible light and brightness around him. Other souls are not nearly so bright, but I often feel the lightness, or darkness, of a soul.¡± Ziva¡¯s foot had stilled while she spoke and now sat quietly beside the other. Tigre lay purring in her lap.


    ¡°And Qinten¡¯s soul is dark?¡± Tawna leaned toward her friend.


    ¡°Black. He acts like a good man, I saw him at dinner. He did not join the ribald jokes directed at the girls, seeming even to disapprove of their behavior. But his soul is black as the crow sitting out there on the tree branch.¡±


    Tawna shivered and leaned back into her chair. ¡°He seems so nice. He spoke to father and asked to be introduced. We even danced¡ªand he kept his hands to himself, unlike some of the others. No grasping or groping. It was a pleasure to dance without all that. And you say his soul is black?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a show.¡± Ziva leaned back, her foot slipped across the other and began to bounce and Tigre leaped off her lap once more. He stalked away to find a circle of sunshine to sleep in. Ziva watched him go before going on. ¡°He wants something and acts that way to conceal his real intentions. I fear him.¡±


    ¡°Well, I like him. If he asked Father, I would happily mate with him.¡± Kara folded her arms, turned away, and pouted.


    ¡°You would mate with him? Our servants have shared stories of his poor behavior.¡± Tawna stared at their friend. ¡°You must be jesting.¡±


    ¡°What sort of poor behavior?¡± Kara turned back to face the other girls.


    ¡°He, well, he forces women to ¡­ to ¡­ to have relations with him.¡± Red crept up Tawna¡¯s dusky neck.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care. He is rich and powerful. Father says he will be the next High Priest of Lorca.¡±


    ¡°You are welcome to him.¡± Ziva set her foot on the floor to stop its rapid bounce.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ziva heard a door slam and horses leaving. She glanced out her window and watched Orak and Lib, his assistant, race away. Why would they do that? She shook her head and her foot began to tap.


    ¡°How did you get your father to leave early? My father would never leave that early. He has an image to portray. We must look happy at parties, even when we¡¯re miserable.¡± Tawna frowned.


    ¡°I asked to leave. Orak isn¡¯t as dependent on others¡¯ perceptions. They know him to be independent. Otherwise, we would have had to stay.¡± Ziva¡¯s foot stopped bouncing for a breath, then beat up and down as if to the beat of a rapid tune.


    ¡°We left later than you, Ziva. I complained when Bram insisted it was time to leave. I wish I could convince my father to do my will as easily as you do.¡± Kara fluffed her skirts and pulled her legs beneath her.


    ¡°Father made us stay until late. We were not the last to leave, for that is as bad as leaving first, but we were far behind you.¡± Tawna reached up to her long dark hair, began a plait, then brushed it out. ¡°I heard Qinten growl. I suspect there was a disagreeable curse under his breath as well.¡±


    Ziva¡¯s eyebrows crawled like dainty caterpillars up her face. ¡°And you wonder about his black soul?¡±


    Tawna rubbed her arms, as though trying to warm them, even though the servants fanned them to cool the room.


    ¡°Have you looked at Qinten?¡± Kara said. ¡°He is a good-looking man.¡±


    Tawna and Ziva laughed.


    ¡°He is handsome, and he will have power one day. He will be High Priest of Lorca sooner rather than later.¡± Kara said with a pout.


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that. Qinten is driven. He wants power. Perhaps that is why his soul is black.¡± Ziva sat still for many heartbeats.


    ¡°Desiring success isn¡¯t all that bad. Bram, and even Korm and Orak, are successful. They are not bad men. They work to be the best in their business.¡± Kara leaned forward and set her feet on the floor.


    ¡°Desiring success and seeking to be best in your field doesn¡¯t make your soul dark. It is the things you do or are willing to do that color it. Our fathers are good men. I have seen them all give to the poor on the street. They help when they can. I would hate to see how Qinten treated his servants on his return from the party.


    ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not.¡± Kara refused to give in.


    ~ ~ ~


    Orak sat in his office thinking. He liked having this home with space for him to work. He occasionally found it necessary to visit his markets, granaries, and slaughter houses. He also found time to tour his farms away from the city, inspecting cattle ranches and the farms growing the grains the citizens and the many priests of Nod required. He depended on the managers of each of these places to follow his orders and do what was needed to increase profits.


    Today, though, his thoughts focused not on any of his many businesses, but on Ziva. She was such a beauty and so determined.


    He had promised to protect her, and already Qinten had asked. For now, he could put the decision off. But he didn¡¯t want animosity between himself and a priest of Lorca, his major customer.


    The priests required many animals and much grain to offer to their god each festival day. His business would suffer if he found himself in disfavor with them, especially Lorca. But how much would it suffer? Could he survive without their purchases?


    Life would be less pleasant if he were at odds with his daughter. She would not be happy. In fact, she would be hurt if he gave her to Qinten, hurt emotionally and physically. Qinten had pushed the issue. He wanted to meet with Ziva in the next week. He wanted to be her mate. Orak understood Ziva¡¯s revulsion. Qinten was dark. He had heard of his dabbling with wives of other men and his cruelty. He did not want this for his beautiful daughter. Why did that man want his daughter? Orak shook his head. It did not matter why. Qinten wanted her.


    How would he avoid the trap being set for him by Qinten? He felt the danger, poised and waiting for him. His daughter or his business? He must find a way to keep both free of Qinten¡¯s grasping hands. If he allowed Qinten to have his daughter, Orak would lose her. If he did not, he could lose both his daughter and his business.


    Orak let his head fall into his hands. How did this mess happen? He was certain deep thought would help him discover a way out.


    Much later, a noise interrupted his reverie. Lib, his manager responsible for his city enterprises, entered, breathing heavily.


    ¡°I expect you are disturbing me for a good reason.¡± Orak lifted his head from his hands with a growl.


    Lib bent over, his hands on his knees, as he regained his breath. ¡°A fire!¡± he panted. ¡°A fire in a granary.¡±


    Orak grabbed his cloak and threw it across his shoulders as he hurried from the room. He mounted the horse that always stood waiting at the door during the day, and waited for Lib to wearily climbed into his saddle.


    As they raced down the road, Lib directed him toward the commercial district. There, they found people running for the safety of doors and alleys along the streets. Their horses skidded to a stop a distance from the blaze, rearing and snorting at the smoke.


    Orak and Lib jumped off, stumbling, before regaining their balance. Orak stood distracted by the smoke. This was his largest granary, filled with amaranth. Much of his supply burned within, the heat of burning grain added to the inferno.


    A man appeared from the smoke offering to take the horses away to a safer place. Orak nodded and handed him the reins. Lib handed his reins to the man, then stood beside Orak, staring. Orak took in the scene, determining what he could do to help.


    The men he paid to guard the granary and fight against any danger stood in bucket lines, passing buckets of water to be thrown as a cupful of moisture to be splashed on the raging blaze. Orak joined the lines, as did Lib, passing bucket after bucket toward the edges of the devouring flames, in an attempt to prevent its spread into the city.


    Fire began to lick at the small shacks occupied by the poor who were employed in the nearby granaries. Many of the men Orak employed in his granary lived in these hovels. Little children, loved by these men fighting his fire, lived within those huts. The granary was lost. There was no need to lose homes if they could be saved. He directed the lines of buckets toward the small homes, hoping to save most of them.


    Hours later, black smudged men fell to the ground, exhausted. The granary lay in ashes, all the amaranth lost. The men struggled to their feet to offer words of thanks to Orak, knowing he was responsible for the preservation of their small homes. He grasped each man by the forearm, though his strength was nearly gone.


    Some of his wealth lay in ashes at his feet. He breathed a sigh of relief, only one granary burned. The others, and his cold meat lockers, were safely scattered in distant locations around the city. He confused his competitors, keeping none of them close together.


    One bright thought in all the blackness of soot, his wealth had been reduced. Qinten may be less interested in Ziva, now. Maybe the fire was a gift in disguise?

 Slave Market

    ¡°Orak, please?¡± Ziva begged a week later. ¡°Others talk about the slave market. I want to go with Tawna and Kara. I want to see what happens there. We¡¯ll stay near the edge. Please? I want to know. I want to see it.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± Orak roared. ¡°Slave markets are not places for young women. I do not like to go there, myself. Too many men are wicked. Those who gather around the slave market are not the kind of men you have known, especially in the way they behave toward women. You will not go.¡±


    His declaration should have been the end of the discussion, but Ziva plunged forward. ¡°Can I not take Com? He is a big man, big enough to frighten those wicked men. Com will protect me. I listened to him before.¡±


    ¡°Why would you want to go to such an awful place? Men and women are degraded there. There is nothing there for you. We do not purchase slaves.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to purchase a slave, and I don¡¯t know why I feel I should go, for sure. I only know I feel I should go. The others are going. Please?¡±


    Ziva managed to bring tears to her eyes, aware Orak could seldom deny her requests when she used tears. She did not know why she was drawn to the slave market, only that she was. ¡°Something important is there. Please let me go.¡±


    Orak had been touchy in the days since the fire at the granary. The timing was not good. Or, maybe it was better to ask now, when he wasn¡¯t at his best, or he would never allow a visit.


    ¡°You will stay back, away from the slaves?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father, I will.¡±


    ¡°And, you will take Com? Listen to him? Return home when he says?¡±


    ¡°You will let me go? Yes, I will listen to Com. Thank you!¡± Ziva hugged her father, covering his face with kisses. He returned the embrace, his dark arms encircling her tiny waist.


    ¡°I fear for your safety. Be extra careful¡ªand listen to Com.¡±


    Ziva kissed his cheek and forehead once more, then ran from his office to her apartment. Orak bellowed for Com as she left, and she knew he would be there with her on the excursion the next day. She briefly sensed the unfairness of abusing Orak¡¯s love, especially during this time of his loss, then brushed away the thought. Though she rarely abused his love, she was drawn to make this trip. For some reason, it seemed important.


    She sat at her desk and reached for vellum, pen, and ink. After quickly sketching out messages to her friends, and sealing them, she called the messenger to carry her notes.


    Early the next morning, Com escorted Ziva to a large covered carriage, where she found Kara and Tawna waiting. Com clamored up to the front seat next to the driver, Kara¡¯s escort. Tawna¡¯s stood on the back.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised Orak let you come with us.¡± Tawna made space for Ziva.


    ¡°I cried. That always works, but I don¡¯t use that weapon often. I keep tears for special occasions, such as this.¡± Ziva sat back and straightened her skirts.


    The carriage jolted forward and moved through the city toward the slave market. A thrill zipped down Ziva¡¯s spine. She had not traveled about the city so alone before. Orak had only the one time allowed her to travel into the city without him, when she met with her friends at Korm¡¯s fabric shop before Roven¡¯s party.


    Her friends loved to tease her about his over-protectiveness. Although, on most days she appreciated his concern, lately she felt a chafing at the restraint. Today¡¯s outing with her friends, without Orak, caused her to be glad of Com¡¯s presence as her escort.


    A big, sooty-gray man, tall and strong, Com allayed any concerns she or Orak may have had. Orak paid him well to protect his home. As a free man, Ziva trusted him. He had been a part of her life throughout her memory.


    The girls chatted gaily, enjoying the company and freedom of a day out together. This was a first for Tawna, too.


    ¡°I have gold. I plan to buy a maid to help me,¡± Kara announced.


    Tawna and Ziva expressed surprise and gabbled like geese for many long heartbeats.


    ¡°Why would you need another slave?¡± Tawna¡¯s voice rose higher and louder than usual.


    ¡°I want one. Must I have a reason to need one?¡± Kara flounced her skirts.


    ¡°What will you ask her to do for you? Surely, you will buy a female to be your maid?¡± A quiver rippled through Ziva¡¯s stomach. She did not understand the nausea it created.


    ¡°Of course. I am not shameless enough to buy a male slave for my apartments.¡± Kara reached out and fluffed up her full skirts. ¡°I¡¯m looking for one to dress my hair in different and interesting ways or be able to learn the skill.¡±


    Tawna leaned forward and asked, ¡°How will you know she can do that? How will you choose her?¡±


    Kara described the features she desired and what she would look for in the slave. Her voice dimmed in Ziva¡¯s attention. Why the quivering in her inner parts? Why the horror at Kara¡¯s actions? She was always sensational. These actions were no different. This was a trip to the slave market, but she had not planned that one of them would purchase another person, a slave. Somehow this alarmed her.


    Tawna shook her arm. ¡°Ziv? Ziv? What is wrong?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, nothing. Why?¡± Ziva glanced at her friends.


    ¡°You are pale, much more than usual,¡± Kara exclaimed. ¡°Are you certain you are well?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes, I¡¯m sure. Just thinking.¡± Ziva cleared her throat. ¡°Are we there yet?¡±


    Tawna looked at Ziva, her eyes saying, ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Instead, she gave a half-shrug and leaned back into her seat. ¡°Almost. The carriage is slowing. Kara¡¯s driver seems to be seeking a place to leave our carriage.¡±


    Ziva nodded as the carriage bounced her from the seat. She grabbed on to a handle with one hand, and Tawna with the other until the rocking of the carriage ended. Soon, Com stood at the door, extending a hand to help her out.


    ¡°We are here, Mistress. Wait while I check the area for danger.¡± He did not ask. He expected compliance, and Ziva stood quietly waiting with her friends.


    Com returned, a silent danger. Ziva shivered in his presence, happy Com¡¯s presence protected them.


    ¡°Your hoods are to be over your heads,¡± Com instructed. ¡°You are to remain near us.¡±


    ¡°I plan to purchase a slave,¡± Kara¡¯s voice filled with petulance as she dragged her hood over her hair.


    ¡°Heth shared this information with me. He will choose three women for you to choose from. You will not move closer to inspect them personally.¡±


    ¡°How will I choose if I cannot inspect them myself?¡± Kara¡¯s voice became even louder.


    Com stayed calm and in control. ¡°You will watch Heth place his hands over each of his chosen women. After you have seen the three he chooses, he will hold his hand above each woman. Nod when his hand is over your choice. If this is not acceptable, we will return home now.¡±


    Kara¡¯s rage flared, evident to all, but she was intelligent enough to nod in agreement. Heth pushed through the crowd while Com walked just ahead of the girls. Tawna¡¯s escort, Keb, followed, watching warily in every direction.


    The condition of the market and slaves appalled Ziva. This was nothing like the market surrounding Korm¡¯s fabric shop. Naked men, women, and children of all ages, some no bigger than toddlers stood in chains, ankles and wrists worn in running sores. Women struggled vainly to cover personal parts. Their bodies bruised, red stripes crossed backs, chests, and across legs. None, not even the small children, were exempt from the cruel whips. A putrid scent filled the air, causing the girls to pull the edges of their hoods across their noses.


    Unshaken, Kara studied the women intently as Heth moved among the younger girls, inspecting them in unseemly ways, prodding and poking in their mouths and private parts. Ziva stared at her feet, no longer desiring to be part of the choosing.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    As she turned away, Ziva followed the movements of a young man, tall and confident, accompanied by an older man. Dressed in simple clothing, neither patched or worn. He appeared to be neither a slave nor a merchant. He glanced her way and their eyes met briefly, before the older man touched his arm, drawing his attention to a boy for sale. A strange familiarity touched her heart.


    ¡°Which girl is your choice, Tawna, Ziv?¡± Kara cried. ¡°Heth chose three for me to choose from: the little blond, the red-haired girl, and the dark brown-haired girl. Which would you choose?¡±


    Ziva stared at the choices, strangely disturbed. All the girls were thin, much too young to be sold. She shook her head in dismay.


    ¡°The dark one,¡± Tawna said, as though from a distance. ¡°Choose the red-haired girl. Her hair is plaited.¡±


    Ziva considered the dark girl. ¡°Yes, the red head seems to know the skill of dressing hair.¡± She turned her back on the slaves, no longer interested.


    She felt Kara nod, choosing. She glanced back to see all except the red-haired girl step back in line. Ziva covered her gasp with her hand and glanced at Com.


    ¡°Can we leave now that Kara has made her decision?¡± she asked.


    Com turned toward the girls. ¡°Are the others ready?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Tawna turned away and nodded.


    ¡°My choice is made. Heth will bring the girl when the purchase is complete. Yes, let us leave.¡± Kara turned and began to walk in the direction of the carriage.


    The others followed, Keb hurrying to lead the way, while Com followed in the rear, watching all around them. Ziva moved with them, glad to have her back to the depressing sight.


    ¡°Orak was right,¡± she said as she settled her skirts around her on the carriage seat. ¡°The slave market is no place for me.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    ¡°Hurry, boy. We must arrive at the market before the other buyers,¡± Gowdy growled from the kitchen door.


    One of the boys employed in turning the meat fell asleep the day before, falling into the fire. He lived but only barely. He would be sold at the market as soon as he healed enough to be purchased by another slave owner. Qinten did not keep injured slaves. The boy continued to be treated only because Qinten knew an injured or sick slave would not bring him as much money.


    Nat grabbed his cloak from the peg on the back of the pantry door. ¡°I¡¯m gone,¡± he called to Cook, then turned to Gowdy. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The two strode across the portico and through the gate onto the street. Nat became aware of a freedom he had not experienced in many years. He had not felt this freedom since he had been sold into slavery as a child. He wondered again what had happened to his little sister. To sell a child into slavery should be a crime, but in this city, it was no crime.


    ¡°What should the boy be like?¡± Gowdy startled Nat from his thoughts.


    ¡°Boy? Yes, the boy.¡± He glanced at his companion who laughed. ¡°Oh, I was thinking.¡± Nat joined Gowdy in his good-natured laughter.


    ¡°Freedom to walk is a pleasure denied me for many years. I savor the opportunity,¡± Nat said.


    ¡°Not walked alone before?¡±


    ¡°Not for many years. Always with an escort and wearing chains. Your company, Gowdy, is a pleasure. I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m being guarded.¡±


    The two walked on, sharing opinions as to the new boy¡¯s requirements, arriving at the plaza near the edge of the city as other men arrived at the slave market. They wended their way toward the docket, intent on choosing one of the middle-aged boys. Nat¡¯s skin tingled in awareness. He searched around him to see whose eyes were on him. Briefly, he gazed at the girl, a female version of himself.


    Before he could react, Gowdy touched his arm. ¡°Which of these boys do you think is strong enough to withstand the fires? And who will not need to be tamed of his rebellion?¡±


    Nat turned his attention back to the boys, still amazed Gowdy would respect his opinion. Fighting down the stench-caused nausea, he walked along the line of boys, gazing into their eyes, followed by Gowdy. Some boys stared back at him, hatred flaming to the surface. Others¡¯ attention focused on their feet, refusing to return his stare. Near the end of the line, a boy of about ten peered up with a hesitancy in his stance.


    ¡°Have you the strength to turn a spit?¡± Nat asked, his voice gentle and sympathetic.


    ¡°I can. I am strong. My last master was a rug maker. I carried rugs of every size from the loom to the customer.¡±


    ¡°Awkward loads. Spit turning is dangerous. You would replace a boy who fell in the fire. Can you pay attention?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Roasting fires burn. I can pay attention and stay out of the fire, if you let me.¡± Hope sparkled in his eyes.


    Nat turned. ¡°Gowdy, what do you think? Is the little man strong enough to turn a spit?¡±


    ¡°Doubt it.¡± Gowdy spat on the ground. ¡°Arms are pretty scrawny.¡±


    ¡°I can, sir. Give me a chance.¡± The boy strained against his restraints.


    Gowdy spat again. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    They had reached the end of the line of boys. None of the others demonstrated anything but submission or anger. Nat trailed behind as Gowdy found the market manager. ¡°What is the price of number twenty-seven, boy?¡±


    The manager scanned his market list. ¡°That ¡®un is slated for the mines, ¡®less sum¡¯un offers enough.¡±


    ¡°Why? He is scrawny and weak. Probably won¡¯t work for us.¡± Gowdy turned as though uninterested. Nat held back his argument, aware of his companion¡¯s plan.


    ¡°What¡¯re ya willin¡¯ to pay?¡± The manager grabbed Gowdy¡¯s shoulder.


    Gowdy growled and slapped the hand off. ¡°Do not touch me. I asked a price. Name it.¡±


    ¡°Paid six silvers for him.¡±


    ¡°More like six coppers. Give you a silver,¡± Gowdy retorted. ¡°Boy isn¡¯t worth even that much.¡± When the manager didn¡¯t respond, Gowdy and Nat turned away.


    The manager scratched his dark, bald head and glanced up. ¡°Ya¡¯ drive a tough bargain, Gowdy. One silver it is.¡±


    Nat struggled to keep his eyebrows from the space near his hair. He should not have been surprised. Gowdy was the buyer for kitchen slaves in Qinten¡¯s household. His acquaintance with the slave market manager aided those purchases. Gowdy had purchased Nat almost six years earlier. The market manager was the last of his worries then.


    Gowdy fished a silver from the bag inside his waist and handed the coin to the manager. After testing for purity, he signaled a tall assistant.


    Less than a hand span of the sun¡¯s movement later, the boy followed Nat and Gowdy to his new home. The boy tried chattering his gratitude, but Gowdy grumped and Nat was lost in thought.


    The girl was no slave, as he had believed for all the past years. She obviously lived in wealth, her guide was protective. He had never allowed himself to hope to find her comfortable.


    Cook eyed Nat suspiciously as they entered the kitchen, new boy in tow. ¡°What pasted a grin on your face?¡±


    ¡°He saved this boy from the mines.¡± Gowdy indicated the boy following them. ¡°Do you have a name, boy?¡±


    Nat almost laughed at the boy¡¯s expression. ¡°Me? Of course, I have a name. I am Avram.¡±


    ¡°Nat saved Avram, here, from the mines? Boy¡¯d better show appropriate gratitude,¡± Cook grumbled. ¡°Get him some clothing so he can work.¡±


    Another cook¡¯s assistant ran to the kitchen wardrobe, returning with a short robe and a heavy protective leather apron. Avram donned the clothing and hurried to the spit. Cook nodded to Nat and returned to the meal preparation. Nat smiled. His grin wasn¡¯t for Avram or Cook, and Gowdy didn¡¯t need to know.


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat lay on his back on his cot, hands laced behind his head, still surprised by his sleeping arrangements. For many years, he had slept on the floor, often with little to pull over him against the cold night air. Sometimes, he had been given a rug to lie upon, most often he slept on the hard-packed earth.


    The boys in Qinten¡¯s scullery slept together on the floor, little space between them. That had been good, sometimes, for the closeness of the bodies provided warmth. It was a problem, too, like when Kenji decided to surround him with his cronies.


    For hours that first night, he had felt poking and prodding from all sides. He had ignored it, knowing a reaction would cause an unwanted battering. Eventually, it ended. This had happened several nights, until the lack of response sent Kenji to plan an assault on Nat.


    Since his promotion to Cook¡¯s assistant, Nat slept on a cot, with a thin blanket to cover him. Other boys shared the room, but he was off the floor, away from the vermin.


    When all the preparations for the next day¡¯s meal were complete, Nat was free to do as he pleased. Tonight, he pleased to lie, thinking, on his cot.


    His thoughts returned to his trip to the slave market. Avram¡¯s boast of strength was correct, so far. He stood for hours turning the spit, his attention on his work. So far. Soon the work would become monotonous. Would he then lose attention and fall into the fire as the boy had before?


    Nat hoped not. He liked the boy, Avram. He liked his cheerful willingness to work. Cook noticed, too. He had nodded at him, saying, ¡°Good.¡± For a man as taciturn as Cook, that was a complement. Nat was glad. Avram reminded him of someone. Himself, maybe, with his first owner?


    Hoth had not been cruel, though he insisted his slaves work hard in making bricks. Nat had been assigned first to stamp the straw into the clay, mixing clay, straw, and sand to create bricks that would withstand the sun. It was hard work for a boy, but he had done well, moving to filling the molds after three years. By then, his legs and arms were longer and stronger. Filling the molds was more difficult, but Nat soon learned the trick, becoming both fast and accurate.


    He had worked hard and long, but he hoped he would not be in the service of the brick maker all his life. He did not anticipate, nor desire, the end to Hoth¡¯s service. More than two years after his promotion to filling molds, slaves from his household came to the brick making shed to announce the end. Hoth had losses in his business and started drinking heavily. A fight had ensued at the tavern, and Hoth now lay dying. The slaves in the brickyard would be sold.


    Once more, Nat stood naked and chained with the other slaves in the market. Vekt walked the line that day. Many who had previously belonged to Hoth glared angrily into the eyes of those purchasing new slaves. Nat refused to look at his feet or stare in anger. He waited until he saw a man who appeared to be kind, then glanced in his direction, hope filling his heart. Vekt had responded that day much as Nat had responded to Avram.


    Nat was purchased, spending much of the next two years lugging lengths of trees and leather to support Vekt in his making of drums.


    Had there been a life before slavery? He had almost forgotten the days of being petted and loved by a beautiful mama and a handsome papa. He, and a sister, traveled with them in wagons filled with food and seed. He barely remembered the clean, earthy smell of the seeds. So long ago.


    ¡°You comin¡¯ to the festivities tonight?¡± Drak kicked the end of Nat¡¯s cot and drew him from his memories.


    ¡°Thought I would. Is it time?¡±


    ¡°Yea, but you may want to at least wash your face before you go. Girls prefer a man with a clean face.¡±


    ¡°Like you would know? When were you last with a girl?¡± Nat laughed and headed for the washroom.

 Slave Market

    ¡°Orak, please?¡± Ziva begged a week later. ¡°Others talk about the slave market. I want to go with Tawna and Kara. I want to see what happens there. We¡¯ll stay near the edge. Please? I want to know. I want to see it.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± Orak roared. ¡°Slave markets are not places for young women. I do not like to go there, myself. Too many men are wicked. Those who gather around the slave market are not the kind of men you have known, especially in the way they behave toward women. You will not go.¡±


    His declaration should have been the end of the discussion, but Ziva plunged forward. ¡°Can I not take Com? He is a big man, big enough to frighten those wicked men. Com will protect me. I listened to him before.¡±


    ¡°Why would you want to go to such an awful place? Men and women are degraded there. There is nothing there for you. We do not purchase slaves.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to purchase a slave, and I don¡¯t know why I feel I should go, for sure. I only know I feel I should go. The others are going. Please?¡±


    Ziva managed to bring tears to her eyes, aware Orak could seldom deny her requests when she used tears. She did not know why she was drawn to the slave market, only that she was. ¡°Something important is there. Please let me go.¡±


    Orak had been touchy in the days since the fire at the granary. The timing was not good. Or, maybe it was better to ask now, when he wasn¡¯t at his best, or he would never allow a visit.


    ¡°You will stay back, away from the slaves?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father, I will.¡±


    ¡°And, you will take Com? Listen to him? Return home when he says?¡±


    ¡°You will let me go? Yes, I will listen to Com. Thank you!¡± Ziva hugged her father, covering his face with kisses. He returned the embrace, his dark arms encircling her tiny waist.


    ¡°I fear for your safety. Be extra careful¡ªand listen to Com.¡±


    Ziva kissed his cheek and forehead once more, then ran from his office to her apartment. Orak bellowed for Com as she left, and she knew he would be there with her on the excursion the next day. She briefly sensed the unfairness of abusing Orak¡¯s love, especially during this time of his loss, then brushed away the thought. Though she rarely abused his love, she was drawn to make this trip. For some reason, it seemed important.


    She sat at her desk and reached for vellum, pen, and ink. After quickly sketching out messages to her friends, and sealing them, she called the messenger to carry her notes.


    Early the next morning, Com escorted Ziva to a large covered carriage, where she found Kara and Tawna waiting. Com clamored up to the front seat next to the driver, Kara¡¯s escort. Tawna¡¯s stood on the back.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised Orak let you come with us.¡± Tawna made space for Ziva.


    ¡°I cried. That always works, but I don¡¯t use that weapon often. I keep tears for special occasions, such as this.¡± Ziva sat back and straightened her skirts.


    The carriage jolted forward and moved through the city toward the slave market. A thrill zipped down Ziva¡¯s spine. She had not traveled about the city so alone before. Orak had only the one time allowed her to travel into the city without him, when she met with her friends at Korm¡¯s fabric shop before Roven¡¯s party.


    Her friends loved to tease her about his over-protectiveness. Although, on most days she appreciated his concern, lately she felt a chafing at the restraint. Today¡¯s outing with her friends, without Orak, caused her to be glad of Com¡¯s presence as her escort.


    A big, sooty-gray man, tall and strong, Com allayed any concerns she or Orak may have had. Orak paid him well to protect his home. As a free man, Ziva trusted him. He had been a part of her life throughout her memory.


    The girls chatted gaily, enjoying the company and freedom of a day out together. This was a first for Tawna, too.


    ¡°I have gold. I plan to buy a maid to help me,¡± Kara announced.


    Tawna and Ziva expressed surprise and gabbled like geese for many long heartbeats.


    ¡°Why would you need another slave?¡± Tawna¡¯s voice rose higher and louder than usual.


    ¡°I want one. Must I have a reason to need one?¡± Kara flounced her skirts.


    ¡°What will you ask her to do for you? Surely, you will buy a female to be your maid?¡± A quiver rippled through Ziva¡¯s stomach. She did not understand the nausea it created.


    ¡°Of course. I am not shameless enough to buy a male slave for my apartments.¡± Kara reached out and fluffed up her full skirts. ¡°I¡¯m looking for one to dress my hair in different and interesting ways or be able to learn the skill.¡±


    Tawna leaned forward and asked, ¡°How will you know she can do that? How will you choose her?¡±


    Kara described the features she desired and what she would look for in the slave. Her voice dimmed in Ziva¡¯s attention. Why the quivering in her inner parts? Why the horror at Kara¡¯s actions? She was always sensational. These actions were no different. This was a trip to the slave market, but she had not planned that one of them would purchase another person, a slave. Somehow this alarmed her.


    Tawna shook her arm. ¡°Ziv? Ziv? What is wrong?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, nothing. Why?¡± Ziva glanced at her friends.


    ¡°You are pale, much more than usual,¡± Kara exclaimed. ¡°Are you certain you are well?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes, I¡¯m sure. Just thinking.¡± Ziva cleared her throat. ¡°Are we there yet?¡±


    Tawna looked at Ziva, her eyes saying, ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± Instead, she gave a half-shrug and leaned back into her seat. ¡°Almost. The carriage is slowing. Kara¡¯s driver seems to be seeking a place to leave our carriage.¡±


    Ziva nodded as the carriage bounced her from the seat. She grabbed on to a handle with one hand, and Tawna with the other until the rocking of the carriage ended. Soon, Com stood at the door, extending a hand to help her out.


    ¡°We are here, Mistress. Wait while I check the area for danger.¡± He did not ask. He expected compliance, and Ziva stood quietly waiting with her friends.


    Com returned, a silent danger. Ziva shivered in his presence, happy Com¡¯s presence protected them.


    ¡°Your hoods are to be over your heads,¡± Com instructed. ¡°You are to remain near us.¡±


    ¡°I plan to purchase a slave,¡± Kara¡¯s voice filled with petulance as she dragged her hood over her hair.


    ¡°Heth shared this information with me. He will choose three women for you to choose from. You will not move closer to inspect them personally.¡±


    ¡°How will I choose if I cannot inspect them myself?¡± Kara¡¯s voice became even louder.


    Com stayed calm and in control. ¡°You will watch Heth place his hands over each of his chosen women. After you have seen the three he chooses, he will hold his hand above each woman. Nod when his hand is over your choice. If this is not acceptable, we will return home now.¡±


    Kara¡¯s rage flared, evident to all, but she was intelligent enough to nod in agreement. Heth pushed through the crowd while Com walked just ahead of the girls. Tawna¡¯s escort, Keb, followed, watching warily in every direction.


    The condition of the market and slaves appalled Ziva. This was nothing like the market surrounding Korm¡¯s fabric shop. Naked men, women, and children of all ages, some no bigger than toddlers stood in chains, ankles and wrists worn in running sores. Women struggled vainly to cover personal parts. Their bodies bruised, red stripes crossed backs, chests, and across legs. None, not even the small children, were exempt from the cruel whips. A putrid scent filled the air, causing the girls to pull the edges of their hoods across their noses.


    Unshaken, Kara studied the women intently as Heth moved among the younger girls, inspecting them in unseemly ways, prodding and poking in their mouths and private parts. Ziva stared at her feet, no longer desiring to be part of the choosing.


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    As she turned away, Ziva followed the movements of a young man, tall and confident, accompanied by an older man. Dressed in simple clothing, neither patched or worn. He appeared to be neither a slave nor a merchant. He glanced her way and their eyes met briefly, before the older man touched his arm, drawing his attention to a boy for sale. A strange familiarity touched her heart.


    ¡°Which girl is your choice, Tawna, Ziv?¡± Kara cried. ¡°Heth chose three for me to choose from: the little blond, the red-haired girl, and the dark brown-haired girl. Which would you choose?¡±


    Ziva stared at the choices, strangely disturbed. All the girls were thin, much too young to be sold. She shook her head in dismay.


    ¡°The dark one,¡± Tawna said, as though from a distance. ¡°Choose the red-haired girl. Her hair is plaited.¡±


    Ziva considered the dark girl. ¡°Yes, the red head seems to know the skill of dressing hair.¡± She turned her back on the slaves, no longer interested.


    She felt Kara nod, choosing. She glanced back to see all except the red-haired girl step back in line. Ziva covered her gasp with her hand and glanced at Com.


    ¡°Can we leave now that Kara has made her decision?¡± she asked.


    Com turned toward the girls. ¡°Are the others ready?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Tawna turned away and nodded.


    ¡°My choice is made. Heth will bring the girl when the purchase is complete. Yes, let us leave.¡± Kara turned and began to walk in the direction of the carriage.


    The others followed, Keb hurrying to lead the way, while Com followed in the rear, watching all around them. Ziva moved with them, glad to have her back to the depressing sight.


    ¡°Orak was right,¡± she said as she settled her skirts around her on the carriage seat. ¡°The slave market is no place for me.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    ¡°Hurry, boy. We must arrive at the market before the other buyers,¡± Gowdy growled from the kitchen door.


    One of the boys employed in turning the meat fell asleep the day before, falling into the fire. He lived but only barely. He would be sold at the market as soon as he healed enough to be purchased by another slave owner. Qinten did not keep injured slaves. The boy continued to be treated only because Qinten knew an injured or sick slave would not bring him as much money.


    Nat grabbed his cloak from the peg on the back of the pantry door. ¡°I¡¯m gone,¡± he called to Cook, then turned to Gowdy. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The two strode across the portico and through the gate onto the street. Nat became aware of a freedom he had not experienced in many years. He had not felt this freedom since he had been sold into slavery as a child. He wondered again what had happened to his little sister. To sell a child into slavery should be a crime, but in this city, it was no crime.


    ¡°What should the boy be like?¡± Gowdy startled Nat from his thoughts.


    ¡°Boy? Yes, the boy.¡± He glanced at his companion who laughed. ¡°Oh, I was thinking.¡± Nat joined Gowdy in his good-natured laughter.


    ¡°Freedom to walk is a pleasure denied me for many years. I savor the opportunity,¡± Nat said.


    ¡°Not walked alone before?¡±


    ¡°Not for many years. Always with an escort and wearing chains. Your company, Gowdy, is a pleasure. I don¡¯t feel like I¡¯m being guarded.¡±


    The two walked on, sharing opinions as to the new boy¡¯s requirements, arriving at the plaza near the edge of the city as other men arrived at the slave market. They wended their way toward the docket, intent on choosing one of the middle-aged boys. Nat¡¯s skin tingled in awareness. He searched around him to see whose eyes were on him. Briefly, he gazed at the girl, a female version of himself.


    Before he could react, Gowdy touched his arm. ¡°Which of these boys do you think is strong enough to withstand the fires? And who will not need to be tamed of his rebellion?¡±


    Nat turned his attention back to the boys, still amazed Gowdy would respect his opinion. Fighting down the stench-caused nausea, he walked along the line of boys, gazing into their eyes, followed by Gowdy. Some boys stared back at him, hatred flaming to the surface. Others¡¯ attention focused on their feet, refusing to return his stare. Near the end of the line, a boy of about ten peered up with a hesitancy in his stance.


    ¡°Have you the strength to turn a spit?¡± Nat asked, his voice gentle and sympathetic.


    ¡°I can. I am strong. My last master was a rug maker. I carried rugs of every size from the loom to the customer.¡±


    ¡°Awkward loads. Spit turning is dangerous. You would replace a boy who fell in the fire. Can you pay attention?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Roasting fires burn. I can pay attention and stay out of the fire, if you let me.¡± Hope sparkled in his eyes.


    Nat turned. ¡°Gowdy, what do you think? Is the little man strong enough to turn a spit?¡±


    ¡°Doubt it.¡± Gowdy spat on the ground. ¡°Arms are pretty scrawny.¡±


    ¡°I can, sir. Give me a chance.¡± The boy strained against his restraints.


    Gowdy spat again. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    They had reached the end of the line of boys. None of the others demonstrated anything but submission or anger. Nat trailed behind as Gowdy found the market manager. ¡°What is the price of number twenty-seven, boy?¡±


    The manager scanned his market list. ¡°That ¡®un is slated for the mines, ¡®less sum¡¯un offers enough.¡±


    ¡°Why? He is scrawny and weak. Probably won¡¯t work for us.¡± Gowdy turned as though uninterested. Nat held back his argument, aware of his companion¡¯s plan.


    ¡°What¡¯re ya willin¡¯ to pay?¡± The manager grabbed Gowdy¡¯s shoulder.


    Gowdy growled and slapped the hand off. ¡°Do not touch me. I asked a price. Name it.¡±


    ¡°Paid six silvers for him.¡±


    ¡°More like six coppers. Give you a silver,¡± Gowdy retorted. ¡°Boy isn¡¯t worth even that much.¡± When the manager didn¡¯t respond, Gowdy and Nat turned away.


    The manager scratched his dark, bald head and glanced up. ¡°Ya¡¯ drive a tough bargain, Gowdy. One silver it is.¡±


    Nat struggled to keep his eyebrows from the space near his hair. He should not have been surprised. Gowdy was the buyer for kitchen slaves in Qinten¡¯s household. His acquaintance with the slave market manager aided those purchases. Gowdy had purchased Nat almost six years earlier. The market manager was the last of his worries then.


    Gowdy fished a silver from the bag inside his waist and handed the coin to the manager. After testing for purity, he signaled a tall assistant.


    Less than a hand span of the sun¡¯s movement later, the boy followed Nat and Gowdy to his new home. The boy tried chattering his gratitude, but Gowdy grumped and Nat was lost in thought.


    The girl was no slave, as he had believed for all the past years. She obviously lived in wealth, her guide was protective. He had never allowed himself to hope to find her comfortable.


    Cook eyed Nat suspiciously as they entered the kitchen, new boy in tow. ¡°What pasted a grin on your face?¡±


    ¡°He saved this boy from the mines.¡± Gowdy indicated the boy following them. ¡°Do you have a name, boy?¡±


    Nat almost laughed at the boy¡¯s expression. ¡°Me? Of course, I have a name. I am Avram.¡±


    ¡°Nat saved Avram, here, from the mines? Boy¡¯d better show appropriate gratitude,¡± Cook grumbled. ¡°Get him some clothing so he can work.¡±


    Another cook¡¯s assistant ran to the kitchen wardrobe, returning with a short robe and a heavy protective leather apron. Avram donned the clothing and hurried to the spit. Cook nodded to Nat and returned to the meal preparation. Nat smiled. His grin wasn¡¯t for Avram or Cook, and Gowdy didn¡¯t need to know.


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat lay on his back on his cot, hands laced behind his head, still surprised by his sleeping arrangements. For many years, he had slept on the floor, often with little to pull over him against the cold night air. Sometimes, he had been given a rug to lie upon, most often he slept on the hard-packed earth.


    The boys in Qinten¡¯s scullery slept together on the floor, little space between them. That had been good, sometimes, for the closeness of the bodies provided warmth. It was a problem, too, like when Kenji decided to surround him with his cronies.


    For hours that first night, he had felt poking and prodding from all sides. He had ignored it, knowing a reaction would cause an unwanted battering. Eventually, it ended. This had happened several nights, until the lack of response sent Kenji to plan an assault on Nat.


    Since his promotion to Cook¡¯s assistant, Nat slept on a cot, with a thin blanket to cover him. Other boys shared the room, but he was off the floor, away from the vermin.


    When all the preparations for the next day¡¯s meal were complete, Nat was free to do as he pleased. Tonight, he pleased to lie, thinking, on his cot.


    His thoughts returned to his trip to the slave market. Avram¡¯s boast of strength was correct, so far. He stood for hours turning the spit, his attention on his work. So far. Soon the work would become monotonous. Would he then lose attention and fall into the fire as the boy had before?


    Nat hoped not. He liked the boy, Avram. He liked his cheerful willingness to work. Cook noticed, too. He had nodded at him, saying, ¡°Good.¡± For a man as taciturn as Cook, that was a complement. Nat was glad. Avram reminded him of someone. Himself, maybe, with his first owner?


    Hoth had not been cruel, though he insisted his slaves work hard in making bricks. Nat had been assigned first to stamp the straw into the clay, mixing clay, straw, and sand to create bricks that would withstand the sun. It was hard work for a boy, but he had done well, moving to filling the molds after three years. By then, his legs and arms were longer and stronger. Filling the molds was more difficult, but Nat soon learned the trick, becoming both fast and accurate.


    He had worked hard and long, but he hoped he would not be in the service of the brick maker all his life. He did not anticipate, nor desire, the end to Hoth¡¯s service. More than two years after his promotion to filling molds, slaves from his household came to the brick making shed to announce the end. Hoth had losses in his business and started drinking heavily. A fight had ensued at the tavern, and Hoth now lay dying. The slaves in the brickyard would be sold.


    Once more, Nat stood naked and chained with the other slaves in the market. Vekt walked the line that day. Many who had previously belonged to Hoth glared angrily into the eyes of those purchasing new slaves. Nat refused to look at his feet or stare in anger. He waited until he saw a man who appeared to be kind, then glanced in his direction, hope filling his heart. Vekt had responded that day much as Nat had responded to Avram.


    Nat was purchased, spending much of the next two years lugging lengths of trees and leather to support Vekt in his making of drums.


    Had there been a life before slavery? He had almost forgotten the days of being petted and loved by a beautiful mama and a handsome papa. He, and a sister, traveled with them in wagons filled with food and seed. He barely remembered the clean, earthy smell of the seeds. So long ago.


    ¡°You comin¡¯ to the festivities tonight?¡± Drak kicked the end of Nat¡¯s cot and drew him from his memories.


    ¡°Thought I would. Is it time?¡±


    ¡°Yea, but you may want to at least wash your face before you go. Girls prefer a man with a clean face.¡±


    ¡°Like you would know? When were you last with a girl?¡± Nat laughed and headed for the washroom.

 Pomegranates and Sacrifice

    Nat fingered the pouch containing the coins Cook handed him just before they left the kitchens.


    ¡°You are not to waste this, use it only on the items on your list, and get the best price you can. I expect you to bring most of these coins home.¡± Cook had glared at him. ¡°And stay safe.¡±


    The last had been almost a whisper.


    Now, Nat walked once again free of chains. This time he traveled with Drak and Avram. They had been sent to purchase sufficient produce for the upcoming Growing Festival of Lorca, which was to be celebrated in the priest¡¯s home. Qinten sought the honor of High Priest of Lorca. Second in line for this honor, the festival celebration in his home would give him merit in the upcoming election.


    Nat knew he must bring only the freshest, only the best fruits and vegetables. Cook required rare fruits, found only in distant lands. He especially desired pomegranates. He hoped to scatter the seeds across the desserts. Nat understood they would be expensive, if they were available.


    As they walked through the market, Nat kept his eyes open for danger. Cutpurses and robbers attacked the unwary and unsuspecting and those who shopped alone. He did not want to be their victim. This was no time to jest and play with his companions. He enjoyed this freedom and hoped to be called upon to do it again.


    They searched each stall for the needed produce, purchasing beans in one, pears from another, gingerly placing each item in the basket Avram carried. A stall in the middle of the market held the prized pomegranates. Nat signaled Drak to be extra vigilant in his guard duties.


    ¡°Pomegranates,¡± Nat said. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°I have but three that are not promised to another.¡± The shopkeeper moved the fruit to the top of the pile. ¡°These are a copper each.¡±


    ¡°Promised? Promised to whom? I will pay you two coppers for each, if you give me eight. If you give me ten, I will pay twenty-five coppers.¡± Nat fingered the coins in his pouch.


    ¡°The High Priest of Lorca has requested them and offered fifty coppers for twenty. I have but twenty-three.¡±


    Nat knew he was inflating the value of the fruits. No one would pay so much for so few, even these rare fruits.


    He shrugged. ¡°Then, three will have to do.¡± He reached into his pouch and handed the man three coppers.


    ¡°You offered me two for each. Now you give me only one?¡± The shopkeeper moved to draw back the three prized fruits.


    ¡°Two if you sell me eight. You have but three, so, three coppers it is.¡± Nat reached for the three pomegranates.


    ¡°The High Priest does not need all these. I will sell you ten, for twenty-five coppers, as you offered.¡±


    ¡°You are certain the High Priest will not miss them?¡± Nat reached into his pouch for more coppers as the shopkeeper shook his head. He counted the correct number into the merchant¡¯s hand. The coins disappeared below the counter and he handed over seven more large pomegranates. Nat silently handed them to Avram.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nat said and turned to leave.


    ¡°You are welcome. Be careful. They wait for you.¡± The man behind the counter nodded toward the other side of the plaza.


    Nat nodded and the three young men crossed the plaza toward the street that would take them home. Suddenly, Kenji appeared in front of Nat, staring into his eyes.


    ¡°Hello, Kenji.¡± Drak stepped forward with outstretched hand.


    ¡°Drak.¡± Kenji continued to stare at Nat.


    ¡°How are you Kenji?¡± Nat worked to maintain his nonchalance. ¡°Things good with you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they are. You got me outta Qinten¡¯s place. For that, I owe you thanks.¡± Kenji stretched his hand toward Nat.


    Nat did not trust this enemy from years ago, but he reached out and clasped him by the forearm. ¡°Glad you are good, Kenji.¡±


    ¡°This is all the thanks you get. Don¡¯t come into my market again. You will not get off so easy.¡± Kenji dropped his hand and disappeared into the crowd with his companions.


    Nat, Drak, and Avram glanced at each other before continuing across the plaza. They neither rushed nor strolled across the market. Nat did not want to draw attention to their small group, nor did he want the trouble that would follow such attention.


    He knew this was not a friendly encounter, regardless of the half-smile on Kenji¡¯s face. He had experienced otherwise. He nodded to Drak to stay alert. Drak¡¯s grimace told him all he needed. He didn¡¯t trust Kenji either and would maintain his watchfulness. Nat scanned the crowd, glad of Avram¡¯s quiet sensibility.


    No laughter or congratulations passed between the trio as they made their way along the streets to Qinten¡¯s home. The tension between them could be plucked by a lute performer by the time they entered the kitchen. Cook¡¯s eyebrows climbed high, waiting for them to deposit their purchases in the pantry in silence.


    ¡°Was I wrong to send you boys alone to the market?¡± Cook broke the silence.


    ¡°No, Cook,¡± Nat answered. ¡°We were able to purchase everything on the list, including ten pomegranates. Here is the pouch, with money left over.¡± He shook the pouch, making the coins within jingle, then handed it to Cook.


    ¡°As it should. Why the tension when you three walked in?¡±


    Nat glanced at Drak and shook his head slightly. ¡°We encountered an old friend on the market plaza. We weren¡¯t sure Kenji would allow us to return peacefully.¡±


    ¡°Kenji!¡± Cook spat the name as he would spit out rotten food. ¡°He did not interrupt you?¡±


    ¡°No. He thanked me and left. Strange for him.¡±


    ¡°We need those vegetables prepared now, if we are to be ready for the festival tonight.¡± Cook returned to his work.


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    Nat hung his cloak on the back of the pantry door and retrieved the basket of vegetables. When he returned to the kitchen, Drak had gone back to his duties and Avram sat beside the fire, turning the spit, a smile firmly in place.


    Hours later, the food was ready. Nat and Drak returned to their rooms to wash and don fresh livery. They were to help serve the meal and refreshments. The usual servers were not enough for a festival this large. They carried heavy dishes of food to the sideboard, ready to be served to individual diners. Fruits and deserts waited in the cool pantry for the appropriate time to serve.


    Drak stationed himself near the slabs of beef and pork, ready to slice off portions. Nat stood behind the table of vegetables, available to dish up portions to the guests. Others were positioned behind the other tables, waiting to serve other dishes. All was ready.


    ~ ~ ~


    Ziva sat in stiff silence beside her father in their carriage. How could Orak agree to take me to celebrate the Lorcan Growing Festival at Qinten¡¯s home? It will be difficult to ignore the man in his own home. Her fuming made her kick a foot out, just missing Orak¡¯s.


    Hot embarrassment drove color through her face. She pulled her foot back and forced herself to consider her father¡¯s situation. He had little choice. She gazed at her hands, tightly folded in her lap and remembered the conversation.


    Orak had called her to his office that morning to share the invitation. ¡°You must attend with me, Ziv. I am sorry. I know I promised you would not be given to Qinten. And you won¡¯t.¡±


    The flash of anger at those words filled her once more. She tamped them down now, as then. ¡°Then why must I attend? You know he is an evil man.¡±


    ¡°Qinten is the priest responsible for the procurement of grains and animals for their sacrifices. You know I provide them with grains and cattle. After the fire in the granary, I must keep the contract.¡±


    Ziva grimaced and Orak rushed on. ¡°I must attend to ensure the sales continue. Qinten demanded that I bring you or I will lose the contract. We have no choice, not this time. Please, Ziva. Do not cause me a problem.¡±


    Ziva had thought a few breaths, her face drawn. ¡°Yes, Father. I will attend with you. Not happily, but I do understand.¡± She had leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek.


    Orak had wrapped his arms around her in gratitude and love. ¡°Thank you, Ziv. I knew you would understand.¡±


    Now they sat in their carriage, dressed in Festival finery. She was not comfortable, for attending this festival meant she wore much less than she liked. The skimpy, low-necked top was made of a sheer light-blue fabric the color of a peacock¡¯s feather. The skirt hanging low on her hips was equally filmy, though in a darker blue to protect a minuscule portion of her modesty. Tawna¡¯s father, Bram, had provided the costume. Ziva still couldn¡¯t decide if she should thank him for it.


    The carriage came to a jarring halt. They had arrived. The coachman opened the door, holding it as Orak climbed out. Orak turned to take Ziva¡¯s hand and help her out.


    ¡°You look beautiful,¡± he said, wrapping a cape around her shoulders.


    ¡°If only I could keep this cape on.¡± Wistfulness filled her voice. ¡°This ¡®costume¡¯ is not appropriate for a decent young woman.¡±


    ¡°I know, Ziv. This festival is not appropriate for decent young women, yet we must attend. We will stay only as long as is required. I promise.¡±


    Ziva gave him a weak smile, then squared her shoulders and planted a smile on her face. Together, they walked into Qinten¡¯s house and the festival.


    The festival overwhelmed Ziva with lurid sights and scents. Participants gorged on the food, pushing and shoving to get the finest tidbits, though there was plenty, and it all tasted wonderful. Ziva stood back, waiting her turn. She received only a small portion, still, more than enough for her.


    Sweet incense enticed those in the room to exotic acts. Loud, fast music enticed men and women onto the floor to dance. The men felt free to touch the women and girls wherever they chose, receiving little or no complaint. Ziva sat along the wall, trying to escape the depravity.


    Earlier, Qinten roamed through the crowds, speaking to the celebrants. His eyes landed on Orak and Ziva more than once, but before he could reach them through the crowds, they had wandered on, escaping his attention.


    The music ended and the dancers moved to their seats, trading ribald jests. Priests moved across the floor, scattering sand.


    Thirteen tiny boys, no more than three, dressed in only tiny loin wraps, carried colorful woven bowls, nearly as large as the child, filled with grains. Each boy carried a different variety. A priest stepped forward to accept the bowl from the boys as they drew near the low altar set at the feet of the figure of Lorca. Above them, a human male body with an enormous phallus loomed, his huge eagle head stared past a giant beak toward the low bowl held in his hands, filled with burning coals. The priest raised the bowl of grain to the horrid figure three times, then placed it in the bowl in its hands. Fire licked each bowl, until the fragrance of cooking, then burning grains permeated the room.


    Ziva held her face calm, hiding her abhorrence. When the drums exploded into a wild beat, drawing girls and women to the dance floor in preparation for the final rite. She sat near the wall with a smile pasted on her face and her feet firmly planted on the floor, refusing to tap to the enticing music. She sat with folded arms, refusing to participate. Girls spun about the room with hips wiggling and breasts bouncing, tempting the men who followed their every move. She fought to prevent the deep embarrassment she felt for the dancing girls¡¯ antics from coloring her light skin that showed every emotion. She moved farther back in the watching crowd until her back touched the wall, trying to hide.


    Servants or slaves, probably slaves in Qinten¡¯s home, busied themselves removing the remains of the meal the crowd of revelers had consumed. A young man in Qinten¡¯s livery caught her eye, the same one she saw at the slave market. His elegant livery showed off the muscles in his legs and arms. The man looked at her, knowingly, then returned to his work.


    Ziva did not believe in coincidences. This man must mean something in her life. But what?


    She turned back to the spectacle as the music ended. The dancing girls vacated the floor and the musicians left the room. Chairs scraped the tile floor as men made space for the girls, bright with the sheen of sweat, to sit beside them. Orak moved behind Ziva, placing his comforting hands on her shoulders and bent to speak softly in her ear.


    ¡°This is the last rite. When it ends, we can leave this foul extravaganza. I tire of the noise.¡±


    She looked up at him and a grateful smile flashed through her eyes. She faced forward to observe this last rite, eager to leave. She wondered what the final rite would include. Whatever it was, it would be vulgar and disgusting.


    The buzz of activity calmed. Priests moved to the center of the room. Qinten stood at the base of the image of Lorca waiting. Nine prepubescent girls, dressed in tiny white dresses, led a young ewe lamb. The girls proudly paraded their fluffy charges around the circle of festival attendees. One by one, each girl was called to the altar.


    The first girl knelt and presented her lamb to Qinten. He took the creature by the feet and raised it in offering to the terrible image. In one swift motion, he lay the lamb on the low altar and sliced its throat, to the roaring approval of the crowd. Lifting the carcass, Qinten allowed the blood to drip on the face and into the mouth of the little shepherdess. Another priest relieved him of the corpse and dripped blood into the waiting mouths of the cheering horde, then dropped it into the fire in the figure¡¯s hands.


    Each girl repeated the rite. Ziva noticed the sixth little girl kept her precious charge close, trying to protect her lamb. Qinten glared at the girl, until she stepped forward to offer her lamb. When it was her turn to accept the blood offering, Ziva saw the little girls¡¯ tears join with the blood.


    Orak and Ziva kept to the back of the throng, avoiding the offering of blood. She stared as each lamb was placed in the arms of the huge image to burn. The odor of burnt flesh joined with the acrid bouquet of blood and burning grains, sickening and disgusting her. She tried not to gag.


    The drums exploded in wild rhythms and girls, including Kara and Tawna, leapt to dance wildly across the blood on the floor. But not Ziva. The vitality within her cringed away from the appalling vision.  She had not shouted in joy nor raised her hands in adulation. She yearned to leave the scene of horror.


    Orak appeared in front of her, took her by the arm, and guided her along the outside edges of the room and into the night. Ziva breathed deeply of the clear night air, grateful to have avoided interacting with Qinten. Their carriage stood waiting for Orak to help Ziva into the welcome silence.

 Selection

    ¡°Time has come for me to agree to your mating,¡± Orak said. ¡°You are old enough. You will be sixteen soon, old enough to be mated.¡±


    Ziva sat in a comfortable chair in Orak¡¯s study, invited here only when he had serious things to say to her. She gazed at his desk. His mahogany colored hand lay on top, in contrast to the light birch. She reached over and set her small pink hand on his.


    She had been waiting for this day since she was a little girl. She had dreamed of the man Orak would give her to, hoping he would find a kind man who would love her as much as her father did.


    Ziva waited for Orak to speak. As the silence extended, she began to fear. If he couldn¡¯t bring himself to talk about it, it must be bad.


    After several attempts to speak and multiple clearing of his throat, Orak finally managed to speak. ¡°Qinten has asked that I give you to him as his mate.¡±


    ¡°Qinten?¡± she squealed. ¡°I would rather mate with almost any other man.¡±


    Orak gazed into her eyes. ¡°I know, Ziva. I¡¯d rather agree to your mating with any other man than Qinten.¡±


    ¡°Then, why? Why do you even consider Qinten?¡±


    ¡°Things have ¡­ well, things have happened.¡± He pulled his hands back and stared at his fingernails.


    ¡°What things have happened? What would force you to expect me to mate with that pond scum?¡± Ziva¡¯s voice raised in both volume and pitch with each word. ¡°Of all men, Qinten. Ugh.¡± She worked to regain control of herself.


    ¡°You remember why we went to the festival last week?¡±


    Ziva nodded, beginning to fear for her father.


    ¡°He threatened me. If you don¡¯t mate with him, he¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll ruin you,¡± she whispered. ¡°You want me to give myself to him to protect you and your business.¡±


    ¡°If he ruins me, good men and women will no longer have a means to live. There are many men and women in my employment. If I lose my businesses, if I lose my place, they lose everything, as well. I have little choice.¡± He hung his head, staring at his desk.


    ¡°Is there no way out? Can you not argue with him? Is there no other answer?¡± In her anger and frustration, Ziva wept.


    Orak came around the desk to lay a hand on her shoulder. ¡°None that I have been able to find. I have been searching for a way out of this for weeks since he demanded your hand.¡±


    ¡°When was that?¡±


    ¡°After the party at Roven¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°And you agreed I would be his mate?¡±


    ¡°No. Not yet. Yesterday, he gave me a week to decide, after I told him there was no way I would give my daughter to him as his mate.¡±


    ¡°Good for you, Father. Show him you have a backbone. How did he threaten you?¡± Ziva wiped the tears from her face.


    Orak returned to his seat behind his desk. ¡°His threat was subtle, hanging between us. If I don¡¯t give you to him, he will destroy me.¡±


    ¡°Why would he want me? I am different from most women in Nod. None are as pale as me, most have beautiful dark skin. What about me entices him?¡±


    ¡°You are beautiful, my dear. Beautiful and exotic. Your light skin sets you apart from others in Nod. Qinten is looking for someone to help him move up, to become a high priest in his cult. He is seeking a beautiful exotic wife. You.¡± Orak¡¯s eyes filled with pride, immediately followed by sorrow.


    ¡°Exotic? Me? No.¡± Ziva raised her hands in front of her, palms out, as though to push the thought away.


    ¡°You are an exotic beauty. I don¡¯t want you to be his mate. I have heard he is an angry, depraved man. He will not care for you as I always have. He may be cruel. I have heard stories. But what can I do? What can we do?¡±


    ¡°He is a vile, wicked man. I want no part of him. Can you put him off, insist he not announce anything for at least ¡ª what? ¡ªsix months, a year?¡±


    ¡°I can try but under what pretext? And for what purpose?¡±


    ¡°To discover a way to escape his trap!¡± Ziva wanted to shout at her father.


    ¡°We must come up with a good excuse, a good reason to ask that we postpone the announcement.¡±


    ¡°I am sick? I am not old enough? I desire to be wooed, charmed? There must be a way, a reason to put him off. Maybe he¡¯ll grow tired of waiting.¡±


    ¡°Even if he does, you will have to mate sometime soon. I grow old. You need a man to protect you.¡± Though Orak shook his head, his face brightened. ¡°I would like to bounce a grandchild on my knee before I leave this life.¡±


    ¡°I will agree to another man. I will love someone, but I will not mate that horrible man¡±


    ¡°Remember, Ziva. Most fathers are not as kind. They do not give in to their daughters, as I give in to you. They do not give their daughters a choice. It is the law in Nod. Girls mate the man chosen for them by their father. Girls have no choice.¡±


    Ziva bowed her head, then ran around the desk to hug her father. ¡°Thank you, Father! We can solve this problem. We can keep him away.¡±


    ¡°We will find a way. Orak patted her on the back. ¡°There must be a way.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ~ ~ ~


    A moon passed, and another seven-days. Nat spent much of his free time, and some of the time when he worked, thinking of his little sister, who wasn¡¯t so little any more. She had grown into a poised, elegant, young woman. How old was she now?


    Nat counted back the years. He had now been Qinten¡¯s slave for a few moons more than five years, most of them in the cleaning yard, cleaning out kettles, only recently had he been promoted to Cook¡¯s helper.


    Before that, Vekt owned him. He worked hard for him, carrying leather and long lengths of trees to him. Some days he sat near Vekt as he hollowed out the tree lengths, tapping on them, and listening for the tone. During these days, Nat had become adept at transporting hot coals from the fire to the tree. More often, he stood beside Vekt with a bucket of water, waiting to douse the fire.


    It had not been easy nor had he been fed well. Vekt often forgot to eat or feed Nat, and no woman lived with him to help. The lengths of trees strengthened Nat¡¯s wiry muscles. He wouldn¡¯t have minded staying longer with Vekt. But Vekt fell on hard times, the priests of Lorca stopped buying his drums, and the other cults followed Lorca¡¯s lead and stopped purchasing from Vekt. Confronting overwhelming debts, Vekt had reluctantly sold Nat to the slave market not even two years after he had purchased him. Vekt had sobbed on Nat¡¯s shoulder that day, but it could not be helped. If he was to avoid total ruin, Nat had to be sold.


    That left the five years, and a little bit, he had made bricks for Hoth, as his slave. Five years with Hoth, two with Vekt, and now five more owned by Qinten. Twelve years.


    Ziva had been three when they were taken from their parents. Do Mama and Papa still think of us and wonder where we are? He hoped so. He had glimpsed the necklace of beads she still wore, orange, black, and tan. He remembered rolling the clay for those beads.


    His papa had told him ¡­ told him ¡­ He struggled to remember that day so long ago. Yes. That¡¯s what Papa had said, ¡°Remember to care for her.¡± He had promised he would. And she had been taken from his arms by a slaver. Silent tears rolled down his face.


    ¡°You are wanted by the Master in his apartments,¡± Cook growled. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Nat quickly wiped the tears from his face and turned to face Cook, shrugging his shoulders. ¡°I thought I was staying out of trouble.¡±


    ¡°Well, not well enough. You are wanted. Go.¡±


    Nat left the kitchen and walked through the house. He had been to the Master¡¯s apartments once before and hesitated to impose his dirty self on his sanctuary. He found Qinten standing near the door to his apartments, giving instructions to another slave.


    Nat stood at a respectful distance, far enough to not appear to be listening in, but close enough to know when it was safe to approach.


    Though he did not fear Qinten, Nat had a healthy respect for his temper. He had seen the results of others who had not been as respectful as expected. Thus, he waited until the Master signaled for him to approach.


    ¡°You desire my presence, Master?¡± Nat stood with a straight back and bowed head, his eyes on his feet.


    ¡°Nat, is it?¡± Qinten¡¯s voice sounded gruff and scratchy. ¡°Cook has given a good report about you. Says you work hard and are resourceful. He told me how you obtained the pomegranates for the Growing Festival.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Master.¡± Nat started to flick his eyes up, then remembered to keep them on his feet.


    ¡°I have need of a personal servant, one who is resourceful, hardworking, and unafraid to fight for himself.¡±


    Nat flinched. He had not fought anyone except Kenji, who had been ejected from the house almost five years ago.


    ¡°You may lift your head, Nat. Let me look into your eyes.¡±


    Nat slowly raised his head, keeping his eyes carefully directed away from the Master. Qinten walked around him, sometimes reaching to poke or prod, lifting the brown, curling hair from his neck. After a time, he, again, stood in front of Nat, staring, apparently in deep thought.


    ¡°You are different, somehow. I cannot determine what makes you so,¡± he murmured. ¡°Yes. You will do. You are my personal servant.¡± Qinten pulled a note from within his robe and handed it to Nat. ¡°Go to the wardrobe for appropriate clothing. Meet me in my apartments in one span.¡±


    Qinten turned, opened his door, and disappeared inside.


    Nat felt the eyebrows on his face rise in surprise as he walked back the way he came. What had brought him to the attention of the Master? He had not wanted it and had not sought a change. He was happy in the kitchen with his friends. Would he still sleep with them? How would this affect him? Would he change and become like the Master?


    Shaking his head slightly at the mystery, he made his way to the wardrobe. He silently handed the note Qinten had given him to Mott, the slave who supported the head wardrobe attendant. He had been absorbed in his worrying and had not glanced at it. He should have, it was writing, and he had not had an opportunity often to practice his reading. Now, it was too late.


    ¡°Who are you dressing today, Nat? Another new foundling kitchen slave?¡± Mott laughed as he took the note. The laughter died on his lips as he read. ¡°I apologize, great one.¡± He bowed his head. I did not know.¡±


    ¡°Know what? I am still Nat. We sleep in cots near to each other. You have no need to bow to me. I am a slave, as you are.¡± Nat looked at his clothing. ¡°Only dirtier.¡±


    ¡°You did not read this note¡± Mott shoved it into his hands.


    Provide this slave with the gold clothing of a personal servant of the Master. Treat him with the honor of his station.


    ¡°Honor? Me?¡± Wonder filled his voice. ¡°I am still Nat, slave in the kitchens. You do not need to bow to me.¡±


    ¡°You say this now,¡± Mott said, ¡°but you will change. They all do in the presence of the Master.¡±


    ¡°I will not,¡± Nat said to Mott¡¯s retreating back. ¡°I will not become like him. I will honor my parents,¡± he whispered.


    In less than a finger span, Mott returned with a pile of clothing.


    ¡°Put these on now, please. You should not be wearing the short tunic of a kitchen slave.¡± Mott voiced the instructions in a distant tone, no longer the friend he had been when Nat had entered the wardrobe.


    Nat removed his clothing down to his small clothes, then pulled the light-weight, golden tunic over his head. The fabric was softer, thicker, with a richness to the touch. It was not as long as the Master¡¯s, yet it hung to his knees, longer than the short tunic he wore in the kitchen.


    Length of tunic was a sign of status in Nod. He had never expected to wear anything so long.


    He slipped his arms through the robe of darker gold, just longer than the tunic. These colors were only worn by close servants to the Master. Now he was wearing them? Lastly, he stooped to settle slippers of the darker gold on his feet.


    Nat pinched his thigh between his fingers, hoping to waken himself.


    ¡°You are awake. This is real.¡± Mott held the kitchen clothing in his hands.


    ¡°I hoped it was a dream. I like working in the kitchen.¡±


    ¡°You will never work in the kitchen again, at least not here,¡± Mott said.


    Nat shook his head as he left the wardrobe and made his way back to the Master¡¯s apartments, noting the softness of the fabric against his skin, the gentle bumping against his legs. It was strange to wear slippers over his calloused feet. He had not worn shoes since being taken into slavery so many years ago.


    He became aware of the other slaves stopping as he passed. Each bowed as Mott had done. They had taken little thought of him in his earlier travels through these same halls, except those who stopped him to ask why a kitchen servant was wandering in this part of the house.


    Now, even these bowed their heads as he passed. It made him feel strange. He wanted to shout at them, tell them he was the same Nat, the same slave who had worked for Cook in the kitchen that very morning.


    Something kept him quiet. The last thing Mott said to him. Never work in the kitchen again? Would he be welcome to visit? Probably not, especially dressed like this. He had never seen others in tunics like his in the kitchen.


    Nat vowed to himself he would not change. He would not become pompous as other high placed slaves had. He was still his mama¡¯s and papa¡¯s son. He remembered their faces, their names. He had not changed in all these years as a slave. This elevation would not change him, either.

 Evaluation

    ¡°Your father has found a prospective mate for you?¡± Tawna sat with Ziva in her parlor in the white velvet lounge chairs. ¡°I do enjoy the luxury of your soft chairs and the whisper of the curtains. They tickle when they flow against my back.¡±


    The two girls had been visiting and sharing together for almost a hand span as the sun dropped from its zenith.


    Ziva leaned back in her chair and grimaced. Her eyes bounced from Tawna to Tigre who languished on the floor in a spot of sunshine. ¡°He has but I will not mate with him.¡±


    ¡°No? Why?¡±


    ¡°He has a dark soul. I will die early if I were to mate him.¡± She frowned then thought better of it and allowed her smile to shine again.


    ¡°Dark soul? I have heard you say that about someone before. Who was it?¡± Tawna tapped her long dark finger against her white teeth.


    Ziva shook her head and stared at the cat. ¡°I told you. I¡¯m not sharing. I do not want it to happen. I pray it won¡¯t. I will not share the name.¡±


    ¡°You fear it will happen if you speak the name?¡±


    ¡°No. I do not want my name tangled with his in any way.¡±


    Ziva watched her friend think about her words. Although Tawna¡¯s face was not as open as Ziva¡¯s, Ziva and Tawna had been friends for many years and Ziva could read her friend¡¯s face and discern her thoughts. Tawna planned another ploy to trick the answer from her. Ziva wouldn¡¯t fall for it.


    ¡°Why do you not want to be mated to this man?¡± Tawna asked. Her finger continued to tap her teeth.


    Ziva pondered the response, her foot bouncing fast. She recognized it metered her agitation and set it on the floor.


    ¡°Because¡­¡± her foot began to bounce once more. ¡°No, I can¡¯t say that. He is ¡­¡± she stared at her bouncing foot. Tigre stood up and jumped on her lap. She stroked his luxurious fur.


    ¡°Oh, Tawna, I want nothing to do with this man. His soul is dark. He thinks he is better than everyone else, especially women. His reputation is black. I have heard of women who have been with him describe him as cruel and vicious. Why would I want a man who has been cruel and vicious with other women? Why would I want anything to do with a man like him?¡±


    Tawna lay her hand in her lap. ¡°When you put it that way, I agree. Why would you want to be connected to a man like that? I can think of many men who fit that description. Some of them I danced with at the last festival.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. When I think of becoming the mate of one of those men, I quiver. Many times, it feels better to find a way to never be mated. I do not want to be abused by my mate. I want to be loved and cherished by a man, like my mother was cherished by my father. I am blessed to know love. Sadly, many men have never been loved and don¡¯t know how to love. How can I agree to mate with a man like that?¡± Tigre now lay sleeping in her lap.


    Tawna stared at her friend. ¡°Cherish? What is cherish? You have such different ideas. My parents love me. They love each other, too. But what is cherish?¡± Tawna pursed her lips and lowered her eyebrows.


    ¡°Cherish?¡± Ziva stared at Tawna and glanced down at her now still foot. ¡°My father cherishes me. He cares for me and loves me deeply. I love Tigre. He is my confidant. I will be sad if he leaves me,¡± she stopped to swallow, ¡°if he dies. But, I don¡¯t cherish him. I want to be admired by someone like my father admires and cares for me. I want to be defended, encouraged, and honored. Isn¡¯t that what you want, Tawna?¡±


    Tawna brushed her hair from her face and sat thinking. ¡°Can parents cherish each other and more than one child? I have two sisters and three brothers. Is it possible for my father to cherish all of us? Even when his temper flares?¡± She shook her head. ¡°I am confused by this word, this idea.¡±


    Ziva glanced at her cat and scratched behind his ears. ¡°I have a memory¡­ No. It is gone. I believe a man can cherish his wife and all his children. It must be so.¡±


    ¡°To be cherished? Yes, I would like that, if I could be cherished by a wealthy man.¡± Tawna smoothed the front of her dress.


    ¡°Wealth?¡± Ziva raised her eyebrows. ¡°You must have a wealthy man?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Don¡¯t you? All you know is the pampered life of your father¡¯s house. Don¡¯t tell me you think you can be happy with a man of less wealth or even a poor man?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ziva answered, stretching out the vowel. ¡°I would like to mate a wealthy man. It would make life easier if he were. I would hope love would make a difference, if he were not.¡±


    ¡°Not me,¡± Tawna retorted. ¡°I would settle for someone who treats me well, as long as he is wealthy. I like my life, even if I have to share it with my sisters and brothers. It would be nice to be spoiled, like my sisters.¡±


    ¡°And you aren¡¯t?¡± Ziva chuckled. ¡°You always have new dresses. Isn¡¯t that one new?¡±


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Well, yes. But, I¡¯m not spoiled like Giselle. Her lower lip just has to peek out, and Father gives in. Gisselle¡¯s tears are unbearable!¡±


    Ziva toyed with her cat¡¯s tail until its switching warned her to stop. ¡°Who would you mate with, if you had a choice?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Tawna reached up and rubbed her ear. ¡°If I could be mated to any man I choose? How strange to think of choosing a man! They do all the choosing. We do not even have the right to accept or reject. We do as we are told. Our fathers do all the choosing, accepting, and rejecting. But, if I could choose a man ¡­¡± she stopped to think, her finger moved to the side of her mouth, the red paint on her fingernails pointing to her beautiful eyes. ¡°If I could choose, I would choose Qinten, priest to Lorca.¡±


    ¡°Qinten? I thought Kara liked Qinten. Do you follow the cult of Lorca?¡±


    ¡°Not really, but the cult is interesting. I don¡¯t care if Kara wants him, I can dream, too. I would be a priestess and he is wealthy.¡±


    ¡°You would mate for wealth?¡± Ziva¡¯s shock at her friend¡¯s choice showed on her face.


    ¡°No, silly. He is a handsome man. Everyone knows he is maneuvering to be High Priest in the next elections. I would be his High Priestess.¡± Tawna shivered visibly in excitement. ¡°It would be wonderful.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful to slice the throats of little lambs? I hear you would also share your bed with other priestesses, other women, and other priests. You want that?¡± Ziva¡¯s usually calm face twisted and her cat dug his claws into her legs as he jumped off her lap. ¡°Ow, Tigre. That hurt.¡±


    Tawna touched the back of her neck and glanced around the sitting room. ¡°No. He would not do that to me. Would he?¡± A tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed.


    Ziva hurried to her friend, wrapping her in her arms.


    ¡°You can mate with Qinten, if you choose. It is your dream, not mine.¡±


    Tawna wiped the tear from her face and smile a weak smile. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Ziv. I do not get to choose. He must choose me.¡±


    The discussion moved to the upcoming Harvest Festival and where they would attend, which cult would be more interesting


    ¡°Mother will not allow me to attend Harvest Festival at the temple of Lorca. She says I am still too young,¡± Tawna pouted.


    ¡°Who would want to attend any festival in Lorca¡¯s temples?¡± Ziva growled. ¡°I certainly do not. I hope I never have to attend another festival led by a priest of Lorca.¡± She knew her words were too blunt, but she could not soften them.


    ¡°So where will you go? Everyone has to attend the festival.¡± Tawna twirled a curl around a finger.


    ¡°Why does everyone have to attend? I don¡¯t know where Orak will take me. Where will you go?¡±


    ¡°We will go to Nimm. Mother has decided. It is milder than Lorca, but closer to what we should expect.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we will meet you there.¡± Ziva stared out her window, hoping she could just stay home. She hated the noise and tension of the festivals.


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat tapped on the door to the Master¡¯s apartments. Another slave walked past. ¡°Do you not know to walk in. That is your right now.¡±


    He opened the door and walked into the apartment. He looked around and didn¡¯t see Master Qinten, until he heard a sound behind a door. Perhaps there? He rapped softly on the door.


    Qinten¡¯s voice spoke from the other side. ¡°Come.¡±


    Nat opened the door and entered, being certain to keep his eyes down.


    ¡°Right on time. Turn around,¡± Qinten ordered.


    Nat turned slowly in a circle, the folds of his robe gently flaring with his movement, his slippers making a soft shush on the marble floor. The colors flattered him, the tunic just tight enough to show his muscled arms. He felt better than he had in many years.


    ¡°As my personal servant, you may look into my face,¡± Qinten said, ¡°but not in my eyes.¡±


    Nat lifted his eyes to Qinten¡¯s face, especially careful not to seek the eyes of his master.


    ¡°You may speak,¡± Qinten said.


    ¡°Thank you, Master.¡± Nat bowed from the waist. ¡°What is wanted of me?¡±


    Surprise flashed across Qinten¡¯s face, before he smoothed it from his face.


    ¡°You are to be my personal servant. You will help me as I command.¡±


    ¡°And now? What do you command of me now?¡± Nat spoke quietly.


    ¡°You read and write?¡±


    Nat worked to smooth away the surprise from his face. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Read through these papers. Tell me which merchant I should use to purchase the animals we need for our next sacrifice. My eyes are tired of looking at them.¡± Qinten handed a stack of papers to Nat.


    Nat nodded and glanced around the small study. ¡°Is there some place I may sit?¡±


    ¡°Sit there at my desk for now.¡± Qinten waved an arm in the direction of his desk and chair.


    Nat sat in the indicated chair and began to read through the papers. As he read, he saw Qinten sit in the comfortable chair across the room and watch him. Nat read through one page, then another, often referring to an earlier page.


    He reached for a pen, then thought better of it. He looked to Qinten. ¡°May I take notes?¡±


    Qinten nodded. Nat retrieved the pen and a blank page of vellum, on which he jotted notes about the things he was reading. He glanced at another page and wrote a note. He became absorbed in the project, happy he had made a point to read everything he saw during his years away from his parents. It made this task easier.


    Nat read through all the papers, glancing up at Qinten only once, to see a smile playing about his face. Strange for the things he had heard about the Master. He returned to the project, focusing on the numbers before him and the names of the merchants. He heard a muttering, something about a girl who was intelligent and beautiful, yet different from her father. Nat kept his head down, unwilling to give Qinten an opportunity to dismiss him before he even started.


    He focused again on the information in front of him, thinking about the different merchants, when Qinten slammed his fist into his palm. Something, or someone, irritated the man. His determination to avoid such irritation deepened.


    He wrote another figure on his page of notes and considered their meaning. Only one merchant had the ability to provide most of the animals for the upcoming sacrifices. Orak, whoever that was.


    Nat looked up and waited for Qinten to notice.


    ¡°What did you learn?¡± Qinten asked.


    ¡°There are many who can provide the sacrifices needed by Lorca. You can purchase from many or from one. Which is your choice, Master?¡±


    Another small smile crossed the Master¡¯s face. ¡°For now, I will continue to purchase from Orak. However, if he displeases, me, I will purchase from others.¡±


    Nat returned to the papers, noting how many of each animal they would need to purchase for the next festival.

 A Dance or Three

    Nat bent over the figures on his desk. The Harvest Festival preparations were almost complete. He checked and double checked the numbers. As a major holiday in Nod, all celebrations originated in one of the four god cult temples. Nat sighed and stared out the window at the setting sun. It may be easier if some of the celebrations spilled into Qinten¡¯s home.


    From experience, Nat knew Cook, Baker, and their helpers in the kitchen were busier than ever, preparing foods to be delivered to the temple. Some were to be shared among the celebrants. Some of the sweet treats would be available for purchase, the money going into the coffers of the temple. No wonder Qinten desired to be High Priest. All that money under his control. What man with a greedy nature, like Qinten¡¯s, would not crave that much money, and the power that it provided.


    Providing grains and animals for the multiple sacrifices had fallen to Qinten and now Nat. The number of sacrifices for the Harvest Festival appeared to be greater than required for the Growing Festival. Fourteen bowls of grain and thirteen ewe lambs would be sacrificed each of the three days of the festival. Three young goats would also be sacrificed on each day of the festival.


    Nat added up the actual numbers of needed sacrifices and compared it to those required for the past one day Growing Festival. Extra sacrifices and triple days of sacrifices added up to less than those sacrificed on the one-day festival, replicated in eleven private homes plus the one offered by the High Priest of Lorca in their temple.


    He tried not to consider all the blood from the sacrifices. It sickened him. Such a waste of food needed by the masses of poor people who lived in Nod. Some of the food now being prepared by Cook and Baker would feed these poor, binding them to Lorca.


    By law, all who resided in Nod were required to attend the celebration at one of the cult god¡¯s temples, even slaves. Slaves anxiously waited for these few days of freedom. Many ate until their stomachs swelled and drank until they fell into oblivion. At the end of the festival, these slaves faced beatings or death if they did not return to the homes of their masters. Few tried to escape.


    Nat had never followed the practice of overeating or drinking the strong drinks provided. He always stood on the edges of the crowd as required, listening to the shouts and smelling the pungent fragrance of incense and burning flesh. He willingly accepted the offered food, but he often saved some for later, and he never drank the wine or other strong drinks available during festivals.


    Memories of earlier days, days with a loving Mama and Papa surfaced. He sat beside Mama, with baby sister in her arms, as Papa helped another recite sacred words and sacrifice one young bull. Only a part of the meat lay on the altar, a simple structure built of rock as tall as he was as a child of four, and wider and longer than him. He could easily lay any direction on the flat rock that topped it, though his mama expressed horror when he when he asked to lie on it. The sacredness of that altar reached out, even now, to fill him with respect. It touched his heart with warmth.


    Not the cult gods of Nod. The offerings lay in ornate structures, at the feet or in the hands of the idol gods. Nat felt no holiness in these temples, no joy in the offerings. Only regret and disgust.


    He dragged his eyes from the setting sun. The brightness left a shimmer of light, blinding him. He brushed his hands across his eyes and held them there for a breath, washing away the blinding brightness, before returning to his figures and lists. Qinten would soon return, demanding an accounting.


    ~ ~ ~


    The afternoon of the Harvest Festival, Ziva and Tawna strolled through the crowd, nibbling on finger foods served by Nimm¡¯s servants. They laughed at clowns and expressed delight in the skill of the jugglers. Everyone celebrated a good harvest.


    Along the edges of the hall, tables were set up. Sweets, carvings of Nimm, and other trinkets made by the followers of Nimm filled the tables and were offered for sale to the festival attendees. Both Tawna and Ziva carried a few coppers in the pocket they wore at her waist to purchase a trinket or two.


    ¡°These beads remind me of the ones you wear, Ziva,¡± Tawna gushed. She lifted beads from the tray on the table.


    Ziva bent to inspect them. Their size and color were similar. She glanced up at the merchant. ¡°Where did you get these? Did you make them?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, miss. We traded for them far to the west. My brother, he travels to distant lands, trading copper pans for interesting trinkets. Do you like these?¡±


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    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°How did you get beads from far in the west, Ziv?¡± Tawna held the beads to the sunlight.


    Ziva fingered the beads around her neck. ¡°I do not know. I have had these beads for as long as I can remember. These have been important to me for ¡­ forever.¡± Ziva turned from the table.


    ¡°I want some like yours. I¡¯m buying three.¡±


    ¡°If you wish.¡± The sun seemed to have hid behind a cloud. She walked to the next table, her thoughts far away. She didn¡¯t really want Tawna to have beads like hers, but what could she say to deter her? Her beads were special.


    She bumped into someone. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She glanced up. A young man stepped back.


    ¡°It is no trouble, miss. Do I know you?¡± His eyes took in her hair, her pale skin, her pale pink dress, cinched at the waist with a wide magenta sash, and the soft silk magenta slippers. Memory crossed his face. ¡°You are that girl! I looked for you to dance with at Roven¡¯s party.¡±


    Ziva blushed. ¡°Crites? Is it you?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    ¡°My father needed to leave. He called me away.¡±


    ¡°I thought I saw the back of your dress slip out the door.¡±


    Ziva dropped her eyes. ¡°I am sorry. I wanted to dance again with you. Only my father ¡­¡±


    Crites touched her arm. ¡°I understand. But today, you owe me a dance or three because you left without dancing with me.¡±


    Ziva allowed her eyes to climb into his eyes, and saw they twinkled with humor. ¡°You are right,¡± she laughed. ¡°I owe you three dances today for leaving before I danced with you again.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s begin now, then.¡± He took her hand and whirled her onto the dance floor.


    Few couples danced at this time of day, and they had most of the floor to spin and turn.


    Ziva laughed at Crites¡¯ jokes. His humor and kindness drew him to her. She understood the whispers she overheard from the other girls. His eyes danced and twinkled as they laughed together. His dark hair gleamed in the sunlight, one lock drooped over his left eye as they spun about the room.


    The music ended and they bowed toward each other, smiling.


    ¡°You need a drink, Ziva, after all that dancing.¡± Crites¡¯ eyes glowed.


    ¡°But my friend¡ª¡±


    ¡°She is dancing now, see.¡± He pointed to the floor where Tawna danced.


    ¡°You are right. I do need a drink.¡± Ziva put her hand in the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her to the refreshment table.


    ¡°What would you like to drink? Wine, ale, juice?¡± Crites asked, sweeping his hand toward the drinks.


    Ziva considered the table of drinks. ¡°Apple juice, please.¡±


    Crites handed her a glass of apple juice and chose one for himself.


    She lifted her eyebrows. ¡°No wine for you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the flavor or the way it makes me feel the next morning. I¡¯ll stick to juice.¡±


    Ziva¡¯s approval for him rose.


    The dance ended and Tawna found them. She smiled knowingly at Ziva. She smiled back.


    ¡°Join me at the table. It is time for food.¡± Tawna waltzed toward the tables.


    Ziva followed her with Crites hand at her back, warm and protective. The three young people joined Tawna¡¯s family. Orak joined them, sitting across from Ziva and Crites.


    ¡°I saw you dancing. You looked happy together.¡± Orak smiled at them.


    ¡°We had a good time, thank you,¡± Crites said. ¡°Ziva left Roven¡¯s party without dancing with me, again. She owes me three dances in return.¡±


    ¡°And dinner, as well, it would seem.¡± Ziva laughed.


    Other men claimed a dance with her, separating the two, but she danced with Crites twice more and stood with him as the priests of Nimm made offerings to their god. She hid her questions and revulsion. Who could think a carved marble figure of a bull could answer the needs of men and women?


    When the priests offered bits of the slaughtered goat to the worshipers, Ziva stepped back. She wanted no part of the offering. She did not follow the cult of Nimm any more than she followed Lorca, or Enid, or Balg. None of their teachings encouraged her worship. They were all created by men. How could she worship a cult god created by men?


    Crites, too, melted to the back of the crowd. ¡°You do not follow the cult of Nimm?¡±


    ¡°No. And you do not either?¡± Ziva leaned against the wall.


    Crites leaned next to the wall beside her. ¡°No. The cult of Nimm holds nothing for me. I came here because we must celebrate the Harvest Festival at some temple. This year, for this festival, I chose Nimm. Perhaps, next festival I will go to Enid, or Balg.¡±


    ¡°Not Lorca?¡± Ziva stared into the pecan-brown face that framed his dark brown eyes. A spark of hope filtered through her.


    ¡°Never Lorca. His priests are bloodthirsty. Every festival day, they sacrifice more animals. If they could, they would take all the animals to be sacrificed. Men would have no meat to eat, and little grain. No more animals would live to mate and provide for the next festival.¡±


    Ziva nodded. Orak had made similar comments.


    ¡°Ziva,¡± Orak said. He had managed to move to her side without her noticing. ¡°It is time we leave. We do not want to be forced to commit ourselves to Nimm.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°It is time.¡± She glanced at Crites. ¡°Will you be leaving now, as well?¡±


    ¡°I will. Thank you for the dances and dinner. Maybe, ¡­ maybe another time.¡± Crites seemed to be suddenly shy.


    ¡°Perhaps. I enjoyed dancing with you.¡±


    Orak took her by the elbow and led her toward the entrance. She glanced back at Crites, then followed her father.

 Courting Visit

    Nat sat at the desk Qinten had ordered to be brought to his study, smaller than Qinten¡¯s, but nearly as nice. It had been placed near the Master¡¯s desk, crowding the room, so they could work together. Now, he considered the merchants they could choose from to purchase house necessities.


    He had earned a place of trust over the few months he had been Qinten¡¯s personal assistant. He listened to the Master rant, placated him when he thought to sell a needed slave, and slept in a little room adjoining the Master¡¯s with entrances both through the Master¡¯s room and into the hall, so he could enter without inconveniencing Qinten.


    ¡°My father insists I should be mated.¡± Qinten spoke into the silence.


    Nat flinched, surprised at the sudden shattering of the quiet and the content of the Master¡¯s comment. ¡°Mated?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He thinks I need a mate to help me move forward with my plans to be the next High Priest.¡±


    ¡°How will mating help you?¡± Caution filled Nat.


    ¡°Men wonder why I am not mated, why I still live alone. Some wonder about my virility. Bah! What do they know?¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Nat said in a neutral voice. ¡°And, is there someone you have in mind?¡±


    ¡°Yes. But her father is holding back, finding excuses to delay the announcement.¡±


    ¡°And there is nothing you can do?¡±


    ¡°I am working on it. Her father will give her to me, or he will lose everything.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Who is the father?¡±


    ¡°Orak.¡± Qinten all but spat the name out.


    ¡°The supplier of so many of the sacrifices? That Orak?¡± Nat¡¯s eyes opened wide in surprise. He didn¡¯t know Orak had a daughter.


    ¡°That Orak. If he allowed me to meet with his daughter, talk with her, get her on my side, there would be no problem¡ª¡±


    ¡°You have not spoken with her?¡±


    ¡°She is always under the protection of her father. When I approach at public gatherings, she slips away.¡±


    ¡°That is a problem.¡± Nat allowed sympathy to ooze in his words. ¡°And she is the woman for you?¡±


    ¡°She is the one for me. I carefully analyzed all the available young women. She is the one. She has no brothers or sisters to take all Orak¡¯s money.¡±


    That Orak?


    ¡°Besides, she caught my attention with her beauty. None of the other girls are as exquisite, as delicate, as exotic. Her skin is the color of the moon, her eyes that of the sea, her lips like melons.¡±


    ¡°She does sound beautiful, but different from most women in Nod¡ªnot like your own mother, I suspect.¡± Nat looked at the papers on his desk. ¡°Most of the wealthy women are dark beauties, with dark eyes. This girl, is she from Nod?¡±


    ¡°She is Orak¡¯s daughter. Of course, she is from Nod!¡±


    Nat searched his memory of the young women he served at the festival, months earlier. Only one was a pale beauty. Only one stood out. No! Not her. His mind raced. How could he prevent the mating of his master to her? He could not condemn her to his cruelty.


    ¡°I am afflicted of her. So much so that I have not gone to visit others.¡± Qinten¡¯s voice became dreamy, then it hardened. ¡°Orak will give her to mate with me. She will be High Priestess, and I, High Priest.¡±


    ¡°Can you not be High Priest without a woman at your side?¡± Nat asked, glad of the shift, but wary of the moods of his master.


    ¡°Not now. That will change when I am High Priest. A woman should not have such power over a man. A woman should not have any power.¡±


    Nat¡¯s fear increased, though he kept his face blank. Who would want to be mated to such a man? How could she?


    ¡°Women have no rights, no power? I am but a slave. I do not know?¡± Nat tried to turn Qinten¡¯s thoughts from her.


    ¡°None. Men treat women as they please.¡±


    ¡°Yet Orak protects his daughter?¡± Back to her. He must be wary.


    ¡°Men protect their women as they protect their cattle or their horses, as possessions. Women are possessions to bring out as baubles on men¡¯s arms on festival days.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Nat now understood his master in a way he preferred not to know. He remembered his papa discussing problems with his mama. She would never be a possession.


    ¡°What do you plan? How will you convince Orak to give his daughter to you?¡±


    Qinten stood from his desk chair and paced about the room. ¡°I have asked. I have threatened him. Offered him bribes. He puts me off. I do not want to destroy him. I want his wealth and I want his daughter!¡±


    Nat nodded, thinking. How could he soften his master¡¯s approach, and still prevent the mating? What could he do to protect Orak¡¯s daughter from this evil?


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± he said slowly, thinking as he spoke. ¡°Perhaps you can change your attack? Orak is a proud man. His wealth and property are important to him. I have heard it said you cannot draw a bird to you with a shout and a threat. It must be a song and sweet treats. Perhaps you should visit Orak in his home, whisper sweet words of kindness in his daughter¡¯s ear. Draw her to your side.¡± Nat was sickened at the thought. Surely, she was more intelligent than that. Especially if she was who he thought she was.


    ¡°You can help me.¡± Qinten stopped pacing in front of Nat and pointed his finger at him. ¡°You can go to Orak, speak kind words, be my song and sweet treat.¡±


    ¡°Me? I know next to nothing about women. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, you. It is your idea.¡±


    Qinten dropped into his desk chair, pulled a clean sheet of vellum towards him, and grabbed his pen. He wrote quickly. He rolled the scroll and scrawled a name across the outside, sealed it, and tied it with a gold and white braid. Orak, Nat noticed. What was the Master up to now?


    Qinten rang a bell and a slave immediately opened the door.


    ¡°Give this to a messenger. It is to be delivered at once.¡±


    The slave bowed and took the scroll. The door closed behind him soundlessly. Nat could hear his feet pattering down the hall toward the messengers.


    Nat bent to his work, knowing the Master would tell him anything he wanted him to know when he was ready.


    Later, there was a knock on the door. Nat stood and stretched, briefly, as he opened it. The slave handed him a scroll with Qinten¡¯s name on it. Nat handed it to him and returned to his desk, waiting for the Master to read the note.


    ¡°We are to meet with Orak this afternoon,¡± Qinten said. ¡°Make yourself ready.¡±


    Nat noted where he was in his work and left the study. It felt good to stretch his legs and walk awhile. He had been cooped up in the study much too long. Swinging his arms and lengthening his stride, he walked down the hall toward his room. He could have entered through the Master¡¯s room, but this time he took advantage of the hallway door.


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    He closed the door behind him and moved to the chest standing beside the wall. He ran his hands across the smooth wood, marveling again that such a thing was his to use, and that the clothing inside was for him to wear. In all the years he had been a slave, he never thought such a thing would be allowed.


    Nat opened the chest and withdrew a fresh tunic, a robe, and small clothes. These, he set on the cot, ready to replace those he wore. He stripped, shivering a bit in the cool air, and washed.


    He was no longer the small, scrawny boy stolen so long ago. He had grown. The work required of him had built muscles and strength.


    The tunic and robe were exactly like the one he dropped at his feet, a uniform designating his place in Qinten¡¯s home, only these were clean. Nat sat on a stool to drag soft slippers on his feet, and tucked leather sandals under his arm. He would need thicker sandals on the streets, though they were not allowed in Qinten¡¯s home. Amazement filled him, yet again, that he could wear the soft slippers. Until the Master had taken him as a personal servant, his feet were always bare, inside and out.


    He opened the door separating his room from the Master¡¯s where Qinten sat as a slave placed slippers on his feet. He, too, had been washed and dressed in fresh clothing. His tunic was red, the robe white with red stitching along the edges. Both hung below his knees, almost to his feet, to show his station.


    Qinten glanced at Nat. ¡°Good. You are ready. Let us be off.¡±


    The two men strode down the halls and out a side door. Nat expected to walk to Orak¡¯s home, but a carriage stood on the street, door open and waiting.  He helped the Master inside and moved to climb on top with the driver.


    ¡°No. Join me inside,¡± Qinten commanded.


    ~ ~ ~


    Ziva paced across the thick, light-blue rug in her parlor. What did Qinten have in mind? Why did he request a personal visit with her and Orak? Something was wrong.


    She and Orak had been successful in putting Qinten off, finding reasons to avoid his demand for her to be given to him as his mate. She shuddered again at the thought. Why would he come here today? Why would he want to meet with her? Women had no place in bargaining, it was for men.


    She settled on the edge of a chair, then jumped up, unable to sit still. As she paced, Ziva brushed her hair back from her face or dry washed her hands. Why could she not have drawn the attention of Crites? He seemed to be a decent man when she danced with him at Roven¡¯s party. No, it had to be the dark Qinten.


    Tigre yowled as she tread on his tail. Ziva dropped to the floor and cuddled him. ¡°I am sorry, Tigre. In my agitation, I didn¡¯t see you.¡± The cat¡¯s long tail twitched under her nose, causing Ziva to sneeze. ¡°Can you believe that awful man is coming here? Here! To visit me. What do I have to say to him?¡±


    She moved to a chair with the cat, petting and sharing her fears. Stroking the silken fur of her beloved cat calmed her.


    At last, Ana slipped through the door. ¡°Your father has need of you in his study.¡±


    Ziva smoothed her dress and patted her hair.


    ¡°You look beautiful, mistress Ziva,¡± Ana said. ¡°You will draw the man¡¯s attention.¡±


    ¡°Will I, Ana? I don¡¯t want to. Perhaps I should put something different on, something less enticing?¡± She heard the wistfulness in her voice. She growled internally, disliking the man even more.


    Ziva followed Ana to Orak¡¯s study, though she had been there on her own many times in the past week. With him here, she needed to be announced when she arrived. One more reason to be unhappy with him.


    Ana knocked on the door to Orak¡¯s study and pushed it open when she heard him call.


    ¡°Your daughter, Ziva, sir.¡± Ana made a deep curtsy. Ziva followed her through the door and watched her close it as she left.


    Ziva faced three men, not the two she expected. Orak sat behind his desk, while Qinten sat in one of the two comfortable easy chairs. Another man, dressed in the golds signifying a servant of a priest of Lorca, stood behind Qinten, hands clasped behind his back, unspeaking and alert.


    She flashed a smile for her father, held it as she glanced at Qinten, then turned back to Orak. ¡°Hello, Father. You sent for me?¡±


    She knew why Orak sent for her, even knew Qinten would be sitting in the chair on the right. She and Orak had discussed this earlier when Qinten¡¯s note arrived earlier. They were surprised by his request to see them, asking to speak with her.


    They decided she would wait in her rooms, as though she was not expecting a visitor. She did not change into nicer clothing nor dress her hair for visitors. They hoped to throw him off his guard. They were cautious, unsure of his intent.


    Neither Orak nor Ziva expected Qinten to bring a servant, and hadn¡¯t planned for Orak or Ziva to have a complementary servant to balance things. Ziva determined to stay in the study with her father. She did not trust Qinten.


    ¡°Ah, Ziva.¡± Orak continued the ruse. ¡°We have guests. Qinten and his servant.¡±


    Ziva glanced at Qinten, then looked into the servant¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Hello,¡± she said. ¡°Welcome to our home.¡±


    She dropped her eyes to Qinten¡¯s face. He frowned briefly, then composed his face. Good. Maybe she could encourage him to lose his self-confidence.


    Qinten took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. ¡°Hello, Ziva. We thought it would be helpful if you were able to get to know me.¡±


    Ziva fought the desire to wipe his touch from her hand. A chill spread across her back. Instead, she smiled, fighting back her disgust and the desire to rush screaming from the room.


    ¡°Sit please, Ziva.¡± Orak indicated the empty chair on the left, much too close to Qinten.


    She sat, sighing internally, hoping the interview would not last long.


    ¡°Qinten tells me he asked for this meeting because you have not been aware of his interest. He wants you to know more of him. Then he thinks you may encourage me to negotiate your mating with him.¡±


    Ziva turned to face Qinten. His dark features highlighted what some girls would consider good looks. His dark brown eyes were just lighter than the almost black hair, he had brushed away from his face, except for a lock hanging over one eye. She could almost understand why other girls swooned when they thought of this priest of Lorca. They didn¡¯t feel the darkness emanating from his soul, as she did.


    ¡°Tell me about yourself, please. I know you are a priest of Lorca. What else should I know?¡±


    Qinten launched into a description of his place in society, his father¡¯s position as city governor, his wealth, his rise through the ranks of the priesthood of Lorca from the time he was a youth, and his schooling in the temple. Ziva listened politely, asking a question or two, all the while trying to prevent her eyes glazing over from boredom. He told her nothing she had not learned from the gossiping of her friends and servants, even less that would cause her to want him.


    As Qinten droned on, her eyes were drawn to the silent servant who stood behind his master. His eyes remained downcast; yet, she could tell he watched her.


    The servant¡¯s face looked familiar, but Ziva couldn¡¯t match the face to any in her memory. Another face surfaced but the dress of this man didn¡¯t help her make the connection. As she held to her smile and tried to appear to attend to Qinten¡¯s words, she struggled to remember where she had seen this servant before.


    ¡°You do follow the cult of Lorca?¡± Qinten¡¯s words dragged her back to the present ¡°He is a great god.¡±


    ¡°Follow the cult of Lorca?¡± Ziva closed her eyes briefly. ¡°Father, do we follow any of the cults in Nod?¡±


    Orak started. He glanced at her before answering. ¡°No, Ziva. None of the cults draw me in. I provide sacrifices to all the cults. It is difficult to choose one. It would, um, it would--¡±


    ¡°It would injure your opportunity to sell to the other cults?¡± Qinten asked.


    Orak nodded. ¡°I am careful to prevent offense to any of the gods of Nod. They are important to the people. I have not aligned myself, or Ziva, with any of them. At one time, I thought I followed Enid.¡± He paused and drew a deep breath. ¡°Things happened to change that. I now follow none of the cults.¡±


    ¡°Would I be required to follow the cult of Lorca if we were to be connected more closely?¡± Ziva watched Qinten¡¯s face.


    ¡°You would become a priestess of Lorca, a great honor for any woman. You would stand beside me as High Priest and you as High Priestess.¡±


    If you manage to become the High Priest. ¡°And that would involve?¡±


    ¡°You would participate in the festivals, support the priests in the temple, join me in leading the Planting Festival, and other high responsibilities.¡± Qinten smoothed his hair back. He obviously considered this to be an honor for any woman.


    ¡°Planting Festival? I have not attended many of your festivals. How would I lead it? What is involved?¡±


    ¡°The Planting Festival is a fertility festival, one in which we ask Lorca to give us a fertile earth and provide our people with enough grains, fruits, vegetables, and young animals to provide food, meat, and sacrifices, along with other needs.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t all the sacrifices during the year accomplish that?¡± Ziva asked. ¡°I saw many young animals sacrificed to Lorca at the mid-year festival.¡±


    ¡°The ones you saw at the mid-year festival were offered in gratitude for the success of the planting and new birth of plants and animals. We beg Lorca to continue his magnificence we received in the Planting Festival.¡± Qinten took on the face of one instructing a little child.


    Ziva lifted an eyebrow in question. ¡°And the priestess? How does she participate in the festival? Does she sacrifice?¡±


    She thought of other possible activities for a priestess, equally revolting, but dared not express them, fearing to give this ¡®soon-to-be high priest¡¯ ideas. Deep within, she doubted the divinity of Lorca, or any of the other cult gods of Nod.


    ¡°Boys and girls lead the animals, as always, presenting them to Lorca. Priests always perform the sacrifice. The priestess leads the dancing and celebrations after the sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°I will share with Ziva the details of those celebrations,¡± Orak interrupted. ¡°It is not proper for you to share information such as this with a young woman of Ziva¡¯s standing.¡±


    Qinten spluttered a few heartbeats before falling silent. Ziva watched the frustration play across his face before he managed to smooth it away.


    ¡°Come, Nat.¡± Qinten stood. ¡°We will leave Orak to share the events of the Planting Festival with Ziva.¡±


    With that, the two men left the room. Nat glanced back, briefly, at Ziva as he left Orak¡¯s study.

 Rough Roads

    Orak stared at his hands. He found himself doing that more than he liked, lately. How his hands could give him the needed answers, he did not know. His response to that spider, Qinten, had been honest. He did not follow any cult, fearing loss of business with others.


    More to the point, after Elin¡¯s death, he had no trust or faith in any of them. How could a god made by a man solve his problems? How could any of the cults claim to heal? Or save? Impossible! He slammed a fist into the open palm of the other hand. He would not allow that black thing to hurt his family, again.


    Qinten had expertly woven a web around him. Orak could feel the stickiness of it. There must be a way to break out. He would not give his beautiful Ziva to him, or one like him, one who would expect that of her. ¡°Lead the Planting Festivals, indeed not. Not my Ziva.¡±


    Com rapped on his office door and poked his head in. ¡°Everything good with you, sir? I saw the spider leave.¡±


    ¡°No. He tried to bait his traps, enticing Ziva to be his mate. I hope she continues to see through him.¡±


    ¡°She will, sir. Ziv is a smart young woman. I saw her shudder as she left your office.¡±


    ¡°You would shudder, too, if you were offered the right to lead the Planting Festival of Lorca.¡±


    ¡°No! Ziv would not do that.¡±


    Orak took a deep breath. ¡°Not if we can find a way to keep her from Qinten¡¯s side as his mate.¡±


    Com leaned back, as though retreating from a blow, horror roughening his voice. ¡°Qinten desires our Ziva as his mate?¡±


    ¡°He does. Is there a way I can survive without our sales to Lorca? Qinten threatens to deprive me of those sales if I do not give in. I have been seeking a means to protect Ziva and my household. Lorca purchases more than half our stock and grains.¡±


    Com ducked his head. ¡°There must be a way. We must save Ziv.¡±


    ¡°I know. I have put him off for weeks, hoping he would tire of it. Today, though, he insisted on visiting Ziva here. He wanted her to get to know him. We have little time. I promised her I would not force her to marry, especially not Qinten. What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Allow me to look into this. I have heard rumors. Perhaps I can enlarge them, cause him to focus his energies on something besides our Ziva.¡±


    Orak nodded, fearing his voice would give his feelings away, though he was certain his face had already done that. Com quietly left the office.


    What has Com heard? I have heard some, but Qinten has protection as a priest of Lorca, double protection as the son of the city governor. Com is good. He¡¯ll find a way.


    Orak pulled his ledger toward him on the desk. In the meantime, he would find a way to sell more elsewhere and become less dependent on Lorca. He growled and mumbled aloud, ¡°I know better than to place so much importance on one customer.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat¡¯s thoughts whirled as he rode through the city with Qinten toward home. Would Orak really tell Ziva what happened in the Planting Festival? He needed to find a way to thwart Qinten¡¯s plans. To be Qinten¡¯s mate and to participate in the Planting Festival, or any festival, would be worse for Ziva than anything Qinten could do to him.


    Nat served the revelers at the Planting Festival the year before. He stood at the door from the kitchen, horrified by what he saw, and his reactions to it. Much as he tried to control it, his body defied his mind, responding to the music and the wild gyrations of the naked women. He withdrew, embarrassed. Drak had laughed at him and teased him for hiding in the dormitory rather than joining the others. Something deep within him, a memory barely there, prevented Nat from joining in the wild dancing, driving the dancers to acts Nat refused to name.


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    And now, Orak will be required to share this with my Ziva. Nat shook his head.


    ¡°What are you mumbling about?¡± Qinten demanded.


    A bump in the road jolted the carriage, bouncing Qinten into Nat. He pushed himself upright and growled, ¡°Tell the driver to be more careful.¡±


    Nat stood enough to hold on the sides and pound on the roof of the wagon and lean out the window. ¡°Master says to drive more carefully.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, sir,¡± the driver shouted back. ¡°Unexpected hole.¡±


    ¡°Miss those holes. Master is not happy to be thrown about inside. Beware.¡±


    The carriage took a sharp turn past another hole, knocking Nat out the window. He grabbed for the edge of it, catching his foot on the bottom of the seat. His body dangled, flailing wildly through the open window.


    ¡°Driver! Driver! Slow down!¡±


    Nat grappled for a grip along the top of the door. His hand slipped. He feared he would be thrown out. Wagons and carriages jolted toward them. He felt his foot slip from beneath the seat and scrabbled for a new grip. He dangled half in and half out the window. The door swung open. Nat could see a large wagon lurching toward them. He beat his legs back and forth trying to drag the door closed. The other vehicle raced closer. Nat shouted in fear and frustration.


    The road narrowed and the carriage caromed over a giant rock loosed by the recent rains. Nat knew this would be his end. How can I protect you if I am gone, Ziva, now that I have found you again? The door slammed closed, throwing him back inside and onto the seat as the wagon careened past. Qinten shoved him aside with a growl.


    ¡°Master,¡± Nat said, ¡°you must choose between your desires to return quickly or travel without this constant jarring. I fear you cannot have both.¡±


    ¡°I must speak, again, with father about the deplorable condition of this road,¡± Qinten grumped. ¡°It isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    Nat nodded. They rode on, lost in thought, holding on to the seat to prevent crashing into the other man, until the carriage slowed and turned toward Qinten¡¯s home.


    Qinten opened his eyes. ¡°What do you think of Orak¡¯s daughter, Ziva?¡±


    ¡°Ziva?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You are not stupid nor am I. I saw you staring at her. What do you think of her?¡±


    ¡°She is a beautiful woman, though her station is much too high for me to consider. Intelligent. She asked good questions. Will it matter that she does not follow the cult of Lorca? Is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°Stupid woman. As my mate, she will have no choice. She will be High Priestess. I am amazed Orak has shielded her so closely from the rites of Lorca or any of the other cults. How can such a man not choose a cult to follow?¡±


    ¡°It is as he said.¡± Nat shrugged. ¡°He follows the cult of business, never openly suggesting interest in a specific cult. Could he sell grain and animals to Lorca if he openly followed, say ¡­ Balg?


    ¡°Balg.¡± Qinten spat the word out as though it were poison. ¡°Balg is primitive, compared to Lorca. Priests of Balg refuse to join with any woman who is not their mate. Primitive nonsense!¡±


    Qinten stewed and complained more about the Balg cult.


    ¡°You would not purchase from Orak then if he openly followed that cult?¡±


    ¡°Never! I could not.¡±


    ¡°How, then, could Orak openly follow Lorca? You have put him in a precarious position. Lorca does purchase much of Orak¡¯s merchandise for the voracious Lorca, but he does sell to the other three cults. It would ruin him to openly support Lorca.¡±


    ¡°It would help him. Lorca is a powerful god, much more so than Nimm or Enid, certainly more powerful than Balg.¡±


    ¡°The others would not purchase from him. Will you do this to the father of your mate?¡±


    ¡°He need not openly follow Lorca to give Ziva to me.¡±


    Nat saw Qinten¡¯s anger raising and stayed silent. He had said too much already. He would be lucky to avoid a beating.


    The carriage drew to a stop at Qinten¡¯s door. He threw the carriage door open and stomped inside, not waiting for the driver to jump down from his high seat or for Nat to lean forward to open his door. Nat stepped out of the carriage and followed his master inside, aware the driver may face undeserved punishment.


    Nat felt punishments were likely impending. Nearly bouncing Nat from the window was not all the driver¡¯s fault. The roads were terrible after the recent rains. More importantly to Nat, would the master find a reason to punish him for his rash questions? If it saved Ziva from his attentions, it would be worth it.

 Strapped

    Ziva held her face still as she walked through the house to her own apartments. The servants could not see her tears nor her fear and loathing. What had she done to attract the attention of that dark man? She ignored all his advances at parties, looking the other way, walking with friends to the women¡¯s area, even leaving early. Did he not see she had no interest in him?


    She reached her door and hurried into the sanctity of her private apartment. She threw herself onto her couch, at last allowing her tears to fall. ¡°That snake holds no power over me. I will not participate in any of his festivals, especially not the Planting Festival. What man would ask his mate to do such disgusting things? Him. And the other priests of Lorca. What a disgusting cult. I will never follow that cult. I will not mate with him. Ever.¡±


    ¡°Who, my lady?¡± Ana stepped close as if to touch Ziva¡¯s shoulder, then thought better of it.


    ¡°Qinten.¡± Ziva spat the word out like bad meat. ¡°He thinks he can force me to mate him. Worse yet, he wants to force me to lead the rites of the Planting Festival as his mate.¡±


    Ana clapped her hand to her mouth. ¡°Not Qinten. I have heard of him. Rumors spread through the women in the city. You want nothing to do with him.¡±


    Ziva jumped from the couch. ¡°I have not heard the rumors, and, no, do not share them with me. I want no more of his filth to soil me.¡± She slipped her dress off her shoulders and let it puddle around her feet. ¡°I must wash. Burn that dress.¡±


    ¡°But my lady, ¡­ you love this dress.¡± Ana scooped the dress from the floor.


    ¡°Not any more. It stinks of him. I will not wear it, ever again.¡±


    ¡°But burn it? Will you not change your mind?¡±


    Ziva stared at her maid. ¡°No, do not burn it. Wash his filth from it, then give it away. Find some poor girl in need of a dress. I will not have it in this house.¡±


    ¡°I will have it washed. I know a girl in need of a nice dress.¡± Ana held the dress away from her. ¡°After his filth is removed, she will be happy with it.¡±


    ¡°Be sure the girl does not work here in my father¡¯s house. I do not want that dress to remind me or father of this day.¡±


    Ziva stalked, naked, from the room toward her bathing pool. She heard Ana open the door to her apartments and allowed a shudder to shake her. I can¡¯t wear that ever again, but I can¡¯t do that with every dress Qinten sees me in. It would cost father too much to replace my clothing. But he touched me. Ugh!


    She sat on the stool and scrubbed her body viciously with a rough brush before stepping into the pool. She sat, immersed to the chin in the warm water. The slow current washed away her anger. If I refuse to marry him, what will Qinten do to father¡¯s business? Ziva sat thinking of all the possible consequences of her refusal, shivering in the warmth of the pool.


    There must be a way out of this trap. Her father was known as an able businessman who had bested others who had tried to lay traps for him. With Com at his side, surely they could think of something. Ziva paddled to the center of the pool, her long, honey-blond hair trailing. She flipped over to stare into the blue sky through the skylight. Father would find a way. She had to trust him.


    Ana came in sometime during her contemplation. She sat beside the pool with a bucket of warm water and a basket of soap. Ziva sighed and flipped over once more to paddle to where Ana sat.


    ¡°I can wash my hair.¡±


    ¡°I know, my lady, but I wish to comfort you.¡±


    Ziva sat with her back to Ana and allowed her to scrub the soap through her hair. Ana¡¯s strong fingers massaged her head, soothing the ache Ziva only noticed at the touch.


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    ¡°How did you know my head aches?¡± Ziva murmured, her eyes closed to the soap.


    ¡°Who would not have a headache after dealing with Qinten¡±


    Ziva relaxed as Ana poured water from the bucket through her hair to rinse away the soap. Ana scrubbed her hair twice more, rinsing between.


    ¡°That should wash away his filth.¡± Ana set the empty bucket beside the pool. ¡°Do you feel better, yet?¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you. I will find a way out of his trap. I will not mate with Qinten.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t your friend, Tawna, desire a mating with him?¡± A tentative fear filled Ana¡¯s voice. She rushed on, ¡°I know better than to share the things I hear in your apartments. I heard her share a desire for him.¡±


    ¡°Tawna does not know what is good for her. Qinten is too evil for any of my friends. I wouldn¡¯t wish him even on an enemy.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t another woman be a better choice than you?¡±


    ¡°It would.¡± Ziva shook her head. ¡°But who? Not one of my friends. How can I encourage his attentions toward one of my friends?¡±


    ¡°There are ways.¡±


    Ziva looked at Ana. ¡°How would you know?¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    ¡°Why did I have to say anything to the Master?¡± Nat muttered. ¡°I know how to be circumspect. Now, look at me.¡± He spread his arms out and turned to show off the change in his clothing.


    ¡°You look good in kitchen clothes,¡± Drak teased. He thought better of the friendly slap on his back a narrow hand width away.


    His friends had told him that Drak and Avram had watched the strapping from the kitchen door, waiting for Selib to drop his arm after the required twenty lashes and turn to stride into the house. They had run to untie Nat¡¯s hands and to carry him between them from the lashing pole.


    Nat¡¯s two friends had carried him gently into their sleeping space, washed his back and applied honey to the injuries. For three days, Nat had slept. Avram told him later that Drak had returned to him as often as he could, daubing the honey mixture on his back and forcing down a tea of shepherd¡¯s purse. Now, Nat finally felt well enough to return to the kitchen, though he still moved slowly and carefully.


    ¡°Cook couldn¡¯t let you be his helper anymore,¡± Drak said. ¡°Avram took your place. And, after you were strapped, you could not take a position of honor in the kitchen.¡± Drak led the way into the kitchen.


    ¡°I understand that. I could not expect Cook to give me special benefits. I am grateful to have a place in the kitchen.¡± Nat turned the corner to see Cook, Baker, and all the helpers. He stood still, just looking, remembering the good times he had with his friends. Did he have friends now? Drak and Avram were still his friends. There were none among the slaves who worked directly with the Master.


    Drak touched Nat¡¯s shoulder, returning him to the present. ¡°Cook has agreed to allow you to turn the spit and help peel vegetables. Today you can peel. Tomorrow, you will probably be expected to turn the spit. Cook wants you to be careful.¡±


    ¡°No. He wouldn¡¯t want me to fall into the fire.¡± Nat grinned to show he understood.


    ¡°No, too much trouble for him if you did.¡± Drak chuckled and led his friend into the room.


    Cook looked up and nodded a welcome. Other men and boys stared at him for a long breath, then shuddered or shook their heads and returned to work. Not their business who worked in the kitchen. Nat had seen it before. If Cook accepted him, he would be welcomed.


    Avram ran from the pantry with a basket of potatoes and set them on the worktable, nodding to Nat who nodded to Drak and walked to the worktable. He opened the drawer with sharp knives, found his favorite for peeling potatoes, and picked up a potato to peel. He was happy to have something to do and to have a place still in the house.


    As the day passed, Nat expressed surprise to Avram, who worked nearby, that no one had come to take him to the slave market.


    ¡°Qinten sells too many slaves after a lashing. Cook prefers to do what he can to help. It is easier to work with someone who knows what happens here than train a new slave.¡± Avram shrugged a shoulder as he answered in a low voice.


    Nat knew he was lucky. ¡°I am happy to be back in kitchen clothing. I¡¯m grateful to be able to work finally. I would much rather be here than washing pots in the yard.¡±


    ¡°You are lucky to be in the kitchens.¡± Avram nodded. ¡°Your back would not manage the inside of a pot.¡±


    ¡°Nor would it be happy to be waiting to be sold again in the slave market. I appreciate the opportunity to continue in the service of Qinten, even in the kitchen. I was told once I would never serve in the kitchens again.¡±


    Avram snorted softly. ¡°Shows you what they knew.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, not much.¡± He smiled and picked up a carrot to peel.


    Avram smiled and returned to his work, helping Cook. Nat continued to peel vegetables.

 Chapter 15 Trapping a Spider

    </a>Trapping a Spider


    Though his back hurt, then stung and itched as it healed, Nat enjoyed two weeks in the kitchen with his friends, turning the spit and peeling and chopping vegetables. As the injuries on his back healed, he could again wear the tunic of the kitchen slave. He joined in the friendly teasing and Cook began to expect more of him. It surprised him to fall so easily into the rhythm of the work.


    Nat wondered if he would be allowed to continue in the comfortableness of the kitchen. Qinten could be capricious in his orders, once banning a slave from the house, other times sending them to work in a dirty job until he was needed again. It took little incitement for a slave to be beaten or sold.


    Nat knew his ability to read and do sums would draw the Master¡¯s attention back to him. He hoped Qinten would forget about him for a long time.


    He would be happy in the kitchen for the rest of his life. Nat could see himself as second to Cook, preparing meals. Only his fears that Orak would give in and force Ziva to mate with Qinten darkened Nat¡¯s thoughts and prevented his complete pleasure in his current situation. The only reason he would want to leave the kitchen to return to serve Master Qinten was his concern for his sister.


    Did Orak tell her what her responsibilities would be if she mated Qinten? How did Ziva handle the news? I have not heard of a celebration to honor the upcoming mating, yet. We in the kitchen would hear, for we prepare all the foods for the celebrations. Please, Jehovah, Keep my sister safe.


    Nat stood still, the potato he was peeling frozen in his hand. Where did that name come from? I have not used it for¡ªfor many years. Jehovah. Yes, Jehovah is the God of my papa¡ªmy papa, Enos.


    ¡°Why the sudden smile?¡± Avram demanded. ¡°You haven¡¯t smiled in all the time you¡¯ve been back in the kitchen. You¡¯d think you aren¡¯t happy to be back with us.¡±


    Nat shook himself and continued peeling the potato. ¡°I am happy to be back here in the kitchen. I have been worried about a girl¡ªa girl the Master wants to mate.¡±


    ¡°No concern of yours, this girl. Or do you fancy her?¡± Drak said.


    Nat felt his ears grow warm.


    ¡°You do fancy her!¡± Avram crowed. ¡°She is beyond you, if the Master wants her for a mate.¡±


    ¡°She is beyond me, but I still fear for her. A young girl should not have to be a part of his depravity.¡±


    ¡°True, that,¡± Cook said. ¡°No one should be forced to join in his vile ways.¡±


    ¡°You fancy a girl! Imagine that.¡± Drak wasn¡¯t willing to let it go.


    ¡°I do. What is it to you?¡± Nat brushed past Drak to reach another potato.


    ¡°I¡¯m your best friend. I thought you would have shared all the details with me by now.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t a man have something special, something here,¡± Nat waved in the direction of his heart, ¡°without sharing with others. Who would not keep it to himself? Especially, with friends like you.¡± He glared at his friend until Drak dropped his eyes.


    ¡°Well, so what if I have shared other things? I wouldn¡¯t have shared this, if you asked.¡±


    Nat raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°And you know, now, why I have not shared nor will I share anymore.¡± He tossed the potato into the cold water and grabbed another to peel. For many heartbeats, the sound of his peeling was all that was heard in the kitchen.


    ¡°Back to work,¡± Cook growled. ¡°We have a meal to prepare.¡±


    The others returned to their tasks, chopping vegetables, mixing sauces, kneading breads, and other tasks necessary to the preparation of a meal for a large household. Nat was glad of the noise. He did not want to share anything about Ziva. Let them think he fancied her. It was safer that way. No one must know. His memory of his papa and Jehovah were sacred, as well, not something to be bantered about the kitchen.


    Nat lost himself in thought as he peeled the pile of potatoes. Though aware Gowdy entered the kitchen, he thought nothing of it. Gowdy¡¯s responsibility for overseeing the kitchen and kitchen slaves brought him in often. It felt good to be back in his domain.


    ¡°Nat!¡± Gowdy roared. ¡°What are you doing here in the kitchen¡±


    ¡°Where else would I be? The Master sent me to be lashed.¡±


    Nat could feel his friends in the kitchen holding their breaths, working silently to hear Gowdy¡¯s next words.


    ¡°Did no one tell you to return to the Master?¡±


    ¡°No. I have had no word.¡±


    Gowdy growled deep in his throat. ¡°Mibiti has been searching for you. The Master is angry you have not returned to your duties. You must hurry to his side.¡±


    ¡°Like this?¡± Nat stretched his arms wide. ¡°Smelling of onion and potatoes?¡±


    Gowdy sniffed Nat¡¯s hair. ¡°And garlic, too. No, you must clean yourself and present yourself to the Master as soon as possible.¡±


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    ¡°In these clothes? As a kitchen slave. Yes. That will be good. Let him know I have been busy in his service.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Gowdy shouted. ¡°That will never do. Go to Mott. He will provide you with new clothes. Go. Now.¡±


    Nat set the half-peeled potato on the table and silently left the kitchen. His friends reached out to touch him, then pulled their hands back as though burned. He was no longer one of them. He was the personal slave to the Master.


    ¡°What are you wearing?¡± Mott croaked when Nat entered the wardrobe.


    ¡°Clothing fit for the kitchen.¡±


    Mott¡¯s eyebrows nearly reached his hair. ¡°Personal slave to the Master in the kitchen?¡±


    Nat dropped his eyes. ¡°He had me strapped. My friends helped heal me. I thought I was no longer needed in the Master¡¯s service. I was not forced from the house or returned to the slave markets, so I returned to the kitchen.¡±


    ¡°Mibiti has scoured the house for days, searching for you. The Master is in a rage that you are not by his side.¡± Mott sniffed. ¡°You cannot return to him like that. Go to the washing room. I will send for hot water. Wash the odor of the kitchen from your skin and hair. It will not do for you to return to him looking and smelling like the kitchen.¡±


    Nat followed the pointing arm into a washing room and stripped off his kitchen tunic. He lifted the tunic to his nose and grimaced. Gowdy and Mott were right. Qinten would never allow him into his presence smelling like onions and garlic. Too bad. Onions and garlic were healthy.


    A man entered with a bucket of hot water, which he poured into the large tub. More men carrying buckets of hot water followed him. Nat watched them dump the water into the tub until it was full of steaming water. I¡¯ll cook in that!¡± He touched the water with the tip of a tentative finger, surprised to discover it not as hot as he supposed. He slipped off his small clothes and stepped into the tub. The warmth enticed him to sit and bury himself to the neck in the warmth. This must be how the Master bathes. I remember baths like this, long ago. My mama had a tub almost this big. It held Ziva and me. We splashed and played together while Mama scrubbed us clean.


    Nat jerked. He was not here to remember the past but to get clean. He found the rough cloth and soap waiting on a table beside the tub and scrubbed the kitchen from his skin. He sank below the surface to wet hair. He scrubbed his hair with the soap and rinsed, then scrubbed and rinsed again to be certain the stink of garlic was gone.


    Such luxury. Nat hated to leave it, but he knew he could not soak in the luxury any longer. The Master was waiting. He stood in the water, allowing it to drip back into the tub and found the large towel. He stepped out and dried himself. Back to the Master.


    Nat wrapped the towel around himself before turning to find clean small clothes, a gold tunic, and soft gold slippers on a stool. When had Mott brought these in? He was sure no one had entered the room, but the clothing sat in mute rejection of that belief. Nat slipped on the clean clothing, his skin remembering its softness. He opened the door and returned to the wardrobe.


    Mott spun his finger in a circle. Nat complied and turned under Mott¡¯s inspection.


    ¡°Your hair is a mess. Here. Comb it.¡± Mott handed him a comb and pointed to a small glass on the wall. Nat combed his hair and reached to return the comb.


    ¡°Keep it. You will need it to look like the personal slave of the Master.¡±


    Nat looked at his tunic, wondering where to put the comb.


    ¡°Here. Put this pocket across your shoulder.¡± Mott handed him a pocket on a long cord, both of the same gold as his tunic. ¡°Now, go. The Master waits. We sent a message telling him you have been found, but he will not wait long.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Orak looked up from the papers on his desk as Com entered his study. ¡°What did you learn?¡±


    ¡°Much. And none of it good.¡± Com dropped into a chair near Orak¡¯s desk. ¡°You will not like the things I have to tell you.¡±


    ¡°I knew I would not.¡± Orak leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across the front of his chest.


    Com shuffled his feet and rearranged his robe.


    ¡°Com. Stop stalling. Tell me what you learned.¡± Orak leaned forward, setting his elbows on his desk.


    ¡°Qinten is the son of the governor¡ª¡±


    Orak hissed and stared into his assistant¡¯s eyes. ¡°This I know.¡±


    ¡°And a priest of Lorca.¡± Com hurried on. ¡°I know you know this. He is working to position himself to be the next High Priest of Lorca. He sees himself as powerful and next to the god. As you know, he is responsible to supply the sacrifices for the many festivals.¡±


    ¡°This much I know. I supply most of the animals and other sacrifices to Lorca. Qinten keeps our business profitable. His god is ravenous. What can you tell me of the man?¡±


    Com leaned forward, setting his forearms on his knees. ¡°To be a High Priest of Lorca, a man must have a mate. As you know, he and his mate lead the Planting Festival and Harvest Festival. It seems Qinten thought he could get around it¡ªuntil now.¡±


    Orak clenched his jaws. ¡°Why now?¡±


    ¡°Qinten has had little interest in a mate. He takes his pleasure in others, usually women mated to wealthy men, men who must stay silent to continue receiving the gift of his purchases from them.¡± Com bit the side of his lip as he looked at his employer.


    ¡°I have heard this,¡± Orak muttered.


    Com breathed deeply and went on. ¡°What you may not have heard is what he does to these women.¡± Com chewed on his lip as he stared at his friend.


    When Orak shook his head, Com continued with stories of Qinten¡¯s sick behaviors.


    Orak was sickened by the stories of depravity Com shared. None of it boded well for Ziva. He could not allow her to be his mate. Qinten¡¯s open animosity toward women demonstrated to Orak his certainty that he could not allow his daughter to be a part of the Lorcan Priest¡¯s life.


    At last, he cried out, ¡°Tell me no more! The man has no good in him. I cannot allow him to take my Ziva as his mate.¡±


    ¡°You cannot. Not if you love Ziva.¡± Com shook his head and leaned back in his chair.


    ¡°I knew he was not a good person, not after what he did to my Elin. What can we do to prevent this? He believes me to be in his trap. I sell much to him for his god, but not as much as he supposes.¡± Orak picked up a pen and doodled on a scrap of vellum.


    ¡°Will it destroy you if he stops purchasing?¡±


    ¡°It will be a struggle, but we will survive. It will be more difficult for Qinten and the cult of Lorca. Few other merchants can offer as much as I.¡±


    ¡°Is there a way we can turn his trap on him? A way to make him suffer?¡± Com leaned forward, resting his elbows on his Orak¡¯s desk.


    ¡°There has to be a way.¡±


    The two men bent over the desk, thinking of ways to make Qinten¡¯s life difficult. Many ideas were immediately discarded. Others were kept for further consideration. Orak would not write them down, fearing even a shred of evidence would be used against him, rather than Qinten. They spent hours working through the ideas, until they determined one would work. The complex plan must be carried out as quickly as possible. It held many dangers for them and for Orak¡¯s business. However, it would be worth it, if they managed to keep Ziva safe from Qinten¡¯s clutches.


    Late that afternoon, Com left the study, orders and directions set in his mind. Orak knew he would find Keb and get things put into place. His fingertips rubbed circles across his temples. Making plans to ensnare a spider in his own web gave him a headache. The plan had to work. He would not allow Qinten to have Ziva.

 Money, Always Money

    ¡°What is the problem with Qinten? I know. I know. He has a dark soul. You¡¯ve said that before. He is wealthy. He is in line to be the High Priest of Lorca. What more could you want?¡±


    Ziva shook her head. ¡°We have been friends for years, Tawna. Have I ever been interested in wealth and all its trappings like Kara?¡±


    ¡°Kara would say that is because Orak is wealthy.¡±


    Ziva shrugged and turned to pick up a slice of orange from a delicate blue plate on the table beside her white velvet chair. The young women were sitting in Ziva¡¯s sitting room. Her father¡¯s problems were not something to share with a friend, even a best friend.


    ¡°You have always lived a comfortable life, with servants and enough of everything. You have never been hungry, without clothes, or a place to live.¡±


    ¡°And you have?¡± Ziva turned to her friend, eyes wide.


    ¡°Well, no. But we have been close. There was a time father struggled. He sold in the marketplace, working to build enough business to support a shop. He did not move into the shop until I was seven. I remember those years, when we did not always have enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know. Why is Kara so concerned about wealth? Bram is wealthy. Scholars always have power, and he keeps the city records.¡±


    ¡°You know he has not always had a position in the city. Kara¡¯s family is new to wealth. She is still impressed by money.¡±


    ¡°Money. Always money! Money is not everything. You and Kara still have your mothers. Mine is gone. I would love to share with my mother my challenges.¡±


    ¡°I forgot, Ziv. You have so much. I did not remember your loss.¡± Tawna leaped forward to kneel in front of her friend and hugged her. Ziva allowed her to hold her a breath, before pushing her away.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Tawn. Money is just not all that important.¡±


    ¡°So what are you going to do about Qinten?¡±


    ¡°Anything I can to avoid him. I do not wish to help him lead the Planting Festival. Have you heard what happens at that festival?¡±


    ¡°Mama will not let me attend or tell me why.¡± Tawna lowered her voice. ¡°Do you know?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Orak told me.¡± Ziva¡¯s response was barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Share.¡±


    ¡°No. I cannot. It is too ¡­ too horrible.¡±


    ¡°I cannot believe it can be so horrible. Mother and father participate each year.¡±


    Ziva felt her eyebrows raise. ¡°Perhaps this is why they will not tell you about it.¡±


    Though Tawna teased and berated her friend, Ziva refused to share the details of the festival. She sighed in relief when Tawna left, still begging for information.


    ¡°It is not for me to tell you, even if I could speak the words,¡± Ziva repeated as she closed the door. She leaned against the door and shook her head.  ¡°I cannot speak the words.¡±


    ~ ~ ~


    Nat stood outside the door to Qinten¡¯s apartment. He straightened his tunic and brushed back his hair. A growl echoed through the door. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door.


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    Qinten called, ¡°come.¡±


    Nat entered and walked to stand in front of his Master. ¡°You wanted me, Master?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Nat.¡± He swallowed and shook his head slightly. He cleared his throat. ¡°Look at the reports on your desk and tell me what is wrong.¡±


    Nat moved to his desk and picked up the papers. He glanced toward Qinten, who stared at a copper vase. He wondered at his strange behavior before focusing on the question put to him.


    Much later he had an answer. Looking up, he noticed Qinten nodding in his comfortable chair. Now, he wondered whether it was braver to allow him to sleep or wake him with the answer to his questions.


    He decided on the latter. ¡°Master?¡±


    Qinten slowly opened his eyes, stretched, and scrubbed his eyes. ¡°What have you found?¡±


    ¡°Something is going on that I cannot quite put my finger on. The levels of grain have dropped, lambs are lost, doves are missing. What has happened?¡±


    ¡°I thought there was a problem. Will there be enough for the New Year Festival? Can you determine the cause of the losses?¡±


    ¡°Yes, there will be enough for the New Year festival, with some left over, but not enough for the Planting Festival unless something changes. As to the cause, I cannot tell.¡±


    ¡°Why would there suddenly be losses in all the important sacrifices? Who would be behind this?¡± Qinten shook his head and reached for his empty wine goblet. Nat hurried over to pour more from the decanter.


    ¡°I cannot say, Master. All I have is the numbers. We need reports from those responsible for the sheep, doves, and grain. It may take days to untangle this.¡±


    ¡°Are there not explanations with the reports? Surely, they did not send numbers only. I read something about losses ¡­?¡±


    ¡°There are explanations, but they make no sense. I will continue to read the reports and try to find a reason for you.¡±


    ¡°Do that.¡± Qinten leaned back in his chair as Nat returned to the reports. After several breaths, he asked, ¡°Why did you not return?¡±


    Nat sat still many heartbeats. Qinten opened his mouth to ask again as Nat answered. ¡°I did not know you wanted me to return.¡±


    ¡°Where did you go? I searched everywhere for you.¡±


    Nat opened his eyes wider as he looked at Qinten.


    ¡°I did not look for you. I sent others to search for you. None could find you.¡±


    ¡°I lay on a pallet where my friends from the kitchen carried me. I slept three days on my stomach, the pain eased from the concoctions given to me by my friends, and the honey they daubed on my back. When I could move again, I returned with them to the kitchen. There was no indication I was needed at your side. No one said anything to me that you wanted me back I was grateful to be in your service, still, and in the kitchen, rather than someplace worse.¡±


    Qinten stared at Nat, waiting for more.


    ¡°Only this morning did Gowdy tell me you were looking for me. I was peeling potatoes.¡±


    ¡°Why did it take so long for you to come to me after¡ªwas it Gowdy ¡ª who told you?¡± Nat nodded. ¡°After Gowdy informed you I searched for you?¡±


    ¡°I smelled of the kitchen, onions and garlic, and had no appropriate clothing. My tunic was torn from the lashing. I wore the tunic of a kitchen slave. Gowdy sent me to Mott in the wardrobe for a tunic. Mott insisted I bathe away the fragrances of the kitchen. I came as soon as I was dressed.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it was necessary.¡± Qinten sniffed. ¡°You no longer smell of the kitchen.¡±


    ¡°No. The bath took care of that.¡±


    Once more, Nat bent over the reports, making notes as he read. A slave entered the office, lighting the lamps there and throughout the apartment. Nat looked up, surprised to see Qinten prepared for dinner. He had not heard him call the wardrobe slave.


    ¡°Do not forget to eat, Nat. I will not have you ill.¡± Qinten stood by the door, ready to leave for a dinner with others.


    ¡°Yes, Master Qinten.¡±


    The door closed and he returned to the reports, struggling to understand what to make of the losses. Animals and grains were delivered and paid for. He had the receipts to prove sufficient numbers had been ordered and delivered. Now, the actual numbers reflected severely reduced numbers.


    Nat became aware of the fragrances of the meal he had been working on that morning. Beside his elbow, on his desk, sat a steaming plate of food. He glanced around, seeking the slave who brought it. The empty room suggested he missed him.


    He picked up the fork and absently ate as he read the reports once more. There had to be something more, something they hadn¡¯t said, in fear of Qinten. How could he convince those responsible for the care of the sacrifices to reveal the actual causes? He would have to be careful. They would need to be convinced Qinten had no part in the investigation, that his capricious actions would not come to play if they admitted the truth. How would he manage it?


    He let his head rest on his hand as he ate the now cold meal. Even cold, it was delicious. He knew Cook knew what he was doing. He allowed himself a few breaths to remember his friends in the kitchen. He would miss them. Would they miss him?