Mastered By Love (21 page)

***

Not long after they
returned from Mateo’s quarters, someone knocked on Dario’s door. He
called to enter and a servant came in carrying a guitar. Tariza
looked up in surprise, momentarily forgetting proper slave posture.
The servant carried the instrument to Dario and handed it over with
a bow.

When he’d left, Dario held
the guitar out to her.

She looked up at him with
wide eyes. “For me?”

He smiled broadly, an
expression that only served to emphasize his white teeth and those
damned charming dimples. “For you.”

She picked up the guitar,
ran her fingers over the smooth, glossy wood of the sound box. It
featured delicate inlay in a stylized floral pattern. “It’s
beautiful. Thank you.”

He leaned toward her, bent
his head and nuzzled her cheek. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart.
Would you play for me?”

She lifted the guitar to
her lap and plucked the strings, testing how out of tune the
instrument was. A musician must have prepared it for her because
she could find no fault in its tuning. Now, what to play? Not the
song she had already sung for him. It was too embarrassing in its
subject matter, and besides, he’d already heard it. Instead, she
chose a paean to the beauty of the Concordian
countryside.

He watched her intently as
she began the introduction to the song. It had been a long while
since she’d performed and she had never been so closely observed by
a male. But the song was one of her favorites and she’d played it
many times, had even performed it for her mother’s friends, so her
fingers moved confidently over the strings. The tune suited her
voice well. It was one of the reasons she liked it so much; she
didn’t have to make her voice artificially low.

During the third repetition
of the chorus, she glanced at him. His face was rapt, a little
smile playing about his lips. She bent her head over her guitar so
as not to distract herself overmuch, but in her heart she was
saying
he likes it; he’s enjoying my
music.
The flush of pleasure that followed
this thought disturbed her. Wasn’t he the enemy? Wasn’t he the one
who’d enslaved her? She shouldn’t care for his good opinion, yet
here she was glowing because he liked her song. She ought to be
ashamed of herself. Yet when she finished the piece and he
applauded, smiling, she could not contain the glad smile that burst
over her face.

“
That was wonderful,
Tariza.”

She flushed, her face
burning. “You really liked it?”

“
I loved it. Would you play
something else for me?”

Tariza fidgeted. “I really
don’t know what to play.” All the songs she knew were Concordian
and they were bound to offend him at some point.

“
If you’re concerned your
lyrics will offend me, don’t worry about it. I
understand.”

She glanced at him
doubtfully. “Are you sure about that? You haven’t heard many of my
songs yet.”

He leaned over and gave her
a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m sure. But if you’re that worried
about it, just sing the melody and ignore the words. I only want to
hear the sound of your voice.”

She flushed even more
hotly. There was something strangely intoxicating about his
enjoyment of her music. Under his intense regard, she sang one
Concordian song after another, until her voice began to grow tired.
And then she became foolish. Before her voice failed, she wanted to
sing one more song. It was one she had written, not long after
meeting Dario all those weeks ago at the Bellerenic embassy. She’d
been thinking of him when she’d written it.

Blushing fiercely, she began the
song.

Your eyes, proud warrior,
dark and fierce,

Burn into mine as you lie
beneath me.

What joy to own
you.

What delight to hear your
voice pleading for my possession.

When the last note had died
away, she risked a glance at him. He was watching her intently, a
thoughtful, even speculative expression on his face. “Is that a
traditional song?” he said.

She began an intimate study
of the inlay work on the guitar. “No, it isn’t.”

“
Who wrote it?”

Her face felt as if it
might burst into flames. “I did.”

“
It’s
beautiful.”

“
I’m glad you liked it,”
she said faintly.

He brushed a falling lock
of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Were you
thinking of someone in particular when you wrote it?”

“
No.”

“
I see.”

She took another peek at
him from under her lashes. He was smiling – a knowing smile, as if
he’d guessed the inspiration for her song – which must have been
absurdly obvious. Her stomach took a sickening lurch. Yet there was
tenderness in his smile as well. Was it possible that he felt a
real affection for her?

Some mistresses in
Concordia became attached to their slaves, their favorites. Some
even spoke of loving the men whom they’d singled out for attention.
Perhaps it was the same in Saturnios.

No. She mustn’t think that
way. It was dangerous. If she believed that he cared for her, she
would let down her guard. She might not be able to make the hard
decisions she’d need to make if she were ever to escape. Besides,
what kind of Concordian was she if she could care even a little for
the kind regard of the Saturnian who purported to be her master? To
soften toward him would be a betrayal of everything she’d ever
believed in; indeed, it would be a betrayal of her whole
nation.

She set the guitar aside
with an irritated frown. “My voice is tired. If it please you,
Master, I must stop and rest now.”

“
I greatly enjoyed the
concert,” he said mildly. “Thank you.”

“
It is my pleasure to
serve.” She was merely parroting a line from the speech of male
slaves in Concordia.

It seemed to please him,
because he smiled. “Good.”

A young slave dressed in a plain black
leather collar arrived with lunch on a rolling tray. Once again,
Dario made Tariza kneel beside his chair to eat. He was generous
with the food he offered her, holding nothing back. Still, her
position rankled.

After lunch, he told her to
dress in the same clothes she’d worn on the trail the day before.
Puzzled, she followed orders. At least he didn’t expect her to
prance around naked like the other slaves in the palace. That part
would come soon, she was sure.

When they were both dressed, he took
her by the hand and led her from his chambers. The grand corridor
outside his rooms looked no less grand in the daylight. Elaborate
landscapes and portraits of Saturnian men marched in an even line
down the hall, punctuated by candle sconces hung with crystals.
There were no paintings of women here. Tariza glanced at painting
after painting as she and Dario traversed the hallway.

“
My ancestors,” he
said.

“
They look very
fierce.”

“
They were.”

“
Is your father among
them?”

“
No. These are kings of
Saturnios, and my father was neither a king nor the heir to the
throne. There is a portrait of him and my mother in my
rooms.”

Her head came up and she
looked directly at him without thinking of the consequences. “I
didn’t see it.”

“
I’ll show it to you when
we get back. Now keep your gaze down.” He sounded more amused than
angry.

She ducked her head. “I’m
sorry, Master.”

Inwardly, she winced. Every
time she repeated one of the formula speeches of a slave, it became
easier. Soon she’d be rattling them off without thinking about it
at all.

When they reached the grand staircase,
they encountered many more people, both men and women. Most of the
women were nearly naked and barefoot. People of both genders stared
openly at her as they passed. No doubt everyone knew who she was by
now.

Tariza pretended she didn’t
see the looks she was getting. But she did. The men seemed to gloat
and the women were openly hateful. The glares they gave her hurt
almost as much as a slap to the face. She hadn’t expected
that.

No. You thought they would
look up to you, see you as a hero.
What a
fool she was.

Dario led her through some
back corridors of the palace to a door that opened onto the vast
courtyard through which they’d entered the night before. They
crossed the cobblestoned space and entered the stables at the other
side. The warm animal smell of horses, leather and straw filled her
nostrils and made her smile.

“
I thought you might like
to visit the horses,” he said.

Her throat grew tight. She
didn’t know whether to throw her arms around him or curse his name.
He was trying to charm her, trying to wear down her defenses. Or
was he trying to make her happy?

She didn’t want to be happy here.

***

They returned to Dario’s
quarters late in the afternoon. He led her through the sitting room
to a large desk in the corner. Bookcases flanked the piece and on
the wall above hung a painting of a man and woman who looked very
much like Dario.

“
Here it is,” he said. “My
parents.”

The man closely resembled
Grasos, except without the cruel edge to his smile. His dark eyes,
so like Dario’s, were kind. The woman kneeling at his feet wore a
filmy gown of pale blue embroidered with silver thread. She stared
out of the painting with a boldness Tariza had never seen in a
slave. Her eyes were the same icy blue as Mateo’s, her hair nearly
black.

“
You look like both of
them,” she said.

“
My sister is nearly a
replica of our mother.”

She glanced up at him. “I
didn’t know you had a sister.”

“
She lives on the other
side of the city with her master.” Dario looked down at her. “He
treasures her as my father treasured my mother.”

“
But she’s a slave, isn’t
she?”

“
She is. Her master’s
favorite.”

“
And your mother was your
father’s favorite.” She, Tariza, would never be satisfied being
merely a favorite.

“
She was the only woman for
him. They were in love.”

“
Love,” she said softly. “I
never believed in love.”

“
Have you never seen
it?”

“
I’ve met a few women who
claim to love one of their slaves.” None of them, to her knowledge,
had commissioned a portrait of the male, however.

“
Why don’t you believe in
it, then?”

She tilted her head. “I
suppose it seemed more like sexual obsession to me. And most of the
love stories I heard came from male dominated cultures. I thought
–” She stole another glance at him. “I thought it was a fairy tale
meant to keep women docile.”

To her surprise, he seemed
to genuinely consider her words. “I don’t think it is. If anything,
it sounds like a story women would tell to make men limit
themselves to only one partner apiece.”

She frowned. “Are you
saying men are more naturally promiscuous than women?”

“
It’s what I’ve always
believed.” He gave her a wry smile. “Do you disagree?”

“
Yes.”

“
On what
grounds?”

“
For one thing, women are
capable of multiple orgasms while men can have only one and then
must rest. That tells me we women are made to enjoy several
partners in a single encounter.”

His brows climbed toward
his hairline. “Really. Does that mean you’d be happier if I shared
you with other men?”

“
No!” Her face heated. “It
only works if the woman chooses freely.”

“
I see.” He grinned at
her.

“
You’re teasing
me.”

“
Maybe a
little.”

The grin brought out his
dimples. He looked so charming, his eyes sparkling, that she
couldn’t help smiling back at him. It was a strange relationship
they had – talking, like friends, making love like master and
slave, and it was leading her somewhere she couldn’t
see.

While she’d met women who
claimed to love their slaves, she’d never observed any of them
treating those slaves as equals. Not even for one conversation. Why
was Dario doing this? Why did he speak to her this way?

Her gaze faltered, breaking contact
with his eyes as she looked down, flushing. They were both
explorers in an unknown land. It was a place that sometimes
frightened her.

His fingers caught her
chin, urging her to look upward. “Hey. What’s wrong?” he said in a
low voice.

“
Nothing,
Master.”

“
Tariza. You don’t have to
call me Master here.”

She frowned at him. “But
you said –”

“
I know what I said. It just
doesn’t feel right between us. Not here, when we’re alone.” He bent
his head and touched his lips to hers. His hand rose to cup the
side of her face. “You’re not just a slave to
me.”