Shadows Return (29 page)

He leaned over Seregil and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “This one doesn’t seem too high and mighty, does he?”

The other chuckled as he came over and yanked Seregil’s head up by the hair.

Seregil was getting tired of this sort of treatment, but remained limp and passive.

“Not bad, for a ’faie. Look at those eyes!”

“And that mouth,” the other rumbled, scratching suggestively at his crotch. “What do you think? Would he squeal to Khenir?”

Seregil carefully kept himself in check, not betraying that he understood every word. When one of them began to unlace his breeches, however, the meaning required no words. Neither did Seregil’s answer. He bared his teeth and snapped them together a couple of times, glaring a challenge.

The other man laughed. “Give it up. He’s not worth the beating, and I do believe he means it.

Get that old bitch down here to clean him. She’s been all in a lather over him since they put him down here.”

They got their petty revenge, taking the bedding and leaving him naked and shivering on the cold floor. He chafed his arms and legs as he waited. He’d have to be careful with them. As much as they might hate Ilar, they clearly enjoyed tormenting Seregil more.

They returned in short order with Zoriel and several servants. Seregil was glad to see they were carrying a small tub and buckets of water, as well as fresh bedding.

The water was icy, but any bath was welcome and he endured it happily as Zoriel scolded him.

“I had you well again, and look at you now, young son! You’re nothing but bones and bruises.”

“My master isn’t as kind as yours,” Seregil replied with a wry grin, wincing as she scrubbed his back with a rough cloth.

“You tried to throttle him, I heard.” Leaning close, she whispered, “Some of us had a good laugh over that, and not just the slaves.” She dumped a can of cold water over his head and started on his hair with the soap, saying loudly, “Don’t you know who Khenir is? He’s the master’s favorite, and soon to be a freedman. You’ll belong to him, so you’d best learn some manners.”

Seregil sniffed and said nothing. He glanced at the guards to make sure they weren’t paying attention, then murmured, “Did you send the Khatme woman to me?”

“I did. I heard at first that you’d been killed, but she said she saw you being dragged down here. She has the run of the house, more than I do.”

“She’s your friend?”

“I suppose you could say that. It takes a Khatme a while to warm up, as they say. Cold as their mountain fai’thast, most of them, and crafty. But she soon learned she’s no better than the rest of us, when he came.”

“Khenir, you mean?”

“Who else? He’s a sly dog, that one. Smooth as silk with Ilban, and never a word to the rest of us that doesn’t suit his ends.”

“He was always like that.”

She paused in her washing and whispered, “He said he knew you in the past, but I didn’t believe him at first. So he’s dragged you into slavery with him, has he?”

“To get himself out. It’s not me your Ilban wanted, but my friend. Have you seen him?”

“The yellow-haired boy? Only a glimpse now and then when they’d take him through the house to the workshop, but not since they started keeping him there.”

“And you’ve heard nothing more of him since?”

She hesitated, then shook her head and helped him from the tub and into a large towel. He locked eyes with her. “You have heard something. Please, tell me!”

“Well, a few nights ago the most pitiful sounds came from the master’s shop.”

Seregil gripped her wrist as she tried to dry his hair. “What kind of sounds?”

“Cries,” she whispered. “Like someone was being murdered. It could have been an animal, but it sounded like…” She pursed her lips and blinked. “It sounded like a child! But no slave that young’s been brought in, or any animal of late. Not that I know of, and I don’t miss much that happens in the house. Rhania hadn’t heard of any, either.”

Seregil sank slowly to the floor and pulled the towel around him. “A few nights? When I was brought back here?”

“Yes.”

“Bilairy’s Balls. Is that why he laughed at me?”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Thank you, old mother. I’m grateful for all your care.”

She shook her head, then bent and kissed him on the top of the head as if he were a child. “No one’s called me that but you, young one. Come and sit up so I can comb out that mess of hair of yours.”

Seregil allowed himself to relax as she worked through the tangles and helped him into a clean woolen robe. As she tucked him into bed, he even caught himself wondering fleetingly how he could take her with him when he got out. That was ridiculous, of course, but he did feel a bit guilty at the thought of deserting her.

Alec wouldn’t leave her.

Zoriel retrieved the tray that had been brought earlier and set it across his legs. It was nothing more than the same old lentil soup, bread, and a sliver of hard cheese, but he was so famished it looked like a feast to him. He ate the meal one item at a time, expecting to end up drugged sooner or later. By the time he finished, though, he was still awake and clearheaded.

Zoriel carried the tray out, and the servants cleared away the bath things and took the lantern with them.

Seregil listened to the bar fall into place, then turned on his side. The new pallet and blankets were warmer than the last, but smelled only of fresh air and herbs, with no trace of Alec. They’d left him his pillow, and he pressed his face into it, seeking the lingering traces of Alec’s scent.

The cries Zoriel had reported had sounded like a child or an animal, she’d said. He clutched the pillow closer and prayed it had been the latter.

The following day he was moved back to his upstairs room, with the view of the garden. No one came to beat or drug him, but he knew better than to get his hopes up yet.

At Ilar’s command, Seregil sat by the window that afternoon and saw him walking in the garden with Alec, arm in arm as before. Ilar was holding the chain attached to a collar around Alec’s neck, as usual, but Alec seemed completely at ease with him. Every smile Alec gave the bastard was a knife in Seregil’s heart, but at least it was proof that he was still alive and well.

And he looked very well, indeed. It was difficult to tell at this distance, and it was probably only the longing of his own heart, but Alec seemed to have a certain glow about him. Seregil had always found him handsome, but he looked even more so now-a far cry from the filthy wreck Alec had been in that cage only a few days earlier. Now and then, though, Seregil saw his hand steal to his chest, where the tap had been, and the smile disappeared.

As he watched, overcome with yearning, Ilar suddenly turned to the window and waved up at him, instructing Alec to do the same.

Seregil caught his breath and waved back. Alec waved again, then turned away, unconcerned.

Seregil’s heart broke a little at that, and at the way Alec suffered it when Ilar slipped an arm about his shoulders and led him to the fish basin. He sank back in his chair, for the first time wondering if Ilar was seducing Alec, as he had Seregil so long ago. He pushed the unworthy thought away as soon as it arose, but he couldn’t shake off a sense of foreboding.

It hurt his pride to call it jealousy, so he didn’t.

“Who is that?” asked Alec, waving up at the indistinct figure behind the thickly glazed window.

“I think it must be Rhania,” Khenir replied. “That is her room.”

“Oh.” Alec waved again and thought he saw her wave back. Khenir took his arm and they resumed their walk. “You know,” said Alec, keeping his voice low. “I can hear what goes on in the workshop from my room.”

“I don’t doubt it. It’s right over your head.” Khenir patted his arm. “It must have been very hard for you, hearing the rhekaro cry out.”

“It was horrible!” He walked on a little further, gathering his courage, and wondering how much he could really say to this man, friend or not. “I wish there was some way to get free, before he can make another. Wouldn’t you…”

Khenir clasped Alec’s forearm, and ran his thumb over the shiny pink skin of the brand. “This is all you are now, or ever will be, Alec. Accept that, and save your worry for yourself. That’s what the rest of us do.”

“You wouldn’t even try to get away?”

“I told you before, Ilban is a good master. He takes good care of all of us, as long as we know our place.” He looked down ruefully at his own brand. “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“Not even back to your clan?”

Ilar went very quiet, then said very softly, “I’d die first.”

The Pale Child  

A
LEC BIDED HIS time over the next few days, looking for a chance to get free. But Yhakobin was in the workroom constantly, and others with him. Alec could hear the sound of them moving about every hour of the day and night. The alchemist even brought his tinctures to him down here. When Alec was alone again he stuck his finger down his throat and vomited them up again, but it didn’t do any good. Every time Yhakobin did the flame spell, the color had changed.

There were no more walks, either, and no more invitations to tea. He was left on his own, anxious and frustrated. When they finally dragged him back into the cellar, he fought harder than ever but of course, it was no use.

Thankfully, Yhakobin drugged him again, and when he woke a few days later, weak and sore and sick, Khenir was there to comfort him.

He held a cup against Alec’s lips. Alec tasted water, took it, and drank in slow, careful sips, not wanting to lose a precious drop.

As he watched, Ahmol helped Yhakobin dig up the new rhekaro and place it on a cloth. It stayed curled up, helpless as a newborn babe. The hair and skin looked white through the filth, just like the last one, but this one was a little bigger. And just like the last one, it had no wings.

Alec was almost sorry; he’d wondered if they were like a bird’s, with feathers, or just skin, like those of a bat or the tiny dragons he’d seen in Aurлnen.

Yhakobin gave a terse order and Ahmol brought him the silver tincture cup. The alchemist gently pried one of the rhekaro’s hands from its chest and pricked one small fingertip. Something oozed out, but it didn’t look like blood. Instead, it was almost clear, like water or new sap. Alec thought of the wounds on the previous rhekaro. For all that they looked nearly human, they had no more blood than an oak tree.

Yhakobin caught the drop in the cup and peered in. Whatever he saw pleased him, judging by the smile that broke across his face. Khenir said something hushed and excited. The alchemist clapped him on the shoulder, then wrapped the rhekaro in the cloth and carried it over to Alec, still huddled in his corner.

“You know what is required,” Yhakobin said quietly, unable to take his eyes from his new creature.

Alec held out his hand-the left this time, since the fingers of his right hand were all sore and scabbed-and let the alchemist prick him and place the bleeding finger to the rhekaro’s lips.

Like a questing infant, it made a few false tries, then found the finger and sucked hard.

Alec nearly pulled away from that hunger. It felt like the thing was sucking the life from his body. His arm went numb to the shoulder.

“Steady,” Yhakobin warned, clamping a hand on Alec’s elbow to keep him in place. “This one is stronger than the last-a good sign.”

The rhekaro took one last pull, then opened its eyes and looked up at Alec. This one’s eyes were not dark blue, but a silvery grey, hardly darker than the whites around them. Like the last one, though, it wore his own younger face, but with a stronger ’faie cast to it. Alec touched its moist, cool cheek and thought again of salamanders. It gazed up at him placidly.

Yhakobin chuckled. “Even you are moved by it, aren’t you?”

“Please, Ilban, don’t hurt this one.”

“You really are far too sentimental. I’ve told you before, it’s not a person. And you have nothing to fear, for now. It has passed the first test.”

Alec looked over at Ahmol, who still held the cup. Something dark was floating in it, but the slave turned and carried it upstairs before Alec could tell what it was.

The rhekaro’s cool eyes were still fixed on Alec, and he looked in vain for some sign of intelligence there. All the same, he couldn’t bear the thought of that little body being ravaged and tormented.

A child of no woman.

His child. Looking into this rhekaro’s face, remembering the screams of the other as it had been torn to pieces, his chest ached with sorrow and guilt. He thought of his picks, still safely hidden in his mattress.

It was time.

Khenir helped him down to his room, where supper had been laid out. The tub had been made ready for him, too. After hanging in that cage, Alec was almost glad to come back here to such simple comforts.

Neither spoke as the slave gently cleaned and dressed him. Alec was too tense to enjoy it, straining to listen for any sound of pain from above. But none came.

“Something different happened this time?” he asked, sinking gratefully into bed and starting on the cold meat and cheese laid out for him.