Servant of the Empire. Janny Wurts
had been a façade to cover desperation.
Mara gritted her teeth against pain, twisted, and tried for a kick at his groin. His eyes flashed. He shook her like a rag doll, and did the same again as her nails raked his wrist. The breath grated through the back of her throat. He held her just tightly enough to prevent outcry, but not quite cruelly enough to stop her breath. His eyes bent close to hers, blue and hard and glittering with malice.
‘I see you are frightened at last,’ he observed. She could not speak, must be growing dizzy; her eyes were very wide and dark, and filling with tears from pain. And yet she did not tremble. Her hair hung warm over his hands, scented with spices; the breast that pressed his forearm through her silk robe made fury difficult to maintain. ‘You call me honourless slave, and barbarian,’ Kevin continued in a hoarse whisper. ‘And yet I am neither. If you were a man, you would now be dead, and I would die knowing I had removed a powerful Lord from my enemies’ ranks. But where I come from, it is shameful for a man to harm a woman. So I will let you go. You can call your guards – maybe have me beaten or killed. But we have a saying in Zun: “You can kill me, but you can’t eat me.” Remember this, when you watch me die as I hang from a tree. No matter what you do to my body, my soul and heart are free. Remember that I allowed you to kill me. I permitted you to live because my honour required it. From this moment forward, your every breath is a slave’s gift.’ He gave her a last shake and released her. ‘My gift.’
Humiliated to her very core that a slave should have dared lay hands on her and threaten her with the most shameful death, Mara drew breath to call her warriors. With a gesture, she could subject this redheaded barbarian to any of a dozen torments. He was a slave, he had no soul and no honour; and yet he slowly, and with dignity, sat back upon the floor before her cushions, his eyes mocking as he waited for her to name his fate. Revulsion not felt since she lay helpless beneath her brute of a husband made her shake. Every fibre of her being cried out that this barbarian be made to suffer for the insult he had forced her to endure.
But what he had said gave her pause. His manner challenged her: call your guards, his tenseness seemed to say. Let them see the fingermarks on your flesh. Mara gritted her teeth against a shriek of pure rage. Her soldiers would know that this barbarian had held her at his mercy, and chose to let her go. Whether she ordered him scourged or executed, the victory would be his; he might have snapped her neck as easily as that of a snared songbird, and instead he had maintained honour as he understood it. And he would die with that honour intact, as if he had been killed in battle by an enemy’s blade.
Mara grappled with a concept so alien it raised her skin to chill bumps. To vanquish this man through the use of superior rank would only diminish her, and to be shamed by a slave’s action was unthinkable. She had trapped herself, and he knew it. His insolent posture as he sat waiting for her to act revealed that he had guessed to a fine point how her thinking would follow, and then staked his life on his hunch. That was admirable playing for a barbarian. Mara took stock of the result. Shaken again into chills, but Tsurani enough to hide them, she fought for composure. More hoarsely than she intended to sound, she said, ‘You have won this round, slave. By bargaining the only thing you have to risk, your own existence and whatever faint hope you have for elevation on the Wheel in the next life, you have put me in the position of either destroying you or enduring this shame.’ Her expression changed from barely controlled rage to calculation. ‘There is a lesson in this. I’ll not forfeit such instruction for the pleasure in seeing your death – no matter how enjoyable that choice appears at the moment.’ She called a servant. ‘Return this slave to quarters. Instruct the guards that he is not to be allowed out with the workers.’ Looking at Kevin, she added, ‘Have him returned here after the evening meal tomorrow.’
Kevin mocked her with a courtier’s bow, not the obeisance due from a slave. His erect posture and confident stride as he moved down the hallway forced her to admire him. As the door to her study closed, Mara returned to her cushions, battling chaos within. Shaken by unexpected emotions, she willed her eyes closed and ordered herself to breathe deeply, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. She called up an image of her personal contemplation circle, a ritual first practised during her service at the temple. She focused on the mandala’s design and banished all recollection of the powerful barbarian as he held her at his mercy. Fear and anger drained away, along with other strangely exciting feelings. When at last Mara felt her body relax, she opened her eyes once more.
Refreshed, as always from such exercise, she considered the evening’s events. Something might be gained from this odd man when all had been assimilated. Then another angry flash visited her. Man! This slave! Again she employed the exercise to calm the mind, but a strange and unsettled feeling lingered in the pit of her stomach. Clearly the balance of the night would hold nothing akin to tranquillity. Why did she find it so difficult to find her inner peace? Except for damaged pride she was unharmed. Early in life she had discovered that pride was a means of trapping enemies. Perhaps, she considered, even I have pride I have not named.
Then, unexpectedly, she giggled. You can kill me, but you can’t eat me, the barbarian had said. Such an odd expression, but one that revealed much. Caught by rising laughter, Mara thought, I’ll eat you, Kevin of Zun. I’ll take your free soul and heart and tie them to me more than your body was ever bound. Then the laughter became a choked sob, and tears trailed down her cheeks. Outrage and humiliation overwhelmed her until she shook in spasms. With that pain came other emotions, equally disturbing, and Mara crossed her arms to hold herself tightly, as if she could force her body to stillness. Control returned with difficulty, as she employed her mental exercises yet again.
When at last she regained her composure, she let out a long breath. Never had she needed to employ that exercise three times. With a muttered ‘Damn that man!’ she called servants to ready her bath. She rose, and added, ‘And damn his wrongheaded pride!’ As she heard the bustle of servants racing to do her bidding, she amended her comment: ‘Damn all wrongheaded pride.’
Mara studied the outworlder, again in the red light of sunset. Heat invaded her study, despite the open screens to the garden, admitting the faint evening breezes, yet Kevin was more relaxed than previously. His fingers still toyed with the fringes of the cushion, a habit no Tsurani would permit. Mara counted it an unconscious act, signifying nothing. Obviously the implications of being allowed to live had finally registered on the outworlder. He studied Mara as intently as she studied him.
This strange, handsome – in an alien way – slave had forced her to examine long-held beliefs and set certain ‘truths’ aside. For the balance of the previous night and most of the day Mara had sorted out impressions, emotions, and thoughts. Twice she had been so irritated by this necessity she had been tempted to send soldiers to have the man beaten or even killed, but she recognized that the impulse stemmed from her personal frustration and resolved not to blame the messenger for the message. And the lesson was clear: things are not as they appear to be.
For some peculiar reason she wished to play this man in an intimate version of the Great Game. The challenge had been made the moment he had forced her to submit to his rules. Very well, she thought, as she regarded him, you have made the rules, but you will still lose. She didn’t understand why it was important to vanquish this slave, but her intent to do so matched her desire to see the Minwanabi ground into the dust. Kevin must come to be her subject in every way, giving her the same unquestioning obedience as every other member of her household.
Kevin had been in her presence for nearly ten minutes, silently waiting as she finished reading reports. Reaching for her opening gambit, she said, ‘Would you care for something to drink? The interrogation may prove long.’ He weighed her words well enough to know she did not offer conciliation, then shook his head. After another silence, she asked, ‘On your world is it possible for a slave to go free?’
Kevin’s mouth crooked in irony. His fingers flicked, and fringes scattered in a snap of pent-up frustration. ‘Not in the Kingdom, for only criminals with life punishment are sold as slaves. But in Kesh and Queg, a slave who pleases his master may earn freedom as a reward. Or he may escape and make his way across the borders. It happens.’
Mara watched his hands. Flick, flick, one finger after another lashed the fringes;