Branded

by Clare London

  With a soft grunt, Grien let himself down onto the grass beside me. I’d heard his footsteps, but been lost in thought, and hadn’t stirred to greet or rebuff him. The fire in front of me was low by now and I didn’t bother banking it up. In the background I could hear the night Guard buckling their swords and calling to each other to look for pickings from the kitchen after the feast. There were plenty of crude jokes about the Ladies’ appetites being for meat other than that cooked by the chefs—boys’ meat: the preparation of hot young flesh for the dishes of their Mistress. My soldiers were just men, after all. When the attention was off them and the regulations eased, they could be incautious and less respectful. I was lenient in most cases.

  “Do you want to know how it went?” Grien asked softly.

  I didn’t answer—didn’t ask him what he meant. But he knew I understood.

  He stretched out his long legs on the stubble of pale green grass and leaned back on his hands. His sword rattled into place at his side and he sighed. “The boy was silent. He took the lashes without a word.” His voice was very measured, as if he sought to hide any emotion. “There were already marks on his back. He’s been beaten before, which I can well believe if he’s as impudent as that with everybody. But he’s not been touched for a while. I tried not to break the skin too harshly, though there are fresh marks now. He still felt every stroke.”

  “And afterward?” I deliberately didn’t meet Grien’s eyes.

  Grien laughed shortly. “He couldn’t help the tears. He’s a youngster still. When he stood up, I told one of the other boys to go with him to wash the wounds and put ointment on. His temper came back again—he didn’t want help or company. He would’ve done it all by himself if he could have reached. And after he was treated, he came straight back to me, asking to be deployed. In a matter of minutes.”

  “It’s not temper,” I said. That wasn’t the boy’s curse, not really.

  “No,” Grien said carefully, watching me. “Maybe it’s not.”

  I was silent.

  Grien grimaced. “Yes, Maen, though you won’t ask me specifically, he had learned to call me sir. He deferred to me. He showed the beginnings of a salute, although they all need training in that. I think you’ll find him a little more willing to obey you now.”

  I lifted my head. Grien should never have used my name on the training field, but there was no other person about and he knew this wasn’t a serious breach. I stared at him. There was a strange tone in his voice. Was he criticizing my handling of the situation? If insubordinate behavior wasn’t dealt with on the first day, it would fester. He knew that as well as I.

  “What will Mistress Luana say when she sees his body? The stripes on his back?” asked my best Captain, a little curiously, a little mischievously. The dying firelight sparked reflections in his dark pupils, and I couldn’t help but see the mark of the man, along with the soldier. “I think he may be one of the first she calls. He has that look she likes, eh, Maen?”

  “He does indeed.” I stood abruptly. A stray coal from the fire spat out to the side and hissed to silence on the earth. “But she understands what I have to do to maintain discipline. To make them the men that she needs. If she’s unhappy with the marks on his body, she’ll wait until the soreness fades. There are plenty of other nights for that Bronzeman to meet his Mistress.”

  I couldn’t help but catch Grien’s puzzled look as I turned back to the barracks. I was glad he couldn’t see my face in return.

  Chapter Four

  FOR ANOTHER few months, no further word came about the promised visit from the Queen’s House. It was enough time for me to have all but forgotten Bernos’s words, although I remained unsettled. I’d been more than busy training the new Bronzemen. I’d also completed Grien’s appraisal, suggesting he be considered for Gold Warrior in the next assessment, and I’d been called by my Mistress more than a couple of nights. She hadn’t forgotten her more familiar lovers, despite her enjoyment of the new.

  I requested an increase of my medication but was refused by the Supervisor of the House of Physic. It wasn’t necessary, they told me; I took the requisite level of Devotions for a Gold Warrior. I suspected my Mistress had intervened, for all such requests would have to be passed through her, but maybe that was another symptom of my growing unease, a taint of paranoia. After all, nothing had really changed, I told myself. My duty and my position were the same as ever, and would be for the foreseeable future.

  I didn’t understand why that failed to comfort me anymore.

  THE LINE of Silver Captains at the first Morning Devotions had been even shorter than usual. There were few who would rise for that service if they weren’t on duty. Several Devotions were held throughout the day and they could attend any, so long as they met the daily requirements. This morning we’d taken our positions in the Main Hall and made the appropriate responses. Some of the Captains held copies of the Chart of Devotions in their hand as if they still had trouble remembering the words. Chants were sung by the officers on duty at all corners of the Hall, and repeated again and again; so no excuse, really, for anyone not to know them by heart. Then each one of us, when we thought we’d sufficiently met our duties, visited the dispensary to receive our personal Devotions.

  I smiled at the Dispenser—this month it was an assistant from the House of Physic whom I knew from other secondments to our Household—and stated my name and rank. She smiled back almost guiltily, her cheeks a little flushed, and marked me off on her central list. I saw there were plenty of marks already. At the end of the day, she’d use this list to report those who had missed any Devotions for whatever reason. They’d need a good excuse to avoid a disciplinary mark against them.

  I barely glanced at the two small tablets she dropped into my outstretched hand. I slipped them into my mouth and swallowed them. It had been the same routine, twice a day, since I’d become a Gold Warrior. When I was a Bronzeman, I took one single large pill a day; as a Silver Captain, my Devotions were three capsules, three times a day. Devotions were an established part of every man’s life and an essential one. No one wanted the sickness that came when Devotions were missed, and everyone was mindful of the punishments for disobedience to their Household and the Queen.

  I knew of the occasional instance of such disobedience. Any culprits were treated strictly by my Mistress. One of them had been a Silver under my command, and I’d felt it was a personal failure. I had no interest in listening to the man’s excuses, no understanding of his complaints of how dull and confused the Devotions made him feel or how they stifled his emotions. I’d stood beside the Mistress as she had him lashed.

  It had been a harsh lesson, but one I’d heeded.

  THE BLOND boy, Dax, was the only Bronzeman in the Hall—by now, the only man still there. He sat on a front bench, his back to me. I stood for a moment, watching him while he was unaware of me. Then I stepped forward, and at the same time he turned back to look at me. A strange shiver ran through me. His eyes were calm and unsurprised, as if he’d known I was there all along.

  I nodded to him. “It’s unusual to see a Bronzeman at the first Devotions,” I said by way of greeting, though my voice sounded harsh and awkward in the large empty room. It was far from usual for a Gold Warrior to stop to chat with a single Bronzeman.

  “I’m used to it, sir,” he replied. His voice had lost a lot of its aggression over the three months since his arrival, and he’d matured in many physical ways. His words were low and clear. “As Remainders, we took the Devotions every morning when we rose, and at suppertime too, sir.”

  I knew the routines for the Remainders were specifically tailored for them. Their Devotions were less flexible, for most of the Remainders were in generic work positions and served the same requirement of the city, and it was easier to establish a blanket process, a common dispensation of the treatment. Those Remainders who were chosen for the breeding program took one set of tablets, and all the others, another. It was only when and if men joined a Househ
old—when they had a future as a Bronzeman—that their commitment changed. Dax had adapted well to his new routine.

  There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as if he saw my thoughts. “I wasn’t chosen for the breeding, sir. So I’ve taken the same Devotions for all my life as a man. It’s no hardship to change one regular master for another.”

  I couldn’t help wondering why no one had thought him suitable for breeding, the program for maintaining the Remainder population. He was surely of good enough—attractive enough—stock. I tore my thoughts away from the subject with difficulty. His words had carried some current of conflict, but I’d missed the detail.

  “Your training is progressing well. Grien tells me you’re particularly good at the ax, and Fremer is pleased with your handling of the horses. You ride as well as some of the younger Silver Captains.”

  He flushed slightly. I was amused I caught him unprepared for praise.

  “Thank you, sir. I enjoy being with the horses, especially.”

  I continued to study him. Grien had actually said he was the best of the intake in horsemanship, that he showed remarkable potential. He was strong and quick, with fine, sensitive hands for the reins. His intellect was sharp, his concentration fierce. However, I wasn’t going to tell the boy that. So what other explanation could I have possibly given, if asked, for sitting down beside him this morning? For tarrying in the Hall when I had a garrison to see to, and prepare for the day ahead? He intrigued me; that was all.

  “Dax,” I said carefully. “What did you think it’d be like, to be a Bronzeman? I asked you when you arrived, whether you were unwilling. Was that really the case?”

  There was another sudden flicker in his eyes. No amusement now. “No, sir. It was an honor to be put forward. There aren’t many Remainders chosen. I understood it fully. I welcomed it, sir.”

  I tried to marry the light of determination I now saw in his eyes with his difficult introduction to the Household. The boy was surprisingly hard to understand.

  “I wanted to be a Bronzeman, sir!” he said more firmly, as if he thought I needed reassurance. “I was never chosen to breed. Instead, I was taken up for training in the worst kind of job in the House of Maintenance, in the sewers. I—” He flushed again, as if afraid of admitting too much to me, but he obviously wanted to speak more. “I was always a trouble to my Supervisors. But I still wanted to make something of myself. You’re not likely to understand, sir, never having been a Remainder.”

  “How do you know I was never a Remainder?” I was briefly confused. “I may have been chosen from among them myself.”

  He bit back a smile, but not before I’d recognized it as such. “No, sir. You’re from Household blood. There’s nothing about you that speaks of Remainder society. You’d know the look of it, if you’d been one of us. This was the only way I knew to earn a position, to get out from that life—”

  “To serve the city.” I don’t know why I felt it necessary to remind him of his new duties.

  “Yes, sir. To serve the city.” His response was calm but lacking in passion. I blamed it on the acoustics of the large room.

  “Your enthusiasm is admirable, boy. But there’s no room for personal ambition, except as required by the city. It’s not allowed—there’s no benefit to the city, otherwise. The city owns us all. Everything we have and do is for the sake of the city. You were offered as a Bronzeman and were lucky to be chosen. The decision was the Mistress’s entirely. It’s nothing to do with your own hopes.”

  He stared at me for a while. His open gaze made me feel a little uncomfortable. There weren’t many who had that effect on me. “May I speak honestly to you, sir?”

  “You must.” I’m not sure that was what I originally meant to say, but that’s what came out of my mouth.

  “Is that always the answer?” he asked slowly. “The answer to everything? That everything must be for the benefit of the city? Can’t people have or do something for themselves because of some personal desires? Not just selfish ones, of course. Don’t you have people that you care about, whose needs are just as important?”

  I looked into those curious, dark blue eyes and shook my head. “No, I don’t. Nothing is as important as one’s vocation. There are no people to care about except your Mistress and the city. She determines what’s right, what’s needed, and we carry it out. We support her. That’s our role.”

  An expression darted across his face, but one that I couldn’t identify. Not without spending more time with the boy, not without getting to know him better. There was a deep, dull ache in my chest at the thought of that. “Tell me about her, sir,” he said suddenly, the words appearing to spill out in a rush.

  “You forget yourself, Dax, demanding of me—”

  He interrupted my protest, a sudden spark of fear across his face. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to demand anything, not at all! I just wanted to know more about her. Please, then. Please tell me about the Mistress, if you will. Sir.”

  It was something about the soft sibilance of his “sir,” of his address to me. I’d never noticed it on the training ground, never heard it in the brief greetings and salutes we’d exchanged in the first few months of his life in the Household. But then, of course, I’d never had such a conversation with a Bronzeman before.

  And, rather surprisingly, it warmed me.

  “The four cities were established when we colonized this planet.” I feared that my conversation would sound like a history lesson, but I needed to explain the importance of my Mistress, of her heritage. “There were four Queens who took charge of our world. Each took a city and each established the Households. Aza City was the first to become self-sufficient.”

  “Are they far away? The other cities?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. The Central Council doesn’t pass all the details to soldiers, except as needed for a trip. This planet was hostile to us from the beginning. The first colonists had to travel great distances to find land and climate that would suit our kind. It’s likely the cities are far apart. We still struggle now, as you must know, against both the terrain and the weather. It’s been that way for hundreds of years. There’s no appetite to seek the other cities on a whim, potentially risking our hard-earned status by trying to support them as well.”

  “But when do we see citizens of the other cities? When do we travel there?”

  I laughed aloud at his excitement. “Not us, boy! Perhaps sometimes our Queen will travel, and she’ll take Mistresses and her own Guard with her. But rarely more than once or twice in a year. Each city is proud of its own ways, of its own culture. Amalgamation is not encouraged, for each may lose its unique identity and strength. Our Mistress is descended from the very first Queen herself. Her line has always been close to the Queen and the Central Council. She is of pure stock, and the very finest of women.”

  “And women have always ruled here?”

  I stared at him, and he added a hurried, “Sir.” But it wasn’t that which perturbed me.

  “Of course,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure why he’d thought to question the accepted way. “Women make the decisions and initiate the policies that protect both us and the city. After all, it was the Queens and their women who colonized this world in the first place—the Queens who had the cities built and the people trained in the necessary roles. Men couldn’t survive on this planet without help, because of some weakness in their physical aspect. Women nursed them to sufficient health to be servants of the cities, and then created the Devotions as a way to continue controlling the diseases and ills of the previous world.”

  “The previous world?”

  I shook my head. “I know nothing of such ancient history. It’s not required for me to know any more than I do. We thrive under the Queen. We live longer, we’re stronger, we’re more content with our lives.”

  “I have a different pattern of Devotions now that I’m here.”

  I smiled. I’d explained this before to Bronzemen. Some of them found it difficu
lt at first to understand they must accept a pattern of Devotions that matched their progress through a life of service. “As a child, you’ll have had very little, just enough to keep you alive as a male. Then, as a youth, you’ll have started the regular pattern, like you told me earlier. And as a Bronzeman, your Devotions have changed again. They allow you to develop to maturity more quickly and to provide pleasure and breeding potential for the Mistress. The children you’ll help create will join the city’s resources, so it’s important your body is at its prime. By the time you become a Silver Captain, your duty is to defend and fight, so your strength and stamina are more important. Your pleasure duties are still required, but breeding from you is less critical.”

  “They couple with each other,” he said abruptly. I wasn’t sure if it was a question or an observation. “The Silver Captains. We hear them. The barracks is close by our quarters.”

  I bit my lip. Some of the Silvers were noisy partners—some also liked to provoke the raw, rather naive Bronzemen by meeting up around their barracks. I knew what they could get up to. “Yes, they do. They’re not called as frequently by the Ladies as when they were Bronzemen. The Ladies have established favorites, leaving some men less popular. However, it’s important that they have sexual relief, that they can attend to all their needs.”

  And not disturb the barracks or the training, I thought. For the Silvers to be kept at their aggressive best, they must be allowed to relax their bodies when they needed to, not necessarily at the Ladies’ whim. It made for a more settled Guard, calmed tempers, and soothed frustration. But that was no business of this boy’s, not now.