With his death, their hopes of freedom had faded.
Tirigan had wanted to go to the dead king’s younger sister with their story, hoping she’d be sympathetic to one of her brother’s causes. But after he’d sent Nasir to listen for rumors at the taverns, Tirigan had carefully weighed everything the guard had conveyed and concluded that the future queen was too unknown a quantity to trust.
Besides, the princess hadn’t secured her own power base yet and could too quickly become a puppet monarch. It had happened in the past when a young ruler who hadn’t expected to have the throne thrust upon them, suddenly found themselves out of their element and ended up having to rely upon the counsel of others.
If it had only been Tirigan’s life on the line, he would have gone to her. Perhaps even offered his unique services. But he wouldn’t risk his friends or the guards that had forfeited everything to help them escape.
Still, thinking of that poor young queen roused instincts within him, the desire to protect her so she wouldn’t be used to further the ambition of some noble family or other. But it was foolish, he reminded himself. What could a slave do for a queen?
Perhaps the protective instincts he felt toward a woman he’d never met was rooted in her lineage. Her mother had been a slave once. Maybe that was why Tirigan felt some pity for the woman. They shared a kinship. A very tiny one that she might laugh at.
Once they’d debated the risks of staying on Nineveh or leaving the kingdom altogether, they’d decided to try earning enough money to add to what the guards had brought with them and the jewels the slaves had stolen. With luck, they’d have enough gold, coins, and gems to start a new life somewhere outside of New Sumer’s borders.
For close to two moon cycles, they’d laid low, working on the docks, pretending to be slaves hired out by Seluku, who was posing as a woman from a young merchant house scouting Nineveh for textiles to ship to the smaller outposts. Each night, they pooled their earnings, which had grown substantially with Bashaa’s aid.
Bashaa was a remarkable pickpocket, almost able to pick coins from the palms of the owners without them being the wiser. Though Tirigan warned Bashaa not to press his luck, so the other man simply charmed the coins out of pockets and purses and coin chests instead.
Yesterday, after over a moon cycle of hard work, the six of them had gathered enough coin to book passage to Nipper and still have a good chunk left over to help them start a new life elsewhere.
Tirigan felt a bit of guilt that they’d be dropping the owner off at one of the smaller resupply islands after stealing the boat. But they didn’t have a choice if they wanted to live free. And the world beyond New Sumer was the only way to do that.
It was dangerous, but they’d known they couldn’t continue as they were. Eventually, someone would recognize the guards as deserters or that he and his friends had escaped from Governor Ugurnaszir.
They’d had to attempt escape.
But the gods hated him, Tirigan decided, and anyone associated with him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that their plan had fallen apart and ended in recapture.
He wasn’t sure which was worse, going back to Eridu, once again in chains, or the deserters’ fate at the hands of the executioner tomorrow. Not that Fate cared what he might wish. Mercy was never granted. Tomorrow he would live on and grieve the death of three of his new friends.
He strove for the inner calm he always fell back on to master his emotions.
Calm was elusive tonight.
He flexed his arms, and the chains rattled.
The sound fed his despair. It would take a very long time to get over his too few, but glorious, days of freedom.
Glancing down at himself, his lips compressed into an unhappy line.
His upper chest was naked except for the collar around his neck. His lower half was clothed. If one could consider the burgundy, nearly sheer, flowing fabric as cover. He much preferred his threadbare robe.
The scruffy beard he’d been growing to hide his face had been trimmed to only a tiny fraction of what it had been before. The gold dust and kohl around his eyes itched, but he couldn’t reach it to scratch. Those were only minor discomforts.
Arahunaa, the most prestigious of the slave traders in the capital city, had promised to visit him, Bashaa and Laliya this night. She made it clear she planned to have a taste of Governor Ugurnaszir’s most prized slaves before she shipped them back to him in the morning.
“We should have gone to the princess,” Bashaa said, breaking his silence for the first time in hours, but keeping his voice quiet enough not to wake Laliya. She’d stayed awake earlier while they’d slept. “Even if she weren’t willing to free us, I’d have tried very hard to seduce the future queen into keeping us for herself. That has to be better than going back to Ugurnaszir.”
Tirigan snorted, silently agreeing with his friend. If he’d met the future queen, he’d have called on every skill he had to win her over. He glanced over at his other friend. Not that Bashaa needed help seducing anyone.
Even though Bashaa was adorned in a matching outfit and makeup. Bashaa’s leaner, less muscular frame made the outfit look regal.
Which was probably what Arahunaa was going for.
Tirigan, in contrast, was too big, too brutish to manage to look regal. If a noble lady were to look upon him in his present attire, she’d likely laugh herself onto the floor.
Sighing, he replied to Bashaa’s comment. “It doesn’t matter. She might just have turned us over to Ugurnaszir to gain his support.”
“That’s true.” Bashaa shrugged. “Even if we had escaped, we might have died out at sea before finding land.”
“Yes, there was always that possibility, but I would h—” Tirigan’s sensitive hearing picked up the approach of soft footfalls against the plushly carpeted floor of the tent. “Someone comes.”
Bashaa instantly came alert.
They didn’t have long to wait. Arahunaa pushed aside a fringed curtain and entered their smaller, sectioned off area of the tent. Throughout the day and late into the evening, they’d heard others coming and going out in the main selling area of the big tent.
He couldn’t have said how many slaves had been on display and later bought. As far as he could tell, Arahunaa bought as many as she sold. She would clean up the newest batch, train them for months, then put them in beautiful outfits and resell them.
His stomach soured a little more with each sale.
Arahunaa glided into the room. She was a half-breed, like Nasir. Born of a male gryphon and a female human. Well, he supposed it could have been the other way around too. But a female gryphon going into heat for a male human was much rarer.
“Ah. Delightful. The servants cleaned you both up so nicely.”
Laliya jerked awake at the sound of Arahunaa’s voice, but she didn’t make a noise. Just sat up and waited.
Arahunaa circled them. “Which one of you should I start with?”
He didn’t respond, keeping his gaze on the floor and head bowed. Bashaa followed his lead.
“So quick and well trained.” Her laughter filled the tent. “Still, I think I’ll keep the chains on for now. I heard how you fought the city guards when they came to capture you. Libluth complained that you crippled a half dozen of his men with your bare hands.”
A finger trailed along his shoulder and then she paused behind him.
He knew she was staring at his back.
Anyone who saw it couldn’t help but stare.
“What a shame. You’re such a beautiful specimen otherwise. Perhaps the best-looking male—gryphon or human—that I’ve ever been blessed to lay eyes on. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot of lovely flesh in my day.” She paused, caressing a hand down his back. “This burn—was it intentional or accidental?”
He honestly didn’t know that answer. He’d been too young when it happened and retained no memory of it. Though, as he’d grown older, he’d realized he’d been lucky to survive such a burn.
It
covered most of his back, both ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. If he were to guess, he’d say it looked like he’d stumbled into the embers of a bonfire. Or something already alit had fallen onto him.
Sometimes he liked to think that he’d been in a house fire and part of the structure had fallen upon him, and he’d been pulled to safety by his father. Who’d then gone back into the fire to save Tirigan’s mother and siblings, but before he could escape with them, the building collapsed, killing them all.
While it wasn’t a nice fantasy, it was better than thinking his family had sold him into slavery.
“Slave. Answer me.”
He thought about being obstinate and getting a whipping, but what was the point? Besides, Arahunaa might already have learned that the key to controlling him was threatening to harm his friends. All his past masters had been quick to notice that while he could take almost any amount of pain in silence, he had very little stomach for watching others get punished in his place.
“It happened when I was very young. I do not remember how.”
“Ah. See? Was that so difficult?” Arahunaa walked around in front of him and knelt. “Mmm. That voice. I could listen to you talk for hours. I wonder what you sound like during moments of high passion. Does that deliciously deep voice deepen even more during times of heightened arousal?”
Her hands curved over his shoulders, gliding down to flick his nipples. He gritted his teeth and continued to stare blankly ahead, which, unfortunately, had him looking down into a dark vee of cleavage.
Not where he really wanted to be looking, but if he turned his head, she’d know she was making him uncomfortable.
And rule number one was never let one’s master know when you were uncomfortable. They’d home in upon the weakness like a jackal upon carrion.
“Talk, slave. Or I’ll go ask my questions of your smaller friend. He’s very pretty, too. Or maybe I’ll pay the female some special attention. I imagine I can get you both talking then.”
“I’ve never noticed,” he paused and then clarify, “if my voice changes when I’m with a woman.”
Arahunaa chuckled. “What about when you’re under another man?”
Tirigan’s jaw clenched involuntarily, preventing speech even if he’d wanted to answer her.
“Now, now. Governor Ugurnaszir’s…varied…tastes are known far and wide. I’ve even seen one of his entertainments when you were on display. You were wearing a cloak, so I didn’t see the scars covering your back.”
Arahunaa paused again. “What? No words again? Aren’t you an obstinate one.”
Tirigan snorted bitterly. “Again, I must plead distraction.”
Though, he was damn sure he never uttered a word or a sound during any of the rapes or performances Ugurnaszir so enjoyed. His silence was the one thing he still had under his command.
“No? Very well, I’ll just have to find out for myself I suppose.” She leaned close and pressed her mouth against his hungrily, it was both punishing and invading. He didn’t bother to fight her. Though it was a battle to stop himself from biting her tongue.
She ran her hands along his body and arched into him, pressing her breasts against his chest.
“Mmm,” she muttered as she pulled away. “I’d unchain you if I thought I could trust you.”
Tirigan perked up a bit at that thought. If he could get himself free of the chains, he could overpower Arahunaa. As a human-gryphon hybrid, she was weaker than a regular gryphon female. He might be able to escape.
He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her throat, nibbling his way down her neck. “My hands may be tied, but I have lips and a tongue if my mistress has happened to have forgotten.”
“You’re going to be a good boy, now are you? Why don’t I believe that?” She looked over toward Bashaa. “You, come here.”
Bashaa obeyed without a hint of hesitation. He knew the game. Do what you’re told if you don’t want to get hurt.
“That’s a good boy. You, female.” Arahunaa didn’t bother to look over her shoulder this time. “Make yourself useful and get him ready for me.”
Laliya sent a glower at the slaver, but she rose to do as she was told. Even after years of slavery, Tirigan suspected of the three of them, Laliya was the less broken of the bunch. She just had such a strength to her character, she refused to be cowed completely.
Though, after she’d discovered her outbursts ended in Bashaa or him get punished, she learned to control or at least hide her rage.
Bashaa played his part well, like he always did, smiling lazily up at Laliya’s approach.
“Mistress Arahunaa,” she said in a soft, demure voice. “It would be easier if I could use my hands.”
Arahunaa flicked a tongue over Tirigan’s nipple before answering, her warm breath washing over his damp skin. “Use your mouth. I’m not greedy enough or stupid enough to let any of you three out of your chains.”
Laliya merely nodded and then went to her knees in front of Bashaa. Unashamed, because really, she’d done the same thing hundreds of times, she nuzzled her face in his groin. After a few moments, she leaned forward, grabbing his belt with her teeth.
Arahunaa chuckled. “She’s delightfully versatile, isn’t she?”
“Ho there,” came a sharp, commanding voice from somewhere out beyond the fringed curtain that acted as a door to this section of tent.
“Ah.” Tirigan smiled at Arahunaa. “I think a consumer is seeking your attention.”
“Ereshkigal’s tits! I closed early for the night. What good are the stupid guards if they can’t even enlighten late comers of that fact?”
Chapter 5
Asharru’s gryphon bypassed many extravagant tents. Surely any one of them could have contained slaves who would have served their needs. But her gryphon nature was hunting for something, make that someone, and she was rather certain the beast didn’t care what Asharru herself thought.
Briefly, she dwelled on the possibility that this might be one of the fabled divine gifts that were said to run in the royal line. Neither her father or brother had possessed the gift, or curse, as it was sometimes called. Though her great-grandmother was said to have possessed a substantial gift for prophecy.
As Asharru had understood it, that prophesy had come in the form of chaotic visions, not this…
She wasn’t even sure what to call her gryphon’s sudden urgency.
But at last the faint scent trail she’d been following began to strengthen. Lengthening her stride, she hurried forward. Beside her, Kuri and Hunzuu were casting looks at each other. Though they were too well trained to question their Crown Princess.
She didn’t care what they thought. Well, maybe that was her gryphon didn’t care what they thought.
The trail ended suddenly at a most ostentatious tent surrounded by ten armed guards. While these weren’t Nineveh city garrison guards, when Kuri called out to them, saying they were on official palace business, the tent’s wardens lowered their weapons.
Clearly, they were used to unannounced arrivals. The nearest two nodded and then made to enter the tent, but Kuri waved them off with such authority, they immediately returned to their positions.
The decadence of the gold-fringed burgundy fabric with its lion and bull motif would have looked at home in the royal palace. Asharru might have been surrounded by such lavishness since her birth, but she’d never felt at home with it.
She couldn’t quite understand why anyone would wish to surround themselves in such trappings willingly.
“My Lady,” Kuri whispered. “This is where the wealthiest of the noble houses acquire their slaves. Arahunaa is known for only taking on the best and then putting an added layer of polish on them. We may not have enough funds with us for even one of her slaves.”
Hunzuu hefted the bag of coins they’d brought with them. “We might be able to afford an arm of one of Arahunaa’s stock.”
Kuri leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps one of the other dealers,
my—”
“No.” She wasn’t about to waste time explaining now. Once her gryphon was calmer, she’d attempt to do so. Not that Asharru actually knew how to explain what was going on.
She marched forward but paused when she found the opening to the lavish tent secured on the inside by a few ties. While her gryphon snarled mentally at the hold up, she drew her dagger and began slashing her way inside.
“That’s going to go over well with the owner,” Hunzuu said dryly.
But he moved forward to enter first, calling out once he was inside. “Ho there.”
An angry mutter reached Asharru’s ears. She wove her way deeper into the fully furnished tent interior. At the back, there were several curtained off areas, and she made straight for the one where the murmur of conversation originated. Kuri and Hunzuu got there before her though and drew aside another fringed curtain.
Inside was a scene that made her gryphon snarl again.
Four people turned to watch as Asharru swept into the small area. Three of them were in chains. The lone unchained woman seemed the most surprised and angered by her sudden appearance.
The anger was understandable, Asharru supposed, since she and her two guards had interrupted at a bad time, judging by the woman’s toplessness and how she was shoving her breasts in a chained man’s face.
The other two prisoners, a clean-shaven dark-haired male and an unusually pale-skinned, red-headed woman, were both chained but seemed to have been taking instruction from the woman who must be the slave trader Arahunaa.
Asharru’s gryphon seemed most interested in the first man.
Even sitting, it was impossible to miss how large and well-muscled this fellow was. Intense dark eyes, thick lashes, and a sensual mouth framed by a neatly trimmed beard would have been enough to catch the eye of many women. But his rich brown skin tone that was a few shades darker than what was common in Nineveh only added to the exotic beauty this male possessed.
Though something besides his stunning appearance had drawn her gryphon to him, and Asharru stalked forward three paces before she could stop herself.
Blade's Destiny (Ishtar's Legacy Book 3) Page 3
