by K. C. Julius
“But you were only a child yourself!” Halla cried, her stomach knotting with anger and disgust.
“That was my attraction for them.” Kainja’s reply was void of emotion, but her tightly clasped hands told another story. “All the while, I pretended indifference to Yenega, and so the dona accepted my suggestion. I have become her most dedicated florita.”
“So that Mihna could keep me with her.” Yenega slipped her small hand into Kainja’s.
“Shhh,” cautioned her mother. “You know you may never call me that.”
“But I do,” said the child, “when no one is around.” She lay her head against Kainja’s arm.
Halla thought about what she would be willing to do to protect her little brother, and what Kainja had sacrificed for her own flesh and blood. “I’m sorry to have so misjudged you,” she said quietly.
Kainja laughed. “I wasn’t pretending to hate you,” she confessed, “but you’ve forced me to revise my opinion.” She rose then and retrieved her shoes. “We shall have to continue a show of mutual hostility.”
“I understand.”
Kainja opened the door. “Then I hope you will forgive me for this.”
Bracing herself, Halla received a stinging slap, after which she gave her most convincing howl of the whole performance. The pain was considerably tempered by Yenega’s quick, fierce hug before the child slipped out after her mother.
* * *
From that point on, Halla’s experience at the Casa Calida took on a different light. In public, Kainja was as unrelenting as ever in her criticism, but in private, the relationship between the two of them began to evolve into something approaching a friendship.
Kainja decided Halla’s instruction should be conducted in the florita’s own room, which gave them privacy. Now that she was no longer hostile toward her pupil, Kainja proved to be an able, patient teacher. And at Halla’s request, most of her lessons were now in Albrenian, for she needed to master the language if she were to have any hope of escape. Of this hope, though, she said nothing to Kainja.
On Halla’s last evening in the bordello, they shared a full flagon of wine before Kainja conducted her final lesson in the art of seduction. “It will help you relax,” said her mentor, raising her glass.
Halla still found it difficult to conceal her disdain for the antics Kainja insisted were essential to please a man. “It seems like a lot of silly play-acting,” she complained. “Why should I pretend to be in the throes of passion if I’m not? And why can’t I demand pleasure in return?”
Kainja frowned. “Your brinking will be expected, regardless of how successfully Seor Palan performs, for his pride demands a show of satisfaction for his prowess. Some padrons put more effort than others into bringing their lovers to ecstasy.”
“Have you ever felt this—this brinking?”
“Not at first,” said Kainja. “I was too young, and it was… painful.” She shook away the memory, then took a sip of wine before setting her goblet aside. “Most of us seek our pleasure elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?”
Kainja returned Halla’s gaze levelly. “With another florita.”
“But—that’s unnatural!”
Kainja’s laugh was low and musical. “Only to those who’ve never experienced the love of a woman. Surely you have a dear amica in your past, a girl to whom you gave your heart in friendship, one who knows you perhaps better than you know yourself? One with whom you’ve laughed and wept with abandon? Can you not imagine what it might be like to love her in a more intimate way?”
Halla thought of Bria, whom she cherished like the sister she’d never had. Could she imagine lying with her?
Kainja refilled their glasses. “Tomorrow, you will leave us for the home of Seor Palan. I’ve taught you how to please him, and if you succeed, you might win his affection, as I have, although he rarely demonstrates it. But it’s unlikely his love-making will take you over the brink. He’s not generous in this regard.” Her expression sobered, and concern shaded her lovely eyes. “You must not fight him, Halla.”
Halla lifted her chin. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing anything else.”
Kainja covered Halla’s hand with her own. “I fear that’s true. But you must try to accept what you cannot prevent.”
“I don’t even know why he wants me!” Halla stood up and began to pace. “He has you, and any other women he wants here at Casa Calida.”
Something in Kainja’s expression made Halla’s blood run cold.
“What is it, Kainja?” she demanded. “What haven’t you told me?”
Kainja dropped her gaze to the floor. “At Casa Calida, there are certain… rules that cannot be broken, some practices that are forbidden. Should a padron force one of these on a florita, he can never return.” When she raised her eyes, they held pity. “If you strive to please him, perhaps it will not be so bad.”
Halla couldn’t bring herself to ask what was in store for her; she would discover for herself all too soon. She slumped down beside Kainja, who trailed her fingers gently up Halla’s arm.
“I would not have your first experience of love so tarnished, as mine was, through violence,” Kainja said. “You shielded my Yenega from harm and kept our secret safe; in this, you’ve given me a gift.” She leaned closer, so close that her lips brushed softly against Halla’s. “Will you not,” she whispered, “let me give you one in return?”
* * *
Returning to her own bed in the wee hours, Halla couldn’t sleep. Her body ached with sweet release, but fear of what the coming day would bring gnawed away at the pleasure she’d discovered. When she left the Casa Calida, she would be at the mercy of a stranger who could, and would, demand of her what she had freely given to Kainja. The thought made her ill.
Yenega came at dawn to help her dress in the new gown Seor Palan had sent for her. The padron himself was coming to collect her.
When the appointed hour arrived, Halla descended the stairs to find a steely-eyed Kainja standing beside Dona Soriana. Despite the knots in her stomach, Halla had to suppress a smile at the florita’s flair for acting.
“We hope you will do us honor, Halla,” said Dona Soriana. “According to Kainja, you’ve been a difficult protégé, but I expect you to conduct yourself in keeping with the reputation of this house.”
Then lifting her skirts, the proprietress of the Casa Calida swept ahead.
For an instant, Halla’s and Kainja’s eyes met, and Halla glimpsed the florita’s unspoken plea before they followed the dona into the receiving room.
Two men awaited them, both in uniform. The shorter one had the look of an old bull, with a bald head and a thin mustache turned up and waxed at the ends. He could have been a comic mummer, except there was no humor in the cold eyes that raked over Halla, leaving her with an unclean feeling, before he turned to Kainja.
“My dear girl!” he said, ogling her as well. “How lovely to see you. Come and greet your uncle properly.”
Halla felt her stomach lurch. This was the toad who had repeatedly raped Kainja as a child.
Kainja drifted forward and demurely kissed the bald man on both cheeks. Then she turned and dropped a deep curtsey to his companion.
Dona Soriana beamed at them all as she took hold of Halla’s elbow and propelled her forward. “Seor Palan, this is Halla.”
Halla glared up at the padron, whose broad shoulders and height commanded attention. His fair hair was close-cropped, his comely face weathered by sun and wind. His eyes, a mild blue, suggested summer skies.
Appearances deceive, she reminded herself.
At a nudge from the dona, Halla belatedly made a cursory dip, pointedly ignoring Kainja’s uncle’s proffered hand as she rose.
Seor Hidalgo narrowed his eyes. “It seems your new acquisition will require discipline, Commander.”
“Seor,
” said Dona Soriana, “we have done our best, but the girl is terribly headstrong. If Seor Palan wishes, I shall have her whipped for this insolence at once.”
Seor Palan held up a restraining hand. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He reached out and took hold of Halla’s chin, tilting it up. “You will apologize to Seor Hidalgo.” His tone was benign, but his pale eyes were not.
They burn like ice, thought Halla.
Palan released her, and she dropped a stiff curtsey in Seor Hildago’s direction. Kainja’s uncle barely acknowledged it, for his attention had shifted. Following his gaze, Halla felt her gut twist.
Yenega had entered the room bearing a tray of sorbete.
“And who might this little pearl be?” said Hildago. “Come here, poppet, and bring me one of those ices.” He received it from her little hand, then held the bowl to her rosebud lips.
Yenega took a little sip, then stiffened as the seor began to stroke her hair.
There was an angry wound on his blunt-fingered hand. Halla hoped it hurt.
Dona Soriana had seen it as well. “The seor is injured?”
“I shall have to confess, dona,” Hildago chuckled. “I paid a visit to Casa Plazuro last night and tangled with a little hellcat there. The minx sank her teeth into me.” He smiled down at Yenega and cupped her cheek. “This sweet kitten wouldn’t bite though, would you?”
Yenega gave him a little, tight smile. Halla cast a desperate look at Kainja, who stood rigid as a pole, her clasped fingers as white as her face.
“Why have I not yet had the pleasure of being entertained by this charming girl?”
Seor Hildago had directed his question to Dona Soriana, but Kainja spoke first. “Uncle, she is only a servant in this house, and under my care. She is marked, as you can see.” She drew Yenega to her and rested her hands on the child’s shoulders.
Understanding lit Seor Hildago’s eyes.
That’s right, you sack of pig dung, thought Halla. You’re salivating over your own daughter.
“Perhaps it can be arranged for Seor Hildago to meet you both, Kainja, the next time he visits Casa Calida,” suggested Seor Palan. His gaze had never left Halla. “I will be occupied elsewhere for a time.”
Seor Hildago bowed. “The seor is too generous.”
“Not at all,” said Palan. Ignoring Kainja’s anguished look, he lifted Dona Soriana’s hand and made a courtly bow over it. “I appreciate the trouble you took with my property, dona. A palanquin awaits outside to transport the wench. I will stay to complete our transaction. Kainja, perhaps you will wait for me in your room?”
“Of course she will, seor,” said the dona. “Kainja, see Halla to her litter and then await your padron’s pleasure.”
Halla couldn’t escape the room fast enough, for fear she’d lash out at them all in rage.
In the corridor leading to the front door, she seized Kainja’s wrist. “We have to get away from here now. You must know a way out—show me and come with me.”
“And leave Yenega?” Kainja’s expression was bleak, her lips bloodless. She pulled her wrist from Halla’s grasp and hugged her arms close across her chest.
“At least help me get away,” pleaded Halla. “Then I’ll come back for you both.”
Kainja pointed toward the broad door. “That’s the only way out”
“There must be another—by the gods, Kainja! What about a servants’ entrance to the kitchens?”
Kainja shook her head. “Bolted and locked at all times. Dona Soriana carries the only key.”
Halla reached for her again, but Kainja spun away from her in helpless anger. “Stop it, Halla! It’s no use! You’re only making it worse.”
“But—”
“No. I can’t leave.” Kainja grasped the brass handle of the front door and pulled it open. She gestured for Halla to pass, her glistening eyes fixed on the wall.
Halla crossed the threshold, then bent to enter the litter. While her foot was being cuffed, she locked eyes with Kainja, still framed in the door. Silently, the florita brought two trembling fingers to her lips, then placed them on her heart.
Then she stepped back and swung the door slowly closed between them.
Chapter 33
As soon as the bearers started off, Halla pulled out the penknife she’d hidden in her bodice and began to saw on the leather that bound her ankle. She felt a thrill of excitement at how quickly the little blade cut through the leather. Once she’d freed her ankle from the cuff, there was nothing for it but to simply leap out and hopefully catch the bearers off guard. The fact that she had no idea where to go from there—or who else might try to stop her—wasn’t going to deter her from this plan.
She was just preparing to jump when the litter lurched to a halt amidst a sudden cacophony of shouting and steel. Halla tore aside the fabric and stuck her head out, then jerked it back to avoid the flailing hooves of a rearing horse.
With a thump, the bearers dropped the litter.
Not quite believing her luck, Halla scrambled out onto the street, right into the midst of a street skirmish. She felt the warm spray of blood on her bared arm; it came from the horse, whose rider was struggling to bring the injured beast under control.
Half of the fighters wore the uniform of the king’s guard; their assailants wore black masks and rough tunics, and they bore down on their quarry like demons possessed. When a king’s man fell at her feet, Halla lunged for his sword, then retreated with it until she felt a wall at her back.
One of the masked men trotted his horse toward her, but another called him back. “Leave the woman! We seek to free our people, not take hostages.”
Halla felt her jaw drop, for he had spoken in Livårian.
“I am of your people!” she cried in the same tongue.
The man lowered his sword and stared at her. It was almost the end of him, for he failed to notice the soldier riding up behind him.
Halla did not. She leapt forward and parried the blow that would have otherwise felled the å Livåri. As the surprised soldier wheeled his horse to strike again, the å Livåri threw his knife, burying it in the man’s chest. The soldier fell to the street.
Halla held out her free hand to the man whose life she’d just saved. “Take me with you!” Already the clatter of approaching hooves announced the impending arrival of what would no doubt be more members of the king’s guard.
To Halla’s great relief, the masked man pulled her up behind him. “Retreat!” he cried to the others, and then they were flying down the narrow alleyways, Halla clutching her sword in one hand and her rescuer’s waist with the other.
The å Livåri wound their way expertly through the corridors and causeways of the city, but their pursuers sounded close on their heels. The fleeing men reined in at an abandoned gatehouse and steered their horses inside, and Halla waited as breathlessly as any of them until she heard the guardsmen’s mounts clatter past.
As the hoofbeats faded into the distance, the man with whom she was riding handed her a soiled strip of cloth.
“Give me the sword, and bind your eyes,” he instructed.
Halla opened her mouth to protest.
“Do it, or I’ll put you down.”
Reluctantly, Halla tied the cloth over her eyes, all the while remembering her terror the last time she’d been blindfolded. These men could be slavers too, for all she knew. But one of them had mentioned freeing their people; she prayed he’d spoken the truth.
* * *
Hours of deprivation followed, during which Halla’s only experience of the world was the horse moving beneath her, the rough cloth of the man’s tunic under her hands, and the sounds of the hoofbeats. She guessed that they had departed the city, but as to which direction they traveled, she had no idea.
When the horses stopped, and the man finally spoke again, his words felt like rain after a lo
ng drought.
“You can take off the blindfold.”
Halla tore at the cloth with trembling fingers, then squinted into the sudden light. They had arrived at a makeshift camp, cunningly concealed within a copse of trees that backed onto a sheer cliff. She knew better than to ask where they were, but judging from the distant vineyards, it was north of Segavia in the hill country Ula had once described to her.
Halla was directed to a lean-to under which a number of å Livåri women were sorting grapes. One of them held out a bunch to her, and she devoured them gratefully, savoring their sweetness on her parched tongue.
As she ate, the women worked in silence, casting curious glances at her from time to time. But when she asked how they came to be in the camp, there were surprised gasps and smiles all around.
“You speak our tongue!” cried the woman who had offered her the grapes.
“I do.”
“We are here because of these brave men,” said another, a pretty girl whose wrists were encircled with raw, angry weals. “They fought for us and set us free from the Albrenian dogs who called themselves our masters.”
The woman next to her nodded, pointing to the ruined skin on her burned face. Others bore shadows of bruising, and Halla guessed they had other wounds not visible to the eye. None of them had been on the same ship that had carried her across the sea.
“You—come with me.”
The man with whom she’d ridden beckoned her over. Now that he’d removed his mask, Halla could see that his hair was streaked with grey. She followed him to a tent where several men were seated before a table strewn with maps. She boldly met their appraising eyes, but wished she still had the sword.
A young bearded man looked up and pointed to the chair opposite him. Then he leaned back, unsmiling, and folded his arms across his chest, studying her with bright, intelligent eyes.
“You’re not of our people,” he said bluntly, “and yet you speak our tongue. Explain this to me.”
She recognized his voice as that of the tall leader from the skirmish in the city.
