by Lizzy Ford
Tiana shook her head.
“Three incidents today, Tiana!” Matilda withdrew a small knife from her silk purse. “It seems this is the only cure to keep your ghoulish sorcery from happening. I did not insist yesterday, because I did not wish you to be distraught for today’s event. It was my misguided judgment, and for this, you nearly exposed us all. I should have known better than to trust you.”
Tiana accepted the knife and sat on the bed.
“Three. Do it now.” Matilda planted her hands on her hips and waited.
Tiana drew a deep breath and pressed the edge of the knife against her forearm. There was no longer a spot devoid of scars on either forearm, so she randomly chose a few inches of skin to punish. The sharp sting was accompanied by a line of red blood.
“Deeper,” Matilda ordered.
Gritting her teeth, Tiana pressed harder on the second cut.
“Do you want to remain disfigured? How do you expect to bleed out the sorcery if you do not cut deep enough?” Matilda leaned forward and snatched Tiana’s wrist with one hand and the knife with the other. She slashed Tiana’s arm, harder and deeper than usual.
Tiana gasped, and tears sprang into her eyes.
“I will cure you, Tiana, to stay in favor with your father, even if I must first bleed every last ounce of blood from your body. The clairvoyant who told me when I was six that I would marry your father swore this would work, but you are too weak to do it. Have you no love for your family? Do you want us to be burnt at the stake?”
“No, Matilda,” Tiana whispered, distraught by the idea. She alternately admired and hated her strange ability. At the moment, she felt the full shame of being deformed and possessed by sorcery that alarmed even her brother.
“Then behave like the daughter of your father!” Matilda shoved the knife and powdery medication into her purse. She left, slamming and locking the door behind her.
Woozy from pain and the strain of venturing outside her room, Tiana stood. She went to the private bathroom off her bedroom and squeezed blood out of her wounds into the sink, as Matilda had shown her many times. The more blood she lost, the less magic was inside her. Or so the clairvoyant who had guided Matilda’s life claimed. Tiana squeezed until no more blood bubbled then washed her forearm before binding the wound with trembling fingers.
Miserable, Tiana returned to her bed and curled up in a ball.
The outside world could never be as cruel as this one. At least, away from the city, she would be free to run from someone like Matilda instead of cowering, and no one would accuse her of sorcery when she lost control over her power to lift inanimate objects. Outside the city, she would not be confined for all but four days a year, and she could visit her brother whenever she wished.
Most of all, she would not feel the way she did now: ashamed of existing and burdening everyone around her.
But it was not the pain of her wounds or self-pity sending hot tears down Tiana’s cheeks. It was the unspoken words in Matilda’s mind that Tiana had read as Matilda cut her.
I hate this cripple.
Tiana wished she did not possess the ability to read minds at all, however erratic and inconsistent the skill was. She did not want to know how much Matilda despised her. She wanted to be able to believe that maybe, what Matilda did was to try to help her was out of some shred of human decency, however small that piece of Matilda was. Why should it matter that Matilda truly hated her and acted, not out of sympathy, but out of self-preservation?
Because I want her to love me.
The foolish, heartfelt desire embarrassed Tiana as much as her disfigured body.
Tiana cried harder than usual. Born into privilege, enslaved by her deformity, she wished her father had let her die beside her mother, seventeen years ago.
Chapter Four
A large celebration was in full swing in the massive pyramid at the south side of the city, attended by swarms of men and women wearing jewels and silks. Aveline stepped out of the tunnel leading into the most privileged place in Lost Vegas. She had seen the pyramid from afar without fully comprehending how large it truly was. Her mouth fell open, and she stared upwards, towards the top of the structure, which came to a point some two hundred feet above.
Hundreds of lights lined the walls of each floor. Not torches – but lights that ran off of electricity. She had heard rumors of the outer city possessing the once rampant magic of electricity. The lighting was as bright as fire but colder, cleaner.
Behind railings on each level, where clumps of wealthy people gathered to look down upon the events of the evening, she was able to glimpse doors leading to living spaces.
“Each floor houses one to three families,” her guide told her and pointed towards the individual levels stair-stepping up the interior of the pyramid. The closer to the top, the smaller the levels became. “There are thirty floors and two hundred families living here, with the Hanover’s, who have been in charge for four hundred and fifty years, at the very top.”
Three slaves jostled past her, laden with plates of seasoned meat whose rich scent made her mouth water. They hurried up the stairs leading to the second floor and the village at the center of the pyramid. Music filled the main floor, which still bore the word CASINO in large letters. The crowds were too thick for her to see what lay beyond the walkways leading into the first floor space.
Dazzled by the display of wealth, Aveline did not know what part of the new world before her was the most stunning: electricity, glittering gems, brocaded silks and fitted suits, cloaks lined with valuable furs, towering statues edging the stairs, or the full scale buildings in the village at the center of the pyramid. Wealth unlike anything those in the inner city would ever know was worn as casually as she donned shoes. One silk scarf or turquoise button would provide her food and shelter for a month. The four women in veils before her wore enough jewelry to feed the inner city for a year, if not two.
Her guide, George, sighed. “I told you. You need to try to fit in, if you can. Do not gawk.”
“Shallllll I tallllk like thissssss?” she retorted, exaggerating his accent.
The slave who met her after her carriage ride to the outer city was old enough for his hair to be white and spoke with the same cultured lisp as the other outer city dwellers. He had not seemed particularly pleased to see her and even now, his gaze was skeptical. Rather than taking her to her new ward at once, he had sent her in for a medical exam, where they injected her with medicine to counter the numbing agent. She had then been scrubbed down and given clothing traditional to the slaves: gray, cotton shirts and pants, sturdy black boots and a dark gray cloak.
The clothing was more comfortable than she expected.
“What is this?” she asked. She plucked the sash he wore across his chest.
He pushed her hand away. “I told my master you would never pass as one of us,” George complained.
“I’m not here to pass as one of you,” she replied. “I’m here to do what I do best.”
“You do not touch another slave’s family mark,” he said firmly. “This denotes who owns me. Every slave is identified this way.”
She glanced down. “Why don’t –”
“It’s in your left pocket,” he snapped.
Aveline had yet to explore this pocket, though she placed the envelope with her father’s treasure in her right pocket. She pulled a green sash and a leather necklace from the left pocket. She set about examining the necklace to determine how much she could sell it for. The leather rope was simple, the wooden locket round and clunky and decidedly worthless.
No longer interested, she pulled on both sash and necklace.
“Not like that.” George sighed again. He moved forward and expertly arranged the sash so it was not twisted or wrinkled. “You must try to fit in!”
“Why don’t you have a locket?” she asked, ignoring him.
“Because your locket is meant to look like it belongs to someone from the street caste. It contains a special concocti
on.”
“Really?” Her curiosity renewed, she picked it up. “Is it poison?”
“I do not know what it is. My master insisted you wear it. He gave specific directions for you never to open it.”
Aveline smiled, and the older slave pursed his lips.
“On the streets, you can do what you want. Here, every one of these people would kill to be on the floor above them, and all of them want to be there.” He pointed to the very tip of the pyramid. “You cannot behave with brashness or thoughtlessness or disobedience and survive here for long. Some of these families have been plotting their ascension for generations and manipulating everyone who crosses their path.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” she said and shook her head. “These people wouldn’t last a day on the streets. What do they have to worry about? Being served one pad of butter instead of two?”
“Not all danger is physical,” he said with impatience. “You were warned.”
Aveline snorted, amused he thought to warn her about danger. What in this obscenely wealthy enclave was a threat to the daughter of the assassin guild’s leader, the bearer of the Devil’s blood? She began learning to use her first machete when she was three. These privileged, overdressed, weakling snobs had never seen a knife let alone knew how to use one. Not one person in the pyramid, except for the occasional Shield soldier, remotely posed any danger.
“What am I doing here?” she asked.
“What my master hired you to do.” Resigned, George led her down a quiet hallway populated solely by slaves that led around the base of the pyramid. He stopped at the first corner, and they stood waiting.
Aveline watched the scurrying slaves, each of whom wore a different color sash from the rest.
“If you find yourself in trouble, which I am certain you will, come to me,” George said when they were alone. “But otherwise, you will have to earn your place among the slaves.”
“What?” she asked, shifting her attention back to him. “Slaves are slaves, aren’t they?”
“There’s a hierarchy. You must adapt to our way of life quickly.” He looked around then pulled out an elegantly wrapped bundle from the depths of his cloak. “My master bade me give you this along with a warning. You must only act in defense, and only use what force is necessary.”
“I can do that.” Aveline accepted the long bundle wrapped in soft, high quality leather. It was heavy and tied closed by a matching piece of leather. Sensing he did not want anyone else seeing it, she tucked it into her waistband.
“The slave quarters are below the main floor. The stairs are in each corner.” George indicated the stairwell beside the doors in front of which they stood. “The kitchens and offices belonging to other members of the staff are also in the basement. This is the slaves’ lift. Do not use the other lifts or entrances not marked for slaves.”
As the said the words, the door before opened to reveal a small compartment lit by a light bulb.
Aveline frowned, not understanding the importance of the space. George stepped into it, and she followed. Before she could ask what they were doing, the box lurched and then began to climb swiftly.
Her breath caught and her stomach dropped as she realized they were being carried upwards, towards the top of the pyramid. Her attention went from admiring the fist-sized bulb that managed to light up every corner of the lift to the scene below them. She leaned against the front of the wooden box and stared down at the village at the center of the structure. It was filled with people, and the murmur of their talking echoed off the walls of the pyramid.
When the lift stopped, the people below were the size of insects.
“This way.” George said from behind her.
She turned and trailed him past four Shield members and into a hallway whose floors and walls were made of polished marble. The ceilings soared, and stately paintings in heavy frames lined the walls, some taller than her. Glittering crystal chandeliers blazing with brilliant, white light hung from the ceilings.
The hallway opened up into an elegant, circular shaped gathering area with antique furniture, sculptures, more paintings and even larger chandeliers. George led her around the area to another hallway and then onward to a dining chamber featuring a table at least forty feet long. Aveline’s eyes fell to the silver cutlery and delicate, porcelain place settings, and she automatically calculated how much she could sell just one for, if she managed to steal it without being caught.
Every room he led her into was more opulent than the last, until she was certain she was walking into a dream. They passed only one other slave wearing a green sash and none of the apartment’s residents.
After seeing more spectacular chambers, their path dead ended in a cul de sac flanked by four gilded doors. George paused before the one on their right and turned to face her.
“You must not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to know why you are here, or that someone hired you for a position other than as a slave.” His features were unusually grim. “Especially not her.” He lifted his chin towards the door before him. “She will monitor your activities closely, and you must convince her you are nothing other than a dumb, mute slave. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Aveline said readily. Role playing was yet another skill children living in the streets mastered at a young age in order to manipulate passersby into giving them money. “Did you say mute?”
“Mute.”
She sighed and nodded.
“Finally, do not lift your eyes from the floor.”
George opened the door and entered an antechamber with a gilded fireplace, more chandeliers and statues. He went to the door on the right and tapped on it.
It was opened seconds later by a female slave, who bowed her head and stepped aside. The parlor beyond the door was large. Aveline was starting to become numb to the displays of grandeur and wealth, but this room lit a spark of anger inside her. Cups and goblets were inlaid with gems. Silk drapes were edged with pearls, and items made of gold and silver were everywhere.
She had always known the outer city citizens lived better than those of the inner city, but the divide between those who could barely find food and this sparkling, golden, bright world left her vowing she would steal as much as she could carry when she left. What could anyone living in such a place ever fear from anyone? Why had she been hired, when one gold plate would pay for an army of guardians?
“Forgive my intrusion.” George bowed his head to someone.
Aveline focused on a raven-haired woman of exceptional beauty, dressed in silks and gems, who sat sipping tea and nibbling a pastry from a table laden with more food than Aveline had eaten in the past year. Different varieties of meats, savory pies, bowls of vegetables, pastries, breads and rolls, and other food covered every inch of a table. It was enough for several families, but Aveline guessed it had been brought for one person alone.
“What is it, George?” the woman asked crisply.
“My master purchased a slave for his sister.”
The woman tensed, set her saucer down with great control and then rose, facing them.
Beautiful – and cold. Something about the woman made the hair on the back of Aveline’s neck stand up. This wealthy woman could not possibly pose any sort of danger, and yet, Aveline’s instincts – molded by the need for self-preservation on the streets – were never wrong.
“This?” the brunette asked, lifting an eyebrow in delicate offence. “This is who my stepson chose to bring into my home? A mixed slave?”
Mute, Aveline reminded herself. It took effort to keep her eyes on the floor when she wanted to slap the woman.
“Absolutely not. I will not have one of her kind in my household!”
Aveline sneaked a glance at George, who appeared unruffled.
“He did not believe you would approve of him spending more than an ounce, and he insisted upon buying a mute, dumb slave,” George replied calmly. “He believed this would please you.”
Aveline held her breath,
uncertain what the woman would say.
George’s mistress glided towards them and circled Aveline. Without warning, she reached out and pinched the soft skin of Aveline’s inner arm – hard.
Aveline remained silent despite the pain.
“Hmm,” the brunette murmured. “So she is mute. But Tiana has enough slaves.”
“My master assured me this mixed girl is meant to become her personal slave,” George persisted in a low, respectful voice.
“Interesting timing, when he is not around for several weeks,” she stated. The woman shifted her cold, intent gaze to George, and she scrutinized his features long enough for the tension to become uncomfortable. To his credit, George did not so much as blink beneath her glare.
Aveline waited, uncertain what exactly was causing the dissent between the two. That this Tiana did not need another slave? The new slave being mixed?
The identity and importance of this family was beyond Aveline’s experience to judge. She had been too enamored by the sensation of flying from the bottom of the pyramid towards the top to notice on what floor they stopped, except that it had to be near the top, which meant these people were among the most powerful and richest in the city.
She was learning hints about the masked man who tracked her. But a man who lived in this golden world was not likely to ever visit the inner city. Had he sent someone to do his bidding?
Did it matter? A wealthy brother had hired her to guard his wealthy sister. Aveline was starting to unravel the mystery behind her assignment – and becoming more baffled in the process.
“My master believed this slave would ease your burden,” George added when the woman did not speak. “No woman of your position should be forced to sully her hands as you are.”
“Burden,” she repeated and whirled, gliding back to the table. “May no one else ever know such a life as mine!”
“My master understands this and wishes to help make your life more comfortable.”
“I had thought my stepson wished me to suffer!” she snapped.
“He does not,” George said firmly. “Consider this a gift to you as well.”
