Perhaps Zillah would have some advice, Briah thought. That woman seemed to have an opinion about everything.
The women she lived beside were a mixed lot. All were slaves like her, and many had known no other life. Some were as cruel and twisted as such a life could make them. They reveled in the allure of their bodies, and lost no opportunity to bring down a rival. Others were resigned to the point of nearly disappearing. Briah recognized the glazed look in their eyes, the slow way they moved, as they sought only to avoid more pain. A few, like Zillah, seemed to find life tolerable enough. Some had apparently worked in worse places, and were grateful to be somewhere as prestigious as Donal’s House of Pleasure—which supposedly catered to the most prosperous clients.
Briah was grateful that her condition not only kept her away from the men, but from the fiercest girls as well. They often made fun of her appearance, but she was no threat to them, so they otherwise left her alone. The few men who lived there—two guards and a dull-witted youth—ignored her completely.
The friendlier girls spoke to her, but as yet, they had nothing in common to talk about, except, as Zillah pointed out, that Briah was the best cook to come their way in living memory.
“Food’s sure been better since you been here, Briah,” said Laren, a fiery redhead with freckles over every part of her body. They were eating their usual meal of bread and stew in the early evening, just before the place got busy.
Briah smiled. “I just do what Gresta tells me to.”
“But you don’t burn everything like she does,” said another girl, lowering her voice so that the one-eyed kitchen matron wouldn’t overhear.
“Nah,” said Zillah. “It’s ‘cause she finds better grub out there—and then doesn’t eat the best of it while we’re sleepin’!”
“Were you always a cook?” asked Laren. “For one of them fancy rich houses who keep a different slave for everything that needs doin’?”
“No. I was born in a village high on a mountain, across the sea—so far to the east that I never even knew about the Great Water. I was nearly eleven years when I was taken, so I already knew some cooking.” Briah took another bite of her handiwork, glad for girls’ appreciation, and glad to enjoy the fruits of her labor. When she looked up, Briah saw doubtful expressions on many faces.
“How could you not know about the Great Water?” asked Laren. “It’s everywhere.”
“And how could you learn to cook shore meat so fast if you never had it before?” asked Karris, an older woman with darkly exotic looks.
At that point, Nisa walked by, so Briah seized the opportunity. “I learn new things quickly,” she replied, raising her voice a notch. “Everyone in my family does. My baby will have the same skill.”
Nisa walked on without appearing to notice, but some of the less friendly girls laughed harshly.
“Hey, Barta,” said one. “She thinks they’ll let her keep the brat if she keeps talking about how great he’ll be.”
“Then she’s a fool, Nula,” said another. “The only use Donal’ll have for him is fish bait.”
Briah pretended not to hear. It was true, every chance she had, she said something about how strong the children of her line were, or how easy this one already was. As yet, neither Nisa nor Donal, in his rare visits, had given her any reason to hope she was getting anywhere.
Zillah glared at the mean girls. “If anyone’s close to being fish bait around here, it’s you!” she called. “You’re old enough and already smell like it!”
“Hah!” called Nula. “And why are you still here, anyway, Zillah? Wasn’t your father supposed to come for you by now?”
Zillah’s face grew pale, and Briah shot a questioning look at Laren.
“Zillah’s part Faerie,” said Larren, moving closer to the yellow-haired girl, and putting an arm around her.
Nula and Barta hooted, but Zillah spoke above their shrill laughter. “It’s true. My father was a prince of Faerie who charmed my mother one Midsummer night. She wandered into a stone circle, and was never the same after she came out. She couldn’t keep me, bein’ unmarried and all.”
“Didn’t want you’s more like it,” said Nula.
“No more than your father did,” said the girl next to her.
“Say that on Samhain night.” Zillah’s voice was soft, but the whole room fell silent. Even Nula and Barta lowered their eyes and turned their attention to their food.
Briah recalled Gresta’s words. It seemed she was right. Even the most hardened—or liquor-sodden—of people still feared the Otherworld, at least some of the time.
Hoping to lighten the mood, Briah asked, “Has anyone else here got Faerie blood?”
“Karris does,” said Larren, smiling as good cheer returned.
The older woman swallowed a mouthful of stew and nodded. “One of my ancestors was a sea nymph…” she began.
“Oh, not this story again!” cried Barta. But the others ignored her, and gave their attention to Karris.
“I’m probably the only one here who comes from farther away than you, Briah,” she said. “I was born on a tiny island in the Blue Waters, far to the south.”
“So how did you get here?” Briah asked.
“I rode a hippocampus.”
“A what?” asked Briah.
“A sea creature,” Karris explained. “Part fish, part horse and part dragon. I was always a bold one when I was young. Too bold for my own good, it turns out. I was betrothed to a man I despised, and one night after a festival, I told everyone I’d leave our village, and find myself a prince to marry. After all, I was descended from a sea nymph, beloved of the gods. Just because my family had fallen on hard times…”
“For the past ten generations,” said Barta.
Karris shrugged. “It didn’t seem reason enough for me to give up. Of course, I’d had a lot to drink that night. They laughed, and hooted, and asked me how I thought I’d accomplish that. So I said I’d summon a hippocampus… and ride him to the end of the world. They stopped laughing then, but something made me press forward.”
“Probably the wine,” Barta said.
Karris continued. “I sang a conjuring spell my grandmother had taught me. As far as I know, it’s never actually worked before. But that night it did. A creature like a horse and a fish and I really can’t say what else appeared. And while the others on the beach all screamed and ran, I, like a fool, jumped on its back!”
“So what happened?” Briah asked eagerly.
“Well,” said Karris tartly, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Everyone laughed, and Briah couldn’t tell if she’d been made the butt of a joke, or if Karris was serious. She didn’t mind either way, for it had been a pleasant distraction.
Supper finished, Briah gathered up the dishes while customers arrived and Nisa called out the names of various girls. Women hurried to their duties. The dim-witted youth brought around beer and hung the customer’s cloaks by the hearth to dry the rain from them.
It was a busy night despite the heavy rain, so Gresta and the other women too old to be of interest to the men earned extra coins for their masters by cleaning and repairing the fine clothing of some of the richer customers. The kitchen, Briah knew, would be hers alone. Sighing as she scoured the huge pots, Briah wondered again when this baby would finally arrive, and what would happen when it did.
Later that night, just as the House got really busy, Briah lay in her small chamber beside the kitchen. Unlike the other women, who worked through the night and slept until noon, Briah had to be up at dawn to dig clams. She had learned to sleep through the noise and activity around her, but tonight, it was not noise that woke her, but a sudden hush.
Peeking through torn curtains, Briah saw a young man standing in the doorway. The dripping cloak he took off was brilliant red, in a shade like none she had ever seen. Even from this distance Briah could see the fineness of the workmanship. The garments underneath were equally fine but dull beside the gold and silver jewelry he wor
e. Wet, blond hair was plastered against a pale face that held cold blue eyes. Those eyes bored into everyone and everything in the room.
The dull witted slave boy reached out to take the cloak but the man shoved him away. He flung the cloak at the girl who cowered behind Nisa, nearly toppling her. “Any harm that comes to it, I take out of your hide, pretty.” He smiled. Had it been a normal smile, Briah might have supposed he was making a jest, and relaxed. Instead, it sent chills up her spine.
The customers continued what they were doing without much notice, but the girls beneath them seemed to stiffen, some clutching the men as if for protection. The girls who were not busy shuffled nervously, and did not look at the newcomer. This apparently angered the man, for at a single glare from him, Nisa cuffed the nearest girl and shouted, “Show yourself to the young master!”
Agor smiled again, but walked past the frightened girl, and examined each slave in turn.
He paused before a wraith-like girl of twelve summers, with golden hair and nearly translucent skin. She began to shake under his gaze. This apparently pleased Agor, for he took her roughly by the arm and led her to the private room reserved for only Donal or his nephew.
A wave of relief passed through the room, as women regained their composure, although there was still the fear that Agor might require additional women that night.
Briah slept badly for the remainder of the night. She awoke suddenly, sunlight already peeking through the cracks in the wall, to find Nisa shaking her. Expecting to be punished for oversleeping, Briah lurched to her feet as quickly as she could.
But Nisa was too distracted to be angry. “Hurry,” she said. “Agor often rises early, and he’ll want his breakfast waiting for him. Make some of that fine bread of yours—and make it the best you’ve ever made! I’ve already sent the boys for fish. When they bring it to you, fry it lightly, with slivers of apples and almonds. Make sure you don’t burn it.”
Briah had never seen Nisa so agitated. She began the bread without a word. But Nisa wasn’t finished. “And Briah...” the madam was nearly hesitant. “When you’re done, go and tend Lytha.” Something in her tone made Briah shudder.
When Briah arrived in the small room near Agor’s chamber, she thought the girl sent to service him last night was beyond a healer’s help.
Lytha’s head was at an odd angle and blood was everywhere, especially around her groin, and her breasts. Part of her skin seemed to have been peeled off. The bruises on her face were still forming.
Swallowing hard, Briah forced herself to approach the body. Yes, she still breathed. Her eyes were open, but Briah knew they saw nothing, and was grateful.
Water, rags and salves had been left by the bed. Briah began cleaning the girl, and treating her injuries as best she could. She cursed herself for not learning more of her grandmother’s healing skills when she had the chance. She was competent to tend everyday ills, but nothing like this.
What would grandmother have done? Find the man responsible and kill him, she thought grimly. It might not have cured the girl, but it would help her soul rest if she died. And it would have made everyone else feel better.
But that was not an option in this place, so Briah did the best she could, speaking gentle, soothing words to Lytha as she worked. The girl remained unresponsive, glassy eyes staring, not even reacting when Briah moved her or dressed the damaged breast.
Finally, when all outward wounds had been treated, Briah made an infusion of willow bark and marigold root and managed to get some of it down Lytha’s throat. After a while, she seemed to drift into a normal sleep.
Briah stayed with her for a while, wondering if she could get away with going back to her room and huddling under the furs for a few hours. Then Nisa came in. She gathered up the rags Briah had used and the bloodstained furs Lytha had lain on.
Nisa gazed critically at Lytha, her earlier agitation gone. “Will she live, you think?” she asked Briah.
“Hard to say,” Briah replied wearily. “I suppose, for her sake, I should pray she does not.”
Nisa shook her head. “She’ll be safe enough from Agor now. He rarely uses the same girl twice, and never after one of his… difficult nights. I just don’t know how much she’ll be worth looking like that. Pity. She was expensive.”
“I’m sure Donal will insist that Agor replace her,” Briah said dully, wondering it she could wring Nisa’s neck as easily as she had once wrung a chicken’s.
“Donal hardly makes any of the decisions anymore. More and more, he leaves it to Agor.” Nisa spat into the corner. “I fear we are headed for hard times.”
Nisa left but returned quickly. “Agor’s awake and wants his breakfast. Take it to him quickly Briah.”
Tension coiled inside her like an angry snake, Briah carried Agor’s breakfast to him on a fine wooden platter. He sat in a huge bed unlike any Briah had seen since she left Lir’s fortress: a carved wooden box, piled high with luxurious furs of seal and rabbit and red fox. The furs had been cured with wood smoke so their tangy smell mixed with the sweet dry rushes beneath. Agor reclined against the wall, with still more furs between there and his back. He wore only a gray woolen kilt.
Steeling herself, Briah approached and set the tray on the wooden chest beside the bed, keeping it between her and the man.
Agor’s eyes swept over her. “So, you’re the new girl,” he said. “Come closer.”
Gritting her teeth, Briah did so. Agor continued to gaze at her, then leaned forward and touched her right calf. Slowly, he traced the line of muscle up her leg. Briah shuddered. When Agor reached her swollen belly, he began poking and pinching it, almost playfully. Briah was filled with fear that Agor’s vile touch would contaminate her baby. Then he grabbed one of her plump breasts and squeezed.
Despite years of conditioning, Briah gasped and sprang away, fire filling her cheeks.
“So there’s still some spirit left in you,” said Agor. “Good. I was angry when I learned Nisa had bought one in your condition, but you, it seems will be worth waiting for.” Agor leaned back against the wall and took a bite of fish.
“So,” he continued lazily. “I hear you’ve been trying to convince Nisa to let you keep the child. You won’t, you know. I’ve already given the order.”
He was watching her, Briah knew, looking for any reaction she might let show. Don’t, she told herself. Say nothing. Do nothing. Become like Lytha.
But despite her effort, a cry tore from Briah’s throat.
Agor laughed. “And I suppose you really think that a slut like you could be a mother?”
Briah thought she had no voice, but the words came out anyway. “Will you sell him then? The moment he’s born?” She couldn’t ask about the other alternative, but Agor took care of it for her.
“No one buys newborns. Who needs the trouble? Nisa will take care of it. She’ll smother the brat before he takes his first breath. Then she’ll give you a potion to dry you up quickly.”
Briah’s ears roared. She swayed, but kept herself upright without support. Don’t give him the satisfaction, she told herself. Say nothing! There’s no point in arguing with this—thing! Who sits before you, enjoying your terror.
But it was her baby’s life, and Briah couldn’t give up without one more try. “Please,” she said. “Let me keep him. I... I know what a man like you wants and I... “ she choked. “I can do things for you no one else here can. I have skills. Let me keep him, and I’ll do anything you want.”
Agor stared at her quizzically. “You’ll do anything I want anyway. What makes you think you’re in position to bargain?” But she had his attention now, for he stared at her like a small boy watching a two-headed chicken emerge from an egg. “You’re a strange one. I suppose now you’ll tell me you were actually a chieftains’ daughter in your own land, and I should marry you? Or perhaps return you and collect a huge ransom?” He clapped a hand on her midsection as if it were a friend’s shoulder, and roared with appreciation of his jest.
“Actually, I was the daughter of a simple farmer, and he’s dead now. But if he were alive, he’d pay anything he had to get me back. Even now.”
Agor’s laughter stopped as though cut with a knife. He backhanded Briah across the face, and his ring left a bloody trail along one cheek.
“I have no interest in your lies.” He noticed her bleeding cheek. “Now look what you made me do! Your face was nearly unmarked, and now you’ve gone and spoiled it! I warn you, that face had better be seamless before you come to my bed! Now get out of my sight!”
Briah fled to the kitchen.
It was at that moment she decided to escape.
CHAPTER 4
Escape was, of course, impossible. That was the first thing any new slave was told. They were always guarded, often tied up, and besides, where was there to go? What hope had a child, alone in a strange land?
As time wore on, most slaves forgot about the idea all together. Servitude was their lot in life, they were told, and even if not all of them believed it, it usually wasn’t unbearable, and probably safer than the unknown.
But when Briah thought of Agor, she knew she could not stay here and let him order her baby’s death. She had accustomed herself to Lir: he was a paragon of evil; almost a god. For a long time, she thought he was a god. But finding that another man existed, so different from Lir, yet just as evil, changed many of Briah’s beliefs. Including her views of what was and was not possible.
Because of her daily trips to the beach to dig for food, Briah had a fairly good understanding of the layout of Finool—or at least the southern tip of it. She knew, for example, that the sea continued east and west as far as the eye could see. She knew that the farmers who grew the grain and raised the sheep lived in the hills to the north.
Briah also knew that in the drunken chaos of a busy night, it might be possible for single cloaked figure to slip out the front door unnoticed—if she were ready at the exact moment both of the guards were busy with unruly customers. Not a very likely course of action. Sneaking out in the moments before dawn would be better, for there was a time every day when the weary guards and even wearier girls all slept, yet the town was not quite awake.
The Seal Queen Page 3
