Master Olivar claimed not to want her in pain, so of course she would take whatever the doctor suggested. Even if that felt a strange thing for a master to want.
The doctor cast a quick look toward Olivar, coughing a little before addressing her again. “Ness,” he began, focusing all of his attention back on her. She had to suppress her desire to squirm. “Are you hurt anywhere else? I believe it is... well known that the Narada are not gentle with their slaves.”
She sighed quietly. She wanted to lie and tell him she was not. They weren’t real hurts in any case, only bruises. The soreness between her legs had even dissipated during the weeks she waited to see if her bleeds would come.
But it was wrong to lie to a master, especially with so direct a question.
So despite her misgivings, she murmured a quiet, “Yes.” She made no move to disrobe and show him any of her bruises, as he had not asked her to—and she sincerely doubted Olivar would approve if she did that anyway. And, if she was truthful, she didn’t really want to show him. It would show how slow a thrall she was, how many hurts she had acquired by deserving punishment.
But of course, Olivar liked to expound on her too-few words. “There’s a large bruise on her shoulder,” Olivar told the doctor. “And... elsewhere.”
She looked at him, feeling oddly betrayed by his assessment, and noticed the green leeching from his ears and down toward his cheeks. He was embarrassed, but some horrid, spiteful part of her felt almost angry that he should be—not when it was her shame that had been displayed.
She shoved away such rebellious thoughts quickly, horrified with herself. There was no place for such feelings, not unless she wanted either a terrible punishment or perhaps even death for disrespecting her keeper. She wanted neither, of that she was certain.
But still, some disgruntlement remained, foreign and unpleasant.
“Ness?” the doctor prompted. “Is that true?”
She nodded gloomily, as there was no point in denying it. A master had claimed it was true in any case, so she wasn’t sure why she needed to confirm it.
The doctor frowned, bring his stool closer. “How good are you at assessing injuries?”
Ness glanced at him in confusion. “I... do not...”
He smiled again, a little less genuinely than before. “I am asking if you would know if something was a danger to you. If you do not know such things, I would... ask your permission to give a more thorough assessment.”
She paled, but did not look to her master for reassurance. This was why they were here, after all.
She thought she would know if something was truly wrong. The masters generally avoided leaving such injuries, but if when they did, broken bones were set, lacerations were mended. She had fortunately evaded such wounds, and she had not incurred any more while in Olivar’s care. But would they believe her anyway?
She doubted it. Even if she told them of the Naradian way, sharing those things only seemed to make Master Olivar angry, and he had already seemed distressed enough today. So instead of trying to form an inadequate answer, she began peeling off her clothing, beginning with the too-hot outers.
The doctor blinked at her in some surprise, and when she continued with her inners as well, he barked out an order to Olivar. “Wait outside,” he demanded sharply.
Her fingers faltered, not expecting Master Olivar to leave. He hurried out, shutting the door behind him, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad or terrified at his departure. She already knew he didn’t like to see her nakedness—though no master had, really, even if sometimes it was necessary. But though the doctor had been all right so far...
But she had already begun, and so despite the trembling in her fingers, she continued, until everything was in a pile on the floor. She stood awkwardly, suddenly aware that she’d removed her cloth along with her inners, the very reason she had been forced to come here at all. She flushed, hoping heedlessly that no blood would come while she was here lest she bleed on the doctor’s bench.
She expected the doctor to be watching her, assessing her for sign of injury as each piece of discarded cloth revealed more abraded skin—that was entirely the purpose of her disrobing after all. But he had his back turned as he looked for another something in the cupboard.
She did not expect him to bring her blanket, tucking it about her shoulders, the large cut of fabric covering her completely. “There now,” he said approvingly as she continued to eye him in confusion. “No need to show everything all at once,” he told her. She wasn’t sure why exactly, when inevitably all would be seen in any case, but she did not argue.
But when he produced another cloth to cover the bench, she felt a surge of gratitude, though still her cheeks burned as she worried about any blood leaking onto it.
Everything about this was humiliating, though she reminded herself firmly that it shouldn’t be. She was doing as she was told, and that was entirely her purpose.
Even if her heart raced when he asked her to lie back, and she waited for the pain to begin.
Her nervousness only magnified to be laying there, the doctor studying each part of her. He had her move so that he could manipulate the blanket to his liking, ensuring that only one portion of her body was exposed at a time. But even with such consideration, she found herself wishing that Master Olivar had been permitted to stay, especially if she was being covered as she was. She bit her lip as he ran his fingers over her arm, hovering over a particularly dark bruise. He pressed, murmuring his sympathies at her whimper, rotating her arm. “I must check that the bone is well placed,” he explained, evidently satisfied for he replaced her arm on the bench and covered it back up.
Her torso was next, and it made her question why he had bothered with the blanket at all. He began to pull it down, hesitating slightly before he did so fully. “Ness, do you understand what I am doing?”
She blinked, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Her heart was beating furiously, and she did not feel safe in the least, her confidence still entirely lacking that she wouldn’t be hurt during his examination. “Doctoring,” she choked out, her head turned away from him, staring at the far wall. There was something placed there, a brush of colours that appeared to be the river they’d sailed on, trees and little flowers growing on the bank. She had never seen anything like it before, for a scene to be captured on a wall, and she wondered how it was done.
The doctor touched her arm again through the blanket, gripping slightly to catch her attention. She looked at him warily, simply because that seemed to be his aim, and he closed his mouth before speaking to her, rising from his position and going to the cupboard again.
Was he fetching another blanket?
She almost wished she had been able to remain wholly naked. That she could have stood, he would have looked and been done.
That... that she could be back in Olivar’s home again.
He returned, a jar of paste in his hands that he stared at thoughtfully. He uncovered her arm again, taking a finger-full and smoothing it gently over her bruise. She gasped, certain now this was a punishment. The paste was cold. It made her want to lurch away from the offending salve, but she knew better than that, so she submitted, biting her lip hard to keep from crying.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done wrong, but clearly it was something.
There was a knock at the door, Master Olivar’s voice filtering through. “Mandar? Is she all right?”
Ness was mortified that her gasp had been so loud that he heard it all the way out there, and she closed her eyes in despair. The doctor was giving her a strange look before he sighed. “You may come in, Olivar,” he called, her master appearing by her side in a few quick steps.
“Ness?”
She blinked, because she was not going to cry. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly, stroking her cheek with his large fingers.
“It is cold,” she complained, knowing that she shouldn’t. But she was confused why she was being punished, and he had told her to s
peak up about discomforts. And though she didn’t really believe he meant it, she felt raw and overwhelmed, and simply wanted to be gone from here.
Even if that meant Master Olivar dragging her out for a different sort of punishment.
But he wasn’t dragging. He merely looked to the doctor and then the little pot in his hands. “Ah,” he murmured in understanding. He brought his warm hand to cover the bruise on her shoulder, offering his warmth. “It will help the soreness, Ness,” he explained, his voice gentle. “That is all. I am sorry if you were frightened by it.”
He reached over, dipping his own finger into the jar and smoothed a line of it against his bare arm. “See? It is a little cool but you are much more delicate and maybe it is worse for you.” He glanced at the doctor for confirmation. He was watching them both, his expression a bit odd, but he said nothing against Olivar’s assessment.
“May I continue?” the doctor asked quietly. He glanced rather pointedly toward the door, and Ness must have given some sign that she did not like that prospect of her master leaving for Olivar frowned, making no move to oblige. The warmth of his hand was stemming the coldness of the paste, the uncomfortable chill giving way to a pleasant tingle.
The doctor sighed. “If you stay,” he said begrudgingly, “then you will look away at the proper moments. She does not seem to have any concept of...” he lacked the word, shaking his head in frustration. “She does not know better,” he finally settled on. “But you do.”
Master Olivar gave him an annoyed look. “Of course,” he bit out, shaking his head. Annoyance turned to embarrassment as the doctor began to pull back the blanket, Master Olivar turning green as he kept his gaze solely on her face. She did not liked to be looked at so intently, but there was no denying that she felt a little better for his presence.
The bruise was becoming almost numb, the pain of it receding for the first time since she’d received it. She glanced at it in some surprise, and Master Olivar chuckled. “Better?” he asked quietly, withdrawing his hand so she could look at it. The darkness remained, but the swollen, hot nature of it had dissipated considerably.
“Yes,” she whispered back, rather astonished that she could say that. Perhaps... perhaps Olivar had spoken truly, that they did want her to feel better from this visit. And she...
She had simply been waiting for them to turn into the Narada.
Shame flickered through her that she had expected such things from them, and apologies niggled at her tongue, but she grew distracted as she felt more of the paste being spread on her torso, much smaller bruises littering much of her skin, she was sure. But now that she knew what was to come, she could endure the coldness.
She was grateful that most of the bruises she’s incurred from the last implantation had already begun to fade. She did not wish to talk about that, to give Master Olivar or the doctor any ideas about starting such a programme here within the Onidae. Not that she could help with that in any case. Her stomach clenched miserably just to think it, both of the trying and the failing, and Olivar was stroking her cheek again. “You do not look well,” he murmured down at her. “Does it hurt? I told you we could leave if it hurt.”
She sniffled, just a little, and shook her head. He wanted her here, to get an appraisal of her wellness, and she wouldn’t ruin that. And nothing did hurt. Nothing outside, anyway. “No,” she answered him quietly, her body cool as the doctor shifted the blanket, now tending to her legs. Had she missed him doing in between? She shivered, certain from her previous experiences that such would be impossible.
Olivar did not press her anymore as the doctor tucked the blanket back over her, his expression solemn. “I am very sorry for the treatment you must have known, child,” he told her, reaching out for her arm and helping her to sit up. She kept the blanket covering herself, lest both men get upset with her again, surprised that he was offering her such sympathy. Didn’t he know what those marks meant? That she was lazy and slow, unable to satisfy her keeper’s wishes.
But evidently he did not.
And so he was looking at her so softly, and Master Olivar was eyeing her worriedly, and she...
She simply felt naked.
She hung her head, gripping the blanket more tightly about her, and the doctor gave her another pat before reaching down and collecting her clothes. She glanced up in alarm, knowing she would return home naked if that is what was demanded, but she... she very much did not want to.
But he only placed them on her lap, his smile a little dim. “I will mix something that will help with the pain of your bleeding,” he told her gently. “Something mild, so you need not worry. You may dress and Olivar and I will await you out here when you are finished.”
She did so hurriedly, still not liking the idea of any masters waiting on her. It took longer than she would have liked, her foot feeling bulky and awkward in its bandages as she tried to situate her inners, the outers a little easier to navigate, though balancing on her sore foot was unpleasant. She noticed she had bled on the cloth the doctor had given to preserve the cleanliness of his bench, and her cheeks flamed to see it. She bit her lip, considering if it would be all right to tarry for just a bit longer if it meant there would be less for the doctor to do.
And it didn’t seem right for him to have to clean up her blood. Not when he was one of the masters too.
She wasted no more time deliberating, and instead grabbed the slightly soiled cloth and began wiping up the smudges of blood her footsteps had left behind. There truly wasn’t a great deal of it, but what was there had dried against the floorboards, making her doubly glad she had determined to this to herself. It wouldn’t be right for him to exert himself to such an extent, especially not with the amount of force it took to remove all signs of it.
All signs of her.
She didn’t know what to do with the cloth after she’d finished. There was no clear place to leave it, and if she took it with her, she could continue to clean down the hallway before she found the masters again.
She opened the door and peeked out, deciding that they couldn’t be too upset with her for clearing away her own mess, kneeling down and scrubbing at the spots one at a time. The cloth was a little rough, excellent for her work, but it did make a gentle rasping sound against the floor with the force of her scrubbing.
For the first time she was grateful for the doctor’s paste, as it made the effort far less painful than it otherwise might have been.
“Ness? What are you doing?”
She stifled a yelp, her focus so entirely on her work that she’d missed Master Olivar’s approach.
She sat back on her heels, bowing her head as she put the cloth down on the ground. She’d been given permission for none of this, and she knew it. “I... I made a mess,” she reminded him, lowering her head even further. “I was trying to fix it.”
A part of her wanted to cry at Olivar’s sigh. He came nearer, but didn’t make her look at him as she feared he would. He only laid a large hand on the top of her head, smoothing his thumb along her hair. “You are terribly confused, poor thing,” he whispered softly—or as softly as a man of his stature was used to. “No one minds the mess,” he said a little louder, clearly this part intended for her. “And you have been through an...” he struggled briefly for the word. “Ordeal,” he settled on at last, pausing to allow her time to correct him. She did not. “And we should get you home.” His tone was odd as he said that, and she had to keep from peeking at him to see if he revealed a clue of what troubled him.
The doctor appeared, his footsteps heralding his approach, and she tucked her chin even deeper. It was his cloth she had used without permission.
“What has happened?” he asked, his voice strained.
“Ness did not feel right leaving blood on your floor,” Olivar answered for her. She was more than grateful that he’d done so, words feeling terribly far away.
“Child,” the doctor sighed. “That is... kind of you, but unnecessary. There is nothing for you to be e
mbarrassed about, I assure you.”
Master Olivar reached down, his hand coming into her vision, and she barely suppressed a flinch at the action. She glanced at it worriedly, but there was no mistaking that he intended for her hand to be placed in his. She swallowed before obliging. Obedience was important.
He helped her to her feet, standing very near, and kept her hand tucked in his. She wasn’t sure why he did that, but supposed it was to keep her from doing anything else without permission. She felt a little sick to have lost some of the trust he had in her.
“This is for you,” the doctor said, holding out a pouch.
To her.
Not to the master.
She blinked at it, but took it with her free hand, uncertain what else she should do. “A spoonful in boiling water, and it should help ease any discomfort. Morning and night should be sufficient, I should think.” He frowned, though he smoothed it away quickly. “If you should feel any... ill effects, have Olivar bring you back. Better to be safe, after all.” This he added with a forced levity, but she merely nodded solemnly, so he would know that she was listening.
She kept the little pouch tucked tightly in her hand, though she glanced at Olivar nervously. Should she give it to him? Not while the doctor was looking, she decided. Clearly he had not thought himself mistaken when he put her in charge of her own care, and she would not cause any upset with even a hint of correction.
Outside, then.
Except they weren’t beginning to walk outside, to put this frightening place behind them as they hurried home.
Master Olivar was staring at her dubiously, the doctor shaking his head. Had she missed something that was said? She hadn’t thought so, but clearly they were of the same mind while she still fretted about what to do with the pouch.
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 12
