Thrall (Deridia Book 3)

by Catherine Miller

  He peppered her with questions—about where Alindra had taken her, of the food she ate, of the people she had seen.

  It was difficult to answer them all, as she realised how unobservant she truly was. It was a shameful thing to confess, as that was one of her functions. She was to anticipate, to be prepared for any need that a master related, yet she found many of her answers rather vague.

  Olivar did not complain, but she could tell that he was disappointed in some of them. What more could she say about her meal than it was pleasant? She was not a storyteller, did not know how to relate little details so that he might feel more a part of the outing. That had never troubled her before now, yet it certainly did so now.

  “It is no matter, Ness,” he assured her, patting her hand gently with his much larger one. “What do you remember of the man who grabbed you?” His tone was deceptively calm, but she could see the tightness in his jaw that betrayed the subject was a distressing one.

  She did not find it so. Not anymore. Not when she currently sat so close to her keeper, her worries seeming very far away.

  “He was tall,” she recounted ruefully. “But that does not say very much. You are all tall.”

  Olivar chuckled at that, and it sent the warm feeling back through her veins. “Not to us,” he argued. “We are all perfectly average. You on the other hand...”

  She blushed as he gave her arm a little tweak. She rubbed it, but soon his hand was the one rubbing. She had not minded her height at home, so she supposed he spoke truly. A people simply... fit together. Which was a vivid reminder that, as much as she might admire the Onidae, they were not hers.

  The thought made her much sadder than was right.

  “I do not know what else to say of him, Olivar,” Ness admitted. “There were many who saw and could speak of it. Alindra gave his name, but I cannot remember it. He... he was on the boat with us, if that helps?”

  Olivar hummed a little before he frowned, and his hand fell away from her arm. His legs were stretched out in front of him and he stared thoughtfully at the wall across the room. She sat, watching him, trying to decide if she should interrupt his thoughts with questions of her own. “Olivar,” she said at last, tugging a little at the shoulder of his tunic. He glanced at her, an eye brow raised. She flushed, settling back a bit further. “I am sorry,” she said, lowering her eyes.

  But true to Olivar, he sighed, tugging her hand into his and holding it close. “No need,” he soothed. “I was merely trying to decide if Jocen or Ragmar would have been the one to accost you.”

  Ness bit her lip, the answer coming as soon as he said the name. “Ragmar,” she answered definitely. Olivar glanced at her before nodding. He looked terribly displeased at that, but she did not know what to do to comfort him as he did for her.

  And the weight of her question still burdened her, and so she found herself inching a little closer, trying to look at him but instead focusing on their entwined hands.

  “Olivar,” she tried again. He hummed, squeezing her hand briefly in acknowledgment. “Alindra... she said that you might lose your... your honour because of me.”

  She could feel him staring at her, and she peeked up at his face. He was looking at her with such confusion that it was almost enough to make her want to laugh, no matter how grimly. “I would lose what?”

  She bit her lip, before reaching up, skimming her fingers against the leather cord that went across his forehead. He only removed it when he slept, or so she had seen. She wasn’t sure she could really picture him without it.

  But she might have to start.

  The cord had a name, but she couldn’t recall that either, and she resolved to work doubly hard at remembering all the Onidaen words that Alindra granted her. She would repeat them in her mind, over and over, until those were the ones that came most naturally. She did not want Olivar to have to constantly be reminded from where she’d come, of the masters and all they had done.

  And perhaps, she did not want that reminder either.

  “Is that true?” she pressed, her fingers falling away.

  “It is... possible that the Caern will rescind it,” Olivar answered carefully, still watching her closely. “But I do not understand your first phrasing. It is an honour to be chosen as a trader, but...” He shook his head, obviously struggling with the words. “Honour is not always something bestowed or withdrawn,” he said at last.

  It was her turn to stare at him, not comprehending that in the least. Of course it was. The masters were the one who gave it, after it was earned in the proper manner. It was only then that a thrall could be placed, was worthy of serving a family for the reminder of their lives.

  What was honour if not something to be earned?

  That should have been her most pressing question, but instead she sought clarification on something that felt even more pertinent. “So... if you could no longer trade... you would not grow angry with me? For... for robbing you of that?”

  “Ness,” Olivar breathed, sitting up a little straighter and holding her hand close. “As far as I am concerned, I made the most important trade of my entire life that day. The rest would pale in comparison.”

  She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling, but Olivar seemed to notice anyway for he drew her close, and she tucked herself away in his side, trying to decide how the sorriest excuse for a thrall could have deserved a keeper like him.

  “Does that answer your question?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

  “Yes,” she managed to choke out past the lump settled firmly in her throat.

  “You know,” Olivar mused, his fingers drifting over her arm. It sent tingles through her skin, a not-quite tickle that was very pleasing, even if she had to suppress the urge to squirm. “I know very little of you, even now.”

  She peered up at him, slightly confused by that. What was there left to tell?

  He smiled at her, picking up the end of her braid and skimming over her cheek with it. “Tell me something,” he entreated. “Something you like.”

  Something that she liked? She readied the same answer she had given Alindra—that a thrall was not given leave for preference—but that seemed inadequate. And not quite true any longer.

  “I like crempets,” she whispered, almost more to herself than to him. “And blankets.” She hesitated, her heart fluttering in her chest as she wondered if she could confess the thing she liked the very most.

  She peeked up at him one more time, with his soft eyes and gentle smile, and found that the words came almost of their own accord.

  “And I like you.”

  15. Trial

  “But we should wait to be summoned,” Ness insisted, not for the first time. Her tone made it border on a complaint, but she comforted herself that it hadn’t quite crossed into being so. Maybe. Olivar hadn’t chastised her for it in any case, so she supposed that was true enough.

  He sighed, turning away from his own clothing to look at her still burrowed in her nest. She was dressed underneath, but it felt far safer here. Especially when Olivar was talking about doing such frightening things.

  “Ness,” he cajoled. “I explained this to you last night. I do not want what Ragmar did to ever be a possibility again. That means talking to the Caern and getting him on our side.”

  Ness fiddled with her blanket, picking at the edge before soothing it with her thumb. “But he isn’t,” she reminded him, her voice soft. “He didn’t want me here, either. He... he thought what you did was wrong.”

  Olivar shook his head, still holding the wardrobe door. “You are remembering that very differently than I,” he replied tiredly.

  That did not make her wrong, but she did not say that. That was far too argumentative, even with Olivar.

  Though a part of her wanted to test him, to see if anything at all would bother him. She didn’t know where the impulse came from, but she thought it quite a dangerous one, and she pushed it away thoroughly. She would not take advantage of Olivar’s kindness, no matter what thes
e foolish thoughts told her to do.

  “But what if...”

  Olivar abandoned the wardrobe, kneeling down beside her cot and taking her chin in his hand. “Then we come back here and continue as we are, and I will have to be the one to ensure that everyone knows that you are not to be bothered. But I wish to try it this way first, yes?”

  She bit her cheek, but finally nodded, though the action was a little awkward with his hand settled where it was. But then his thumb was smoothing across her cheek and she blushed, eliciting a soft chuckle from Olivar.

  He kissed the pinked skin briefly—another kiss!—before looking at her thoughtfully. “I admit, I thought that pink was rather strange at first,” he admitted, and she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and worried. She could not change the colour of her blushes, even for him. “None of that now,” he scolded, noting her concern. “But now having seen it so often, I think nothing could suit you better.”

  The pink turned a little crimson at that, and she offered him a timid smile. She felt quite the same way about his green coloured ears, but she didn’t feel brave enough for all that.

  Her confession last night had been bravery enough, and well worth it when he had held her so close and so tightly, murmuring his thanks for her courage in telling him.

  And there was a tinge in his voice that suggested that hearing that had been much needed!—that she liked him for himself, and not because of mere gratitude.

  There was a great tangle of emotions when it came to him, beautiful and complicated, and gratitude was indeed there, along with a great many others. It bothered her a little that he should accept such a simple word when she felt such a great deal, but she kept silent.

  For there was no ignoring that despite what she did feel, that did not make it right.

  But apparently she was greedy after all, and no matter how many times she reminded herself that it was forbidden, that did not make her feelings go away.

  “So we will go, yes?”

  She almost asked if it was really necessary for her to go as well, but Olivar had not offered to allow her to stay here alone, and she did not want to suggest it herself. He wanted her there for a reason, and she would have to trust that.

  She nodded again, and he pressed one more kiss onto her temple before standing and returning to his wardrobe.

  The amount of time it took him to select a tunic suggested that despite his assurances to her, he was nervous about this meeting. She could understand it well, for her insides squirmed unhappily, a knot of tension at her throat, squeezing every so often. No one sought an audience with the Commander. And seeing him at all typically ended with so much unpleasantness that the mere sight of him elicited fear even amongst the masters.

  Yet supposedly this Caern was different. She wanted to believe all Olivar said, but that one was a bit more difficult to accept.

  He finally settled on a green one, much more simple than others he had pulled out, putting it on quickly. He looked down at himself, before groaning, and she thought that meant he would be picking something anew, but he finally shook his head, moving toward her and holding his hand out. She glanced woefully down at her blankets before accepting his hand and the offer to help her from her cot.

  Her own clothes likely did not appreciate being tucked up so tightly, as the dress she had chosen had a bit of wrinkling about the hem. She tugged at it and hoped that it would smooth on the walk. She did want to be tidy, and not look like a sloven for the Caern.

  Or, if she was truthful, for Olivar.

  Shame coursed through her at that, at the near constant awareness of what she felt for her keeper. It made her want to laugh and cry in turn. There had been no such lessons with the Narada, no mention of what would happen if a master and thrall were caught in an assignation. The thought was absurd.

  It had been seared into their minds that associations with other thralls would be punished severely, that unassigned matings would lead to maimings, and perhaps even death depending on the particular transgression. She supposed that still applied now, though there was no other thrall to be had. It was simply... impossible to think of... of... feeling things for a master, so that lesson had never been required.

  She almost wished now that it had been given, so then perhaps these would be easier to ignore.

  Except that she didn’t. Not really. Not when she enjoyed the feel of Olivar’s hand around hers as he led her out of his home, and she knew that any such lessons would have made her far too fearful to accept it.

  What else would they have taken from her, if they had known the weaknesses of their thralls?

  She dismissed such morbid thoughts. They had no place here, and she had enough to fret about.

  She kept waiting to feel nervous about being out here again, that even assurances would not be enough for her be confident that one of the Onidae would try to bring her into their service. But with Olivar next to her, she was simply reminded of market days, of his encouraging smiles as he bought her far too many things.

  And, she supposed, of going to the doctor. But she would try not to dwell on that particular outing.

  They did not go the way she expected, Olivar picking a path she had never seen before. The buildings were sparse, the thrum of activity dissipating as they abandoned the main road. She wasn’t sure if she thought it reasonable for the leader to live so far apart, but she did not know enough to form a true conclusion.

  The path curved until they were near the shore, the current of the river quick towards the middle, little grasses and young trees growing in the rocky bank. It was lovely, in its way, even if the water still made her nervous. It was unfamiliar, even if she had survived her first true encounter with it. But Olivar appeared so at ease here, and she supposed she found it much preferable to the smothering heat of the forge.

  There were boats neatly moored along the water’s edge. Not so many, perhaps, but more than she was used to. But then, she was used to none at all.

  Olivar was very quiet, a disconcerting thing that she was not terribly fond of. She kept glancing at him, hoping to see if he was upset or merely thoughtful, but she found his expression difficult to read. She bit her lip, considering, before pushing away her anxiousness. He liked her to talk with him, to ask her questions. She was foolish for not doing so freely.

  “Is one of these your lady?”

  Olivar glanced at her, blinking a few times before he chuckled softly. “I had forgotten you heard it called that,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I am afraid we passed her already,” he continued, turning and pointing toward a boat a good distance away. At least, she thought she knew which one he was referring to. “She was my father’s. He... it fell into some disrepair, which is why I needed...” his mouth formed a tight line, and she glanced down, knowing what he was trying not to say. He needed the money to fix his lady properly, but had chosen her instead.

  She did not want Olivar’s sacrifices, even if they made her admire him for his willingness to give them. She wanted him to have all that he desired—for him to be somehow repaid for all his kindnesses.

  But she had not the least idea how that could ever be accomplished.

  “There will be other opportunities, Ness,” he pressed on, likely seeing her discomfort. “Even if I am not the one to make them. I can send my wares along with another and everything will continue as planned. Just... delayed a little.” He gave her a gentle nudge with his arm. She didn’t quite understand the gesture, but it did make her look up at him in some confusion. He was smiling, though it looked a bit strained. “Do not be sad,” he pleaded. “I regret nothing. Even if we go to the Caern and he tells me that I am stripped of my vassa, I will not regret it.”

  She wanted to believe him. In truth, she did. He was just that kind, just that generous, that he truly would think she was worth it.

  But it bothered her for him. And she did not know what to do about that.

  “Come along,” he urged when it became clear she was not going to reply.
“It is not far.”

  Perhaps not with long legs and a quick stride, but Olivar seemed to be moving particularly slowly. She did not know if it was trepidation that made him move thusly, or perhaps he was enjoying the river too much to make their trip a quick one. Nerves had infected her belly, which made the walk less pleasant than it should have been, and she was almost grateful when the large house appeared. It faced the water, and it was built atop a slight incline. She supposed that meant the Caern would be able to look out and oversee his people and their boats. That seemed reasonable.

  There were trees surrounding the house—great, towering things of green tipped with blue, some growing so close to the building that it made the Caern’s home almost seem a part of the trees themselves. There was no sign of anyone, and Ness’s steps hesitated. “Maybe... maybe he’s not here,” she suggested timidly, suddenly not wanting to go in there.

  Olivar glanced down at her, his brow furrowed. “He is not in town today, Ness, which means he will be here. Why are you so nervous?”

  She wanted to list every reason she could think of, things he should know already, but she didn’t. She didn’t know this man, didn’t particularly trust him, and yet he was going to determine much about her and Olivar’s lives.

  Olivar stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, encouraging her forward. “I will stay with you the entire time,” he assured her. It was a small comfort, but a genuine one, and it was enough to get her feet moving toward the looming structure.

  She supposed it was helpful that Olivar quickened their pace, that he didn’t stop to continue to probe her with questions as to her worries. She was fairly certain that if he had, she would not have maintained her composure. It was better this way, the quick climb up the steps carved into the earth itself, the rap of knuckles against the thick wood of the door.