Thrall (Deridia Book 3)

by Catherine Miller

  “Accidents can occur even during the simplest of missions,” he assured her. “The Caern is not as unreasonable as that.”

  She eyed him dubiously, not at all believing that was true. She wouldn’t argue it, there was little point in that, but she’d seen little to give her any confidence that the Caern would be generous with his dealings.

  Though he hadn’t ordered her killed. She supposed that was something.

  Her eyes flitted to the Arterian, suddenly realising all that he had seen. Her cheeks pinked, and she dropped her hand from Olivar’s, the appendage thumping limply down on her stomach.

  Rykkon glanced between her and Olivar, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him any longer. “Were you from Mercy?” he asked her. She didn’t know where to look, not fully certain if these Arterians were more akin to the Narada than Olivar wished to admit, but she hesitantly glanced upward. She didn’t know what Mercy was, so she certainly could not have been from there.

  She shook her head, somewhat nervously, and he gave her a sympathetic look. “Narada born, then?”

  She nodded cautiously, waiting for the offer to be rescinded and to be ejected from the Arterian’s home.

  “It is all right to talk, Ness,” Olivar assured her, his voice low but not quite a whisper. “I do not think Rykkon is going to fault you for your kind.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, to something beyond, and she finally looked herself, trying to see what might hold his interest.

  She blinked, then frowned.

  A feminine hand waved, a kind smile, though it appeared very tired. A woman sat in a wooden chair, her hand resting on a swollen belly. A perfectly... human woman.

  “Am I as frightful as all that?” she asked. Her words were a little slow, as if even the Arterian tongue was strange to her, but Ness understood it well enough.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Rykkon moved off, going to the woman and rubbing at her shoulder. “Ness, this is my wife, Prim.”

  She looked at him more sharply than she intended. Wife?

  Olivar smoothed his hand along her arm, in what she supposed was meant to be a soothing way. But it was... shocking, to see these two together. Perhaps the Arterians were less like the Narada than she had come to presume.

  Words eluded her, though all three seemed to be waiting from some declaration from her. She didn’t know what to say, not when her thoughts in her already fuzzy head started to whirl.

  Prim rose from her chair, swatting at Rykkon’s offered hands, her hand rubbing her back as if it was very sore. She was not to term, that much was obvious, but there was no denying the swollen bulge that could only mean she was with child.

  With... with Rykkon’s child?

  Ness bit her lip, her thoughts leading her to an impossible picture. Of Olivar calling her wife, of having a child with him, not... not endured as hers were meant to be. But... to be hers. And his. To keep.

  Her eyes flickered down to her own, empty womb, a sudden despondency overtaking her. That would never be. Not when she was faulty. But it was only that fault that had brought her here, so she wasn’t certain if she could ever truly hate it as she should.

  She would still be living as a thrall if she functioned properly.

  She would have a child growing by now, but it wouldn’t be Olivar’s.

  It would be a stranger’s, just as her babe’s face would be as it was taken as soon as it emerged, replaced with another’s to suckle, but not to love...

  Prim sat on the side of the bed, patting her leg. “I did not think I would ever see a face like yours again.”

  Ness glanced at her, still chewing at her lip. She looked to Olivar only briefly, though she wasn’t sure why. He had said she could speak, and... and she did not have to be frightened of Prim. At least, she did not think so. Her kind were born to be thralls, to serve, and a marriage did not change that. Or did it?

  She was so very confused.

  “Did you... escape?” she asked at last, trying to make sense of how this woman could be here.

  Prim looked to her husband, her expression a little grim. “I suppose, in a way,” she answered carefully. “My people did not start with the Narada,” she continued. “We had a little plot of land in the middle of the Wastes before...” Ness didn’t know what these Wastes were, but they did not sound very pleasant. But at least there were no masters there. That must have been worth something.

  Prim closed her eyes, taking a careful breath before opening them again. “Do you know what became of them? They were taken, and I would like to know what happened to them.”

  “Prim,” Rykkon interjected. “No good can come of it.”

  She glared, a sharp thing that surprised Ness to see it. “I left them, yes, and I... I know I can do nothing to help them now. But I would still like to know.”

  “I...” Ness began, trying to think, trying to comprehend all that Prim had said. They did not belong to the Narada? At least... not at first.

  She made to clutch her hands together, but a sudden pain made her stop. She had forgotten about the bite, and it distracted her for a moment as she waited for the throbbing to fade, though the pain brought a measure of clarity through her otherwise addled thoughts.

  The wilders?

  Those were... were Prim’s people?

  “I do not think you wish to know,” she answered at last, hoping that this woman would listen to her. There would be no good in it, no response she could give that might give comfort while also retaining any semblance of truth.

  Prim continued to look at her steadily. “Yes. I do.” Her eyes finally flickered toward Olivar. “That is... if you are willing to tell it.”

  Ness still hesitated, trying to decide if it was wise to speak, or if she should claim ignorance and allow the matter to drop. But she was faced with opportunity to hear of those she’d known, of Nell, or any of the others, she thought she’d like to know. Even if it meant they died, as was perfectly possible. At least she could bear witness to their memory.

  “I was not there long after they arrived,” she said slowly. “And I did not know any of them myself.” She was glad of that, though it made her feel guilty to think it. They could have been good people, kind and so terribly confused in the roles they were being forced into.

  “But they were there?” Prim pressed. “I had hoped...” she sighed, a hand straying to her belly as she rubbed it absently.

  “The Commander called them wilders,” Ness shared. “I... I didn’t know there were any like that. Like... you.”

  Prim smiled, a sad, dry sort of thing that did not suit her. “They weren’t. Not exactly. I chose to come here and marry Rykkon rather than stay with them. When I learned the Narada were coming for the rest... many escaped. Others chose not to.” She glanced down, the thought of that obviously troubling to her—as right it should be. “I warned them in time,” she reiterated, likely more for her own benefit rather than for Ness’s. “They made their choices. I just... still wonder at the consequences.”

  Ness swallowed as Prim looked at her expectantly. How many details did she expect?

  “If they were useful,” she began, watching carefully for any shifts in Prim’s expression so she might know when to speak and when she should fall silent. “They would be well fed and be given over to keepers. If they performed their tasks well,” better to keep that vague, “then they would... live,” she finished lamely, not knowing what else to say. She did not wish to lie and pretend that they would be safe with the Narada, but she did not mean to be gruesome either.

  She thought of the wilder man she’d seen. He had tried to be brave before the Commander, speaking out for his people, for the freedom he believed should be theirs.

  He was dead now, as likely many of the wilders would be also.

  She found herself oddly grateful for having been born into her status. To have to learn it later, perhaps after she had seen what life could be with... with Olivar...

  To have to give it up in
favour of silence and complete obedience...

  She did not think she could do it again. Not now that she knew how wonderful things could be.

  “Do we come from these... these Wastes then?” Ness asked, trying to divert the subject. She didn’t know why she asked, as the origins of her people had never held any great interest to her. They simply... were. Just as they simply belonged to the Narada. Just as their purposes were to serve.

  But perhaps...

  Perhaps it was not always meant to be so.

  Prim shook her head, glancing at Rykkon with a roll of her eyes. Ness wasn’t certain why the subject should be a strained one, but as she spoke it became a little clearer. “No. I was born there, yes, but my parents were from a different world.” Ness stared at her blankly, not at all understanding what she might mean. Prim gestured toward the skies. “A world like this one, but different—beyond the stars.”

  Ness’s brow furrowed and she glanced at Olivar. He stared at Prim just as intently, a deep crease between his eyes. Prim sighed, as if this subject brought an old weariness, and Ness found herself reaching out with her good hand, patting her arm gently. “I am listening,” she assured her. “Though I... I might not understand.”

  Prim smiled tiredly. “Few do,” she said just as tiredly. “I cannot tell you how many times I have explained to this one and still he has doubts.”

  “Less each time, Prim,” Rykkon interjected, and Ness thought he sounded a little offended. “And I have seen some of your technologies for myself and it has... helped.”

  Prim gave a grunt, her displeasure readily apparent. She evidently decided to ignore him for she turned back to Ness. “The ship broke apart as it fell. Mine were in the Wastes and yours... Well. You know what became of yours.”

  “Yes,” Ness answered quietly. “I do.”

  Prim sighed, watching Ness closely. “My people were never very good at doing what was necessary,” she said bluntly. “They are probably all dead then.”

  Ness didn’t know what to say to that. Not when it was likely true. “A dead thrall is a useless thrall,” she intoned, the words coming easily. She stopped them, lest something else from her lessons slip out, and she tried to give something more comforting. “Maybe some of them learned.” Though if that was better, Ness wasn’t quite so sure any longer.

  Not now that she’d seen what it was to be free.

  Prim stared at her for a long while, her cool grey eyes slightly discomfiting. “Maybe,” she agreed, though her tone belied the word.

  “May I...” Ness swallowed, wondering if she truly intended to ask this of this strange human that was not thrall, but wife. She glanced quickly at Olivar, then at Rykkon, and she blushed when she realised both were watching her. “You are married?”

  Prim sat a little straighter. “Yes,” she confirmed.

  Ness bit her lip, something about Prim suggested that she should speak carefully. “And that is... allowed?”

  Prim’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do not look at her like that,” Rykkon chided Prim. “I do not believe she means it as the others do.”

  Olivar was holding her arm gently, but there was a protectiveness to it also that meant she had erred.

  “I meant no offence,” Ness hurried to assure, bowing her head. This woman might be of the same kind as her, but she was still Mistress in this home and should be respected as such. “I... I just...”

  She couldn’t look at Olivar. Not when they hadn’t even talked about this themselves. She’d only asked because to see it happen... for one of her own kind to have married an outsider, then... perhaps... if Olivar was amiable to the idea...

  She didn’t know what was wrong with her. After what she’d endured with the members of her own kind, she shouldn’t find herself wanting... wanting that. But that was part of being a mistress, and whenever her thoughts strayed to Olivar, of how safe she felt when wrapped in his arms, of how very careful he always was with her, she did not feel afraid.

  Prim settled somewhat, her attention drifting between the two of them. “Is it not permitted for you?” she asked without preamble. “His people were... not pleased, but that did not stop us.”

  Ness did not think her cheeks could darken further, and mortification had made her words disappear into hiding. She looked gratefully to Olivar when he answered for them. “I do not believe there are many who would object. But I have not yet proven myself to her so that she might accept me.”

  Ness looked at him sharply, barely able to keep her mouth from falling open. That was what he thought?

  She would not pretend to understand much of anything about the Onidae mating customs—could barely believe that she even wanted to—but for him to think that she looked at him with anything but pure admiration was simply too absurd.

  “That’s not,” she began, but Olivar shook his head, and she halted her assurances. There was a lump in her throat, and she wished desperately that they had been able to speak privately, but wishes and wants didn’t matter. She knew that.

  “Later,” he murmured, smoothing his thumb over her arm, avoiding the fresh bandages of her hand. “Not here.”

  She nodded, knowing he was right but hoping that she would have the courage to settle things when the time came.

  “What sorts of work is there with the Narada?” Prim asked, the question sufficient distraction from her feelings and worries about Olivar.

  This time she was the one to study Prim, trying to assess for herself what sort of woman she was. She spoke plainly, if slowly given the language, her words and tone showing she appreciated directness.

  And despite how unnatural it felt, when faced with a member of her own kind, thrall or not, it did not seem so very daunting. “We are all breeders first,” she finally answered. “Until we’ve bred enough and then we are moved to different work. Some to households, others to dig new tunnels for the masters. It is our purpose.”

  Olivar grunted beside her, but she did not look at him. She already knew his thoughts on that subject.

  Prim looked rather stricken, but she hid it well after just the briefest moment. Ness thought she would have made a good thrall with that kind of control, and she wondered at what her life had been to have made her learn such lessons without a master to teach it.

  She wanted to ask, to connect with another of her kind in a way she’d never before been able. But Prim stood, going over to her husband and leaning her head against his arm, her eyes closed. He stroked his hand through her hair, murmuring something in a language Ness did not know.

  Prim nodded, and Ness was distracted from her staring when Olivar spoke. “The Arterians have formed a treaty with the Narada,” he explained, his tone regretful.

  Ness’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  Olivar looked at her rather peculiarly. “Because sometimes we must form alliances with others, even when it might be... distasteful.”

  His tone suggested that was not quite the word he meant, but its use still rankled her. She frowned, an argument coming easily to her tongue, which surprised her, the indignation coming quick and almost escaping before she could bite her lip and keep it contained. She should be accepting and pliant to whatever made up the customs with the Onidae—even if that included treaty and trade with clans and peoples whose ways perhaps even went beyond distaste and were simply... wrong.

  She paused at that.

  Were the Narada wrong?

  For her entire life, she did not believe such a thing to be possible. A master was right in all things, regardless of truth or reality. They were masters.

  And yet the more she toyed with the word, the simple wrongness of what she had endured, the more she felt sure of it—as if a balm had been spread on a chaffing wound.

  It was wrong.

  The Narada had been wrong.

  It made her want to cry, made her want to laugh, and the sound that came was a confused combination of both, but she found her composure quickly, clapping her hand over her mouth with her good hand so
nothing else could escape.

  She wasn’t certain of the full implications of her realisation—of what that meant for her, or perhaps for her and... and...

  She peeked at Olivar. He was looking at her in some alarm, his eyes drifting over her for some sign of injury.

  Rykkon appeared over his shoulder, his eyes equally assessing, though they lacked the urgency of Olivar’s. “The medicine can make her a bit... strange,” Rykkon assured her keeper. “Are you in pain, Ness?” he asked, though his tone already suggested he knew the answer.

  She shook her head, allowing her hand to fall away when she was certain no more outbursts were forthcoming. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and meaning it. It was a private revelation, and not one she wished to be questioned. She did not think she could bare the incredulous looks at how stupid she had been to believe otherwise for so long. Or worse yet, to endure an argument that the Narada had been right after all.

  “Do you think you can sit up?” Rykkon asked, holding a hand out to her. She eyed it speculatively, the familiar questions in her mind—was it safe, or was it proper?

  But the Narada had been wrong.

  And Olivar did not mind touching her. Alindra either.

  She took the hand, startled when the skin ever so slowly began to absorb the colour about it, his darker skin paling to mimic hers.

  She found it fascinating, but before she could continue to watch—to see if the colour would spread up his arm or if it was restricted to skin meeting skin—he was helping her to sit and then taking his hand away, the colour disappearing.

  She waited to feel unsteady, for perhaps the throbbing in her head to return and indicate that she should be lying still for a time longer. But the pain was dull and not overwhelming. “I thank you for helping me,” she told Rykkon respectfully. “I am sorry it was necessary.”

  He shook his head. “The colnass strike quickly and without warning. You were not at fault.”

  She did not wholly believe that, but she was not going to argue about it either. Perhaps her status was not quite as lowly as she had been taught, but that did not give her permission to be rude—especially not to one who helped her so freely.