Shard & Shield

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  Luca stared at him. “You want that I should learn…?”

  “I’m teaching you to fight,” Shianan answered. “Not as a soldier; you won’t be able to hold off a Ryuven. But I’m not asking you to do that. I want you to be able to hold off a similarly armed man.”

  Luca stared at the staff in his hands. “Why? I’m….”

  “Because the Ryuven are not our only enemies,” Shianan replied flatly, “and having a helpless slave at my back is no protection. I do this only for my own safety, of course. No one can argue with that.” He gestured with his staff. “Be ready; I’m coming again.”

  The next dozen movements he made were designed not to test nor even to instruct, but simply to induce Luca to manipulate the staff. Emboldened by his accidental successes, Luca began to move a little more freely, actually shifting the staff to meet the coming blow rather than merely flinching behind it.

  “Good,” Shianan said. “Now, consider that you have several primary angles of defense.” He demonstrated each, talking Luca through the corresponding movements. “Let’s try each of them.”

  A few minutes later, Luca was sweating but moving readily to interrupt each of Shianan’s blows. “Very good,” Shianan said, and he saw Luca’s expression shift almost into a smile. “Any questions?”

  “No, Master Shianan.”

  “Good. Then let’s reverse it. Come and attack me.”

  Luca froze.

  “Come, you’re wasting time.”

  Luca withdrew a step.

  Shianan lowered his staff. “I see. You think this is a trap—that as soon as you touch me, I’ll claim you struck me. Do you think that little of me?” He sighed. “Hit me as hard as you can, Luca.”

  Luca hesitated.

  “Strike me. This is my command as your master. Do you disobey me?”

  Luca gulped.

  “Do it!” Shianan shouted.

  Luca swung wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. Shianan moved his staff a few inches and deflected the blow into empty air. “You see? There’s no danger at all of hitting me.” He spun the staff and grinned. “Feel better?”

  “I—no.”

  Shianan laughed. “Then I suppose you’ll have to try again. Go ahead.”

  Luca raised the staff and then hesitated. “Master—I cannot strike you.”

  “It’s Master Shianan, I told you.” Shianan sighed. “Luca…. Within this ring, what passes is not between a master and slave, but instructor and student. You will not be held by the laws governing slavery here, but by the accepted rituals of training. There will be moments when I pass through your defense, but that is no punishment except for flaws in your technique. There will be moments, I hope, when you pass through my defense, and as an instructor I will be glad of that. Do you understand me?”

  Luca nodded slowly. “If that is what you want.”

  “Right now, I want you to come at me from each angle, just as we discussed a moment ago.”

  “Yes, Master Shianan.” He targeted a reluctant swing toward Shianan.

  The unskilled attacks had little power, but Shianan did not criticize. As earlier, his first task was simply for Luca to discover there was no threat to these exercises. He remembered demanding whether Luca had ever longed to fight back. It seemed Ande had seen to that.

  Finally he signaled a halt. “That’s enough for a start. Now we each have other work.” Luca nodded, lowering the staff. “Bring your meal and mine to the office.” Shianan held out his hand, expecting Luca to toss the staff to him.

  But Luca merely took a few steps to cover the distance between them and offered it to him with a small bob of respect, a slave serving his master. As he handed off the staff, he said quietly, “Thank you, Master Shianan.”

  Chapter 31

  “Daranai’rika wishes to see you.” The servant eyed Maru disapprovingly. “She’s in her garden.”

  Maru knew no reason for his faint hostility and merely thanked him. There was no profit in being anything but amiable to those with whom he would be living and working later, when he was a part of the household Tamaryl and Daranai would share.

  The private garden was shielded well from external eyes. Stone walls had been built to resemble mossy ruins, and climbing flowers covered the net which guarded the sky. A fountain played on one side, its splashing offering a steady and pleasant undercurrent of sound. Maru stopped in the wall’s gap and clapped softly for admission.

  On the far side of a flowering hedge, Daranai reclined on a narrow couch as the silver-haired servant massaged oil into her feet. “Ah, Maru.” She sat upright, withdrawing her feet from the servant, and reached for a piece of fruit from the basket near her.

  “You wished to see me?”

  She made a dismissive gesture as she peeled the fruit. “It is not urgent. How is the human?” She motioned over her shoulder, and a second servant Maru had not noticed stepped forward to take the rind. “Will you be staying with her?”

  Maru had thought she understood this already from Tamaryl. “She is stable but unwell, Daranai’rika. We must stay until Tamaryl’sho opens his own home again.”

  “And then you will go to his home?” She raised an elegant eyebrow.

  “I thank you again for your hospitality to the human rika. I know it must be an inconvenience to you.”

  Daranai smiled. “Hardly an inconvenience. An affront, perhaps, but no inconvenience.”

  Maru did not know how to respond to this. “I am sure Tamaryl’sho appreciates it.”

  She nodded. “Hm.” She remained looking at Maru for a moment, saying nothing, and he wondered if he had left something unsaid. Protocol bound him to stay until she dismissed him.

  Daranai’rika raised a long finger to brush hair from her face. “Maru, you have served in Oniwe’aru’s house, is that correct?”

  “Yes, I have. Oniwe’aru was the nearest lord of obligation. My service fell to him when Ryl’sho disappeared.”

  “Ryl’sho,” she repeated softly with an amused smile.

  “I am sorry. Of course he is Tamaryl’sho.”

  She nodded. “I was only curious. You may go.”

  “Thank you, Daranai’rika.” Maru left the garden.

  Daranai sat still a moment. The silver-haired nim near her feet made a small movement. “Shall I continue?”

  “No,” she answered slowly. “No, I don’t think so.” She motioned to him. “Stand and let me see you.”

  The nim who had taken the rind stepped forward. “Daranai’rika, would you like me to—”

  “Quiet a moment.” She looked back and forth between them. “I am thinking of sending one of you away.”

  The silver-haired servant glanced down. “I will—”

  “Do not interrupt me,” she said lightly. She looked at the black-haired Ryuven waiting, his eyes fixed on her. “Jeros has served me before and I know what to expect of him.”

  Jeros nodded tightly, looking as if he wanted to speak. She raised a hand and casually trailed her fingers over his chest, noting the slight change in his breath and how he shifted his weight forward. He would be eager today.

  “But while I rely upon excellent service,” she continued, “I cannot bear monotony.” Jeros’s expression tightened, and she knew he feared disappointment. “Taro, you are a handsome young thing, even incapable of glamour. That is what first prompted me to purchase your debt from Heka’che. Your attentiveness since has also caught my attention.”

  Taro swallowed. “It is a nim’s duty and pleasure to serve,” he replied, his eyes on Daranai’s feet.

  “Duty and pleasure,” she repeated. “I’ve always thought that a wonderful phrase.” She looked back at Jeros, who remained obedient if no longer hopeful beside her. “Oh, Jeros, don’t look so sad.” She reached to caress his cheek and ran a hand down the line of his throat, over where his nipple lay under the thin fabric, and down his torso, drawing her hand away with a little downward flick of the fingers just where his hip curved. “I’m sure I’ll find another use f
or you soon.”

  “Yes, Daranai’rika,” he said hoarsely, and she knew he had been anticipating since she first summoned him to fan away the insects and the heat.

  “You may go,” she told him, “and be sure to drape the vines behind you. I do not want to be disturbed again.”

  He flattened his wings and retreated. She turned her gaze on Taro, still at the foot of her reclining couch. “And you, come closer.”

  He swallowed again. “Daranai’rika, is it—”

  “Don’t speak yet.” She gestured, and this time he obeyed, coming slowly to stand where Jeros had been. “You have done well this first week here.”

  “Thank you, Daranai’rika.”

  “I like to reward those who serve me well.” She faced him, still seated so that her eyes were even with his chest, and reached to him. His skin twitched as she touched him, sliding the tips of her fingers along his arm. “As you noted yourself, a good nim delights in the opportunity to further serve.”

  He gulped and stared fixedly at the fountain behind her. “Daranai’rika—”

  “Hush.”

  “Daranai’rika, this is—”

  “Quiet.” She placed a hand on his hip and turned him so that he faced away from her, his wings folded tightly against his back. “If I choose to take a lover from a lower caste, that is my choice.” She reached to the sensitive skin at the roots of the wings.

  Taro caught his breath as she stroked him. “The—the….”

  “Hush,” she soothed. She stroked the tender skin for a long moment, enjoying how he slowly began to breathe against her steady motion. She took the edges of his garment where it split to accommodate his wings and pulled them a little further apart, making him shift slightly. His fingers flexed at his side.

  She continued, letting her fingers trail to the base of the wings and wrap around the roots, and his wings began to tremble. She smiled to herself. “Why don’t you relax a little?”

  His knees weakened, and with a few strokes down the length of his arms she enticed him to sink to the ground beside her couch. Now she reached one hand over his shoulder as she teased his wings, and when her fingers brushed his nipple through the slick garment he tensed.

  “I think you are beginning to enjoy yourself,” she whispered. “Let me help you.” And she slipped her hand beneath his clothing.

  It was a simple matter from there to tease and arouse him, licking and kissing his neck or ear as she felt inclined and tantalizing him with fingering. He was still reluctant at first, but no male could remain firm with one hand on his bare flesh and the other on his responsive wing, and when at last she invited him to turn and face her, he was anxious to release the energy she’d built within him. He knelt beside the couch and leaned forward, as greedy for her touch as Jeros had been.

  Usually she only teased them at first, building their desire into something she could use, but the handsome silver-haired nim soon broke completely, shivering and leaning into her as she drew her fingertips from abdomen to shoulder. She did not mind frustrating him if it meant he would be more eager the next time, but she was enjoying herself and did not want to be denied. Still, he was a pretty prize and not to be wasted with haste, and so after a few minutes, as he reached for her neck with his lips, she caught his shoulders and held him back. “There,” she whispered, smiling, “that is enough for now.”

  He looked surprised. “But—I—”

  “That is enough for now,” she repeated. “You have been here only a week, Taro. Be a good and attentive boy, and there will be more later.” She found the handful she wanted and gave it an invigorating stroke.

  Taro struggled for speech. “I—yes, Daranai’rika. Of course.” He licked his lips.

  She gave him a little push. “Go back to your quarters.” Go, and reflect that there is no meet substitute for finishing with me. But she was aroused herself and anxious for her own pleasure. “Send Jeros to me as you go.” It did no harm to cultivate a little jealousy among them.

  Taro’s eyes widened a fraction, but he did not speak. He pulled the garment over his shoulders again and retreated uncomfortably from the garden.

  It had been a good start with Taro. His initial reluctance had been broken down and he would be wondering when next she might favor him. It would not be long before he would be desperate to give her pleasure in the hopes that she might reward him.

  Jeros arrived quickly; he had not gone far after his dismissal. “Daranai’rika?” he asked, trying to hide the anticipation he hardly dared hold.

  She smiled at his excitement. “I am in desire of a devoted servant.”

  His face broke into a relieved, eager grin. “I will do my best for you, Daranai’rika.”

  Chapter 32

  Luca was checking the drying laundry when a knock came at the door. He went to answer it, as Shianan glanced up from his writing.

  The man outside wore royal livery. “The Count of Bailaha is summoned to His Majesty’s presence.”

  Luca’s throat tightened. “I will tell him.”

  His master had heard the message. He sat very still at the desk, staring at the squat ink bottle before him. “Well, then, there’s nothing for it,” he said finally. “Luca, is there a dry tunic with a better appearance than this one?”

  “I’ll find one, Master Shianan,” Luca told him.

  Shianan’s fingers were slow on the laces of his fresh tunic. Luca exchanged his own well-worn shirt for another Shianan had given him. Shianan hesitated, his face ashen, and breathed deeply several times, as if fighting a sneeze. Then he crossed quickly to the night relief pot in the corner and vomited into it.

  Luca stared in surprise and then hurried to the wash stand. When Shianan straightened, Luca mutely held out a damp towel and a cup of water.

  Shianan exhaled a shuddering breath. “How they’d laugh to see that.”

  Luca said nothing.

  Shianan took the water and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the pot again. “Blech. Thank you.” He swallowed and wiped his pale face. “I didn’t know I’d reached such a low point.” He looked at Luca. “Why are you changed?”

  “I am accompanying you, Master Shianan. In case you need something during the audience.”

  Shianan’s stone face cracked into bitter laughter. “You little fool. You double-dyed little fool.” He sighed. “You cannot help me here, Luca. What would you do, argue with the king himself? You’d save me nothing and earn yourself a week of whipping.”

  Luca swallowed. “But I may accompany you as far as the audience room?”

  Shianan blinked, surprise overcoming the cynicism. “You—you can. You may. I don’t know why you would want to, but of course you may.” He hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get your cloak.”

  They did not speak as they went to the palace and then wound their way through the corridors. Shianan asked and was told the king was meeting with military officers and advisors in one of the newer chambers.

  Shianan exhaled slowly. “That is good news and bad,” he confided softly to Luca as they walked. “He meets me alone in the upper chambers, and he is sometimes more—demonstrative—there. I doubt he would be so open before the others. But he is not afraid to shame me before them, as you saw. And there is no reason for me to be telling you this.”

  Luca merely nodded, unsure how to respond. Something had opened between them, exchanged their secrets, and it was a treacherous road for a slave to walk. Easier and safer by far to simply perform the duties required and avoid notice—but he could not be that any longer with this master who was as much a slave as he was.

  They reached the chambers and the man outside recognized Shianan. “Go on, Bailaha. They are expecting you.”

  Shianan took a deep breath and entered, sinking almost immediately into a kneeling position. Luca dropped to the floor behind him. He meant to retreat and wait in the antechamber, but then he saw two other men in wrist cuffs standing against the wall. “Rise, Bailaha,” said the king, and as
Shianan straightened Luca moved beside the other slaves.

  The room was less full this time, and those present were obviously military. Luca kept his eyes down but wished he dared watch. “Bailaha,” the king began, “General Septime has brought something to our attention.”

  Something flared through Luca, a resentment that Septime should receive credit instead of Shianan. Before he could marvel that he retained a sense of injustice, the king continued.

  “The army is a critical limb of this nation, protecting our people from other lands, from the southern warlords, from the Ryuven, all active threats to our safety. It is vital to our survival. But while we value the army, we cannot afford to spend unwisely in its maintenance, wasting the people’s taxes.”

  Luca swallowed and clenched his fists. Why didn’t he get to the point? It was agony to hear him, dreading what was to come. He could not imagine how his master suffered, standing before them all.

  “Your Majesty,” Shianan began, his voice uneven, “I know we cannot afford to waste our resources. If we had been able to learn sooner—”

  “But we did not,” King Jerome interrupted. “No one did, not until now. I am told the books were complicated and deceptive. That is why we are so pleased you uncovered this treachery.”

  Luca caught his breath. Pleased?

  “If Bailaha had not found this, we should have been robbed further and further. A fifth of our spending! That is a princely amount. We have already spoken on dismissing and trying our present officers and suppliers—though I confess to some surprise you were not here for those discussions.”

  Shianan struggled for words, clearly off-balance. “I thought only to report the findings to General Septime, Your Majesty. I believe him capable of addressing them.”

  “You did not seek recognition for this work?”

  Shianan bowed his head. “The recognition is given always to the master. If Your Majesty has charged certain subjects with fulfilling certain duties, it is credit to you that they perform those duties.”