Blood darkens the forearm of my shirt, the cloth wet and sticking to my skin. I slowly sink down onto a rock, the cold eating up through my cloak and pajamas even before I can sigh and rest my chin on one fist. My elbow throbs where I slammed it against the sharp edge of a boulder, but I ignore it. I can't find him. I've been out here, searching the barren rocks around the castle for so long my fingers are numb. The sky has gone from antique silver to pearly gray, to the delicate gold of Sactaren's hair, and now the thin clouds are beginning to blush the faintest pink as the sun nears the edge of the horizon. I'll have to head back soon. I bite the edge of my lip and glance over my shoulder at Sactaren's castle.
I let my eyes rove over the dark stone, the blocky battlements, Lady Sactaren's rooftop garden in the northwest corner--and when I just can't help myself any longer--to the high tower. Sactaren's tower. I turn away, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. It's all his fault. If he hadn't gotten so angry, if he hadn't threatened to sell me, if he hadn't sold me, I wouldn't have had to chase Khas off. Yes, it was stupid and impulsive, but Sactaren drove me to it. I just wish I could tell Khas that. I jump to my feet and climb up on the boulder I'd been sitting on.
I sorry, Khas. I scan the empty mountainside as I make the simple gestures, hoping that if he's watching me from somewhere, too angry to come back, maybe he'll see and accept my apology. I repeat the gestures several times, but he doesn't come scampering out of the rocks, so he's either not out here, or he's madder at me than I'd thought. I glance at the sunrise, scowling as I squint into the light. Time to go back. I glance up at the tower again, and jerk my eyes away. What is wrong with me?
I'm twenty years old and he is the most seductive, attractive creature I have ever met, that's what is wrong. I tried to deny it, tried to hang on to my anger, my belief that he bewitched me, but Sactaren's magic is an easy, safe place to lay the blame. If he bewitched me, then what I feel is not my fault, it's not real. But that makes so little sense. If he put a spell on me to make me lust after him, then why do I feel anger, fear, resentment, even the occasional flash of hatred? He would make me want him with every beat of my heart, he would leave no will in me, and he would have taken me long before this. Schaff said--damn his furry hide--he said that Sactaren would bespell me if he thought he had something to gain by doing so. That doesn't mean Sactaren did. Which leaves me no one to blame but myself.
After pacing up and down the hall all night, to the very foot of the tower stairs a couple of times, I finally gave up and went outside to look for Khas. I could stand in the store room, looking up the dark spiral staircase, but I couldn't bring myself to start the climb. Not knowing what I would be going up there to do. Even if he didn't hurt me, even if all we did was sleep, like he said he meant, I'm his slave. It's not right for me to sleep in his bed. It's not right for me to feel this way, but I can't seem to help that.
I slip into my room and toss the cloak onto my bed. Is this real, what I feel for him? I've never lusted after anyone, not like this. There were times where a man or woman would catch my eye, something about them lingering in my mind even after they left my sight, but no one has ever filled my blood with fire or made my heart race like he does. I strip off my shirt, wincing as the bloody cloth is torn away from the wound on my elbow, and head into the bathroom. I hold the jagged gash up in front of the mirror. Nice.
I pour water from the enchanted pitcher into the basin and wash my face before tending to my elbow. It's as bad as it looks, but I've had worse. I slather on that healing salve Sactaren gave me for the cut on my face, then bandage it with a strip of clean, white cloth from the medicine shelf. I glance in the mirror, making a face at my haggard reflection. Great Maele, I look old this morning. I dab a bit of salve on me cheek where Drumar kicked me, but the cut already looks several days old instead of less than a day. At least magic is good for something.
I step back from the wash basin and watch the bloody water magically drain out. Yeah, magic has its uses, I guess. It still gives me a squirmy feeling when I think about it. I remember being a kid, shackled in a long line of slaves being led through Evam Rune City, and passing a Show Mage's wagon as he performed his illusions and simple tricks. I've never felt as cold inside as I did that day, like my heart had turned to ice. I guess I should have known then that I was allergic to magic--might have saved me the embarrassment of the salyr a'havon.
I pick up my bloody pajama shirt as I leave the bathroom, tossing it into the pile with my mud spattered clothes from yesterday. Sometime today they'll disappear--I'm not certain when, since I've been in the shop every day since I arrived--and in a few days I'll find them back in the wardrobe. I hope the laundry is just another part of this magic castle, otherwise I think I owe whoever does the wash an apology. No matter how hard I try, one day out of three has me ruining another shirt.
I throw open the wardrobe and let my gaze slide over the fine clothes he has given me. So many colors, so many fabrics: suede, velvet, nethean, silk ... and all I've been wearing is the plainest trousers and simplest shirts. I take out a light cotton shirt of midnight blue, the collar and sleeves embroidered with elaborate knot-work in glittery silver thread. What would I look like in this? Would it please Sactaren to see me in it? I run my fingertips over the scar on my face that I can still feel but no longer see.
Is that a door I really want to open? If I put it on, will I be asking to be bent over a table? I swallow hard. If it's by the man who walked up the mountain with me yesterday evening, I honestly don't think so. But then, Sactaren seems to have more faces than a pair of niukae dice. I pick up a pair of dusty gray suede pants and turn away from the wardrobe.
I've never worn pants that fit so well. They cling to my long legs and firm butt, highlighting the muscles in my calves and thighs. I catch a glimpse of myself in the wardrobe mirror and I almost change into something else. I tuck in the shirt and spend more than a few minutes trying to keep the folds of cloth from showing under the suede before making my way toward the kitchen for a little long overdue breakfast. I don't think I ate anything at all yesterday. I cut a slice of bread, somehow still warm inside, though the oven is stone cold, and a piece of white cheese full of almond slivers. A meal fit for a king.
I wander toward the shop, in no hurry, and find myself stopping outside the door to Daron. An entire other planet, just beyond a plain, ordinary door. Amazing. I glance up and down the hall, but it's empty. It couldn't hurt to take a look, right? I reach for the door latch, then jerk my hand back as it turns on its own. The door opens, sweet morning birdsong, the heady scent of earth and flowers, and the warm, golden light of day pouring forth into the cold, shadowy corridor. The bite of breakfast in my mouth turns dry and gummy as Sactaren steps out of the sunlight, blinking hard in the sudden darkness.
My heart races at the sight of him, shirtless and barefoot, in a pair of stained and patched beige pants, his skin the flawless, rich gold of ripened wheat. Over one arm is a basket full of herbs and flowers, with a small pile of bright, ripe wild strawberries nestled among the sprigs of lavender and the lacy fronds of maidenhair fern. Still blinking sightlessly in the dim light, he turns up the hall toward his tower and I scramble back to avoid him.
"Lark?" He steps back, looking startled. "I didn't see you. What are you doing up so early?" I swallow down the half-chewed lump of bread and cheese, nearly choking on it.
"I stepped out for a moment to see if Khas had come back, M'Lord. He hadn't."
"Yes, Schaff told me you let him go." He steps closer, slowly raising his eyebrows as he finally takes in the sight of me. "I'm sure it was difficult," he says quietly, restraint thick in his voice, "but I think you'll find you did the right thing. Wild creatures can never be happy in cap ... tiv ..." He seems to lose track of his thought for a moment. "You look ... very fine this morning." I feel the heat creep up my neck.
"As--as do you, M'Lord," Oh crap, did I really say that? A fleeting smile graces his lips, but only for a moment.
"Did you want something?" he asks. Now my face really burns, remembering my pathetic attempt to keep him from selling me. I will never do that again.
"No, M'Lord, it just seemed ... ungrateful to have a wardrobe full of nice clothes and not wear them. If--if you'll excuse me, I was just on my way to the shop--"
"Hold on," Sactaren says, holding out his hand in front of me, but not quite touching my chest. "I was wondering ..." He looks at me for a moment, like he'd forgotten what he wanted to say. "Have you ever tasted a wild Daronian strawberry?"
I glance at his basket, then back at him. "Er, no, M'Lord."
He takes one out of the basket and proceeds to pick off the green top. "Why won't you call me Naeven?" he asks, holding the small red fruit out in front of my face.
"A slave learns early not to call his master by name," I say, hesitating as I reach up and take the strawberry from him. "It's a hard habit to break. Thank you ... Naeven." He licks the juice from his fingertips as I pop the berry into my mouth. I crush it between my teeth, at once overwhelmed by the taste, the feel of it on my tongue, so sweet, and yet tart, firm, slick, rough seeds on the outside, heavy, wet flesh inside, and the juice, thick and endless, fills my mouth. I've never tasted anything like it. I close my eyes and chew slowly, savoring the flavor. When I open them, Sactaren is watching me. "Thank you," I say again.
"You're very welcome," he replies with the faintest of smiles. He sets the basket down against the wall and motions for me to follow him as he opens the door to Daron once again. "Come on, I want to show you something." I squint in the sudden light as we step through the world gate, the sun pounding down on me, strong waves of heat that tingle across my scalp. The season must be farther advanced on this world. It feels like summer. As Sactaren leads me down a narrow path toward the distant forest, I can't keep my eyes off the sky. It's such a bright, dark blue, the color of Ka'adani Lake in north Vashoi, said to be the deepest lake in all the world, with depths that even the longest plumb-lines have been unable to fathom. Across this too-blue vastness glide scores of swallows, their chests bright as the snow, their backs dark blue or green, but flashing violet or gold as they wheel and dive over our heads, their cries shrill and sharp.
I nearly walk into Sactaren as he stops suddenly, looking off to his right, into the high branches of the strange, tall trees. I've never seen anything like them before--at least a hundred feet tall, with rough, red bark and long, straight limbs that grow out of the trunk in layers, six or eight all radiating out at the same height above the ground, with another layer of branches about every twenty feet with bare trunk in between. Instead of leaves, or needles, these trees have green-gold fronds, almost like a fern, only thicker.
"What is it, M'Lord?" I ask, seeing nothing as I scan the tree-tops.
"I thought ... No, it's nothing. This way." He takes me to the bottom of a gentle hill, where a small plot of land has been cleared of grasses and wildflowers, allowing the strawberry plants to thrive. "You may come here any time you like," he tells me, stooping down to pluck a large berry out from under the jagged-edged leaves. He brushes off a little dirt and holds it out in front of my face, like he did with the first. I reach for it, but he catches my hand in his, his fingertips gliding across the back of my hand, making my breath catch in my throat. "Allow me," he says, his voice low, purring, as he lowers the fruit to my lips.
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable letting my master feed me, I open my mouth, suppressing a shudder as the strawberry passes my lips, the blunt tip touching, and then pressing against my tongue, and I nearly gag, suddenly reminded of every time a man had forced himself into my mouth. I bring my teeth down, biting the strawberry in half like I wish I could have done to them. Sactaren smiles, his eyes dancing as he eats the other half of the strawberry. "You've got juice--" He motions toward his mouth. I wipe the back of my hand across my chin. He shakes his head. "Here ..." I tense as he reaches for me, cupping my jaw with one hand and dragging his thumb along my lower lip. It's stained with berry juice when he draws his hand back, his eyes never leaving my face as he licks it off. I swallow hard.
A gust of wind races down off the hill, bringing with it the sweet scent of flowering clover and the low, distant rumble of thunder. Thunder? I frown and glance toward the sky, so blue with not a cloud in sight. I look to Sactaren, who is staring up at the crown of the hill.
"What is it?" I ask, keeping my voice low. He holds his finger to his lips, indicating for me to be silent, and begins to climb the hill, beckoning for me to follow. He hunches over as he nears the top and I do the same, my heart pounding as the thunder swells around us, the very ground beginning to tremble. We drop down onto our stomachs and squirm through the grass as we crest the hill and the valley on the other side comes into view. I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands as a wordless cry rises in my throat.
Unicorns. A herd of unicorns, at least two score; black, white, chestnut, bay, palomino, dappled gray, and strikingly bold paints, all with regal, arched necks, manes and tails like silken streamers flowing behind them, their dark, tight spiral horns glinting in the sunlight as they race across the open field, running just to feel the wind flow across their sleek bodies, to hear the blood thrum through their veins, to taste the sweet, wild joy of ultimate freedom. At the rear of the herd, but galloping with all the fierce energy of the adults, I see several of this year's foals, all long legs and short, scrappy coats, their horns barely begun to grow. The wind burns along the wet tracks of my tears and I realize I'm crying, silent tears rolling down my cheeks and falling into the grass. I've never seen anything so wonderful.
We watch them circle the bottom of the little valley, splashing in and out of a shallow creek that meanders off toward the forest and throwing up rainbows from their flying hooves. They finally grow tired of their wild games and break off into small groups, wandering up the sides of the valley to graze on sweet grasses and clover. I hold my breath as a trio begins to climb the hill toward us, a dark, dappled gray, a chestnut with a white blaze, and a black and white paint with the top few inches broken off its horn. I jump as Sactaren reaches over and gives my arm a squeeze.
"I'd hoped they wouldn't see us," he murmurs. "They're so amazing to watch when they don't know I'm here, but those three troublemakers want my strawberries, so we're going to get caught if we remain here, if not stepped on as well. C'mon." He climbs to his feet, brushing wisps of grass from his shoulders and chest, and then holds his hand down to me. I take it and he pulls me to my feet, smiling as he points down the hill. The three unicorns see him and break into a gallop, racing up the last fifty feet of hillside to nuzzle his chest and ears. I step back, out of their way, my mouth hanging open as the rest of the herd turns and begins climbing the hill, their high, sweet voices ringing across the valley as they whinny and nicker to each other.
Sactaren laughs and pushes the three away, rubbing the paint's nose as he beckons to me with his other hand. "Lark, come here." I hesitate, then go to him, slipping between the paint and the gray. "This is Masaen, Haash and Frae," he says, touching the chestnut, gray and paint in that order. I hold out my hand, my whole arm trembling, and the gray, Haash, whickers and hits me in the palm with his nose. "He says, don't be afraid, he won't bite," Sactaren says with a laugh. The rest of the herd is arriving, pushing in between the three to nuzzle and nibble at Sactaren. They regard me with long, calm looks, their large brown eyes shining with joy and love, and then I feel large, warm lips nibbling at the back of my neck. I duck and look back, to find a beautiful red-gold bay mare standing behind me, the tip of her very long horn chipped off and a deep crack running across it about a third of the way down.
"He--hello," I breathe. She nickers and noses me in the shoulder, blowing hot breath through my shirt. I raise my hand and stroke her cheek, barely able to breathe as she rests her chin on my shoulder. Sactaren steps up beside me, running his hand through her silky mane.
"Lark, this is Ahssena," he says, looking upon the unicorn with a reverence I didn't see him show any of the others. "She is the lead mare of this herd, and the last living daughter of Ihassen, the Unicorn King before Chaelea." She turns her head and blows hot breath in his face, making him laugh. "No offense intended," he says with a smile, thumping her on the shoulder. "I spoke with your son yesterday. He's eager to see you all again." A chorus of excited whinnies rises up through the herd. "It shouldn't be too many more months before I can return him to you." The unicorns in the front press closer, trying to nuzzle Sactaren, and I gasp as a solid, meaty shoulder crushes me against Ahssena's neck. I feel, as well as hear, her whinny, her deep voice rising above the noise of the others. They fall silent and step back, lowering their heads nearly to the ground as they back off, then turn and fan out down the side of the hill, returning to their grazing.
I stumble back, one hand holding my ribs, the same place I hurt when I fell down that hill the day I was bought. "Are you okay?" Sactaren asks, ducking under Ahssena's neck. I nod, even though every breath, every movement is like a knife stabbing me in the side.
"I'm fine, M'Lord," I say, trying to stand straight as he reaches toward me. He digs his fingers into my side and I cry out between clenched teeth.
"It's broken." No shit, I could have told him that. "Come on, I'll fix you up." He turns to Ahssena. "Forgive me, but I must see to my friend." Friend? Did I hear him right? He just ... He can't mean ... Of course. A unicorn is a creature of purity and goodness. She wouldn't even understand the concept of slavery. Or maybe Sactaren doesn't want her to know that he's capable of such a thing. Whatever the reason, he doesn't mean it. "We can discuss it another time." She nickers and tosses her head, her battered horn slashing up through the air. "Really? You would do that?" He turns to me. "Lift up your shirt."
"What?" He pushes my hand away from my side and pulls up on my shirt, untucking it from my pants. My eyes widen as Ahssena lowers her head and touches my ribs with the jagged tip of her horn. It's sharp and cold. I start to say 'No, wait', but a clear, bright note, like the peal of a large silver bell, rings out across the valley. I draw a sharp breath, holding it as I wait for the magic to grip me, but it never does. Ahssena steps back and whickers to Sactaren.
"Yes, I know," he says, then nudges me in the back with his elbow. "Thank you."
"Yes, thank you," I add, gingerly touching my side. The pain is gone, and with no embarrassing side effects. Sactaren motions for me to stay put as he and Ahssena walk a short distance to edge of the hilltop closest to the forest, the mare making all sorts of quiet noises to him as they walk. I stand and look down into the valley, trying to tuck my shirt back in as I watch the foals chase each other through the stream.
A shrill whinny echoes across the valley and the foals stop dead, then race back to their mothers and dive between their legs. Every unicorn in the valley lifts its head toward the sky, gleaming horns like a forest of spears, and I look up too as a massive eagle soars overhead, winging toward the line of mountains with only an occasional lazy flap of its great white wings. Only when it has passed out of sight do the unicorns return to their grazing, but the little ones remain at their mother's sides, casting nervous glances toward the clear blue sky.
I suppose an eagle, especially one that size, could kill a young unicorn, and that the herd would band together to protect the young, but even those nowhere near the foals raised their heads. Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think a full grown unicorn has anything to worry about from an eagle.