Shadows Return (16 page)

“There now, was that really worth a second beating?” Yhakobin asked.

“No, please!” Alec gasped, but men held him down and the alchemist gave him five more lashes across the soles.

Alec managed to hold back his cries this time, but the pain was even worse as the crop fell on already swollen flesh. He was panting harshly through his teeth by the time they dragged him up to his knees.

“That is all for today. I will see you the day after tomorrow in the morning, Alec, and you will be given another draught. I suggest you remember the lessons of today.”

His guards pulled him to his feet and Alec choked back a cry of pain. His feet were swollen from the beating and burned like fire. They laughed as they hoisted him by the arms and dragged him from the room.

By the time they reached the cellar stairway he was beginning to feel queasy, and by the time they reached his cell, his bowels were boiling and his throat was filled with bile. He barely made it to the slop bucket before erupting at both ends.

The bastard did poison me! he thought in despair as spasm after excruciating spasm ripped through him. What a shameful way to die.

He didn’t die, but ended up sprawled shuddering on the floor, one cheek pressed to the cool bricks. Ahmol appeared soon after and quickly cleaned up the mess, carrying away the muck.

Alec was too weak to resist or care when the man returned with a basin and cleaned him, then dragged him onto his pallet and threw the quilts over him.

“Ilban say, this good,” Ahmol told him in halting Skalan.

“This is not good!” Alec groaned.

Alec lay there panting and cursing Yhakobin for a liar as the servant finished doing whatever he was doing across the room. Raising his hand to his collar, Alec gripped the strange amulet-for he guessed it was something of the sort-and tugged weakly at it. It was warm to the touch and bent easily between his fingers.

Ahmol was suddenly there and pulled Alec’s hand away, shaking his head. For the first time, Alec saw the slave brand on the man’s forearm. It seemed he’d been right about the veils. Only

’faie slaves wore them.

The other slave patted his shoulder and said something in his own language, probably urging him to sleep. Alec curled up on his side and realized he felt a little better. Perhaps he’d purged whatever poison the alchemist had fed him. The thought gave him some satisfaction as he drifted into an unhappy doze.

He slept deeply that night and dreamed that Seregil was somewhere outside, calling for him.

In the dream, the cell door opened at a touch and no guard stopped him as Alec stole cautiously out into the courtyard. The place was deserted, silent save for the sound of the fountains. He could still hear Seregil calling but couldn’t tell where he was. His voice seemed to come from all sides at once.

He woke in a sweat. The cell was dark and silent. Throwing an arm across his face, he slept again, caught in the same frustrating dream.

Kindness of Kindred  

A
LEC WOKE FEELING exhausted and achy, with no appetite for his morning porridge, even though it smelled of honey and nutmeg today.

Must be my reward for surviving the night, he thought sourly, turning his back on it.

They left him alone that day, and he spent most of it sleeping. When nature forced him up to the slop bucket, he could barely walk, his feet were so swollen and sore. By evening he felt well enough to eat the bean soup and bread Ahmol brought him. He sat awake in the dark afterward, unable to sleep.

It was maddening, having nothing to do, and unable to see anything except a little patch of moonlit sky through the bars. He prayed in earnest, softly singing songs to Dalna, his cradle patron, and wondered if the Maker listened to him anymore, after so many years following Illior.

All the same, it left him feeling a little better.

The guards came for him after breakfast the next morning. They thrust him into a clean wool robe and marched him upstairs on bruised feet to begin the whole nasty procedure again.

Just as before, he was chained to the anvil and left alone. The glass vessels were empty today, the braziers all cold, but a metallic smell hung over the room, underscored by other odors he did not recognize.

This time he knelt where they left him and didn’t move until Yhakobin entered.

“Being a good fellow today, I see,” the alchemist said, smiling that placid smile of his. “How are you feeling?”

“You-I was unwell, after that draught you gave me,” Alec managed, then added a hasty

“Ilban.”

“That’s good. Tincture of Lead does have a purgative effect. Your finger, please.”

Knowing what would happen if he balked, he held out his hand. Yhakobin took the blood and this time it burned a much brighter red.

Alec blinked at the brief flash of color and resisted the urge to ask questions. The alchemist was clearly pleased.

Yhakobin removed the lead amulet and replaced it with another that looked like lead but was lighter against Alec’s throat, with black symbols incised on it. The guards held Alec’s head as Yhakobin poured something into the silver cup.

“This is Tincture of Tin,” Yhakobin told him, holding the cup down where he could see into it.

“The effects are quite different. I do not think you will find them unpleasant. It is only a tonic, to purify the blood.”

This tincture looked exactly like the last draught to Alec. Before he could stop himself, he jerked back, kicking Yhakobin by accident. The contents splattered across the front of the man’s dark robe.

Yhakobin looked more resigned than angry as he nodded to the guards. This time they held Alec down over a bench and Yhakobin whipped the backs of his bare thighs. It was bad, but nothing like the beating of his feet. He didn’t make a sound this time, and he didn’t cry.

When it was over they held him down and jammed the hated funnel between his jaws. This new tincture burned as it went down and warmed his belly like Zengati brandy. The feeling persisted as he was dragged back to his cell, but this time the only effect it had on him was a heavy lethargy. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Giving up, he collapsed on his bed and wrapped a hand around the new amulet. As he slipped into a daze, it occurred to him that this one was once again probably of the same metal as the tincture. It made no sense to him, this use of metals, but clearly there was some magic to it.

He slept deeply all day and into the night, rousing only when a servant brought him water and a bland vegetable broth to drink. Though still groggy, he roused enough to realize that it was a different person than the usual guards or Ahmol leaning over him.

“Hello, little brother. Are you awake?”

This man was Aurлnfaie, with a long braid of dark hair. Alec lurched up and reached for him, thinking it was Seregil, come to free him at last, but as his eyes adjusted to the light of the small lantern the stranger had brought, he saw that this man was older, and that his eyes were hazel-colored, like Nyal’s, rather than Seregil’s clear grey. Could this be the slave who’d been with Yhakobin at the market? He hadn’t been able to tell the color of that man’s eyes.

“No veil,” Alec mumbled, blinking, as he tried to wake up.

The slave held up a square of lace-trimmed linen and winked at him. “Promise not to tell? I thought you could do with the sight of a friendly face.”

Alec managed a wan smile as he caught sight of the collar the man wore. It was thin and polished, very much like his own, but was made of gold, or gilded. “Thank you. You’re the one I saw at the market, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he whispered, holding a cup of water to Alec’s lips and helping him drink. “Ilban thought the presence of another ’faie might reassure you. My name is Khenir.”

He wore a slave’s long, sleeveless robe, but his was made of fine dark wool, with bands of white embroidering at the neck. Glancing down, Alec saw that he wore wide golden bracelets, too. The slave brand on his forearm was old and faded, like Ahmol’s.

Khenir pressed a cool hand to Alec’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

“So tired,” Alec mumbled, still thick-tongued from the draught but determined to stay awake and talk to this man. “What clan are you?”

Khenir shook his head sadly. “If you knew how long it has been since anyone asked me that! I was from Tarial clan, a minor family in the south, near Datsia. And you?”

Alec sat up and rubbed at his face to clear his head. “No clan. I’m ya’shel, from-” He paused, catching himself. He wanted to trust this man, but he couldn’t let himself forget that he was just a slave, owned by the same man, and possibly loyal to him. Alec had made enough stupid blunders already. “From Skala.”

Khenir pointed at Alec’s left earlobe. “You didn’t get that dragon bite in Skala.”

“I’ve been to Aurлnen,” Alec admitted. “But my father was Tír.”

“Ah. Drink some more. You need it,” Khenir urged, placing the cup of broth in his hands.

“I’ve never known Ilban to purchase a half-breed before. He’s usually so particular.”

“Why’s that?” Alec asked, between sips of broth. His belly growled, hungry for more substantial fare.

“The high-ranking men of Plenimar prefer pure blood in their slaves, just as they do with their horses and hunting dogs,” Khenir whispered, more resigned than bitter. “The ya’shel usually go to merchants’ households, or the brothels, or get sold off to the countryside as farm labor. You’re very lucky.”

That was a matter of opinion. “Are there others in the house? I saw a veiled woman.”

“A few. That’s Rhania, the children’s nurse.” He took the empty cup from Alec and gave him one filled with water. “You’re to drink this, and this.” He held up a wooden pitcher. “Ilban means you no harm, but his purifications can be a bit hard on the body.”

“Is that really all this is?” Alec fingered the amulet at his throat. Khenir’s collar was unadorned.

“Don’t worry. Ilban would never harm you.”

“Oh, really? Have a look at my feet.”

“That was just a beating. We’ve all had those. But Ilban is very kind, as masters go. Now let me tend your brands.”

Alec held out his arm and Khenir untied the bandage. The burn was healing clean, and quickly. There was hardly any redness around the scab. “I’m starving. Doesn’t Yhakobin ever give his slaves meat?”

Khenir gave him a warning look. “Even between the two of us, you must refer to Ilban by his title. What if someone were to overhear? As for meat?” Khenir shook his head. “You’re a slave, Alec, so you’d have to please Ilban a great deal to get any of that. I can’t think the last time I tasted any. They think it keeps us docile.”

Alec didn’t feel docile yet, just resentful and hungry.

Khenir dabbed an aromatic salve on the burn. “They have many ways of taming us, little brother. They’ve made an art of it. I hear it’s worst for those with manifested powers.”

“I’m safe, then. That slop pail has more magic to it than I do. I suppose I should be glad. A slave on the ship showed me the scars where he’d been whipped. And gelded. At least they didn’t do that to me.”

Khenir carefully worked the bandage away from Alec’s leg. This one had seeped and the wrappings had stuck to the scab. “Not yet,” he murmured.

“What do you mean, ‘not yet’? He told me he wouldn’t!”

Khenir shrugged. “Perhaps Ilban means to breed you, then, or sell you when he’s through with you. Intact young slaves often fetch a better price.”

Alec pondered that uneasily. “He said it’s my blood he wants.”

“Well, Ilban is an alchemist, after all. It must be something to do with that.”

He leaned forward to work at the soiled leg bandage and his tunic pulled back from one shoulder, revealing the faded white stripes of lash marks, just like the ones Alec had seen on the

’faie aboard the slaver ship.

“Did he do that to you?” asked Alec.

“Oh, no! Ilban is not my first master.”

“You fought back, too, didn’t you?”

“For all the good it did.”

“And did they-?” Still rocked by what Khenir had implied, he glanced down at the other man’s lap before he could help himself.

Khenir looked up sharply. “You never ask a slave that! Do you understand? Never!”

“I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking.”

Khenir sighed and went back to work. “You’re new to all this. Sometimes I forget what that’s like. I’ve been here a very long time, you see.”

“I’m sorry,” Alec said again, feeling miserable. Khenir’s reaction was answer enough.

“Drink your water.”

Neither spoke as Khenir finished with the bandaging and gathered up the soiled linen strips and empty cups.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Alec ventured, as Khenir stood and fastened the lace-trimmed veil across his face. “Do you have to go?”

The man leaned down and stroked his hair. Without thinking, Alec closed his eyes and leaned into the touch; it felt like years since anyone had touched him with anything like kindness.

Khenir smiled sadly and trailed his fingers down Alec’s cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as it’s allowed, I promise. Just do as you’re told. It will be better for you if you do, and perhaps Ilban will give you more freedom in the house.”