Blinded by the Sun (Erythleh Chronicles Book 4) (8 page)

Lyssia didn't realise how much she had relaxed into the stupor of drugged warmth and pampering, until she felt the water shift as her legs were parted. She tried to bring herself back from the foggy brink, but the rag returned to her nose, and all she could do was know what was happening to her. She heard a voice behind her. It might have been the woman who had come to her cell, but she couldn't be sure, she was too close to being encompassed in the blanket of comfortable unknowing. She felt another tear trail helplessly down her cheek, and then she felt the razor. She still could not relax, she was convinced she was to be cut in some way. Her lungs felt tight, as if her chest was bound. Her heart had increased its rhythm five-fold. She might explode, or implode with the waiting... and then... the razor was gone and there was... nothing.

The water was still warm around her, more slick now, perhaps. The air was even heavier, the weight of the steam had been increased by the scent of the unguents that they had used. Lyssia felt herself being lifted from the water. Her body was completely limp, not even instinct could command it. She felt the attendants struggle, and it was the only victory that she had. The next moments were a blur of muted sensation as she was dried, and her skin oiled. She felt more tears fall at the thought of all these fingers touching her without her consent, even though they were not doing the worst that she had expected. Somehow, what they were doing, cleaning her, tending to her, was terrible enough.

She felt all the hands about her leg, but the ache in the bone was the last thing on her mind now. She was so confused and so beyond rationalisation that nothing hurt anymore. Her mind had retreated to a blank, grey, static space. She dimly realised that a new splint and fresh bandages were being constructed, but she was beyond the capacity to care or worry what that meant. The stress of the bath had overwhelmed her responses to everything, until they had burnt out in a flash. She was barely even coherent enough to be grateful when she felt them manipulate her body into some sort of silken robe. She had no concept of the design or construction, only that it felt as though it might cover her enough to preserve most of her modesty.

A harsh, unmistakable voice cut through the bespelled room and shattered every shred of calm in Lyssia's being.

"How much did you fucking give her?" Seff's voice was sharp blades cutting into Lyssia's skin.

"As much as we had to." That was definitely the voice of the woman that had come to her cell.

"She's barely even breathing"

"She's healing a broken leg, and she was fucking filthy, it's taken us hours to clean her. Would it kill you to douse them with a bucket or two on the road?"

"Really, Dessa, you know fucking well what would've happened if I'd ordered her stripped."

"Your gang are worse than beasts. "

"We put plenty of coin in your purse."

"Aye, you do. But that's not why I do what I do."

"You enjoy scraping shit and spunk off them?" Seff asked, with no small amount of scorn in his tone, considering that he was speaking to someone who appeared to work for him.

"No. It's as much as I can do to make these girls feel human again. After all your men have done to them. Mark my words, Seff, if you don't get them under control, you'll find yourself at the king's mercy. I've seen the others. This one got treated like royalty by comparison, and she wasn't in so great a condition."

"You've said all this before." Lyssia was able to discern the tedium of an oft repeated argument in Seff's voice.

"And you've done fuck all about it. Maybe now you'll listen, what with him coming to the markets himself."

"Excuse me?"

No wonder her caretaker's voice had carried a note of triumph; the news had obviously been a surprise to Seff.

"Oh, you didn't know." The crowing satisfaction oozed thickly through the words. "The king is coming. Today he accompanies Shinu. He's going to see the state of the others, he'll see the bruises and the black eyes. He'll see their broken spirits and the way that they flinch if you so much as breathe near them. Your days will be numbered, and your coin, unless you can convince him you're better than the rest."

"How do you know this?"

"I have my spies, just as you have yours. It appears that mine are better placed on this occasion."

"They speak truly?"

"You think we would have used the golden oil if they were lying? Despite her leg, you've a chance of selling a slave to the royal house, maybe even to the king. You best make sure he thinks you run a tight crew. Keep the other girls for another day. If he thinks you're better than the rest, he'll buy more in the future. His prejudices are well known."

Lyssia's senses had latched more firmly onto the discussion when she had realised that she was the subject of it.

"Noted. Now get her out there. You've already taken too long. Shinu, and the king, if he's coming, could well have left while you're were lecturing me."

"Fuck you, Seff. When he buys her, you'll see, and you'll owe me. I want half the price she fetches."

"Fuck off... a quarter."

"Forty percent."

"Thirty."

"Done."

Lyssia felt like her fate had already been bought and sealed before she'd even been made to stand on the auction block. She decided that now was as good a time as any to let the threatening cloud of unconsciousness settle over her. She welcomed the drugged sleep as a warm blanket on a cold night, even as shouts began to sound in the room around her.

Chapter Eight

The building that was the venue for the slave auctions was located towards the northern edge of the city. Several streets around it contained buildings of a similar size and construction, all owned or rented by the traders for storage. They were all low-grade buildings, nothing prestigious. Nothing about the area hinted at the esteem in which Vuthroans held the blood toast. Kavrazel thought that many slaves would experience a marked increase in their standards of living once bought, but their beginnings were worse than those of cattle. If the slavers were to be persuaded to treat their stock with more humanity, then perhaps their business needed to be conducted in a place fitting for humans, not for animals.

Kavrazel followed Shinu through the small wooden door in the side of the building. It had been many years since he'd visited the markets, but nothing had changed. The door opened into a short corridor, at the end of which was a desk with a bored officer collecting details of the attendees. The practice was supposed to stop people turning up and bidding as a joke before leaving without making payment. The young man, not even old enough to grow his first facial hair, was slumped in his chair, picking at his nails with a pocket knife. He snapped to attention when he saw them approaching. Kavrazel had the wry realisation that the lad had recognised Shinu before his king. They were not required to leave any security, or to sign any chit, before they were waved through to the main room.

The cavernous auction room was already a hive of activity. Numerous voices were speaking at every level a voice could speak at, and the sheer commotion of human activity resounded off the walls into a cacophonous din. The room was laid out in rough rows, delineated by wooden staves that were fixed into the dirt floor. The lots for auction, the slaves, were tied to the staves. Each post had a plaque fixed atop it, on which was written the number of the lot. Rushes were strewn over the floor in a cursory attempt at cleanliness. Kavrazel's steps rustled over the grimy stems. The air was thick with the stench of body odour and urine.

The human contents of the room disgusted him. He was overwhelmed by nausea. He was tempted to wield the full extent of his authority and shut the place down before the auction could even take place, but he knew it would be political suicide to do so. He would have to take the slavers in hand sooner rather than later. It would be foolish to allow this group of degenerates to think that they could operate above and beyond any law of their own king and country. Taan be damned, but his people were better than this. They knew better. They treated each other with respect. They did not need to treat blood slaves, people who would be resident in Vuthron, with less regard than that of a scavenging rat. The goods for sale were more pitiful than he had imagined they would be. Apparently the rumours of his displeasure at the state of this sorry business had not been enough to dissuade anyone from their usual practice. Normally he was proud to call himself King of Vuthron. On this day he was not.

Each time a prospective buyer came within two steps of one of the lots, someone would jump forward to list the salient points about temperament, beauty, ability, skills, or the sweetness of their blood. Confronted by the blank, deadened cast of their eyes, the way that their shoulders hunched and folded inwards, and the bruises and grazes, Kavrazel could tell that all the words were lies. All the slaves were close to being naked, if not totally so. Many had been given some form of loincloth. Considering that the blood toast was traditionally taken from the wrist, Kavrazel knew there wasn't one good reason why any of the potential slaves should not be dressed fully, except for perhaps their arms.

Kavrazel stood tall to look around the room, over the heads of most of those present. It seemed that a significant proportion of the potential slaves were women. As he walked the aisles, he paid attention to his fellow prospective buyers, who were - without exception - male. He had no doubt that in the absence of his presence many would have taken advantage of the half-dressed state of the wares, to fondle them as if they were fruit at a market stall. Indeed, some seemed to be present with only the intention to ogle the goods for sale. The blood toast was supposed to be an honoured tradition, yet this meat sale had all the appearance of a market for brothels.

"Is it always this bad?" Kavrazel murmured to Shinu.

"Almost always so, Sire," Shinu answered.

"We should consider ourselves lucky." Kavrazel was incensed by the foolishness of the traders.

"Yes, Sire. At last estimate, twenty per cent of the population were slaves."

"One in five in this country, and they have hatred for us instilled from the very first. Should they decide to rise up..."

"It would be disruptive, Sire."

"I will not have these imbeciles endangering their own country so. By Taan, I will stop this." Kavrazel said in a low, fervent voice.

Shinu made a small bow towards Kavrazel. "I will do anything I can to aid you."

Kavrazel was still seething at the stupidity and arrogance of the traders, when a flash of something otherworldly accosted his attention.

Eyes.

Her eyes were the first thing that caught him. They were so bright; the contrast between their singular colour and the tone of her skin was so disparate that she almost looked as if she were blind. Those green orbs, as bright as those of any cat, caught him fast. It took him a moment or two to realise that the woman was looking through him, rather than at him. Once he comprehended that, he realised that the black depths of her pupils were too large, even considering the dim light. She had been drugged.

She was standing as the others, but leaning heavily on a crutch that was propped under her arm. The lad who was watching her was not flicking her with a switch to make her stand to attention as potential buyers passed. She was more clothed than most. A thin shift of some shimmering fabric had been pulled about her and belted at her waist, but it was almost transparent. If she hadn't been all but insensible, Kavrazel thought that she might have realised that she was the most covered, and yet the most naked person in the room. Her leg caught his eye next; it was bound between wood and bandages. It had obviously been seriously injured and necessitated the crutch.

"What happened here?" Kavrazel asked.

He was answered by the young lad at the woman's shoulder. Evidently, due to her injury, she was not so much of a problem that she required an adult to watch over her. "She broke it, way back when. It's almost healed now, Sire."

Kavrazel did not doubt that the break had not actually been the woman's fault. Likely, she had not been taken easily. He looked at the plaque above her head: number seventeen. He would remember that number.

There was no point asking about her temperament or abilities. Kavrazel had a feeling that the woman had been drugged for so long, and defiant before that, that no one had any clue what she could or would actually do. There was a hint of commotion, and Kavrazel noticed one of the more prominent traders making his way over to them. Obviously, his interest had been noted.

"She's a rare one, your Majesty, an exotic beauty."

He could see that she was an exotic beauty, to hide such a fact they would have had to wrap her head-to-toe in burlap. They had done the opposite, they had shaved and oiled her until she shone as if plated with gold. He wanted to know if she was intelligent. He wanted to know if all she did was fight and rage, or if she waited for her opportunities. He wanted to know if she was belligerent, or careful. He wanted to know if she had made any attempt to escape. He wanted to know if she knew fear, if she had been abused. He had long since realised that he would be given the answers that people thought he wanted to hear, and that the truth would play little part in their responses.

"She's been drugged."

"Her leg pains her," the trader explained." We try to make her comfortable."

"And biddable."

"No, Majesty." The trader actually had the courage to look offended. "Why should I try to sell such a thing?"

Kavrazel took another step towards the girl. Now that he was closer, he could see the tracery of lines at the corner of her eyes that marked her age as older than he had first guessed. She was older than most. There was something wary, something of a spark of alertness, even behind the drugged mist. Her skin had the dark olive tone of the coastal peoples. The darker hues generally pointed to heritage born in either the extreme north or south of the continent.

He frowned, and reached out to swipe one finger along her collar bone. Her eyes flashed like emeralds in candlelight, a dull warning to take care. She swayed in her supported slump, and then her mind retreated to the bleak place in which it had been hiding. She was defiant then, likely a troublesome addition to the household, but he liked the hint of fire that he had seen. He didn't want to be constantly confronted by a broken doll. He inspected his fingertip, and rubbed it with the pad of his thumb. Both digits shimmered. She had been covered in an oil that contained a golden dust. Likely false gold, but still quite an effort considering the cast on her leg. In part it explained his initial assumption about her age.

"Have you tasted her?" he asked the trader.

"No, Majesty. I knew straight away she was meant for more. She's untouched... in every way."

Kavrazel raised an eyebrow at the trader's assertion, which completely lacked any self-consciousness about the fact that most of the prospective slaves in the room had been abused, and likely with his full knowledge, perhaps even by his own actions. He didn't appear to have the grace to look embarrassed at his king's obvious distaste.

"Where did you take her from?" Kavrazel asked as stepped back to Shinu's side.

"A small village in the south, Majesty. She's from Sannarrell."

Kavrazel resisted the urge to give a derisive snort. The trader might be assured of his patter, but the way that he had blinked as he had spoken gave lie to his words, even if the girl's skin had not. Kavrazel wasn't sure why the trader should lie to him, but he was sure he would find out. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgement he turned and started to walk on. He heard Shinu brush aside the trader's questions, offers and platitudes before catching him up.

"She takes your eye, Sire?"

Kavrazel stopped to look at a pitiful wretch with golden hair and skin the colour of milk. She could have passed for Vuthroan, and he wondered as to her origins. She physically flinched under his regard. His stomach turned as he observed the bruises on her arms and thighs and the scabs on her bloodied knees. His distaste at the obvious abuse the girl had suffered distracted him from immediately answering Shinu's question.

He took two steps forward, but was distracted from examining the next lot by movement at the corner of his eye. Without turning to observe directly, he shifted, and recognised one of the more profitable and ruthless merchants that often lobbied for dispensations from taxes. The man, grossly obese and swathed in more jewels and velvet than was necessary even for a formal magisterial celebration at the castle, reached forward and squeezed the naked breast of the terrified blonde woman. She squeaked with pain as ringed fingers dug cruelly into her skin, and yelped when the trader behind her lashed out with a switch to punish her for her involuntary response.

"Enough!"

The merchant froze at Kavrazel's harsh shout, but his hand still clutched at the breast of the slave.

"I said, enough," Kavrazel repeated. The merchant released the slave and stepped back. He did not look as frightened as he should have, considering that Kavrazel was thinking of taking the man's hand as an example to the rest of the room.

Kavrazel ignored the people still staring at him and walked on, paying only the most cursory attention to the bound people that he passed. He trusted Shinu to use his experience and excellent judgement. He finally answered the Blood Father's question, quietly, he did not want curious ears to hear his response. "Yes, but I fear she will not acclimate well."

"I agree."

"There is more than that to your answer."

"I think I can negotiate a better price than Seff thinks he will get."

"You like her?" Kavrazel asked in a murmur.

"I think she will be well suited to her task."