Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (86 page)

The guards had dragged him out of his cell blinking into the light and squinting dazzled eyes. Nothing had changed. The slave pens were full, as usual, and the stench was awesome, also as usual, but many of the slaves looked
un
usual to his dazzled eyes. They had the look of Tanjung about them. Was there war? It wouldn’t surprise him if there was. Slaves were often taken as booty. He didn’t know how long he had been in that stinking hole in the ground, but it was a lot. There could be war and he not aware of it. At least his captivity was over now. He had made his peace with the God. He was sorry he’d needed to kill the guard, but he wasn’t sorry he had done it… if that made sense. It did to him anyway. If the bodyguard hadn’t hurt Nona, he wouldn’t be dead.

Simple!

Nisim shuffled toward the gallows with chains clanking between his manacled hands and feet, but he was jerked roughly to a halt before reaching halfway. He hissed in pain. The iron had galled tender sores on his ankles.

“What’s happening?” Nisim said noting the slave master and another man haggling to one side.

“Quiet,” the guard said and yanked the chain linked to his neck collar.

“But I only—
Ooof!
” Nisim doubled over gasping for breath from the neatly planted foot in his stomach.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Nisim nodded awkwardly and tried to breathe. He supposed it didn’t matter what was happening. His sentence was death, and had been the instant the bodyguard ceased breathing. A slave would never be allowed to live after killing a free man. Kill another slave, and one might expect to survive after a whipping or some other punishment. Slaves cost good money after all, but kill a free man? No, it never happened… Nisim blinked, until now.

“Come on,” the guard growled as one of the hagglers waved them over. “Looks like your lucky day.”

“Yes?”

“The first prince has interceded for you. Can you imagine that?”

“No.”

The guard snorted. “Neither can I!”

Nisim shuffled toward the two men, urged along by the guard dragging on his collar chain. The slave master was counting a bag of coin while the older man waited impatiently for him to arrive. Nisim studied the man. He seemed to be a slave in his fifties, a slave, but an important one. No one would entrust a mere slave with such coin as the slave master was counting. There were hundreds of golds in the pouch, many hundreds! This man was trusted by some important personage—the first prince the guard had said. Might this one be the first prince’s very own body servant?

“Not worth the money,” the slave said in contempt, as he studied Nisim.

“If you were a woman, I’d show you what I’m worth!” Nisim said stung.

“Ha, Haaaa!” The slave master bellowed and slapped his thigh.

“Good one, boy!” the guard guffawed and punched Nisim’s shoulder painfully hard.

The body slave, if such he was, turned red in anger and spluttered about whipping and other nasty sounding punishments.

“I’ll have you beaten bloody for that!”

“Now, now,” the slave master chided. “Play nice, Aken.”

Nisim just glared trying to gain some slack as the guard yanked his collar chain. The guard was laughing so hard he didn’t notice Nisim’s struggle.

“It’s too late to throw him back,” the slave master warned secreting the money about his person. “Lady Mireya wanted him, and she’s got him.” He waved a hand at the guard. “Take that lot off. Can’t wait to see Aken try to handle him without chains!”

Nisim was still thinking murderous thoughts about Aken, but the slave master’s words did penetrate. Mireya wanted him, Mireya! Oh
no!
The guard grinned oblivious to his horror and removed his shackles, all except his collar, which would come off by his owner’s order or not at all. Aken stepped nervously back as the last chain fell from him, but Nisim was too sunk in woe to notice. How could he face the fat sow without shrieking in horror, let alone allow her to slobber over him? He had thought doing his duty in Lakshmi’s brothel was bad, but at least those he serviced were clean and good looking. They appreciated what he was and what he could do for them. Mireya…

He shuddered.

“Follow!” Aken said as if talking to a dog.

He felt like crying as he followed Aken through the teeming streets. They dodged in and out of the traffic keeping to a fast pace—they were in a hurry apparently. Aken didn’t explain, and Nisim didn’t ask. He spent his time breathing the fresh air and revelling in his ability to move without chains dragging at him. He tried hard not to think about his destination, or smell his own stink.

They walked by his old home on the Street of Flowers. Lakshmi’s looked different now he was an outsider. Was Nona in there, was she all right? Everyone would be asleep at this time of day. They wouldn’t know he had been near. How he longed to see them again. Trista would look after Nona, and she had Magda to help her. They would be fine; he should be worrying about himself not them.

“Mireya sent you to save me?”

Aken looked at him with loathing. “Mistress Mireya does not own me. M’lord Jarden sent me. You’re a present for the lady.”

“Why does she want me? I killed her man.”

Aken didn’t answer.

“I
said
, why does she want me?”

“You suit her tastes,” Aken sneered.

What did that mean? He had hardly started when Nona called to him. How could she know that he satisfied her tastes when she had hardly experienced what he could do? He frowned in puzzlement and noted Aken’s amusement.

“What?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Remember why they stuck me in that hole, Aken, and tell me!”

“You won’t hurt me. I thought you would at first, but you aren’t that kind.”

“No?” Nisim growled trying to appear ominous.

Aken snorted. “Don’t try. You’re not fooling anyone. You killed the guard by accident I would judge.”

Nisim sighed. “You’re right, I did, but I would do it again. He deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did. Lyle and the mistress have…
had
similar tastes.”

Nisim’s face blanked as he realised what Aken meant. He remembered Mireya biting and scratching him. She had drawn blood. Mireya liked to inflict pain, and the guard had hurt Nona.

Aken chuckled. “You have no idea how many she has used up and thrown away. My lord has bought her dozens better than you, I wonder how long you will last?”

So did he.

Aken led him into his master’s house and upstairs to Mireya’s apartments. The east wing was entirely hers, Aken said. Prince Jarden always summoned his daughter to his presence when he wished to speak with her and never entered the east wing. Everything in it was hers, Aken said with a smirk. Everything was hers to use or discard as she wished.

Mireya was sitting at her ease when Aken led Nisim in. “Ah…” she sighed and rose to study him. “Here’s my fine little warrior.” She circled him once. “Strip!”

Nisim complied with her order not knowing what else to do and unwilling to chance her sending him back to die. He stood naked before her and prayed that what he feared would not come to pass.

“This hurt, I imagine,” Mireya said stroking his brand as she circled. “I
said,
this hurt I imagine.”

“Y-yes mistress?” Nisim said shivering at her touch. He wished he could run away.

“Did you scream?”

“I… fainted, mistress.”

“A pity. I would like to see it done.”

“Only the Matriarch may use the brand, mistress.”

“Oh this one, yes. I meant a branding—any branding would do, don’t you think?”

Nisim broke out in a cold sweat as her fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his back. He didn’t answer. Would she burn him for her pleasure? If she tried, he would kill her and then himself.

I swear it!

“Not to worry, Nisim. You are too precious to harm in that way. Do you know how much I had to pay to make my dear father save you?”

“N-no, mistress. Three hundreds of golds?”

Mireya pursed her lips. “Perhaps it is best you not be told. Flapping tongues are cut out. I would not see my prize harmed. You
may
know however, money was not all he wanted.”

Nisim frowned. He had heard it said that the first prince was an honourable man. Did that mean he had ordered his daughter to curb her excesses? He hoped so, but that might mean he would be under even more pressure to perform, not less. He could hardly bare to look at the sick bitch let alone be of service under her! What was he going to do?

Mireya rounded him again and began her third circle. “Our dear Matriarch likes strong men, does she not?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I can see that she does,” Mireya said silkily. Her fingers trailed over the muscles of his stomach and over his hip as she passed. “I have seen another of her cast-offs you know—you could almost be brothers. How does it make you feel knowing that you are just one of a hundred to sample the Matriarch?”

Nisim ground his teeth and clenched his fists in anger. How dare this sow talk about Talitha that way? If the Matriarch ever heard, she would have the sick bitch executed in the most painful way imaginable.

“No answer?” Mireya smiled slyly. “Oh, I know all about you, Nisim. The slave who fell in love with his owner.” She chuckled in amusement.

“
Not
my owner.”

Nisim had never thought of Talitha in that way.

Mireya shrugged. “Talitha owned you and many like you. The Chamberlain is nothing but a commoner holding the purse strings. Do you deny this?”

“No.”

Jarek
was
a commoner, but he was also his only free born friend. Jarek had bought him for Talitha as a present—he always bought her slaves for her. Jarek loved Talitha as a father loves a daughter. He wanted the best for her and had decided during a trip into the city that a slave named Nisim fit the description.

“So,” Mireya said and turned away from him. “You are mine now and I’m sure you know what your duties will be.”

“I will try to please,” Nisim choked the words out.

“Oh you will do more than try. Killing Lyle was the last mistake you will ever be allowed to make in this lifetime… do you believe me?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Go and get cleaned up. You will await me in my chambers at sunset tonight.”

“Yes,” Nisim said and walked stiffly away leaving a smirking Aken to pick up his filthy clothes. It was the only revenge left to him, petty though it be.

That night had taught Nisim the meaning of depravity.

Mireya came into the room smiling with Tiberio at her heels. Nisim had watched them like a deer watches the hunter. He should have run as soon as he saw the smile on her face and the sick excitement in her eyes. Tiberio was her new bodyguard—a good friend of the old one as it turned out. Nisim hadn’t known what to expect, nothing good he was sure, but what he got was worse than anything he could have imagined.

Mireya remained silent waiting for something.

Tiberio came forward with his hand resting casually upon his sword hilt. “Drink this,” he said and held out a cup.

Nisim took it and sniffed its contents. “What is it?”

Tiberio growled a curse at his effrontery, but aborted his move to strike when Mireya’s voice rang out.

“Tell him.”

“Something to make you more receptive. A little quelimane,” Tiberio said and grinned.

Nisim gritted his teeth in sudden fear. Quelimane extract was a powerful drug—an aphrodisiac with a difference. Given to a woman it would make her crazy with lust, give it to a man and he would stay hard for candlemarks no matter what. If he drank this amount, he would be at attention for days and itchy for a woman for even longer! It was addictive and dangerous if over used. It heightened the senses to the point of madness. He had never used it, and neither had anyone he knew. Trista said one of her regulars sometimes did, but she never would. Lakshmi’s home brew that all the males had to drink was nothing compared to quelimane.

“I don’t need—”

“
Drink it!
” Tiberio snapped at the end of his patience and would have forced him, but Nisim stepped back out of his reach and drank it in one breath.

“
Gah!
” It had a strong taste and burned his throat.

“Good boy, now move to the wall,” Tiberio growled.

“The wall?”

“Do it or die,” Tiberio said in a disinterested voice. He didn’t care which he chose.

Nisim edged toward the wall already feeling the drug beginning to work. He could almost feel the air brushing his skin. What were they going to do to him? He backed toward the wall trying to keep out of Tiberio’s reach. He pressed his back against the cold marble and hissed at the shock of it. He had never felt anything so intensely.

He glanced fearfully from Mireya to Tiberio and back. “Please, Mistress—”

“Hands out to the side,” Tiberio ordered and Nisim began to shake.

On either side of him, well out of reach, was a marble pillar. They were carved all over with patterns and supported the roof, but it was obvious that Mireya had another use for them. There were ropes tied to them.

“Do it, boy. Lyle was my teacher as well as my friend. Don’t think I won’t kill you.”

“Mistress I—” he tried to appeal to Mireya as she watched him from her place near the door.

“
Do it!
” Tiberio roared in a red-faced rage.

Nisim flinched and raised his arms. Tiberio pulled a loop tight over each hand and stretched him between the posts. He didn’t even have enough slack to fall. He had a feeling he would rue the lack before the night was over.

He was right.

“Proceed,” Mireya said licking her lips with excitement.

The first punch was a surprise, but it didn’t hurt that much. Nisim’s head flew back and his cheek stung from the force, but he shook it off to glare hatred at his tormentor.

“That was for Lyle, these are for the lady’s amusement,” Tiberio said and began in earnest.

A fist slammed into his belly and Nisim choked gasping for air. He couldn’t fall, but would have had he a choice. An uppercut straitened him up ready for another hammer blow this time to his ribs on the right side. He couldn’t shout, he had yet to regain his wind. He dragged in a laboured breath in time to have it blasted from his lungs a second time.