Chapter 2 #2
"I won't give you a name," Verna said. "That's not what we do here. Tell me yours or I'll have nothing to call you."
The pause that followed was long enough that Verna thought she might refuse.
"Kalen," the woman said finally.
"Kalen." Verna tried the sound of it on her tongue. It was not an Imperial name, but a northern name from the border territories, where the old languages were still spoken. "Come with me."
She did not add please, but simply turned and walked toward the house. After a moment, she heard the sound of chains on the cobblestones behind her.
The room Verna used for these first interviews was small, and faced the sea so it was always visible from its single, barred window. She had chosen it deliberately, knowing the calming effect of water. The sea belonged to no one, a comfort to women who had just been through hell.
In the room there was a table, two chairs, and a lamp that was filled with the oil pressed from the estate's olives.
On the table sat bread, cold meat, and a bowl of yellow fruit.
Verna poured water from a jug into two cups, and sat at the table that was positioned lengthwise so they both had an ocean view.
Kalen stood in the doorway, studying the room as she had the courtyard. Then she came in and sat opposite Verna across the table. A guard clipped the chain around her ankle to an iron ring on the floor.
Verna nodded to the woman's wrists. "Would you like those removed?"
Kalen looked at her hands as if she had forgotten the iron chains were there. "Does it matter what I want?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Verna said patiently. "Here, it does."
Silence settled in the room while Kalen stared out at the sea. The three moons were higher now; Lira had begun to take on her night colour, a faint rose, while Senne had sharpened to a blade's edge against the darkening sky. Orath floated above them both, watchful, barely visible in the dark.
"Please remove them," Kalen said.
She sat very still while the guard unlocked the shackles, and when they came off, she placed her hands on her thighs and didn't move them.
Verna nodded to the guard. "You may go."
The soldier eyed Verna dubiously, hesitating a moment before she saluted and walked out of the room.
Verna turned to Kalen with a smile. "I will explain what this place is and then you can ask whatever you wish."
Kalen looked at her oddly, but merely nodded.
"I own three thousand acres on this coast, the largest winery in the empire.
The estate is staffed entirely by women.
They came from various places, many from the same way you came.
Through the auction hall in Castine." Verna watched Kalen's face.
Nothing moved in it. "I do not buy slaves to own them.
I buy them because it is the only way I can get them out. "
"You free them."
"Eventually. But freedom without preparation is just another kind of danger.
Most of the women who come here have no family, no money, no trade that isn't domestic, or any legal standing beyond what I can lend them.
So, they stay, and they learn, and when they are ready, I help them find a good life. "
Kalen turned from the window and looked at Verna directly for the first time since the courtyard. "What kind of life?"
"That depends on who they are. A few stay here; they've made this their home and I don't press them to leave.
A few go to Castine with skills and money enough to establish themselves.
And the majority—" Verna paused, choosing the words carefully, "want to get as far away as they can.
Ambrose is a large world. The Imperial cities are only one part of it.
Beyond the settled territories, in the outer perimeters, there are settlements. Newer places. Different from here."
"Different how?"
"Less governed. Men and women who went out there to build something of their own away from the Empire's reach.
" She picked up her water cup, and held it without drinking.
"There are men there who would make good husbands.
Not the sort that Castine produces. I have contacts and make introductions when a woman wants one. "
The word husband landed in the room like a stone.
Kalen's expression, which had been carefully empty, changed. Not quite to contempt, but near enough. "You buy women from slavers," she said slowly, "and then you sell them to men on the frontier."
Verna had heard that interpretation before.
She had expected it. "No," she said, with the same flat steadiness that Kalen herself had used.
"I give the women a choice. The ones who want a life with a partner, land of their own, and children if they want them.
I help them find what they want, far from the Empire's reach.
No one is forced to go." She set down her cup.
"The ones who don't want that, stay here and can go wherever they choose. I set them free when I’m sure they can manage on their own. "
Kalen stared at her for a long moment. "What do you want from me? I am hardly the same as those children you bought."
It was a soldier's question. Direct and to the point.
"First, you must get your strength back. Tomorrow you'll be shown the estate and introduced to the women who run it. I'll ask nothing of you until you're healed and fed enough to think clearly."
Kalen reached out and took a piece of the bread from the table, broke it in half without ceremony, and ate it. Then she looked up. "But you want something. I see it in your eyes."
Verna stood. "We will discuss it at a later date. A room has been prepared. The guards will take you." She smiled at Kalen to take the sting out of her next words. "You will be chained at night."
The ghost of something moved across Kalen's face. It was not quite a smile. "You don’t trust me not to escape?"
Verna chuckled. "I would be a fool to think you wouldn’t try. It took four of those slavers to make you kneel. You are a proud woman who hates being confined. We will talk again tomorrow." She called out to the guard. "Take her to the room in the west wing."
Kalen curled her lip, but remained silent when the chains were put back on her wrists.
After they left, Verna went out into the portico, and gazed over the sea where the three moons cast overlapping shadows, the light between them the colour of old silver.
Below, the terraces were quiet. Lanterns had been lit along the paths and someone in the kitchen wing was singing a song.
She thought about the control Kalen displayed when the iron wrist shackle had been removed.
She hadn’t flinched once despite how the flesh underneath had been rubbed raw.
Whatever Kalen had been before the slavers' hall, she was not broken.
That could go either way; Verna had learned that long ago. The unbroken ones were either the most salvageable or the most dangerous, and sometimes you didn't know which they were until much later.
She listened to the woman singing in the kitchen, the whispering of the wind in the trees, and the murmur of the sea below the cliff.
Then, with a sigh, she went inside.