Chapter 8
For a few breaths after waking, I am pleasantly warm, my belly full, curled up comfortably inside the oversized robe beneath the furs.
I open my eyes and, for an instant, expect the cozy interior of my private nook amongst the hills, my potted plants, my little box full of the things I could not throw out from my past, and my tiny wooden carvings lining the ledge.
Then it all comes back.
Wooden bars surround me. The little door is locked. Beyond it, the long Aurelian table rises above my cage, and I wince as I remember the ruined harvest, the three enormous bodies surrounding me in the forest, the leader’s arm locking me against his shoulder.
My hands go to my throat, half expecting the collar, but the leash is dangling above me, mocking me.
This is real.
I curl more tightly beneath the furs, orienting myself to the room.
There is a low, rhythmic grinding from deeper in the kitchen, followed by the dark, rich scent of freshly ground coffee beans.
Coffee is a luxury I rarely taste. Whenever I go into town, my first stop is the cafe for a cup of coffee mixed with fresh, steamed milk, so much better than the powdered coffee I invariably bring back to my nook.
Powder is the only kind I can get to keep for more than a week, and even it grows bitter quickly, leading me to rationalize guzzling it down before the flavour can fade.
I spend the week jumpy, always needing to pee and whittling obsessively, and when I am done with the can, I swear to myself I will not repeat the cycle.
But that first sip...
Beyond the limestone walls, water breaks in a steady rhythm. A splash, a moment of silence, then another. Talarin is swimming his morning lengths through the long pool. I recognize the cadence from all the mornings I watched him from the safety of the trees.
He must have walked directly past my sleeping body to reach it. Did he go straight outside, or stand over the cage for a while and watch me sleep?
Heavy boots drag me from my musing as Arrek comes around the table that blocks my view and walks towards the last smouldering embers of the fire. He looks at me, then lifts a thick log and sets it over them.
The log settles with a dull thud, sparks spraying around Arrek’s hand before he straightens, the sleeve of his white robe pushed back from his forearm.
He is wearing a heavy white robe wrapped around his enormous body, its collar edged with a narrow line of blue-black, the subtle accent a dark interruption against the white.
He has trimmed his thick brown beard, making him look slightly less like a barbarian.
The little black bell tinkles as I pull the collar down from the top of the cage.
My fingers do not fumble as I fasten it around my throat this time, and I realize I am already getting used to putting it on.
I remember how tightly I pulled the leather last time and leave a little more space beneath it.
The bell tinkles again as the collar settles into place, and I hold the leash dangling from one hand.
There is no point hesitating or letting the shame build. My voice sounds practical.
“May I use the washroom?”
The grinding stops deeper in the kitchen.
Arrek ignores me and returns to the kitchen, the long white robe swishing around his boots. Mero appears in the archway as Arrek passes him. Behind Mero, I hear water pouring over the grounds as Arrek takes over preparing the coffee.
Mero wears a matching white robe with the same narrow blue-black edging around its collar. His slate-grey eyes move from my face to the collar around my throat, then settle upon the leash in my hand. Something unreadable passes over his expression, putting me immediately on edge.
Mero draws a key from the ring on his belt, beside the hilt of his Orb-Blade. The Orb set into it is no larger than an eyeball, but dark blue-black light pulses inside it, making unease crawl through me.
I know Orb technology powers their Reavers, med-bays and shields.
I know the Aurelians have mastered it in ways no other species ever has.
But I hate the way the Orb draws in my sight.
Everything surrounding it seems a little less real, as though that pulsing blue-black light is the only thing that truly exists.
The lock is fixed near the top of the little cage door, allowing him to remain standing as he inserts the key. The mechanism releases with a heavy click, and the door swings outward. Then Mero holds one enormous hand towards me, palm facing upwards.
He does not reach for the leash. He waits, making me hand it to him.
I place the end across his palm, careful not to touch his skin. The black leather lies in sharp contrast against his ivory marble skin. I am not going to play games by trying to touch him and seeing how he reacts. Not while that unknown expression remains on his face.
His fingers close around the leash slowly, as if he is savouring the feeling of having me connected to him.
The leash is a lie. He could reach into the cage, grab me by the hair and drag me out. He could throw me over his shoulder and carry me anywhere he pleased. He does not need this thin strip of leather to control me.
But he enjoys it.
I gather both sides of the oversized robe around my legs and lower myself onto my hands and knees.
My cheeks burn as I crawl through the little doorway with Mero already holding my leash, the black bell ringing softly with every movement.
This time, I am not merely crawling out of the cage.
I am being walked out of it. The leash remains loose, but that does nothing to lessen the humiliation.
When I stand, I keep my eyes fixed upon the limestone between Mero’s boots.
I feel very small beneath him, unable to hide the blush spreading across my face.
He says nothing before turning and beginning to walk.
I follow softly behind him, the leather hanging loosely between us and the bell marking every hurried step I take to match his enormous strides.
At the washroom, Mero unclips the leash and slides the broad heartwood panel aside. The collar remains around my throat as I enter alone, the little black bell ringing with every step. Its sound echoes through the washroom until the panel closes behind me.
The moment I am out of his sight, I release the breath trapped inside my chest. My cheeks burn even brighter as I look at myself in the mirror above the limestone basin and see the little bell resting against my throat.
That is the part I hate most.
Even if they wanted to collar me and keep me leashed, that would be one thing. But they hunted me for so long, and now they have decided to remind me with every step, every movement, that they caught me and there is nothing I can do about it.
A fresh toothbrush waits beside the basin. Its handle is made for an Aurelian hand, with an unwieldy heft to it. Beside it sits a neatly folded cloth and a little jar. I lift the lid, and the sharp scent of freshmint rises from the pale paste inside.
Freshmint grows wild in patches throughout these hills. I normally chew the leaves, crushing them between my teeth until their oils clean my mouth and prevent bacteria from growing. One of the men must have gathered some and ground it into paste.
This place is so different from where I call home. My nook is clean and tidy, even if everything inside is rough and makeshift. More importantly, it is organized exactly as I want it. Everything there was either traded for or made by me, and nobody knows where it is.
Here, everything is awkwardly big.
I have to rise onto my toes to wet the brush, then grip its massive handle awkwardly in my fist. The paste has the sharp, biting freshness of the leaves, making my gums tingle with the almost addictive intensity of recently picked freshmint.
Ground into paste, it is even better than chewing them.
When I get out of here, I am going to buy a grinder and start preparing it this way myself.
I freshen up, splash my face with water and take my time with the rest of my morning routine. Mero never said I only had ten minutes.
A Commissioner is coming.
I close my eyes tightly and try to piece together exactly what that means.
I still do not know what I am being charged with.
I destroyed the entire bloom of a pleasure-dress tree, and it is true that the trees only flower once every ten years.
They are usually found on Virelia, although there are isolated trees and small groves on other planets.
Before the cotton has been processed, it is so delicate that one panicked woman can tear an entire harvest apart, and a single harvest is worth more than any amount of money I could earn in a dozen lifespans.
The Aurelian harems are full of it, creating an almost endless demand for the fabric used to make pleasure dresses, the thin, sometimes sheer garments that constantly tease and torment their women, keeping them in a state of constant arousal to match the brute appetites of the alien species.
Years. Maybe decades of prison time...
But these three had already built the cage before I destroyed their harvest. Arrek made it before they caught me. He cut down the tree, shaped every bar and dragged their table aside while I was still free. The collar and leash were already waiting on top of it when they carried me inside.
They do not want me rotting in a prison cell.
They want me trapped and trained in their kitchen.
They have hunted me for six months. If all they wanted was to catch a trespasser, they could have lifted their Reaver into the sky and found me in a day.
Instead, they followed me through the forest. They studied my paths, searched for my stores and set trap after trap, letting the hunt stretch on for months.
This was personal for them.