Chapter 17
Iwalk barefoot into the great hall, where Talarin is at the stove, the garlicky, divine smell of pasta making my stomach rumble again.
He’s putting the finishing touches on a pan of little filled squares of pasta.
By the smell, they’re filled with mushrooms, the ones that grow in the southeast corner of the estate.
Bottles clink as Arrek sets beers on the table, still wearing the charcoal trousers and the too-tight white polo.
They give him a different feel from his usual work clothes.
Not refined, not exactly. Not with the casual aristocracy of Mero, but not like a barbarian playing dress-up either. I’m not sure I like them on him.
And the hilt of his Orb-Blade is still at his belt, no matter the outfit.
He gives me an approving glance, making me want to roll my eyes, and pops a beer open with his thumb as Mero comes out of the pantry carrying a massive jar of olives.
It’s busy, loud, all three of them moving around each other as though they share one mind, their movements choreographed as they get dinner ready. Talarin is still in his white robes, spotless as usual, even as the pan spatters.
I look at the pasta, then toward the fridge, remembering the hard cheese inside.
Talarin catches my glance and, without a word, opens the door and takes out a wedge of cheese.
Ridiculously, I give him a little smile, as if he didn’t watch me getting spanked until I sobbed.
I push that thought out of my mind, looking toward Mero’s chair at the head of the table. Beside it is a big, soft cushion that looks large enough for me. Without being asked, I walk over and lower myself carefully onto it, smoothing the dress around my knees.
Then I wait as they bustle around me, feeling rather small and safe with the big, heavy wooden table above me. From down here, the sounds of the kitchen seem to fade into the background.
Within minutes, Arrek and Talarin are sitting, Arrek settling his bulk onto the bench. I don’t even look toward him as Mero pulls out his own chair and sits, drawing it forward to the table.
He reaches down and gently strokes my hair, then reaches for an olive and brings it to my lips. I keep my hands folded, not reaching for it, inviting his fingers into my mouth as I take it.
With his other hand, he lifts his plate toward Arrek. Then I hear the scrape of Arrek’s knife as he shaves cheese over it, and my mouth waters.
The three men begin eating.
“We could collect some of these mushrooms to sell at the market,” Arrek says. “I think they go for about sixty a gram.”
Talarin snorts.
“I wouldn’t get on my hands and knees to pick these for anyone but us. And we’re not hiring someone to stomp around the property.”
“That’s true,” Arrek says. “Somehow they taste better when you know we’re the only ones eating them.”
Mero reaches down with one of the big pasta squares. There’s a little melting cheese on top, but it doesn’t look greasy. I open my mouth wide to take it, and he looks down at me.
“Little bites.”
My cheeks flush as I nibble at it.
Fuck, but it’s good.
I chew slowly, enjoying the burst of flavor and the sharpness of the cheese. I’ve only got a vague idea of the conversion rate between the currencies used in the village and the capital, but I can tell these aren’t cheap.
And I was smart to put in the clause indemnifying me against other crimes. If you tack on all the mushrooms I scarfed down after three or four hours of hiking, these three probably could have kept me as a pet for the rest of my life.
Mero holds the rest of the piece between his fingers and looks toward his battle brothers.
“We’ll have to return to the capital soon. We have an Imperial summons.”
“And we need to check in with Ruttelle,” Arrek says. “We have obligations with him.”
“Then let’s make the meeting there,” Talarin says. “We can meet whichever general the Emperor sends at Ruttelle’s. His estate is right by the palace, and they hold meetings there regularly. We won’t have to step foot in the palace.”
I finish the pasta, licking the garlicky oil from Mero’s fingers as he nods.
“I’ll arrange it.”
The conversation moves on, and I stop paying attention, waiting patiently for the next piece. It comes before he takes another bite for himself.
Then he sips from his tall glass of beer, listening to his battle brothers discuss something about Reavers and testing new flight paths.
“All done,” Mero says.
I look hopefully toward the apples on the counter.
Talarin follows my gaze, then gets up, giving me a smile.
He takes one and slices it deftly into pieces before putting them on a plate and coming back to sit at the edge of the bench between me and Arrek, turned toward me, his legs spread, the heavy bulge underneath his robes.
Every apple slice is perfectly the same, as if he’s defied physics to get them out of that gnarled apple.
He holds out a slice so I can take it without touching his fingers.
I eat the first two like that, tasting the crisp fruit I used to pilfer from the orchard.
I try not to look at his cock swelling beneath the cloth as he feeds me.
But he keeps holding the pieces where I can take them without touching him.
On the next one, I let my lips graze his finger ever so slightly.
And I watch that bulge pulse.
When the apple is gone, Mero gently touches my neck.
“To your cage, pet.”
I lower myself onto my hands and knees and crawl, the bells jingling, sending a rush of heat between my legs that I know they can smell. I crawl quickly before they get any more ideas. However soothing Aurelian seed might be, my throat is still sore from the sheer physics of it.
Mero gets up and follows me as Talarin walks down the corridor to the left. I get just inside the cage, then pause, looking up at Mero.
“Speak, pet.”
“There was a rule before that I’m not to wear clothes in my cage. Is it okay to keep this on, or do you want me to strip?”
He considers me for a moment. Bootsteps sound in the hallway, and Talarin returns with a pair of comfortable-looking long pajamas in a muted brown-red similar to my dress. In his other hand is a tray with a bowl of water, a folded cloth, a toothbrush, and a little pot of fresh mint paste.
“To wash your face and clean your teeth,” he says, setting the tray inside the cage with the pajamas beside it.
Mero cocks his head.
“You’ll change into those at your leisure. You’ve been very good today. You may read a book tonight.”
He looks toward the books stacked beside my cage.
“Which would you choose?”
Ridiculously, Arrek looks over at me as if he’s hoping I’m going to pick that fucking tome on water dynamics.
“The Starter Murders, please.”
My mind is too frazzled to go through anything but that same familiar tale.
Talarin heads down the hallway toward the study as Arrek takes the book from the stack and crouches beside the cage. I crawl farther inside, and he shuts the door behind me, turning the lock before handing the book through the bars.
He smiles at me.
“You know, you can be a very good girl when you try.”
I bite my lip, not saying a word back, and look down at the floor.
Once they’ve gone, I wash my face, clean my teeth, and change into the pajamas. Then I curl up in the furs with the book, idly opening to the first page, where really they should have realized that nothing good could come from that crone giving them all the evil eye.
The fire crackles. I shift when the furs press a little too firmly against my still-sore bottom, then settle again.
Before the fire burns low, I close the book and shut my eyes, knowing that the only thing I have to do is whatever they say until I can get through these ninety more days.
But as I drift to sleep, I shiver, because when I woke up today I had no idea what was in store for me…
And something tells me that they have plans for me tomorrow.