Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirty Nine

“Roland.” 

I turned quickly on the balls of my feet as I heard a woman speak my name. I was on the Avenue of Comus, heading back from the Slaver caste administration building when a richly robed Free Woman stepped forward from the mouth of a side street.

 

Her outer gown was fashioned from the finest, softest satin or shimmering silk, dyed in hues of a vibrant cinnabar red, long and flowing, cut to hang with deceptive simplicity, yet every seam spoke of a master artisan's touch. 

 

Beneath the gown, evident only from the cuffs and the lower hemline, I caught glimpses of a soft, fine linen inner garment that fell almost to her ankles, just slightly longer in length than the outer garment. Her waist was cinched with a girdle - a wide band of finely embroidered cloth, studded with oblique ornamentation. It served a practical purpose in subtly conveying the shape of her body in a way that unbelted robes would not. This is something of a daring proposition on Gor. While not explicitly condemned, as such, the belting of a Free Woman’s robes suggests she is open to being approached by a man, perhaps she is seeking a companionship, or wishing to acknowledge that she might be found pretty in some vain fashion. 

 

Her hair, carefully braided and oiled, was held by silver and gold pins that winked in the sunlight. Soft veils obscured the lower features of her face. Only her eyes made it possible to identify her, for it is said that Goreans are masters of identifying women by their eyes alone. The flash of eye direction, the widening of pupils, the flutter of lashes, the intensity of an interested gaze, or the coquettish nature of a glance to the side; all these things and more are like fingerprints on a woman if you already know her.

 

And I knew this woman.

 

“Mishka?” She no longer wore the coarse, confrontational hunting leathers of a Turian kaiila rider. In her modest layers of brushed silk and linen she was just another Free Woman making her way through the thoroughfares of Torcadino. “You look very different.” I glanced to either side, half suspecting some sort of ambush. Were men with knives creeping up on me while I was supposed to be distracted by Mishka? I moved my right hand to the hilt of my blade as a precaution.

 

“It would not do for me to walk the streets of this city dressed as I do in camp,” said Mishka. She rather boldly approached me, leaving the mouth of the side street, and the corner of its buildings guarding her back.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“You should be careful, Roland. I have been following you for a while now. You are careless. Men do not notice anonymous Free Women when they go about their business, it seems. Be thankful I am not your enemy.”

 

“Women make excellent spies.” I gripped her wrist and drew her close to me, hearing a soft gasp from her veiled mouth. “Again, what are you doing here? I thought you were my enemy?” My mind raced as I considered her words. How long had she been following me? What had she seen? The paga tavern? She wouldn’t have gained entrance inside – not dressed as she was – only slaves might enter - so she wouldn’t know about Maia. The Slaver caste building? She would have seen me arranging papers, but she couldn’t possibly know what they were for. 

 

“You’re hurting me,” said Mishka. I lowered her wrist, still gripping it, but doing it in a way so that casual passers-by wouldn’t notice.

 

“Why were you following me?”

 

“I wanted to speak to you, Roland.”

 

“Is this some sport of trap?”

 

“No trap. Please, release my wrist.”

 

I did so, and watched as she rubbed it. She wore small kid leather gloves on both hands. For a moment I caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her wrist as her voluminous sleeve parted slightly. I had been on Gor long enough to understand the thrill men feel when they glimpse a little skin on a Free Woman. The male gaze is inevitably drawn to the merest glimpse of an unguarded ankle or wrist precisely because the woman covers herself with such modest disdain for the man’s gaze. By denying a man the sight of her body, a Free Woman makes any such teasing glimpse all the more precious. 

 

“I wanted to say… I understand.” Mishka spoke softly as around us men and women passed by from either direction. The street wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people around that I felt vaguely safe.

 

“Understand what?”

 

“What you did… to us. And why.” She gazed up at me. Oh, yes, I recognised those lovely eyes. I had peered into them for a long time on the occasions I had put Mishka to use, back when she wore a collar and was chained to the trunk of a tree by a collar chain. She had cried out many times as slave orgasms had broken down her former pride and resistance. “We left you no choice really. It was we who declared war on you, Roland. You did…” she thought carefully what words to use, “what I suppose the rules of war allow.”

 

“What the rules of war expect,” I corrected. “You were women who had the audacity to think they were the equal to men in armed combat. You learnt your lesson.”

 

“I did,” said Mishka. “I had a lot of time to think on the road back to Stannis’s cavalry. Try as I might, I can’t hate you for what you did.”

 

“And Svetlana?”

 

“The man she loved died. She hates you. She wants revenge.”

 

“And you don’t?”

 

“No. Not anymore. I…. I wanted to say goodbye and settle things between us, since you will be fighting Stannis later today. You will die. I… wish things were different.”

 

“Oh?” I gazed down at her.

 

“Back when Kulai was courting you it was obvious to me that you found me of greater interest.”

 

“Perhaps,” I said. 

 

“I was brusque with you, showed disinterest, but in truth it was because Kulai is like a sister to me, and I wanted her to be happy. The truth is, I did think you were handsome, but I couldn’t take you from my sister.”

 

“I see.” I continued to watch her eyes carefully. The eyes speak volumes when a woman is lying. 

 

“A woman knows when she is being observed, assessed…” she began. “And then, after you had taken me as your captive…” her eyes seemed to sparkle above her veil, “you put me to use that night.”

 

“Several times,” I said.

 

“I fought, of course. I struggled, I resisted.”

 

“Only at first.”

 

“I called you beast. But I parted my thighs for you. Does that tell you something?”

 

“You had little choice. Had you made any serious attempt at denying me my pleasure, I would have taken a whip to your thighs.”

 

“Perhaps,” she said. “But it wasn’t necessary, was it?”

 

“No, because you have slave feelings, Mishka.”

 

“I do NOT have slave feelings. I… simply have an attraction to you, Roland.”

 

“I slipped inside you with ease, Mishka. You oil well when a man handles you.”

 

“When YOU handle me. It would be different with other men, Roland. Why are you being spiteful? I am trying to heal things between us.” She placed her gloved right hand tenderly on my chest. “I am not like Svetlana. Let us be kind to one another.”

 

“It is bold of you to touch me, Mishka, even gloved as you are.”

 

“Do you not like it, Roland?” she asked as she moved her soft fingers against my tunic. It was a pleasant distraction.

 

To be clear - it was a distraction.

 

My right hand snaked out and seized her left wrist as her left hand slipped inside my belt pouch, having undone the clasp while she was distracting me. The gloved fingers of that left hand were evidently searching for something that proved to be elusive. “Lady Mishka,” I said with a hint of disappointment in my voice. I gripped that left wrist very tightly now. “Shame on you.” I saw her draw a sharp intake of breath that made the fabric of her veil touch her lips before she beathed out again. I had to give her some credit. Opening the clasp of my belt pouch without me noticing wasn’t easy. She should perhaps not have worn gloves, for the gloves made it a little more difficult to then search inside my pouch. That, and the fact she was having difficulty locating whatever it was she was searching for, meant I had felt the very slightest of pressure against my hip. 

 

“Let go of me!” she hissed.

 

“Tut tut. Caught in the act. And what are you after, hmm?” I felt her struggle, but she couldn’t pull away. 

 

“Let go of me! This is a public street,” she hissed. “I only need to scream.”

 

She had been careless. She still stood close to the mouth of the quiet side street, and my large body stood between her and the people who passed by along the main thoroughfare. No one was watching her, for Free Women are anonymous and hardly distinctive. I cast my eyes around. If I moved quickly…

 

I thrust the fabric of her veils deep into her mouth as she spoke. “Your veil pins are loose, lady. Let me help you,” I said as I swiftly forced the bunched fabric to act like an improvised gag. Mishka spluttered and wriggled as I pushed her swiftly back into the mouth of the side street and then, into the quiet alcove of an inconspicuous recessed doorway. She couldn’t scream with her mouth full of sodden veil, and she was unable to kick me due to the hobbling nature of her long tube-like skirts. She raised her right hand to strike me but I simply turned her body one hundred and eighty degrees and pushed her face first against the wooden door. Luck was with me; no one had noticed, or if they had, they only saw a Free Woman seem to stumble and her companion catch her and stand her upright in a side street doorway. I tried the handle, the door swung open and within a couple of ihn Mishka was falling into the storage room as I swung the door shut. She reached with her hands to try and remove the sodden veils as I then put my foot to her shoulders and pressed her face down into some discarded sacking. 

 

She had just about expelled the veils, which still stayed loosely in place by the pin arrangements, when I swiftly forced the sodden fabric back into her mouth again. She flailed about with her arms, still unable to get any traction with her legs, hobbled as they were. I took her wrists, drew them behind her back and swiftly tied them tight with binding fibre. Her feet drummed against the sackcloth floor, unable to move very far apart in her skirts. I produced another price of binding fibre and secured the veils in her mouth, tying the thongs tightly behind her head. Then I stood up. Mishka managed, with some effort, to roll onto her back. She glared at me with rage in her eyes.

 

“You’d be surprised what men will overlook on the entrance to a side street, provided a woman doesn’t scream,” I said. I watched her struggle on her back, with her wrists tied tightly behind her. The hobbling nature of her ankle length skirts meant there was no possible way she could get back onto her feet without my help. “So, what were you after? What did you think I had?”

 

She snarled through her gagging. 

 

“You know about the serum I need to give to Laetitia, don’t you?”

 

Her eyes flashed meaningfully above her veil gag. My guess was correct, for a woman’s eyes never lie. When I got back to Corcyrus I would have to have a frank discussion with the Tatrix about the level of security leaks in her own palace. “You were out of luck. I wasn’t carrying it on me. You spent too long searching for it, and you shouldn’t have worn gloves. It made you clumsy.” She squirmed again and choked out some inaudible words. “What happens next is your own fault, Mishka.”

 

Again she tried to scream, to protest, but it was just a series of whimpers. I drew my knife and cut her outer garments away, leaving her just dressed in her underslip with it’s over the knee length hem. I shortened that hem considerably, baring much of her smooth thighs, but leaving enough fabric to cover a brand site. Her squirming grew frantic as I took a small rep cloth sack and thrust it over her head to act as a hood. I secured it in place with binding fibre about her throat. Then, lifting her back onto her feet, and tying a length of rope about her neck as a leash, I led her back outside into the side street. Mishka whimpered through her gag as I led her deeper into the side streets of Torcadino. I turned left, then left again, and then right, and each time I did the side streets gave way to even narrower side streets and then a gloomy alley where the sunlight was limited by the height of the walls on either side. 

 

There were iron slave rings set into the wall, at roughly knee height. I sat the struggling Mishka down and tied her closely to one of the rings by her neck. 

 

“Do you know where you are, Mishka?” I said as I parted her ankles.

 

She made muffled noises through her gag, through her sackcloth hood. 

 

“This is one of many distant alleys where errant slaves are put out for public use.” She began to kick out with her heels, but I held them firmly apart. “Sometimes a Free Woman is put out, too, tied to a ring in the same way a slave is. Guardsmen will pass through here before dawn and will release any girls they find tethered to rings. I would advise you to pretend to be a slave, for then they will simply let you go and you can run barefoot back to Stannis. You can of course protest to them that you are a Free Woman, but then you may find yourself arrested and detained for lewd behaviour unbecoming a Free Woman. The consequences could be dire. The remains of your slip are sufficient to conceal your lack of a brand. I could of course cut the hem and make it so brief that your lack of a brand site will be obvious to the guards in the morning, and they will know you are a Free Woman. Would you like that?’

 

She shook her head and tried to whimper, no.

 

“So you would like them to believe you are actually a slave?”

 

She nodded and tried to whimper, yes. 

 

“That’s probably wise, Mishka. I will leave you then. Once the sun sets men will pass through this alley, curious to see what girls have been put out for the night. You won’t be alone for long.”

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

By the time I returned to the palace complex, Adam was already packing his things and preparing to leave.

 

“You’re not staying for the Companionship ceremony?” I asked. 

 

“I’d prefer not to have to endure Sellius Gavia making a mockery of it,” said Adam as he placed some hard tack provisions in one of his tarn satchels. 

 

“Nor would I, but I think we owe it to Kayra to stand by her today. This is going to be a difficult day for her. She’s a brave girl.”

 

“She’s a brave girl,” agreed Adam. “You’re the one she wants by her side when Sellius Gavia puts his sticky fingers all over her chaste bodice. I guess she thinks you’ll save her somehow.” Adam gazed sternly at me. “Don’t even think of saving her. The girl knows what she must do. Don’t give her some foolish alternative.”

 

“I’m not stupid, Adam. I know what’s at stake. She asked for me?”

 

“She wants you to give her away. It would be her mother in Corcyrus, but her mother isn’t here. You’re to give her to Sellius Gavia. I think she wants you to hurt a little bit.”

“Fair enough. So, what…” my question was interrupted as Kayra unexpectedly walked into the room. Only it wasn’t Kayra. My confusion only lasted a few brief ihn before I recognised that this Free Woman, despite her artfully arranged red hair, moved differently. Even so, I stared, confused.

 

“Tal, Sir. You must be Roland?”

 

It wasn’t Kayra’s voice. And she was perhaps an inch shorter than Kayra. But robed and veiled as she was, she could be confused for Kayra. I glanced at Adam, hoping he’d explain.

 

“Oh, yes, Roland, meet Lady Kalya, the daughter of the former Lady Farzenah of Corcyrus.”

 

I watched as the Lady Kalya curtsied before me. 

 

“The name seems vaguely familiar?” I said. While Kayra is a reasonably common slave name, Kalya is a Free Woman’s name. The subtleties of the Gorean language can be confusing. 

 

“You remember the diversion? The Ninth Cohort was escorting a Free Woman to Torcadino on a suicide mission in plain view to draw the might of Argentum after it, while we were to slip by, unobserved?”

 

Ah, yes.

 

“Turns out it wasn’t quite the suicide mission after all,” said Adam. “Lady Kalya made it to Torcadino with the few remaining men of the Ninth Cohort.”

 

“Captain Caelinus lost his life to get me here,” said the red-headed girl. “The Ninth Cohort of Corcyrus fought bravely. They will always be remembered.”

 

“Lady,” I acknowledged her curtsy with a formal bow of my own. I recalled what the Tatrix had said to me that day when she had outlined her plans: “She is Lady Kalya, the daughter of the former Lady Farzenah of Corcyrus – a former friend of mine from before I rose to the throne, who was subsequently enslaved by Argentum and returned to me as an insult, bearing a message written on a ribbon tied in her hair from the Governor of Isurium. The daughter desires revenge for her mother. In turn I allowed her to decide the fate of the former Governor of Isurium. I believe she spent seven hours watching him die at the hands of my First Minister’s torturer.”

 

 “You took an incredible risk. I well expected you to be in chains by now, with a brand on your thigh, Lady Kalya.”

 

“So did I, Sir,” she replied. “You will find that the Free Women of Corcyrus are prepared to pay a heavy price to secure the freedom of their city. I am no exception. we have endured decades of submission to Argentum, but no more.”

 

“Then I am very proud to claim Corcyrus as my Home Stone when its women show such bravery, Lady.” I stood close enough to her now to observe the delightful trace of freckles running across the bridge of her nose, above the trim of her veils. I could understand how she had been chosen as our diversion. 

 

“My bravery is nothing compared to yours, Sir,” said Lady Kalya. “I was merely escorted by armed men. You had to fight your way here.”

 

I smiled again. “Then we are both brave, Lady Kalya. I think our Tatrix will be grateful to both of us. Your mother would be proud of you, Lady.”

 

I saw her stiffen as I mentioned her mother. “My mother is a slave, Sir. She shamed her family when she submitted on the branding rack. The opinions of a slave are irrelevant.” 

 

Even if I live to be a thousand years old, I don’t think I will ever get used to the hard-nosed way in which Goreans lack any sympathy for a family member who submits to slavery. 

 

The Lady Kalya’s veils rippled as she seemed to smile beneath them. “Perhaps, Sir, I could rely on your blade to see me safely back to our city when tonight is done?”

 

“I would consider it an honour,” I replied. And it was an honour in Gorean society for a Free Woman to request a man of her Home Stone to protect her. Interestingly, it was one of the more common ways that Free Women were permitted to express interest in a man without seeming overtly bold. By placing herself under a man’s protection she was subtly inviting his further attention. I considered this for a moment. Lady Kalya was from a good family in Corcyrus and would be rewarded when she returned. I would need a Free Companion eventually if I wanted to raise a family. Who knew what the future might hold?

 

“Roland, an ehn of your time,” said Adam as he drew me aside. Then, away from Lady Kalya, he pressed the vial into the palm of my right hand and closed my fingers about it. “Make sure the Lady Laetitia drinks this at least half an ahn before her medical examination and all will be well. You and I know the truth about her. That’s all you have to do now.”

 

“So, this is it?” I asked.

 

“I’m going to collect Mark, and then we’re heading to the city tarn cots. We’ll be in the air while Laetitia is being given to Sellius Gavia. Do your duty, Roland, and then return to your city and live out your long life as a wealthy hero. Buy that slave you desire. Take a Free Companion in Corcyrus. Let your story have a happy ending.”

 

“And all the while Kayra lives out a nightmare?” I said.

 

“Life isn’t fair, Roland. You must know that by now.”

 

And with those parting words, he left me. 

 

I had a few things still to do. I returned to my apartment in the palace where I found my slave, Nia, on her knees scrubbing the floor tiles with a stiff bristled brush and a wooden tub of soapy water. “Master?” she said, looking up as I placed a simple peasant girl’s gown on the bed. “Stand, Nia,” I said as I produced the papers of freedom from inside my tunic. “These are yours.”

 

“Mine? But I am a slave, Master. I cannot own anything.” She stood up straight in the graceful position that a slave would adopt if her Master wished to inspect her.

 

“You are a freed slave. These papers record your status as a freed slave called Nia. Do not lose them. Men will want to inspect them from time to time.” I unlocked the collar from her throat and cast it aside where It clattered on the tiles. “Undress and fold your slave tunic neatly, place it on the bed, then dress yourself in the peasant gown. That is your garment now. It is all you own.”

 

“You… have freed me?”

 

“Yes. What you do now is up to you. Gaius Antony will be here in quarter of an ahn. He will look after you until the Companionship ceremony. Do as he says. Remember, you are still a captive, albeit a free one.”

 

“Nia? You said my name is Nia, but I am free?”

 

“Yes. You are a former slave. You will never be the Lady Livinnia of the Assante again. She is gone. Your freed name is Nia. I should caution you that it is against the law in Torcadino to use anything other than your legal name. The common penalty for a Free Woman to lie about her true identity is to be stripped and for her to receive ten lashes of the whip in a public square.”

 

“Nia is a slave name…”

 

“And you are a freed slave, so it is more than appropriate. I wish you well, girl.”

 

I left the apartment, noting that Gaius had already placed a guard on the door. A life as a freed slave would not be an easy one for Nia but in time she would learn to accept that new life. 

 

Kayra seemed anxious when I arrived at her apartment within the palace. It sat close to my own, possibly because in the eyes of Torcadino I was her guardian. She stood in the centre of the room as her handmaiden slaves fussed about her, arranging her solemn white gowns in preparation for when I would present her to the caste of physicians for her medical assessment. 

 

“There you are!” she said as she tried to step towards me, but was persuaded not to by two of her slaves.

 

“Please, Mistress, we are not finished yet with your dressing,” said one of the slaves. There were four in all, and each one a semi-naked palace beauty, though these slaves had been trained specifically to see to a wealthy Lady’s daily parlour rather than rut in the furs with men. All four would still be white silk and inexperienced, like the Ladies they served. 

 

“These slaves have been preparing me now for over an ahn,” said Kayra. Her face was bare, unveiled, but this was acceptable as I was her guardian and I would be giving her away to Sellius Gavia tonight. I counted as close family and could view the Lady while she was being dressed, and I was to witness her medical assessment. 

 

“The gown is beautiful, Laetitia. I’m sure it’s time well spent.”

 

“It’s a waste of time. I will have to be disrobed for my assessment. All of this will be peeled away by slaves belonging to the physicians.”

“No, the gowns are specially designed so that you can be assessed while remaining clothed. You are not a slave, Lady Laetitia. You will not be expected to strip. Have you tried on the outer gowns that you will be wearing tonight at the ceremony of companionship?”

 

“Yes,” said Kayra. “My waist will be cinched to fit into them. The slaves tell me I must have an hourglass shape when Sellius Gavia…” she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words.

 

“When Sellius Gavia honours you,” I suggested, “and worships your body.” The polite turn of phrase seemed to amuse her. 

 

“Wise women will be visiting me later today after my assessment. They will explain to me in simple terms, couched in poetry, how women co-operate when a man takes them. They think I am a foolish girl who doesn’t know what to do.”

 

“You don’t know what to do, Lady,” I said with a hint of warning in my voice. These slaves would be listening to everything she and I said, and they would report all the words to Gaius Antony – I felt sure of it.

 

“No, I… uh… suppose not,” she said, taking back her rash protest.

 

“So, the wise women will be necessary, won’t they?”

 

“Yes, Roland. I need them to tell me. The slaves are practically sewing me into this gown!”

 

“It is the formal gown of assessment, Laetitia, to be worn under your robes of companionship. Tradition is important here in Torcadino. Your hair looks lovely by the way.” It was expertly woven into soft silken braids of a vivid fiery red hue and arranged artfully above and around her head. Soft freckles decorated the bridge of her nose and her upper cheeks. I thought again of the analogy of the sparks from an iron anvil where men forged collars of steel out of heated metal.

 

“Thank you, Roland.” Kayra glanced with irritation at the slaves who were now stitching her sleeves. “Can you go. Leave me for a while. I wish to speak to my Guardian, alone.”

 

“We are not supposed to leave you alone, Mistress,” said one of the slaves. “Forgive me, but we are to be with you at all times.”

 

“Am I the slave and you the Mistress, Olena?” asked an angry Kayra. “If I tell you to step outside you do so. Or will I need to have you bring me a whip?”

 

The slaves shrank back. Incredibly, the slave who had spoken continued to press her point. “Our Master has said to us…”

 

“The whip!” screamed Kayra. ”How dare you! Bring me the whip!” And of course the slave had to do so. I watched as Kayra whipped Olena across her back. The slave cried out with each blow, but I suppose she would have suffered far more if her Master had whipped her. Kayra is not very strong. “Now go! All of you!” screamed Kayra as she cast the whip aside. “Go!” Now all four slaves reluctantly withdrew from the Lady’s chambers, whispering to one another as they left. We were alone at last. 

 

“They spy on me,” said Kayra. “They listen to everything I say. They’re under my feet all the time! I see them whispering at times. They have orders regarding me.”

 

“Of course they do. And they will continue to conspire in your presence after you are companioned. You will have to learn to be careful, to guard what you say and do. You will not have any real privacy.”

 

“How am I supposed to live like this?”

 

“With the knowledge that you will have saved your city and your people.”

 

Kayra softly smiled. That knowledge gave her the strength she needed. “Hai Corcyrus,” she said.

 

“You are an incredibly brave girl. If I could spare you any of this, I would. But..”

 

“Kiss me, Roland.” Kayra looked at me. “I can ask that much, can’t I? A single kiss from the man I love?”

 

“Laetitia, please…”

 

“Must I be denied even a few ihn of pleasure? Will you deny me even that? I am giving up everything and you cannot even kiss me the once?”

 

What could I say? I crossed the room and gently took her in my arms. I felt her breath coming quickly as she looked up at me. “Kiss me as if I belonged to you,” she whispered.

 

“I can’t. You are a Lady of Corcyrus.” I kissed her softly, reverentially, my lips brushing hers with respect, not taking those lips in the savage kiss a man gives to a slave. But it was something. I felt Kayra’s heart beating quickly through her expensive white gowns as she parted from me.

 

“I will never forget the taste of that kiss,” she said. “The memory will comfort me in my darkest hours.”

 

And then, foolishly, on some wild impulse, I kissed her again, and this time she pressed herself against my body and kissed me back, the way she had seen slaves kiss me on our way to Torcadino. It was a surprisingly passionate, heated kiss, considering her inexperience. I came to my senses and pushed her away. “Enough,” I said. 

 

“Was that so wrong?” asked Kayra.

 

“It was very wrong. You are to be companioned.”

 

“And I loathe the man who will be my companion.”

 

I walked away from the young girl but felt her eyes follow me across the room. “I could submit to you, you know. I’ve thought about it,” she said. “I’ve seen how slaves do it.”

 

“Do not say that.”

 

“I would still be companioned, but you would know the truth. You would know that you own me, and that the companionship is in reality null and void. No one else would need know. Sellius Gavia would have a slave as a noble companion. It is the only way I have to insult him without risking the alliance.”

 

“You will NOT submit to me, Laetitia.” The girl didn’t understand that she was already a slave – she had spoken the words of submission many times before when she had been in a collar, when we had brought her to Torcadino in the guise of a slave. She hadn’t realised the enormity of the words she had spoken. She was already a slave and it was only the importance of the alliance with Torcadino that meant we had turned a blind eye to those words. And now she was playing at submission for real, because she was foolish enough to believe in love. I had to stop this. Too much rested on this alliance. I couldn’t allow her the luxury of some false hope. And so I had to be cruel, for the greater good.

 

“I don’t love you,” I said, simply. “In fact I have no feelings for you whatsoever, Lady. This is just a job for me. This fantasy you have concocted that we might mean something to each other is laughable. You say so often that you are no longer a child, and yet you cling to these childish ideas. Your breasts are small, you need a waist cincher to give yourself the voluptuous curves men seek out in slaves. Why would I be at all interested in you?”

 

My words were deliberately cruel and hurtful. Kayra had to give up on me, and if it meant turning her love into hate, well, as Adam said, life wasn’t fair.

 

“You kissed me…” she said, as tears formed.

 

“So I could amuse my friends in Corcyrus when I return with the tale of how I kissed the Free Companion of Sellius Gavia on his bedding night. You kiss very poorly, by the way. No better than a skittish barbarian girl seized from Earth. I pity Sellius for what he will have to put up with tonight.” It was a lie. I don’t think it is possible for a Fire Crotch to kiss poorly. They all know instinctively how it is done. Kayra was no exception. In a collar, and with a brand on her thigh, Kayra would swiftly master the art of pleasing men. I had no doubt of it. 

 

She turned her face away from me, crying. 

 

There, it was done. Now she hated me, and that would make her life easier. A little pain in the short term for the greater good that was to come. 

 

I ignored Kayra as she wept, for she now knew there was no hope, and her life from this point would be miserable. I crossed the floor to a table where there was some wine. I poured two small goblets, and in the second of those goblets I added the contents of the phial that Adam had given me. It was time. The drug would numb her Fire Crotch responses – responses that had been awakened and amplified by her time spent in a collar and a slave tunic. I would grant her one small kindness. She need not know that the passing of the assessment would be due to this drug. Let her think she had passed because she was a chaste Free Woman. I would allow her that illusion. I would give her back her pride. She would drink the drug mixed with the wine, and never know the truth about herself.

 

I handed her the second goblet. “A little wine to soothe your nerves, Lady.” She took the goblet and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her other hand. “To your people, and to Corcyrus,” I said as I raised my goblet and she raised hers to her lips. 

 

And then to my horror she turned the goblet upside down and poured the wine into a large plant pot. “I will face tonight without the crutch of alcohol. And obviously enough without your support in anything.”

 

TO BE CONCLUDED.