Day 5, Summer, 513 AV In the playhouse in Alvadas, sometimes Kit entertained herself with the shows there. There was much love for Ionu in their plays and Gods above Kit had to have seen them all by then. Clever thieves and silver-tongued children and tricksters one and all found obstacles and walked out the other end laughing with a bag full of gold, a bellyfull of wine, with confusion and considerably less wealthy persons at their back.
"Robust and athletic female specimen here, acrobat by trade, plucked fresh off the Kabrin Road!"
Kit tried to imagine the story. It was her only solace. So there she was, hauled up across half of Sylira in chains, branded and abused, auctioned off to the servants of the God of Evil as a slave. In his own city!
"You there, you look like a man of unique taste. How would you like a young, supple virgin lass to warm your bed? She can bend to shapes you wouldn't dream were possible, eh? Whaddya say, another for the harem? Come on up, give 'er a good squeeze, but if ya want to finish the job you've gotta pay."
It was happening to another Kit, in another place, on the stage in the playhouse. Grim, ain't it? And if it'd been any other girl, it'd be the end of a sad story. But this one was touched by Ionu, and they pick their servants carefully. But, we know you're asking yourselves, how can anyone get out of this?
"Working on it," Kit breathed, her eyes downcast and subservient. The slavers had chosen to take all her clothes north with her to pass on to her buyer, but they had decided any clothes would be a hindrance on the auction floor and left her no choice but to conjure up yet another seeming of bare skin over Ionu's mark. She felt a hand close around her waist, skirt possessively up her side. Her whole body tensed
She looked up at the man who . . . No. Not a man. It was scarcely a boy. Maybe Kit's age, if that. He had a big, almost embarrassed smile on his face as his hands explored . . . but there was a hunger there, a want. Fear plucked Kit like an instrument, and she trembled at his touch. "I see we have an interested consumer, hm? She is untrained in the art of love, but you could train her to your preferences, and never need take the walk to the House of Immortal Pleasures again. Think, this foreign little flower, all yours."
"Mine?" He said, testing the air with the word, the lilt of his voice suggesting he liked the taste.
But Kit did not like the sound. Get your hands off me, Kit thought, and her mask broke. She stared hatred into his face, and he winced away from her and—gods yes—lifted his filthy hands off her body.
"Feisty, isn't she? Don't let her discourage you, sir." Kit felt a soft, chastising slap on the back of her head that the slaver probably imagined was enough a warning. "She can always be trained." Still silence. Her would be owner examined Kit top to bottom. He licked his lips, and Kit shuddered under his imaginings.
A different voice, deeper and scratchier than either. "What's this I hear about an acrobat?" The boy took a nervous step back, like a child caught peering where he oughtn't. Kit turned sideways to find the source.
She saw a small, man with a severe face forcing his way up the side of the podium. There was something . . . Off about the man, Kit thought. Something strange. What was it, what was it, what was it?
"Ah, Mr. Song, you've heard right! We have her right here. A fine creature, if I don't say so myself."
"Not too pretty though, I see." He said. "But, ah, she does seem quite physical apt. I could see it." He raised a hand to his chin and sudden as a storm, Kit understood; where his other hand should have been Kit saw only a worn-over stump. Her mind confronted the fact of life without a hand and Kit felt revulsion wrack her face. "Yes a cripple, but a free cripple. No one's lining up to make me their petch toy. Heh."
He stepped up, forced her eyes open wide with two fingers. "She hasn't been getting much sleep," he said. Grabbed Kit's arm. "Firmer than I was expecting. Strong muscles." He examined her like a piece of meat, divorced from lust. "Rhysol bless you, I think you're telling the truth; girl's got the build of an acrobat. You an acrobat, lass?" He grabbed hold of her chin and looked into her eye. Examined every piece of her, till she felt an insect under a knife. "You lie to me, I'll tie you up on the side of the canal and invite every citizen who passes by to petch you. Well?"
"I am," Kit told the truth, though really there weren't many things she wouldn't say to get her away from the possibility of being bought as as someone's twice-damned bedslave.
Quiet for a long moment. A sharp nod of the head. "I believe you. I'll take her. This ain't even a contest. The boy's just window shopping anyway." |
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