Zavya took the proffered chair, carefully sitting on the edge of it as if she were ready to bolt at any moment. The tigress had never really learned how to sit and relax, whether her company was amicable or not. Tense was the Kelvic’s permanent state of being, and it was very difficult for her to be otherwise. So, when Shiress placed the bottle of wine between them, she looked between it and her with wary suspicion. Zavya had never actually had alcohol before, but she knew of its effects, having seen them in people around her. She wasn’t sure she was ready to experience that sort of intoxication around a stranger.
However, neither did she want to be seen as weak or cowardly, so she grabbed the bottle as Shiress had. She eyed it doubtfully before bringing it to her lips and taking a hesitant swallow. Golden orbs widened in much the same way the other’s had, forcing the mouthful down before setting the bottle back on the table. Zavya did her best not to cough, failed, and looked at the wine with reproach. “I don’t think tart is the word I would use,” she said, voice dry.
Shiress’s story soon captivated the Kelvic, the sour taste of the wine forgotten. She even managed to choke down a few more swallows, warmth spreading from her belly through her limbs. Perhaps it’s not so bad, she thought idly as she started to slowly let go, leaning back against the chair with a drowsy gaze fixed on her companion. She winced with sympathy as Shiress spoke of her time in the shop, running out without paying for her herbs. The tigress could well imagine the reaction of the city guard; after all, they were only here in this cottage because the word of slaves could not be trusted. Such extreme reactions for misunderstandings—it was refreshing to be in the company of someone else who understood her reality.
As she went on to describe when she and Rook were locked in a room together and the bolstering words she spoke to him of kindness and freedom, Zavya felt a sharp pang in her chest, accompanied by an emotion hardly recognizable. Tears pricked at her molten eyes, the Kelvic lifting a hand to dash them away in surprise. Zavya hadn’t even known she was capable of crying any more, that she was able to feel anything besides anger or fear. But Shiress’s tale touched her in a way she hadn’t even thought possible, echoing that which the Kelvic had always wished so desperately to believe. I spoke of being free and of kindness. I told him that there was always hope. That no one should ever own another, and that not all humans think and act like those he knew.
How fervently Zavya longed for that to be true, to attain the freedom that so many took for granted. To have someone tell her to keep going, that there would always be hope at the end. The tigress had never found that to be true, having learned early on that hope was a fool’s game. With everything she had gone through, both during her time with Ryker and the years before it, optimism was not a tool in her arsenal. It had been beaten out of her long ago.
Rook had not given up hope, it seemed, Shiress continuing on to the conclusion of her story. How he had come for her, comforted her, and reminded her that she had to keep going. Their bond had formed that night, and the look on the slave’s face told Zavya volumes. To have two men to love, two that would care for her well-being… the Kelvic couldn’t help her flash of envy. She hardly even knew the meaning of the word.
“It makes sense,” she replied in a murmur, reaching for the bottle again. Another swallow was tipped down her throat, though she managed not to cough on this one. Setting it down, she looked back to Shiress. “Your story is beautiful,” Zavya told her, voice soft and trembling, almost wistful. “You, Rook, and I… we have more in common than I might’ve thought. I hope…” A soft hiccup interrupted her words, the Kelvic blinking a few times in surprise before she continued, “I hope I have a tale like that of my own someday.”
Zavya was typically recalcitrant with any sort of information, preferring solitude and silence over the company of those who would inevitably betray her. But, like Shiress, the wine had served to loosen her tongue, and she haltingly began to relay a few bits of her own history, “Like your Rook, I… I was also born in the Institute. I don’t know how much he has told you about that place, but it’s… what they put us through was nothing less than torture.” She bit her lip, reluctant to dig too far into that particular era of her life. Not as if the fate that followed served her much better.
“My master bought me from them two seasons ago,” she went on, glossing over the finer details. “I thought I was saved. I thought being a slave had to be better than being an experiment.” Zavya snorted and shook her head. “I was wrong. Ryker Valdinox was the one to take me home, and I’ve cursed that name ever since.”
Her lip lifted in a snarl. “He was so kind at first. So gentle. But when I didn’t bond with him, it didn’t last long.” Zavya looked at Shiress with a bitter smile. “Sounds like he and your Radcliffe would get along well. Most of the scars I carry came from his hand. Some deserved and others… not so deserved.”
Head cocked to the side, she regarded Shiress with an air of curiosity. “How are you able to have a bondmate as a slave? Does your master know? Does he allow you to see him?” Zavya couldn’t imagine being allowed such indulgence. Ryker would kill her first, she had no doubt of that.
<3I don't mind one bit.
It was a lovely story.
However, neither did she want to be seen as weak or cowardly, so she grabbed the bottle as Shiress had. She eyed it doubtfully before bringing it to her lips and taking a hesitant swallow. Golden orbs widened in much the same way the other’s had, forcing the mouthful down before setting the bottle back on the table. Zavya did her best not to cough, failed, and looked at the wine with reproach. “I don’t think tart is the word I would use,” she said, voice dry.
Shiress’s story soon captivated the Kelvic, the sour taste of the wine forgotten. She even managed to choke down a few more swallows, warmth spreading from her belly through her limbs. Perhaps it’s not so bad, she thought idly as she started to slowly let go, leaning back against the chair with a drowsy gaze fixed on her companion. She winced with sympathy as Shiress spoke of her time in the shop, running out without paying for her herbs. The tigress could well imagine the reaction of the city guard; after all, they were only here in this cottage because the word of slaves could not be trusted. Such extreme reactions for misunderstandings—it was refreshing to be in the company of someone else who understood her reality.
As she went on to describe when she and Rook were locked in a room together and the bolstering words she spoke to him of kindness and freedom, Zavya felt a sharp pang in her chest, accompanied by an emotion hardly recognizable. Tears pricked at her molten eyes, the Kelvic lifting a hand to dash them away in surprise. Zavya hadn’t even known she was capable of crying any more, that she was able to feel anything besides anger or fear. But Shiress’s tale touched her in a way she hadn’t even thought possible, echoing that which the Kelvic had always wished so desperately to believe. I spoke of being free and of kindness. I told him that there was always hope. That no one should ever own another, and that not all humans think and act like those he knew.
How fervently Zavya longed for that to be true, to attain the freedom that so many took for granted. To have someone tell her to keep going, that there would always be hope at the end. The tigress had never found that to be true, having learned early on that hope was a fool’s game. With everything she had gone through, both during her time with Ryker and the years before it, optimism was not a tool in her arsenal. It had been beaten out of her long ago.
Rook had not given up hope, it seemed, Shiress continuing on to the conclusion of her story. How he had come for her, comforted her, and reminded her that she had to keep going. Their bond had formed that night, and the look on the slave’s face told Zavya volumes. To have two men to love, two that would care for her well-being… the Kelvic couldn’t help her flash of envy. She hardly even knew the meaning of the word.
“It makes sense,” she replied in a murmur, reaching for the bottle again. Another swallow was tipped down her throat, though she managed not to cough on this one. Setting it down, she looked back to Shiress. “Your story is beautiful,” Zavya told her, voice soft and trembling, almost wistful. “You, Rook, and I… we have more in common than I might’ve thought. I hope…” A soft hiccup interrupted her words, the Kelvic blinking a few times in surprise before she continued, “I hope I have a tale like that of my own someday.”
Zavya was typically recalcitrant with any sort of information, preferring solitude and silence over the company of those who would inevitably betray her. But, like Shiress, the wine had served to loosen her tongue, and she haltingly began to relay a few bits of her own history, “Like your Rook, I… I was also born in the Institute. I don’t know how much he has told you about that place, but it’s… what they put us through was nothing less than torture.” She bit her lip, reluctant to dig too far into that particular era of her life. Not as if the fate that followed served her much better.
“My master bought me from them two seasons ago,” she went on, glossing over the finer details. “I thought I was saved. I thought being a slave had to be better than being an experiment.” Zavya snorted and shook her head. “I was wrong. Ryker Valdinox was the one to take me home, and I’ve cursed that name ever since.”
Her lip lifted in a snarl. “He was so kind at first. So gentle. But when I didn’t bond with him, it didn’t last long.” Zavya looked at Shiress with a bitter smile. “Sounds like he and your Radcliffe would get along well. Most of the scars I carry came from his hand. Some deserved and others… not so deserved.”
Head cocked to the side, she regarded Shiress with an air of curiosity. “How are you able to have a bondmate as a slave? Does your master know? Does he allow you to see him?” Zavya couldn’t imagine being allowed such indulgence. Ryker would kill her first, she had no doubt of that.
<3I don't mind one bit.
It was a lovely story.tiny filler words
