Jeopardy

Master Angelus surrendered. To Flavia, he said,

“Are you mad? To jeopardize our position, after working so hard to build –”

Flavia responded in that language she shared with him that none of the servants had ever before, and her tone was angry, abrupt, but when the soldiers restrained her, she didn’t fight.

One of the soldiers knelt beside the dead man, the foul-breathed man who’d wanted Flavia to share Dael with him, and Dael backed up a stead, bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, hoped no one would notice him.

Flavia whispered as she was dragged past, “Run!”

Capable

“What know you of battle, foreigner?” the nobleman spat. He drew the blade on his belt.

“I know that for all you Romans have conquered nations and peoples, I’m still standing,” Flavia said.

The nobleman turned to Master Angelus. “You would let her speak this way? A woman?”

“If I’m just a woman, why did you draw your knife?” Flavia was taunting him.

Dael was torn between kneeling to clean up the spilled wine and moving to stand beside Flavia.

“To gut you like the foreign mongrel you are,” the man spat.

Flavia beckoned and said, “If you are capable.”

Standing Ground

The nobleman raised his eyebrows. “You speak brashly, for a girl. What would you know of war?”

A smile played at the corner of Flavia’s lips; it wasn’t a nice smile. “I know if war were to strike this house, I’d be able to run.”

Anger and embarrassment crossed the nobleman’s face. “A true warrior stands his ground!”

“He’s not a warrior if he’s standing because he has not strength to run.”

Master Angelus winced. “Cousin –”

The nobleman dropped his goblet. It clattered on the marble stair. Wine splashed everywhere. The laughter on the other side of the curtain died.

Spoils of War

“Surely,” the man said, leaning in, and Dael couldn’t help but turn his face away, “you are willing to share.”

The silence that fell was immediately shattered by a, “No.”

Dael lifted his head so fast he almost collided with the nobleman, but he, too, was looking at the source of the flat denial.

Flavia’s hands were curled into fists, and Dael recognized the silent slide of her feet as she shifted stances. She was ready for a fight. But she had no sword.

“What my cousin means –” Master Angelus began.

“Is the spoils of war are for warriors alone.”

Fortunate, Unfortunate

Master Angelus, who had risen from his place at the table, came to stand behind the nobleman, shielding the scene from the rest of the nobles who were craning their necks like curious chickens.

Dael felt himself trembling with the effort of forcing himself not to wrench away from the foul man.

“We were fortunate to obtain him at a reasonable price,” Master Angelus said. “Mostly because I caught this one myself.”

“And brought him back as a gift for your cousin? Such a generous man you are.” The nobleman’s smile changed, and Dael felt horror crawl up his spine.

Duties and Promises

“Anything, Flavia,” Dael said.

She eyed him shrewdly, and for the first time in a long time Dael knew it was right to lift his head, draw himself tall.

“You must be willing to keep my secrets, even from Master Angelus,” she said.

He nodded. Was she going to overthrow her own cousin?

“And you must learn to become a fighter, better than any petty Roman soldier,” she said.

He nodded again. She’d been teaching him. He could learn, right? Of course, those soldiers were professionals, had gone to wars, slaughtered his people --

“I will keep you safe,” she said.

Somehow He Knew

What was more exhausting than sparring and shopping was dinner parties where Angelus’s soldier friends and their wives or sisters came to lounge around the house all day eating, making conversation, and listening to musicians play.

Dael was assigned to wait on Flavia, who was apparently assigned to make everyone happy. Dael couldn’t understand the words being flung rapidly back and forth between the cushioned benches everyone reclined on, but he knew these people were wealthy from the way they were dressed and their own servants cowered, moving among Angelus’s own.

And somehow he knew Flavia was angry at everything.

Properly

Tertius, who really must have been able to read minds, nudged Dael in the spine and growled, and Dael bowed his head, the gesture a token of respect but really to hide the hatred in his eyes.

He was a person, and he was being treated little better than a horse.

“Have fun with him, Flavia,” Angelus said, and he stood up, swept out of the room.

“I will, My Lord,” Flavia said. Something about the way she uttered ‘My Lord’ was dry. Then she spoke rapidly to Tertius, who grumbled but left.

“Now,” Flavia said, “look at me properly.”

Consequences and Fury

“Dael,” he said, emphasizing both syllables.

“I am Flavia, though Tertius and the others may expire from righteous indignation if you call me anything but ‘Mistress’,” she said. “His name is Angelus, but you should probably call him ‘Master’.”

“I want to go home,” Dael said.

Tertius smacked him upside the head.

“Your home is gone,” Angelus said easily.

“You mean you –”

“Not us. Another one of the kings in your land, I suspect.” Angelus shrugged. “Never you mind. You belong to Flavia now. You’ll do as she says, or you won’t like the consequences.”

Dael choked back his fury.

Answer, Slaughter

Tertius jabbed Dael in the spine again, and he lifted his head, twisted around with a snarl - and there was a hand on his chin, tugging him around to face –

Her.

The woman from beneath the red hood, Dael was sure of it. Belatedly, he realized she, too, had been speaking his language. She had dark skin, different from the other servants in the house, different even from the master’s, and her eyes were bright, golden, and fierce, like a wolf.

“You picked well,” she said to the soldier, and then to Dael, “What’s your name?”

Tertius answered, slaughtered it.

Your Eyes

Dael lifted his head sharply, and there, sprawled across the stone bench was none other than the soldier who’d captured him. He was without cape and armor, grinning. He looked almost like a prince.

Tertius kneed Dael in the spine, and he remembered himself, lowered his head. As much as the other servants were nice, they were fiercely loyal. Dael would have sworn they could read his mind and sense the moments rebellion rose in him, urging him to flee or disobey or drop everything he was doing and cry out –

“Lift your head. I want to see your eyes.”

Question of Choice

Dael knew from the whispering in the halls, the sudden scattering of servants, heads bowed, that the master and mistress were about, and only special servants could look upon them.

But the old man - Tertius - dragged Dael up, up, up to the main chamber where the master and mistress stayed. He shoved Dael to his knees in front of a wide stone bench, and Dael bowed his head. He heard the whisper of robes, the familiar cadence of a soldier’s boots.

And then a familiar voice said, in Dael’s own tongue,

“What do you think, Flavia? Did I choose well?”

Tethered

“Just...be calm,” Dael said, and reached inside himself. The energy was weak, tethered to the waxing and waning of his own energy, but it was there, a coil of blue sparkles waiting for release. So Dael caught it up and pushed it out, into Avery’s forearm.

Avery hissed in a breath, eyes wide, and his gaze shot toward Dael. “You - how did you -”

Dael shook his head. “There you go. Should help a bit.” He held Avery’s gaze, warning, and Avery nodded slowly.

“Aye. Thanks. You are good with a mend.”

“Welcome.”

Behind him, the soldier watched - and smiled.


Personally? No

“Cold?” Dael remembered the man being charming, almost friendly. Callous with other human lives, but Dael suspected, if the man were not a soldier and Dael were not an enemy, they might have been friends.

“People mean nothing to him,” Avery said. “He kills as easily as most of us breathe.”

“The last stupid man who tried to escape –” Osbert began, but Avery cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Dael’s just awakened. Means he can still sleep. No need to give him nightmares.”

“Did he kidnap you?” Dael asked.

“Personally?” Avery snorted. “No. He’s much too important for that.”


Strange, Dark, Cold

“My brothers went to fight,” the boy beside Dael said.

“As did my sons,” the man said. “Those bastards killed them.” He turned his head to the side and spat.

“My father and brother left,” Dael said. “They never came back.”

“The stories are the same all around,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

“Dael.”

“I’m Avery,” the man said.

“And I’m Osbert.” The boy smiled tiredly.

“Think we can escape?” Dael asked.

“More than one man has died trying.” Avery lifted his chin in the direction of the soldiers. “That leader, the strange dark one - he’s a cold one.”

On a Grim Necklace

The boat was bigger than any Dael had ever seen, the length of nearly four houses, and had a massive sail of billowing red, just like the soldiers’ capes.

Soldiers. Dael craned his neck, which resulted in tugging on the ropes and earned grumblings from the people on either side of him. Sure enough, the soldiers who’d stopped by his farm were seated at a fire in the middle of the camp, sharing food and drink, laughing.

More soldiers, bristling with weapons but without capes or horses, ringed the camp, guarding the slaves.

Slaves like beads on a grim necklace.

What We Came For

One of the horses whinnied, threw its rider. That startled Ma into running. Dael leapt between her and the soldiers. Three of the other horses stamped and snorted, but the lead soldier’s horse remained eerily calm. He gazed down at Dael with something akin to recognition in his eyes, and before Dael knew what was what, he’d been plucked up and thrown across the man’s saddle.

The soldier said, deliberately for Dael to understand, “Forget the old woman. We have what we came for.”

Dael’s world jolted and spun as the horse lurched away, and then his world went white.

Pushing Gifts

The lead soldier laughed. “I know what I have gained, claiming you as a prize.”

“Angelus Caput,” one of the other soldiers said, and strange words flowed from his lips.

Dael put a hand on Ma’s shoulder, nudged. “Run,” he whispered.

She hesitated. The soldiers were arguing. Dael nudged her again.

“Now,” he hissed.

She was confused; the soldiers talked of slavery, but they seemed kind, almost jocular. She didn’t realize they’d probably killed her husband and other son.

“Run, Ma!” Dael yelled, and shoved.

The soldiers cried out, brought up their weapons.

Dael reached for his gift and pushed.

Won and the Choice is Yours

“A slave?” Ma echoed, puzzled. Dael put a hand on her wrist.

“You intend to make a slave of me?” he asked.

The soldier smirked. “A boy like you would fetch an excellent price.”

Dael met the man’s gaze. “What would you sell me for - a house, a field?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps the colosseum, or a lady’s bed.” The soldier smirked.

Colosseum. Dael had never heard the word before. The way the other soldiers chuckled, it couldn’t be good.

“You don’t know what you waste, turning me into a slave,” Dael said. “But you’ve won, and the choice is yours.”

Spirit for a Slave

The soldier spoke with a northern accent, but he had darker skin than Dael had ever imagined - he was stranger than most. Ma made the sign against evil. The other soldiers stirred, surprised at this soldier' ability to speak so fluently. 

"Vikings?"

"Fierce warriors.  Raiders.  Massive men, pale, in dragonboats," the soldier said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You don't really look big enough to be one, but I haven't seen hair that color since, well, the Franks, but -"

"We know not the king," Dael said. 

The soldier blinked, confused, but then he laughed. "You have spirit - for a slave."