Household Colors

The duties for formal banquets, as it turned out, were numerous and complicated, and Dael supposed he should have paid better attention instead of smiling at Flavia, because the tunica Quintus was trying to force on him was hideous.

“They’re the household colors,” Quintus insisted. “All who serve at table will be wearing them.”

“A corpse wouldn’t be seen wearing them,” Dael said.

“You have to wear it, it’ll be the lash for you.” Quintus waggled the tunica warningly.

Dael sighed. “Fine. I’ll wear it.”

He pretended he didn’t see Flavia stifle laughter when he stepped into the dining room.

Her Happiness

Dael could only sputter wordlessly, but then Flavia turned and walked away, and Quintus came to tell him Tertius was looking for him.

Later, when Tertius was informing Dael he’d been restored to his former duties, Dael spotted Flavia with Tertius’s lieutenant, reviewing the guest list. Her expression was grim, and there was an air of exhaustion about her.

Tertius had just started in on Dael’s extensive list of duties for formal banquets when Flavia looked up.

Dael caught her gaze and smiled.

She smiled back, her happiness emerging from her exhaustion like the sun from behind a storm cloud.

Size Isn't Everything (Reprise)

He swallowed carefully, then straightened up. “It is sweet,” he said.

Flavia smiled, pleased. “Do you think it’s sweet enough to catch tadpoles?”

It was Dael’s turn to be confused. “Perhaps, but...it’s too big, don’t you think? It might crush the tadpole.”

“Maybe.”

Flavia leaned in, gazed into his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

“But remember,” she said, “size isn’t everything.” And she patted the top of his head.

Dael knew the condescending gesture, had endured it from his brother all his life. “Oy! I’m not short!”

Flavia’s eyes were bright with suppressed mirth. “I never said you were.”

Juice and Skin

Dael caught it easily. “Do you wish to play a game?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It had a pocked surface, was spongy.

Flavia laughed softly and came toward him. “No - it’s fruit. From Hispania. You must peel it before you eat it. Watch.”

Dael handed the ball back to her and watched her sink her nails into the surface, peel back to a layer of pale whiteness. And then a translucent orange wedge fell onto her palm. She offered it to him.

“Try it - it’s sweet,” she said.

He leaned forward, tasted juice and her skin.

Something Sweet

Dael said, “You might try a net, or perhaps a treat. What do tadpoles like to eat?”

“I don’t know,” Flavia said.

“Maybe something sweet?” Dael suggested.

Flavia shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”

Someone shouted from the kitchen, and both turned back to the house.

Dael hefted his water jars. “I’d better get moving.”

Flavia nodded. “We both have duties.”

“Farewell, Flavia. For now.” And Dael headed for the well.

Later that afternoon, he spotted Flavia as she returned from sword practice. She trotted up the veranda and paused, called his name.

She added, “Catch.”

She threw him an orange ball.

Size Isn't Everything

Flavia looked up. “Pardon?”

“The face on the surface of the water is beautiful,” Dael said quietly. “You keep destroying it.”

At first, Flavia was confused; then a cautious smile settled over her features.

“I’m trying to catch a tadpole,” she said.

Dael didn’t know the word, and Flavia explained with gestures and sound effects. Eventually, Dael realized she meant a baby frog.

“They’re tiny,” he said, peering into the fountain.

“Makes them hard to catch,” Flavia said, and met his gaze briefly before turning back to the water.

Dael said, “Size isn’t everything,” and lifted an eyebrow.

Flavia laughed.

Images Marred

The day after that, when Dael rose early in the morning and started for the well with water jugs under each arm, he saw Flavia again. This time she was sitting in the garden, on the edge of the fountain, staring at her reflection. Every once in a while, she’d reach out, hand darting fast as a snake, and thrust her hand into the water.

Each time, her hand came out empty.

Dael came to stand beside her, curious.

On the surface of the water, he saw her reflection.

She struck the water again.

“Why mar such a lovely image?”

After the Banquet

The next day, while Dael was hauling jars of water into the kitchen, he spotted Flavia on the veranda again. He knew from the glow of her skin and her tousled hair she’d been out practicing with her sword. She was leaning on the railing and gazing out at the garden, eyes distant.

He paused beside her a respectful distance away. “My lady.”

She slewed him a sideways glance.

He corrected himself. “Flavia.”

She half-smiled. “Dael.”

“I hope practice was well,” he said.

Her smile brightened. “It was very well. Perhaps,” she said, “after the banquet, you'll join me.”

Hope, Restore

“Cook says you’ve been great help preparing for the banquet.” Flavia looked at him hopefully.

Dael knew better than to upset a member of the household proper and met her gaze. “I have learned much about cooking.”

Flavia must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, for she nodded and took a respectful step back. She went from exhausted girl to lady of the house in a single instant; Dael envied her ability to pretend.

“I will have Tertius restore you to you former duties. I’ll need you nearby for the banquet.” She turned away, paused. “Don’t forget your sword.”

Missing

He bowed his head deferentially and said, “Mistress.”

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you – I’m sorry.”

Dael lifted his head, startled. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard those words.

“I didn’t mean for Tertius to banish you to the kitchen.”

“I cannot question your wisdom in running your household –”

“I’ve missed you,” she said suddenly.

Dael fell quiet. He wanted to tell her he’d missed her too, he’d been desperate to kiss her again.

“I miss sparring with you, and...”

Of course. She missed her pet. Dael bit his lip and looked away.

Same Skies

The veranda stretching around the entire perimeter of the house afforded him excellent views of the night sky, and he wondered why he’d never looked before. Somewhere far away, his mother was looking at the same night sky, he knew it.

Dael tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, curled his hands into fists. He could feel it, blue power dancing just beneath a skin. On a night like this, if he wished it enough, he could raise a man from the dead.

Footsteps startled him, and he spun, ready for a bow or a sharp word.

Flavia said, “Dael.”

Born-Day

Dael knew his born-day instinctively, always woke the with a sense of alive he didn’t feel any other day of the year. Back home he’d know by the colors of the plants his born-day was close. Here, in this prison-land, he woke to it suddenly. When he took his waking breath, his first thought was that he’d see Ma, Da, and Cerdic. They’d eat all his favorite foods and share gifts.

Then he remembered where he was, so he worked silently all day, and saved enough energy to slip out and look at the stars that night.

Unnumbered Days

Dael spent the next unnumbered days - too many to count - banished to the kitchens, scrubbing and chopping and hauling, boiling and scraping and kneading. Quintus looked sympathetic, but Tertius just looked smug, as if Dael had received some sort of comeuppance he hadn’t even known he deserved. Most days Dael didn’t even get to stick his nose out of the kitchen, and if he had any notions of wandering around during his free time, Cook kept him so busy he just collapsed onto his pallet.

The few times he glimpsed Flavia, he noticed she looked as drained as he felt.

Cursed the Gods

Flavia shook her head. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She turned and fled.

Dael started after her and nearly tripped over her sword. He caught himself just in time to watch Flavia vanish around the corner. He sighed, picked up the sword. He was a fool. She was his owner; he was just a slave who was particularly good at meeting her every strange whim, like sword-fighting and calling her by her given name.

But he was still a slave, and she was the one who owned him.

Dael cursed the gods, picked his sword, and headed for home.

No, Please, Again

Dael sucked in a shuddering breath. He tried to say her name, but instead of words what came out was a moan when his lips brushed hers, and then they were kissing.

Kissing.

He’d once kissed Damia, a girl in his village, when he was five, and Cerdic had told tales of kissing girls, how it was like dying and coming alive all at once, the world roaring in black and white and stars behind his eyelids and –

Flavia jerked back, her eyes wide, her expression stricken. “Dael, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

He reached for her. “No, please, again.”

Not Alone

Dael’s breath caught - up close, her eyes really were golden, flame-bright.

“Mistress,” he began, and she shook her head. The tip of her nose brushed his.

“I told you - call me Flavia,” she whispered.

She was close enough Dael could feel her warmth, could feel his own heart racing against his ribs.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Flavia said, and she was so close their lips almost touched. “Both of us kidnapped, taken to places unknown, and burdened with inexplicable power.”

Fire. She could make fire. That’s why Dael felt so warm.

“With you I’m not alone.”

Nose-to-Nose

“I’m sure Angelus thinks so,” Flavia said. “But this place is so...different. Women here, while many are intelligent and well-spoken are fierce...” She shook her head. “I’m as much as a slave as you are - you just can’t see my chains.” She sat up. “But you’re right - I suppose I should head back, see to the banquet he’s hosting next week. We’ll have lots to prepare.”

Dael hauled his tired body to his feet, offered a hand to her. When he pulled her up, she rose lightly as a dancer, and then they were almost nose-to-nose.

Other Things

When they were exhausted, Flavia toppled over into the grass, her delighted laughter ringing in the air.

“You’re getting much better,” she said. “We can practice every day now.”

Dael sprawled beside her, careful to keep his sword within reach. He noticed she had done the same. “If you wish it.”

“You know I do.”

“Not to sound...impertinent, but don’t you have other things to do besides teach an uppity, disobedient slave how to wield a sword?” He tilted his head to look at her. In the fading sunlight, she was beautiful, the setting sun turning her skin golden.

Confused Moments

Dael didn’t know when Flavia spoke to Angelus, but one morning when he and Quintus were huddled over their morning bowls of gruel, Tertius stepped into the room and demanded Dael to his feet. Dael scrambled to obey, bowed, and had to fight off the urge to recoil when two servants descended and began putting their arms around his waist. A few confused moment later, he had a sword belt strapped to his waist, complete with a version of the sword he used to practice with Flavia.

And ten minutes later, he and Flavia were sparring in an open field.

Something Else

Dael rolled his eyes. “Living with the gods, or roaming the stars? You believe that?”

“Maybe. And maybe it’s something else.” Flavia tugged on his shoulder. “Hurry along now - we have things to do if we want to make this work.”

“Shouldn’t we train with a sword some more?”

“Yes, you should,” she said. “I need to have a word with Angelus and ensure you will have permission to carry a sword.”

Dael’s eyes lit up. “My own sword?”

“For my protection, of course. You saw how those guards were.” Flavia turned her nose up and mock-sniffed. “You ready?”