Chapter 1

It had been little more than a week prior that King Orgud had first taken notice of me. I'd been impounded along with the rest of my imprisoned master's belongings and I was frightened, disoriented, and dizzy with hunger. Surely that was why I didn't recognize him for who he was. At least that is my story.

On that whirlwind of a morning, I was aware of little else but that I was staring into the maw of an uncertain future. Four years prior, I'd had every reason to believe in a good life ahead of me. Highly recommended by the masters at the seminary—one of their darlings, in fact. And it had all come to this.

Now I crouched in a corner of the room with furniture, rugs, and crates of clothes and fine liquors, doing my best to escape the notice of the men who'd just entered. Stupidly, of course, given that I was the only flesh and blood there. I trembled, though I was clothed and the room couldn't have been that cold on a late spring day.

"Has an inventory been done?"

"Just begun. Perhaps by tonight. But we won't have an appraisal before the end of the week. I doubt it will cover more than a quarter of reparations, though."

I listened to the movements of the pair while keeping my head bowed, careful not to move a muscle, not even my eyes, only listening to the men's voices discuss the contents of the room. I'd known Lord Riedich had been involved in shady dealings, had been suspicious of it within a month of arriving in his home three, nearly four years ago, now. Hidden books, locked files, strangers at night and hushed conversations behind closed doors. Harsh admonitions to keep my eyes to myself, when they hadn't even been straying. It didn't take an overly clever boy to put those pieces together.

But it wasn't a slave's place to pass judgment on the master, not even if he'd done murder. Your master owned you, and in truth, a loose tongue was a good way to find yourself an alehouse whore for the rest of your life, working in public houses for beans and bread, bending unceremoniously for any drunk with a coin for the Keep. Having a slave was as good as having a dog, and the notion that pets might start reporting on masters would wreak havoc on the economy of the entire State.

So I'd known something was going on, but honestly, I hadn't conceived its import. Treason, tax evasion, war profiteering, supplying weapons to the monotheists that fought my homeland…and yes, murder…contracted, anyway, a few times over. Hefty charges, indeed, and it looked as if Lord Riedich would swing from a rope before the summer was gone. Not that I mourned the loss. He'd been an unimaginative and cruel man, and would've spit me out in another couple of years, in any case.

"And what of that one? He must be worth something." This one's voice wavered shakily, but carried a tone of iced iron nonetheless. Age, most likely.

"Hard to say…depends on his training. Could fetch anywhere from five to twenty five hundred chits. Assuming there's no damage, of course."

"You there. Boy."

I looked up at the man, having had a clear enough address now. He was ancient, even older than his voice betrayed, and stood stooped over, clutching an ornate staff that was taller than he was and tipped in gold plate. The other man was younger, but by no more than ten years, I didn't think. He bore a staff as well, but a short one, and plain. They were both dressed splendidly, the elder in several layers of richly colored robes, the other in more simple ones. It was an ancient, formal style of dress peculiar to these northlands and I'd only ever seen it on elders. Younger men—even of the highest stations—rarely wore such heavy tapestry, seeming to prefer the ease of trousers and buttoning shirts.

On seeing their dress, I realized that they must both be important officials, so I scrambled to my feet and quickly moved before them. Being more than a little frightened, I spoke in my most deferential tones and kept my eyes to the floor. "Yes, my Lord."

By now, you realize that this man was King Orgud, so you know already how well that attempt at respect was received. Swift as a rifle shot, the other man caught my shoulders with a hard rap of his cane. "Kneel, fool! Do not address your King so. Are you a dimwit?"

Blanching, I dropped, not only to my knees, but onto my face, forehead pressed to the dusty floor, arms sprawled to his feet, blathering out begged apologies and pleas, stupidly, as if indeed, my brain had been starved of air at birth.

"Enough. Rise. Lord Vero and I require answers from you."

I rose quickly to a kneel, but not before the other—Lord Vero, presumably—prodded me again, and it took all of my training not to cry out at the sharp jab to my ribs.

"Your Majesty." I kept my voice low and submissive, my eyes trained to the floor. I hoped this pleased the King and his retainer. Interacting properly with a northern monarch hadn't been a large part of my training. One knee pushed painfully against a sharp corner of flagstone, but it served to keep me alert. "I will answer as best I know how."

"You are skin and bones."

"Yes, your Majesty. As it please you."

"It does not. Did Lord Riedich starve you?"

Intentionally set or not, questions such as those were traps and I hesitated before giving a cautious reply. "He fed me, your Majesty. He believed me too large."

The King grunted and muttered something under his breath. "Were you abused?"

I flushed then, because that is no sort of question to ask a slave. There were laws, yes, to protect us, and certainly, Lord Riedich had been tight-roping—if not breaking—those laws. But to ask a slave to complain about his owner? Gods, who were we, if we learned to question the fitness of our masters? Once we entertained those notions—'yes, the master is unfair'—when did it stop? Once begun, how could we live with who we were—who we had to be to survive?

I only understand this now, after having had the luxury of time and safety to ponder the delicacy of the enslaved mind. That morning, all I knew was that I floundered, unable to process the question, much less come up with a suitably decorous reply.

But the King preempted me with an impatient huff. "No matter. It's clear enough." He muttered for a moment, and then said aloud, "You're an eroment." A mangling of my mother tongue, but Lord Riedich had used the term as well—it seemed to have become rooted in the North Isles.

"Yes, your Majesty." My dress told him as much. Loose breeches of sheer fabric slung low on my hips, a sleeveless tunic dropping to midriff, open low down the front. Among male slaves, only the eromenos wore clothing so delicate and suggestive. "From Eros Seminary, nurtured since infancy."

It was more information than he'd asked for, but I cherish the purity of my origin and my earlier gaffe still stung. I didn't want him to think me common.

"Eros? But that is well within the Grecian States…you have the complexion of a Gael." The King's reaction came as no surprise. I was fair and golden, akin to the people up here. Most from the southern lands were not, especially along the sea, with brown eyes being common, dark hair and smooth olive skin the norm.

"Yes, your Majesty. I was a foundling. They knew not my origins, but kept me and raised me in their customs and arts."

"He will fetch well for that. Authentic and all, you realize. It is quite the status symbol. And worth the expense, by all accounts." My value had clearly risen in the Lord Vero's eyes, but King Orgud only grunted his understanding and changed the subject.

"Did Lord Riedich use you for else? Kitchen, outdoor labor?"

I faltered, and heard my voice drop a notch. I didn't like that my discomfort was so obvious, but it was difficult to keep it from my voice. "Light kitchen and housework, your Majesty. Tea, breakfast and lunch. No cooking, though. A cook came in the evenings, a housekeeper by day."

That he'd used me for labor was no crime, but it spoke poorly for his character and would hurt him during sentencing. Mostly though, it shamed me to admit that I'd been worth so little to him. After a pause, I amended, "Mostly sexual pleasure, though."

"You are bruised." This from Lord Vero, who by now I'd decided was a financial advisor. "Are you damaged?"

I hadn't seen a mirror today; the raid had come too early. But there was bruising at my hip and judging from the soreness around my neck, the sting on my lip and the puffiness of my eye, Lord Vero had good reason to be suspicious.

"No, my Lord." I hoped the address sufficed; I didn't want to offend again. "I think not. Light lashes. Some abrasion. Nothing permanent."

My back entrance still burned like fire, but it had only been last night, not even twelve hours gone, and usually the swelling cleared up within a few days. As long as I kept it clean and salved, that was. Would they allow me to cleanse today?

"But Lord Riedich beat you."

"Yes, your Majesty. For correction and pleasure."

"And raped you."

I was silent, but shook my head fractionally, distressed. Rape? How exactly did one rape an eromenos? The raw sting in my ass gave me a quick idea, but I shoved that from my mind in a panic. Following that trail only led to mental torment. It couldn't be raped if it wasn't mine to begin with.

The King was silent for a moment, and I could feel him eyeing me thoughtfully. "Do you have training for that?"

I was grateful for the question, because though I sometimes wished Lord Riedich was less cruel, I was uneasy with all of the damning questions that I'd been answering in the affirmative. As if I was knotting his noose, and I did not want rumors flying to that effect. I had to find a home, and I preferred it not be in the seedier parts of the city.

"Yes, your Majesty. I have specialty training in pain tolerance and deep submission. The master bought me expressly for this purpose."

The King paused, eyeing me strangely, then commanded, "Stand. Strip."

Anxious to show my worth, I obeyed with my best show of grace, pulling my tunic overhead as I rose and loosening my breeches with a single tug of a tie at the waist. I stepped out of them, kicking them lightly towards where I'd dropped the tunic, then stood straight, feet slightly apart and arms folded across the small of my back. Bowing my head, I kept my gaze towards the floor.

"How tall are you?" That from Lord Vero, in a tone most business-like. I kept my wince behind my expression.

"One-hundred ninety cents, my Lord." Too tall, I knew. Taller than most men, towering over many. Men who wanted submissive boys to serve them did not want to be looking up to see their eyes. My growth had come late, nearly fifteen cents since Lord Riedich had bought me. It had enraged him enough that he'd insisted I stay on my knees in his presence, knocking me down whenever I stood, teaching me to crawl to him when he called. Very like a dog.

The King turned to his advisor, casting a quick glance my way. "Overly tall perhaps, but a pretty one nonetheless, is he not?"

Lord Vero nodded. "Behind the black and blue, yes, he is. And poised."

A pretty one. Familiar words. I'd been hearing them since young. The seminary masters always made sure we understood our strengths, and presumably, an almost feminine beauty had been one of mine. My hair was silken and thick, deep gold with an autumn red in the highlights that took fire when the sun struck it. At the prompting of the masters, I'd grown it long, past my shoulder blades, and Lord Riedich had seen fit to keep it that way. A spray of pale freckles, wide round eyes of deep blue, a straight nose, and full lips that I'd learned to hold in a sensual pout. The full effect, when curried, had been one of angelic innocence. The kind of face men enjoy brutalizing, simply to watch the tears fall and the eyes redden…to hear sobbing pleas of agony through swollen lips. I'd been trained to play that well.

I was reassured to know the King thought me pretty, and relieved nearly to the point of tears that his advisor agreed. You wouldn't think I needed their approval, given the glowing description I've just given of myself. Likely you are even disgusted by my fragile vanity. But you must understand that I'd had no pillow talk in the years I'd been with Lord Riedich—years that I'd grown like summer corn. There'd been no other slaves to reassure me. His cook had disliked me and Lord Riedich would fly into the ugliest of rages if another man so much as looked at me twice, so I'd taken to avoiding his guests whenever possible.

I used to study myself in the mirror as I trimmed my hair and smoothed my skin, and though it never told me I was ugly, it did tell me I was a precious child no longer. I worried that I was no longer attractive—not compared to the fresh-faced young virgins just released from seminary. Tall men with high cheekbones and broadening chests are no longer innocent cherubs, no matter how sulky their pout. Beauty is nine-tenths of all an eromenos has, and skill counts for little if you don't have that primary draw.

I needed for someone to desire me long enough to appreciate the one-tenth. Someone with means.

I badly wanted a home.

"Boy, how old are you?"

"Nineteen come solstice, my Lord."

"Getting old, my King, but given his leanness, he should still fetch well." And there, you see? It was just as well that Lord Riedich had rationed my food so strictly.

The King studied me, looking thoughtful. "Skinny, if you ask me. Can't be healthy. Only feral wolves find an interest in the infirm lamb." His comment jarred me. I couldn't afford to be particular, not now, but all else equal, I'd prefer someone with a conscience have me.

Bending forward, Lord Vero pinched my earlobe and peered at it. "The skin is unmarred." He straightened and walked to my back, eyes scanning me. "Boy, did Lord Riedich mark you?"

"No, my Lord."

"No piercings, tattoos?"

"None, my Lord."

The lord grunted. "Unusual. How do you explain this, boy?"

"I think…" I stumbled on this; I'd never understood it either. "Forgive me, my Lord. I think he couldn't be bothered. He spoke of branding me once. But nothing came of it." In truth, I think he lost interest when he realized I'd accept it without fear.

Turning back to the King, Lord Vero said, "The State's fortune then. It will raise his value if he's a clean slate."

King Orgud had been quiet throughout this discussion, but spoke now. "Do you think Lord Nygell would like him?"

The advisor looked at the King askance, an eyebrow raised in question, but the King continued. "You see how he carries a rage within him. He's been worse of late; I worry it will begin to affect troop morale. Perhaps one like this would be a good…outlet. The boy has the training."

"He is taller than the Lord. By a good ten cents."

"Lord Egan was tall. So was the commoner he brought home as a youngster. And that cripple he visits. I think he has an eye for height."

Lord Vero winced at the mention of the other Lord's name, but nodded. "Perhaps, my King. It could prevent another…scandal. There is that."

"Near-scandal, Vero, near-scandal. Nothing ever came of it."

"Only by your swift action, my King."

The King nodded distractedly, conceding the point. "But if he had a boy…"

"If it is openly done, I daresay Lord Nygell is ill likely to accept with grace. Not if it comes as a gift from you." The Lord Vero paused before bowing his head and adding, "Forgive me, my King." And no wonder, to talk to royalty so.

The King gave a low laugh, humored, I think, but there was anger there. "Unnecessary. You are correct, and it is your frankness that keeps you close to me." He gave me one last sweep of eyes, from foot to crown, and grunted. "Bring him to a physician, and see to it that he is well fed until the auction. Four years with that jackal is quite enough and I'd prefer he attract pockets of better breeding."

"My King."

And then they left me to the room, where I dusted off my garments and dressed again, then sat back on the floor, wrapped my arms around my legs, and began to shiver in earnest.