Hanara jolted awake again, but this time he found himself stiff, in pain and breathing hard. Kyralia. House of a magician. Hurt. Must heal before Takado— He heard voices and a shiver ran down his spine. The voices came closer. Stopped outside the door to his room.
He took slow, deep breaths and willed his heart to stop racing.
It refused.
The door creaked open and light spilled in. Hanara recognised the healer, the young woman who assisted him, and Lord Dakon. He sank into the bed with relief.
“Sorry for waking you, Hanara,” the healer said. “Since I was here, I thought I’d check on you. How are you feeling?”
Hanara looked at all the expectant faces, then reluctantly croaked an answer.
“Better.”
The healer nodded. His daughter smiled. Seeing the warmth in her eyes, Hanara felt his heart constrict again. Looking at her was not unlike watching a newborn slave child, vulnerable and ignorant. But when looking at the slave child, he also felt sympathy and sadness. He knew the hardship and pain it would face and hoped that it would be strong enough, and lucky enough, to achieve a feeling of long-life.
Hanara did not yet feel he’d reached long-life. It was a state, slaves said, where you felt satisfied you had lived long enough. Where you didn’t feel cheated if you died. You might not have had an easy life, or a happy one, but you’d had your measure. Or you had made a difference to the world, even a small one, because you had existed.
He’d known slaves who had said they’d reached that state in under twenty years, and old slaves who still didn’t feel they’d achieved it yet. Some said it came when they’d sired or birthed a child. Some said it happened when they had completed the best work they’d ever done. Some said it was an unexpected benefit of helping another slave. Some even said it came from serving their master well and loyally.
It was said most slaves never felt it. Hanara hadn’t felt it even when a child he suspected he’d fathered had been born. He’d never had a chance to make his best work with wood. He’d helped other slaves in only minor ways, which didn’t give him any great feeling of satisfaction. Serving Takado was probably the only chance he’d have of feeling long-life. Ironically, it was also likely to lead to his dying before he had that chance.
And what chance was there now that he was stuck in Kyralia?
As the healer fussed and poked at Hanara he asked many questions. Hanara said as little as possible. Though none of the questions were about anything but his wounds and his health, he could never be sure whether he was revealing anything he shouldn’t. Takado had warned him of that, before they came to Kyralia.
Eventually the healer turned to the magician. “
He’s healing fast. Better than I expected. I have no doubts now that he’ll recover. It’s quite extraordinary.”
The magician’s lips thinned into a wry smile. “Hanara was Takado’s source slave. Though he cannot use his magic, it still gives him the same advantages of fast healing and resilience that all magicians enjoy.”
The healer nodded. “Lucky man.”
“So this healing is automatic?” the young woman asked. “Unconscious?”
The magician smiled at her. “Yes. You have this ability, too. Have you not always healed quickly, and rarely sickened?”
She paused at that, as if it had only just occurred to her, then nodded. “So if we could find a way to consciously heal, could we apply it to others?”
“Maybe,” the magician replied. “Magicians must have tried it before, but with no success, so I doubt it is easy – if it is possible at all.”
Her eyes shifted to Hanara. He could tell her attention was more on whatever thoughts this discussion had stirred than on himself. The magician followed her gaze, then met Hanara’s eyes.
“Sounds like you’ll be up and about soon, Hanara,” he said. “Takado said that if you recovered I could do whatever I wished with you. Since slavery is outlawed here, that means you can no longer be a slave.” He smiled. “You are free.”
A thrill ran through Hanara. Free? Could he really stay here, in this dream-like land of gentle people? Would he be given reward in return for work, and choose what to do with it – to travel, to learn to read, to form bonds with people... have friends, a woman who wasn’t indifferent to him, children he could raise in kindness and have some hope of protecting from—
No. A wave of sickening realisation brought him back to reality. Takado only said Lord Dakon could do whatever he wanted with me because if he had revealed he was coming back for me, Lord Dakon might have tried to hide me away.
He might still, if Hanara told him the truth.
He wouldn’t do it well enough, because he doesn’t know Takado. Takado loves a hunt. He will track me down. He’ll find me. He’ll read my mind and find out I ran away from him. Then he’ll kill me. No. I’m better off waiting until he returns.
And enjoying what freedom he could have in the meantime.
But at that thought his stomach sank again.
Or does he expect me to go home as soon as I’m able to? Will he only return here if I don’t? Only punish me if I stay here?
The visitors were leaving now. Hanara watched them go, envying them their freedom, yet at the same time despising them for their ignorance. They knew nothing. They were fools. Takado would return.
After opening her eyes the next morning, Tessia spent a long moment lying in bed gazing at the room she had slept in.
She could not quite believe it was hers.
The walls were painted the colour of a summer sky. A night-wood screen covered the enormous window. The large chests, cupboards, desk, chair and bed were made of the same rare and expensive timber. The covering on her bed was quilted and made of the softest cloth she had ever touched, and the mattress beneath was even and slightly spongy.
Framed paintings hung from the walls. All were landscapes, and she recognised most of the settings as local. A small vase contained some field herbs, their zesty fragrance lightening the air.
The fireplace was as large as the one in the kitchen of her home.
This is my home now. That she should have to remind herself of this now seemed terribly predictable, but also incredible. I bet I have to say that to myself many, many more mornings before this place starts to feel like home.
She sat up. Nobody had told her what routine she should follow or expect. Lord Dakon hadn’t even told her when she should present herself for her first lesson.
Lying in bed was not her habit so she got up and wandered around the room in her nightshift examining its furnishings and unpacking some of her belongings from her trunk. One of the room’s chests held books, a folder of parchment and writing tools. The books were histories, magical texts and even a few of the novels written for entertainment that her father had once described to her.
He’d had a low opinion of the latter. She’d never read one, so she picked up the first and started to read.
When the knock came at the door she found she was already a quarter of the way through the book. It was as frivolous as her father had described, yet she was enjoying it. While the escapades of the characters were unbelievable, she found the minor details of life in the city of Imardin fascinating. The lives of these men and women did not hang on the success of crops or the health of livestock, but on wise alliances with honourable men and women, the favour of the king, and a good marriage.
Replacing the book in the chest, Tessia rose to answer the door. She opened it a crack to see who was there. A buxom young serving woman smiled and stepped inside as Tessia opened the door for her.