The man stared at her, his pupils wide. She could not tell if it was from fear or surprise. Nobody had told her his name, she realised.
“Greetings again,” she said. “I’m here to change your bandages and check if you’re healing properly.”
He said nothing, and continued to stare. Well, she could hardly expect him to speak, since his jaw had been broken and his head was bound up to prevent it from moving. This was going to be a one-sided conversation.
“You must be in a lot of pain,” she continued. “I can give you medicine to dull it. Would you like that?”
The man blinked, then nodded once.
Smiling, Tessia turned to her father’s bag and brought out a syrup her father used to treat children. The slave would have trouble swallowing, and a draught of powder mixed in water was likely to leave bitter-tasting grit in his mouth if he couldn’t drink it easily. She would have to thin out the syrup with some water, too, and dribble it through a siphon inserted between his lips.
As the medication ran into the man’s mouth he stiffened, then swallowed. But he didn’t relax again and his eyes were wide as he stared over her shoulder.
He looks terrified, she thought.
A small gust of air told her that the door was open.
Pulling the siphon out, she stepped back and looked up to see who Cannia had sent to her. The man who gazed back at her was tall, bulky and wearing exotic-looking clothing.
Her heart froze in horror.
“I see you’ve come back to check on Hanara,” the Sachakan said, with a smile that lacked any genuine gratitude. “How good of you. Is he going to live?”
She drew in a breath and somehow found her voice. “I do not know... master.”
“It won’t matter if he doesn’t,” he told her in a reassuring tone.
She could not think of anything to say to that, so she said nothing. Where is the servant Cannia said she’d send? she thought. Where’s Lord Dakon, for that matter? Surely he doesn’t let the Sachakan roam the house unsupervised...
“I suppose he’s a good patient to experiment on,” the Sachakan said, looking at his slave. “Perhaps you’ll learn something new.” The slave avoided his master’s gaze. The Sachakan looked at her again. “Enjoy yourself.”
He backed out of the doorway and closed the door. Tessia let out a sigh of relief, and heard another exhalation follow her own. She looked at the slave and smiled crookedly.
“Your master has a strange idea of fun,” she murmured. Then she set to work replacing his bandages.
He made no noise as she worked, only occasionally catching his breath as those bandages that had stuck a little to the wounds came away. His injuries were looking remarkably good – minimal swelling and redness, and no festering ooze. She wiped all carefully with a purifier and replaced the soiled bandages with clean ones.
When she had finished at last, the Sachakan’s visit was a distant, unpleasant memory. She packed her father’s bag and picked it up. Pausing at the door, she nodded at the slave.
“Rest well, Hanara.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly, the closest he could get to a smile. Feeling pleased with her work, she stepped out of the room and started down the corridor to the servants’ stairs, wondering if her parents were awake yet.
From one of the doorways drifted a voice that sent her heart sinking to her knees.
“Have you finished, Tessia?”
The Sachakan. She stopped, then cursed herself for doing so. If she hadn’t, she could have pretended not to have heard him, but now that it was obvious she had she could not ignore him without being rude. Drawing a deep breath, she took two steps back and looked into the room. It was a seating room, furnished with comfortable chairs and small tables on which a guest could rest a drink or a book. The Sachakan was sitting in a large wooden chair.
“I have, master,” she replied.
“Come here.”
His request was spoken quietly, but in the steely tone of a man who expected to be obeyed. With heart racing, Tessia moved to the doorway. The Sachakan smiled and waved a hand.
“All the way here,” he said.
Stepping inside the room, she stopped a few paces away from him and concentrated on keeping her face as expressionless as possible.
From behind her came the sound of the door closing firmly. She jumped, her heart skipping a beat. Then she cursed, because she knew she had let fear show on her face. Let’s hope he thought it was surprise, she told herself. She realised she was breathing too fast, and tried to slow her breaths.
The Sachakan rose and walked towards her, all the while staring into her eyes. Someone had told her once that meeting a Sachakan’s eyes was to show him you thought yourself his equal. Unless you were a powerful magician, he might decide to teach you otherwise. She looked down.
“There is a private matter I wish to discuss with you,” he told her quietly.
She nodded. “Your slave. He is—”
“No. Something else. I’ve been watching you. You’ve got some unique qualities, for a Kyralian. I’ve noticed nobody here knows your true worth. Am I right? I could change that.”
He moved a little closer. Too close. She took a step back. What game is he playing? she thought. Does he think he’s so powerful that he can change the way we live here in Kyralia? Or does he think I’d fall for something as stupid as an offer of a better life in Sachaka?
“If I can’t convince anyone here that I can be a healer, I doubt it’ll be any different elsewhere, where people don’t know me,” she told him.
He paused, then chuckled. “Oh, the healing is only part of your worth. The rest of you is being wasted even more. Look at you...”
Coming closer again, he reached out and touched the side of her face. She flinched away.
“. . . those fine bones. That sleek hair and such pale skin. When I first came here I thought Kyralian women were ugly, but now and then I’d see one that changed my mind. Like you. Your foolish men . . .” His voice had been growing quieter and more intense, and she found herself backing away from hands reaching out to touch her hair . . . snaking round her waist.
“Stop it!” she said, dropping the bag and pushing his hands away.
He paused, then his expression darkened. “Nobody wants what you have, girl. So nobody is going to care if I take it.”
Something began to squeeze her from all sides. Looking around, she could not see any sign of the force pressing against her. A relentless pressure at her back pushed her forward. It forced her against the Sachakan, who laughed.
“Lord Dakon,” she coughed out. “He won’t let you—”
“He’s not here. And what’s he going to do when he finds out? Punish me? I’ll be halfway home by then. How many people do you want knowing, anyway?”
As he plucked at the front of her tunic she tried to move her arms, but some invisible force held them still. She could not move her legs, either. She could not move anything. Not even her head. And as she opened her mouth to yell she felt something invisible envelop it and force her jaw closed again. The Sachakan’s grinning, leering face loomed over her. Her skin crawled. Her skull throbbed as if it would burst.
Is he inside my head? She closed her eyes, concentrated on the feeling and tried to push it away.
Get off get off get off GET OFF!
Suddenly the force holding her melted away and she fell backwards. At the same time she felt a sensation of something pouring out of her. A bright, bright light behind her eyelids was followed by a resounding crash.
Tessia felt her back meet the floor. The impact hurt, and her eyes flew open. She scrambled up into a sitting position and then froze as she took in the scene before her. One corner of the room was now a mess of broken furniture. The walls were cracked. Black marks radiated away from her, and she smelled the acrid scent of smoke.