“It might have indeed,” Daldrin nodded, his mind and eyes suddenly sober. “Just as it may have been as I suggested. Your power must surely be a terrible possession, to breed such doubts about those who may care for you. Does it bring joy as great as the pain it engenders?”
Again I stared at him silently, having just heard the same question I’d asked myself a thousand times. There was no true, final answer to the question; there was only the partial response I’d been able to come up with.
“The power did not come to me as a result of my desiring it,” I shrugged, then lay down flat on the carpet fur beside him. “Whatever it brings must be accepted, just as the power itself must be accepted. Just as you accept the commands of the Chama.”
The expression changed in his light eyes, sharpening to match the surge of fury that caught him unawares, twisting his insides as it tightened his jaw muscles. Then he had control of himself again, and a bitter smile came down to me with his stare.
“You strike at me as I struck at you,” he said, reaching over to run his thumb down my cheek. “The action is fitting—in a l’lenda, foolhardy in a wenda. And yet I will answer you more fully than you have answered me. It is true I bring pain upon myself, yet there is little else I might do. The Chama Aesnil holds my brother prisoner as well, his well-being the bond for my behavior, mine the bond for his. He is bound as vendra in Aesnil’s arena, I as a servant-slave in her halls. We each of us do what we must to preserve the life of the other.”
“What is a vendra?” I asked, sure I’d heard the word before, but not from him.
“A vendra is a warrior enchained.” He sighed, moving his finger from my cheek to my collarbone. “The vendraa fight upon the sands of the arena, at times with beasts hungry for their flesh, at times with each other for the privilege of retaining life. We each of us accounted for enough of the Chama’s guard upon being captured to qualify of the arena, yet we knew the dangers of accepting such an arrangement. It was inevitable that the Chama would have us face one another for her amusement, and this we would not do. Therefore did we draw lots, the winner to go to the arena, the loser to become a slave without visible chains. I have cursed the draw many times since we were separated.”
“But, why?” I asked, unable to suppress a small shudder. “In the arena your life would be in constant jeopardy, a living nightmare. These halls, though unpleasant, at least are safe. Why would you wish instead for the arena?”
“In the arena, I would be free to raise a sword to any who would attempt mockery of me,” he answered, his mind straining to control the fury of shaming memories flashing across the back of his unfocused eyes. “In the arena I would be free to be a man, to stand rather than kneel, to fight rather than crawl, to wipe insult from me with the edge of a blade!” His voice had been tight and harsh, but suddenly he took a deep breath, broke the tension, and managed to send me a grin. “And also would I be free to reap the benefits of a victorious vendra, benefits which make life much the sweeter.”
“I do not believe I would care to hear of such benefits,” I said, disliking his grin as much as his previous distraction. “They are undoubtedly as grim as the balance of a vendra’s doings.”
“Hardly grim.” He laughed, unexpectedly sweeping his hand over my body. “Each victorious vendra is given a number of female slaves to tend him, the number depending upon whether it was man or beast he slew, slave or other vendra. For slaying another vendra a man is given four slaves, each lovelier than the last, each naked and eager to please him. A servant-slave in these halls is given nothing of female slaves, nothing of females at all lest there be one who displeases the Chama. Have you yet seen the wisdom in quickly acceding to her demands, or must you first be given to one who will not take the bother of seeing to your comfort and pleasure before using you?”
I began to point out that my doings were still none of his business when the doors to the room opened suddenly, making both of us twist around to see who it was. Unsurprisingly it was Aesnil sweeping into the room, her guards at her heels, her red gown clinging to her body as she moved, her blond hair spreading around her lovely face in a way that made her look young and very innocent. I was incensed that she’d just barge in like that without any warning and was about to say so, but her gesture to Daldrin came before I could get the words put together.
“You need not kneel to me now, slave,” she purred, looking him over with amusement and scorn clear in her eyes. “A man not long out of his pleasure is a man who does not care to be disturbed, I am told. Was she worth the taking?”
“Indeed,” the man beside me drawled, putting his hand possessively on my backside. “I found the woman as eager to please and serve as all women are.”
“Hardly all women,” Aesnil corrected with a sniff, then shifted her haughty look to me. “Those women weak enough to fall victim to men deserve no better than to be made to serve them. Have you found that being put to your back suits you, girl? Should your answer to me be the incorrect one, you may well find yourself chained to your back in a corridor, available for use to any man who chances by. Think of the constant pleasure you would then be given.”
“It would undoubtedly be greater pleasure than that found in this chamber!” I spat, pushing Daldrin’s hand away from me. His answer to Aesnil had annoyed me, almost as much as the threats the woman kept coming up with. “You will have ample opportunity to judge my answer for yourself—in the morning! For now, I believe this chamber remains mine! I invite you to take your guards—and your loyal servants—and go!”
Daldrin’s flash of frustrated anger was fierce, and strangely enough it was almost the same emotion Aesnil felt. The woman’s hands curled into fists at her sides as she stared down at me, but she was undoubtedly realizing that there was only so much she might do to me if she hoped to have me working for her. I would have been happier standing on my feet to face her, but I didn’t want to feel the eyes of her guards on me any more than I already did. Lying on my stomach in the carpet fur wasn’t as good as being dressed, but it was better than standing upright.
Aesnil tore her eyes away after a minute of silent staring, then sent them around the room in an effort to calm her temper before speaking. She was boiling mad inside, but seemed to consider showing her anger an indication of weakness. Her wandering gaze eventually found the small table with the tray on it, and she frowned as she walked over to examine it.
“This food has not been touched,” she announced angrily, turning to glare at Daldrin. “Were you so desperate to take her that you jeopardized her health by keeping sustenance from her? Have you any idea what your lot would be if she should die before I am able to make use of her power? You were specifically instructed to bring her food before using her!”
“And so I did,” Daldrin pointed out, gesturing toward the tray as he sat up. “I had not been told it was your intention that I force her to a meal. Twice I had her refusal in the matter, and thereafter let it slip from my mind. There were other things afoot of greater concern to me.”
“Such as her use,” Aesnil snorted in disgust, then turned her attention back to me. “You will not escape my service through starvation. The healer directed that you are to eat well, and so you shall. A fresh tray will be brought you and that you will eat from, else you will be given pain. I know you are no stranger to the whip; disobey me, and you will be taught other ways of punishment.”
Her attention went back to Daldrin, and her head cocked to one side. “This woman is my honored guest, one I thought to give pleasure to by sending you to her, and yet her displeasure is so great that she angrily orders me from her chamber. Are you so untalented then, that you are unable to give pleasure to a woman? Does the blood run so thinly in you that you find difficulty in serving a single female?”