Cleve grunted, calling himself more stupid than a naked man in winter, but he was gentle, and each time the girl tightened in pain, he felt it inside himself. After her back was clean and the thick white cream coating it, Cleve stood over her and said, “You will lie still. I will bring you food. Broth, Thrasco said, else you’ll puke up your guts you’re so skinny.”
“I know,” she said. “I heard him say it.” She said nothing more, merely waited until the man had left the small chamber. She looked about. The room was all clean whitewashed walls. She was used to dark timbered chambers with smoke-blackened beams, not this stark whiteness. Huge chambers that smelled richly of men and women and scented candles. Here it was so very different. There was only the bed she lay upon and a small table beside the bed. There was a single candle on the table. A high window, its fur covering drawn back, let in bright sunlight, and for that Laren was grateful. She looked at the bright light and wondered what had happened to Taby, trying for a moment to keep it a question even though she knew well enough. She felt the pain grip her chest even as it twisted and roiled in her back. She’d failed him.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew what happened to children left in the slave pit. They died. She had already seen it happen. Or here, in this strange savage land, they were used sexually until they no longer pleased their masters. Taby wouldn’t survive that.
She didn’t cry. Tears were a long, long time in the past, in a past that was vague and whispery and gray now, the blacks and whites having faded quickly, so very quickly in the press of hunger and cruelty and the absolute will to survive.
She wondered if she should simply end it now, for there was no reason to go on. She’d forced herself to go on in the past, for Taby’s sake; she’d tell herself, I will survive for Taby. But it was difficult. Although the hatred inside her still burned as brightly, the need for vengeance still gnawed fiercely in her belly, it seemed all that was left of her. Ah, but there was Taby, always her little brother. He’d kept her spirit alive, kept her determined upon life else she might have simply closed her eyes forever if he hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t needed her, if she hadn’t known that if she died he would surely die as well. And now, Taby would die.
But not right now, not immediately.
If he hadn’t been bought today, he would be in the slave pen, a filthy enclosure near to the slave market. He would be alone and hungry and terrified. She realized she was his only hope. But because she’d been stupid enough to strike Thrasco, he’d beaten her, and now she was sprawled on her belly, helpless as a pup. At least a pup was better than a squirrel. She shook her head at that and raised herself on her elbows. The pain shot through her back, curving around her chest, making her gasp. It even hurt to breathe, but she did, and she realized that she could bear it. Odd how she could bear things now that before would have surely killed her. Had she once been so soft, so delicate, such a useless creature?
She was so hungry. She smelled the rich beef broth before she even heard Cleve come into the small chamber. She felt saliva pool in her mouth.
“You will remain on your belly but I will put a pillow under your chest to raise your mouth.”
Soon he was spooning the hot broth into her mouth. It burned all the way to her belly. She felt light-headed at the taste of it, felt her body warming and strengthening. But she knew that it was an illusion at best, that her body would betray her, for she’d denied it too long.
She ate until the bowl was empty. She raised her eyes to Cleve’s face. “I want more.”
He shook his head. “Nay, you’d puke if you ate more. Thrasco knows about these things.”
“I don’t know how he could know. He looks as if he’s never stopped eating in his life.” But she knew it as well, even as she spoke, but her belly was still rumbling, and she didn’t care if she vomited up her guts if only she could have more of that broth to eat.
“You will sleep now, ’tis best for you.”
“What is the hour?”
“It is noonday.”
“You’re very ugly, Cleve. What happened to you?”
He was silent a moment, then he laughed, a raw, hoarse sound, obviously a sound he hadn’t made in a very long time. “It is a worthy story, one that makes women cry and men sigh with envy. Aye, it is a tale that makes the soul take flight.”
“I’ve given you pain. I’m sorry. Did someone slash your face when you were that young?”
“Aye, you’ve good eyes, little girl. Hush now.”
“Your eyes are beautiful. One is gold and the other is blue. In my land, many would believe you a devil’s get.”
He grunted even as he pulled a cover to her waist. “If I were devil’s get, believe you I would be Thrasco’s slave? Nay, I would rule this damned Kiev had I the power. What you see in me is the way of life and men, naught more, naught less. At least I have enough food in my belly and my ribs don’t stick out. Right now, you’re uglier than I am.”
“And I smell worse.”
“Aye, that too.” Cleve paused a moment, rubbing his chin. “Do you have much pain?”
“It is less now. The cream is magical.”
“ ’Tis because Thrasco’s mother is a witch. Even the Arabs fear her. She goes wherever she wishes to and no man tells her no.”
“You’ve been kind to me. If you didn’t have the scar, you would be beautiful. Your hair is golden, like a god’s, and your body is well made.”
“Aye, you’ve the right of it, little girl. Be quiet now. Thrasco ordered me to care for you. Aye, I find you unusual for a slave. Is Thrasco right? Are your parents not slaves? Is your blood unlike mine?”
She looked at him, then said slowly, “I have a little brother, Cleve.”
“Aye, I did, too, once long ago, only he was my big brother and he was sold and I wasn’t. I cannot bring his face into my mind now.”
