Our lives were not completely horrible, though. Erix and I enjoyed our studies, and we loved our mother. Some of the other slaves seemed to love her, too. She could tell some of the most wonderful stories and was often begged by the other slaves to share stories before sleep.
Before her last summons to the King’s chambers, Mitera could on rare occasions be persuaded to tell us stories of Illyria.It was always quietly, hesitantly, as though she feared being overheard. She told stories of mythical adventures and magic, where no one was a slave, and everyone had enough to eat. Truly the stuff of fantasies.
On our namedays when we were young Mitera had tried to provide some kind of celebration, but on our eleventh name day she did nothing. There was no meager celebration in the slave’s quarters. Mitera hadn’t told any stories since the night the King had shown her the videos of the destruction of her village. We passed the day like all others: work, school, work, sleep.
Not long after, we gathered one evening in the kitchen with the other slaves. Erix and I had been begging Mitera to tell us stories of Illyria, and she had refused.
Something was different that night, though.
“Please, Mitera!” I’d begged. “Tell us a story for our name day.”
Erix paused in his work, but I could see the hopeful look in his eyes. He loved her stories as much as I did.
She glanced around the room. Her eyes rested for a moment on Agnes, the cook, who was in the corner chatting with some of the women. Her eyes took on a calculating quality I wasn’t sure I understood, but she nodded.
For a little while, it was as if she were her old self again, as she told us stories of her home, stories of partnered Mageia and Somas. They were our favorite stories, though she was always somewhat vague as to what a Soma was.
“Mitera, what exactly is a Soma?” I asked her, picking up plates and cups from the table.
“They are the other half of your soul,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Doesn’t that mean that Erix is my Soma?” I asked, looking at my twin who was gathering the plates from anothertable. We all had tasks to do in the evening, and this was ours. We often seemed to move in concert, understand each other’s thoughts and even know when the other was in pain. Surely if there was another half to my soul, it would have to be my brother, right?
She shook her head.
“Erix is your brother, the brother of your heart and blood. Your Soma will be your partner. Your lover. Your best friend. Your guardian. They will keep you from all hurt while—”
She didn’t even see the blow coming that knocked her from the bench to the floor with a sickening crack.
Agnes, the King’s cook, stood over Mitera with her hand raised, her son Maalik behind her, laughing and drinking in the sight with an evil gleam in his eyes. Maalik was a vicious brute, a year or two older than Erix and me, and we had hated each other from the day we were born.
“Lies!” Agnes hissed as Mother lay on the ground dazed. She raised her hand to strike her again. “You know what the King will do if I tell him you are spreading your lies again, witch?”
Erix and I rushed her as one, knocking the bitch down and away from our mother. I struggled to hold the woman’s arm as she swung at Erix.
Maalik stepped forward and grabbed me, pulling me off his mother and throwing me against the wall. He was older than me, and taller. At thirteen he was already muscled and boasted constantly about how he would be developing his Elusian powers soon and be named heir. His hair was long and straight, hanging in a curtain of black. As the son of the cook, Maalik had never gone hungry a day in his life. He was well fed, strong, and in many ways more than a match for me. I was scrawny and half-starved, but I refused to let Maalik surpass me, and I would never let him hurt my family.
I used the momentum of his throw to push off from the wall and swept my hand along one of the tables, grabbing a meat knife from the tabletop. Maalik rushed me, arms outstretched, and I knew that if I gave him the opportunity he would kill me, so I refused to give it to him. He was bigger than me, but I was faster.
I braced for his attack, then at the last second pivoted, bringing one foot around and tripping him to the floor. In a flash I was on top of him, the blade at his neck.
“If you even fucking blink, I will cut your throat,” I growled.
I looked over to see Erix on top of Agnes and Mitera struggling to her knees. Her eyes were open, but she looked dazed. A cut on the side of her head trickled blood down her face.
“Enough!” a voice rang out through the kitchen as the King’s Overseer, Otto Vasili limped into the room. Otto was a tall man, a former soldier in the King’s army who had lost his leg in one of the King’s wars. He ran the household with an iron fist and fighting amongst the slaves was generally treated very harshly. Caught with a knife to Maalik’s neck, I could be in big trouble.
The Overseer grabbed Erix and pulled him off Agnes. The bitch had a bloody nose, her hair was a mess and her blouse torn. Erix had scratches running down his face from her fingernails.
The Overseer glared at me, and I reluctantly released Maalik, who scuttled out from under me as I set the knife on the table.
“What in the seven hells is going on here?” he demanded.
“She was telling her lies again!” Agnes screeched. “The King told her if she kept telling them he would have her tongue for it!”
The Overseer harrumphed and stretched his hand down to help my mother up. Rumor had it that Otto had been inlove with an Illyrian woman when he was young, and he always seemed to have a soft spot for Mitera.
With a haughty look she ignored his outstretched hand and stood on her own, eyes glowing like fire as she slowly gathered herself.
