And then, because she’d rather be beaten senseless than suffer one moment more of his filthy, degrading touch, she goaded him more. “Who’s your father? Does your mother even know?”
Another slap. To the other cheek this time, and a much harder hit than the first. She rotated her jaw, feeling the twinge of protesting tendons as she did. Oh, yes, disrespecting his mother was most definitely an emotional trigger. He’d nearly dislocated her jaw with that blow.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She spat blood on the sheets of her bed. “Is that why you hate Dilys Merimydion? Because he’s the son of a queen, while you’re nothing more than some jealous, puffed-up get of a Houseless trollop?”
“Oulani souss! If you were a man, I would kill you for such slurs.” The Shark’s hand drew back, fingers curled into a fist.
Summer braced herself. This blow was going to hurt.
But before the Shark could swing, the door to the cabin burst open and Mur Balat stormed in shouting something in a language Gabriella didn’t recognize. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh as magic rolled through the room.
The Shark froze in place, his fist clenched and drawn back, ready to strike.
“Idiot! Fool! Witless, undisciplined bastard! I told you not to mark her!” He marched forward and yanked the Shark’s arm. The pirate’s frozen body toppled over like a marble statue pushed off its base.
Gabriella watched in surprise, half expecting the Shark’s arms to snap off when he hit the deck, just as a statue’s would have done. Instead, whatever spell had frozen him seemed to wear off when his body and the deck made contact, and rather than breaking into pieces, he crumpled bonelessly against the dark wood and lay there, gasping for air.
“Get him out of here,” Balat snarled, and two large men standing near the cabin door rushed in to grab the Shark by his arms and drag him out.
“Aneesh! Gulette! Ula!” Balat shouted. “Get in here and work your magic!” Mere seconds later, the three female slaves were ringed around Gabriella’s bed, moving her face gently this way and that as they examined the swelling skin and developing bruises left by the Shark’s blows. “You have less than twenty-four hours to repair the damage that idiotpulanhas done. If she fights you, dose her withtzele.Whatever it takes to get the job done. She must beperfect.The buyer will balk if he finds a single blemish.”
Chapter 21
Gabriella’s buyer had arrived.
Gabriella, still a little woozy from being dosed withtzelefor fighting Balat’s slaves, swayed on unsteady legs as the hulking guard fastened a chain to her collar and led her like a prized dog up to the main deck of the ship. Mur Balat was greeting his guest, a noble-featured gentleman clad in robes of expensive silk brocades who had just rowed over, presumably from a ship anchored somewhere nearby, though she couldn’t tell where that might be in this thick fog.
“Ah, here she is now,” Balat announced as the guard walked Gabriella near. “What did I tell you, Your Excellency? Exquisite, is she not?”
Thanks to twenty-four hours of ice packs, magic, and gentle fingers that stroked her skin like fairy wings, the bruises on her face had all disappeared. Every inch of her had been washed, shampooed, curled, polished, and plucked, every tiny blemish banished, every pore shrunk to porcelain fineness, until she gleamed with the perfection of smooth, sun-warmed marble. She’d been draped in a long white sheet of fabric that was open on one side and held in place by a jeweled clasp at shoulder and hip. The drape was meant more to tantalize than cover, since as the fabric was so sheer that the dark coins of her nipples and the narrow, freshly-trimmed vee of black hair on her pubis were clearly visible. The slaves had rubbed her lips with scarlet paste, lined her eyes with black cosmetics, then curled her hair and pinned it up in a loose pile on the top of her head, fastening it in place with jeweled combs.
The buyer’s eyes showed appreciation for their efforts as the servant holding Gabriella’s leash walked her closer to the men.
The well-dressed man circled her once. “Very nice... but I would see all of her before we finalize our transaction. My lord is quite particular. He expects perfection.”
“Of course.” Balat clapped his hands, and one of the peridot-eyed women stepped forward to release the two clasps holding the drape in place. White, gauzy silk fluttered to the floor. Swift hands darted out to snatch the jeweled combs from her hair, and long black curls tumbled down to the top of her buttocks.
“Ah... beautiful.” The man circled Gabriella again to view her from all sides. He put out a hand to touch her, then hesitated. “May I?” he asked Balat.
“Of course.”
Gabriella tried to flinch back, but the hand on her collar held her firm. Thanks to the sunlight filtering through the fog, the last of thetzelewas wearing off, taking with it the pleasant sense of being removed from her body. Now she was acutely aware of standing naked on the deck of Balat’s ship, bare to the lascivious eyes of the crew. Rather than humiliating herself further by struggling against her captors, she lifted her chin and stared straight ahead. It wasn’t as hard as it might have been. The hands of Balat’s guest roved over her not with lust but with the impersonal touch of a buyer thoroughly examining a piece of merchandise.
She’d never really thought much about slavery. It wasn’t a Summerlander custom, and the countries that practiced it were far from her small sphere of influence. But if she got out of this—no,whenshe got out of this—she was going to start a one-woman war against it. She might not succeed, but by Helos, she was going to do everything in her power to wipe slavery from the face of Mystral.
Starting with Mur Balat.
“A delight to all senses, just as you promised. She is certified pure?” Balat’s client inquired as concluded his inspection.
“I confirmed it myself. You’re welcome to verify, if you like.”
“That won’t be necessary. And her weathergifts?”
“Still intact. Just suppressed by the enchantments on the collar. Once your lord has broken her to service, I can adjust the enchantment for a small fee to keep her more dangerous gifts shackled while allowing her to access the ones he finds most beneficial.”
“Excellent.” The client reached into his robes and withdrew a small, wrapped parcel. “Here is the payment you requested.”
Balat accepted the parcel, and with a hushed, almost reverent air, he unwrapped it to reveal a small, ragged book. His hands shook slightly as he opened the cover of the book and began ever so gently turning the pages.
