My eyes fill with tears. Being seen. Being understood. Being loved. It's all I've ever wanted. But not like this. Not naked with a collar. But this is what fate has brought me. And suddenly I think of Pythia on that bus that morning so many months ago. And I want to cry. Was she right?Am I on the darker side of the fate I should have had?Maybe had I not gotten off that bus, I would have come to work for them in five years time, and our lives would have been completely different. But now, have I ruined things by pushing fate and coming too early?
Or, I hear Sister Agnes’ voice in my head. ‘Everything is as God intended it to be.’
I close my eyes and let her memory ground me.
I am strong.
I have always been strong and I will be strong now.
This is my fate and I will accept it like this without regret.
The Chief Arbiter's patience cracks. "Sovereigns Rafe and Lorian, you presume too much. Let the doctor do his job. Move away."
But Lorian pulls me against him, his mouth finding my ear and sending a familiar shiver down my body. "We'll communicate through touch."
"Step back," the Chief Arbiter commands. "Now! Or she will be sent to serve forced labor."
Lorian kisses me hard on the lips, desperate, pouring promises into it that need no translation. "Trust what makes you wet and wanting. That's our language now."
The bailiff yanks me away, forcing me to turn so I have my back to them. Then I watch with horror as the doctor approaches with his kit, setting it on a small table. It’s obvious that he enjoys his job. And the crowd leans forward, eager to witness the next humiliation.
"The ownership marks must be visible at all times," the doctor announces. "Where do the Sovereigns wish to place their seals on their human?"
Rafe steps forward, his composure barely masking his rage at my treatment. "Her shoulder blades. Left for Lorian, right for me."
The doctor nods, and a ripple of appreciation runs through the gallery. Camera drones float closer, capturing every moment of my degradation for the galactic newsfeed.
"Hold still," the doctor orders, as if I had a choice with the bailiff's hands clamped on me. Then to make it extra terrible, in case I wantedto watch my body be mutilated, I can see what the doctor is doing on a holographic screen above my head.
He presses a long silver instrument that’s ice cold against my right shoulder blade, and then pain explodes across my skin.
I press my lips together as the device burns Rafe's geometric pattern into my flesh, the precise lines and angles that symbolize his exactitude and control etched permanently into my body.
The doctor moves to my left side without pause, and a different kind of pain erupts there as Lorian's mark takes shape, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I won't give this alien courtroom the satisfaction of hearing me scream. I try to concentrate on anything else as blood trickles down my back as the markings seal themselves to my flesh.
"Ownership confirmed and registered," the doctor announces. "The marks will heal within days but remain visible for the duration of your life to let everyone know, that even after your sentence was served, you were owned. Now for the translator," he says, reaching for a different tool, then grabs my head roughly, fingers digging into my scalp as he tilts it to access the translator. Then the doctor jams the extractor behind my ear without warning.
Pain pulses through my skull as he twists his tool deeper, searching for the translator's connections with brutal efficiency.
I scream, but he only presses harder, annoyed by my cries. It feels like he's pulling out threads of my brain. Agony whites out my vision. Blood pours down my neck, hot and thick. The migraine that follows is crushing, making every sound and light feel like an assault.
But worse than the pain is what comes after. The alien voices around me become something monstrous. What was refined Imperial through the translator now sounds like grinding metal mixed with tonal howls, all harsh consonants punctuated by notes that pierce my already screaming head.
I realize now that I'd only been playing at belonging here. The translator made me feel sophisticated, like I'd earned my place through merit and intelligence. But I never learned a single word of their language. I never even tried. And now I'm stripped bare of that illusion of communication and revealed as the primitive creature they think humans are. Deaf and dumb to the world around me.
"Please," I say through the pain, but Lorian's expression goes carefully blank. When I repeat it, louder, the bailiff's grip tightens with warning.
I'm not speaking a language anymore. To them, I'm making animal sounds. Meaningless noise because most galactic translators purposely don’t include human languages. Tears run down my face now that I fully understand. The chances that the Sovereigns tire of me now without being able to speak or have a function for them have just gone up tenfold.
The Chief Arbiter speaks again, and it sounds like controlled violence boxed up as ceremony, and I've never felt so alien or so absolutely alone in my life.
The court doctor says something to the Chief Arbiter, probably confirming the translator's removal.
Rafe responds to the Chief Arbiter, and his voice is unrecognizable.
Someone makes a joke that includes my name. I hear "Eve" buried in those alien syllables, and I know, I’m being mocked.
But then in the confusion, Lorian's hand finds mine, squeezing hard enough to ground me through the agony. His silver eyes burn with all the words he can't make me understand. When he speaks again, I hear my name, but this time in tones that drop low and protective. Without understanding, I feel the possession in them The claim.
