Rafe says something, but Lorian doesn’t answer. He just carries me against his strong body, away from the Grand Lobby, and I close my eyes, grateful for the reprieve, even if it’s just for a few minutes.
When we finally reach their suite, and I suppose my suite now too, I'm shaking. The second the door closes and the private space activates its translators, Lorian sets me down and the words pour out of me.
"She touched me. In front of everyone. Like I was athing.What was she even saying?"
Rafe runs a hand through his short hair. "She was explaining to everyone that pets need to be checked for cleanliness. She was making sure you were properly groomed to standard, so that you weren’t bringing pests into the hotel."
The humiliation burns fresh. "And everyone laughed."
"Not everyone," Lorian corrects. "We didn’t laugh, and neither did Lira."
“But you just let her fucking touch me in front of everyone like that. How could you?”
"Because it needs to look like punishment,” Rafe says. “You’re clever enough to understand that, Eve.”
"Seven years of this," I say.
“You will survive,” Rafe assures me. “Because we have to endure it as well. Do you think I want to hold your leash? I fucking don’t.”
His words sober me. “This is Hell for you too.”
“Speak for yourselves,” Lorian says. “I’ll hold your leash for the rest of your life if you’ll allow me, Eve.”
“And this is why you will rarely get to hold her leash,” Rafe says to Lorian.
At High Table, I kneel beside the Sovereigns' chairs, the position making my knees ache against the stone floor. Their attendant approaches with a pet’s bowl, and his eyes don’t meet mine as he sets it on the floor in front of me. When he served me at this same table last week, I was an elevated human; now I’m an animal.
At least the bowl is filled with actual food, not pet kibble.
The elite of the Spire dine on crystal and silver, while I eat with my hands from pottery on the floor.
Unintelligible conversation flows around me in tonal Imperial. I catch my name occasionally, surrounded by sounds that could mean anything. I notice someone gesturing at me, their tone suggesting a question.
Lorian responds while his hand drops to stroke my hair. The casual possessiveness of it makes me want to pull away, but I don't. He says something else, then looks down at me expectantly.
I recognize the questioning tone, the pause that demands a response. There are only two phrases I can say in Imperial that they'll understand. Both were taught to me by Rafe before we came to dinner. So I swallow my pride and say, "Yes, Master," the foreign words clumsy on my tongue.
Laughter ripples around me.
Are they mocking my submission?
Without understanding, every sound feels like a judgment.
The conversation continues over my head. The rise and fall of their alien voices creates a wall of sound I can't penetrate.
The meal drags on endlessly. Course after course for them while I eat from my single bowl.
Sometimes someone addresses me directly, waiting for one of my two possible responses. I guess wrong half the time, saying, "Yes, Master,” when I should have said, "I want," causing only more amusement.
By the time dinner ends, my knees are screaming and my pride is in tatters. But twelve humans are free because of my choices. I hold on to that thought as Rafe clips the leash to my collar, preparing to lead me back through the Spire.
The walk back is mercifully quick. Once in their suite, the world snaps back into meaning. "What were they arguing about?" I ask immediately, referencing a heated conversation that obviously involved me.
"Whether you should be sent to a proper training facility," Lorian says. "Senator Var thinks we will be too lenient."
"And the laughter?"
Rafe meets my eyes as if it’s punishment for him to tell me, "They were mocking your pronunciation and the irony of a terrorist saying 'Yes, Master' so readily."
