Chapter 3
“What happened to your face?” Demaylia reached out and touched Mayra as they stood outside the great hall a few hours later.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Honestly.” Mayra moved back and glanced up at her mistress. “Enjoy your dinner, and I will be waiting right here when you’re done.”
“Mayra, let me just grab my plate and we’ll have a picnic in my room like we did when we were younger. You’d like that, right?” Demaylia tilted her head a little and narrowed her eyes.
“Anything you would have of me, I will fully enjoy.” Mayra spoke through the numbness that had settled over her. Terap’s words were horrifying. A savior was coming to pluck her out of her current situation and take her where? After growing up in slavery in the Vanfian castle, there was a comfort to knowing what each day might look like. She was promised immunity to the vast promiscuity that ravaged the land if she could get her powers to ignite and open up. Unfortunately, likely the only way to do that was to find the right man who might unlock her through the sharing of their flesh.
It was terrifying, and yet, sleeping with one man was far better than sleeping with a million. Each oracle was different, the fulfillment of their powers relying on a particular action. In her case, Terap predicted it would be sex. Mayra had shied away from taking the final step toward that action. The very idea of mating with someone of Vanfian blood left her stomach in knots and bile raising in her throat.
“Come, child. Why do you tarry?” The Vanfian king stopped beside them and wrapped his arm around Demaylia’s shoulders.
“I’m trying to decide if I’m going to simply torture the guard that struck my servant or if killing him would be more entertaining.” Demaylia smiled at Mayra. “What do you think, slave? Torture or kill?”
Mayra lifted her chin, but only a little. “Neither. It was my fault, I’m sure.”
The king’s laughter filled the hall. “You, oracle, are such a perfect example of grace and humility. I do wish you were more attractive. I would give you to one of my sons or bed you myself. Sad that you’re so hideous.”
“Father, she cannot help the way she looks,” Demaylia barked at the king.
“Enough. Come, daughter. Let us feast, for the time is drawing near when I’ll have my thief, my jewels, and my oracle.”
Mayra waited until Demaylia and her father closed the door behind them to turn and scurry off to the servants’ quarters for the one meal they received a day. It was nothing more than a chunk of bread and a glass of milk, but it was enough to sustain life.
“Watch it.” Someone moved past her in the hall, almost knocking her over.
“Sorry,” she whispered and turned down the long hall that led to laughter and cheering. The other servants were from various outworlds, but none of them were human. Being the only of her kind, she was not only ostracized by the royal family and their guards, but by the slaves as well.
“Hurry up! Hurry up!” The head cook’s voice bellowed across the room as Mayra turned the corner and entered.
She reached up and ran her hand over the back of her neck, trying to rub the ache out of her muscles from looking down most of the day. Rolling her shoulders and stretching her back, she walked up to the line and grabbed a small plate.
“They sssaid she had help on West Zam. The bitch is quite crafty, no?” Two snake-like creatures stood in front of Mayra, conversing with one another. West Zam was the interstellar police station in the middle of the galaxy. It was a place that birthed nightmares, from what everyone said. True justice did not exist there, though it was increasingly hard to find anywhere these days from what she’d heard.
“Help on Wessst Zam? Incredible. No one getsss help from those cop bassstards.” The second snake laughed and glanced back. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Sorry.” Mayra averted her eyes toward the meal line and moved up only when the two males had shifted a few steps in front of her.
Surely, the creatures were talking about Jazmine. Who was the woman? Why was she so damn important to everyone? So she stole the king’s prized jewels. That wasn’t worthy of more than a week’s conversation on Vanfia, but it had been several, and still, people were talking about her. Why?
“Lift your plate, slave,” one of the kitchen servants barked at Mayra.
“Sorry.” She lifted her plate and nodded as a piece of bread was dropped on it. It was by far the smallest piece in the basket, but there was no use in arguing over it. They would simply take it back from her. The angry rumbling in her stomach forced her to keep her mouth shut.
She picked up a glass of milk and turned to search the room. Not a friend in the vicinity. There never had been.
The laughter and joking that filled the air only worked to pull her deeper into her depression. Everyone had someone. Someone to talk to and laugh with. To forget the horrors of being enslaved with for an hour a day. When would someone be sent to share life with her?
The end of the bench she usually sat on had someone already on it, but the creature appeared to be alone. The long black hair and deep blue skin said that he or she wasn’t from a nearby planet and surely not part of the Vanfian population.
“Can I sit here?” Mayra asked softly and nodded to the spot across the long table from the creature.
“Of course.” What sounded like a girl glanced up and gave Mayra a shy smile. “I’m not much company. But please.”
“I understand.” Mayra sat down and worked her long crimson hair into a messy bun as warmth spread through her. Surely, this new girl could become an acquaintance, a companion. Or, dare she even think, a friend? The hope that swirled in her was far more painful to host than her depression.
“I’m sure you do.” The creature rubbed its middle and lifted its empty glass of milk in the air and shook the glass as it was posed just above its mouth. “I’m starving. I’m not used to not eating. I’m going to die. I have no doubt.”
