Slave Girl
Farrah was able to sneak out of the slave's quarters for the first time in months. Silently, she picked her way through the drowsing bodies to the door. It was normally guarded, but the usual sentry had been lured away by the call of ale. He would be back shortly, and now was Farrah's only chance.
She slipped through the door, closing it silently behind her. Quickly, she flitted into the shadows, running outside among the gardens. She had no intention of running away. Having tried it when she was owned by a slave- seller, she had no doubt that it would be all the harder now that she belonged to His Imperial Majesty. She was content simply to be away from the putrid smelling bodies of the other slaves; and to have moment to herself.
She stopped running when she finally reached the gardens. Slowly, looking about in case anyone came near, she stepped silently through a couple of elegantly cut bushes, coming to a balcony where she could look down on the River Zekoi. She sighed, and leaned against the railing, breathing in the rich soily air. She closed her eyes, growing sleepy in the cool night air. She began to dream – or, rather, remember.
Running through the fields, laughing as the rough grasses tickled her chin and elbows. Laughing for no reason except that the sun was shinning, and she was alive. Falling down onto the grasses, head pillowed by her arms. The little girl blissfully watched the clouds pass overhead.
Then, as suddenly as a summer storm, the skies darkened, and the sun faded to a blood red. Farrah leapt to her feet, staring intently at a hill rise. Noise filled the air; yells, war cries, pounding hooves. Trembling, the girl stepped backwards. Then, the army rose above the hill, brandishing swords, pikes, and spears.
Now Farrah fled, running as fast as her short legs could take her towards her village, screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Carthakis!" she screamed. "CARTHAKIS!"
Farrah jolted herself out of her memories. That had been two years ago, when she was only thirteen. The Carthakis had invaded her Tortallan village, killing the men and taking the women and children as slaves. Most were sold quickly, with their hair shorn off, leaving them with a slave's bald head. Farrah had been allowed to keep her own golden locks; but, considering the price she was sure to pay for it, she would rather have been shaved.
In her reverie, she had not heard the soft footfalls behind her. When a hand reached out to lie on her shoulder, it was obvious that she tried to hide a shudder. When the hand allowed her to, she turned slowly, her head tilted up to look into the gilded eyes of the emperor of Carthak.
He studied her carefully with hard eyes.
"What are you doing out here, slave?" he asked softly. Farrah shivered; it would have been better if he had yelled. Still, she turned defiant eyes on him, refusing to answer. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her drop to the ground on her knees, head touched to the floor before him. He was not her emperor. He was the reason she was kept in slavery while her family had been put to death. Oh no, she would not prostrate herself before this man. She did not call him 'Your Imperial Majesty,' not even 'sir.' She knew she was likely to earn a beating for it later, but she would not pump his ego by seeing yet another slave drop before him.
"I asked you a question, slave." Casually, he lifted a golden painted hand, and just as casually, smacked her across the face, so hard that she went sprawling to the ground. "And you will kneel before your emperor. Or suffer the consequences."
Farrah glared at him through her lashes. She could feel his hand print throbbing on her cheek. Still, she stood up.
"I will not give you the satisfaction of seeing me bow before you. You are not my emperor; and you could never be half the man or king that Jonathon of Conte is-"She hadn't even finished speaking when Emperor Ozorne hit her again. She stumbled back into the railing, holding onto it tightly. She stood defiantly as the emperor neared. Slapping her again, she fell this time to the ground, landing roughly on her knees. She winced; that would leave marks. She struggled to her feet; her arms throbbed from having to catch and push herself up, and the pain in her knees had spread to the rest of her legs.
When Farrah was again erect, the emperor stood very close to her. She glared rebelliously up at him. Ozorne was smiling strangely down at her. In one swift movement, he took Farrah's head between his hands, and bent down, covering her mouth roughly with his. Eyes wide, Farrah tried to pull away, but the emperor's hands blocked her from doing so. He held her in the kiss for so long that Farrah began to feel light headed.
When Ozorne finally broke the kiss, he smiled cruelly down at her. "Do not forget, slave, that I own you. I can, and will, take you whenever I please. I will do what I wish to you. I can order you beaten within an inch of your life; I can order your arms and legs bound and have you thrown into the Zekoi. Do not forget that each action receives a reaction. And I doubt – I hope – you won't like the reaction I give. This is a warning. Go back to your quarters, before you invoke my wrath." He turned, and walked away through the gardens, back to wherever he had come from. Farrah stared dazedly after him. Slowly, her stunned expression turned to hate. He owned her? He owned her? No one owned her. She was a living, breathing human, just as he and his ministers were. She was one slave he would not break easily.
