Muarim stood quietly and patiently as Master examined the statue from every available angle. This statue had, indeed, been much heavier and more ornate than the last one, and Muarim had struggled to carry it the entire way. The beatings had been enough motivation to exert all his strength, however, and the statue hadn't once scraped against the ground or any other object. Now it sat upright and proudly in the sitting room, easily the most prominent piece in view.

"I'd like it turned a little to the right," Master finally announced after his lengthy inspection.

Muarim obediently approached the statue and lifted it several inches off the ground to turn it. His aching back protested heavily, especially the bruises where he'd been struck earlier.

"Keep going," Master said, keeping a close eye on the statue for the absolute perfect angle. Muarim continued to slowly turn it.

"There," Master barked, pressing his heel against Muarim's tail to emphasize his command. The tiger bit his tongue to avoid yelping and gripped the statue even firmer to keep from dropping it roughly. With the last bits of effort he could muster, he gently set the statue back on the ground. Master resumed his task of examining the newly turned piece, which Muarim was glad for as it meant his tail was no longer getting stepped on.

"Do you like it?" Master suddenly asked.

Muarim glanced up at the stone carving of Altina, the first Apostle of Begnion. Almost everyone in Sienne had a figurine of one of the Apostles in their home, symbolizing their loyalty to the Voice of the Goddess. Master would surely be the envy of the nobles when they saw the size of his statue. Muarim himself secretly had little respect for any of the Apostles. The previous one, Misaha, had supposedly banned laguz slavery, but practically all she had done was sign a piece of paper. Nothing had changed among the noble classes in Begnion. The current Apostle, Sanaki, turned an equally blind eye.

However, disrespecting the office of Apostle almost certainly meant a swift and brutal death, no matter whose mouth it came from.

"You have excellent taste, Master," Muarim replied.

"Of course I do," Master smiled smugly. "I shall have to invite the rest of the house to an evening party soon. Such good taste shouldn't be hidden. Mm...it would be considerate of me to invite House Bree as well, don't you think?"

"Yes, Master," Muarim answered. "You are always very considerate." Not to mention upping the ante, after Sir Bree revealed that one-of-a-kind painting in his dining room that made you so envious.

"I am indeed," Master said, then turned to look Muarim full in the eye. Instinctively Muarim's ears rotated back as he knelt, revealing his nervousness of Master's intimidation. Quickly he flicked them back to their normal state, but still swallowed as Master pushed his head slightly back to ensure that he was attentive to Master's face and words.

"My brother Irving killed his hawk three days ago in a fit of rage." Master spoke so quietly, yet so forcefully at the same time. "And you know of my sister Irene. She's gone through three bird slaves in the last year. Were you one of their slaves, you would have been a carcass long before today."

Muarim thought he'd heard a lot of squawking three days ago. On a hill some distance away, he'd seen a mangled heap covered with what looked like feathers. He'd hoped it was only an old coat nobody had wanted or his eyes seeing things wrong.

"I hope you recognize what a good master I am to you," Master said, his eyes piercing through Muarim's. "I have always been very kind and considerate to you. Have I not?"

"You have," Muarim lied.

"I have treated you better than most masters treat their half-breed slaves," Master continued, "Have I not?"

Muarim didn't know the true answer to this question, but immediately replied, "You have."

"I have given you great rewards for your service where other masters wouldn't even consider it," Master said, "Have I not?"

"You have," Muarim responded automatically.

"I fear sometimes that you think rather poorly of me in your little brain," Master frowned, his eyes boring into Muarim's. "After acknowledging all I have done for you, how good of a master I have been to you, have you any right to complain or to grumble? Have I warranted your distaste?"

"No, Master," Muarim muttered, wishing he could look away, but Master kept his hand on his head to force the eye contact. Hoping to appease Master quicker, Muarim added, "I am grateful for all you've done for me."

Apparently satisfied, Master let go of the tiger's head. Muarim looked at the ground, massaging his aching neck. He could still feel Master's eyes on him. What else does he want?

"Do you like serving your master?" Master asked bluntly. Muarim felt his heart begin to pound. It was somehow easier to automatically respond to the other questions. Perhaps Master had indeed been less cruel than other masters, but Muarim could hardly think of him as truly kind. Could he lie this blatantly?

"Yes," Muarim forced out, pleading Master would be okay with him still staring at the floor.

"Look at me," Master commanded, dashing those hopes. The tiger put all his effort into keeping a straight, calm face as he returned Master's gaze. Master stared for a couple moments more before asking, "Do you want to be free?"

Muarim's heart beat so frantically that it felt as if it might explode. A cold, fearful chill settled over his body. What were Master's intentions of asking this question? Was there a wrong answer? Surely there was a wrong answer. The tiger struggled to control his breathing as Master kept his unrelenting stare. The creases around Master's eyes appeared as Muarim continued to pause. He could see Master's jaw begin to clench. Anger. Muarim knew Master's signs of the emotion well. How could I have been so foolish to possibly think he might actually want the truth, that he might actually consider setting me free?

"No," Muarim finally choked out. Somehow, speaking his submissive answer aloud broke his spirit and drowned his hope far worse than he could have anticipated. That was my chance to find any kind of pride, dignity, or courage within myself, and I just crumbled as always. Everything my father ever told me was wrong. I am not a proud tiger laguz, I am a submissive half-breed slave.

Master, however, smiled at him. Lightly flicking his ear, he replied, "Beast, you can be an aggravation, a disappointment, and a pain in the ass sometimes, but you are nonetheless a good slave. Irving and Irene are actually quite jealous that they don't have a slave as dependable and obedient as you."

Muarim tried to take any solace he could in Master's praise. It didn't come often.

"Now, I believe there's ale to be brewed," Master instructed, walking away and leaving Muarim in a far more broken state than he ever could have known.

One week later, Muarim had swallowed down the bitter churning of defeat in his stomach, convincing himself that his submission to his master wasn't really so bad. He was probably better off this way. He didn't know how to be a tiger laguz. All the other tiger laguz would probably laugh at him and shun him if he were ever set free. Much better to stay where people at least appreciated him somewhat, fed him, sheltered him...

He hammered that thought into his head, forced himself to be grateful, trying to despise the last remnants of pride that whimpered for a different life. He tried to drown those longings with the wet dirty rag he dragged across the foyer floor. He had to concentrate on cleaning the floor as quickly as he could anyway; Master had another task when he was done that would send him into town.

The tiger couldn't have been more startled when a small object suddenly smacked into the side of his head. Immediately recognizing the object as a small fruit, Muarim glanced toward the direction it had flown from and noticed a couple of children laughing hysterically. One of them clutched another fruit in his hand for about two seconds before it, too, was flung at Muarim's face.

"Big ugly beast!" one of them shouted, still laughing. Muarim recognized the two of them as Irving's children. Or were they Irene's? He hadn't had much interaction with the families of either.

"Why don't you go drink your milk and play with yarn like a good cat?" the other boy taunted.

Muarim swallowed back a growl as the two boys approached him. He was not to jeopardize Master's good name by behaving aggressively with his nephews, no matter how they treated him. You're the slave, Muarim reminded himself. They can treat you however they wish.

It was that reminder that kept the tiger calm and composed as the boys kicked, shoved, and struck him, giggling and spewing more taunts about his feline nature. One of the boys shrieked in his ear while the other grabbed his rag and mashed it in his face. Muarim sat patiently, hoping they would lose interest soon. If he didn't play along, they'd surely get bored.

"It's too bad Uncle Issachar's stuck with a big ugly tiger instead of a pretty bird slave," one of them heaved an exaggerated sigh. "If he'd just get rid of this beast, he could get a bird and not get laughed at by all the other nobles."

"Right, Ugly?" the other grinned, smacking Muarim in the face.

Muarim remained still. The boys continued to antagonize him.

"Hey!" a shrill voice echoed through the air.

All three of them turned to look. Muarim saw a very angry Young Mistress approach them. She wasted no time with conversation and instead punched one of the boys right on the nose. The startled boy paused for a moment, dabbing under his nose and finding blood, before beginning to wail.

"You want one too?!" Muarim's eight-year-old mistress screamed at the other young boy, waving her fist at him. The other boy fearfully shook his head and immediately took off running. The one with the bloody nose took off after him, sobbing and cupping his hands over his face.

"Don't ever be mean to my Kitty again!" Young Mistress shrieked after them.

Muarim couldn't hide the surprised look on his face. He wouldn't have taken Young Mistress to be the type to get into physical fights. Young Mistress must have mistaken his surprise as fear, as she cupped his striped face in her hands and said, "It's okay, Kitty, don't be sad anymore. They won't bother you again. They're just jealous because they don't have a birdie anymore. But you're my Kitty and I won't share you."

Muarim tried to find warmth in his heart for Young Mistress as she stroked his head much like anyone would stroke a cat, but it was drowned by humiliation. He wondered what his father would think if he saw his tiger son being petted and cooed over like a kitty cat. I am not a kitty, Muarim protested in his head. I'm a tiger. I will be respected as a tiger. He attempted to find the courage and dignity to growl, but no sound came from his throat.

"I love you, Kitty!" Young Mistress sang, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing the bridge of his nose several times. Muarim felt the shame creeping up his throat. Surely no dignified tiger would let a small beorc child patronize him like this.

"Lizzie! What are you doing?" Master's voice boomed.

Young Mistress jumped at the sound, but didn't remove her arms from around Muarim's neck as Master approached the both of them, disapproval all over his face.

"Trion and Denver were being mean to Kitty," Young Mistress began, but was interrupted as Master pulled her away from the tiger.

"Don't ever let me catch you kissing a sub-human again," Master told her sternly.

"But he's my Kitty!" Young Mistress whimpered, her eyes welling up with tears.

"You heard me, Lizzie!" Master barked.

Young Mistress burst into tears as she ran away. Master stared after her before turning to Muarim and slapping him across the face.

"It's one thing to let her pamper you," Master glared. "But I will not have my daughter getting the idea that it's acceptable for humans to kiss sub-humans, no matter how innocent the intention. You know better than to let her do that. Now, didn't I order you to go to town and buy some more sword powder? It surely hasn't taken you this long to clean the floors."

Muarim didn't waste any time giving excuses. He simply nodded and turned to leave. He could hear Mistress scolding the sobbing Young Mistress as he exited and walked to town.

Author's note: Sorry for the one week delay. Let me know how you're liking it so far! In the next chapter, Muarim meets a face rather familiar to us...