9.20 Dragon

Edigius' Manor, Minrathous

Callum swallowed the retort that pushed against his lips, trying to escape. He had by now argued enough with Varania to know that, were he to say what was on his mind, the row would only escalate. And, Void take her, he hated to see her angry, when her smooth pale face was distorted by rage and her eyes clouded with hatred for him. Not that his silence seemed to make much difference, the damage was done. He watched her back as she stormed ahead of him to their quarters, her head high as she stamped her little feet along the stone corridor.

What was I supposed to do? He silently fumed. Let her be handed out like some sweetmeat? He was at a loss. The thought of her being treated as such, as just another slave.. Anger rose inside of him to meet the knot of annoyance caused by her reaction.

He sighed as she reached the doors to their room about ten paces ahead of him and slammed them violently behind her. No one, not even a slave, was present to witness her insubordination, but Callum still felt the shame of it, even alone. He reached the doors a moment later and was overwhelmed with a feeling of exhaustion. His hands rested on the silver handles, paused and then dropped. Instead of continuing the row he carried on down the corridor, towards the gardens.

Lost in self pity, he let his feet take him through the winding corridors, each one identical to the last. Edigius' manor house was of the old style, all pale walls curving in shallow arcs to meet the tiled ceilings, every room and hallway, with the exception now of Hadriana's newly decorated ballroom, unimaginatively uniform.

Callum had felt let down when he'd first arrived by the datedness of the house; he had imagined staying in one of the famously modern Minrathan townhouses, designed to be tall and elegant, with sweeping towers and diamond arched windows in the new Nevarran style. Yet like so much about Minrathous, the manor was a disappointment, representing a stilted and muffled life that Callum had no intention of living. He wondered briefly how Hadriana could bare it, but then he supposed her tastes didn't run to aesthetics, nor her desires to the kind of creature comforts and symbols of wealth he himself craved.

He had seen the look on her face during his classes with her, the almost serene aura that came over her as she drew the knife across the forearm of one of the slaves. The magic he was learning was worth his suffering, but Callum found himself consciously setting his mouth into a thin line whenever it was his turn to cut a slave, determined not to resemble Hadriana in any way.

Taking a deep breath of the chill night air, he walked through the Orleasian windows out into the main lawn. Despite the raucas welcoming of spring being carried out inside, the air was still bitterly cold, causing Callum's breath to hang in misty clouds as he began to walk along the gravel pathway towards one of the many walled gardens. The thought of being accosted by one of the guests, unlikely as that was out here, was enough motivation for Callum to venture further into the cold night.

As he scuffed his way towards the rosary he wondered, not for the first time, what he had done to deserve such ill treatment from everyone around him. It was all painfully unfair. Callum had never in his life been censured or refused anything, and now it seemed he was being rebuffed from all angles. It was hard for him to live in a world in which he was not by default the voice of reason and deference.

His family had been powerful and respected in their own right in Asariel, often hosting dinners and entertainments for the local magistrate or visiting officials. Even before his Ability had manifested Callum had grown accustomed to merchants and tavern owners showing him respect, in addition to the general levels of reverence shown to all by the slaves.

And then his magic had revealed itself and Callum's status had soared. His younger brothers had shown no signs of Ability and his parents, amazed and delighted by what their line had produced, had bowed to his every whim. Now about the begin his nineteenth year, Callum was experiencing for the first time since his infancy not only blatant and wanton refusals of his demands, but also a distinct disregard for his status.

Egidius barely acknowledged him, except to enforce whatever nasty little scheme that soulless witch had dreamed up. It was obvious that the old man had absolutely no control over the running of the House of Egidius, but nevertheless his word still held weight in the eyes of the law and tradition, and that wavering, croaky voice always spoke in favour of Hadriana, regardless of what she demanded.

Callum shuddered against the memory of Hadriana's slender, pale hand rested on the thin wisps of hair on the old Magister's head as he had instructed Callum to either provide his slave to the party or to remove both Varania and himself from the festivities.

The embarrassment of being sent away like some whelp in plain robes still stung, but it was nothing compared to his absolute hatred of Hadriana for putting him in that position in the first place. She seemed determined to sever his relationship with Varania, and although she made a great show of saying it was for his own advancement, Callum suspected she simply enjoyed causing pain.

He sat heavily on one of the stone benches that lined the rose garden, now nothing more than rows of bare twigs, their leaves trimmed back ruthlessly to ensure greater blooms when the spring finally arrived. Everything dies in the winter, Callum thought vaguely as he doodled whorls in the gravel with his slippered toes.

He wondered how long it would take him to become a Magister. Hadriana had been studying for years, and she was still only an apprentice. A small, sad smile played across his lips as he remembered a time when all he had wanted was Varania. Now he realised he wanted nothing more now than to receive his title and accolades and take himself and Varania away from this place.

Yet, Callum knew with cold certainty that if she continued to cause scenes like the one tonight with the house master he would never be appointed. Perhaps, he mused, it would be better for her and for myself if I restricted her more? Kept her to our rooms, at least when I'm not there to keep her in check? He sighed like a man with a thousand burdens. I suppose this is what love is.

The sound of footsteps on gravel made him look up, but it was only only one of the many slave girls. She was naked and he could smell the sugar, cinnamon and starfruit pollen that was dusted on her skin. Her hair hung loose down her back, shiny and oiled but without the small silver coins threaded through the strands in the style the other slaves had worn.

Callum wondered that Hadriana had allowed such a thing. He almost laughed when he imagined how angry she would be to see this girl with her undone hair, walking alone and away from the party. She walked like a queen, her head held high, each step confident and assured. She would be whipped for such behaviour, and even that might not be enough. There was an air about her that seemed to defy her status, her nakedness and her surroundings.

Something about her stride unsettled him.. He stared at her as she moved towards him, her small, pale breast glowing in the moonlight. Varania! His mouth hung open like a drunkard as he watched her sway towards him, holding herself as stable and supplely as a dancer, her calloused feet used to walking on bare stone.

She stopped a few feet ahead of him, just out of reach should he try to touch her. He gawped at her instead, suddenly awake and alive and no longer exhausted. A small smile played on her lips when she saw the effect she was having on him, but she didn't move any closer.

Is she going to scream at me? Is this another weapon? The young mage's mind raced, even as his heart beat faster and his blood flowed quicker and quicker through his veins. Instead, she lowered her gazed and spoke softly, "Master."

Callum couldn't think straight; his brain seemed to no longer to be in control of his body. But something in her tone, rather than the word she used, dragged his attention upwards to look at her bowed head.

"Why don't you look at me?", his forehead creased into a frown.

"That is you question?", she asked, her voiced deceptively gentle.

A warning ran through Callum's mind then, even as she slowly began to circle her hands across the scented plane of her belly. He struggled to keep focused on her words.

"You always look at me. You have never shown the proper respect.. You have never been afraid."

"And look where that has got.. us."

Every instinct urged caution, a thousand alarms rung in his mind.. But now she was touching herself in ernest... Callum's breath was hot and heavy against the cold night air, little puffs of his life brushing against her as she stood above him.

"I - you are not their slave -"

"But I am yours?"

"Yes. You belong to me."

"My mother also?"

"Fasta Vass," Callum swore, his breath ragged as he tried not to reach into his robe and ease him

self. He sensed the moment hung on a thin thread, and he did not want to snap it.

"But you don't wish me to work as the other slaves do?"

Why all this talking? Isn't it obvious? "Mine. You're mine."

"Ah, so? And do you want to take what is yours?"

Yes.

"Yes.." His voice, even to his own ears, sounded like a plea, and he knew Varania had heard it too, despite her bowed head.

"Then who, I wonder, is the slave now? Is it me...?"

Her hand was lost in the soft red hair between her leg, the other drawing intricate patterns over her breasts and stomach. Callum was almost in pain now. He wouldn't be able to restrain himself much longer, and they both knew it.

The game, the game was everything. She was his perfect opponent, and in that moment he regretted nothing that had happened to place her here, in front of him in the cold air of a new year.

"Is it me, Master? Am I the slave?", she repeated, a slight gasp catching in her throat.

"No... Mistress."

o0o

9.21 Dragon

Edigius' Manor, Minrathous

Varania rolled over in the strange bed. The thick mattress always seemed about to devour her, no matter how she moved on it. Callum snored gently next to her, his breathing regular and strong. The little noises he made annoyed her, but she supposed she would get used to them, like everything else here.

She rolled clumsily onto her belly, burying her face in the coolness of her pillow. The other elves weren't given a bed to sleep in, nor fine clothes to wear, fresh food to eat and sweet fruit wine to drink.

Varania examined her mood, trying to understand why she had been so angry earlier. Cal had only wanted to keep her safe, hadn't he? Or had he only wanted to protect what was his? Varania knew in her heart the answer was a little of both.

The room was cold. Hot stones had been placed under the covers hours earlier, but now they lay cold and useless along the foot of the bed. Varania tickled her toes against the smooth stone as she thought about her new life.

So she was a slave, and her mother too. But not an ordinary slave. Cal seemed intent on keeping her separate, keeping her special. It was an odd feeling to be venerated in such a way, but not unpleasant.

She glanced at the human, his big face with it's broken nose relaxed and sated. Did she love him? She loved the power she had over him. Earlier, in the gardens, had been one of the most thrilling, exciting moments of her life. Even now, hours later, the memory caused her to stir. But did she love him?

It probably doesn't matter anyway, if I am a slave, I am a slave. The feelings of a slave are hardly strong currency.

It interested her that the realisation didn't offend. She was well treated, spoilt even. Her mother was safe, if not exactly well and happy. What was so terrible about that?

For a second she thought of her brother, and wondered why she hadn't remembered him sooner. She had been in the human city for three moons, shouldn't she have thought about him before now? But she'd been busy, learning about the city, visiting the Senate and the other landmarks with Cal and his teacher, the mage woman. Besides, he's probably on his way here anyway to ruin it all for me, she thought sulkily.

Things were exciting, Varania decided. No doubt her rotten brother would show up soon and end her adventure, and then did it matter if she had been a slave for a short while, or if she actually loved the man next to her?

So resolved, Varania snuggled herself into the warmth of Callum's chest, sighing happily as he brought the weight of his arm around her narrow shoulders.

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