"You know, it could be worse," Sabra told Farrah the next day. They were seated in the slave's quarters, on Farrah's 'bed.'
"How?" she asked, disgusted. Sabra was the one and only friend – or the closest thing she had to a friend as a slave – Farrah had in Carthak. She had been the one to comfort Farrah through her first weeks as a slave, and the one to help her with life in the palace.
Farrah had been careful to hide certain things from Sabra; she didn't trust her as far as she could throw the girl. Despite their friendship, Farrah could never tell her everything; Sabra was a broken slave. If asked to, she would tell everything she knew about any of her fellow slaves. But so would all broken slaves, to avoid beatings. So Farrah had never told her of her planned escapes; she would have gone to their owner, or whatever official was nearest, and told. She could not be trusted. But she did prove to have a brain, if not a will.
"Well, you could have been owned by some smelly old man in the slums of Carthak City," she said, smiling. Farrah forced a rueful smile.
"I could've," she said. Her face turned to a mask of hate. "But I'm not. I'm owned by the emperor of all of Carthak, the very man who ordered my family murdered; and the very man I want dead."
Sabra's eyes widened in fear, and she glanced around hurriedly.
"Shhh!" She said quickly. "Someone might hear you!" They were resting during their precious rare free time, with some of the others in the room.
"Than let them hear," she whispered fervently, though she kept her voice low. "Damn him for doing this. I'm freeborn. Freeborn! If it weren't for him and his damnably good army, I wouldn't be here! I wouldn't be here! It's his fault that my parents are dead. It's his fault that my brothers are dead. It's his fault my baby sister was drowned, thrown into the Great Inland Sea. I have no family left. None! He killed them all!" She stared disgustedly at her hands, placing them on her face, her hair, her eyes. "And he spared me, all for a pretty face!" She dug her nails into her cheeks, as if she could tear away the tears and memories that rose inside her. Quickly, Sabra reached out to pull Farrah's hands away from her face. She was sobbing now, and leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. Sabra made comforting noises as she petted the other girl's back.
Farrah cried for the rest of the time she had free. Then the taskmaster came in to order them to their different tasks. He walked up to Farrah last.
"You're to serve His Imperial Majesty in his chambers," he told her nastily. There was a permanent sneer on his face. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She sat there staring angrily at him. If it was possible, his sneer deepened. He backhanded Farrah across the mouth. She went sprawling backward, throwing out her hands to catch herself, rolling quickly to her knees, ready for another hit. The man had turned, though, and left quickly through the door. Farrah put a tentative hand to her lip, wincing as she brushed a cut. Her hand came away with blood on it. Sighing disgustedly, she wiped it on a piece of torn cloth. She turned to Sabra.
"In his chambers? Wonderful. Of all nights, he chooses this one to eat alone." She shuddered. "Perhaps not alone." Swiftly, she stood, and walked out the door, toward the kitchens. She tried to straighten the scraps she wore, but they were ill fitting, and hung loosely from her slight body.
In the kitchens, she took the food she was to bring to the emperor, and, taking a deep breath, made her way up to his chambers.
"How?" she asked, disgusted. Sabra was the one and only friend – or the closest thing she had to a friend as a slave – Farrah had in Carthak. She had been the one to comfort Farrah through her first weeks as a slave, and the one to help her with life in the palace.
Farrah had been careful to hide certain things from Sabra; she didn't trust her as far as she could throw the girl. Despite their friendship, Farrah could never tell her everything; Sabra was a broken slave. If asked to, she would tell everything she knew about any of her fellow slaves. But so would all broken slaves, to avoid beatings. So Farrah had never told her of her planned escapes; she would have gone to their owner, or whatever official was nearest, and told. She could not be trusted. But she did prove to have a brain, if not a will.
"Well, you could have been owned by some smelly old man in the slums of Carthak City," she said, smiling. Farrah forced a rueful smile.
"I could've," she said. Her face turned to a mask of hate. "But I'm not. I'm owned by the emperor of all of Carthak, the very man who ordered my family murdered; and the very man I want dead."
Sabra's eyes widened in fear, and she glanced around hurriedly.
"Shhh!" She said quickly. "Someone might hear you!" They were resting during their precious rare free time, with some of the others in the room.
"Than let them hear," she whispered fervently, though she kept her voice low. "Damn him for doing this. I'm freeborn. Freeborn! If it weren't for him and his damnably good army, I wouldn't be here! I wouldn't be here! It's his fault that my parents are dead. It's his fault that my brothers are dead. It's his fault my baby sister was drowned, thrown into the Great Inland Sea. I have no family left. None! He killed them all!" She stared disgustedly at her hands, placing them on her face, her hair, her eyes. "And he spared me, all for a pretty face!" She dug her nails into her cheeks, as if she could tear away the tears and memories that rose inside her. Quickly, Sabra reached out to pull Farrah's hands away from her face. She was sobbing now, and leaned her head against her friend's shoulder. Sabra made comforting noises as she petted the other girl's back.
Farrah cried for the rest of the time she had free. Then the taskmaster came in to order them to their different tasks. He walked up to Farrah last.
"You're to serve His Imperial Majesty in his chambers," he told her nastily. There was a permanent sneer on his face. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She sat there staring angrily at him. If it was possible, his sneer deepened. He backhanded Farrah across the mouth. She went sprawling backward, throwing out her hands to catch herself, rolling quickly to her knees, ready for another hit. The man had turned, though, and left quickly through the door. Farrah put a tentative hand to her lip, wincing as she brushed a cut. Her hand came away with blood on it. Sighing disgustedly, she wiped it on a piece of torn cloth. She turned to Sabra.
"In his chambers? Wonderful. Of all nights, he chooses this one to eat alone." She shuddered. "Perhaps not alone." Swiftly, she stood, and walked out the door, toward the kitchens. She tried to straighten the scraps she wore, but they were ill fitting, and hung loosely from her slight body.
In the kitchens, she took the food she was to bring to the emperor, and, taking a deep breath, made her way up to his chambers.