Before the end of the day, Farrah had returned to the palace; nerves on
end, but no longer pregnant. Her return was a quiet one – the slave
returned directly to the room she shared with hundreds of other slaves, and
sat on her thin pallet. She felt detached from the world; as if she wasn't
really there. Lindhall Reed had assured her that this was only a side
effect of the magic he had used to transfer the – what had he called it? –
embryo from her womb.
The emperor did not summon her that night. Nor was she given duties for the day following her outing. Instead of following the other slaves from their rooms, she laid on her pallet, still feeling the odd indifference. As if in a daze, she retraced the path she had tread only twice before as twilight fell.
Finding her way to the hanging gardens – the ones on the balcony – Farrah knelt amidst the elaborate bushes as she looked down on the Zekoi.
"I thought you would be here."
For a moment, Farrah seemed to ignore the voice. Then, slowly, she turned to look up at the Carthaki Emperor. "I'm here," she mumbled, as if it weren't painfully obvious. She turned her back on him to continue staring at the great river.
Ozorne moved closer until his legs brushed the slave's back. She didn't flinch, but her head dropped a few inches, as if she wanted to dissolve into herself. When the Emperor's hand brushed her icy blond hair, Farrah looked up hesitantly. Ozorne was observing the river as well, but he watched her, from the corner of his eye.
Carefully, the slave stood up. She didn't step away and rose slowly, brushing against her master as she stood. Only when she had straightened did Carthak's emperor turn to look down at her. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing, and in so doing pushing her against it. Farrah look up at him, breath catching in her throat. His arms left the rail and wrapped around her. They tipped forward until Farrah was balancing them both against the railing. It placed his lips barely an inch from hers.
Eyes closing, the Tortallan pushed her head forward closing that last distance. She expected to melt in his arms, to let him carry her away – even for him to start undressing her there.
But he didn't.
He pulled away. Surprised – hurt – Farrah opened her eyes; and found the cold, gilded, golden eyes of the Emperor of Carthak. She held her breath, a sudden terror squeezing her heart. He looked the same as when he'd first taken her to his rooms. His eyes scared her; and, in the second that he lifted his hand, Farrah's eyes widened. He wouldn't, she thought. Then the back of his hand collided with her cheekbone. She was pushed down and to the side with the force of his blow. Shivering, she huddled on the ground, covering her head. Roughly, Ozorne reached down and grabbed Farrah by the scruff of her neck, pulling her upright.
She was crying.
He had not expected to see that. But the Emperor did not falter for even a second. He brought her close, their faces inches apart. And, feeling so different from before, Farrah squirmed, wanting to be as far from him as was possible. "I am Emperor here," he hissed. "You will obey me in everything. Do you understand?" She nodded, blinking eyes that refused to halt streams of tears. Goddess, but what had she done? She...she'd kissed him. Was that bad? Did he not want to be kissed? Did he want to be the one in control? That had to be it. And why not? He was, after all, the emperor of all Carthak...
She shook herself mentally as Ozorne threw her down. Without a word, he turned his back on her and left. When he was out of site, Farrah bowed her head, a slight, tiny frown marring her face. Why...why was she trying...to see it his way? She was a slave, and slaves obeyed their masters.
What? No! No, that's not how it was! She was...she was a servant to the Emperor – well, now she was, but she had not been born into this. She had been...
She had been Tortallan. She had been born free.
She had been meant for more than this.
"No," she whispered. "No. I don't understand."
The emperor did not summon her that night. Nor was she given duties for the day following her outing. Instead of following the other slaves from their rooms, she laid on her pallet, still feeling the odd indifference. As if in a daze, she retraced the path she had tread only twice before as twilight fell.
Finding her way to the hanging gardens – the ones on the balcony – Farrah knelt amidst the elaborate bushes as she looked down on the Zekoi.
"I thought you would be here."
For a moment, Farrah seemed to ignore the voice. Then, slowly, she turned to look up at the Carthaki Emperor. "I'm here," she mumbled, as if it weren't painfully obvious. She turned her back on him to continue staring at the great river.
Ozorne moved closer until his legs brushed the slave's back. She didn't flinch, but her head dropped a few inches, as if she wanted to dissolve into herself. When the Emperor's hand brushed her icy blond hair, Farrah looked up hesitantly. Ozorne was observing the river as well, but he watched her, from the corner of his eye.
Carefully, the slave stood up. She didn't step away and rose slowly, brushing against her master as she stood. Only when she had straightened did Carthak's emperor turn to look down at her. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing, and in so doing pushing her against it. Farrah look up at him, breath catching in her throat. His arms left the rail and wrapped around her. They tipped forward until Farrah was balancing them both against the railing. It placed his lips barely an inch from hers.
Eyes closing, the Tortallan pushed her head forward closing that last distance. She expected to melt in his arms, to let him carry her away – even for him to start undressing her there.
But he didn't.
He pulled away. Surprised – hurt – Farrah opened her eyes; and found the cold, gilded, golden eyes of the Emperor of Carthak. She held her breath, a sudden terror squeezing her heart. He looked the same as when he'd first taken her to his rooms. His eyes scared her; and, in the second that he lifted his hand, Farrah's eyes widened. He wouldn't, she thought. Then the back of his hand collided with her cheekbone. She was pushed down and to the side with the force of his blow. Shivering, she huddled on the ground, covering her head. Roughly, Ozorne reached down and grabbed Farrah by the scruff of her neck, pulling her upright.
She was crying.
He had not expected to see that. But the Emperor did not falter for even a second. He brought her close, their faces inches apart. And, feeling so different from before, Farrah squirmed, wanting to be as far from him as was possible. "I am Emperor here," he hissed. "You will obey me in everything. Do you understand?" She nodded, blinking eyes that refused to halt streams of tears. Goddess, but what had she done? She...she'd kissed him. Was that bad? Did he not want to be kissed? Did he want to be the one in control? That had to be it. And why not? He was, after all, the emperor of all Carthak...
She shook herself mentally as Ozorne threw her down. Without a word, he turned his back on her and left. When he was out of site, Farrah bowed her head, a slight, tiny frown marring her face. Why...why was she trying...to see it his way? She was a slave, and slaves obeyed their masters.
What? No! No, that's not how it was! She was...she was a servant to the Emperor – well, now she was, but she had not been born into this. She had been...
She had been Tortallan. She had been born free.
She had been meant for more than this.
"No," she whispered. "No. I don't understand."