Dagfinn, the head of the slaves, stopped Rose with a quick gesture of his head when they were all lined up outside the doors to the sleeping hall. Rose's face was scrubbed as clean as it would get, and her belly was as full as it ever was.
He was a long-nosed man, tall and whipcord lean, with short-cropped dark blond hair. Rose hated him.
Dagfinn never actually hit any of the slaves, or demanded favors from them or did anything else than to give out orders, but Rose knew, she just knew, that he was always responsible for the thousands (or so it felt, at least) of petty cruelties that faced them daily. His hand was in all of it.
"The master is expecting a guest tomorrow," he said without preamble. "A very important guest. Much is dependent on his work here, and he is said to have a liking for blondes. "
Rose's blood froze. It wasn't unusual for guests to receive assigned servants during their stay, if the master felt the guest required a show of wealth or extra buttering up, and the implication was always that the servant was there for any need the guest may have. It was common enough on this world, and even free servants were not exempt. They may not like it, but they took whatever gifts and money they could get in return. But a slave was not to own any property whatsoever, and they were far more replaceable than a free servant.
Rose had so far stayed under the radar (and wondered where that expression came from), and avoided being assigned as a personal servant. Gosta, the gentle manservant who always sneaked Aldis and Asta treats, had never spoken of what had befallen him during the weeks he served the master's visiting cousin, but he had never flinched at raised hands and voices before.
"You will report to me after the noon hour, and I will give your further instructions," Dagfinn continued. He looked expectantly at Rose who bobbed a curtsy, and Dagfinn turned around, content that his wishes would be respected.
Somehow Rose managed to force her feet to move, taking her into the sleeping hall. Her blood seemed to have turned to ice, pumping sluggishly through her veins, and everything was hazy, as if she suddenly needed glasses. Her fingers looked blue, the nail beds almost grey. Dead, as if all the oxygen had left them.
She made it to her cot and sank down. Eira who occupied the cot next to Rose's reached over and laid a soft hand on Rose's shoulder , her black eyes worried.
"'M to serve a guest tomorrow. An important one," Rose forced the words out through her numb lips.
Eira's hand jerked, her fingers suddenly digging into Rose's flesh. Her face, however, betrayed no reaction.
"You will survive," she said after a moment's silence. "Others have."
Rose nodded. There was no point in pretending things would be all right. The best any of them could hope for was to live another day.
She slept with Eira and Svala curled around her that night, pressed so closely together one could scarcely fit a hand between them. It didn't completely remove the chill from Rose's bones but made her feel less like the living dead