His new life felt like a dream.
His new master was a powerful Magister - the slaves of the household made sure to tell him just how powerful and highly ranked he was, since any status they had derived first from their master.
He had a cot in the barracks all his own, complete with a warm blanket that didn't have a single hole. He no longer had to share a spot on the floor and ratty blankets with others.
He had as much as he wanted to eat, which was considerable after all of the training he was put through every day. He grew stronger, but wielding the great sword stayed beyond his capability.
He had new clothes, made especially for him. They were black linen and softer than anything he'd ever felt. No shoes; slaves didn't wear shoes.
He was taught protocol and etiquette appropriate to his new station in life. Danarius wanted him close to hand, so he learned everything about serving the rich and powerful: where and how to stand, how to address his master's guests, how to pour wine and serve food.
But for everything he gained, he lost something as well.
No more hiding unnoticed in the furthest reaches of his master's estate. No more disguising his beauty behind filthy hair and clothes. Regular baths were required. His master's apprentice eyed him hungrily in a way that made him nervous.
No more staring at the floor in the presence of his master and his companions. He was being trained as a bodyguard and had to learn quickly the balance between subservience and surveillance.
No more privacy. Even as a slave in his previous master's estate, he found ways and places to steal moments for himself. Now he was training or serving his new master, even if that meant nothing more than awaiting his master's pleasure in the study where Danarius conducted his business.
No more family. He had asked for his boon in front of Magister Danarius and the Archon himself, and Danarius had granted it in grand fashion, calling on his former master and arranging it with nothing more than a promise and a handshake. Now they were free, and he would always be a slave.
There were times the dream turned uneasy.
One day he was called to his master's study. "Strip," Danarius ordered.
Leto obeyed immediately, taking off his fine linen shirt and pants and folding them neatly. At an impatient gesture from his master, he also removed his underclothes, leaving him standing naked in front of his master's grand desk.
Danarius sketched at his desk, occasionally telling Leto to turn around. After nearly an hour and with no explanation, Danarius ordered him to dress and leave.
The next time he was called to Danarius' study and told to strip, his master painted lines all over his body in brown ink. Afterward, he detoured through the drawing room where a massive mirror hung on one wall. He studied the flowing lines that decorated his body. They made no sense to him - just patterns that swirled in lines and dots over his torso, arms and legs. Finally, he shrugged and headed to the bath house to see if they would wash off. He was secretly relieved when they did.
Once he was forced to watch when an elderly slave was punished for dropping a plate when serving Danarius's guests. After the meal, Danarius and all his guests departed for the back courtyard and watched as the guard captain administered twenty lashes to the old man's back. Some of the guests smiled cruelly. Others egged the captain on. Leto locked his feelings down as far as he could and watched impassively, even when the old slave's legs gave out and he hung helplessly from the manacles around his wrists as blood flowed down to soak into the sand.
Weeks later, memories of that whipping came to mind when he was forced to pour wine for his master's guests, and an unwelcome intimate caress nearly caused him to fumble the wine glass. His heart was in his throat as the group at the table laughed at him. The female magister who fondled him laughed loudest of all, the sound high and sharp like broken glass jingling. "Surely this cannot be the one you were speaking of, Danarius. Look at him. He's as meek and timid as a mouse," she said with another tittering laugh, and the others joined in.
Leto's ears burned as hot as his cheeks and he grasped the wine pitcher tightly. Danarius chuckled indulgently as he looked at Leto. "Dearest Paximina, you will have to return after I have completed my work. I promise you, meek and timid will be nowhere to be found." His master's words brought a rush of fear to Leto and he ducked his head to cover it up, eliciting another round of laughter at his expense.
The evening became a torment for Leto as the dinner guests seemed to delight in touching him and causing him to blush or squirm away. He was afraid of drawing his master's wrath, but Danarius seemed amused at the spectacle. It wasn't until Magister Paximina drew him in for a wanton and plundering kiss that Danarius intervened. "Now, now, my dear. You have your own slaves for that. I'm training him for a bodyguard, not a bed slave."
When Danarius gestured for Leto to return to him, he moved as quickly as he could without actually running to the relative safety of his master, drawing more laughter at his obvious retreat.
Paximina pouted at Danarius. "You promised us entertainment this evening. I want him," she said with all the petulance of a child. In the slave quarters where Leto had grown up, such an attitude would have been met with a quick slap to the face. Among magisters, it was apparently tolerated, even nurtured, into adulthood.
Danarius leaned back and steepled his fingers together as he smiled slyly at the woman. "No, Paximina. I promised you a work of magic unlike any you had seen before. But to truly appreciate my masterwork, you had to see the raw material. Now, I believe we should retire to my study for any further discussions."
Leto was left behind and stood motionless behind Danarius' chair as the magisters made their leisurely way into his master's study, enduring a few more casual and intrusive caresses as the room emptied. It wasn't until the kitchen slaves entered to clean the room that he finally shook himself free of his stupor and wandered back to his cot in the barracks.
He had thought he was training to be Danarius' bodyguard. But now he realized there was more. He knew nothing about magic except that it gave the magisters and other mages power over everyone in Tevinter. The sessions spent with Danarius studying him and painting lines on his body became ominous in his head instead of just odd and uncomfortable. Was Danarius planning to change him into something else? The life of a slave was always filled with uncertainty, his fate never his own, but he had always had at least an idea of what might be in store for him. Now he was wondering what his master had planned for him, and he was more uncertain than he had ever been, even when his father had been sold away from them.
Then there was the time the dream broke his heart.
He was ordered to serve wine to his master's guests. The steward fussed over him, brushing his hair back and making sure Leto's appearance was pleasing. Leto picked up the serving tray and entered the study. He stopped in shock when he saw Magister Danarius' guest.
"Come in, Leto," his master purred softly, but the command was obvious. Leto forced his feet to carry him forward and realized with shock that his hands were shaking. Desperately, he forced himself to calm down before he embarrassed his master. Or worse, his family.
"Leto!" his mother exclaimed and looked like she was on the verge of standing up to embrace him. A furtive touch on her shoulder from Varania stopped her.
"Leto, wine for my guests," Danarius ordered with a calculated smile.
He managed to pour the wine and hand it to Danarius and his mother and sister without spilling it. The entire time, his family stared at him. He knew they wanted to talk, but wouldn't in front of the magister. Danarius carried the conversation for them.
"As you can see, my dearest lady, your son is quite well. He's quite the treasure, I assure you. I have grand plans for him."
Greedily, he snatched glimpses of them whenever he could. They were dressed in finery only associated with free people. Their clothing proclaimed their liberati status more than anything else could have done. Reluctantly, his mother and sister caught up the conversation, leaving him to stand silently by the sideboard, just another slave ready to serve at his master's pleasure.
This was his prize. This was what made everything else bearable, he thought. No matter what happened to him now, he could rest easy knowing that his mother and sister were safe. No one would ever own them again. It made the pain of his dismissal easier to bear as Danarius escorted his guests to the door. He exchanged one last look with Varania before he left. Take care of her, he mouthed silently. She nodded once before the door closed and cut him off from his family forever. He treasured this memory of the two most precious people in the world to him. It was a memory he swore he would never forget.
And like every dream, eventually it had to end.
He was summoned to Danarius' study and once again his master had painted lines all over his body. He couldn't see them all, but he could tell that these were more elaborate than the last time, extending down to his palms and toes, up to his chin, and around his back. Instead of sleeping in the barracks, he was taken to a tiny stone room in the basement and locked in. He was naked and the night and cell were chilly. Only a small grate near the ceiling admitted fresh air and a glimpse of starlight. There was a pallet on the floor, but he was too nervous to sleep. Instead, he drew his legs to his chest and watched the slowly rotating stars.
It was midmorning before his cell opened. Captain Berjeris escorted him through subterranean tunnels with one arm clamped tight around his arm, as if he were afraid Leto would run. He would almost laugh at that. Where would he run? He was a slave. His life belonged to his master. Although when the final door opened, and Leto saw the slaves chained the walls, he very nearly did run.
Blood magic. Whispers in the dark by frightened slaves. Stories of slaves who mysteriously disappeared. Legends of demons that haunted Minrathous.
Danarius was standing beside a wooden table that had straps obviously meant to hold a struggling person in place. He was wearing elaborate robes, and a silver knife gleamed in his hand. On another table, a cauldron full of a shimmering blue-white liquid bubbled and hissed ominously. His apprentice stood nearby, still eyeing him hungrily. As Leto was pushed through the door, Danarius smiled. It was a frightening thing, full of teeth and pride and hunger, and all of it directed at Leto.
He couldn't move. No matter that his master ordered him to lay on the table, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The captain pushed him forward, and even though he fought, he couldn't prevent the captain from restraining him to the table. Breathless, panting, skin slicked with sweat from both fear and exertion, he watched Danarius through fearful eyes.
The magister leaned over and brushed his hair off his forehead with a gentle touch. "Hush now, little Leto. This is the prize you fought for. You will be my masterpiece, and with you, I will rise even higher in the Magisterium."
Danarius nodded to his apprentice, and she stepped forward and very precisely cut into one of the slave's legs. Thick, bright blood streamed from the woman's legs and into channels on the floor. Danarius began chanting, and Leto bit back a sob. The air in the room grew heavy and thick, making it hard to breathe. Darkness gathered along the blood-filled channels cut into the stone floor and rose up to envelop the magister. The silver knife glinted eerily bright in the gathering gloom, and Leto flinched away as the blade just grazed along the flowing lines of the dye he had painted last night.
Fear rose up in great choking waves as Danarius dipped the knife into the cauldron. Rather than dripping from the blade as water would have, the blue-silver liquid clung tightly to the blade, swirling and twisting in mesmerizing patterns. Danarius laid the blade on his skin, and Leto bit his lip so hard he tasted blood as it felt like his skin was blistering and burning away to ash.
Then Danarius pushed the blade down so it cut through his skin, and Leto screamed in agony. The pain grew, consuming him, body and mind. Blue and white, spreading through his body, glowing, taking physical form, pushing against his thoughts, pushing against his very being. There was no room for thought, no room for memories. There was only the constant burning agony stabbing through his chest and radiating into his arms and legs. It grew until he was no longer aware of his body. He lost track of where the knife was. He was blind to everything except the blue-white glow that surrounded him.
He was sinking, falling, disappearing. Nothing in the world mattered beyond the molten flames burning away his flesh and bones. It wasn't that he gave up. Everything just faded away, burned out. Gone. All gone. Just like him.