We lay unspeaking for a number of reckid, the stiffness slowly leaving me, and then Ceralt’s hand moved from my face to my body. I attempted to hold to the thought that he had made a slave of me, sought to keep my body as uncaring as my mind, yet the blood of a warrior is not to be denied. In no more than a short while, I again moaned to his caresses and writhed in ecstasy beneath him, taking no more than what he gave, begging for the stroke that went deep within me. Ceralt found himself amused at my writhing, and rested his hands upon my hair in such a manner that my body arched up before him, open and at his mercy. He slowed his thrusts and bent to touch his tongue to my breasts, and my screams rang out loud enough to break the clouds from the skies. When he deemed himself at last done with me, a full two hands of reckid passed before I was able to rise from the furs.
The falum had cooked itself to too great a heat to be eaten at once, therefore Ceralt, too, was able to dress before taking sustenance. He sat upon a single pelt, having knelt me before him, and fed upon his own falum before turning to mine. As upon the fey previous, I was fed the entire potful by him, and the grin he showed as the falum was gulped and swallowed by me taught that shame still had the ability to touch me. The humiliation of a Hosta warrior being fed by a male was great indeed, and Ceralt’s amusement over my discomfort sharpened it considerably. Although the male ordered me to see to the cleaning of the dwelling before donning his body fur, I was not displeased to see him go.
In some manner, the fey was endless. I knew naught of seeing to a dwelling such as that, and after having replaced the falum pots and lenga furs, knew not what might next be done. The weapons upon the wall might have been oiled and polished, yet I had been forbidden the touching of them. I walked from one end of the dwelling to the other, from side to side and window to window, yet found naught which might fill the time or raise my spirits. Deeper and deeper I fell beneath a heavy cloud of hopelessness, as heavy as the clouds which covered Mida’s skies beyond the windows. The fey was dark and unappealing the trees unmoving in the windlessness, the cold a waiting, stalking thing hanging just beyond the warmth of the fire. I shivered as I looked out upon the dark, frozen ground and colorless village, and became unusually aware of the bareness of my feet. The wood beneath them held the cold without, yet sure knowledge of the cold seeped between the boards in an attempt to enter. I hurried from the window to crouch by the fire, and freed my mind to wander where it willed.
The return of Ceralt startled me, yet I should not have been surprised. He bore a cut of meat for the mid-fey meal, and voiced his displeasure over my having disobeyed him. No cleaning had been done within the dwelling, he insisted, and his anger grew higher the more he looked about. I remained in my crouch in the corner of the hearth, understanding naught of what he said, and my silence and position seemed to turn his anger to fury. With a long, rapid stride, he fetched a length of leather, and I was coldly informed that he had not forgotten my disobedience of the fey previous. That, together with my current disobedience and the fact that I crouched rather than knelt, convinced him that my punishment had too long been neglected. The strokes of the leather were painful and humiliating, and once the punishment was done, I was ordered to see to the meat. I replaced my covering as Ceralt strode from the dwelling, and then saw to the cooking of the meat. I well knew that Ceralt’s light eyes had blazed hot with his anger, yet at no time had I attempted to meet his gaze. I returned to my corner once the meat had been set above the fire, and knelt there with head down and arms folded about myself. There was a longing within me for the Ceralt I had once known, a wish that I might have bid him a final farewell before being taken by the male with his features and name, yet such a thing was no longer possible. I now dwelt among cold possessions in a dark, strange room, and the male I had known was no more. The pain this other male gave throbbed upon my body, and I bent further toward my knees with the knowledge of my loss. No Ceralt, no warriorhood, no honor, no dignity, no freedom, yet I remained enchained through having given my word. With all else lost, was there aught to keep me from being forsworn? I no longer had the honor I strove to preserve, therefore what was to keep me from fleeing to the eternal darkness? Mida cared not, Ceralt cared not, and even I had ceased to care. Why, then, this great reluctance to break a word which had in truth been stolen from me? I had only to walk from the dwelling and take to the woods, and soon the cold and children of the wild would end my pain and humiliation forever. The thought was endlessly tempting, yet in Mida’s name, I could not cause myself to rise from where I knelt. All that I had lost had been taken from me, and I found that I could not, of myself, give over the small vestige of honor remaining to me. My head bowed farther and touched my knees, and I moaned with the pain I caused myself, yet I could not, of my own doing, be forsworn.
When Ceralt returned, his provender awaited him upon a wooden square, set beside the fire to keep the warmth from fleeing. I knelt again at the corner of the hearth, my eyes upon the flooring, lacking the interest even to look up. I heard him pause before the hearth where the square rested, and then his steps came again till his fur leg coverings were before me upon the flooring I studied. I made no sound nor movement, and he crouched before me to take my face in his hands.
“You have no knowledge of the cleaning of a halyar, have you?” he asked, a strange softness to his tone as his eyes searched my face. “I should have known this without Lialt’s having thought of it, yet it had not occurred to me. ???I thought you merely disobedient.”
There was no call to reply, therefore I remained silent and unmoving in his hands. His eyes continued to search my face, and a kind of pain had entered the light gaze. At last, he shook his head.
“Very well,” he sighed, removing his hands. “We shall speak no more about it. After we have eaten, Tarla will show you what needs to be done.”
He rose and went to his provender, taking a metal prong with the board, then seated himself upon a lenga pelt to feed. I thought I felt his eyes upon me where I knelt, yet his interest or lack thereof mattered not till he bade me come and kneel before him. Bits of his provender were pushed to the edge of the board, and I was directed to take them and feed upon them. I took them reluctantly and fed as was required, yet even the fact that the bits were more undone than the balance of the meat gave no taste to the feeding. I had no wish to feed and no hunger to quiet, and the meat was like stones being forced upon me.
With the meat consumed, Ceralt again went about his business, leaving me naught to do save clean and replace the square and prong, and then return to my place by the hearth. I knelt there perhaps a hin before the appearance of Tarla, who entered quickly yet shyly, then paused to remove her body and leg furs before approaching me. Her words began warm then grew concerned, her eyes grew large and troubled, yet even when she knelt before me and pleaded for a response of some sort, I found I had no further store of reassurance to tap for her. Though she wept and held me about, asking after what disturbed me, I could not find the words to ease her pain. My own pain was too great to put aside, too deep to overlook, and the child Tarla would have to deal with her fears and lack of understanding herself. She wept a short while, greatly disturbed, then dried her eyes and began to explain the why of her being there. I was to learn that which she had to teach me, and so I did, yet it served only to fill the time of the fey. The doing was useless and demeaning, fit only for the hands of a slave, a far cry from the duties of a war leader. I followed her about with cloth and a thing termed broom, and thought no more about the past than of the present.