And really, what could she hope for that was better if he freed her? Did peasants have things so much better than slaves?
Temptation is a slow and subtle serpent.
I am the turtle-bear. I’m fat and ungainly and ridiculous, but at least I can be honest with myself. I want to take her because I’m terrified I’ll never get the chance to bed anyone ever again. And I’ll be nice to her because I don’t want to feel guilty afterward. It’s all lies.
Of course I want to sleep with you, Master. Of course you were good to me. Of course it’s better than a girl could have ever asked for. Of course you are kind and generous and wonderful.
If you’re not free to say no, your yes is meaningless.
“Have I displeased you?” Teia asked.
She wouldn’t be so attuned to my every mood and whim if I weren’t her master, would she?
She swallowed. “We don’t need to wash up first. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. I’m all thumbs at this. I should shut up and-” She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her shirt.
Kip grabbed her arm before she could strip, stopping her. He ignored the bewildered look on her face, went to his desk, and grabbed the papers. He handed them to her, avoided her eyes.
“You’re free. I won’t be able to get it registered until the first transfer clears the embassy-I tried, but as far as I’m concerned, you don’t belong to me.” That sounded bad, for some reason. Kip rubbed his face with the towel. “No one had slaves where I grew up, so I don’t know how people usually do this, but… I don’t want to know how it works. The idea of compelling you to… to do the things that awful old man suggested… I hate myself enough already.”
“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Teia asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“So you haven’t.”
Kip looked away. “I have… bad dreams.” Bad dreams. That was putting it mildly. “Whether I sleep or not, I’m more tired in the morning.”
“Go to bed, Kip. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
“I’m serious, Teia.”
“Me, too. To bed,” she said firmly.
“I thought I was the master around here,” Kip said. He regretted saying it immediately, but she laughed and swatted his butt. She’d laughed a little too hard, though, obviously at least as relieved as he was.
He went to bed and, miracle of miracles, slept.
In the morning, Kip felt ridiculously well. For ten seconds. He caught himself humming.
Then he thought about the dagger.
He sponged himself clean, put on fresh clothes, and then poked his head out of his door quickly. No spies, at least none that he noticed.
He used the stairs to go down to his old barracks level. He still didn’t have a plan, but he knew he couldn’t leave a priceless relic in some random chest forever. He slipped into the barracks and walked quickly down the rows.
The bed under which he’d hidden the dagger had been claimed. The chest was moved to the foot of the bed, like all the other occupied beds. Kip’s throat clamped shut.
He threw the chest open. A change of clothes, an extra blanket, a few coins. No dagger. Oh hell. Oh hell no. Dear Orholam no.
“What are you doing in my stuff?” a voice said from the latrine doorway. It was a new boy, someone Kip had never seen before. Pimply, scrawny, birthmark on his neck.
“I had some things in this chest,” Kip said. “Where are they? What have you done with them?”
“What are you talking about? There was just the standard blanket when I got the chest. Are you stealing from me?”
“Oh shut up,” Kip said.
“You’re Breaker, aren’t you?” the boy asked.
Great. Kip didn’t say anything. He left.
He went downstairs and got in a student line. He was here during lectures, so the line was empty. The secretary obviously knew Kip was skipping lectures, too. He took his time coming over.
Kip bit his tongue.
“Are you lost, young man?” the secretary asked him. The man was holding a steaming cup of kopi.
“No, but something of mine is. Do you have an area where you keep lost items?”
“Indeed,” the man said. “What have you lost?”
Kip swallowed.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve lost a number of coins, but you can’t remember exactly how many.” The man smiled humorlessly and sipped at his kopi.
“No. Um.” Kip lowered his voice. “A knife in a sheath, about this long, white ray skin on the um, grip, some um, glass embedded in the blade?”
“You boys and your games.”
“I’m serious.”
The man took another sip of his kopi, rolled his eyes, and went to a box behind his desk. He began rummaging through old cloaks and trousers. “Slaves clean the rooms, you know. Shifty lot. No morals. Thieves half the time. You really shouldn’t leave anything out that-” He stopped speaking.
Kip heard the unmistakable sound of a blade sliding out of its sheath. His heart leapt.
The man came back to the counter and laid the blade on the counter. It was the real thing. His eyes were wide.
Kip swept it off the counter. “It might, uh, be wiser for you to not tell anyone about this,” he said. “Um, I didn’t mean that to sound like a threat. I meant it’s kind of incredibly important, so if anyone else comes looking for it, maybe you haven’t ever seen it and don’t know what they’re talking about? And if you ever find out which slave brought it here, tell them thanks. I probably owe them my life or something.”
The man sipped his kopi nonchalantly. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, though.
I don’t have anywhere to conceal a big knife.
As if it weren’t terribly conspicuous, Kip took the knife and stuck it up his sleeve, the hilt concealed as much as possible in his hand. He swallowed and tightened his belt with one hand.
Girding up my loins, I guess.
Loins. Kip didn’t like the word.
The secretary cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asked.
Oh, Kip was stalling.
“No. Thanks again.” Then he was off.
He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t have any safe place to put something worth a fortune, but he found himself walking toward Janus Borig’s house. She had things that were worth a fortune, hidden in plain sight. Maybe she could give him some advice.
When he got to the entry hall, he realized that everyone coming inside was soaking wet. He thought about going back up to his room and getting a cloak, but his room could well have a spy on it, and he already was doing a bad job of protecting the dagger. Getting lucky once was great, but expecting it to happen again was too much.
He’d just have to get wet. Orholam knew he had enough insulation to keep warm. He braced himself against the downpour and started jogging.
When he reached Janus Borig’s house, sopping wet and freezing cold, he found the door bashed in, torn off its hinges, the iron twisted and ripped. He smelled something in the air. Blood. Blood and smoke.
Chapter 61
Kip could feel fear trying to paralyze him, but fear was slow. Fear could only perch on his shoulders and spread its black wings over his face if he gave it a place to roost. It flew around his head, stabbing its bloody beak for his eyes, but Kip was faster. He burst inside.
He ran into something as he stepped through the torn door. Something yielding and invisible. Not something. Someone.
Kip’s weight did something useful for once, and he fell forward, staggering into Janus Borig’s house and knocking over the invisible figure. He saw the flash of a trouser leg through an open cloak, as the man tumbled over a shattered bookshelf.
There was a small explosion of cards. The man must have had his hands full of them, and as he hit the ground, they went everywhere.
Then, in a rustle of cloth, he disappeared.
Kip jumped to his feet, slipped on the trash on the floor, and saw dead bodies. Armed men, perhaps half a dozen, all uniformed in black with a silver shield embroidered on their chests. Janus Borig’s guards. All the dead were her guards. They hadn’t killed anyone in return.