I glanced at her to see her smile of satisfaction, then continued on in the direction we’d been going without argument. The Chama wasn’t prepared to hear argument on any subject, so I didn’t waste my breath. It was clear Aesnil had drawn certain conclusions about my “power,” and incomplete as those conclusions were they had still trapped me. The fact that projection was only a part of my ability meant nothing; I was to be a weapon Aesnil used against her enemies. It would eventually occur to her to ask what else I was capable of doing, but by then the answer might be irrelevant. It would not take long before the Chama decided I was too dangerous to have around, and that no matter how cooperative I’d become. Attempting to gain control of her emotions would be useless; it would be impossible to control her every minute of every day, and the decision to end me would come when she was alone. I had very little to look forward to no matter which way it went; my decision would have to be based on how willing I was to be used—and how quickly I wanted to die.
Aesnil continued walking me around for another hour or so, showing me audience rooms and party rooms and guest chambers, all built around the central structure of the fortress. Guards were everywhere, and droves of servants—and countless numbers of slaves. Male slaves, dirty, manacled and naked, were used for heavy repair jobs and for carrying in and out back-breaking sacks and bales of foodstuffs and goods. Guards stood over them with whips, stroking them whenever they seemed to be slacking, bringing red agony to their minds even when no outcry was made.
We were passing an enclosed courtyard when Aesnil paused, whispered to the guard who walked beside her, then redirected our steps so that we entered the courtyard. Inside the area was a work-gang of slaves, carrying new stone to the walls so that workmen might repair gaps and increase the height of those walls. At a signal from one of the guards with us the slaves were directed to one side of the courtyard to rest, allowing Aesnil the chance to inspect their work. She walked to the stones to look down at them, then turned to give the slaves the same sort of inspection. The large blond men were sweating and filthy in their heavy chains, worked to the point of exhaustion, denied all vestiges of pride, but when Aesnil turned to look at them, their eyes went to her as well. She smiled faintly as they stirred where they sat or sprawled, but if she could have felt their minds the way I felt them, she wouldn’t have smiled. The slaves had been denied a very long time, and showing them a beautiful, desirable woman wasn’t kind—or wise. When she finished her inspection and walked back to me, their eyes following her, I felt distinctly uneasy.
“The slaves have done an excellent job,” she said, turning again to look at them. “In order to encourage continued excellence, I feel they should be rewarded. Approach them.”
I stood frozen at her command, wondering if she really knew what she was saying. The slaves’ minds were ablaze with flaming need, shamed at being forced to public display by Aesnil’s presence and mine but unable to control themselves. Each of them would have killed for a woman, and each of them would have killed any woman he used. Approaching them was out of the question unless I wanted to be torn apart.
“I said, approach them!” the Chama repeated, turning to stare at me coldly. “You have been commanded and will obey!”
“I cannot approach them,” I whispered, frightened by the firm decision I could see in her mind. “They would kill me.”
“Not immediately,” she answered with a sudden smile, then gestured imperiously with her hand. My arms were suddenly gripped by two of the guards, and I found myself being forced toward a line of filthy, desperate beings who had become more animals than men. They growled in pleasure as they rose up in their chains, their hands already reaching for me, their flesh hard and straining, their minds a solid sheet of red-hot lust. I screamed as I was dragged closer and closer, so close my gown was caught and ripped, panic and horror filling me so completely I couldn’t breathe. I screamed again and struggled insanely, and suddenly I was free of the restraining hands, free to run from the pack of slavering minds. I fled in absolute terror, all the way back to the corridor and up against a. smooth, stone wall, my shield snapping shut when my mind discovered it couldn’t run, far enough. I was cowering against the wall and breathing in gasps when Aesnil came to stand over me.
“There you see one of the possible results of your decision,” she said, purring as she looked down at me. “It would be well to remember the incident at the end of your deliberations. Ah, how unfortunate! Your gown has been torn. You may return to your chamber now, and I will have another sent to you. Our conversation may be continued at another time.”
She turned and walked away then, accompanied by most of her guards, leaving three of them there to pull me to my feet and head me back to my room. Behind us was the sound of whips striking flesh as the slaves were forced out of their frenzy by the most direct means possible—the infliction of terrible pain. I could hear their screams and snarls and could imagine how savage their minds must be, and shivered inside my shield.
After a few minutes of walking, I had calmed down enough to understand an important point. Aesnil had arranged her little scene to show me what could happen if I refused her, but that hadn’t been her only purpose in forcing me near the slaves. She’d also proven to her own satisfaction that I couldn’t defend myself from something like that, proving beyond doubt how vulnerable I was despite my “power”. It had been a test to see how dangerous to herself her personal weapon would be, but I wasn’t sure how she had read the results. Had she decided I was vulnerable and therefore controllable, or had she decided I hadn’t attempted to use my power because I knew she must be bluffing? My terror had certainly been real enough to me, but how had it looked to her? If I hadn’t had my shield closed tight I would have known enough to make a reliable guess, but as it was . . . . When I got back to my room and the guards closed the doors behind me, I threw myself down on the fur-layered bed and began to brood.
I was left alone for a few hours, long enough to fall asleep for a while and wake up on my own. I went to the wide, lightly curtained windows to look out at a pretty day that was just past noon, but admiring the lovely day was all I could do there. There were no bars on the windows, no guards just outside—nothing but a sheer drop going down at least a hundred feet into a ravine of some sort. I’d wondered about the openness of this side of the building, but didn’t have to wonder any longer. The palace was protected by a natural barrier that kept strangers out and prisoners in, an effective arrangement even without the central fortress. I banged a fist of frustration into the wall by the window, but all that that accomplished was to bruise the side of my hand on the stone under the silk hanging’s.
A minute later I heard the sound of a door opening, and turned to see Daldrin coming in. He carried a tray full of fresh food and what looked like a white gown over one arm, but that didn’t explain why the guard who pulled the door closed behind him was grinning. The guard had been amused, but Daldrin was more angry than amused, which he proved as soon as he’d put the tray down on the table by my bed. He pulled the gown off his arm and tossed it into a corner, then turned to look at me where I still stood by the windows.
“It was my impression that you bad agreed not to anger the Chama,” he said, his voice cold as he put his fists on his hips. “What have you done to have incurred her displeasure?”
“I have not truly incurred her displeasure as yet,” I answered with a shrug and turned back to the window’s. “She merely awaits my decision on a matter discussed between us.”
“The Chama is not one to merely await a decision,” he ground out, coming to stand behind me. “Agree to her command whatever it may be.”