The slaves bathed me more thoroughly than I appreciated, then helped me out of the water and into a large drying cloth. The next room outward was less steamy than the bathing room, and gave my towelled hair a better chance to dry while the slaves rubbed lotions into my skin. The three of them giggled over the fact that I couldn’t sit without feeling swordbelt echoes, and I nearly fed them a replay of what the beating had been like before remembering that they were slaves who knew about such things from first-hand experience. I thought about having to live that sort of life forever, always forced to obey, always subject to punishment, and shed a few tears for all of us. The slaves, thinking they’d embarrassed and hurt me, immediately began pouring out sympathy and comfort, patting my shoulders and making soothing noises. Their misinterpretation of my feelings was hardly surprising, but the tender little scene tickled something at the back of my mind. It had to do with misinterpretation, but I didn’t yet know how misinterpretation could help me. All I could do was wait and see.
The slaves were very thorough in their preparation of me, and by the time they were finished I was finding it necessary to consciously fight off depression. My hair had been brushed until it shone, my face had been delicately pinched, and my body wore so subtle a fragrance under the sheer lavender gown that men were guaranteed to come closer to confirm it. I was being presented as a rella wenda, a silk woman more suitable for showing off and using in the furs than for normal, everyday chores, a dark-haired, green-eyed woman on a world of blue-eyed blondes. It was one way of saying that without my abilities I was just about useless to the men of that world, and also told me that Tammad had not changed his policy of always telling the truth. Any man who chose me would be told what I was, head to toes and through and through. If I hadn’t already hated that world, that was the point I would have started.
Leaving the bathing room for the corridor brought a double surprise, the first being that it was already dark. Torches hung flickering on the walls 0 around, their flames writhing to the heavy caress of the stiff, warm wind blowing all about. The skies were dark and starless, as though obscured by clouds.
“You are more than lovely,” Tammad said, coming forward out of the group of men he waited with to stop and look down at me. He and the others were my second surprise, as I hadn’t thought to find so large an escort. Most of the others were the barbarian’s men, but a handful undoubtedly belonged to Cinnan.
“Clearly worth the extended wait,” said one of the men I didn’t know, coming forward to stand next to Tammad as the others clustered around. “You will have little difficulty in finding one to band her, Tammad, yet not as she is. Few will approach you to discuss a five-banded woman.”
“I—seem to have overlooked that point,” the barbarian answered, his tone calm and controlled while his mind surged and billowed and fought to break through his restraint. His hands lifted toward my neck after a hesitation so brief I wasn’t sure there really had been one, and with one surge of his muscles the small-linked, bronze chain was gone from about my throat.
“Ah, considerably better,” said the man beside Tammad, and suddenly it seemed that a restraint had been taken, not from me, but from him and the others. The minds of the tall, blond l’lendaa had been humming as always, but as soon as the band was gone from me the hum became a growl. I shivered at the unbridled desire in the minds all around me, desperately fighting to keep from being overwhelmed, and took an involuntary step toward the barbarian. As his arm came up to circle me the growls eased off, dying down again to nothing but humming. I shivered a second time, leaning against the warmth of his body, and his arm tightened even more.
“The air has grown damp, and I do not wish to see the woman become chilled,” he said to the others, his tone still even and cordial. “Perhaps it would be best if we took no more time before proceeding to the apartments of the Chama.”
“Certainly,” agreed the man beside him, so amenable he was nearly jolly. “Those who await us will be pleased to have their wait shortened.”
His sparkling blue eyes touched me briefly with amusement, and then everyone was turning in the same direction and moving off, the barbarian and the other man leading the way, me between them. I’d had a lot of shocks that day, but apparently shocks don’t become easier to weather with increased frequency. I’d really thought I knew what it would be like to be offered for banding to the men of that world, but the reality had turned out to be like nothing I had ever experienced. They would not politely contend for my attention the way a group of Centran men would, there would be no civilized courting and pretty words and gifts. They would offer Tammad a price and wait to have it accepted, and then I would belong to them entirely, a possession they could do whatever they pleased with. It was out and out slavery no matter how many times the contention was denied, no matter how much tender concern filled buyer and seller. In only one way was the object of sale considered, and that one way was her relationship with her current owner. As the barbarian had said over and over, a woman who didn’t care to be with the man who possessed her, might be just the woman the next man was looking for. For him she would sew beautifully and cook deliciously, and be even more delicious in the furs. If, on the other hand, she did want to be with the man who was selling her, a change of ownership could prove to be more trouble than it was worth. The woman would cry, and do her work half-heartedly, and make the new man force her to feel something in the furs. It could be unpleasant as well as annoying, and many men would not
My train of thought came to a dead stop, and would have stopped the movement of my feet as well if the barbarian hadn’t had his arm around me. I had to quiet the surge of elation that told me I’d found my answer, the one way to discourage other men even with the barbarian watching me every step of the way. Misinterpretation had been the key, and I’d been blind not to see it sooner. If I handled it right it would work, and I had to handle it right; one mistake and I was done. The elation I’d felt faded to grim determination, but it was better that way. Elation has too much self-delusion in it, and what I needed right then was reality.
The walk to Aesnil’s apartment was much too long, but all the men were in a chuckling good mood by the time we got there. The corridors of the palace were designed to pick up every stray breeze in the hot, usually windless climate and intensify it to cool the inhabitants of the place, and the stronger air movement that had developed turned the place into a thing one step down from a wind tunnel. As soon as we left the sheltered area around the bathing room, invisible hands grabbed my gown and hair and tried to toss them off every wall and over every balcony. I snatched at the gown and tried to fight it down from my face, struggled to get the wide butterfly sleeves untangled from the skirt, pawed at the hair that whipped around my head and blinded me, too distracted to notice immediately that a silence had fallen over the conversations that had been going on around and behind me. The first thing I noticed was the return of the mental growls, and then the soft laughter came through, telling me every eye was riveted to my struggle. I know I blushed from disheveled hairline to bare toes, and the increase in laughter told me the men knew it, too. Not one hand came to help me fight the stupid gown down, not even Tammad’s, who was enjoying the show as much as the others. I did some growling myself as I quickened my pace toward the next sheltered area, but a lot of good it did me. By the time we reached our destination, every man with me knew beyond doubt whether or not I had a royal birthmark—anywhere.