Page 85 of Elvenbred

Then the moment broke, and Triana saw the man’s gaze, not on her as his owner and mistress, but over her younger self’s shoulder. She watched as her dream-self turned her head, and framed in the light was a young woman, a laundress with an armload of clean sleeves for the straw mattresses the slaves slept on. The younger Triana turned her head slowly back to face the man. His head had fallen, his eyes staring at her knees. She used the riding crop to raise his head to meet her eyes, then flicked left. Sale.

The man’s eyes went dark with desolation, along with the hurt and anger he dared not express, for fear of the collar. She saw young Triana look back at the girl, and saw the laundress’ expression turn to anguish as she comprehended what had occurred. The slave might be collared, but she fell to the floor and wept.

Triana remembered the culling. That was just business. A simple matter of deciding which stock to keep … nothing personal. Yet the expression on her younger self’s face suggested otherwise. She had chosen to separate the young fighter and lover precisely because of the anguish it would cause them. The older Triana saw the mix of hurt and anger on her younger self’s face. The dream froze and the tableau faded, leaving her to walk along the corridors of her hall, now decorated from her father’s years, after her mother had died in childbed.

What in the hell is going on? Why that dream? Why that memory? She both thought and spoke, her mind and voice echoing across the empty hallways. And why is it so different from the way I remembered it?

She felt confused, uncertain about the boundary between dream and memory. The events had happened, though she recalled the emotions differently. Yes, that was it. The way she remembered it, the only reason it stuck out was because it was her first culling. Until this point she had left cullings up to her trainers, but the results had been less than completely satisfactory, and she’d decided to take over herself. She didn’t remember feeling anything except satisfaction that now all of this was hers to control; not her father’s, not her brother’s. She didn’t understand how she could be outside herself, and seeing things that she could not have seen before, such as her own face. Yet she remembered the riding crop, the inspections, the flicks left and right. She remembered the gladiator and the laundress, and the sale.

Still enmeshed in the dream, she crossed the empty entry hall, still styled for the unhappy time after her mother’s death. She froze, her mind tracing back to the expression on her younger self when she comprehended the love between the human man and his mate.

She saw herself again, for just a moment, right before the dream faded. The naked envy written across her younger face that the gladiator and the laundress had found something she would never know. Love.

The expression Triana had seen on her own face had been jealousy.

She awoke.

“What the hell was that all about?” she said aloud.

She slid down out of the nest Rock had made for her and slid gently to the ground. She often felt disoriented after waking from a dream, but this time her mind felt clear and rested. She took several steps before she realized the soreness had gone and she felt well and strong. And … not hungry. Or, well, yes, a bit hungry, but the hunger wasn’t that gnawing creature in her belly that made her weak at the knees and got between her and thought.

She turned around to give Rock a long look. “Could you do that all along, or are you just feeling better now that another rod is out?”

She took a long look at Rock. The mage-lights cast a blueish hue that managed to be both harsh on the eyes and diffuse at the same time. Everything in the cage looked pale, and she had no doubt that she must have looked near to death, given her own fair skin. Still, the Rock seemed less pearlescent, and more … earthen-hued.

She washed herself, then fed Rock, moving in time with him as he consumed cartloads’ worth of straw and dung. Gelbert made an appearance soon afterwards, bringing the empty ash bucket and her breakfast. She noticed that Rock shifted himself to keep Gelbert from seeing the fresh scars where the rods had been removed. Pretty good. I wonder how you see? How do you know?

She did her part, engaging Gelbert in small-talk and staff gossip to keep him focused on her, and not on Rock. It was also the only way to stay current on the latest gossip. The lady physician who had treated her had joined some kind of expedition, some great task that would save the world … and to Triana sounded much too much like an act of the desperate.

The way the guard repeated it, suggested this was apparently old gossip, dredged up again when Haldeen had culled the Household staff for … what was the guard’s word? Voluntolds? Triana had only met the woman a couple of times, the first for an examination that left her feeling humiliated, and again when she had been delirious and sick. Triana really couldn’t have cared less about the rumors, but her attention kept Gelbert’s from wandering. So she had done as women have since time immemorial. She nodded attentively, made polite noises at the right moments, smiled at the half-jokes, and tried desperately not to yawn.

Her sacrifice appeared to work. Her extractions had gone unnoticed, and if Rock’s hue had changed, the guard certainly hadn’t noticed. She felt grateful that the guard didn’t really enter the cage anymore, but he also didn’t act as if he thought she was going to lunge for him as soon as he opened the door. He treated her with the sort of casual disregard that would have rankled not that long ago. Now, it just came as a relief.

Still, at some point she would need to escape, and the easiest way would be to go through him or over him as he opened the door. She needed to keep in mind that building his trust served a purpose, her escape. When the time came, she would need to be merciless, if she wanted out. She now had three hefty bronze rods. Each would make for a blunt but heavy spear, or club. Thrown or swung with enough force, they could kill. Escaping would likely mean killing him. She was surprised that it bothered her. He was a nice lad. Not the sharpest sword in the arsenal, but open and trusting. The Triana of not very long ago would have shrugged and done what needed to be done.

“You’re going soft,” she murmured. Then, “Maybe there is another way.” Doubtful, but … think about it. She got her equipment together. “Ready, Rock?”

The last two rods came out more quickly than those before. Either she had mastered the technique, grown physically stronger, or Rock had aided her somehow. Likely a combination of all three. The work might have been concluded that same day had it not been for a lot of noise and commotion outside the stables. Triana had quit as soon as that had started, fearful that someone might poke their head into her prison, just to make sure she wasn’t up to something. She had lived in nervous anxiety for the duration, until it quieted, and Gelbert came in with her supper.

“What was that all about?” she asked him, as he slid the bowl into her cage and took the soiled clothing. He frowned a bit, “Can’t say. Shouldn’t say. Big secret.”

“Oh,” she replied dryly. “Yes, I’m in constant contact with my nest of spies and confidants.” She made it a point to turn a full circle in the cage. “Who exactly am I going to tell?”

Gelbert laughed dryly. “Good point. Lord Haldeen’s taking delivery of some kind of new weapon. They brought it to the Beast gate. The noise is a group of fabricators working to smith together some kind of carts for them. I heard they are supposed to be used to help with the Great Work.”

Triana could hear the capital letters. “Great Work?”

“Yes,” Gelbert replied. “They are building a road that connects one of the other cities to a giant Ring out in the middle of nowhere.”

Triana felt a sudden chill. She knew exactly what that Gate was, and where it went.

“Why?” she asked.

Gelbert shrugged. “Dunno. I heard that it is a weapon that will put down the Monsters once and for all. But, if that’s the case … I guess they took their own damned sweet time deciding to use it.”

“I guess,” Triana agreed. She considered how to proceed. “Did you hear anything else about what it might be?”

He glanced at her then, his brows knitting together and expression growing cagey. “I’ve said too much. Best you forget all about it. Seriously, forget about it. Focus on shoveling your shit.” His tone had turned harsh, enough that it surprised her.