Page 27 of Chosen

Chapter Eighteen

Sig

A furious swish sounded behind me. I rolled, certain that it was a sword. Instead, I found that wife of mine standing over me with a switch.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I reached up to check my ear, and gave the Gods thanks when I found it was still where it belonged.

“If you ever roll over and dismiss me like that again, I might not miss next time,” she quipped.

I grabbed the stick, and it broke effortlessly in my hand. I tossed it aside without thought and grabbed her legs, hauling her back to my lap.

“I didn’t tell you to get dressed,” I playfully whispered.

Her elbow landed solid against my ribs.

“I don’t remember asking.” She grew loud and squirmed, but I held on tight.

“By the Gods! Woman, I was jesting. What is wrong with you?” I scolded, just as loudly.

She jerked about a last time and huffed.

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I will.” I promised. “Just… relax. Okay?” I placed my lips against her ear and braced myself, fully expecting her to headbutt me or act out in some way.

Instead, she turned and stared at me.

“I’m not your slave,” she warned.

I gave a slow, understanding nod, suddenly realizing where her outburst had come from. Apparently, the slave business was still a touchy subject. I didn’t really know why. She had been free since before I was born or at least as long as I had been living.

“How long were you a slave?” I blurted out, despite my better judgement.

She shifted and tore her eyes away from me.

“Renata,” I gently tried to lure her attention back to me. “I’m serious. I want to know you. Not what my mother tells me of you, or the stories my father boasts of when he is drunk and trying to get a reaction out of me. I want to know your story through your eyes.”

She made a sound that was either a grunt or a giggle, I couldn’t tell which.

“I was born a slave. My mother was pregnant with me when she was brought to Thor’s Ridge.”

“How old were you when my aunt gave you freedom?” I squinted, realizing that I had never bothered to ask her age.

She took a deep breath and her eyes lifted like the clouds might have the answer. When she looked back, and I was still waiting she gave a hard sigh and shrugged.

“When you are in certain situations time doesn’t matter,” she whispered, so quietly I had to strain to hear her.

“What situation? Surely, having your freedom handed to you was the happiest day of your life. You must remember at least that much…”

“I bled the year that Ozias was Sixteen summers. I was given to him by your grandfather.” Her jaw stiffened and she swallowed a few times before it relaxed.

“Do you hate him…?” I blurted out another stupid question, I’d never seen her so vulnerable and I didn’t want her shutting down on me.

“Yes,” She hissed without hesitation, but then she surprised me when she clarified. “I hated your grandfather with a passion. He took me from my mother. He disrupted the only sense of normal that I had.”

“Oh… I meant Ozias.”

She took a deep breath and her eyes tightened like she was trying to wrangle in the right words.

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