Page 64 of The Omega Slave

“He’s correct in that if we send guards, the sand people be gone moments after we step into the sewers,” Tam confirmed. “I was blindfolded, and I know each gang has scouts on their territories, not just for outsiders, but from other gangs. Territory is hard-won and fiercely fought over.”

“Suggestions?” Mansala murmured.

Tam looked at Mansala. “I can get in since I’ve been seen about the city and in the sewers, but no one else. I’ll get to Moxie and her rats. She can tell us which direction they are using and work out their exit.” Kamir wrinkled his nose in disgust at children being called vermin but kept silent. It was his fault, theemir’sfault, that they were there in the first place.

“Tam, go prepare what you need. Mansala, can you work out where Damatrious needs to position the guards so you can get Tsaria free? We need a meeting place. She can’t be allowed to do this a second time.” Kamir turned to Jael. “Come and eat.” He turned to Mansala. “I’m taking him to my private salon for food.”

Kamir led Jael out of the throne room and stayed silent as four imperial guards fell in to escort them. But once they were in his private salon, he dismissed them and led Jael to the refreshments always laid out, and Jael fell upon the food.

Kamir watched and felt just as useless even with the new information. He wanted to go find his beloved himself, and he heard an almost deafening roar in his head.

At least someone agreed with him.

Chapter twenty-seven

The smell hit him even before Tsaria woke and it made him gag, both thanks to the stench of the sewers and the knowledge of where he was, and he struggled to withhold the groan. He knew why he’d been taken, but not why he was in the sewers. He was alone, but as he tried to lift his arm, he realized he was bound.

Had Moxie rescued him from the sand people? But that made no sense. He wouldn’t be tied up and alone if so, and they would have sent word to Tam. It had to be Elainore that still had him, even down here, because he could be used to gain leverage with Kamir. It was hard to acknowledge that his ability to bring forth the dragon was the only measure of his worth. That he’d never once been valued for himself, simply what he could do for others. Even with his father.Stepfather?It made a sick kind of sense, he supposed, that he’d never had any value to him. In fact, Alain’s betrayal had been worse. His father had never pretended any kind of affection and while he had been a baby, he was still the catalyst for his ma’s death.

Bitterness coated his tongue, tasting like regret. Had he ever meant anything to anyone just because of who he was, not what he could do? The sand people assumed he was valuable to Kamir, so—

Tsaria’s heart hurt with the memory of Kamir’s terror-filled face when he realized Tsaria wasn’t an image his desperate mind had conjured. He’d been terrified for Tsaria.

Hewasvaluable to Kamir, and not because of the dragon. Because he wasloved. And in that moment, captured, chained, and so very alone, he finally felt free for the first time in his life.

Because he was loved.

Kamir hadn’t wanted him there even to save his own life. He wanted Tsaria safe. He’d put Tsaria first. No one had ever done that.

No, that wasn’t true. One person had. His ma, and she had died for it. And whatever happened, he was absolutely determined Kamir wouldn’t have to do the same.

“You’re awake.”

Tsaria turned his head, recognizing Elainore’s voice, but doing his best to school his features against the vision in front of him, one his mind was having difficulty comprehending.

An old woman stood in front of him, flanked by guards. Her words, her voice, he knew were Elainore’s, even as he had only heard her briefly, but her appearance was anything but. He must be mistaken. Elainore had looked twenty-five summers, he would guess, but this woman was at least sixty, and not a kind sixty. Open sores decorated her cracked lips. Her eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot. She leaned over, her back hunched. Pock marks warred for dominance in the harsh lines of her face, and she smelled like a dead thing, even over the stench of the sewers.

She smiled again, and he held back his revulsion. “Apologies, my name is Elainore, and I am queen of the sand people. We met briefly at the palace as my lord Gabar tried to save your life.”

No, he hadn’t. He could almost smell the lie. And for some reason just at that moment, he remembered the lady Sophia, not that Elainore and she were alike. He’d been a terrified boy and Sophia an older lady, but one without either male or female companionship, other than what she had to pay for. He had no idea how old she was, other than that she occasionally mentioned her grandson. She’d been visiting the pleasure house for some time, according to Ishmael, and was to be treated with the utmost care.

She had sat amongst the silk cushions sipping wine as Tsaria had been brought to her. Ishmael introduced him as their newest acquisition and after studying him for what seemed an endless time, she glanced at Ishmael and ordered food and more wine to be brought. Ishmael’s servants rushed to fulfil her needs, and Tsaria remained standing awkwardly, shaking in utter terror. Technically, she hadn’t been his first because Ishmael used the older boys to train the younger ones, and some were very eager. According to Edger, who was one of Ishmael’s older ones, most male customers wanted a satisfying time and bloodying a boy for the first time wasn’t something most could afford, or even were interested in.

The women wanted those with experience. Sophia was a favorite customer amongst them, but just that weekend, a group of visiting priests had gone too far with seven of Ishmael’s boys and none could so much as stand. It was rumored among the boys that one was even dead.

So yes, Ishmael was forced to use Tsaria, and yes, Tsaria was convinced he was going to die. Maddia, a pleasure slave of sixteen summers, had whispered to him that often the women could be crueler than the men.

The slaves and Ishmael had been dismissed, and Tsaria had been unable to hold back the tears that had tracked silently down his cheeks.

“How old are you?” Sophia asked and put down the goblet she had just drunk from.

Tsaria’s breath caught. Was this a trick question? Would he be punished for the wrong answer? He watched as her features softened, but he was still wary, knowing it could easily be a trick.

“Come, it matters not, child.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

And within half a bell, Tsaria was telling her his life story and stuffing as much food into his mouth as he could fit. She had lost her husband and two sons to the last war. She still visited the older men Ishmael had, but had never visited a child. She had money and Tsaria was requested every other seventh day for two lunar months, until finally she asked him if he would like to come and be a slave in her household. Maybe start in the kitchens. Her cook was wonderful.

Because apparently there were certain things she would never allow children to be used for.

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