Page 15 of Own to Obey

Once the shinno finished with the cream, he applied oil, which was just as painful. She gripped the sheets of the bed, tears stinging, wondering when it would be over, but trying to stay as still as possible so that it wouldn’t hurt more.

Finally, he finished and began to spray something on her. She narrowed her eyes at the tiny bottle he used. Every time he pressed the top, a mist was ejected that coated her shoulder with yet another substance that she’d probably be able to identify if allowed time to examine it, but was simply glad that he wasn’t touching her anymore.

Once that was over, she hoped that he would leave, ignoring the fact that her nipples were hard and she was still wet between her legs, but he picked up a soft, white padded square of material and fastened it over her shoulder, then began to slowly wrap another piece of material around her upper arm over her shoulder and around her neck until the whole area was securely covered.

Instantly, the pressure made her shoulder feel much better. She breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that the pain had lessened, but the shinno wasn’t finished.

Opening a new jar, he rubbed a thinner cream between his hands and massaged it into the sore muscles of both her arms and each hand, his thick fingers pressing into them deeply. It didn’t ache as much as her shoulder but she still winced and stiffened at the treatment.

As he massaged her, the shinno watched, his eyes trained on her face as though trying to detect her thoughts through her expression. Shaya could barely stand it—his attention felt oppressive, as it always did. She didn’t want to be seen, and he always wanted to ensure that she was, even if only by him.

Finally he rose to his feet, gathered the bottles and potions and placed them on the desk. He then poured water into one of the glasses on the desk, tipped a drop of something into it from one of the smaller bottles, and gave it to her.

Shaya gulped down the cool water and handed it back to him without hesitation. She suspected he had given her something for the pain, but even if it was something else, so what? There was little he could give her that could make things worse than they were now.

The shinno stood and watched her for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face and then gathered up all the bottles and left the room.

***

No one entered her room again for the rest of the day, and a drowsiness came over her quickly after the shinno left, so she lay down to get some sleep. Her shoulder made it extremely difficult to lie down without pain, and even when she lay on her left side, twinges of pain still shot through her right, but eventually it dulled.

She slept somewhat comfortably until she woke naturally the next morning, and was surprised no one had come to wake her. Pushing herself upright, she slowly made her way to the washroom. Afterward, she found she had nothing to do. She tried fixing her bedsheets, but it was difficult with her arms. With nothing for her to read or to do, she ended up pacing the room, humming a tune that Kyus sang to her in her childhood when she needed comforting and wondering what day it was back in DarFara. If it was market day she would be planning a trip to see her favorite market traders, perhaps get some fresh fish, and collect new jars and bottles for her potions, as she did every week. It was the one day she spoke to multiple people, usually her conversations were with her sister and the very few servants that visited the house.

The door to her cabin opened and the girl who always helped her came hurrying in, her arms full with sheets of parchment, books, scrolls, jars, and bottles. She headed for the desk and Shaya rushed to help her, but could only do so much with one arm.

Once everything was placed down, the girl gestured for Shaya to sit on the bed and she knelt on the floor before her, like the shinno had done, and looked over Shaya’s shoulder carefully. Then her eyes rose to meet Shaya's.

“Are. You well,” she mumbled, haltingly.

Surprise slammed into Shaya and her brows shot up. Her mouth dropped open, and instantly tears stung her eyes at the sound of the language she had not heard from anyone else in so long. “You speak the Common Tongue?” she said, her voice lowered to a whisper, so much hope pouring into her. “You speak my language?”

The girl shook her head. “Not well. I learn when we leave for your land.”

Shaya exhaled in relief and then released a nervous laugh that expelled the tension that had twisted her stomach. It didn't matter how broken the girl’s Common Tongue was, the fact was, she spoke it and could understand Shaya! She resisted throwing her arms around the girl, mainly because her shoulder still hurt, but also she didn't want to scare her off. “Why didn't you tell me before,” she said, in a hushed tone, almost frightened that the girl would not speak again.

The girl shook her head. “The shinno says no words unless Mayaros.”

Shaya exhaled, nodding. Of course he would have told her that rule. “Then why are you speaking to me now?”

“You—” the girl paused, searching for the correct words. “—you suffer in the black.”

The black. The black room. Shaya’s face dropped, and she nodded, her eyes lowering as a tingle of shame embraced her, but the girl’s hands found hers and she glanced back up at her.

“I too,” the girl said, her eyes wide with sympathy.

She smiled at her, the tears that had gathered in her eyes overflowing with a small bit of joy that she had found a connection with someone in this terrible situation that she was in. “What's your name?”

“Treska.”

“I'm Katashaya.”

The girl nodded, and her eyes drifted back to see a shoulder. She pointed to it. “Shinno say I treat.” She looked up at Shaya, her eyes inquiring and her brows raised. And she realized she was actually asking a question. Shaya nodded. “It is painful. I was trying to get out… of the black.”

The girl nodded. She raised her own arms, and Shaya saw scars all over her forearms. She lifted a finger to touch them, and then paused, but the girl nodded.

“How did this happen?” she asked as she traced the scars. Some of them long, others short nips, but it was clear that her arms had been attacked by something.

“Three days in black,” the girl said to her solemnly.

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