Page 13 of Xeda

The morning after a particularly bad night, she checked on him again and saw the new patches of scales ripped from his flesh. This time, she stopped and found it hard to move.

She wanted to say something, anything. But couldn't find the words. Only rage heated in her blood at the sight. Hendrik had placed hooks in his back, tightened enough by a set of chains that if the vrisha were to try to sit or crouch, the flesh would be ripped off. The vrisha didn't shake but stood his ground, his eyes on her, his gaze unreadable. She didn't want to think how long he had been kept that way.

That day, she pushed through her work harder than usual, going without a break so that she could be done earlier. As sweat rolled down her back, she rushed to the west wing of the house, to the dinner hall attached to the end.

The first groups were already taking dinner, mostly house staff who worked the earlier hours such as cleaners and gardeners. Ophilia looked around and found Kendra sitting with a group in one corner by the window, looking out to a barren garden encased by a grey stone wall.

"Ophilia, what are you doing here?" Kendra asked in greeting. "Rick didn't kick you out of the pens, did he?"

Ophilia fixed a smile. "No. I actually wanted to ask you about something."

The others stared at her with tight curiosity. They ate quietly, a few glancing at Kendra.

Kendra arched a brow. "Yeah, about what?"

"You know any of the shipment staff?"

She shifted in her seat, taking a bite of fruit before answering. "I might know one or two. Why? What do you need?"

* * *

Ophilia sat on her narrow bed, a box in her lap. Her shades were drawn. Even though it was night, she didn't trust that someone couldn't see from one of the yards. The box was a cool metal in her hands that she turned one way, then another. She wondered even now if she’d made the right decision, but it was too late to take it back now. Still, excitement drummed in her bones. Carefully, she drew the lid off the box and in the glow of the yellow lamp at her desk, she peered down.

The device—or pair of devices rather—were small. Smaller than she’d expected. Two small pieces that fit in and around each ear. The man who traded them with her had used his work computer to download the specific language she needed.

It had cost her as she expected it would. She didn't have enough in her savings, so she had to owe him the little pay she was given. One week's worth plus a pair of earrings her mother had given her. She eyed the picture of them together on her desk with a necklace dangling on the corner of the frame. A necklace that had gone with the earrings. A little set of blue diamonds on a golden chain. Thankfully, she hadn't mentioned the necklace to him, and he hadn't asked for more.

She took out the translator pieces and carefully hooked them around her ears. She went to the mirror by the door and fixed them so that they rested in her earlobe. If she wore her hair right, no one would notice unless they looked closely.

A knock at the door made her jump. Quickly, she took the translator out of her ears and placed it back in the box, then slid the box under her bed. Another impatient knock came, and she hurried to open the door.

It was the head of staff, Warren, and an armed guard.

Warren smiled, showing off his perfect teeth. His cologne stung Ophilia's nose. "Ophilia. Hope we didn't catch you at a bad time?"

Ophilia shook her head. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing with me, thankfully, but I'm afraid I need to escort you to the study."

Ophilia tensed. Sal wanted to see her. But why?

Without a word, she shut the door behind her and followed. Quietly now, since it was late, they made their way down the bare passage of the staff quarters, down to the main floor of the house. Past the doors at the end was a security clearance. They checked Ophilia's ID before letting her through. Beyond that was where the family lived. Where Sal's sons partied, where his wife gossiped with her friends, and where Sal worked.

The main floor was an octagonal space, with a skylight at the very top and marbled floors under her feet. A three-ton crystal chandelier hung just above the stairs leading to the second floor. She walked with them up those steps and down a hall, stopping at a door on the left.

Warren opened the door, then leaned toward her. "I'll be right here when he's done," he whispered.

When Sal was done with her, he meant. Trying not to clench her hands into fists, Ophilia stepped into the study.

It was more like a large living room than a study, though several walls were filled with books. Twin windows opposite looked out over the grounds, a large desk between them. In the center was a set of couches and chairs, and from the far right wall, a long curved monitor over the fireplace showed scenes from the city.

Sal had his back to her where he lounged on one of the couches. Ophilia stood at the doorway for only a second before slowly making her way around to him.

He was an old man by anyone's standards, with slicked-back gray hair, age marks beginning to show on his temples, and his gray beard trimmed perfectly by his personal barber. But he wore a slick black suit, clean-cut to hide the aging body underneath. His black eyes caught hers, and he gestured for her to sit opposite him.

"Ophilia, my dear Ophilia," he sang as he poured himself a glass of liquor. On the table between them was a bowl of bluum drops, piled like candy. Sal popped one in his mouth before washing it down with his drink. He set his glass down, then reclined back. "How are my animals? No one's sick, or injured, I hope?"

Ophilia shook her head. "No, sir."

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