Page 12 of The Sun God's Prize
“The hair,” my chain bearer snaps, that jerking on my leash going to end as soon as I get out of the water.
My hands are shaking already, but I figure out how to wind my toes through some of the net, bracing my feet on the weaving like stirrups.Supported and buoyed by the speeding river, I lift my aching arms to my head.What’s usually a simple task brings agony.I’m barely able to unbind the knots left behind by the time passed, but my hair was braided, at least, and when I finally get it loose, it unfolds in the water, too.I manage two thorough scrubs of my scalp, grimly clinging with both feet, toes cramped from the effort, while my shoulders scream from the effort.I finally have to alternate arms to preserve my strength, but more so to test myself for endurance.
I’m shaken by the truth when I’m finally done, dousing my head under the water and screaming open-mouthed into the gushing current when I do.
There is no hope for escape in this condition.I’m a shell of myself yet.I must bide my time and recover before I can fight.
That reckoning I hoped for will have to wait.
It’s a bitter moment that does nothing for my confidence, but at least I’m clean when I’m pulled bodily out of the water by my arms, tossed with casual cruelty to the deck as one of the sailors kicks a wooden lever that closes the hatch again.
And then they stand there and look at me while I pant my fury and frustration into the humid air, unable to move for far too long, wrung out by the small effort it took just to get clean.
“Tits are too small,” the one with my chain says finally.
“Cunt’s a cunt,” the other says, reaching for his waistband.“Fuck’s a fuck, too.”
I lied.I’m not too weak to kill after all.I will find the strength to end them both if they lay one hand on me.
“Gentlemen.”The man in charge has resurfaced, emerging out of the doorway with a flat expression that has them both straightening, if in sullen acceptance of his authority.“Unless you want to find yourselves feeding the crocodons, I suggest you do your fucking jobs and bring me my property.”
They mutter apologies that they don’t mean, the leash holder pulling so hard that he’ll take my foot off if he’s not careful.
Something cracks through the air, and he screams, going down on his knees next to me, and when he looks up, one of his eyes has exploded, blood and vitreous fluid pouring down his face.I smile into his remaining one, let him see my dark joy at his maiming, while his companion stands and stares in shock.
“What did I say?”The small man’s demand follows.I was wrong.This Vunoshe is not Hallick.That evil is of a different kind, a softer breed, confident in his place because of power and influence.The oily slaver who’s claimed possession of me has no soul, either, but nor does he care if others see it.He’s earned his place through viciousness and spite, murder and violence.Unlike the Chancellor, Vunoshe thrives because he wears his monstrosity in the open.
“I’m… I’m sorry.”The sailor sobs as he turns his face away, cupping the blood still running between his fingers.
“Masterre,” he corrects the sailor.“Tell your captain you’ll be joining the others below.You’re not worth salvaging.”
The sailor gasps, makes a soft sound of protest.But before he can speak again, his companion lunges forward and grasps him by the hair, jerking him toward the doorway, the injured man’s convulsive hold on my chain torn away, leaving me free.
“I’ll deal with it,MasterreVunoshe,” the intact one says.“Personally.”
“Excellent,” the slaver tells him with a beaming smile returned, stepping out to allow the sailor to drag his screaming former companion—now slave—back inside to meet his fate.Vunoshe ignores both of them and the fading sound of wailing like it doesn’t reach his ears at all, instead smiling down at me, now.
“How was your bath, my dear?”He’s brought a heavy cloth with him, and drapes it over me with his own hands.I push myself up onto my hip, wipe my face with it, do my best to avoid the puddle of blood and eye goop that mars the deck.I wouldn’t want to soil myself again after spending so much of my precious energy getting clean.
“Clever,” I say, pulling myself to my feet with the sort of effort that I’m certain will end me, but manage to sway there, upright, proud of myself for the result.Even if the idea of doing anything else makes me want to weep.“Can’t have the merchandise stinking and filthy when the buyers come calling.”
He giggles, nodding.“You understand,” he says with a little sigh of happiness.“I knew we’d get along, you and I.Visionary, you are, I’m sure of it.Now, can you help me train these absoluteheathens?”His eye roll is meant to be conspiratorial, but I’m not fooled.There is nothing friendly about this moment.“Come, let’s get you dressed in something appropriate.”He turns and enters the narrow doorway, waiting for me to cross the threshold.“And food.Then, we’ll talk.”
I can’t wait.
He seats me on a bench near the bed, where he’s laid out a dress in a soft fabric I don’t recognize, the dark red lovely, though, if ironic.Someone’s cleaned up the blood drips the sailor he’s partially blinded left behind, though I spot one missed at the door to the deck and it keeps drawing my attention while my owner—make no mistake, because I won’t—putters about, preparing a meal from a collection of items placed on the small table he’s pulled down from the wall.
There’s a silver-handled brush that I force through my hair, the ends so tangled I have to rip to get through, but the rest falling in line after that, thanks to the protection of my braids.I sigh when I’m done, the dripping length soaking the towel he’d given me.I’m now physically shaking, and I know I’m almost done.I think he knows it, too, because Vunoshe comes to me just as I’m about to keel over, dressing me with his own hands as he had laid the blanket around me, gently and yet with confidence and competency.
All I can manage is a heavy lean into the wall to keep from falling over.
The small rest is enough to gain me a breath of energy, but I’m a wobbly kitten taking her first steps, relying heavily on the slave master for the four shuffling steps it takes to get to the table.
It’s almost more effort to chew than it’s worth, though as the first few bites settle, I feel my strength returning, and I blink into the lantern light while Vunoshe pours me a glass of something milky and thick that smells faintly of citrus.
“Drink,” he nods.“It will fortify you.”
“No more drugs,” I say.
