The silk is cool against my eyes, caressing my face gently as I jostle from side-to-side in the carriage. When I sway too hard, I feel hard, metal armor scratch my skin. A soldier sits on either side of me, another one sits across. They have not spoken a word to me. Our only interaction was the brush of fingers against my face as they tied the blindfold, rough hands gripping mine as they bound my wrists with rope.
At the crack of dawn, these soldiers arrived at the Lavender Manor--the brothel where I work. Or, I suppose, had worked. Through the open crack of Madam's office, I saw the soldiers lay down a hefty sack of gold coins. Madam's brows furrowed. She exchanged a few curt words with the soldiers, who nodded or shook their heads in response. Her mouth was pressed into a line, the way it often did when she was in deep contemplation. Catching my spying form through the doorway, Madam called me in.
Counting each coin, she informed me that an important man was purchasing me for private use. And paying a pretty sum at that. Neither she nor the soldiers answered my questions about who the man was. There in her office, I was bound and shuttled out to a carriage. No time to pack my things--not that I had many things--and no time to say goodbye to the other women I had come to love as sisters during my two years there.
Initially, I attempted to count the twists and turns in the road as we departed Kitlanya, guessing at our route. But Vablit is a vast nation and soon I had no sense of north or south. We traveled far longer than I had anticipated, out of the capital city and to some strange place I was clearly not to be made privy of.
Now, in the flaccid evening heat, I cannot even be sure that we remain in Vablit's borders. As this thought crosses my mind, the horse-drawn carriage lurches to a stop. Sweaty hands grasp my upper arms. I do not flinch. Being bound, blindfolded, and roughly handled is child's play. The soldiers haul me out of the carriage and indoors; I can tell by the sudden lack of sunlight streaming through my blindfold, the soft dirt ground beneath me turning to hard stone.
Once inside, two of the soldiers hoist me up and carry me on their shoulders as if I am a sack of potatoes. All day, I have not been fed or given water. The sudden change in elevation sends my head spinning and I fear I will faint before we reach our destination. Their caution piques my curiosity. It seems that they do not want me to learn the layout of this building, either. I wonder about the identity of the mysterious man who purchased me, what he has to lose if I am made aware of our location.
At last, I heard a wooden door creak open. I am set down on a plush chair. The door clicks shut. The familiar sound of a lock being turned. And I am alone.
Those bastards. They did not have the decency to untie me or remove my blindfold. In the dark, I try to find solace in the cool room, a welcome reprieve from the summer heat. Sweat has blossomed across my chest, pooled between my bound wrists. Without the scent of horse dung and mud in the air, I realize that I am emanating my own musk. I long for a perfumed bath.
Wrestling with the rope, I attempt to free my hands but it is no use. Those soldiers were no amateurs. Without any light, I lose track of how much time passes in the room. Despite my thirst and hunger, I hold my head high in case someone enters. My stomach knows better than to protest outwardly, twisting in painful knots but uttering no sound.
The lock turns again and I hear two men's voices enter the room.
"Station the troops near the edge of the forest. Have a small unit patrol the interior and report back to me." His voice is deep, raspy, and tired. Each word comes out quickly, yet unhurried. Authoritative, I surmise.
"Yes, sire. And as for the..." His voice is just as deep but he sounds older, drawing out his vowels and pausing after each end consonant. I can tell that my presence is the reason for the older man's sudden hesitation. "Shall I leave you two alone, sire?" he offers.
"Leave me alone with who...?" The authoritative man's voice also tapers off as, I imagine, he finally notices me. Following orders I had been given by the soldiers, I do not speak. Much like with clients at the brothel, I am only to respond if addressed directly.
I hear heavy footsteps approaching me and in an instant the silk is torn from my face. The older man is lighting a torch in the sconce and I squint, my eyes having grown used to the darkness. I can scarcely make out the figures of the two men. Slowly, as my eyes adjust, their faces come into focus. The one who removed my blindfold--dark haired, honey eyes--stares at me with a tense expression.
"Yes, I think it best for me to leave you two to it..." the grey-haired man says after clearing his throat.
"Dumace, what do you know about this?" the dark-haired man calls out. But Dumace had already slipped away, closing the door firmly behind him.
Those piercing amber eyes find their way back to me. "Who brought you here?" he demands. My mind has slowly been processing the oddities in his speech, and I now recognize it as an accent from the south. I mentally sigh with relief--we are still in Vablit.
"I don't know, sire," I reply, repeating the honorific I heard the older man use earlier.
Turning away, he runs a hand through his dark wavy locks. He mutters to himself, something about insubordination and absurdity.
A knot forms in my chest as I deduce the situation.
This man does not want me here. And if he does not want me, I will either be returned to the brothel or... Thrown to the streets. It is unlikely that Madam will want to return the gold she received. Then, to the streets it is. I was only able to escape that life thanks to Madam's generosity. Countless times, I have stepped over beggar girls in the streets, shuddering at the sight of their tattered clothes and bony limbs.
Recollecting such images triggers an involuntary growl from my stomach. The noise alerts the man, turning back to observe me the way one would look upon a rabid animal. Our eyes lock for several moments but he does not utter a word.
"Apologies, sire... I have not eaten today," I manage to mutter in explanation. I hope that I will not be admonished for my honesty. Some men think it an attack on their character for a woman to point out her discomfort, as if a simple fact of her existence offends his honor.
"Shut your dumb mouth and spread your whore legs. Don't get any ideas about engaging in high-minded conversation when you're entertaining guests. They're not paying you to have ideas." Madam drilled these instructions into my head my first week at the brothel, having taken me straight out of the orphanage when I came of age. She had an arrangement with the orphan master, who pointed out the pretty, unadopted ones to Madam. The orphan master advertised my round features and handsome face, symmetrical in a way that indicated adequate nourishment and lack of disease as a child. Sure enough, I attracted more men in my first month than any other woman at the brothel.
Madam never pried into my situation, did not ask why a young woman of good breeding such as myself was not wed. I was thankful for her discretion, as I did not know how to recount the horrors I had endured. The accident that took my parents' lives when I was thirteen. The extended family members who had turned their noses at me--a girl for whom they would have to provide tuition and a dowry. There is no place in the world for an orphaned girl with no marital prospects.
The dark-haired man scans my body up and down. I mentally prepare myself for what happens next, praying that he undresses me and uses me to fulfill my purpose. I also pray that he will not touch me at all. From what I have been able to observe of his bedchamber, he is a man of means. Perhaps he will overlook the gold he has spent, hand me my identity documents, and set me free. To no longer be a slave... I gulp the daydream back down my throat, afraid I may blurt it out loud.
"Good lord," he mutters under his breath. Shaking his head, he exits the room.
Several moments later, a servant girl enters. She is clearly younger than I. Her bright eyes glisten in the torchlight as she lays a tray down on the table next to me. A bowl of soup and half a loaf of bread. My mouth waters.
"Do help yourself," the girl instructs chipperly, though with some apprehension. When I do not make a move for the food, her eyes travel down to my hands and widen when she realizes they are tied behind my back. With clumsy movements, she releases the knots.
