Clara's finger trailed on the page as she read the words. Despite Ezzo's assurances that he knew how to read, she'd reverted to tracking the words so many times now he'd basically given up on getting her to stop.
They were lying together in bed, with a large pillow between them for Clara to rest her wrist on. This was the third children's story she was reading to him. It was colorfully illustrated with some surprisingly realistic depictions of mice. Bbrasians seemed to have no fondness for cartoony portrayals of animals, even in literature for noble children.
"Then, with their food for the winter gone, and the cold setting in, Frederiggo shared with his family the words he'd gathered during the summer. The colors, the smells, the sensations, when put into words allowed the mice to withstand the scarcity of winter," she read cheerily.
To Ezzo's surprise, reading these simple stories was not as tedious or condescending to his personhood as he'd been expecting. On the contrary, these stories clearly meant a great deal for Clara, and she was more than happy to let it show in her voice, every page she read. On particularly nostalgic parts, she'd even stop to glance happily at her slave, invariably getting a reciprocal smile out of him.
"That's when his family said: 'Frederiggo, you're a poet.'"
Clara had been about to do it again. Ezzo could tell by the hint of the smile on her lips already. However, a knock on the door stopped her.
Never a good sign,
he thought immediately.
"Come in!"
Vera hadn't waited for her daughter's permission to start opening the door. The Locke matriarch entered the room with an air of casual superiority.
Business as usual, I suppose.
She was wearing a burgundy dress that showed off just as much of her large bust as usual. Her gray hair was styled in an elaborate updo, and some sort of Bbrasian make-up had been applied to her pale face to make her cheeks blush. That was one of the few inferences Ezzo could make about Bbrasian cosmetics. After all,
nothing
could make Vera Locke blush. More alarmingly, her hands were clasped behind her back. It was enough to make him scoot a little further away from his mistress on the bed.
"Clara, darling." Vera's voice had that teasing lilt, the usual intonation she used on just about everyone in her estate, be them slaves or relatives. "You dashed off so fast after lunch. I had to wonder if everything was alright."
The older woman's blue eyes finally landed on the storybooks. There was a mild look of disapproval once she worked out what they were, a look she expertly disguised in the same second.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything naughty," she teased.
Clara blushed. Ezzo suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. Vera's gaze hardened a little when it reached him.
"Hi, Mother," Clara said meekly. "I was just eager to share some of my childhood stories with Ezzo. He told me a few from Scombia in the morning, so I wanted to show him my books."
"So I see," Vera's lack of emotion was enough of a hint of her displeasure.
She is not even smirking. It would be quite an enjoyable sight if there wasn't this sense of impending doom looming over me already,
Ezzo thought.
The mature noblewoman finally revealed her hands. A golden brass leash, complete with a chain, was dangling from her fingers. Her smirk returned as Ezzo and Clara took in its sight. He didn't need to look at his mistress to know she was appalled. No matter her commitment to keeping him safe from her relatives, there was nothing that could be done to stop Vera. Ezzo, for his part, looked no more pleased about enduring the degradation of being put in chains again.
Once Vera seemed satisfied with their dismal facial reactions, she spoke again:
"Clara, dear," she called out in a faux-sweet authoritative tone, "be a good girl and leash Ezzo for me. I need to borrow him for a bit."
The collar dangled from Vera's finger for a surprisingly long moment. For a second, even Ezzo had to wonder if Clara wasn't about to defy her mother. It was not a particularly long second, though.
With clear reluctance, his mistress stood up and took the collar from Vera's hand.
"Ezzo," she said quietly, approaching him after unclasping the humiliating piece of neckwear.
He didn't resist her as she put the chain around his neck. Clara averted her eyes from his, pursing her lips while the chain was gingerly snapped shut. Ezzo felt the click of the lock behind him, a moment before Clara took a step away from him as if his very presence in that state was hurting her.
"It's done," she muttered reluctantly.
"So I see." Vera shot her daughter a satisfied smirk. "Now bring him to me, dear."
The mother's perfectly sculpted hand was extended forward. Clara sighed. So did Ezzo. He rose to his feet, deciding to put an end to his mistress's torment. Without a word, he walked up to Vera, maintaining a stoic expression to the best of his ability.
"Interesting." The matriarch looked at him with a bemused smile. "Maybe you
have
trained Ezzo better than I expected."
The older woman's fingers curled around his collar and pulled him closer. He could suddenly feel her perfume on his nostrils again. It still felt just as alien and Bbrasian to him, but now with the added discomfort of the unpleasant memories of his first day at the estate.
"You're coming with me, Scombian," she declared. "But I do appreciate a slave who knows his place."
Her hand trailed down his chain, until it reached the dangling handle. With one gentle tug, she directed Ezzo towards the exit. Halfway through the door, she turned around, glancing over the slave's shoulder. Clara was still standing in front of her bed, averting her eyes.
"I'll try not to take too long, darling."
Vera had a very brisk pace, much faster than she'd been while leashing him before her daughter. Ezzo had to stride to avoid getting dragged along the corridor. Thankfully, this room was on the same side of the manor. It required little more than a short march.
He was brought to a swish office, far more refined than any bureaucrat's lair he'd visited as a free man. Vera led him to a cushioned seat in front of an impossibly heavy-looking desk. She sat before a portrait of herself, younger, but no less curvaceous. Young Vera Locke still had those curious blue eyes, but her hair was as golden as Clara's then. Even at that age, she looked no less sure of herself than she did now. The painting depicted her wearing a riding uniform, mounting a destrier with a riding crop in hand. That same utensil - black leather sewn together with golden linen - was resting right in front of the Locke matriarch's seat.
A snap of her fingers brought Ezzo back to the situation at hand.
"I feel like I might not have made myself clear enough on why I bought you, Scombian." Vera's eyes narrowed sternly. "Care to remind us both why I bribed those slavers back in Sulatrava?"
Ezzo sighed. Before he could avert his eyes, the riding crop was tilting his chin up.
"Look me in the eyes, slave," Vera said without her usual mockery or amusement. "Why did I buy you?"
"To help Clara awaken," he said quickly, before clarifying. "Sexually, my lady."
The riding crop stroked his cheek, before taking off and hovering above his eyes. It felt as if it could come crashing down on his head at any moment.
"Correct," she said with a condescending little smile. "And pray tell: does the art of seduction in your homeland often involve children's storybooks?"
"Was I to refuse Lady Clara's request to read, Lady Vera?" Ezzo spoke with a hint of defiance. The way she smirked at him made him regret his choice of tone immediately.
"Oh, Ezzo. If you were remotely good at your job, you would have never been subjected to such a request in the first place."
Vera smacked him on the forehead with the riding crop playfully.
"Are you a sodomite, perhaps? Do women repulse you?"
That
offended him. The fact Vera had seen him claim a female slave and yet was still questioning his masculinity stung more than he cared to admit.
"No, Lady Vera," he said with a glare.
"Good." She used the riding crop to push a strand of hair out of his eyes with an air of casual indifference. "As far as I know, you Scombians take a dim view of that kind of thing. It would simply not do for me to have bought the exception to the rule."
The noblewoman rose from her seat, placing the crop behind her back. She let her free hand glide over the desk as she walked lazily around it, stopping right next to Ezzo's chair.
"Surely you don't expect me to just believe my Clara is ugly," she said. Her smirk gave it away.
She is toying with me.
"She is beautiful, Lady Vera," he said with some reluctance. Not because the statement felt untrue, but because he wasn't sure what game this noblewoman was playing with him yet.
"How beautiful, Ezzo?" Just as she asked the question, the crop landed gently on his shoulder. Her grip suggested it could land a lot less gently if he didn't think his words through.
"She takes good care of her appearance, she is well-mannered, and her demeanor is genuinely kind."
Unlike her relatives,
he felt like adding.
"How...
clinical
," Vera mocked. "I am almost inclined to call my little Clara a liar when she tells me you have a way with words."
That's for people I like
, Ezzo thought to himself. Vera must have noticed the defiance in his eyes, because her smirk widened right away. With one long step, she got behind his seat, burying her fingers in his hair. The riding crop was still resting on his shoulder.
"You
do
see how this paints a rather... unflattering picture of you, don't you, Scombian? An exotic slave, belonging to a hypersexual race, being described as quite the wordsmith by my own daughter... and yet she remains as chaste and innocent as the day I bought you. Makes you seem incompetent at best, disinterested at worst, does it not?"
Her fingers tightened around his hair. The crop was finally raised again. Ezzo found himself wincing as he replied:
"Yes, Lady Vera."
For a moment, he thought he was going to be struck. Then, Vera let go of him with a condescending chuckle.
"Good. You're quite the sharp little slave, when you want to be."
He still felt her voice behind him. Mocking, teasing.
"Of course, that still leaves us with a problem, doesn't it?"
Ezzo felt Vera's eyes burning on the back of his skull. In front of him, her riding portrait seemed to belittle him as much as the real Vera.
"Did I waste my money, Scombian?" she asked sternly.
He wanted to scream at her. About the stupid racial identity he'd been confined to, about the fact Clara was the one in charge rather than him, about how he'd been thoroughly used for his intended purpose, even if not by his mistress. Instead, Ezzo settled for saying nothing. His brown eyes went to the floor, and he simply pursed his lips.
"Oh, there, there," she purred mockingly. The riding crop patted him on the head with that same level of condescension. "No need to look so glum, Ezzo. All you need to do is
answer
me."
The crop slid down his temple, ending up pressed against his cheek.
"
