Slave Unbound

Chapter 30

Patsy, Pawn, and Fool

**Characters and text are protected under copyright law

Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.

"You're going to pace a hole into the rug, Master." Lanni warned softly, watching Verdant circle back and forth across the fine Dasidonian carpet of his study. It was a fairly expensive bit of furnishing, but he didn't really care if he treaded clean through it at the moment. He had a lot weighing on his mind and the act of pacing helped sooth it.

"After all Tylone's little whispers in my ear and convincing me to go along with his plan, I am then given weeks of silence." He groused. It was only one of the many issues burdening his soul, but the one that seemed to do so the most. He'd been leery of his part in the plan to begin with, spending hours on end overthinking about it. Tylone leaving him to stew over it day after day had been a torturous game from the little man. Better to be done with it, so he could know if he was about to damage his relationship with Sabrina or not.

Lanni grimaced at him, obviously having no real idea how to comfort her owner. "Could you not simply contact Master Orchidbryar to see why he has not yet contacted you?" She asked, voice sounding dubious.

"I am loath to try contacting someone like him, if I am honest." Verdant sighed. "Despite his assurances, I am still suspicious enough that there is something I am missing with all this. I don't like feeling like a patsy." He made himself stop pacing and sit down in a chair.

"On top of the stress of that matter, now it seems House Warforger has taken a rather disturbing interest in Sabrina's new star." He spat, squeezing the arm of the chair in frustration. He wasn't quite certain why that bothered him as much as it did.

Lanni came over and began kneading his shoulders, trying to help her Master relax. "Still, her performance was quite impressive, Master. You must admit."

He leaned into her massage, but relaxation didn't come at all. "I think that is part of what worries me the most, Lanni. Her usual manner of showmanship was gone, in its place was the visage of someone I didn't recognize. A killer."

"She is a gladiator, Master." Lanni said, sounding a little apprehensive. "Is she not a killer? I mean no offense, but do you really know her at all. Perhaps she is not as innocent as—"

He sat forward abruptly, turning to look at her. "I do not think of her as 'innocent', Lanni. I am aware she is someone trained to fight and kill. However, I want to think I do know her, at least somewhat." He turned back around, but immediately winced and blew out his frustration. "My apologies, Lanni. I don't mean to snap at you. I just...I just..."

"You are fond of her." Lanni ventured. "She made an impression on you that day, obviously."

He considered her observation a moment, then sighed. "I'm sure you are correct, Lanni." He reached up and put his hand on top of one hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "As usual. I suppose that is why I depend on you so much."

"Perhaps, Master, you should arrange for a visit." She suggested. "You could ask for some time with her, though Mistress Marlowe might require you to pay for it. You might have to endure her assumptions of what you wish to do with her, but would that matter?" She leaned down, lowering her voice and speaking into his ear. "Should it even matter if you even did?"

He was on his feet in an instant, making her jump back in alarm. He took a moment, breathing out any fresh ire her comment had created. She was just trying to help, he knew. "I

will not

force such things of a slave. Any slave! You know that, Lanni." He intoned firmly, using his rarely evoked 'voice of dominance' meant to emphasize that he was the owner, she was the property.

He instantly regretted doing it, always hated when he did anything that re-enforced their dynamic to one another. While Lanni was his property, a personal slave given to him when he was first declared his own man, she had long been someone who he viewed as a dear friend and trusted companion, not as something he owned. Despite his familial treatment of her, she had always maintained a constant air of protocol, referring to him always with the honorific of 'Master'. He assumed it was to remind him that she was, indeed, his slave, not just some friend or paid employee.

"My apologies, Master." She said, sounding sincerely so. "I merely meant that, should she be willing and interested, it would be within your right."

He forced himself to turn around slowly, composed, instead of the brisk reaction that he wanted to make. "She is still a slave and not even one that I own. 'Willingness' is never an easy thing to be certain of the truth of, Lanni. I would wager that you would consider yourself 'willing', should I order you to my bed, but I could never know if it was out of obligation or actual desire."

Lanni simply stood, eyes cast down, looking like a scolded child. "Yes, Master." Was all she said after several tense moments.

Heaving a deep sigh, Verdant walked to her and pulled her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Lanni. I am being mean and you are simply trying to help." Truthfully, he didn't feel as sincerely sorry as he made his voice sound. For all the years she had known him, such a thought as him taking advantage of a slave for carnal reasons should have never been so much as a consideration. She'd never known a life as anything but a slave, had been born in a collar. For Lanni, consent and choice were foreign things, privileges that she had no right to.

There had been times when Verdant had considered granting her freedom, but often feared that she would not know what to do with herself, should she have it. Like a bird born in a cage, she could not even imagine what it was like to fly away.

For a moment, he considered saying something more, to let her know that he regretted losing his temper. For a brief instant, the thought to show her some sign of physical affection, such as a hug or, gods help him, take the chance of venturing a kiss. However, before he could give those thoughts any real energy, the door to the study opened and one of the House slaves entered.

"Master Crahka, Master Orchidbryar has arrived and is requesting an audience." The slave intoned formally.

"Finally!" Verdant crowed in relief, both at having his waiting ended and as an excuse to retreat from this awkward moment. "Have him escorted to the sitting room and I will attend there in a moment." Turning to Lanni, he put on a blank expression, as if having forgotten the events of the last few moments. "If you would be so kind as to help me get straightened."

Taking the cue to also let the moment pass, Lanni obediently began helping her Master look presentable, saying nothing further. Inwardly, Verdant winced at leaving things hanging as they were, but he needed time to sort through his thoughts on things. It didn't hurt that he was very eager to have all this business with Tylone over with.

Despite that eagerness, he still tarried on his way to the sitting room, wanting to give the Fennfolk some time to settle himself before he made an entrance. More, however, he wanted to make sure he was emotionally composed before he met with the man, not wanting to seem anxious or weak. As much as he despised the whole façade of social politics, he understood their importance. Especially when dealing with people like Orchidbryar.

"Greetings, Master Orchidbryar!" He said when he finally entered the sitting room, making his tone sound as calm and inviting as possible. "I see my staff has been diligent in making you comfortable." Tylone had been plied with a glass of wine and a thick cushion to help elevate him a little in his chair. He noted that the Fennfolk also had a different one of his pleasure slaves with him, the girl on all fours before him and acting as a footrest for him.

Verdant tried to keep his disgust of the display off his face. "I've noticed that the fighter I sold you has been doing well for your House. His latest victory was quite impressive."

Tylone smiled. "Yes, he has and yes, it was. I've been very pleased with the purchase and the wine that sealed the deal." He gave a wave of his hand. "But I'm sure you are far more interested in discussing our

other

business."

Verdant kept his poise in check, showing gratitude for cutting to the chase with a slight bow, but acting as though he would have been content with pleasantries for a bit. "I must admit; I was beginning to wonder if things had changed. It has been some weeks since our discussion."

"Things take time to arrange, my boy." He replied in a condescending tone. "And timing is always important. As it is, we have been rewarded by our patience. I have a few little birdies within Sabrina's estate that occasionally come to sing in my ear. They have told me that she seems to have finally grown bored of her favorite blonde bed toy and, as we saw last week, is no longer keeping her only to easy fair."

Some part of Verdant felt a sudden lurch of happiness at the news of Sabrina no longer summoning Leita to intimate service. It surprised him just how much of a sense of relief it brought him. Perhaps Lanni was right and he had developed some sort of interest beyond the professional with the girl.

"That means it will be easier for you to convince her to allow us to use the girl in our little trap." Tylone said smugly. "So, you see, it has worked out well that we were not hasty."

"I would counter that point with the fact that Sabrina may no longer be as hurt by Cornelius' actions as she was weeks ago." Verdant replied, pushing his thoughts of Leita from his mind. "In fact, she may now feel more as though the whole thing has been of more benefit than anything."

Tylone gave him a very knowing grin. "Oh, I feel quite certain that there are wounds in her heart still unhealed, my boy. Don't let appearances and drastic deeds fool you. Sabrina suffered some losses that she will not soon forget or forgive." He took a sip of his wine. "Nor has she ever really needed much of an excuse to want in on something that might hurt Lord Venge, one of her biggest critics in the aristocratic community."

"Your plan is far from just the typical gambits, resulting in bruised egos and reputations, that gets played here." Verdant said, taking a seat and letting a little of his poise slip. "As much as she may dislike the man, this could turn into a very dangerous move for all of us. If Cornelius manages to weather this trap or simply side-step it altogether and recognize it for what it is..."

"Yes, yes. I know." Tylone replied, patting the air comfortingly. "He responds harshly enough when it is merely a little egg on his face, but something that could have taken away a large chunk of power and influence from him would be met with unparalleled retribution." He took another sip of the wine. "Which is yet another reason why preparations could not be rushed. Failure cannot be an option."

"And what if Cornelius himself is no longer as obsessed with Leita as he was over a month ago?" Verdant persisted.

"You are letting yourself get too caught up in 'what-ifs' and worries, Verdant." The little man sighed audibly, rolling his eyes. "Trust that I have used this time wisely to prepare. The art of it is to make sure that whatever he may suffer, he will believe that he has only himself to really blame for it."

Verdant frowned, still unsure if his involvement in this would still damage his standing with Sabrina, one of the few peers in the arena that seemed to treat him as such. To the rest, he was regarded more as a joke and a fool. Perhaps, that was part of why he had decided to become a part of this little conspiracy. He wanted to show that he could be as much of a threat as anyone else.

"Fine, I do trust you to have taken care of your end of things." He said finally. "So, tell me just what offer it is that I need to bring to Sabrina and try to convince her to help us give Venge what he deserves."

********************

A putrid stench of rot pervaded the dank space used for the healing rooms of House Victorious. It was not the most encouraging smell one might find in such a place, but the skills of the House's surgeons and healers were among the best in the city. Cornelius had seen them perform near miracles more than once, restoring gladiators he'd expected to be rendered useless back into fighting shape. Of course, most of those who found themselves here needed more than miracles in order to survive.

As he passed through, a perfumed handkerchief over his face to distract from the reek, they were currently working on the arm of a hobkin. The ugly thing nearly biting the wooden dowel in its mouth in half as they tried to sew the secured limb back together. As draconian as their methods sometimes appeared, one couldn't argue with their results. The gladiator was expected to be ready to return to the arena within a week, so long as his heart didn't give out from the agony of the operation. There were, of course, formulas that could sedate or numb the patient for such tasks as this, but they were expensive. Far too expensive for a hobkin; especially one that was middling, at best, in the ratings.

Passing into the rear recovery areas, he stepped into one of the handful of cells meant for gladiators who couldn't be trusted to be left in one of the open area beds. The narrow cot within held a heavily bandaged form, her color still not great, but vastly improved from the last time he'd come to check on her progress. She represented one the latest miracles of his healers, probably their greatest.

They had effectively brought her back from the dead. Or, at least, from as close as one could get to the grave.

For a week, she had teetered at the brink of death. Impaled twice through the body, she should have never survived. The leading theory of his healers was that her salvation had been the 'mercy' shown to her before the killing strokes were made. Knocked unconscious to spare her the pain, it had kept her from dying from the shock of having two spears driven through her torso. When she'd been drug from the sands, it was discovered that she was still breathing, if almost unperceptively.

He'd paid good coin to keep that discovery a secret and have her body moved to his estate. The weapons had managed to miss piercing anything that couldn't be repaired, though they'd still done more than enough damage to make her chances slim, despite how good his surgeons were. It was as much a testament to her stubborn resolve as to their skill that she had continued to breath for the last week.

As he stood there, to his surprise, she began to stir, trying to vocalize. One eye, yellow cast from the stew of nasty serums and nostrums they'd poured down her throat, opened to cast about at her unfamiliar surroundings. It was about the only part of her face visible at the moment, the rest hidden beneath bandages.

"I would suggest you try not to move." He said to her lowly. "You are still in a very delicate state."

The sound of his voice caused her eye to snap to him, alarm and hatred filling it. She rasped, her voice unable to make viable words. Cornelius held up his hands, patting at the air, trying to calm her.

"It was be a shame, after all the time and effort that has been put into keeping you alive, for you to over-excite yourself now and die anyway, my dear." He said in a placating tone. "I know that I am among the last people you would want to wake up to, but I give my promise that my sole aim, for now, is to see you returned to health. The rest of the world thinks you already in the ground, don't make them correct."

Her eye wheeled about, trying to take in the room, then darted downwards when she tried to move an arm, only to find it strapped into place. The eye moved back to Cornelius, full of suspicion and loathing.

"I assure you that those are more for your protection than mine." He said, gesturing to the bonds as he moved to take a seat upon a stool next to the bed she lay in. "Please, calm yourself. You are still not fully healed, but are believed to be destined for a recovery. But, only so long as you keep yourself calm and still so your body can heal."

He could see her forcing herself to relax, though the hatred in that sallow eye refused to relent. She was a smart woman, a survivor. Wise enough to recognize that there were times to fight and times to reserve one's strength. That was part of why he'd decided to try and save her.

"She declined to go for a showier kill, simply stabbing you through the gut and chest, rather than taking your head off." He explained to her. "It sufficed as a proper 'kill' for the arena, but her hesitation to be more brutal left you still alive. Solivier released ownership of your corpse to the arena, for them to use how they might. Luckily, someone who is in my service there happened to realize that you were not one. A corpse, that is."

He chuckled. "We've spent a full week trying to keep it that way. You waking up is a good sign."

She made another rasping sound, trying to articulate. Between having been half dead for a week and the hoses that had been forced down her neck to pour medicine and nutrients into her comatose body, it was little wonder why she was having trouble speaking. Cornelius was pretty sure of what she was likely trying to say though.

"I have no intentions of keeping you as a slave, if that brings you comfort." He said to her, truthfully, for once. "I am aware that you have all manner of plans for how you'd like to take your retribution out on me, but I am hoping that my having saved your life and granting you a well-earned freedom will make you reconsider them."

He leaned forward, letting her see his face clearly, that she might read it for any lies. "I give you my word, once you are healthy again, you will be the property of no one but yourself. As far as the world is concerned, Trinka Vil'Maufort died a week ago in a death match. So, even if I wanted to claim ownership of you, it would require me to explain why you were not dead."

Leaning back again, he gave a fresh chuckle. "Of course, if you leave here and announce that you are still among the living, it also poses some issues for you too. Solivier would have a solid claim to retake possession of you, would likely be very upset that you didn't die, like he'd meant for you to. I would wager that he never shared his personal thoughts on assassins with you. Rest assured that his intent was for you to die all along."

Despite the limited view of her face he had, due to the bandages obscuring it, he felt sure that his words were not doubted by her. Donovan could be very persuasive, when he wanted to be, but he wasn't all that good at fully masking when he felt contempt for something or someone. Likely, she had picked up enough from him to realize he was telling her the truth in that regard.

"Which is why I have also gone to the trouble of having my surgeons do a little...extra work." He said, making a motion with his hand in a circle over his own face, but meaning hers. "Nothing severe or extreme, mind. Just a few little tricks of their considerable talents that will slightly change your appearance. Not so much that you wouldn't recognize yourself, but enough that, given the lack of real attention most people pay, you should be able to re-invent yourself."

She could see the surprise in her, but was pleased to see that there wasn't much actual alarm at this news. In fact, she seemed to find it quite acceptable. "I can see that agrees with you. I have always been a high proponent of re-invention. It has made me the man I am today."