I cannot believe her!

Tom's soul was a complete tangle. He felt angry, happy, offended, aroused, and very, very confused.

Gods, I want to kiss her again. I want to take her and… With effort, he shut down that line of thought. Not now, he told himself. He knew that desire would haunt him in the night, but for now he needed to focus on getting the elves safely to the city, so he could stake a legal claim to them and prevent others from doing so.

I made Kervan kneel, which was over the line, but he did it to me first. Now we're even. I hope he feels the same. The elf claimed that he understood why Tom did it. But I wonder what the others thought of it. Do they understand?

Tom took a deep breath and let it out, thinking back to the moment the collar had locked around his neck. That was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The reality turned out to be not nearly as horrible as he had been imagining—he wasn't compelled to act on every order, for example—but he really had put his life in their hands. If I had been wrong about them… Tom shook his head. I told myself I wasn't going to trust people again, but that's not really workable, is it? I'm asking them to trust me with their lives.

Copper Road was just ahead, but Tom was still lost in a stew of thoughts. Diavla kissed me. She forced me to kiss her. Obviously, I wanted to, but I had decided not to. I didn't want to pressure her. And here she did that exact thing to me.

Wait. This is Diavla. She's really smart—smarter than me. So why did she do that? I'd love to think that she's just so attracted to me that she couldn't help herself, but I'm not that much of a fool. She wanted to show me something. Teach me something.

She wanted me to know what it felt like to be forced to do something. Forced to be a lover.

So that I wouldn't do it to her. Or Varga.

So that I would understand what it was like.

This is the special fear of women, Tom knew. He hadn't really understood why. Now, he could imagine the general horror of being forced to obey, day and night; but even so, he knew that he still didn't really understand.

He was also very disappointed in himself, because he found that he liked the idea of forcing Diavla. A lot. His soul shied away from examining that too closely, but he couldn't help but find it worrisome. If we had been alone when she did that, I don't know when I would have stopped. But that wasn't really true, he realized. I know when. The moment I saw that she wasn't enjoying it.

How long would she keep up the act before admitting it, though? She is a really good actress. It felt just as if she really, really wanted to kiss me.

Just goes to show how little I can trust my impressions of women.

Tom was jolted out of his thoughts when the first building on Copper Road loomed ahead. He looked back to make sure all the wagons were following, and nodded encouragement to the elves. Then he focused on getting them through the town without stopping. Thanks to the Carvers, they had fresh bread, and Rivermarch was only a day away now. There was no need to stop, and Tom was wary of the welcome that strangeness received in smaller communities. They pressed on.

Tom was riding alone, as Diavla was spending time with Varga. He had opted to take the crystals wagon, so that he could personally steer it as carefully as possible to avoid bumping the possibly dangerous and unstable cargo. I should talk to the elves about what I found, but we really don't have the words for it. I would have to show them, and I don't want to open that case again if I can help it. I'll be glad when we can get rid of this cargo. I wonder who I should take it to? I suppose I'll have to hire someone from the city temple to come inspect it and tell me what to do with it.

He was distracted by the sound of Varga laughing. It was such a cheerful and open sound, Tom couldn't help but smile a bit. She had to be listening to Diavla. Then he thought about talking to Diavla, and his smile faded. He had no idea what he would say to her.

A minute later, he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Varga quickly walking up beside his wagon. A glance back showed that Diavla was now driving the grain wagon instead.

Varga pointed at the seat. “Tom? (Something) I (something) here?” He beckoned, and with an energetic leap the red-headed elf bounded up and sat quickly, then jumped up again because the seat was wet, cursing in Elvish.

“Give me a second! I swear, you're like a cat,” Tom grumbled, grabbing a rag and giving the seat next to him a quick wipe to get the worst of the water off.

“Thank you.” On the second try, Varga settled herself. After a quick glance and a friendly smile, Varga seemed to content herself with watching the scenery go by. She observed people in the distance, now that they were coming out of the forest into areas cleared for farms. The crops looked good to Tom's eyes. Decent harvest this year, I expect.

A couple of minutes passed.

Finally, Varga said, “Saa.”

“Saa?”

“Diavla kissed you.” Varga sounded highly amused.

Tom scowled. “Yes. Stupid.”

Varga responded with a lot of Elvish Tom couldn't follow.

“What? Say simply, please.”

“Diavla is not stupid.”

“I know.”

“She wants you.”

“No. She wants you,” Tom corrected.

Varga muttered something Tom couldn't follow, then rephrased and said something else that Tom still couldn't follow. The elf groaned in annoyance and appeared to be thinking hard.

“Diavla…want…me…and…you.”

Tom felt his brow furrow. “Varga, I walk and walk. I see city. I see farm. I see town. I know men like women. I know some men like men. Women like men. Some women like women. You want women. Diavla want women. I am man. You no want me.”

Varga stared at him. Her green eyes blinked twice. Then she got a huge grin. “You (something something something)?” Tom shook his head. The elf got a scheming look on her face for a few moments, then shook her head as if giving up.

“Tom. I say simple. Some women like (something) men and women. Some men like (something) men and women. I big like men. I big like women. Diavla big like men. Diavla small like women. (Something something something.)”

“Say end words?”

Varga put one hand to her forehead and groaned, “I do not know (something) Diavla (something something) you.” The redhead clearly did not have as much patience with the language difficulty as Diavla or Kervan, and hadn't learned many words of Western yet. Finally, she half-shouted, “I am not you. You are not Diavla. I am not Diavla. We do not one. We are not (something).”

“We are all different,” Tom tried. Varga shrugged. “I think I understand.”

“Good.”

Then Tom's soul caught up with what Varga had been saying. “Wait. Diavla want me?”

Varga stared at him a moment, then reached out and made as if to hit Tom in the side of his head with her palm. The elf's hand stopped short when it got too close and Varga was jolted a bit. Both of them were surprised. “Stupid collar. Stupid Tom. YES, Tom, Diavla want you. Tonight, you and Dee (something something?)”

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Tom scowled. “I no want know what you say end.”

“Stupid Tom.” Varga scowled, an unusual expression for her. “You have, I want. You no get. Stupid. I get.”

With that, the redheaded elf jumped off of the wagon, then stood there as Tom's wagon rolled on past. Tom glanced back a minute later and Varga had rejoined Diavla. They were already having an animated conversation. He shook his head and returned his attention to the road.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Later, Diavla approached his wagon. “Tom? I go here, please?” Tom eyed her, kept her waiting for a moment, then nodded. Diavla jumped up gracefully, then Tom wiped the seat and she settled herself. “Thank you.”

Tom didn't respond, and kept his gaze on the road ahead. While not paved, it was in decent condition, and it wasn't difficult to avoid the few holes. Silence hung between them for a few moments.

“Tom, you are mad me?”

Tom huffed. “Yes.”

“I kiss you.”

“Yes.”

“You kiss me.”

Tom scowled. “Yes.”

“You kiss me very good, Tom.”

“No, Diavla.” He turned and looked at her. She was staring at him intently.

“You are wrong, Tom Walker. You kiss me very good. I very like.”

I ‘very like’ that kiss too, Tom thought. “Yes, but it was bad.”

“What is bad?”

“Bad is no good.”

“I know word, Tom,” Diavla shot back, sounding annoyed. “What kiss is bad?”

Tom stared at her. “You're smarter than that, Diavla….” He paused, realizing that he didn't know Diavla's family name. “What is you big name?” he asked in Elvish.

“Urula. I am Diavla Urula.” She sounded very pleased that he had asked, and that beautiful smile came out for a moment.

“No smile. You smart Diavla, you no ask what is bad. You know.”

Diavla made a face and turned partly away from him. She held her cloak up a bit at her throat, instinctively hiding the slave collar from casual view. After a few minutes, she turned back and demanded, “I learn Western words for ask.”

Tom frowned. “Fine. ‘What day’ is ‘when.’ ”

“When. When. When you no mad, Tom?”

She would pick that example. “I do not know. When you say sorry?”

She didn't answer right away. Tom waited. Finally, she said, “No. I no say sorry. I am no liar.”

“Who,” Tom continued. “Who are you? You are Diavla Urula.”

“Who. Who. Who give you heartache, Tom?”

“This isn't about that!” Tom snapped. “Where. Where we go? We go to Rivermarch.”

“Where. Where. Where we stop tonight?”

“No house. Field.” Tom gestured to make it clear. “Tomorrow morning, we go Rivermarch.”

Diavla sighed. “(Something). (Something) you get very strong?” Tom realized that the word was ‘how’ and nodded.

“How. How. I have sword,” he patted it, “every day. Uh, day, day, day. All days.”

“What. When. Who. Where. How. What. When. Who. Where. How.”

“Why,” Tom added. Then he couldn't keep the anger out of his tone and demanded, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why. Why.” Diavla took a deep breath. “I want you, Tom. I very want you.”

“Well, I very want you too, but here in this kingdom, you are a slave and I am your Master,” Tom hissed, trying to keep his voice down on the second half.

“Yes. What?” From her tone, she was asking about something new, not confused about what he had already said.

“ ‘So what?’ ” He clarified.

“So what? So what?” She looked at him expectantly, one eyebrow arched.

“So, bad you trust me!” Tom shot back. “I no want kill you, Diavla!”

“So, you no kill me.”

“I am mad, I make mistake, you die. Bad, Diavla!”

“So, no get mad I have collar. When I have collar?” she tried in Western.

“That's it.” Tom was fed up and faced her squarely. “No collar. Collars in fire.”

Diavla's eyes widened. “No, Tom! We need the collars!”

“Well, I need no kill you!”

“I am sorry!”

Both of them stopped talking for a minute as they tried to get control of their feelings again.

“I am sorry,” Diavla quietly repeated in Western, sounding miserable. “I very very want kiss you. I very very want you kiss me. You kiss, I am happy, Tom.” She looked down. “I want…I am happy.”

That took the whip from Tom's horse. She has had a miserable three months, he reminded himself. He heaved a sigh. “I want you are happy. But…no good.” He looked at her, wishing he could find a way through this. His gaze went to her neck, then her head. Quietly, he asked, “I get you hair. You have headache?” That made her look up.

“No. (Something) no! I very, very like, Tom.”

Tom blinked. “You…like?”

“I very like,” she repeated firmly. Tentatively, she asked, “You like, get my hair?” She seemed to be waiting nervously for an answer.

She's perfect. I want to marry her, Tom thought in the heat of the moment. His soul drew an image of them living together, and Tom bending her over and having his rough way with her every day. He felt his face heat. “Yes. Very much yes. Diavla, I want…” Suddenly, sense returned and he bit off what he was about to ask.

“Yes?”

Diavla's amber eyes were open wide. She looked hopeful. Tom groaned in frustration, and her face fell.

“What am I going to do with you?” Tom groused.

“Tom,” Diavla answered in a calmer tone. “I am wrong. You are right. I get collar, we no…(something).”

“What is ‘something’?” Tom asked.

“Um…” Diavla sighed. “Smile. Kiss. See eyes. Get hand. Say sex.”

“ ‘Flirt.’ ”

“Flirt. Flirt. I get collar, we no flirt.” Then her gaze hardened, and she warned, “I no get collar, I flirt.” Tom couldn't quite hide a smile.

“Bad, Diavla. You flirt now. You have collar. No flirt.”

Diavla looked a little guilty and a little playful. “Maybe I small flirt.” A smile slowly grew on her face.

Tom put a hand over his eyes for a moment. “Woman, you will be the death of me.”

“You say yes,” Diavla grinned. Gods, stop smiling, woman, I can't even think straight when you do that.

He summoned the last of his willpower.

“No. I say no.”

“You're a bad liar, Tom.”

Tom couldn't help it. He cracked up. So did Diavla. Her giggle was surprisingly high-pitched, and it was possibly the most beautiful sound Tom had ever heard.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

When it was getting too late to travel, Tom steered the caravan off of the main road onto a fallow field suitable for a campsite. Leaving the elves for the moment, he walked to the farmhouse and negotiated for use of the land for the night. When Tom paid, the farmer threw a small stack of firewood into the deal, presumably to stop them from taking wood they shouldn't. Tom hefted it all at once, surprising the farmer a bit, and carried it back to the campsite. The elves were waiting, unsure whether to set up camp yet.

“We are good,” Tom announced. “I give coin.” He dumped the firewood and everyone started doing needed tasks. Seeing that everything was well in hand, Tom did a quick patrol, unsurprised to find nothing alarming. They were close enough to the city that any significant beast or monsters would be hunted regularly. The only real danger was bandits, and they were unlikely to strike an armed camp so near to Rivermarch.

Tom stripped to the waist and went through his sword drills, trying to remember every single thing Kurt had taught him in the two lessons he had received before disaster struck. Slow. Precise. No, that was too far. Again… Tom lost himself in the rhythm of learning and drill, concentrating hard. The light was starting to fade when he finished, sheathed his sword and picked up a towel to wipe himself down.

When he glanced around a minute later, he saw that Diavla and Varga were side by side, in identical positions. They were leaning over, chins on their fists and elbows on their packs, watching him with matching impish grins. Once they saw him looking, they both started applauding. Varga called out something Tom couldn't translate but which was clearly lewd. Tom bunched up his towel and threw it at her, grinning and shaking his head. He put his shirt back on, but left off his leather armor for the moment.

Orvan had put together a soup that smelled like a meal of the gods. Clearly, he had learned some things from Winnie about Western spices and seasonings, and had resupplied his stock of ingredients at the Carvers' home. Tom happily ate two bowls and a sizable serving of toasted bread.

Kervan sniffled a bit and cleared his throat, then called out, “Tom. We talk.”

Tom thought about the first order of business. He looked around at the surrounding area, trying to judge how likely it would be for someone to pass close enough to their camp to recognize the elves. “I think, no collars tonight is good. You have collars near. Person go here, you get collar fast. Good?”

The elves all nodded, and Tom went through the hassle of finding the correct tokens and unlocking the collars. Orvan took it stoically and stepped back with a nod. Varga gave a loud sigh of satisfaction, then leaned forward quickly and gave Tom a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, (something).”

Tom frowned. “What is (something?)”

“You no want know,” Diavla told him quickly. “A name.”

“I say Varga is (something)?”

Varga laughed and they shook their heads. “Man name. No good.”

“What is woman name?”

Varga answered with an Elvish word, and Diavla immediately shoved her friend and talked over her. “Varga lie, Tom.”

Tom rolled his eyes, and unlocked Kervan's collar. Kervan started to lean forward and Tom recoiled. “No kiss, Tom!” the elf yelled at him in annoyance. “I (something) say word. Woman word is (something). Word is…no good.”

“Word is flirt,” Diavla put in. “Bad flirt. Laugh.” She stepped up and Tom reached up to unlock her collar. For just a moment he let his hand linger on her throat, then made himself finish the task and stepped back quickly in case she was going to try to kiss him. Diavla grumbled. Varga said something teasing and Diavla replied, “Shut up.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Kervan cleared his throat. “We talk.” He pointed at himself and the other elves.

“Yes?”

“We say, in Rivermarch, you say, we do.”

Tom took a deep breath. This was important to get straight. “I am leader, not Master?”

“What is ‘leader’?”

Tom wracked his soul a moment, then answered, “Guards have leader. Leader is guard. Leader say, guards do. Leader is no Master.”

The elves looked at each other. “Yes, Tom. You are leader. You know Western. You know humans. You know human cities. You are leader, humans see you and think you are Master us. Smart. And, you did get collar we ask. We trust you.”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief and bowed his head. “Thank you, Kervan. Thank you, all of you. I want be good leader.”

Offerings to the gods. That's a relief. Navigating the morals of this situation feels like trying to balance on a rolling log in the river. Maybe it will be easier now. He saw Diavla giving him a sort of happy, hungry look.

And I need all the help I can get.