Nat sat at the desk Qinten had ordered to be brought to his study, smaller than Qinten’s, but nearly as nice. It had been placed near the Master’s desk, crowding the room, so they could work together. Now, he considered the merchants they could choose from to purchase house necessities.
He had earned a place of trust over the few months he had been Qinten’s personal assistant. He listened to the Master rant, placated him when he thought to sell a needed slave, and slept in a little room adjoining the Master’s with entrances both through the Master’s room and into the hall, so he could enter without inconveniencing Qinten.
“My father insists I should be mated.” Qinten spoke into the silence.
Nat flinched, surprised at the sudden shattering of the quiet and the content of the Master’s comment. “Mated?”
“Yes. He thinks I need a mate to help me move forward with my plans to be the next High Priest.”
“How will mating help you?” Caution filled Nat.
“Men wonder why I am not mated, why I still live alone. Some wonder about my virility. Bah! What do they know?”
“Oh?” Nat said in a neutral voice. “And, is there someone you have in mind?”
“Yes. But her father is holding back, finding excuses to delay the announcement.”
“And there is nothing you can do?”
“I am working on it. Her father will give her to me, or he will lose everything.”
“Oh? Who is the father?”
“Orak.” Qinten all but spat the name out.
“The supplier of so many of the sacrifices? That Orak?” Nat’s eyes opened wide in surprise. He didn’t know Orak had a daughter.
“That Orak. If he allowed me to meet with his daughter, talk with her, get her on my side, there would be no problem—”
“You have not spoken with her?”
“She is always under the protection of her father. When I approach at public gatherings, she slips away.”
“That is a problem.” Nat allowed sympathy to ooze in his words. “And she is the woman for you?”
“She is the one for me. I carefully analyzed all the available young women. She is the one. She has no brothers or sisters to take all Orak’s money.”
That Orak?
“Besides, she caught my attention with her beauty. None of the other girls are as exquisite, as delicate, as exotic. Her skin is the color of the moon, her eyes that of the sea, her lips like melons.”
“She does sound beautiful, but different from most women in Nod—not like your own mother, I suspect.” Nat looked at the papers on his desk. “Most of the wealthy women are dark beauties, with dark eyes. This girl, is she from Nod?”
“She is Orak’s daughter. Of course, she is from Nod!”
Nat searched his memory of the young women he served at the festival, months earlier. Only one was a pale beauty. Only one stood out. No! Not her. His mind raced. How could he prevent the mating of his master to her? He could not condemn her to his cruelty.
“I am afflicted of her. So much so that I have not gone to visit others.” Qinten’s voice became dreamy, then it hardened. “Orak will give her to mate with me. She will be High Priestess, and I, High Priest.”
“Can you not be High Priest without a woman at your side?” Nat asked, glad of the shift, but wary of the moods of his master.
“Not now. That will change when I am High Priest. A woman should not have such power over a man. A woman should not have any power.”
Nat’s fear increased, though he kept his face blank. Who would want to be mated to such a man? How could she?
“Women have no rights, no power? I am but a slave. I do not know?” Nat tried to turn Qinten’s thoughts from her.
“None. Men treat women as they please.”
“Yet Orak protects his daughter?” Back to her. He must be wary.
“Men protect their women as they protect their cattle or their horses, as possessions. Women are possessions to bring out as baubles on men’s arms on festival days.”
“I see.” Nat now understood his master in a way he preferred not to know. He remembered his papa discussing problems with his mama. She would never be a possession.
“What do you plan? How will you convince Orak to give his daughter to you?”
Qinten stood from his desk chair and paced about the room. “I have asked. I have threatened him. Offered him bribes. He puts me off. I do not want to destroy him. I want his wealth and I want his daughter!”
Nat nodded, thinking. How could he soften his master’s approach, and still prevent the mating? What could he do to protect Orak’s daughter from this evil?
“Perhaps,” he said slowly, thinking as he spoke. “Perhaps you can change your attack? Orak is a proud man. His wealth and property are important to him. I have heard it said you cannot draw a bird to you with a shout and a threat. It must be a song and sweet treats. Perhaps you should visit Orak in his home, whisper sweet words of kindness in his daughter’s ear. Draw her to your side.” Nat was sickened at the thought. Surely, she was more intelligent than that. Especially if she was who he thought she was.
“You can help me.” Qinten stopped pacing in front of Nat and pointed his finger at him. “You can go to Orak, speak kind words, be my song and sweet treat.”
“Me? I know next to nothing about women. I—”
“Yes, you. It is your idea.”
Qinten dropped into his desk chair, pulled a clean sheet of vellum towards him, and grabbed his pen. He wrote quickly. He rolled the scroll and scrawled a name across the outside, sealed it, and tied it with a gold and white braid. Orak, Nat noticed. What was the Master up to now?
Qinten rang a bell and a slave immediately opened the door.
“Give this to a messenger. It is to be delivered at once.”
The slave bowed and took the scroll. The door closed behind him soundlessly. Nat could hear his feet pattering down the hall toward the messengers.
Nat bent to his work, knowing the Master would tell him anything he wanted him to know when he was ready.
Later, there was a knock on the door. Nat stood and stretched, briefly, as he opened it. The slave handed him a scroll with Qinten’s name on it. Nat handed it to him and returned to his desk, waiting for the Master to read the note.
“We are to meet with Orak this afternoon,” Qinten said. “Make yourself ready.”
Nat noted where he was in his work and left the study. It felt good to stretch his legs and walk awhile. He had been cooped up in the study much too long. Swinging his arms and lengthening his stride, he walked down the hall toward his room. He could have entered through the Master’s room, but this time he took advantage of the hallway door.
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He closed the door behind him and moved to the chest standing beside the wall. He ran his hands across the smooth wood, marveling again that such a thing was his to use, and that the clothing inside was for him to wear. In all the years he had been a slave, he never thought such a thing would be allowed.
Nat opened the chest and withdrew a fresh tunic, a robe, and small clothes. These, he set on the cot, ready to replace those he wore. He stripped, shivering a bit in the cool air, and washed.
He was no longer the small, scrawny boy stolen so long ago. He had grown. The work required of him had built muscles and strength.
The tunic and robe were exactly like the one he dropped at his feet, a uniform designating his place in Qinten’s home, only these were clean. Nat sat on a stool to drag soft slippers on his feet, and tucked leather sandals under his arm. He would need thicker sandals on the streets, though they were not allowed in Qinten’s home. Amazement filled him, yet again, that he could wear the soft slippers. Until the Master had taken him as a personal servant, his feet were always bare, inside and out.
He opened the door separating his room from the Master’s where Qinten sat as a slave placed slippers on his feet. He, too, had been washed and dressed in fresh clothing. His tunic was red, the robe white with red stitching along the edges. Both hung below his knees, almost to his feet, to show his station.
Qinten glanced at Nat. “Good. You are ready. Let us be off.”
The two men strode down the halls and out a side door. Nat expected to walk to Orak’s home, but a carriage stood on the street, door open and waiting. He helped the Master inside and moved to climb on top with the driver.
“No. Join me inside,” Qinten commanded.
~ ~ ~
Ziva paced across the thick, light-blue rug in her parlor. What did Qinten have in mind? Why did he request a personal visit with her and Orak? Something was wrong.
She and Orak had been successful in putting Qinten off, finding reasons to avoid his demand for her to be given to him as his mate. She shuddered again at the thought. Why would he come here today? Why would he want to meet with her? Women had no place in bargaining, it was for men.
She settled on the edge of a chair, then jumped up, unable to sit still. As she paced, Ziva brushed her hair back from her face or dry washed her hands. Why could she not have drawn the attention of Crites? He seemed to be a decent man when she danced with him at Roven’s party. No, it had to be the dark Qinten.
Tigre yowled as she tread on his tail. Ziva dropped to the floor and cuddled him. “I am sorry, Tigre. In my agitation, I didn’t see you.” The cat’s long tail twitched under her nose, causing Ziva to sneeze. “Can you believe that awful man is coming here? Here! To visit me. What do I have to say to him?”
She moved to a chair with the cat, petting and sharing her fears. Stroking the silken fur of her beloved cat calmed her.
At last, Ana slipped through the door. “Your father has need of you in his study.”
Ziva smoothed her dress and patted her hair.
“You look beautiful, mistress Ziva,” Ana said. “You will draw the man’s attention.”
“Will I, Ana? I don’t want to. Perhaps I should put something different on, something less enticing?” She heard the wistfulness in her voice. She growled internally, disliking the man even more.
Ziva followed Ana to Orak’s study, though she had been there on her own many times in the past week. With him here, she needed to be announced when she arrived. One more reason to be unhappy with him.
Ana knocked on the door to Orak’s study and pushed it open when she heard him call.
“Your daughter, Ziva, sir.” Ana made a deep curtsy. Ziva followed her through the door and watched her close it as she left.
Ziva faced three men, not the two she expected. Orak sat behind his desk, while Qinten sat in one of the two comfortable easy chairs. Another man, dressed in the golds signifying a servant of a priest of Lorca, stood behind Qinten, hands clasped behind his back, unspeaking and alert.
She flashed a smile for her father, held it as she glanced at Qinten, then turned back to Orak. “Hello, Father. You sent for me?”
She knew why Orak sent for her, even knew Qinten would be sitting in the chair on the right. She and Orak had discussed this earlier when Qinten’s note arrived earlier. They were surprised by his request to see them, asking to speak with her.
They decided she would wait in her rooms, as though she was not expecting a visitor. She did not change into nicer clothing nor dress her hair for visitors. They hoped to throw him off his guard. They were cautious, unsure of his intent.
Neither Orak nor Ziva expected Qinten to bring a servant, and hadn’t planned for Orak or Ziva to have a complementary servant to balance things. Ziva determined to stay in the study with her father. She did not trust Qinten.
“Ah, Ziva.” Orak continued the ruse. “We have guests. Qinten and his servant.”
Ziva glanced at Qinten, then looked into the servant’s eyes.
“Hello,” she said. “Welcome to our home.”
She dropped her eyes to Qinten’s face. He frowned briefly, then composed his face. Good. Maybe she could encourage him to lose his self-confidence.
Qinten took her hand and brushed his lips across the back of it. “Hello, Ziva. We thought it would be helpful if you were able to get to know me.”
Ziva fought the desire to wipe his touch from her hand. A chill spread across her back. Instead, she smiled, fighting back her disgust and the desire to rush screaming from the room.
“Sit please, Ziva.” Orak indicated the empty chair on the left, much too close to Qinten.
She sat, sighing internally, hoping the interview would not last long.
“Qinten tells me he asked for this meeting because you have not been aware of his interest. He wants you to know more of him. Then he thinks you may encourage me to negotiate your mating with him.”
Ziva turned to face Qinten. His dark features highlighted what some girls would consider good looks. His dark brown eyes were just lighter than the almost black hair, he had brushed away from his face, except for a lock hanging over one eye. She could almost understand why other girls swooned when they thought of this priest of Lorca. They didn’t feel the darkness emanating from his soul, as she did.
“Tell me about yourself, please. I know you are a priest of Lorca. What else should I know?”
Qinten launched into a description of his place in society, his father’s position as city governor, his wealth, his rise through the ranks of the priesthood of Lorca from the time he was a youth, and his schooling in the temple. Ziva listened politely, asking a question or two, all the while trying to prevent her eyes glazing over from boredom. He told her nothing she had not learned from the gossiping of her friends and servants, even less that would cause her to want him.
As Qinten droned on, her eyes were drawn to the silent servant who stood behind his master. His eyes remained downcast; yet, she could tell he watched her.
The servant’s face looked familiar, but Ziva couldn’t match the face to any in her memory. Another face surfaced but the dress of this man didn’t help her make the connection. As she held to her smile and tried to appear to attend to Qinten’s words, she struggled to remember where she had seen this servant before.
“You do follow the cult of Lorca?” Qinten’s words dragged her back to the present “He is a great god.”
“Follow the cult of Lorca?” Ziva closed her eyes briefly. “Father, do we follow any of the cults in Nod?”
Orak started. He glanced at her before answering. “No, Ziva. None of the cults draw me in. I provide sacrifices to all the cults. It is difficult to choose one. It would, um, it would--”
“It would injure your opportunity to sell to the other cults?” Qinten asked.
Orak nodded. “I am careful to prevent offense to any of the gods of Nod. They are important to the people. I have not aligned myself, or Ziva, with any of them. At one time, I thought I followed Enid.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “Things happened to change that. I now follow none of the cults.”
“Would I be required to follow the cult of Lorca if we were to be connected more closely?” Ziva watched Qinten’s face.
“You would become a priestess of Lorca, a great honor for any woman. You would stand beside me as High Priest and you as High Priestess.”
If you manage to become the High Priest. “And that would involve?”
“You would participate in the festivals, support the priests in the temple, join me in leading the Planting Festival, and other high responsibilities.” Qinten smoothed his hair back. He obviously considered this to be an honor for any woman.
“Planting Festival? I have not attended many of your festivals. How would I lead it? What is involved?”
“The Planting Festival is a fertility festival, one in which we ask Lorca to give us a fertile earth and provide our people with enough grains, fruits, vegetables, and young animals to provide food, meat, and sacrifices, along with other needs.”
“Don’t all the sacrifices during the year accomplish that?” Ziva asked. “I saw many young animals sacrificed to Lorca at the mid-year festival.”
“The ones you saw at the mid-year festival were offered in gratitude for the success of the planting and new birth of plants and animals. We beg Lorca to continue his magnificence we received in the Planting Festival.” Qinten took on the face of one instructing a little child.
Ziva lifted an eyebrow in question. “And the priestess? How does she participate in the festival? Does she sacrifice?”
She thought of other possible activities for a priestess, equally revolting, but dared not express them, fearing to give this ‘soon-to-be high priest’ ideas. Deep within, she doubted the divinity of Lorca, or any of the other cult gods of Nod.
“Boys and girls lead the animals, as always, presenting them to Lorca. Priests always perform the sacrifice. The priestess leads the dancing and celebrations after the sacrifice.”
“I will share with Ziva the details of those celebrations,” Orak interrupted. “It is not proper for you to share information such as this with a young woman of Ziva’s standing.”
Qinten spluttered a few heartbeats before falling silent. Ziva watched the frustration play across his face before he managed to smooth it away.
“Come, Nat.” Qinten stood. “We will leave Orak to share the events of the Planting Festival with Ziva.”
With that, the two men left the room. Nat glanced back, briefly, at Ziva as he left Orak’s study.