“Your father has found a prospective mate for you?” Tawna sat with Ziva in her parlor in the white velvet lounge chairs. “I do enjoy the luxury of your soft chairs and the whisper of the curtains. They tickle when they flow against my back.”

The two girls had been visiting and sharing together for almost a hand span as the sun dropped from its zenith.

Ziva leaned back in her chair and grimaced. Her eyes bounced from Tawna to Tigre who languished on the floor in a spot of sunshine. “He has but I will not mate with him.”

“No? Why?”

“He has a dark soul. I will die early if I were to mate him.” She frowned then thought better of it and allowed her smile to shine again.

“Dark soul? I have heard you say that about someone before. Who was it?” Tawna tapped her long dark finger against her white teeth.

Ziva shook her head and stared at the cat. “I told you. I’m not sharing. I do not want it to happen. I pray it won’t. I will not share the name.”

“You fear it will happen if you speak the name?”

“No. I do not want my name tangled with his in any way.”

Ziva watched her friend think about her words. Although Tawna’s face was not as open as Ziva’s, Ziva and Tawna had been friends for many years and Ziva could read her friend’s face and discern her thoughts. Tawna planned another ploy to trick the answer from her. Ziva wouldn’t fall for it.

“Why do you not want to be mated to this man?” Tawna asked. Her finger continued to tap her teeth.

Ziva pondered the response, her foot bouncing fast. She recognized it metered her agitation and set it on the floor.

“Because…” her foot began to bounce once more. “No, I can’t say that. He is …” she stared at her bouncing foot. Tigre stood up and jumped on her lap. She stroked his luxurious fur.

“Oh, Tawna, I want nothing to do with this man. His soul is dark. He thinks he is better than everyone else, especially women. His reputation is black. I have heard of women who have been with him describe him as cruel and vicious. Why would I want a man who has been cruel and vicious with other women? Why would I want anything to do with a man like him?”

Tawna lay her hand in her lap. “When you put it that way, I agree. Why would you want to be connected to a man like that? I can think of many men who fit that description. Some of them I danced with at the last festival.”

“Exactly. When I think of becoming the mate of one of those men, I quiver. Many times, it feels better to find a way to never be mated. I do not want to be abused by my mate. I want to be loved and cherished by a man, like my mother was cherished by my father. I am blessed to know love. Sadly, many men have never been loved and don’t know how to love. How can I agree to mate with a man like that?” Tigre now lay sleeping in her lap.

Tawna stared at her friend. “Cherish? What is cherish? You have such different ideas. My parents love me. They love each other, too. But what is cherish?” Tawna pursed her lips and lowered her eyebrows.

“Cherish?” Ziva stared at Tawna and glanced down at her now still foot. “My father cherishes me. He cares for me and loves me deeply. I love Tigre. He is my confidant. I will be sad if he leaves me,” she stopped to swallow, “if he dies. But, I don’t cherish him. I want to be admired by someone like my father admires and cares for me. I want to be defended, encouraged, and honored. Isn’t that what you want, Tawna?”

Tawna brushed her hair from her face and sat thinking. “Can parents cherish each other and more than one child? I have two sisters and three brothers. Is it possible for my father to cherish all of us? Even when his temper flares?” She shook her head. “I am confused by this word, this idea.”

Ziva glanced at her cat and scratched behind his ears. “I have a memory… No. It is gone. I believe a man can cherish his wife and all his children. It must be so.”

“To be cherished? Yes, I would like that, if I could be cherished by a wealthy man.” Tawna smoothed the front of her dress.

“Wealth?” Ziva raised her eyebrows. “You must have a wealthy man?”

“Of course. Don’t you? All you know is the pampered life of your father’s house. Don’t tell me you think you can be happy with a man of less wealth or even a poor man?”

“No,” Ziva answered, stretching out the vowel. “I would like to mate a wealthy man. It would make life easier if he were. I would hope love would make a difference, if he were not.”

“Not me,” Tawna retorted. “I would settle for someone who treats me well, as long as he is wealthy. I like my life, even if I have to share it with my sisters and brothers. It would be nice to be spoiled, like my sisters.”

“And you aren’t?” Ziva chuckled. “You always have new dresses. Isn’t that one new?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Well, yes. But, I’m not spoiled like Giselle. Her lower lip just has to peek out, and Father gives in. Gisselle’s tears are unbearable!”

Ziva toyed with her cat’s tail until its switching warned her to stop. “Who would you mate with, if you had a choice?”

“Me?” Tawna reached up and rubbed her ear. “If I could be mated to any man I choose? How strange to think of choosing a man! They do all the choosing. We do not even have the right to accept or reject. We do as we are told. Our fathers do all the choosing, accepting, and rejecting. But, if I could choose a man …” she stopped to think, her finger moved to the side of her mouth, the red paint on her fingernails pointing to her beautiful eyes. “If I could choose, I would choose Qinten, priest to Lorca.”

“Qinten? I thought Kara liked Qinten. Do you follow the cult of Lorca?”

“Not really, but the cult is interesting. I don’t care if Kara wants him, I can dream, too. I would be a priestess and he is wealthy.”

“You would mate for wealth?” Ziva’s shock at her friend’s choice showed on her face.

“No, silly. He is a handsome man. Everyone knows he is maneuvering to be High Priest in the next elections. I would be his High Priestess.” Tawna shivered visibly in excitement. “It would be wonderful.”

“Wonderful to slice the throats of little lambs? I hear you would also share your bed with other priestesses, other women, and other priests. You want that?” Ziva’s usually calm face twisted and her cat dug his claws into her legs as he jumped off her lap. “Ow, Tigre. That hurt.”

Tawna touched the back of her neck and glanced around the sitting room. “No. He would not do that to me. Would he?” A tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed.

Ziva hurried to her friend, wrapping her in her arms.

“You can mate with Qinten, if you choose. It is your dream, not mine.”

Tawna wiped the tear from her face and smile a weak smile. “It doesn’t matter, Ziv. I do not get to choose. He must choose me.”

The discussion moved to the upcoming Harvest Festival and where they would attend, which cult would be more interesting

“Mother will not allow me to attend Harvest Festival at the temple of Lorca. She says I am still too young,” Tawna pouted.

“Who would want to attend any festival in Lorca’s temples?” Ziva growled. “I certainly do not. I hope I never have to attend another festival led by a priest of Lorca.” She knew her words were too blunt, but she could not soften them.

“So where will you go? Everyone has to attend the festival.” Tawna twirled a curl around a finger.

“Why does everyone have to attend? I don’t know where Orak will take me. Where will you go?”

“We will go to Nimm. Mother has decided. It is milder than Lorca, but closer to what we should expect.”

“Perhaps we will meet you there.” Ziva stared out her window, hoping she could just stay home. She hated the noise and tension of the festivals.

~ ~ ~

Nat tapped on the door to the Master’s apartments. Another slave walked past. “Do you not know to walk in. That is your right now.”

He opened the door and walked into the apartment. He looked around and didn’t see Master Qinten, until he heard a sound behind a door. Perhaps there? He rapped softly on the door.

Qinten’s voice spoke from the other side. “Come.”

Nat opened the door and entered, being certain to keep his eyes down.

“Right on time. Turn around,” Qinten ordered.

Nat turned slowly in a circle, the folds of his robe gently flaring with his movement, his slippers making a soft shush on the marble floor. The colors flattered him, the tunic just tight enough to show his muscled arms. He felt better than he had in many years.

“As my personal servant, you may look into my face,” Qinten said, “but not in my eyes.”

Nat lifted his eyes to Qinten’s face, especially careful not to seek the eyes of his master.

“You may speak,” Qinten said.

“Thank you, Master.” Nat bowed from the waist. “What is wanted of me?”

Surprise flashed across Qinten’s face, before he smoothed it from his face.

“You are to be my personal servant. You will help me as I command.”

“And now? What do you command of me now?” Nat spoke quietly.

“You read and write?”

Nat worked to smooth away the surprise from his face. “Yes.”

“Read through these papers. Tell me which merchant I should use to purchase the animals we need for our next sacrifice. My eyes are tired of looking at them.” Qinten handed a stack of papers to Nat.

Nat nodded and glanced around the small study. “Is there some place I may sit?”

“Sit there at my desk for now.” Qinten waved an arm in the direction of his desk and chair.

Nat sat in the indicated chair and began to read through the papers. As he read, he saw Qinten sit in the comfortable chair across the room and watch him. Nat read through one page, then another, often referring to an earlier page.

He reached for a pen, then thought better of it. He looked to Qinten. “May I take notes?”

Qinten nodded. Nat retrieved the pen and a blank page of vellum, on which he jotted notes about the things he was reading. He glanced at another page and wrote a note. He became absorbed in the project, happy he had made a point to read everything he saw during his years away from his parents. It made this task easier.

Nat read through all the papers, glancing up at Qinten only once, to see a smile playing about his face. Strange for the things he had heard about the Master. He returned to the project, focusing on the numbers before him and the names of the merchants. He heard a muttering, something about a girl who was intelligent and beautiful, yet different from her father. Nat kept his head down, unwilling to give Qinten an opportunity to dismiss him before he even started.

He focused again on the information in front of him, thinking about the different merchants, when Qinten slammed his fist into his palm. Something, or someone, irritated the man. His determination to avoid such irritation deepened.

He wrote another figure on his page of notes and considered their meaning. Only one merchant had the ability to provide most of the animals for the upcoming sacrifices. Orak, whoever that was.

Nat looked up and waited for Qinten to notice.

“What did you learn?” Qinten asked.

“There are many who can provide the sacrifices needed by Lorca. You can purchase from many or from one. Which is your choice, Master?”

Another small smile crossed the Master’s face. “For now, I will continue to purchase from Orak. However, if he displeases, me, I will purchase from others.”

Nat returned to the papers, noting how many of each animal they would need to purchase for the next festival.