"Come, we need to go," Johine hissed, hopping from one foot to the other. Who knew how long the disheveled, disgusting man had been stuck in that too-short cage, but his shoulders now seemed permanently hunched. Combined with his awkward, stiff movements, extensive body hair, and tangled mane of hair his posture made him look like some sort of animal trained poorly to move like a human.

Hassani turned, then instinctively ducked and rolled as something flew at her. Warily, she walked back a little ways into the tunnel to find a ragged doll laying on the stone. She picked it up slowly, looking up to see Crone staring at her with her milky eyes. Apparently not quite as blind as Johine had said. "This is for me?"

"Was for my granddaughter," the woman croaked. "Probably long dead by now. Better that way. Take it for your daughter. It will give me peace knowing its gotten use."

"We could still free you," Hassani said, tracing the most-likely route to the woman's cage in her mind. The tunnels twisted and turned unpredictably so who knew how long it might take to find it.

The woman simply turned away and stared up at the ribbon of blue sky overhead. She began to sing a children's song to the Ascendant, the words haunting in their nostalgic familiarity. "Ascendant dwelling high above, find this little child below..."

"Come," Johine hissed, tugging at her sleeve. "We must escape."

"I'm not escaping," Hassani said, gently prying him off.

"You're not... you're what?" He gaped at her. Either he'd never been the brightest bronze bar in the stack, his time in that cage broke something in him. Or maybe both.

"I'm going to find Fatma and she's going to give me my daughter if I have to peel her flesh off like a Molt to make it happen," Hassani said, walking resolutely, if stiffly, through the tunnels leading to the surface.

Johine shuffled along side her, struggling to match her quick stride with his labored gate.

"If you're gonna peel her, I know where she lives!" he cackled. "Fatma. Fatma lives in the Master's District, near the grounds of the Phero's brothel."

Hassani gritted her teeth at the intense pang of longing even the mention of a Phero stirred. A curse it seemed she would never be free of.

"Damn you again, Adonissian," she muttered. Though having seen the pitiful way he'd lain dying in that tiny, reeking flat in Jadeye, she couldn't think of much more cruel punishment that could be doled out, whatever his wrongs.

"Yes, lead me there, wherever it is," she said. "Quickly while we still have the slave roundup as a distraction."

As they walked, her mind struggled to churn. Exposure and sunburn, lack of decent food, and hardly any sleep lagged her usually-quick wit to a slow grind. "They didn't take my clothes, so if we see anyone or when we get to the stairs and have to deal with the guards, I'm your new owner taking you to sell you before you they can take you and conscript you into the Slave Legions."

"You're sellin' me?" he stammered, stopping suddenly and plastering himself against the wall. Sobs wracked his frame out of nowhere. "I don't wanna be sold again! I thought we were free. We were gonna peel Fatma."

It took several deep breaths before she could get her voice level and calm enough to talk with him. "Calm down. No Johine, listen. It's a ruse. A way of tricking them so we can get to Fatma's. I'm not really going to sell you."

To help console him, she pulled the shoulder down on her tunic and turned her back slightly, showing her own brand. He wiped his eyes and runny nose on his hirsute arm, then turned to compare it to the same marking scarring his shoulder: what she took to be a crude cage holding a coin. Hassani snarled and felt at the marred flesh on her shoulder. She'd never looked at or thought to look too closely at slavery while she'd been an Inviolate. It suddenly struck her that, like so many other things, she had kept it at a mental distance to avoid thinking about how it underpinned much of the corrupt society she'd hoped to somehow make right.

Such musings fell away as they reached the main tunnel network leading to the surface. While the tunnels ran deep and wide throughout the cliff, only a few stairwells led to the surface. Guards, lookouts, and slave-catchers stood ready and waiting these at each at all times. Now, however, they slipped into the stinking traffic crushing together in said main tunnel. She fixed a cruel, impatient look to her face, grabbed Johine by his hair, and dragged him with her. In the barely-contained chaos and confused press of flesh, they somehow made it up the stairs then spilled out onto the streets amid the river of slaves pouring towards the great arena where the Small Masters usually hosted gladiatorial games, races, beast combats, slave orgies, or combined several of those events together for the amusement of Versers and Dynasts.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

When a young boy slipped from the ropes binding his hands and sprinted off down a side street, Hassani utilized the distraction to drag Johine into another narrow alley between two close-packed clay brick buildings. Though it pained her to do it almost as much as it hurt him, she still dragged and shoved him roughly before her until they were completely out of sight of the main traffic. She pressed him down to the bare stone street near a closed-down market, pretending to berate him for some infraction for the benefit of the scattered traffic drifting towards the arena.

"You okay?" she said.

"What'd I do wrong?" he wailed. "Why do I deserve this for rescuing you?"

"Quiet," she hissed, shooting a glare at a young, well-dressed couple, their children, and a trailing knot of servants and slaves strolling after them down towards the arena. "You want this slave? I'm about done with his laziness and insolence."

The man laughed, the woman frowned, and a little girl in miniature version of the lacy kimono that seemed to be popular among the affluent jumped up and down. "Can I have another slave, Amma? Adda? I only have the one and she's soooo old and everyone else has two and that's not fair."

"Maybe when you're older," the mother said, hurrying her along as Hassani continued to glare.

"Fatma's. Now," she snapped, shoving Johine roughly ahead of her. She leaned in quickly to whisper in his ear. "I'm sorry. If they find out we're escaped slaves, what they do to us will leave us praying to have our old cages back."

He seemed to get it this time and shuffled quickly along ahead of her in a properly subdued, slave-like fashion. A haughty bearing and sharp looks she shot at anyone who looked at them twice managed to dissuade anyone from approaching as they marched through the streets the opposite direction to most of the arena-bound traffic.

Fatma's estate was obvious when they reached it: an elaborate metal-sculptured version of her cage-and-coin thrust out proudly above the gleaming brass gate leading through a high, rough-hewn stone wall. Two stories of mansion rose above it, a mixture of carved stone and sections of fresh, white plaster. Fruit trees rose up all about it, swarmed by noisy flocks of birds.

A stubbled guard in leathers leaned on a cheap spear in front of the gate, chewing what looked to be commu by the purplish stains mottling his lips as he watched them approach. When they were a few paces away, Hassani kicked Johine in the rear to send him stumbling to the man's feet. Johine gave a startled yelp and curled up in a ball instinctively. "Wah! Don't hit me again!"

Hassani strode close to gave him a quick boot to the rear, then whirled on the guard. "Fatma sent me. Just bought this one and sent him back to get him liveried up. Big event today and all."

The guard looked glanced down at the cowering Johine dubiously. That was all the opportunity she needed. In a motion she'd been rehearsing their whole approach, she snatched at his belt knife free reverse-grip, drew it, and slashed across his throat in one smooth motion. She pressed him back against the wall with one forearm as gurgled and clutched his neck.

Dropping the knife, she fumbled at his belt with her other hand, darting glances up and down the street. Fortunately, traffic was sparse in this wealthier district as most had already departed for the arena. She slipped the ornate key ring from its hook on his belt, twisting and turning her head out of the way as he feebly pawed at her with one bloody hand.

With the key in hand, she lowered him to the ground, wiping the knife on his tunic and trying to ignore his youth. He worked for slavers, she told herself. The sames slavers that held her Avani captive. It may as well have been him holding her daughter's chains or dangling her over the chasm. She stood and unlocked the gate, jumping aside and raising her knife defensively as Johine snatched up the fallen spear and stabbed the guard over and over and over.

"Enough, Johine," Hassnani said when it was clear he was caught up in a bestial, vengeful rage that showed no sign of ending. "Stop. You'll draw more attention. Stop!"

Johine looked up. With his face spattered in blood, eyes wild, and teeth bared in a feral snarl, he looked even more animalistic. "Enough. Come on, we need to find my things."

Without waiting to see if he followed, she slipped inside, walking quickly through a lush but poorly-tended garden then pushing on into the main estate. She debated looking for a side door, but shrugged and went straight for the large double doors that hung open to allow a stream of servants and slaves to flow in an out. Judging by the chests, jars, and piled rugs heaped everywhere in the white-marbled main hall, Fatma had either just moved in or was redecorating with loot from one of the other Small Master's villas.

A tall, severe woman in fine yet functional red robes looked over with distaste and hostility as Hassani entered. The cowering deference afforded to her by every slave and servant who passed marked her instantly as the one in charge and aimed Hassani straight at her.