The trip back took three days. Oly was barely allowed outside of the carriage: transporting slaves from one confinement to another was tricky business, so he was closely monitored and not really allowed to talk to anyone. He’d been allowed every necessity and given extra water to wash off his makeup, but the boredom of sitting in a box the size of a closet with nothing to occupy his mind was only marginally better than just sitting in his cell. At least he had a window to watch the countryside change, sliding from deep valleys, to rolling foothills, to golden grasslands, to the many gleaming rivers nourishing Sundenta’s wildflower fields and marshes.
Regardless, Oly tried not to be relieved when they rolled through a bustling city and arrived at the castle gates. The journey was over, but his mission began.
It was odd to think of this as the true start to his captivity, but there was a distinctly different quality to the way he was treated from the second he stepped out of the carriage and stretched his arms above his head. For one, there was a slave waiting just outside to welcome and escort him inside. The tattoo around her neck--enchanted to make sure she couldn’t leave the grounds in non-emergencies--looked like it was inked with care. Of course it was nothing intricate, but the ink wasn’t bleeding, there were no scars, and the pattern had purposeful consistency. Back in Kishalon, those who were lucky enough not to get a plain black band would have the freehanded doodles of an apprentice inker on them for the rest of their lives.
She smiled and talked often, and aside from replying to the odd question, he was far too tired to do anything but nod along. Still, he tried his best to keep an ear out for important info he’d actually have to absorb. She was welcoming him to the castle, letting him know how things worked, and he was certainly following along well enough, but he was also occupied with looking around. Any nook or cranny was a possible candidate to get a message out.
She led him through the ground floor until they arrived at an office, brightly lit and almost friendly, but Oly felt something sour twist inside of him when his guide bowed and greeted the man inside, “Master Lucice.” Oly followed suit, but now he knew the large, round man behind the desk was their manager. He had heavy bags under his eyes and a sleepy slump to his figure, but until the slave had greeted him he’d been doing some paperwork and sipping tea.
“Good morning, my dear.” He greeted in turn with a slow, drowsy voice. The manager echoed his chair’s long, low groan as he stood up, and looked Oly over as the slaves straightened.
“Who is this?”
Oly furrowed his brow, but knew better than to talk if he wasn’t being directly addressed. The slave (Hava? Mava?) introduced him instead.
“Hesiat was surprised with the gift of a personal slave on his trip to Kishalon.” She explained.
“Another one?” He muttered. “Well, no matter if he sets you to the side too. We’ll find a place for you in that case.” He turned around and opened a large cabinet, pulling out a bundle of cloth and passing it over to Oly. “You look like you’ve been in that prettied-up gear a bit too long. There’s a couple pairs of spare clothes, soap, and the sheets for your bed in there.”
Oly tried not to sag with relief at the mere mention of a bed and bath. Some of the body paint had rubbed off into the inside of his clothes before he could hastily scrub it off, and it had taken on a waxy texture that grated the edge of his awareness. His mind warred between anticipation to get actually, properly clean, or to just lay down in bed and sleep for ten thousand years.
“Thank you, sir.” He bowed his head, then looked at his escort out of the corner of his eye. She smiled and nodded.
“Master Lucice treats us well. If you have any questions or emergencies, you can come to him.”
Oly thinned his lips. “If it’s not out of line to ask, sir, what’s the smallest emergency you’ll tolerate?”
Lucice waved him off. “Don’t worry about that. Anything you can’t do on your own and other people are too busy to help you with. I’m also well-acquainted with dumb questions.”
Oly wondered if that was an invitation to dispel his worries that an answer may be too obvious, or a dig at his question about emergencies, but he didn’t regret it. Knowing himself, he needed clear instruction or he would freeze up and do nothing at all, and risking punishment for a stupid question was better than risking punishment for serious inaction.
“Noted, sir.”
--
Oly was led up several flights of stairs into nondescript passageways, down undecorated halls, and into the staff wing. Even further into the tail of the wing was where the slave quarters lay. She led him into a thin room, which he immediately stepped into and measured the dimensions by taking careful strides from one end to the other: two-and-some paces wide, and five long. There was a bed in the corner keeping the door from fully opening, the bare mattress just big enough for him: thin, and dipped in the middle. A worn nightstand with chipping lacquer sat at the foot, and a small dresser was set next to the bed with its back to the opposite wall. There was a sink faucet and plain ceramic basin under a tiny circular window at the far wall, and an old matted-down rug to catch any stray water. The protective measure was hardly effective if the state of the floors was anything to go by, as the wood was greying and rough around the doorway, trailing into a line down the middle of the room, and subtly warped around the sink.
“How is it?” She asked. Oly sunk onto the foot of the bed, resisting the temptation less and less by the second to just lay down and pass out.
“Better.” He breathed, flashing a ragged smile at her. “Much better.”
---
Oly did not, in fact, fall dead asleep. The moment he laid down, he felt paint and dust in the cracks of his face, and he didn’t want it to get caked with another day. He devoted himself to the titanic task of pushing himself away from the bed before it could tempt him any further, fished out the soap, and turned the creaking tap to fill the basin. Finally, he could peel the clothes off his body. He tossed them in a dusty corner with a grimace, dipped his rag in the suds, and gave a great sigh of relief when the cool, soapy cloth swiped down over the length of his arm. He hadn’t realized how hot the day had become until he was able to wipe it away.
The sun was at just the right angle to shine in through the window as he worked, putting a little spotlight on a stain in the wall, but every once in a while he closed his eyes and shifted just so to let the light shine on his face instead.
The door opened before Oly could even process someone had knocked on it, so he jumped out of his skin and spun around to look for a towel.
“Hey, perfect timing! Didn’t know you’d arrive so early.” The strange woman chirped, though Oly was a bit too flustered to look at her.
He shook his head. “Oh, I beg to differ.” He didn’t want to use his sheets as a towel, but he didn’t see any options, so he just put his washrag in front of his hips and stepped behind the dresser. It wasn’t particularly wide, but it would do. He propped on elbow up on it and turned a strained smile on her.
“I- um. Hello, how, ah. Please excuse me. I’m at a loss for words... and clothes.”
She burst out laughing, making Oly realize just how pretty she was. Her smile was bright, with a round face and pale violet eyes crinkled in mischief. Her hair was a pink shade of blonde, done in a layered side braid with stray curls that escaped and framed her soft face on the other side. It implied lots of free time in the morning but no extra pair of hands to help her. Her collar was more complicated than most, and her tunic was made with fine decorated linen, tailored to a petite yet curvy frame.
Overall, cute. She looked inherently endearing in a captivating sort of way, the kind of looks that could make you want to take your guard down and give her the world. However, the playful look in her eyes told Oly she was fully aware of what effect she had and just how to use it.
She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Vika!” Her voice was high and sweet, just shy of scratchy. He took her hand and shook it.
“Sorry, still a little wet. I’m Oly.”
“I hear you belong to Hessy now?” She remarked, pulling her hand back and trying to discretely wipe it off on her skirt. He laughed.
“Who?”
She slapped her forehead and rolled her eyes. “Right, I’m a dumbass. Hesiat! I’ve known him so long now, you know.”
Oly huffed and hung his head. Ah, right, Haevan has the diminutive –y. “No, no, I forgot. Yes, I belong to, uh, Hessy.” He gave it a moment of thought. “Though, I guess in my language he’d be Hesya.”
“Hesya?” She cooed. “Oh, that’s cute! You have a wonderful accent, where are you from?”
“Aoskrali.” He answered, stuck between getting relaxed in the conversation and painfully aware that he was still naked. “May-“
“Oh yes, I think I’ve read a thing or two about that place! On the coast, right? Such a colorful people!”
His lips thinned into a smile at the pun. He’d heard it many times before, each person thinking they were the first, but some part of him still thought it was funny. “In a manner of speaking. May I get dressed?”
“Don’t stop on my account.” She nudged the door shut and sat at the foot of the bed, but made a point to stare at the wall dead ahead. He supposed a slave like her must have gotten used to a certain lack of privacy. Slow to start, he picked up speed as he finished washing himself, dunked his hair in the basin to scrub at his scalp, and shook his head to send the water flying away.
“Hey, I don’t think the floor can take any more water damage.” She teased.
“I thought you weren’t looking at me.” He retorted, unsticking stray curls from his face.
“Even a blind woman would get wet when you shake yourself out like a dog.”
He blushed. “Ah, sorry.” He turned around to see she was still staring at the wall, with a few dark spots on her tunic from stray droplets. He dug into the bundle of his sheets until he extracted his own clothes. “So, did you need something from me?”
Her face brightened. “Yeah, I wanted to help get you settled and everything… and I’ve never had anyone in the castle who was like me in my position before, I was kind of hoping we could be,” She interrupted herself to turn towards him as soon as the last button was secure, “That we could get along.”
Oly regarded her for a long moment as he combed his hair with his fingers, trying to make it slick back and stay out of his face. Face to face with the source of the rumors that led to his selection, he was still no closer to the truth of why Hesiat didn’t touch her. She certainly seemed well cared for: skin bright and clear, an active flush to her cheeks, and her smile was yellowed from sweets. He didn’t sense anything maliciously duplicitous from her. He’d been warned that letting people get attached to him, or vice versa, was a dangerous game that he shouldn’t risk, but otherwise there was no harm in company.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He smiled and shrugged at her, hopping up on one foot to put on a sandal. “Sure, I could use a friend!” Besides, he had to admit he’d been excruciatingly lonely these past six months.
She grinned and got to her feet, taking him by the hand and dragging him out of his room the very second his other sandal was on. He yelped and stumbled along with her, just managing to grab the doorknob and pull it shut on their way out.
“Good! I bet you’re starving, let’s get you a snack! You have to meet Patyi, oh, and Terese! Terese will adore you. Calla too--don’t be intimidated by her, she’s just stoic.” Oly was soon lost in a sea of names to remember as he was introduced to every last person they passed by, led through halls and passageways with the ease of a practiced guide.
So much for sleeping, but somehow he didn’t mind.
---
Terese had a sign on her door saying she was busy, so the first on the list of people to meet was,
“Patyi!” Vika greeted with a beaming smile.
As far as Vika informed him, the old woman wasn’t exactly the head chef, but her and her family had handled feeding a large portion of the palace staff for 30 years--She had elected to stay in captivity to look after the younger people in her family who couldn’t leave yet. Now, Patyi and her children were taking a break after making lunch before the flurry of dinner.
Patyi instantly narrowed her eyes at Vika and clapped the flour off her weathered hands so she could pinch the girl’s cheek punitively. “Vikati, where did all my strawberry tarts go, hm? You can’t blame the twins every time!” She scolded. The old woman was even shorter than Vika, who had to bend down to the pinch, but she just laughed and held up her hands in surrender.
“I only ate a couple! But I do actually think the twins stole the rest. Please forgive me, Patyi?”
“And you likely enabled them, eh?” Patyi let go to pat her cheek, then turned her attention to Oly.
“And who are you? Another accomplice?” She accused, though her eyes were kind. She reminded him of what grandmothers were like, or so Oly was told. Her grey hair was pulled into a frizzy bun, her facial tattoos (common among Gilarian women) were distorted by the plentiful lines on her face, and her build was stout and powerful.
“Olymarté, ma’am. I’m His Majesty’s new kingslave, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Oly clasped his hands and bowed his head to the elder. He looked up to see her smiling fondly.
“Ah, Vikati, why can’t you have manners like that?” Patyi chided.
“He goes by Oly!” Vika instantly changed the subject, clapping him on the shoulder.
Patyi rolled her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Olti.” She reached out to take his hands into her own and squeeze them, dissolving his tension with warmth. “Well, I know what Vika is here for, so I might as well give it to you instead.” She joked, letting him go and picking a length of linen from a hook. She pulled ten bite-sized pastries off of a large tray of a hundred at least, folded the linen over them, then tied two corners together to make a little handle.
“Welcome to the palace, Olti. Don’t let her force you to share.” Patyi handed the package to him with a wink.
He held in a laugh. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Patyi is fine, dear. Was there anything else you two wanted?”
“Actually,” Vika piped up, “I need your help with something.”
--
“Vika.”
“Yes, dear.”
“What did you do to that poor man’s food.”
“Oh, you don’t even know what I did yet. Just watch.” She said now, spying on a garden fountain from a second-story balcony. “He always eats his lunch here.”
“How do you know that?”
“His girlfriend told me.” Not a second after, Vika shushed him and ducked back into the shadows to watch the unsuspecting man. Oly leaned forward on the balcony railing; as far as he was concerned, he was just admiring the garden. The diverse selection of plants (tropical, succulents, evergreen) couldn’t be assisted with anything other than magic.
True to her word, a tall, heavy man strode down the path, deposited himself on the fountain edge, and opened a bundle Oly knew to be a loaded trap. He squinted and leaned forward with morbid curiosity.
Even from a distance, he saw the stranger’s broad shoulders relax under the midday sun. He took a deep breath of the lush aromas, and then he took a bite of his sandwich.
At first, nothing happened. He chewed. Took another bite. Then his face flushed pink, darkened to red, his hand flew up to his mouth and he set the sandwich to the side. He cleared his throat, which turned into a coughing fit. Oly steadily grew horrified.
“Vika, what did you do?!” He whispered. She giggled.
“Relax, it won’t hurt him.” She waved him off.
“Yet he appears to be in pain.” He snapped, watching Lark reach for his canteen—which had several spoonfulls of some white powder poured in—and take a long swallow, but not a second later he sprayed it all out and made a noise of horrific disgust. He looked around the garden, desperation heavy in his teary eyes, until he finally turned to the fountain and plunged his entire head in. Whatever was holding Vika back broke, and she howled in laughter like some kind of night terror.
“You look so concerned!” She tried to coo. “He’ll be fine-!”
“Vika!” The victim snarled from below, absolutely drenched from the shoulders up. “You hisara mokan ma bandi,”
“Get fucked, Lark!” Vika shouted back. She tugged on Oly’s arm once Lark approached the staff doors, presumably to come up and find them. “Time to go!“ She giggled. Oly nodded and sped away with her.
He didn’t have time to try and memorize the hallways, he was just swept up in the exhilaration of avoiding trouble. Gods, I haven’t had to flee like this since I was a teenager. Never been the one to discourage a prank before, though. Is this how my brother felt?
His train of thought was interrupted when Vika turned a sharp corner and collided with someone.
“Hey!” They barked, though Oly was too busy helping Vika regain her balance to look at them. Much more tenderly, the stranger spoke again, “Oh, Vika. Sorry.”
“Calla!” Vika chirped, jumping up so she could throw her arms around the strange woman’s shoulders. Vika was so short compared to her that her sandals were hovering off the ground. The guard patted her on the head, hooked her hands under Vika’s arms, and gently lifted her back onto the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing. Between that and her sturdy, practical uniform, Oly guessed she was a somewhat high-ranking member of the royal guard.
“Why the rush?” Calla asked, picking something out of Vika’s hair and flicking it away.
“Oh. I put sun pepper seeds and baking soda in Lark’s lunch.” Vika beamed, but received utter exasperation from Calla. “Don’t look at me like that, he needs to build up spice tolerance anyway.”
“I can reprimand him myself.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t!” Vika tapped Calla on the nose. “I still wanted to teach him a lesson. Want to come with us? I was just showing him around.” Vika stepped to the side and gestured back to Oly, leading Calla to turn her piercing gaze on him. Oly felt like she was seeing directly into his head, and wasn’t particularly impressed or disappointed by what she found.
“You are Olymarté.”
“Yes ma’am.” He answered on reflex. The corner of her mouth twitched up.
“I am Calla Hawksong. It’s my job to make sure you two don’t get in trouble.” Oly stared at her, glanced meaningfully at Vika, and raised a brow. She treated him to a little half-smile. “Serious trouble.” She corrected, and turned her head back to Vika, jingling the silver badges hanging off her braided black bun. “Can’t join, busy.”
Vika pouted as Calla patted her on the head and continued on her way. “One day I’ll get her to take a break with me.” She muttered. “Right. You still got those cookies?”
“You ask as if I haven’t been guarding them with my life.”
“Great! Hungry?”
Oly gave a weary smile. “Enough not to share.”
She laughed. “I can live with that! Follow me, I know a place.”
---
Oly and Vika sat beside an old circular tea table, the lacquer worn off on the edges, and the cabinets along the wall needed a new coat of paint. The counter and floor was completely clear of dust and grime, and little colorful bouquets of flowers and weeds were placed in various mugs and cups along the windowsill. If he squinted, he could see the market gondolas paddling home for the day and track the progress of the lantern lighter. Their flames winked into view and glittered across the gentle river’s skin with the dimming day. The sun was just out of view, but the brilliant reds stretched plenty far enough to admire.
“This was an old breakroom,” Vika explained as she settled into a creaky chair, “Before Hessy cut down the number of slaves. Not a lot of people know about it, so we can do as we like!”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, well, it started when his- after his coronation. He needed a smaller workload and a ton of his mom’s friends left the palace, so there wasn’t as much need.” She launched into a longer explanation, but his weariness and exhaustion was turning into a pleasant sleepiness at the white noise of her voice.
When he noticed she had stopped talking, he snapped out of it and got hit with a masterful pair of puppy-dog eyes, one hand slowly reaching for the last two cookies. He sighed and relented, pushing the plate towards her.
Vika was like a chisel in the dam he’d built around himself over the past year, but he wasn’t aware of just how quickly the cracks would grow.
First a trickle,
“Can you tell me about where you lived?”
“Oh, the capital. I think you’d like the churches, lots of crystal prisms.” When he got a blank look, he clarified, “lots of rainbows.”
“Why do you worship a rainbow?”
“Each color is a different patron god. Mine is Green, for example. Pina.”
Then a strong leak,
“I don’t think I’ve ever made a friend quite this quickly before.”
“Oh, but you asked so nicely, how could I say no?”
“I think you’re just an overly friendly kind of guy.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to say so, but you definitely mean it in a kinder way.”
“Who said what before?”
“Oh, I believe the term he used was ‘bed-busy.’”
“Ah, he? And who exactly was calling you a slut?”
He gave her a look of warning. “Someone close enough I let it slide.”
Then a full stream,
“I can’t believe you people worship a rainbow.”
“I can’t believe you people worship bees!”
“That’s different!”
“Oh, how exactly?”
“A bee you can touch, you can see it at work. You can eat honey! You can burn beeswax! A rainbow is a rainbow. Oh, whimsical!”
“Our priests and priestesses are named things like “Brother Blood” and “Sister Evergreen,” but you have beekeepers. Bee monks.”
“Hey-“
“Bonks, if you will.”
“Hey, wait a second, what kind of name is Brother Blood?” He giggled as she went on. “Answer the question, Oly, what kind of name is Brother Blood? What kind of serial killer priests do you have over there?”
“They get names based on color,” He wheezed, she cut him off with a grin.
“There are better red things! Roses! Poppies! Rubies!”
“Kathis is conquest, victory--!”
“What about Brother Murder Weapon?” The longer her names got, the more he laughed, until he was sure he was going to suffocate under, “Have you ever met the humble and peaceful Brother Don’t Mind That Wet Stain On The Wall, Officer, I Swear My Master Is Just Out Gambling Again?”
Finally, a roar, their voices ever-rising, adding without overriding, weaving in and around each other’s words until their speech was a tangle of laughter and at least 3 topics at a time.
He and Vika were well into this mess of a conversation when they heard it from the doorway.
“Oh, no.”
They glanced over to see Calla standing there, looking resigned. “Lords, there’s two of them.” She sighed. Vika burst out laughing.
“Calla! Come sit down!”
She shook her head. “Lucice is wondering where you two are.”
“Bah! You can supervise us, can’t you? No harm in staying up a bit later.”
“No, no,” Oly cut in, rising from the chair and glad someone had broken him out of his focus. He hadn’t realized it while he was having fun, but he was suddenly all-too-aware of how close he was to dropping dead where he stood. “I really need to get to bed.”
Calla gestured to the door. “I’ll come with you two.”
“Aw, that’s sweet of you.” Vika cooed, getting to her feet as well.
Vika continued to chatter at Calla on the way to their rooms, and though Calla only lent back the driest of humor, her posture was completely relaxed around Vika. Lagging behind, Oly could see that she looked away whenever Vika was looking at her, but Calla gazed at Vika whenever the girl was looking ahead. Her smile, when he could see it, was fond.
When they came to his door, Oly walked ahead and waved over his shoulder. However, Vika stopped him from opening the door by clasping his hand around the doorknob.
“Oly, there was one more thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
He was about to laugh and protest, but—meeting her eyes—she was entirely serious.
“Yes?”
“I like you, and I’d like you to stick around, but Hesiat is my friend. Do you understand?” She tightened her grip. He nodded. “I don’t care who pays you to kiss and tell, and I don’t care if you get spoiled on the way he treats you. If you hurt him, or if you get snippy at me because you think you should have him completely to yourself, let me tell you right now that I’ve been here longer than you. I know how to get rid of threats.”
He was frozen in her stare, caught off guard by the sudden change, but eventually he managed a slow nod. Lark certainly hadn’t noticed that his food was tampered with until it was too late.
“I-I understand your concern.”
“Great.” She released his hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Oly! Sleep well!” Vika gave him an apologetic smile before running back over to Calla.
He had a hard time falling asleep that night.