Chapter 8- The Linci

(If you prefer Wattpad to read, you can find the novel here : https://www.wattpad.com/story/78722854-the-songs-of-loss-book-one-armanth )

“Making any progress?”

Sonia was kneeling before Priscius, proud and arrogant as ever, but looking down with respect. As for him, dressed in a simple loincloth loosely tied at the hips, he slouched contentedly in a wide armchair. To his right, curled up against his legs, looking blissful and a little shaken, was one of the most educated slaves in the house, whom he’d just taken a long moment to recover from the recent loss of Magenta. Despite the anger and frustration that for two days had thundered steadily through the estate, the slave owner was taking the incident pragmatically.

He had lost an asset. A precious and treasured possession, but one that was no different from his dogs, horses or precious vases and would have to be replaced. In all this logic there wasn’t an ounce of thought akin to mourning, even if in fact his two days of black anger came close. As for Magenta’s body, it had been thrown in the garbage near a tosh pit that would leave nothing behind. He wasn’t the type to organize a funeral for a slave, even if it was sometimes done.

Sonia shuddered with desire and twinged at the barely discernible scent of lust still wafting through the soft office air.

“Yes, master, they’re beginning to understand their place. The oldest of the three is proving to be very wise. She’s stopped rebelling in vain, she’s a quick learner and her body was made for dancing.”

“Is she beginning to speak?”

“A few words, but she understands most of my commands. The other two help her.”

Priscius bent over the slave at his feet, patting her on the head:

“Fetch me a drink.”

Then he turned his attention to Sonia, who purposely hinted at the desire the scene had awakened in her, without words or pleading, just in a longing, burning gaze:

“Wise, you say? Wise, a dancer and beautiful. If she’s beginning to learn, it’s time to give her a name. Athenae would suit her, I think.”

Sonia cocked her head to one side for a moment, surprised by the choice, without commenting, of course. A slave could be named anything, no matter how ridiculous or prestigious; the only limit was a custom respected out of politeness never to give her a name resembling that of a free person in her entourage. Not respecting this custom had led to a few dramas and sometimes to the death of the slave, who hadn’t asked for anything. But Athenae was the name of an ancient goddess. If her cult was publicly repudiated, it was common for her to be invoked and prayed to, and if you looked hard enough in the city-states around Terancha, you’d find altars and no doubt a few temples dedicated to her and the other gods of the pantheon that spread before the Long Winter.

Sonia quickly came to the conclusion that her master’s choice had been made in order to attach the prestige of this name to the girl from whom he hoped to derive not only great price, but above all fame. She was brought out of her reflections by Priscius’ thunderous voice:

“It’s decided, it’s Athenae. Tomorrow evening, she will receive her linci; I want all three of them prepared, Sonia. I’ll do it properly.”

The educator nodded deferentially, as the girl at her service returned to the slaver, carrying a tray of drinks and snacks. She gracefully displayed all the sensuality of a gait and bearing she had learned by force. It wasn’t certain whether she was aware that she would soon be sold on the luxury stands of the Cages Market. This was information she didn’t need to know; more often than not, anguish gripped the slaves who learned of it.

Here, in the relative peace and quiet of Priscius’ slave garden, women like her came to feel safe. The hardest part of training – and the last three captives hadn’t seen the last of it – left its mark on every educated slave. They were weakened by it and, when the pressure finally stopped, they did everything to ensure that their docility and obedience to whatever order was given ensured that they didn’t lose the comfort offered to them. They could sleep comfortably and adequately, were dressed in finery, jewels and soft fabrics, had access to baths and toilets, and were massaged and cared for with attention. In a calm and serene environment, they were taught the culture, techniques and arts they would later have to demonstrate in the service of their new owner. Sex played an important role here, both in their docility and loss of inhibitions, and as a reward for their efforts.

The one approaching demonstrated its effectiveness; she had found comfort in her situation and place, and would probably never have the strength to question it; but such a result was difficult, and never guaranteed. Not all women could be conditioned so perfectly, far from it; and even if Priscius knew his business and personally took charge of each girl at these stages, he sometimes had to bring out the whip, and it was in front of all the slaves that the one who had just rebelled was cruelly punished. She’d end up in the cages, naked, treated like a beast again, until she had no strength left for the slightest rebellion. The girl who came to serve him, graceful and beautiful in her gestures and the calm sweetness of her smiles, had herself experienced this torment and fall twice.

“I’ll prepare them according to your orders, my master.”

Sonia kept to herself that she expected Elena, who would now be renamed Athenae, to revolt at the public implant of her linci, but that would be Priscius’ business then, not hers. It was obvious that he preferred the elder of the two sisters, which was logical: she had all the beauty of a desirable young woman by Athemais standards; but he had seen nothing of Lisa beyond appearances and Sonia had revealed nothing of the young earthling’s true gifts and talents. After all, Priscius hadn’t asked her for any details; he’d considered her the least interesting of the three and would prefer to focus his efforts on the other two.

Over the past few days, the educator had continued her nocturnal spying on the captives. She listened as they chatted in whispers. If she was indifferent to their complaints and their efforts to console themselves for the horror of their fate, she was very interested in their confidences about their experiences and their past. Sonia had learned another thing: Lisa was learning in one day what would have taken anyone else at least two weeks to assimilate; at this rate, she would be fluent in Athemais in less than a month. Like her elder sister, herself quick-witted, but with even greater acuity, she memorized everything she saw or heard; a talent Sonia herself had been partially gifted with by force.

Long before Priscius, long before she was even taken to Armanth and auctioned off once again on a high stage, dancing for men drunk with desire, shouting their bids as they fought over who could possess her, a lifetime before she was within these walls, she had been created for anything other than educating slaves; and Priscius, who had never been curious about her past, had no idea what her educator had been before he bought her. She’d never told him; yet this Lisa, as different from her as a kitten from a panther, resembled her, and the Song of Loss made her just as deadly. Sonia felt a fascination that, when she took leave of her master, drew a smile on her lips that some would have described as chilling.

Since Priscius had lost interest in Lisa, Sonia would have free rein to shape her education in her own way, to her own taste and for her own purposes. She had every intention of making the most of it, regardless of what her master might think.

 

***

“What are they going to do to me?”

Elena stared at Cénis, eyebrows furrowed in an expression more worried than angry. Lisa was still translating between her two chains sisters, for although her elder sister was making progress, she was far from understanding what the young Eteoclian was saying.

“You’re going to get a linci, like Selyenda and me. The thing on our thigh, you’ll get one too. Almost all slaves wear one.”

“But what’s this thing? It looks like a… living creature? What the hell’s it for?”

In the darkness, Cénis began to explain. She spoke slowly, giving Lisa time to translate; sometimes she helped her by explaining certain words or repeating her pronunciation. Proud of and annoyed by the older sister’s slow efforts, she sometimes addressed her in simple words, forcing her to answer in Athemais.

To tell the truth, Elena, whom everyone now knew to be renamed Athenae by the master of the domain, was a really fast learner too. Cénis had been surprised to learn that, no, not all earthlings are gifted by far at learning a language at prodigious speed. Elena didn’t have her younger sister’s gift, but she too was making rapid progress; the Eteoclian was beginning to understand that this was a family trait. She answered, slowly, so as to be understandable:

“Lincis are symbiots, bred especially for slaves. We have lots of symbiotes like that, which we get implanted. They feed off us and grow slowly, providing us with good health and protection against disease in exchange. Some are barely visible, others draw pretty arabesques on the skin, like tattoos; others glow at night, some are real jewels. I had one on my shoulder that looked like a pretty blue jewel. It’s common to have one here, and it makes you immune to many illnesses. Some make you stronger or faster, others allow you to see at night. There are even some that diffuse perfumes or pleasantly change the smell of our sweat. And the rarest ones allow us to stay young and healthy for a very long time…”

Lisa made an intrigued pout, but it was Elena who asked curiously:

“A very long time; that is?”

Cénis smiled and, as naturally as possible, explained:

“Well, my grandfather stayed young for just over a hundred years.”

There was a long silence. Lisa finally translated, to be replaced by a second stunned silence. For the two earthlings, the concept was just unthinkable.

“He’s not the oldest, » continued Cénis. “I think the oldest can be over a hundred and fifty, maybe two hundred. As long as the symbiote is healthy and survives, its carrier never gets sick and only ages very slowly. That seems to surprise you. Is there no such thing where you come from?”

Two slightly bemused heads nodded in unison, and Cénis couldn’t help smiling with pride at one thing at least that these Earthlings couldn’t claim to possess or know any better. Since they’d been chatting like this at night, she’d been surprised to learn of the immense gulf between her world and the incredible, almost unimaginable society of these two barbarians who seemed to have mastered and conquered everything, even the stars, although she couldn’t quite grasp the concept.

She continued:

“A linci is a symbiote for slaves. It can be placed on the thigh, shoulder or hip, but always in a visible position. It grows in more or less extensive arabesques. It’s used to keep us in good health, to prevent illness, but as it’s very clearly visible, it’s quickly recognized as a slave mark; and, above all, dogs can smell it.”

Lisa interrupted Cénis:

“What do you mean?”

“The dogs, the guard dogs. You may have seen them, they’re often seen at slave markets, and there are some around the garden here. They’re trained to smell and recognize the scent of lincis; if a slave passes in front of them, they bark a warning. Of course, once you’ve got a linci, running away becomes almost impossible: having the scent inside you, the dogs track you down with ease and you’re soon caught. That’s mainly what they’re for. Even if we tore off the symbiont, which means tearing off a piece of flesh, the smell would persist; it would take several weeks for it to dissipate.”

“Sons of bitches, that’s disgusting. Downright disgusting.”

Elena’s comment sounded heavy. Lisa struggled to find a suitable translation. There was a long silence, which the elder of the two redheads finally broke:

“They’re going to put a linci on me; so be it. Does it hurt? How does it feel?”

Cénis shrugged in the darkness. Lisa could have talked about it, but the two young women had quickly realized that she had become fearful, and reluctant to discuss intimate subjects. So the Eteoclian spoke again:

“Painful, yes, a little. To speed up the implantation of the symbiote, we’re going to make an incision in your skin and insert the linci, which will penetrate your flesh. The pain is quite brief, but for a brief moment it’s really terrible, as if a burning blade had been thrust into your entire thigh. Above all… well, I don’t know if you’ll experience it the way I did… For me, it was mortifying. Once you’ve got a linci, you know what you are, your smell will be that of a slave as long as the symbiote lives…”

Lisa intervened, at Cénis’s last remark:

“The smell… That floral smell? So that’s what’s changed my smell?”

“Ha! Yes, I hadn’t thought to tell you. These lincis must be pretty expensive, they’re changing our body odor. Small consolation, we won’t really need to be perfumed; our secretions will have this floral, slightly sweet scent. A kind of refinement, which…” Cénis’s voice muffled to silence, her throat painfully knotted: “…should make us more attractive and pleasant.”

The young woman frowned, clenching her teeth to hold back the tears that came to burn her eyes, before once again, despite her best efforts, letting out the heart-rending sob of a desperate child. Lisa’s arms closed around her. For the first time, the three captives had earned the privilege of not being locked up with their wrists shackled behind their backs. Elena moved in turn and, pulling on the chain holding her collar to the wall, she managed to embrace the two young women and offer them some comfort. She wouldn’t admit to needing it herself, they knew that anyway.

Tears and sobs, tender words in French and Athémaïs, mingled in the night. They consoled each other as best they could, while exhaustion claimed the sleep they still lacked. Their whispered discussions in the silence of their cage never lasted very long. Just, in that short, precious time between their haggard, traumatized return from the day’s ordeals and the call of sleep, they had the only freedom they were allowed to enjoy, and they did their best to make the most of it. Elena was the most motivated for these whispered discussions; she said every time:

“The real power, the only one we have left, is knowledge. And you’re the one who knows the most, Cénis, so you have to tell us everything, just as we tell you about Earth…”

In the shadows, Sonia stood and listened. As she did every evening, she waited in perfect, silent stillness, until she heard the peaceful sleep of the three slaves. In her cold, tormented mind she had, for decades, been unable to tell which thought was hers and which was her identity, that of the San’eshe she had once been, which desire was truly one of her own and not that of the perfect, demented slave she was now, an emotion was born…

A question that aroused emotions, feelings, in her who had no more than an ounce of pity or scruples. Why did she come to listen to these three captives every night? Why did Lisa’s voice make her shudder, when this pitiful little thing would, in the educator’s opinion, have deserved only a quick death? Why did these two sisters fascinate her so much? Why, when she asked herself the question, had she felt two wet pearls form in the corners of her eyes, which she dismissed with disdain? There was no logical answer to these questions. Only a deep, painful melancholy, which Sonia tore from her thoughts coldly and without hesitation, as she left the cellars without a backward glance.

 

***

“Does she know how to make tea?”

The question had come abruptly, as Priscius was receiving Jawaad. He was known to the master-slave-owner, as he was to everyone else, for having always refused to sit on the Council of Peers, even though his wealth and position in the Merchants’ Guild had made him eligible for ages; but his fame didn’t stop there. He was also known for his particularly difficult character, which some would have considered a mild understatement. The man spoke little, was asocial, scoffed at convention and displayed an arrogant, authoritarian self-assurance.

In fact, he had a knack for alienating half the people he spoke to and annoying the other half. Priscius fell into the annoyed half. He’d already had to deal with the powerful, eternally sullen master-merchant. Every negotiation had been a painful headache, but Abba, a colleague, second-in-command and friend of Jawaad’s, had dropped by the day before to ask if his boss could be received to admire the slaver’s three new acquisitions. He might be interested in a purchase, but didn’t want to have to endure the hustle and bustle of the auction.

This was a fairly frequent request in the trade: it was difficult for a demanding man to judge the qualities of a piece of merchandise at auction, amidst the shouts of onlookers and the hubbub of the crowd. Thus, Priscius received two or three wealthy visitors a week, coming to tour the city’s Slave Gardens, stopping off at the future educated girls who would soon be for sale. Much of his business was done privately; but if a man of high art wanted to make a name for himself, auctioneering, especially at luxury sales, was a necessity. The prices of the most beautiful and desirable slaves skyrocketed, their value reflecting on the seller’s reputation. Of course, you had to be able to afford it before you could put a girl up for sale on the most luxurious stages. More than one slaver had seen his reputation ruined by the sale of a disappointing, ill-educated girl who had not given satisfaction.

“Of course she can make tea. I’m not going to have you served by an uneducated captive!”

Priscius was already getting annoyed. The ritual was the same, and this time was no exception. He always offered his customers a drink and a feast as a preamble to business and, systematically, Jawaad always asked the same question of the slave who served her: « Does she know how to make tea? » He never asked for anything else, not the slightest delicacy or even a glass of wine. A true ascetic, frustrating and demanding.

The master-merchant nodded with a barely visible gesture, gently nudging the back of the head of the slave who had come to his feet to serve him, and returned his gaze to the garden below the office where the slave-owner had received him.

One floor down, a few meters away, the three captives waited on their knees by the fountain. A beautiful-faced young woman, blonde with pure golden hair, and two redheads, the first puny and slight, her red hair flaming with autumn foliage, the second racy and wildly feline, her auburn mane almost black at times. Both redheads had orchid tattoos on their right breasts. Their wrists crossed behind their backs, they were blindfolded, but neither shackled nor bound, and they waited alone and motionless in the shady square. Priscius anticipated the merchant’s question, although to tell the truth, he wondered if he’d actually asked it:

“That’s them. Training is underway, but I’ll soon be able to order Sonia to speed up their education. I thought you were looking for barbarians. The two redheads are.”

Jawaad kept his gaze impassive on the trio. He had disdained the offered armchair and remained leaning against the column opening onto the balcony, arms crossed. His sullen face totally concealed any expression that might have guided Priscius in negotiations. He blurted out, carelessly, without bothering to look towards his interlocutor:

“And Thuna House?”

Priscius mentally went through his best swear words without letting anything show. His guest had dropped that remark like a bomb, absent-mindedly thrown in to see what would happen. Priscius wasn’t fooled by the primary aim; he might as well play fair.

“So, you’ve heard about the dirty trick tried by some of my colleagues? There’s no point kidding myself, I know the rumors that have been circulating since Batsu paid me a debt with a bad fib and a half-demolished girl. No, they’re not survivors of the Thuna house, they’re both barbarians; but when I’m done with them, these two tattooed girls will eclipse that house, believe me! They’re promising, especially the taller one! Real beauties, with potential! They’re intelligent and quick-witted, and I intend to take all three to the highest dais in the Celendaterio, for a new auction record.”

Jawaad’s only response to the slaver’s speech was a vague, doubtful grin, followed by a question a moment later, as he continued to observe the three captives who, joined by Sonia, followed her on a leash:

“Barbarians, then. Earthlings?”

“Exactly, my educator knows their language, she confirmed it.”

Priscius glanced out over the balcony as the slave who’d left to prepare the tea returned to the two men.

“Ha, by the way, she’s taking them to the baths. The older one’s receiving her linci.”

“I’d want to see.”

The merchant’s voice sounded like an order he didn’t expect to be refused. Priscius let out an annoyed sigh as he straightened up, but agreed to be patient. The effort was proving difficult. He resumed, glancing at his slave, who had a real interest in serving perfectly on this occasion:

“Of course, of course, I’m sure you haven’t come to discuss the sweetness of summer. We’ll join my educator; I’d ask you to be careful though, they’re not used to men yet.”

Jawaad took the cup offered to him on his knees by the slave, who concealed his anguish at Priscius’s heavy gaze with a calm smile and a slightly lowered head; after blowing on the cup, he took a sip with the same inspired concentration as if he were tasting a precious vintage. He made no comment, his impassive face leaving any clue about his approval of the tea. Priscius briefly wondered how much it would cost him if he were to kill a master of the Merchants’ Guild. Probably his own life; he knew the master merchant too well, so the crazy idea disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Still, there was a reaction. Jawaad took a second sip of tea, stroking his fingers through the hair of the slave who had prepared it. Priscius would be content with this sign to ensure the merchant’s satisfaction, so his girl would get off scot-free.

“Let’s go, I’ll drive you!”

Priscius grabbed a handful of pistachios in his huge hand and headed for the back of the villa, on the first floor, to the bathing pavilion. Jawaad followed him after a final sip of the tea, which he placed carelessly on the desk with a nod to the slave as he passed, pointing to the cup he hadn’t finished.

The tea wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t successful. But as far as Jawaad was concerned, nobody knew how to make tea.

 

***

the three captives had a hard time, but none of them had dared to rebel when they’d been blindfolded as soon as they’d left their cage. Even Elena hadn’t cursed for once, though her rumbling anger was evident in her pout. The blindfold was solid and thick; made of quilted leather and lined with silk, it wasn’t fastened with a knot, but with a steel buckle which, once firmly tightened, was locked by a small padlock. Fitted in this way, it was particularly difficult to remove by oneself.

Deprived of sight, the captives could only observe that the day’s ritual seemed the same as the day before. A routine they were apprehensive about, their other senses alerted to the variety of sounds echoing through the garden. They could hear laughter and distant chatter, but also the exclamations of voices, the barking of a dog, birdsong, the gentle rustling of leaves and the soft, lulling sound of water from the fountain.

This time, however, the wait was short-lived. Sonia walked barefoot, like all the slaves in the garden and on the estate. She was practically silent, and the three young women only heard her when she raised her voice:

“Good morning, slaves.”

All three responded immediately, their voices anguished:

“Good morning, mistress.”

The educator smiled. They were fast learners; but above all, their instincts, the target of conditioning, were soaking up her teaching far more than their minds. The training was paying off. Without explaining anything, she linked their three collars together, in the silence and darkness, observing their reactions.

Their reactions were nothing more than twitches and obvious tension; even the most rebellious of the three remained calm. After almost a week of mistreatment and exhausting constraints keeping them in perpetual anguish, they had been able to rest a little and wash up too. What would have been self-evident elsewhere became precious privileges here, which they would have done their utmost not to jeopardize; and each of them endeavored to endure hardship and humiliation in order to spare her fellow sisters.

Sonia had no trouble getting the trio to obediently follow her by the leash she had attached to Lisa’s neck. They advanced awkwardly, wanting to raise their arms to fumble and regain a somewhat precarious balance; but the educator’s voice thundered, the electric goad sizzling to release a clattering discharge at their feet:

“Straight!”

The order immediately made them arch their backs and stop, before Sonia pulled the leash again. They had obeyed by the second, fear inexorably conditioning their reactions.

Elena, past the reflex that had made her obey immediately, grumbled through her teeth and swore, perfectly aware of what was happening, but she swallowed the rage that invaded her. Letting it out would change nothing, and her sister and Cénis would also suffer the consequences. She herself, alone, would probably still have endured the blows inflicted without faltering, but systematically, when one rebelled or made a mistake, all three were punished; Elena was trapped by compassion.

Crossing the gardens and then entering the bathing pavilion, after several flights of steps and detours from which they could see nothing, completed the trio’s disorientation. They were immediately struck by the female laughter punctuating the low-voiced discussions, and by the humid warmth of the place. The bathing pavilion was an outbuilding forming a corner of the Priscius garden villa. The place was permanently open, and slaves and men from the estate came and went.

The people of Armanth, and Athemais in general, are clean. There are public baths everywhere, every well-to-do person has a private basin in his or her home, and you can tell the difference between seedy taverns and welcoming inns by the fact that the latter are equipped with pleasant, spacious washing facilities.

The laughter that greeted the three captives was that of the House’s most educated slaves. They had been gathered together to bathe the three newcomers, and took the moment as a joyous and peaceful festivity. The arrival of the blinded captives triggered curious murmurs and whispers from the audience. There were just a dozen of them, most of whom they knew would be up for sale in the coming weeks. Each of them had sooner or later been in the place of the new ones, and they would have had no trouble describing the feeling they had, in turn, shared.

The first bath was another High Art ritual. It began a phase that would last several days, during which the blindfold would never be removed from the three captives. Deprived of sight, their other senses would be stimulated, while they would be kept in a state of deep dependence, forced to trust whoever was going to take care of them. Of course, Sonia wasn’t going to explain this to her « pupils ».

Here, among the girls of the House, the educator was queen. Even if she had never been Priscius’ favorite, she was the one who had trained, educated and conditioned practically all of them. Her arrival with the three captives was punctuated, amid laughter and murmurs, by respectful greetings, always bowing to her, gaze lowered. All called her « mistress ». Sonia interrupted the laughter and chatter with an authoritative voice:

“You know what you have to do! I forbid you to talk to them, or even answer them. If even one of you forgets, I’ll whip you myself.”

The order silenced the laughter, which only resumed later. Of the ten or so girls present, three did not take part in the bath; they were there to learn the ritual performed by their elders. As for the others, they approached the trio and, each in a small group, chose one of the three captives to guide to the basin.

Sonia followed Lisa’s gaze as she, in turn, was pushed into the bath. Her head raised, her senses alert, she flinched in anguish at the tender, caressing hands guiding her; but Sonia, who had left her goad far from the pavilion, showed no emotion and shifted to join the pile of cushions thrown over the wide carpet that bordered the bath, settling herself like an attentive queen. Before sitting down beside a plate of grapes, she issued a final command, this time in a sultry voice:

“You three are forbidden to speak, except to answer if asked.”

She said nothing more about the consequences should they rebel – they knew perfectly well.

The three captives were separated, unable to know who was touching them. The bath began in the most obvious way: they were soaped for a long time, standing with the hot water reaching below their waists. Surrounded by two slaves each, they were massaged gently and carefully, with sponges lathering up a scented milk soap. The girls who washed them ensured that their gestures were light and tender. Sometimes, hands replaced the sponges, holding or manipulating their bodies as if they were expensive animals being groomed.

After the first moments of apprehension, when it was difficult for them not to resist, Elena first, then Cénis, were quickly lulled into complacency by the pleasant, soothing treatment. The bathers were delicate and, without trying to resist, the two young women abandoned themselves to it with pleasure, enjoying such a simple, peaceful moment as they’d never dreamed of doing.

For Lisa, unfortunately, it wasn’t so simple: she couldn’t relax and was shaking convulsively. Sonia turned her attention to her and immediately understood. Lisa’s instinct was to panic as soon as she was touched; her panic increased when hands and sponges undertook a more intimate cleansing. Batsu’s bestial treatment had left her with a terrible legacy of hauntings, and despite all the gentleness of the bathers, these touches made her relive her nightmares.

The educator made no move to interrupt Lisa’s bathers, absent-mindedly reaching for a grape, but without taking her eyes off the young redhead. No one appreciated rape in Armanth, even if it did happen; that of a slave, even if it was only punished with compensation, was little appreciated. Raping a slave rendered her incapable of finding pleasure, comfort and purpose in sexuality, a tool that normally controlled them effectively. Of course, a pleasure slave was not asked for permission to use it, even brutally; but she was conditioned to be available, to seek to be used sexually and to derive pleasure from it. Rape made this conditioning complicated, if not impossible, and drastically reduced its value.

The fleeting thought that she would have to deal personally with the little redhead and her haunting lit up her blue eyes with a strange, disquieting fire, as she watched the three women whose hair had begun to be washed. They had just gone days without ever having seen a comb up close; all three of them had long hair and their tresses were all knots and dirty tangles.

Still guided with a mixture of gentleness and authority, the three captives were placed back on their knees, forced to resume the open-thigh posture. The bathers began untangling their hair, passing hair oils, combs and scissors back and forth to each other in a joyful exchange of laughter. None of them spoke to the captives. Rarely had a reassuring word escaped them, quickly swallowed under Sonia’s watchful eye, but even the captives managed to savor this moment of pleasure and relaxation experienced by all the girls who had come to help or assist with the bathing. After all, at this moment, it was all women in peaceful intimacy. Even if the three concerned were blind, and had to remain mute, all were enjoying the moment… except Lisa.

The joyous laughter and bursts of amused voices were abruptly interrupted by the deep, thundering voice of Priscius, entering from the hall opening onto the large water feature:

“On your knees!”

A dozen slaves slid to the floor in perfect unison. The three captives froze in their tracks, after a gasp of anguish.

Priscius climbed the flight of steps, as proud as a cock, gesturing theatrically at the baths and the handful of beautiful girls inside, hoping to arouse genuine interest in his sullen guest. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t choose the slaves he trained by chance. Not only were they all truly beautiful, with perfect bodies and attractive faces, but above all, their appearance, allure and looks displayed the whole variety of the feminine charms capable of seducing a man.

Well, maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself with the three new girls being washed, but he had the feeling that he could have shown a naked wall with the same theatricality, and it wouldn’t have aroused any more reaction from Jawaad; it irritated him prodigiously. The master-merchant followed in the slave-owner’s footsteps, hands shoved into the pockets of his kilt, to stand before the spectacle for which, on the surface, he had nothing but indifference. At the time, Priscius wondered if he didn’t prefer men; that would have had the advantage of explaining his lack of interest. He tried a little carpet-baiting:

“Charming spectacle, isn’t it? It can’t leave you indifferent, can it? Carry on, slaves!”

Jawaad replied, carelessly scratching his chin covered with a three-day beard. The girls resumed bathing, their more timid voices quickly becoming a light, joyful concert. The merchant watched without a word, his dark gaze on the three blindfolded captives, the center of attention of the toilette. Priscius, of course, did not miss the fact that this dark, unfathomable gaze lingered insistently on the two sisters. Jawaad finally broke out of his silence:

“I want to take a close look at them!”

The request was as dry and authoritarian as ever, but paradoxically testified to his respect for the place: he wouldn’t have approached the slaves and disturbed the bath without the slave owner’s consent.

Kneeling down to have their hair done, the three concerned reacted with renewed apprehension to the discussion that concerned them. Sonia was already on her feet and, after greeting her master, approached the two men to place herself at their service. Jawaad recognized Priscius’ sultry educator: he had been present the day she was auctioned off in the Cage Market, five years earlier. He had been the only man that day not to have expressed the slightest visible attraction towards her, and Sonia remembered him well. She was curious to see what the master trader could find so special and attractive about the two Earth women. Priscius hailed her:

“Bring them closer.”

Attentive, all the bathers stopped their merry work, with Sonia swaying between them. The blind captives froze with tension in the sudden silence. The educator turned her head towards the two men, once above the motionless, anxious trio, awaiting their order. The slaver announced in a loud voice:

“Move Athenae forward!”

Sonia bent down, grabbing Elena’s chin with a gentle gesture and pulling her to her feet. Expecting a restive gesture, she moved closer to the young woman, whispering in her ear as she delicately grasped her collar:

“Be good…”

The young woman huffed in annoyance, but agreed to comply. She made no attempt to be graceful or to walk elegantly, contenting herself with standing up straight and following the impulses and pulls the educator gave her collar. Her rebellious, angry mood could be read in her lack of eagerness, but blindly she refrained from making any ill-advised gestures.

Elena was almost one meter eighty tall, with a model’s height and a body sculpted by years of dancing. On Earth, she towered over most women her age by a good head and looked down on quite a few men, but standing opposite Jawaad and Priscius, she gave up almost twenty centimetres. Not that they were colossal; they were both tall for lossyans, but nothing exceptional. Even compared to the other slaves in the Gardens, the two Earth girls were smaller; the difference was sometimes a head. To earthlings, all lossyans, male and female, seemed almost giants.

Priscius couldn’t help but make his pitch, not without an obvious sense of pride. He had high hopes for Elena, the most beautiful of the three, even if Cénis, with her magnificent body and fine Eteoclian features, could easily compare. Except that she was a redhead, a rarity.

“The most beautiful of the trio! The two are sisters, and I even had the idea of selling them as a set, which would appeal to certain collector customers; two tattooed redheads and sisters, a fine combination. Even without training, with her body, she’s delicious! But with the progress she’s making, I’ll turn her into a pure marvel, devoted and hotter than an ember. She has a wildness that makes you want to tame her. Here, take a look!”

Putting his money where his mouth was, the slaver grabbed Elena’s arm. As he’d expected, she braced herself, grumbling, teeth clenched and resisting as he forced her to turn on herself and expose herself to his guest’s gaze. The young woman tried with all her willpower not to give in to his anger by releasing her arm in one violent movement, but her rebellion still enhanced her beauty; it was exactly what Priscius wanted to show.

“I intend to put it up for auction, but if you’d like to make a bid I can reserve it for you, so you’ll have priority when the public bidding starts.”

Jawaad remained unmoved by his host’s speech. He stared at the young woman and, when Priscius put her back to face him, he reached out to grab her face and force her to raise it to face him. Blind, Elena gasped in anguish, her heart pounding in her chest, hard enough to make her breast throb. She hid her fear awkwardly by huffing in frustration.

Jawaad frowned. Concentrating, his cold, dark gaze detailed the slave, his hand caressed and explored the half-breed face with its rare features. He seemed to be gauging and studying. Then he turned his attention to her body, his broad hand passing over the captive’s hip, causing her to flinch and display yet more irritated anger. He was still scrutinizing with the same attention, this time clearly interested, displaying a slight sneer that could pass for a smile, at the slave’s restrained, fulminating protests. With a caress on her side, he gently pushed her towards Sonia, without abruptness, and addressed her, absent-mindedly manipulating her astrolabe-shaped pendant. She took in all the master-merchant’s glances and observations, noting the smallest details that could help him guess what he was looking for. He nodded toward her.

“Fetch me the other one.”

About ten pairs of eyes were watching the merry-go-round. All the girls had stopped and remained in their places, attentive to the scene unfolding before them. For some, the idea of being bought by the master-merchant was the hope of a sweet and secure life, and they were expressing this in tender, shy, knowingly enticing glances and delicately sensual postures to capture his attention, which apparently really didn’t seem to be working.

As for Priscius, he was watching Elena being taken back to her bathers, who, apart from her angry and anxious pouting, hadn’t made the slightest hostile or aggressive gesture; proof that she’d accepted her fate. He glanced at Sonia and nodded with a broadly expressive smile; he was satisfied and couldn’t help saying:

“When you think that just a few days ago she wanted to scratch the eyes out of anything that came near her! A real gem, a slave at heart with a fiery temper.”

Jawaad nodded absently. He stared at the young redhead, whom Sonia was guiding towards him; it was very different from her older sister. She followed the educator obediently, but trembled like a leaf in terror. There was no concealment or the slightest attempt at bravado on her part; her fear was evident all over her frail, emaciated body. Stopped in front of the master-merchant, she reached no higher than his plexus.

The master-merchant’s dark gaze fell on the small, head-down thing, and he reached out a hand to lift her face towards him. She flinched, still blind, seemingly on the verge of vertigo. So close to this unknown man she couldn’t see, her terror grew even greater, his smell panicked her. It almost seemed as if she would faint in an instant, but Jawaad stared at her intently, holding her chin without letting go. Concentrating, his eyebrows furrowed into a harder, darker stare. His thumb caressed the young woman’s cheek, and it was obvious that he found an interest in her, which Sonia didn’t miss. There was something particularly intriguing here.

Priscius, for his part, soberly concealed a certain amount of surprise; understanding what was going on in this man’s head was, at best, frustrating. Here he was showing taste for the most uninteresting of the three girls! But so be it, he’d take her side.

“She’s the sweetest and most intelligent of the three. She learned Athemais very quickly and there’s no need to tell her things twice; but as you can see, she’s more timid than a bunny rabbit. It’s her that Batsu damaged, and I’m sure I’ll be able to put her back together and make her into a little marvel, but it’s going to take some time.”

Jawaad hadn’t been listening, or so it seemed. He had fiddled with his pendant again and let out:

“The key!”

Priscius raised a surprised eyebrow:

“The key to what?”

“To his blindfold. I want to see her eyes!”

The slaver swallowed his deep desire to send his guest to hell. He seemed incapable of the slightest politeness in his tone, but he was a customer; a rich customer.

“Ha, yes, of course!”

Priscius took out the corresponding key from his set of keys and leaned towards the girl, who was frozen with fear, but had no time to finish his gesture. The merchant’s hand had seized her with authority and Jawaad tilted Lisa’s head himself to unlock the padlock and remove the blindfold. As he released her face, he grabbed it with both hands, dropping the key in total disinterest, and crouched down at her height, forcing her to stare at him. In front of him, this face, mixed-race like her elder, so fine, so surprisingly soft, almost porcelain, displayed all the expression of a lost being whose docility was driven by the keenest fear. A face in which shone the moist glow of an immense, deep, jade-colored gaze.

Jawaad gazed longingly into that striking green gaze, his face hard and cold. His voice barked curtly:

“What’s your name?”

A voice knotted with fear replied:

“Se… Selyenda, Master.”

“Who am I?”

“Y… you… are… a master.”

“And who are you?”

The young woman had to think twice before answering, her jaw trembling:

“A… a slave, master.”

The master-merchant stopped his questions, his eyes following the girl’s face; then he bent down to contemplate her body, his head turning as he made his observations. His attention to the little redhead was obvious. He finally removed one hand from his face, picking up the key and mask, which he held out to Sonia, who was observing the whole scene with growing pensiveness and interest, before straightening up after a caress on Lisa’s cheek. He turned away to look at Priscius:

“Perfect. I’ve seen what I wanted to see.”

“So, what do you think? » exclaimed the slaver with somewhat commercial enthusiasm. “We’ll have to wait a little until their education is complete, which will take a few weeks, but if you’d like to make a reservation on one of them, you’re welcome to do so, and we can agree on a price.”

Jawaad nodded again distractedly, following the young redhead’s gaze as she returned to her seat for the rest of the bath, seemingly just beginning to recover.

“We’ll talk about it again.”

There was silence; and silencing Priscius was quite a feat. Neglecting his host, the master merchant kept his eyes on Lisa. With a little imagination, one might almost have thought him fascinated, although this notion seemed very relative in a man who rarely showed anything other than a sort of nonchalant indifference. Sonia had sensed this and had clearly concluded at that moment that she was looking at a man who had found something unique and rare, something he had searched long and hard for. Something that only she truly knew.

His blue eyes began to shine again with a strange, almost unhealthy glint.