“I wish to see my father, if he is at home.”
He bowed, this time bending at the waist, then gestured to a shirtless slave standing near the doorway.
“Your wish can be fulfilled, mistress. Follow this man and he will take you to Ashaki Sokara.”
As she followed the slave into the interior she breathed deeply. A familiar scent hung in the air, but she could not identify it. The slave’s thin silhouette led her down a narrow corridor coated in the same white render as the exterior. They emerged into a large room. Stara recognised the floor plan. This room was the centre of the house: the “master room’, where her father met, entertained and fed guests. Doorways led from it to other parts of the house. Her mother’s home followed the same design, as did other Sachakan-built houses in Elyne.
She took all this in with one glance, because a man sat on a large wooden chair in the centre of the room. Recognising him, she felt her heart leap with joy.
“Father,” she said.
“Stara.” He smiled and beckoned.
Walking across the room, she was disappointed when he didn’t rise to greet her. She hesitated, unsure what to do next.
“Sit,” he suggested, indicating a smaller chair next to his.
Taking it, she sighed with appropriate and not entirely faked appreciation. “Ah. You’d think after sitting down all day I wouldn’t want to even look at a chair.”
“Travelling is tiring,” he agreed. “How was the journey? Did my men treat you well?”
“Interesting, and yes,” she replied.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.” In truth, she was ravenous.
He made a small gesture and a gong on the other side of the room chimed. A moment later a slave ran into the room and threw himself on the floor.
“Bring food for mistress Stara.”
The slave leapt to his feet and hurried away. Stara stared at the doorway he had vanished through. His arrival and departing had been so dramatically performed that Stara could not help finding it comical. She had to suppress the urge to laugh.
“You will grow used to the slaves,” her father told her. “Eventually you forget they are there.”
She looked at him and bit her lip. I don’t want to get so used to them I forget they’re there, she thought. The next step might be forgetting that they’re people.
The conversation turned to her mother. She told him of the latest deals and of new customers, as well as an idea her mother was considering: developing a trade in sail dyeing.
“Sailcloth has always been undyed, but if we can suggest the benefits of dyed cloth to the right people, and the idea becomes popular, we might open up a whole new market.” She grinned. “That was my idea. I was watching some children playing with toy boats, and—”
Annoyingly, slaves chose that moment to enter the room with food. She had hoped for some expression of admiration, or even just an opinion, from her father, but he was completely distracted now. From a box next to his chair he drew two small but deadly-looking knives, one of which he handed to her.
Sighing quietly, she watched as a strange ritual unfolded. The slaves took it in turns to fall to their knees before her father. He selected a few morsels of whatever was presented, picking them up with a stab of his knife then lifting the food to his mouth. Then he gestured that she should sample the dish, and the slave would shuffle sideways until he knelt before Stara.
Her mother had described Sachakan meals to her, and warned her that the master of an estate always ate before anyone else. Stara wasn’t sure how much to try, as he wasn’t taking much from each platter and there appeared to be quite a few dishes coming.
Whenever she had finished eating from a plate the slave remained in place until her father spoke. “Done,” he said each time, then he glanced at her and told her to dismiss the slave when she had had enough.
Before her hunger was quite satisfied, but long after the ritual had lost its novelty, he abruptly waved a hand and simply said: “Go.” The slaves hurried away, their bare feet making no sound on the carpets. Her father turned to regard her.
“In a week I will entertain some important visitors and you will attend. You will need some training in Sachakan manners. The slave who nursed you as a child will teach you what you need to know.” He smiled, his expression becoming a little apologetic. “I wish I could have given you more time to settle in first.”
“I’ll be fine,” she told him.
He nodded, his gaze moving over her face. “Yes. Any mistakes you make will be easily forgiven, I think, especially since you have the excuse of a part-Elyne upbringing.” His smile faded. “You should know that I have one of the men in mind to be your husband.”
Stara blinked, then found she could not move. Husband?
“A link between our families would strengthen an alliance that has been tested these last few years. Your slave will tell you what you need to know, but be assured they have plenty of land and the favour of the emperor.”
Husband?
He scowled. “And unfortunately your brother’s wife is incapable of bearing children. If you do not bear us an heir our land will be passed on to Emperor Vochira when your brother dies.”
“Husband?” escaped her throat.
Looking at her, he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. You are a little old to still be unmarried and childless, but your Elyne blood should counter that – unlike Elynes, Sachakans believe a little foreign blood is a strength, not a weakness.”
A little old? She was only twenty-five!
“I thought . . .” She heard the indignation in her voice and stopped to breathe in and out. “I thought you wanted me here to help run the trade.”
His face broke into a smile and he chuckled, at which she could not help bristling. Just as quickly the smile faded into an expression of realisation.
“You really did, didn’t you?” He shook his head and grimaced. “Your mother should not have let you come here with such a misunderstanding. In Sachaka women do not trade.”
“I could,” she said quietly. “If you give me a—”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not only would clients laugh at you, they would stop trading with me. It is not done here.”
“So instead you sell me off like another pot of dye?” she exclaimed. “Without any say in who I marry?”
He stared at her, his expression slowly hardening, and her heart sank.
He means to do this. It was his intention all along. Mother can’t have known. She would never have sent me if she had. All the hopes she’d had of working for her father, of making a new life here with him, crumbled into ashes. She stood up, moved away, then turned to face him.
“I can’t believe it. You sent for me – you tricked me – into coming here. So you can sell me off like stock.”
“Sit down,” he said.
“Surely you didn’t think I’d be happy about it?” she raged. “That after living in Elyne for fifteen years, working for your benefit most of that time, I’d be delighted to become some stranger’s wife? No, a whore. No, a slave, since at least whores get paid for their serv—”
“SIT DOWN!”
She could not help flinching. Still breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and willed the fury inside her to cool and shrink. When it had, she opened her eyes and looked at him.