Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [31]
He took Alec’s arm in gentle hands and applied a salve with a light, careful touch. Alec guessed he’d done this often. The salve smelled good, and soothed the burns considerably. Alec studied his helper closely as the man took strips of clean linen from the basket and bandaged Alec’s arm. His tunic had short sleeves, and as he leaned over his task, Alec could see the telltale scars left by a lash peeking out across the back of one shoulder. “’ey ’ip you.”
“I was stubborn, and proud,” the ’faie replied without looking up. “They beat that out of me, eventually. It doesn’t have to be so difficult for you, little brother. In the end, you’ll find it’s best to submit.”
“’ubmit? ’oo what?”
“That all depends on who buys you. If you’re lucky, being a half-blood, someone might only want you as a laborer, or an ornamental house slave. Turn on your side so I can dress your leg.”
Alec rolled over to face the wall. “An’ if I no’ ’ucky?”
“Well, some would say your mixed blood has a pretty effect, and with that fair hair? You might end up in some rich merchant’s bed.”
“’ever!”
“Or perhaps with a woman. The wealthier courtesans often keep boys as pets.”
Alec shook his head furiously, heedless of the way the branks plate cut at the corner of his mouth, then let out a grunt of alarm as the man seized him by the shoulder and pulled him around to face him.
“I’m trying to do you a favor, little brother.” Turning away, the slave grasped the hem of his robe and pulled the back up to his neck, showing Alec the netting of faded scars that ridged his skin from neck to knees. Then he turned and held up his penis in one hand, showing him the puckered scar where his balls should have been. “They’re likely to take those anyway, unless they want to breed you. I’m lucky that master left as much as he did.”
Yanking his tunic back down, he fixed Alec with a sorrowful look. “I was proud like you, little brother. But in the end I did all they wanted. You can spare yourself the suffering. Some masters can be quite kind if you’re meek and tractable.”
Alec squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face to the wall. Meek and tractable? He’d die first!
“Suit yourself, then.”
“Wait!” Alec called after him. It was so hard to talk with this thing in his mouth! Choosing his words carefully, he asked, “’as there a ’an with ’e?”
“A man with you? A friend captured with you, you mean?”
Alec nodded. “Auren.”
“I don’t know. You’re the only ’faie I’ve seen. Try to rest. It’s two more days to Riga, and the sailors won’t trouble you. The captain would have their skins for it.”
He went out, taking the lantern and leaving Alec in the dark, and in despair. If Seregil was dead, then he had even less reason to be meek or tractable for anyone. He’d be more than happy to die.
CHAPTER 10
Rough Passage
SEREGIL WAS FAR too sick to gauge the passage of time, or to fight back when they came to brand him. He was barely conscious when dark figures held him down and burned his arm and leg, and only vaguely aware when someone came to tend the wounds. His physical misery was unrelenting.
Every so often the hatch overhead would open, and he roused a bit when they came down to sluice him off with icy seawater, washing away the vomit and shit. Then someone would hold his head up, using the branks for a handle, and force fresh water or broth between his teeth until he choked and swallowed. He usually just brought it up again, but somehow enough stayed in him to keep life in his wasting body. Sometimes in the night, they would come to stare at him, faces hidden behind the blinding glare of a lantern. Or maybe that was just a fever dream? He was too sick to tell the difference, or care.
The rough planking rubbed the skin from his body, and the branks were a continuous torment. His brands felt hot, and he knew they were infected. The only other constant during those miserable days was the hope that Alec was alive somewhere.
As he grew weaker,