Sarantha lay in her bed, listening half-heartedly as Ehrik described the events of the past four weeks. He spoke slowly, making sure she understood everything that had happened and, more importantly, why things had happened that way. She wasn't happy.
She was overjoyed her child had been born healthy. However, she was not consistently nursing the babe. Some other woman staying in her rooms and nursing her child because Ehrik thought Sarantha was too weak to. That may have been true before, but now, she had been awake for full days and there was no reason she couldn't nurse her own child. Except that she had tried that morning and her breasts weren't producing enough milk. Kyrsti had come and tried to massage her breasts to stimulate production, but Sarantha had suffered the humiliation for nothing. Even if her breasts had leaked enough nutritious milk, her daughter would not latch onto her nipple, turning her head away and screeching her denial of the intimate act between mother and child. However, the instant the midwife lifted the wailing infant to her breast, the baby had instantly latched on and feasted. Sarantha felt helpless, worthless, and defeated. She couldn't even nurse her own child. She had cried, sobbed really, until Ehrik had to be called. He obviously thought that talking to her would distract her from the woman sitting on her little slave's bed, nursing her child.
Sarantha flicked her eyes to Ehrik as he brought up Trivalm. She wanted to see him, get him back into a proper routine. She was certain that all her effort had been wasted now that he had been gone from her for so long. Had Ehrik continued the slave's training? Made the new slave enjoy his new home so he would settle? Of course not. Ehrik had locked him in a tiny room, away from Ebon and Ivory, and left him there, ignored and lonely. The other two War Slaves were not good influences. It was always after Trivalm spent time with them that he acted up. He did much better when he was around Ebon and Ivory, who consistently demonstrated proper behavior.
"Little sister?" Ehrik's tried to pull his sister from her angry brooding. He could read her face well enough to know that her circular logic was setting in and it wasn't going to end well for him.
"What?" Her voice was much harsher than she meant it to be, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
Ehrik sighed. "Perhaps you should rest for-"
"No! I am done resting! I am getting up. I am taking my child, retrieving my slaves and I am going to dinner in the Great Hall!"
With that she threw her blankets off and forced herself to her feet, trying, unsuccessfully, to cover the bout of dizziness that came with the movement.
Ehrik just sighed, knowing that this was not a battle he would win. Gone was the subdued Sarantha who would do what was suggested to avoid conflict. This was the Sarantha his brother had warned him about; the one who demanded things be a certain way and despised interference. Normally, as Madam Keeper, she could do things her way, and her way normally made sense. But this was a combination of post pregnancy moods and a sense of helplessness combining to make her highly irrational. Whatever had been going through her mind as he spoke did not bode well for him or any other she crossed paths with. He had been careful with the information he imparted, not wanting to overwhelm her, but it was obvious he hadn't done a good job.
"I will inform Melil that you are going to the bathing chambers and to retrieve your slaves." Ehrik forced himself to smile as though he were pleased with her progress, when he was praying that she would tire and decide to rest instead.
Sarantha watched him leave with eyes narrowed. Fine. Let him go do that. If she made it to the Great Hall for dinner, like she said she would, that was fine.
And maybe when she got there she would apologize for being so short with him...
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Trivalm sat in his normal spot in the Great Hall, on display near the front table. Alek had told him Sarantha would be attending dinner that evening, but she wasn't there yet. He was anxious, more so than what might have been necessary. He wanted to talk to her, to apologize, to ensure she was well. He had inquired over her daily. When his requests had morphed into demands, Krisel had attempted to put an end to Trivalm's attempts by threatening another beating. Allek, however, had taken pity on him. He would never answer if Trivalm asked, careful not to undermine the other Captain, but he would sometimes give Trivalm periodic updates on Sarantha's illness and recovery.
Guilt still beat at him daily, keeping him awake at night, occupying any free time that he would have otherwise spent ruing his current station as a slave. When he thought of Sarantha's illness, her frailty, and remembered the way he had enjoyed her discomfort, Trivalm's stomach churned. He had been so distracted in his self-righteous pettiness that he'd only bothered to react, to defend a woman, when her rape had been imminent. He'd never told Drimelk and Raikol, even when they inquired over his odd behavior, too ashamed of himself to admit his wrongdoing.
Only when he tried to figure out what had been off, what detail he had been missing, did the anger begin to set in. There was something, Trivalm just couldn't figure out what. It nagged at the corner of his mind daily. It was important. He knew that. He just didn't know what 'it' was.
For the other war slaves, the initial shock of the change in status had worn off. Drimelk had become subdued, quiet, depressed. He ate little, and spoke even less. He had not divulged the content of the quiet conversation he had shared with Sarantha the night of her impromptu competition, and neither Trivalm nor Raikol had pushed. Raikol, on the other hand, had become angry. When they were allowed to the training rooms, he would spar with the other soldiers every chance he got. Often, his competitor was left with more marks than was necessary. One time, on a day he had been especially ornery, the slave had been lashed for purposely breaking the arm of a young, rather new soldier after the younger man had admitted defeat. That hadn't deterred him from returning to the sparring ring as soon as he'd been allowed to.
Other than dinner, their meals were dropped off by Alaliya's slave, Triya. Each time she entered, her eyes would sweep over the slaves, then linger for a moment on Raikol, who glared at her with venom in his gaze. She would simply smirk and leave. She was attractive, but there was obviously something off with that woman. She was a fool for taunting Raikol that way. If he ever caught her, Trivalm wasn't sure what the other war slave would do to the poor girl.
The slaves took their supper in the Great Hall, on display. But, unlike the first days they were there, the war slaves were no longer the prime source of entertainment. Instead, the Keep's attention and amusement was directed at the branded slaves secured along the walls of the Great Hall. Their crime was obvious by the brand across their foreheads. The men were fed the bare minimum to keep them alive and Trivalm recognized the food as leftover food from several days earlier. Trivalm felt no pity for the men, not even when they were being lashed, which was evidently allowed by any citizen in the Keep. Ehrik had made the announcement that his benevolent wife would share her gift with the people of the Keep. Even the slaves of citizens, with their owner's permission, were allowed to participate in what was obviously a rare opportunity. Trivalm wondered what the Keeper had meant by Alaliya's "gift". Were the men somehow connected to the Madam Keeper or did she simply have a general hatred of rapists?
Every night that Trivalm settled into the Great Hall and saw the rapists chained, his heart sank just a little. Surely Ehrik would remove the beaten men before Sarantha returned. Such a gentle woman would be sickened by the bruised and bloodied bodies hanging by their bonds and just barely clinging to life? Ehrik, with his constant maintenance of his sister's compassionate outlook, would never allow her to be so distressed.
