Susan Krinard - Nightmaster

“A very good year,” he remarked, offering her one of the goblets. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Can I refuse?”

“You have that choice,” he said. He sipped from his glass, and then set it down. “For the time being, I want to know more about my newly acquired property.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to start by tasting it? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin. “What did you do in the Enclave? You speak our language fluently, and you apparently know some history. Tell me.”

Trinity could hardly believe he was genuinely interested in hearing about her work or her past. In fact, her background story was not entirely concocted. She had studied languages and history as her specialty at the Academy, and she was grateful she wouldn’t have to fake it.

“I was one of the lucky citizens to be chosen for an advanced education,” she said quietly. “I learned ancient Greek, Latin and modern languages. And Opir, of course.”

“As I see. You have very little accent. Our tongue is not easy to master.”

“Because it’s a mishmash of ancient languages,” she said, leaning toward him. “Greek, Latin, Babylonian and various ancient Indo-European languages we have yet to decipher.”

“A mishmash,” he said drily. “I am certain our own experts in human languages would find that description less than amusing, especially because they believe all ancient human languages derive from ours.”

She held his gaze. “Did I offend you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want your opinion.”

“Why would the opinion of a serf matter to you?”

He smiled slightly, and she felt a deeper stirring of interest that went well beyond helpless sexual attraction. He was treating her almost as an equal, and she doubted that this was his ordinary way of dealing with new serfs.

“You intrigue me,” he said. “You’re clearly intelligent, and your spirit has not been broken by your deportation from your city.”

“And so that’s the reason I’m here. That and your interest in the human perspective. But on what?”

He nodded at her glass of wine. “Drink.”

Reluctantly she picked up her goblet and sipped. The wine, as expected, was glorious.

“I don’t suppose you share your wine with your serfs as a rule,” she said, setting the glass down again.

“Not as a rule.” He stared intently into her eyes. “What crime did you commit to be sent here?”

She hesitated, as if it were a painful memory. “I didn’t pay my taxes.”

“Such a small thing,” he said.

“They’re finding it more and more difficult to gather criminals to send to you as serfs, and they don’t want to break the Treaty.”

Ares was silent for a while, perhaps brooding over her insolent behavior. But he didn’t chastise her. To the contrary, he appeared more intrigued than ever.

“And why weren’t you able to find a protector to clear you of these charges?” he asked. “You are a beautiful woman. Surely some powerful male would have been prepared to spare you exile in return for—”

“Is that what you think of human women?” she interrupted. “That we give ourselves to men so they’ll protect us from the consequences of our actions?”

“Trinity,” Ares said in a soft voice. “Do not speak to me in that manner again.”

All at once, without warning, he was master and she his slave, utterly subject to his will. She was reminded that, in spite of his mild manner now, taking liberties with him too quickly might result in her being punished, or even sent away.

Or perhaps it would arouse his sexual interest again. The kind that had gripped him—and her—just after the Claiming.

“I’m...I’m sorry, my lord,” she said meekly.

He picked up his glass and set it down again without tasting the contents. “I warned you before that you should consider the consequences of your behavior, Trinity. In Erebus, those consequences can be much worse than mere exile.”

“I know,” she said. “But if you’ll allow me to explain...”

When he waved his hand to grant her permission, she continued more carefully. “The women of the Enclave aren’t like that,” she said. “Most would never think of seeking that kind of protection from a man. All people, regardless of gender, are equal.”

“But it was not always so,” he said, relaxing again. “I remember. Among my kind—through all the ages—there has never been any significant distinction between male and female Opiri in terms of power or status. You’ve come far since the days when you were merely the extensions of your mates.”

“That’s right,” Trinity said. “But I don’t understand why you don’t already know this, my lord. Opiri faced plenty of female soldiers during the War.”

“Yes,” he said. “I was merely interested in your experiences.” He smiled slightly. “I can imagine you as a soldier.”

Trinity tried not to let him see her alarm. “I’m not brave enough for that.”

Ares leaned over the table and touched her cheek. “I think you are. But that is of no consequence now. That life is over.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you’ll find it displeasing,” he said, stroking her face.

“I’m ready.”

He jerked his hand back. “You speak as though you must brace yourself for some unspeakable torment.”

Now that she had reached the crucial moment, Trinity lost her resolve to acquiesce so easily. “I owe you so much, my lord,” she murmured.

Ares bolted from his chair. “I don’t want your gratitude,” he said. “I want—”

He broke off, and Trinity held very still, aware that he had begun to lose his grip on the calm and rationality he seemed to value so highly. He strode to the other side of the bed and punched his finger on a keypad set in the wall. Wide shutters slid open, revealing another window.

“Come here,” he said.

Trinity rose and joined him. She looked out the window. The dome of the city curved below—smoky-gray rather than black from this angle—shielding Erebus from the sun.

Beyond the dome and the towers on the opposite side of the Citadel stretched the muted sky, the fields and the mountains, robbed of their color and vividness by the protective glass. Ares touched the keypad again, and suddenly they were looking directly into the interior of the city, thousands of roofs and open plazas and strange gardens under artificial lights. It was frighteningly beautiful.

“Nothing can touch you in this city,” he said. “No one can harm you. Not as long as you belong to me.” He turned to look at her. “And I intend to keep you, Trinity. Make no mistake.”

He pressed on the pad, closing the panel, and then returned to the table, slopping more wine into the glass.

“I will know everything about you,” he said, capturing her gaze. “Your mind, your soul, your body. You will never hold any secrets from me. But when you come to me, you will do it because you wish to.”

Trinity realized how vulnerable Ares had just made himself, vulnerable in a way that was almost human. She felt an uncertainty in him, bewilderment that he should treat any serf as he treated her...as if she mattered to him as a woman, not merely a slave. “I wish it now, my lord,” she whispered. And she did. More than was practical. Or sane.

“No,” he said, dropping into his chair. “You will sleep in the harem quarters tonight.”

It wasn’t going to work. Not now, not for Ares. For some reason he was holding himself back. She bowed and retreated.

“Trinity,” he said, stopping her as she moved to the door.

“Yes, my lord?”

“My name is Ares. You may use it when we are alone.”

“Thank you...Ares,” she said, bowing her head.