The Ambassador’s Mission

After Dannyl had left for the evening, and the slaves had served dinner, Lorkin had returned to his rooms. There wasn’t a lot of work for him to do as Dannyl’s assistant yet. Apart from the one visit to Ashaki Itoki’s home, he hadn’t left the Guild House. Only a small part of the work that Dannyl tackled during the day could be handed on to Lorkin.

He spent the evenings reading or questioning the slaves. The latter was proving harder than he expected. While the slaves always responded to his questions, they offered no more than the most basic answer. If he asked them if there was anything else he needed to know they looked confused and anxious.

But it’s probably impossible for them to know what I need to know, he thought. And they’re reluctant to guess in case they get it wrong and it angers me. Initiative is probably a trait discouraged in a slave.

He had a feeling that the dark-eyed girl who had first taken him to his room – Tyvara – might be more receptive, though he wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t served him since that first night, however. Tonight he had nothing pressing to do, so he’d asked the slave serving him to bring her to him.

They probably all think I want to bed her, he mused, remembering her misunderstanding the first night. Tyvara probably will, too. I’ll have to reassure her that isn’t my intention. Is there any way I can encourage her to talk freely?

He looked around and his eyes settled on the cupboard containing wine and glasses for his own use or entertaining guests. Before he could cross the room to collect them, he saw a movement in the doorway. Tyvara stepped into the room and approached him, stopping several steps away to prostrate herself.

“Rise, Tyvara,” he told her. She stood, and her gaze remained on the floor. Her face was expressionless, and he was not sure if it was his imagination that made her seem a little tense. “Fetch me two glasses and some wine,” he ordered.

She obeyed, her movements quick but graceful. He sat down on one of the stools in the centre of the room and waited for her. She placed the glasses and a bottle on the floor, then knelt beside them.

“Open it,” he instructed. “And fill both of them. One is for you.”

Her hands had begun to reach toward the bottle, but now hesitated. Then they continued in the tasks required of them. When both glasses were full she lifted one and handed it to him. He took it and gestured to the other.

“Drink. I have some questions for you. Only questions,” he added. “Hopefully nothing that will compromise you in any way. If I ask anything that will get you in trouble by answering, tell me that instead.”

She looked at the glass, then picked it up with obvious reluctance. He sipped. She followed suit, and the muscles around her mouth twitched into a faint grimace.

“You don’t like wine?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Oh.” He cast about. “Then don’t drink it. Put it aside.”

There was a definite air of dislike to the way she set it down as far away from herself as she could stretch. He took another mouthful from his own glass, considering what to ask next.

“Is… is there any way I should be behaving toward the slaves here that I am… I am neglecting… or getting wrong?”

She shook her head quickly. Too quickly. He reconsidered the question.

“Is there any way I could improve my interaction with the slaves here? Make things more efficient? Easier?”

Again, she shook her head, but not as quickly.

“Am I making a total fool of myself when interacting with slaves?”

The slightest hint of a smile touched her lips, then she shook her head once more.

“You hesitated then,” he pointed out, leaning toward her. “There’s something, isn’t there? I’m not making a fool of myself, but instead I’m doing something unnecessary or silly, aren’t I?”

She paused, then shrugged.

“What is it?”

“You don’t need to thank us,” she said.

Her melodic, husky voice was a revelation after all the silent gestures. He felt a shiver run down his spine. If she wasn’t a slave, I think I’d find her immensely fascinating. And if she wasn’t dressed in that awful wrap dress, probably quite attractive as well.

But he hadn’t called her here to romance her.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s a habit – what we consider good manners in Kyralia. But if it makes things easier, I’ll try not to do it.”

She nodded.

What next? “Other than thanking slaves unnecessarily, is there anything I or Dannyl have been doing in our interaction with slaves that would make us look foolish to free Sachakans?”

She frowned, and her mouth opened, but then she seemed to freeze. He saw her eyes roaming about the floor, focusing as close to him as his feet, then flickering away. She is afraid of how I’ll respond to her answer.

“The truth will not anger me, Tyvara,” he said gently. “Instead it may be a great help to us.”

She swallowed, then bowed her head even further.

“You will lose status if you do not take a slave to bed.”