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“You think Zai so malicious? Doroth Zain would make you do penance for such a thing.”

The woman steps back from Damon and spits on the floor. “Your Zai High Priest can punish me if he wishes. I have committed more crimes against his God than fearing for your life.” The woman walks around the table and sits down at it. She pulls a dagger from a sheath on her thigh and uses it to point at Lyr, seeming to notice him for the first time. “Who’s that?”

Damon says, “He’s King Ramel’s pleasure slave.” He walks over to the tent flap and leans out of it, calling, “Renrel, I need you.”

Damon walks back into the tent followed by a page. “You staying to eat?” he says to the woman.

She nods.

“You sure? There will be a wild feast in the castle. Atticul’s men are trying to convince themselves they are great warriors. They are dividing spoils. Like rats with a wheel of rotten cheese.”

“I prefer the company here,” says the woman. “You and,“ she points at Lyr with a smile on her face, “King Ramel’s pleasure slave.”

“Bring hot water and food,” Damon says to the page who seems to be trying not to look at Lyr. “And bitter argent. Or any ale they have in store.”

The page nods. “Yes, Sire.” He glances over at Lyr with a strange expression, then looks away and leaves.

The woman says, “So King Ramel has male pleasure slaves?”

“Had one male pleasure slave.”

“And you took him as your warprize?”

“Atticul’s idea,” Damon says. “His attempt to insult me.”

“And would that have anything to do with the reason you threw your sigil on the floor at his feet?”

“Something like that,” Damon says. He’s smiling again. He seems much less angry about the whole situation now he’s telling this woman about it.

The page returns with a pail of steaming water, a golden bowl and a pile of linen cloths. He takes them behind the curtain to the space by the bed.

When he emerges, Damon says, “Thank you, Renrel.”

As the page leaves, Damon walks into his sleeping space.

“You want me to watch him?” the woman says, pointing at Lyr with her dagger again.

“He won’t run,” Damon replies, not looking back.

From his place sitting on the rug, Lyr can see through a gap in the curtain as Damon pours the hot water from the bucket into the gold bowl. He washes his hands and face then pulls off his jerkin, baring his chest. He turns and muscles move on his broad back. He has more scars there. A burn on his left shoulder. A long laceration across his lower back.

He starts to wash. It’s hypnotic, watching the water droplets glisten on Damon’s skin.

This man owns him now. This man who makes Lyr’s heart beat too fast when he looks at him.

Renrel returns with bread and ale and meat which he sets on the table. He lays it out fussily and lights the candles. Lyr glances at the woman. She grins. She’s been watching him, watching Damon. In Artemian, she says, “I know, sweet thing, he’s a beauty, but is it enough to compensate for his personality?” Clearly, the woman knows just what Lyr was looking at.

Lyr feels himself blush. He isn’t sure if the woman knows he understood her.

In very broken Juran, she says something like, “Come here, slave. Eat.”

Lyr stands. “Are you sure?” he replies in Artemian.

She cracks another wide grin. “You speak Artemian. Ah, good. Damon made me learn some Juran, but conversation will be much easier in Artemian.” She gestures to an empty chair. “Sit.”

“At the table?” Lyr glances towards the curtained sleeping space. Damon told him to stay in the corner.

“You think slaves can’t sit at this table? I am a slave too. Taken from Pluma-Ferris by that wretch in there.” She points in Damon’s direction. “I chose this rotten army over death on his sword and I regret it every day.” She laughs, but Lyr is not sure if this is meant to be funny. “And as for your new owner General Damon Darekul, he was indentured to the Imperial Army for twenty years, little more than a slave for all that time. If he’d done what he did to me as a free man, I’d slit his throat right now. And remember, under the rule of the Azurian Empire, none of us are free from Zai’s judgement.” She laughs. “So sit and eat, slave. You look half-starved.”