Poor Relations

Part I

The first thing Klin noticed about the house was its sweeping architecture. Even though he had been living in a near-castle all his life, it hadn't been nearly as lovely as the house he and his father were about to move into.

"The house is far too large for me now," the gray-haired owner was telling them as he showed them around. "With all of my children married and my wife gone, I've no use for such a large place."

Klin's father nodded. "My son and I wanted a place that would suit both us and his future family," he explained.

Klin suppressed a snort and scanned the hall they were walking through with emerald eyes.

"Such a fine son will fetch a finer woman," the owner said approvingly.

Klin ignored the comment.

"How, may I ask," the owner questioned of Klin's father, "did you come upon your wealth?"

"Breeding and dealing horses," the other man replied proudly. "Farm horses, carriage horses, riding horses, children's horses, sport horses – whatever you need, I can supply you."

"Well, there's plenty of land for your business around this house," the old owner added. "Do you use slaves in your business?"

"If I didn't pay my stable hands I fear they'd harm the horses," the breeder replied. "I would never trust my prized horses to slaves."

"I understand, a wise choice. Do you have slaves in your home?"

"Only a servant who shared in the pay of her husband and son who were two of my hands. She has recently retired, however."

They entered the elaborate dining room then, and Klin caught sight of a youth his age wiping down the already polished table. He was beautiful, even at a distance. Dark, lavishly dark brown hair fell straight to his shoulders, flowing as he worked despite its slight tangles. Klin caught a glimpse, only briefly, of plum-colored eyes that fell quickly to the work he was doing. His clothes were more snug than they should have been, despite the youth's thin frame.

"This slave comes with the house, as well," the owner told them.

"What's his name?" Klin asked, not taking his eyes from the slave.

The master snorted. "Why would he have a name? He's my wife's bastard child; I wouldn't bother naming him."

Klin took one more look at the boy. Nylen. It was the name that came to him, and that's how Klin would think of him. Everyone deserved a name, especially a slave.