If You Feel Better

Chapter 51

It had been a few days since Aya became a slave. She had gotten into a routine with her chores: scrubbing the floors, caring for the indoor plants, handling the trash, and washing the dishes. So far, Ptahbis did not make good on his claims. He did not come after her head, he did not give her harder chores, and he did not punish her in any way. She was waiting for him to come for her any minute, constantly looking over her shoulder at every vulnerable moment. But so far, nothing, which was only increasing her paranoia.

She was out in the workhouse with Bastmet and a handful of other household servants, sitting around stout tubs of water and dunking soiled towels, clothes, and other cloth to clean them. They were outside, but covered from the sun by an awning unlike the poor souls that were stranded out in the garden just in front of them. Aya felt guilty watching them sweat, hunched over the crops in the full onslaught of the sunlight, laboriously working by picking cotton lest they be punished. The guards still kept watch at the edge of the property, watching studiously for any slackers or attempted runaways. Aya saw Anou among them, standing with crossed arms and a grimace on his face: the most formidable one of them all.

"How is it decided which slave works where?" Aya asked Bastmet, scrubbing a red wine stain out of a white robe.

Bastmet was going through her portion of laundry with ease, practically just picking them up and tossing them in the "done" pile one after the other. "It usually has to do with two things: what is currently needed and what the person is capable of doing," she answered, swishing around a large cloth in her tub. "You're not going to use an elderly woman to drag heavy equipment around and you're not going to use your strongest man to serve you food."

Aya nodded, mulling over her words. What good was her purchase then? She had scary, sneaking suspicion that she knew. "When I was purchased, Ptahbis strictly stated he wanted a female that was a teenager or just a little bit older. Why would he want that specifically?"

Bastmet gave her a sad, knowing smile. "A pretty face," she answered, full-knowing. "Something he can play around with that can't say anything back. We rely on him to survive, so if he wants to use us for his own pleasure, what we can do about it?"

Aya silently debated whether or not to tell Bastmet about what had happened in Ptahbis' chambers. She was sure she already had an inkling, but perhaps she'd be able to help or give answers. But before she could decide, a little boy dusted in dirt from the field ran up to Bastmet with a small flower in his hand. "Mother, I found this flower in the garden!" he said excitedly. He held out his tiny arm, turned dark from being scorched by the sun day after day. He had miniscule scrapes and cuts everywhere, but that didn't seem to faze his infectious smile, grinning happily from ear to ear.

Bastmet smiled back at her son, taking the tiny white flower from him and inhaling its sweetness deeply. "Thank you, Rera," she said, lifting him onto her lap and giving him a big hug, practically squeezing the life out of him. "You're such a sweet boy." She turned him to Aya and made introductions. "Aya, this is my son, Rera. He works out in the fields picking cotton."

"Hi!" Rera said first, giving the cutest full-handed wave to Aya from the safety of his mother's lap.

"Hi," Aya replied, giving a little awkward wave back. "Your mother has talked nonstop about you!"

Rera blushed, but ultimately ignored her comment. "You're really pretty," he complimented, kicking his feet shyly. "You look like the flowers that grow on the pomegranate trees."

Flattered, she blushed too and said "Why, thank you. And you're a handsome young man with a kind heart."

"I'm going to pick you a flower next! What kind do you like?"