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10: Gift

I'm not sure whether to be comforted or terrified by Master Synn's admission.

He killed a man. Why? What kind of person can actually end someone else's life? Is it because he's a Draconian? Are they really as bloodthirsty as I was told growing up?

But he wouldn't hurt me. Why wouldn't he hurt me? All I do is eat his food and mope inside his house. I don't do anything to benefit him and I frequently seem to anger him. I'm surprised I'm not first on his list.

His fingertips burn beneath my skin as he holds my face pointed toward his. Those pallid eyes stare down into mine and his lips part. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

"Why wouldn't you hurt me?" My voice brushes my lips in a whisper.

His face inches away; he looks taken aback by my question, and then purely contemplative. His eyes flutter to the side, shimmering under the bedroom light in a way that reminds me of the wings of the Neyenflies beneath the sunny sky.

It's not fair to the rest of the world for this reclusive, scary Draconian to have such beautiful eyes. 

"Why would I hurt you? You're mine, to keep and care for and protect." His low voice is soothing and every feature on his face looks vulnerable and earnest.

My eyebrows arch and my lips part. I don't know what kind of answer I expected, but it wasn't that. My heart flips into my stomach and my chest feels tight as I watch him slowly drag his pointed teeth across one half of his bottom lip.

No man has ever called me "theirs," not even Meben, who easily could have. I doubt he ever even wanted me. Even my father had never said he cared for me or that he would protect me. After all, he probably didn't even bother to send anyone after me when I was kidnapped.

I don't know what to say, and I'm not sure he does either now that his statement rests between us. It feels forbidden or improper, the way he's speaking to me and gravitating so closely. It feels scary belonging to someone and having someone around who wants to care for me.

He's standing so close now that I can feel the warmth gravitating from his body. One part of me hates it - hates him - and wants to shove him away and run for my life. A magick wielding Draconian is not someone to be toyed with. But another part of me wishes he would reach across the short distance between us and run his fingers across my skin...just to know what it would feel like.

In my village, men weren't allowed to get within four arms lengths of a woman unless a female approached them, but Master Synn could easily reach out and touch any part of me. I'm not sure what part feels more scary and exhilarating: The fact that he's my Master and I'm his slave, that he's a Draconian and I'm a Vyenn, or the simple fact that he's a male and I'm a female.

There are so many questions I want to ask him while he's in the mood to talk to me and answer me directly and earnestly, but for some reason, I can't think of any of them right now. All I can think of is how much sharper his jawline and brow look up close, and how much smoother the dark scales bordering his face are. So smooth I could almost reach out and...

"I need to leave." Master Synn abruptly pulls away and exits the room, leaving me standing awkwardly in place with my legs shaking. But... I'm not sure anymore if they're quaking because of fear, or because of something else.

In fact, I feel utterly confused about everything he just said to me, and questions roll through my brains before I can stop to conjure answers to them. Does he really consider me to belong to him that deeply? What kind of man protects and cares for his slaves? Is that how people are meant to treat the slaves they own? Why did the captives in the cages make out the servant's life to be so awful if this is how they're treated? Does Fexen do that for Lyda and the others?

Judging by the hollowed expressions on the faces of Fexen's maids as they escorted the girls out of the wagon, the treatment Master Synn is giving me is probably unusual.

I wonder if Master Synn is nice and caring at heart, or if the reason why he never purchased a slave for himself is that he didn't want to feel obligated to have to take care of anyone else. Fexen seemed to think Master Synn needed a slave for something, but so far I can't see anything he isn't perfectly capable of handling on his own.

He hasn't asked me to do anything at all to help him, and a part of me still worries that the "help" he requires may relate to...those kinds of activities. At least, the announcer back in the amphitheater seemed to think so. When he listed reasons people might buy a slave, they included cooking, cleaning, and...those things, didn't they? It's the only reason that makes sense as to why Master Synn hasn't used me for any other purposes, isn't it? Why else would he stare into my eyes so fiercely, and stand as close to me as he just had?

I know very little about the "things" I would have been expected to do with Meben if we'd tied the knot with one another, and it fills me with fear that I may end up doing those things unwedded with Master Synn.

All the ladies told me about warming a man's bed was that it was painful and hardly enjoyable... something we do for the sake of our tribe and the continuation of our race.

But my race will continue on without me now, and even if I were to warm this Draconian's bed...would it be possible for us to have a mixed-race child? Would it be Vyenn or Draconian or something different entirely?

And I owe no duty to my tribe to reproduce; I'm not even sure reproduction is important to Master Synn's race. So, what reason would there be for us to warm each other's beds?

The ladies once mentioned males receive pleasure from those activities, but I know nothing about Draconians. Do their males receive pleasure as well? My face reddens. Why am I even thinking about this? Master Synn surely doesn't plan to make me do those things...does he?

A shudder runs down my arms and through my fingers like fire as I fumble to pick up the platter of food to bring it to the bed with me. As I lift it, I feel resistance and a book slides from beneath the platter onto the floor. I set the platter back on the desk and stoop down, picking up the book and flipping through the pages curiously.

It's a coloring book.