27. Chapter 27

Chapter twenty-seven

The smell hit him even before Tsaria woke and it made him gag, both thanks to the stench of the sewers and the knowledge of where he was, and he struggled to withhold the groan. He knew why he’d been taken, but not why he was in the sewers. He was alone, but as he tried to lift his arm, he realized he was bound.

Had Moxie rescued him from the sand people? But that made no sense. He wouldn’t be tied up and alone if so, and they would have sent word to Tam. It had to be Elainore that still had him, even down here, because he could be used to gain leverage with Kamir. It was hard to acknowledge that his ability to bring forth the dragon was the only measure of his worth. That he’d never once been valued for himself, simply what he could do for others. Even with his father. Stepfather? It made a sick kind of sense, he supposed, that he’d never had any value to him. In fact, Alain’s betrayal had been worse. His father had never pretended any kind of affection and while he had been a baby, he was still the catalyst for his ma’s death.

Bitterness coated his tongue, tasting like regret. Had he ever meant anything to anyone just because of who he was, not what he could do? The sand people assumed he was valuable to Kamir, so—

Tsaria’s heart hurt with the memory of Kamir’s terror-filled face when he realized Tsaria wasn’t an image his desperate mind had conjured. He’d been terrified for Tsaria.

He was valuable to Kamir, and not because of the dragon. Because he was loved . And in that moment, captured, chained, and so very alone, he finally felt free for the first time in his life.

Because he was loved.

Kamir hadn’t wanted him there even to save his own life. He wanted Tsaria safe. He’d put Tsaria first. No one had ever done that.

No, that wasn’t true. One person had. His ma, and she had died for it. And whatever happened, he was absolutely determined Kamir wouldn’t have to do the same.

“You’re awake.”

Tsaria turned his head, recognizing Elainore’s voice, but doing his best to school his features against the vision in front of him, one his mind was having difficulty comprehending.

An old woman stood in front of him, flanked by guards. Her words, her voice, he knew were Elainore’s, even as he had only heard her briefly, but her appearance was anything but. He must be mistaken. Elainore had looked twenty-five summers, he would guess, but this woman was at least sixty, and not a kind sixty. Open sores decorated her cracked lips. Her eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot. She leaned over, her back hunched. Pock marks warred for dominance in the harsh lines of her face, and she smelled like a dead thing, even over the stench of the sewers.

She smiled again, and he held back his revulsion. “Apologies, my name is Elainore, and I am queen of the sand people. We met briefly at the palace as my lord Gabar tried to save your life.”

No, he hadn’t. He could almost smell the lie. And for some reason just at that moment, he remembered the lady Sophia, not that Elainore and she were alike. He’d been a terrified boy and Sophia an older lady, but one without either male or female companionship, other than what she had to pay for. He had no idea how old she was, other than that she occasionally mentioned her grandson. She’d been visiting the pleasure house for some time, according to Ishmael, and was to be treated with the utmost care.

She had sat amongst the silk cushions sipping wine as Tsaria had been brought to her. Ishmael introduced him as their newest acquisition and after studying him for what seemed an endless time, she glanced at Ishmael and ordered food and more wine to be brought. Ishmael’s servants rushed to fulfil her needs, and Tsaria remained standing awkwardly, shaking in utter terror. Technically, she hadn’t been his first because Ishmael used the older boys to train the younger ones, and some were very eager. According to Edger, who was one of Ishmael’s older ones, most male customers wanted a satisfying time and bloodying a boy for the first time wasn’t something most could afford, or even were interested in.

The women wanted those with experience. Sophia was a favorite customer amongst them, but just that weekend, a group of visiting priests had gone too far with seven of Ishmael’s boys and none could so much as stand. It was rumored among the boys that one was even dead.

So yes, Ishmael was forced to use Tsaria, and yes, Tsaria was convinced he was going to die. Maddia, a pleasure slave of sixteen summers, had whispered to him that often the women could be crueler than the men.

The slaves and Ishmael had been dismissed, and Tsaria had been unable to hold back the tears that had tracked silently down his cheeks.

“How old are you?” Sophia asked and put down the goblet she had just drunk from.

Tsaria’s breath caught. Was this a trick question? Would he be punished for the wrong answer? He watched as her features softened, but he was still wary, knowing it could easily be a trick.

“Come, it matters not, child.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

And within half a bell, Tsaria was telling her his life story and stuffing as much food into his mouth as he could fit. She had lost her husband and two sons to the last war. She still visited the older men Ishmael had, but had never visited a child. She had money and Tsaria was requested every other seventh day for two lunar months, until finally she asked him if he would like to come and be a slave in her household. Maybe start in the kitchens. Her cook was wonderful.

Because apparently there were certain things she would never allow children to be used for.

He’d cried a second time over her for that because not once had she asked anything of him except companionship. The next week he had been almost incandescent with excitement knowing he would be leaving with her, but she hadn’t arrived, and four days later Ishmael had informed them all that the great lady Sophia Dashanne had died following a fall from her horse.

That day had been the last day he had cried in Ishmael’s house.

“Nothing to say?” Elainore’s voice came from the body he didn’t recognize.

He stared at her as a man—around twenty summers—moved alongside her between the stoic guards. “My queen. The rats are just about ready to move.”

She turned and her lips cracked in a smile. Tsaria watched in horror as her lip split and a trickle of blood ran down her chin. “Choi, you are one of my most dependable warriors.” He glanced at the man and gaped. It was as if the man—Choi—was seeing a different Elainore than the one he was. Elainore touched a finger to his bare chest and slid it down to his leather breeches. Tsaria watched as Choi’s breath hitched and the bulge in his groin expanded in what couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than lust. He had seen it often enough to know.

Tsaria’s mind whirled. Was it possible that in all the illusions Elainore had promised, the greatest one was herself? But he’d seen her before. Why was he seeing her in her true form—if that’s what it was—now?

Goddess, but he missed Kamir. He would give much to see him one last time, because he knew even though Kamir would be desperate to get to him, he’d never been in the sewers in his life and Mansala would never let him out of his sight.

Then he felt the love that enveloped him. A warmth rushed over him that he couldn’t describe with any other word. He felt like he’d been found. Rescued. If you overlooked being tied and in the sewers. That almost made him smile, which was ridiculous, and made him want to smile even more. He closed his eyes and basked in the feeling that surrounded him, urging him to hold on. They were coming for him; he just had to hold on.

He heard Elainore murmur something to the man and something told him not to reveal he could see Elainore’s true form. “We leave as soon as our visitor arrives.”

Who? Tsaria thought and tried again. “I’m a simple pleasure slave. I have no value—"

Elainore laughed. “You don’t think the emir is just going to let you go?” She leaned forward. “My people have waited over ten generations to be set free. You think we like living in dirt? Do you think for one second that if he doesn’t give up his crown, I won’t slit his throat while he sleeps?”

Tsaria gazed at her in horror, thankful that between Mansala and Damatrious she would never get her hands on Kamir. “But you have Gabar. Why do you need Kamir?”

Elainore’s jaw worked. “It is better for all peoples if we have a swift transition.”

“A transition to what?” Tsaria asked, genuinely puzzled, but with an awful thought. She’d said she wanted a home for her people, but what if that home wasn’t a stretch of land with water access? What if it was a palace?

He was right. He knew he was.

She turned to one of the other men. “Let me know the second Nana Bex arrives.”

Tsaria had even more trouble keeping his face straight that time. Nana Bex? The bitch that Jael had told them conned mothers into prostituting themselves so their kids could share a ratty old mattress, then turned around and did the same to the kids so their mothers were allowed the same?

Why wasn’t he surprised? Did she run this part of the sewers? Like Moxie? Tam had told him there were various gangs down here, and then he heard the frightened cries of what sounded like a child and opened his eyes. The cry was cut off rather abruptly before a woman shuffled into sight. They stared at each other. She spat what looked like a glob of chewing tobacco on the floor, and Tsaria did his best not to let his revulsion show. He was supposed to be good at this. He’d spent the last nine summers behind a mask, and he’d seen worse, so much worse. Why was he having so much trouble now?

“This Kamir’s fancy piece?” Nana Bex looked at him with avarice gleaming in her bloodshot eyes.

“I’m a slave,” Tsaria bit out, even knowing it was useless. “I have zero value to—”

“To ‘im?” Nana Bex finished for him, just as two large boys dragged another man into sight. He was unconscious. Tsaria stilled. His lungs seemed to freeze. He knew who it was before Nana Bex grabbed Kamir by the hair and raised his head. Elainore let out a startled cry and then threw her head back and shrieked, bloody spittle flying. “You fool!” she spat.

Tsaria wanted to scream, curse. If he had a blade, both women would be bleeding out on the stone floor.

Nana Bex looked over at Elainore. “Calm down. Found him a mile from the palace. Stuck out like a sore thumb, and my boys clocked him right away. We made sure he’s unconscious so he can’t grow scales. Wonder how much they’ll pay now?”