Chapter 4

T he bathroom is like nothing I've ever seen. The room is so white and clean I'm afraid just touching something will make it dirty, which will be sure to earn me a punishment. A large, sunken tub takes up the whole right side of the room and is big enough for at least three people to sit in comfortably. Cabinets line the wall to my left, a huge mirror covering half the wall. I step to the side, not wanting to face what I might see in the reflection. I turn my attention to the various bottles of lotions that line the top of the marble countertop. I have no idea why one person would need so many. Then I realise with a blush that no man would have this much, and I must be looking at something that belongs to his partner. I know he's not married, thanks to the gossip from the servants who always forget that the slaves are listening to their whispers. However, I didn't know that he had a partner, or any…lovers. How would she feel knowing a slave was locked away in her partner's bathroom, using her lotions? Looking away with a shudder, I step towards the tub.

The sound of footsteps outside the door has me spinning and lunging for the little silver lock, sliding the bolt across. Taking a step back, I wrap my arms around myself. I know that against a magician a tiny lock wouldn't keep him away, but this small piece of metal has me feeling more secure anyway. Suddenly, despite the brief moment of security I'd felt, everything that's happened in the last few hours hits me. I start to tremble, my stomach rolls, and I only just make it to the toilet before I'm vomiting into the basin. Retching, I empty the meagre contents of my stomach as if I'm purging my body of the events of the day. Replaying the magician's words in my head, I press my forehead against my braced arms and try to calm my breathing.

Safe. You're safe. He said so, no one will hurt you, I repeat over and over until the shaking stops and I can sit back on my heels. I shouldn't trust him. Why would he offer me safety? He knows I'm twenty, so why is he delaying the inevitable?

I don't know why, but I believe him and decide to enjoy my reprieve. After a moment I'm feeling stronger, so I push up and walk back to the bathtub, reaching toward the two silver knobs. Turning one to the right, my mouth twitches up in some semblance of a smile as hot water starts streaming from the tap and into the tub.

I don't remember ever having a bath, it's not a luxury slaves get to enjoy. So when I overheard women discussing the pleasure of enjoying a relaxing bath, I never understood. The rough washing downs from the guards certainly don't count. Every month they gather a group of slaves, strip them naked, and pump freezing water through a hose, dousing us to remove the dirt and grime that covers us like a second skin. It's a humiliating and painful occasion. Washing is a necessity to stop us from getting sick, not something to bring pleasure. However, as I run the bath, I can't help the small flicker of excitement that fills me at the prospect of getting truly clean.

The sound of flowing water echoes around the room and, cautiously, I flick my gaze up to see that the large mirror has steamed up. Releasing a breath I hadn't realised I was holding, I take a step towards the counter and stare with wide eyes at the rows upon rows of bottles. I only ever learned basic letters and words before I became a slave, so as I stare at the bottles the letters on the labels start to swim in my vision. Blindly, I reach forward and grab one, not knowing or caring if it's right. Pulling the cork from the top, a sweet, floral smell greets my nose before I dump half the contents of the bottle into the bath. Bubbles soon start to form and I reach to remove my shift, but something stops me. Voices.

Frowning, I shuffle over to the door, trying to be as quiet as my chains will allow. I know that the Mother frowns upon spying, but I've been rescued from death only to be told that I've been seen in one of the great magician's visions. It's been one hell of a day. Besides, I doubt I'm in her good books anyway, so what's one more misdemeanour?

Pressing my ear against the bathroom door, I hear the sound of footsteps, like they're pacing the room. I could have sworn I heard voices, but right now I can only hear what I assume is Grayson pacing the length of the chamber. What's caused him to be so tense? Does he think I'm going to try to escape? Or is he regretting his decision to save me from the executioner? I'm about to pull away from the door when the voices start up again.

"Are you sure it was her?" That's not Grayson. The voice is male, and older than the magician who brought me here. He sounds...disapproving. I can't say I blame him. When Grayson had an image of a girl who would be influential in the war, I'm betting they were hoping for one of the noble ladies. Not a slave girl who has reached the end of her usefulness.

"Yes," Grayson answers, his voice firm. Whatever vision he saw, he fully believes in it. "As soon as I saw her, it was like a bolt of electricity shot down my spine. I don't know why, but she's important."

"She's a slave. A nobody." The disgust in the older man's voice is nothing I'm not used to, but today it twists something inside me.

"She has a part to play in the war. We can't kill her." Grayson's smooth response is quick, but it strikes me like a physical blow.

"Then what do we do with her? She might be dangerous," the older man counters, but I barely hear him.

We can't kill her .

Pulling away from the door, I stare at it in shock, not really seeing it. They truly aren't going to kill me. I hadn't let myself believe it when the magician turned up and whisked me away. Death is only a slip of the foot away when you're a slave, the slightest transgression or error can lead to your execution, your body just one more to add to the mass graves outside of the city. I've always known I would live a short life, but then I was shown a glimpse of something else.

Hope.

Shaking my head, I take a step back. Thoughts like that are dangerous. The only way I've gotten through the last twelve years is by living a day at a time, and that's what I need to do right now. Focus on surviving today. Taking a deep breath, I frown as I see a dark, dirty smear on the door where I was pressed against it. Mother above. If they see that they will know I was listening to their conversation. Something wet touches my foot and I smother the shriek that tries to escape. Spinning around, my eyes widen in horror when I see the bathtub is overflowing with bubbles. I'll get a flogging for this for sure. A pounding on the door has me jumping into action, leaping forward to turn off the taps and desperately trying to scoop the bubbles back into the bathtub, but they continue to flow over the top.

"What's going on in there?" Grayson's voice is muffled through the wooden door, but I can hear the command in his tone. "Open the door," he demands, as my eyes dart around the room, desperately looking for a way out of this. Only there isn't one. Sinking to the floor, I feel my chest tighten as I try to stop the flow of water and bubbles towards the door. The water is hot, almost scalding, but I ignore that as I grab handfuls of bubbles, desperately trying to throw them back into the tub. He doesn't wait for me to comply with his orders, and I feel the tingle of magic run over me as the little lock on the door undoes itself.

The door swings open and I lower my head as I wait for his response. He says nothing, the only sound is the gentle splashing of the water overflowing onto the floor. Belatedly, I shift my position so I'm prostrate before him, my forehead pressing against the wet floor, soapy water stinging my eyes as it continues to make its path towards the magician's boots.

"What in the…" Grayson exclaims but he trails off, and I can almost feel his eyes burning into me. He's silent for a moment and I keep myself as still as I can until I hear a noise of disgust. Fighting the urge to look up, I focus on my breathing, trying not to choke on the bubbles that are starting to surround me.

"I told you she'd be trouble," the older man chides, before he walks away with clipped steps, leaving me alone with the magician. This is the biggest bathroom I've ever been in, but suddenly the room feels small, constricting.

"Get up," he demands quietly, and as I push up from my position, tilting my head, I see him looking around the room with a frown before he drops his gaze back to me. Bowing my head to avoid eye contact, I hear his sigh before his knees appear in my field of vision. "I thought I told you to stop throwing yourself onto the floor." His voice has a teasing edge to it, but I daren't risk that he's not joking and remain in my position on the floor. I hear his sigh as he takes another step closer to me, but he doesn't bother kneeling, not this time. Is that because of my reaction last time, or because a slave isn't worth getting his smart uniform wet for?

"You're not in trouble, get up." There is definite frustration in his tone now and, deciding not to push him any further, I scramble to my feet. Daring to look up, I watch the high magician as he surveys the damage to the room. A wry smile pulls at his lips when he reaches for the bottle I'd chosen.

"I applaud your good taste in scents, but did you need to use so much? This is expensive stuff."

I can't help it, I stare at him. This is a high magician, one of the men who protects our kingdom, but here he is, talking to a slave about his favourite perfume. Are all of them like this? Somehow, I don't think they are. The magicians have a scary reputation for killing first and asking questions later, their training brutal and their Goddess-given powers lethal.

Wide-eyed, I continue to stare at him, drawing a blank at his expectant expression. His eyebrow raises when I don't respond. I think he's joking. He hasn't reprimanded me, which he would have done had he been truly angry at the mess. He sighs again at my lack of response and waves his hands in a complicated gesture that has the water and bubbles starting to clear.

"I'm sorry, I've never used it before," I whisper, as I watch him working his magic, the tell-tale tingling sensation running over me stronger than I've ever felt it before. Questions simmer up inside me, but I push them away. I've always been inquisitive and it's landed me in trouble more times than I can count, but I'd have a death wish if I questioned a high magician.

"Mother above!" The high pitch exclamation has me spinning around to see a stern-looking woman gaping at the mess. "Mother above! What is going on in here?" Her gaze lands on me for a moment, and I brace myself for a beating, but her eyes soon narrow on the magician.

"Jayne, I was trying to help our guest. I was distracted and I didn't notice that the water overran," Grayson lies smoothly, and with a flick of his hand the floor is spotless. The woman, Jayne, stares at him, unblinking, and for a moment I think she is going to call him out on his lie. Letting out a huff of air, she shakes her head, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile.

"Well, at least you cleaned up after yourself." She tuts, trying but failing to hide her smile as she bustles into the room.

"It's good to see you again, Jayne." His voice is warm, and for a moment I don't see the imposing high magician, I see a young man who's been away from home for a long time.

"You as well, dear. You don't visit me often enough," she chides gently, before shooing him away. "Now, leave us alone, it's not proper that you're in here alone with a young lady."

I look down at the shackles around my ankles and barely manage to hide my snort when she calls me a lady. Shifting on my feet, the metal rattles and I frown. Those are going to make bathing difficult. Skin tingling, I glance up to see Grayson staring at my legs intently as his fingers dance in intricate movements. A quiet click sounds from the cuffs, but it may as well have been a gunshot. It reverberates through me as they fall to the floor with a clatter. Mumbled voices fill the room around me, but they fade away as I stare at my now bare ankles.

For twelve years those have been bound to me, the only constant in my life. I hadn't thought I would ever see them removed. Even in death slaves are buried with their shackles. My skin stings where the air hits the raw wounds from the too tight metal bands, but I pay no heed to it. The pain is nothing compared to what I'm used to receiving. I lift a grimy foot and place it back down softly, marvelling at how quiet my steps sound without the chains rattling with my movements. Jayne says something to Grayson, her voice sharp, and I raise my head quickly and see her whipping him with a towel.

Stomach twisting, I stumble back, waiting for the retribution he will bestow upon her. To touch a magician without their permission is a crime. What Jayne just did would be considered a capital offence. But that's not what happens. The two of them ignore me as Grayson laughs and holds his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, I'm going!" Throwing the older woman a fond smile, he strides to the door before turning to look at me. He seems to pick up on my distress, noticing I've shrunk back into the corner of the room. For a second I think he's going to say something or take a step towards me, but his expression changes into a frown. His gaze drops to my ankles and then the cuffs. When he meets my eyes again, he looks every inch the magician, his hard eyes boring into me as if he can see all my secrets. I'm instantly reminded that although he may have saved me from the executioner, he could easily kill me if I was to upset him. I must never forget what he is capable of. After another couple of agonising seconds, he dips his head slightly and leaves the room, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

As soon as he leaves, I feel like I can breathe again, and I blow out a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. Jayne turns to survey me, and I use the opportunity to do the same. She's shorter than me and of the typical Arhaven build, with slender shoulders and narrow hips. Her hair, which I'm sure was once fair and golden, is now peppered with grey and pulled back neatly. She's wearing the dark blue uniform of a magician's servant, the same colour worn by their masters. She must have been working in the castle for a long time to have been granted this position, plus she seemed to know Grayson well.

Her blue eyes scan over my thin frame, my lank, dark hair that's falling into my face, and down to my raw ankles. Unable to hold her shrewd gaze, I drop mine to the floor. I'm waiting for her to belittle me or force me to my knees once she works out I'm a slave. But the blow never comes. Hesitantly, I lift my head, and for a second I think I see sympathy in her eyes before she quickly schools her expression. Sighing, she gestures towards the bath.

"Go on then, get in," she instructs, as she places her hands on her hips, watching my every move. Taking small, careful steps, I tiptoe towards the huge tub. As I reach it, I grab the bottom of my shift, but stop to glance over at Jayne, who just raises her eyebrows at me. "Come on, no need to be shy. We have the same equipment." Biting my lip, I nod. She's right, after all. Plus, after what I've been through today, removing my clothing in front of another woman is nothing. This is no worse than when we're chosen by the guards for monthly inspections.

To make sure that the slaves aren't hiding contraband, the king holds regular inspections, and should anything be found or guards have suspicions about a slave, then a personal inspection of that slave can be authorised. If you're chosen, you're taken to the courtyard, stripped of your clothing, and forced to stand naked until the captain is assured that you aren't carrying contraband. Of course, none of us ever are. I never got chosen when I was young, it wasn't until I became older that the guards started to notice me more. Now I'm lucky if I make it a month without being picked.

The memory of the guards disgusting gazes makes me shudder as I pull my shift off over my head, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. Turning my back to Jayne and reaching out to grasp the side of the bath, I freeze as her shocked gasp echoes around the room.

"Mother above," she swears, before the sounds of her shuffling alert me to her coming closer. "They branded you? What did you do?" Her voice is horrified.

I know what she's asking—what did I do to deserve being punished in this way? Anger boils up inside me, and I don't know if it's because of today's events or if it's because I feel safer around her, but I can't stop the bitterness that coats my words.

"All slaves are branded this way the moment we become slaves, to remind us that we belong to the king." The brand at the bottom of my spine, although long healed, always looks red and angry. It throbs under Jayne's stare, as if talking about it makes the pain fresh. The king's symbol, branded on me forever, marks me as his property. If she was upset by that, then she would hate the mess of scars on my stomach.

"I knew about the numbers. But not this…" She trails off and I flinch as I feel her fingers brush over the mark. I learned from an early age that the only time someone touches you is to inflict pain, so I brace myself against the bath as I await the blow.

"Will you stop acting like I'm going to beat you?" Jayne commands, some of her fire coming back into her voice as she seems to shake away the shock of seeing my brand. Spurred into action, I lift a foot and place it into the water, hissing quietly as the water stings the raw skin of my ankles. Jayne doesn't say anything as she guides me into the water, but I can see her frown from the corner of my eye. Easing down into a sitting position, I wait expectantly as Jayne bustles around.

"You soak some of that dirt off and enjoy the hot water. I'll be back shortly," she directs, before she walks out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Dumbstruck, I look around the room. My whole life has been guided by the instructions of others. Clean here. Move this there. I've never had time to myself to "enjoy" anything. What do I do? My mind is spinning, thoughts flashing through my head before I have a chance to fully comprehend them, but I soon find my eyelids drooping as the hot water soothes my muscles. Hesitantly, I lean against the sloping side of the bath and rest my head back, after all, no one's here to see me.

Watching the steam rise from the hot water surrounding me, I reach out to touch it, smiling slightly as it eddies around my fingers, swirling in the air. My smile drops as I think about what will be awaiting me once I leave the bath and face the magician who saved me. He took the blame for me. And lied. Why ? Frowning, I shake my head, trying to rid it of thoughts of Grayson, and tell myself to just be thankful that he did. Sinking lower into the water, I close my eyes and let myself pretend, just for a moment, that I'm someone else.

The sound of somebody tapping on the door has me opening my eyes and I realise I must have fallen asleep. Sitting up, I frown at the still closed door. Why aren't they coming in? The knock comes again and I realise with shock that they're waiting for me to respond.

"Yes?" I croak, but Jayne must hear me because she walks in, shutting the door behind her before moving over to me, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"It's relaxing, right?"

"Yes," I reply, my voice a little stronger this time. She seems different now, but I can't put my finger on why. Handing me a sponge, she gestures for me to face the wall. Turning in the tub so my back is to her, I hear her puff out a breath as she sinks to her knees behind me. There's a pause, and I get the impression she's trying to work out what to say.

"I'm going to wash your hair," she explains as she gently reaches out and gathers my dirty locks. I don't really want her to touch me, but I get the feeling she's not going to hurt me.

"Okay," I murmur, trying to relax as I begin to rub the sponge against my arms. I grimace when the sponge soon turns black. A soft tug encourages me to tilt my head back, and Jayne pours warm water over my hair. I worry about the water going onto the floor again, but I can hear it splash into some sort of bowl. A sweet smell fills the air before her hands are on my scalp, massaging something into my hair. I fight against my instincts to shy away, and after a moment I start to enjoy the pleasant feeling.

Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. It seems to take a while and Jayne mutters under her breath about the amount of dirt coming from my hair. Once she's done and I've scrubbed my skin clean, the water left in the bath is grey with muck. Gesturing for me to stand, Jayne tries to help me out, but I quickly and ungracefully climb out myself, ignoring the slight look of hurt that crosses her face. When I stand, I see the expression has disappeared and she passes me a large towel, wrapping it around me. Without waiting for an answer, she pulls out a chair from beneath the counter and gestures towards it.

Suddenly, it goes dark as something is placed over my head. Heart pounding, I thrash around, trying to knock off the covering.

This is it, they're trying to kill me. They're going to take me away . The thoughts are nearly consuming as my chest heaves, my eyes stinging as I fight tears. I was stupid to trust them, and I'm going to die for that mistake. The cover is removed and I squint against the light. I see a shocked looking Jayne standing in front of me, her hands outstretched as if to comfort me. But she doesn't, instead she hovers there, unsure. Panting, I meet her eyes for a second before looking away, wrapping my arms around my middle.

"I'm sorry, I forgot…" She trails off and I can hear her regret. She slowly reaches for my chin, guiding my face up until my eyes meet hers. "Whatever life you had before today, it's in the past. It's going to be a learning curve, for you and for me. I'll try to be more careful, if you can work on trusting me?" She's asking the impossible. I don't trust anyone, that's a luxury I can't afford to have.

"He told you about me." A statement, not a question. She knows I'm a slave, yet she doesn't treat me like one. I examine her face as I wait for her response. She seems wary, concerned. She treats me differently than others do. Most people don't see me . I'm usually perceived as a nuisance, like something unpleasant they just stepped in. Jayne is treating me like, like...a normal person.

"He told me you're important, and I trust him," she responds. I hold her gaze long enough to ascertain that she's telling the truth before dropping my head again. Sighing, she guides me towards the chair. Pulling my towels closer, I perch on the edge of the seat, ready to jump up if I need to. I don't think Jayne's going to hurt me, but I'm in an unfamiliar place and old habits are hard to break.

Jayne moves slowly and positions herself so that I can see what she's doing. I'm not sure if she's doing it on purpose, but I'm grateful for it. Raising the towel, she proceeds to dry and comb out my hair. We're silent as she works, but it's not a cold, strained silence, and I find myself enjoying being in her company. Once done, she comes to stand behind me and guides my head up to look in the mirror. I go to glance away out of instinct, but I find I can't move my eyes from the image I see.

It was only a handful of hours ago that I looked in the grimy mirror in the forgotten closet, but the difference between those hours is shocking. I don't recognise the young woman sitting in front of me. Her dark hair falls around her face in shiny waves, thick and full. Her face, while pale, looks soft and clean compared to the gaunt, haunted looking reflection from before. But it's my eyes that hold the biggest difference. I've always thought my almond-shaped eyes were too big, eternally seeing things people want hidden, and sure, I still look too thin but there is something in my eyes that's altered. I look like someone determined. But determined for what?

"You're very pretty. I didn't notice before under all that dirt." The comment is said lightly, but I can hear the undercurrent of disapproval in her voice. Disapproval at me, or disapproval at how we're treated to make us that dirty in the first place? Hastily, I look away and push off from the stool. Those thoughts are dangerous.

Seeing that she's made me uncomfortable, her face pinches before she nods, patting a pile of folded fabric I hadn't noticed before. "Get changed into this, call me once they're on and I'll button you in," she explains, before quietly leaving the room.

Letting out a soft breath, I slowly turn to the bundle of fabric. It's the dark, rich blue of the magicians. My heart thuds painfully in my chest. Surely she brought the wrong one? To dress me in this colour is making a statement, the magicians are claiming me. But for what? What could an ex-slave offer a high magician? Reaching out, I frown as I notice my hand shaking and force myself to slow my breathing. This is ridiculous. Scowling at the offending piece of clothing, I grab it and fight my way into it, ignoring the softness of the fabric and the flurry of excitement and nerves that I refuse to let surface. The fabric flutters down to just below my knees, the snug sleeves cutting off just above my elbows. I refuse to look in the mirror as I call out to Jayne to let her know I'm dressed. It's silent for a while and I wonder if I haven't spoken loudly enough, but I turn away as the door opens, baring my back for her to button up the dress.

"Can you button me up please?" I request quietly, boldly. I still don't know what's happening, but I like Jayne.

Silence follows my question. Did I say something wrong? I can feel her eyes on my brand again, my skin tingling under the weight of her stare. Shuffling my weight, I pull at the fabric, unused to such tight clothing, feeling awkward in the silence. I open my mouth, to say what I don't know, when I feel her hand brush the skin on my back. My skin erupts into goose pimples, a soft gasp escaping my lips as she touches my brand. It's only for a second, but I swear something within me pulses at the contact, except before I can work out what that was, she starts to button up the dress. We stay silent as she gently tugs at the fabric, fastening the fiddly buttons. She doesn't brush my skin again, and the strange pulsing sensation stays buried.

"This colour suits you," a deep male voice comments. Grayson's voice. Spinning as if the room's on fire, I back away from the male.

"I thought you were Jayne." Breathless, I startle as my back hits the wall behind me, stopping my retreat.

"I gathered that." A sly smile graces his lips.

This is all a huge joke to him, my fear is an amusement. Anger twists inside of me and I take a step forward, fists clenched at my sides.

"So, you took advantage of that and continued to let me believe you were a woman?" I can't stop the indignant words, but as soon as I've said them, I clasp my hands to my mouth as if I can pull them back. Dead, I should be so very dead. Instead, he grimaces and puts a hand to the back of his neck.

"Well I…wait…" He trails off as he sees my expression, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my sudden change in demeanour. "You can speak your mind when we're alone. I will never punish you for that."

We shall see , the small angry part of me whispers, but I brush that aside and slowly drop my hands to my sides. My brain takes a couple of moments to realise what he's said. When we're alone. Taking in the man before me, I assess him in a new light. He isn't going to hurt me, and he genuinely seems concerned that he said something to upset me. A high magician concerned about offending a slave is enough to make me laugh. Pushing away from the wall and with a bravado I don't feel, I meet his gaze.

"Do you plan to be alone with me a lot then?" I hadn't meant to make it sound sexual, but in the enclosed space of the bathroom, even I have to admit it sounds like I'm coming on to him. "I mean, I don't…I…" Trailing off, I cringe as his concerned expression starts to grow into an amused smile. "You confuse me," I admit, my face burning. His smile drops a little at my words, but he forces it back in place quickly enough that most people wouldn't notice. But I'm a slave, we notice the smallest changes, it's what keeps us alive.

"When you're ready, come into the reception room and we'll explain what's going to happen." Taking a step back, Grayson grabs the door handle and pulls it open. One foot out of the door, he turns back to look at me. "I truly am sorry for making you believe I was Jayne. I stepped out of line."

Nodding in response, I watch him leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Frowning at the space the magician had just been standing in, I raise my hand to my temple where a headache is beginning to form. That man confuses me.

He's dangerous and I need to be careful around him, I conclude. And not just because of his magic. It's too easy to forget what he is, but more importantly, it's too easy to forget who I am.