themselves into his hair and yanked. He came up then, his knees skirting stone.
“Blood the stones.”
The ladle shook violently as Darin tried to force it into the silver pail.
Missed. Bright Heart—I missed!
“Please ... please ... I’ll do it. I’m trying to do it. Please ...”
The slavemaster said nothing. He held Darin up by the hair and waited until Darin finally managed to draw the liquid out. It glistened in the darkness, as if there were more light in it than just the reflection of the pale, pale moon.
And it screamed in Darin’s heart as it formed little rivulets that filled the grooves of House Damion’s crest.
“More.”
Weeping, Darin did as he was ordered.
Hours later, it was over. The sun rose, entering the courtyard to see a small, unmoving body curled awkwardly around the proud crest of House Damion.
Darin woke alone. His eyes were swollen, and it hurt to open them.
The pain had stopped.
A knock sounded, as if at a great distance away.
“Yes?” He tensed then, before realizing that it really was his voice that had uttered the single word. He turned his head very gingerly to one side and wondered if his insides had turned to liquid; it felt much like that.
Stev entered the room.
“Darin?” he said, his voice soft and quiet. “I’ve brought you food.”
“Where am I?”
“Your new room,” Stev answered, coming closer. He carried a lamp with him; the tiny fire on the end of the wick seemed to dance.
“Room,” Darin repeated. He rose onto his elbow and then cried out in pain.
“Your arm!” Stev put something down and quickly walked over to the bed. He placed a cool hand on Darin’s forehead and pushed him back onto the pillows. “Careful of that; it’s been set by a doctor, but you aren’t to use it for near six weeks.”
“Where am I?”
“It’s all right, Darin. You were moved. You have your own room.”
“My own ...”
“You don’t have to share it with any other slaves.”
“I’m not with you?”
“No, lad. Hush. It’s a miracle that you’re alive at all.”
A miracle. Tears began to roll down Darin’s cheeks.
“The slavemaster overstepped himself a week ago. You’ve had a real doctor in to see you and you’re abed for at least three weeks by the lord’s command. You’re to eat as often as you can, and to drink more so.”
Darin closed his eyes.
Stev stopped speaking. He looked at Darin’s still face, then bent gently down. “Darin, Darin lad. It’s all right. It’s over.” He sat down on the bed and with infinite care drew Darin’s head and shoulders to rest against him. There he began to rock very slowly, backward and forward.
Darin continued to cry. But it was no child’s crying, this. He was silent, although his lips trembled. The arms around him were thin but strong.
“Ah, Lady, Lady,” Stev whispered into Darin’s matted hair.
“Lady, grant your mercy here.” He held Darin until he felt the muscles of the boy’s arms and shoulders relax. Still he did not let go, but stayed in the near-darkness.
All of Stev’s memories of life were of slavery; it was what he knew. He had seen much, both in House Damion and beyond its walls. He was as all slaves were: hardened to the injustice of the life he led. He was almost comfortable with it—or so he had thought.
But there was something about this sleeping boy that kept him here, although the tasks outside wouldn’t wait. It kept him rocking and whispering meaningless prayers and words of comfort around the growing lump in his throat.
And when the child spoke, he thought he knew why he had waited.
“Daddy, I have no name anymore, no name.”
Stev tightened his arms as if to somehow protect the boy from the bewildered pain in his own voice.
“No name. Kerren’s dead. I have ... I have no family.” He tried to sit up, but Stev still held him, and slowly he sank back to rest against the warmth of another human being. “Wait for me, Daddy? Tell Mommy to wait, too.
“Blood the stones.”
The ladle shook violently as Darin tried to force it into the silver pail.
Missed. Bright Heart—I missed!
“Please ... please ... I’ll do it. I’m trying to do it. Please ...”
The slavemaster said nothing. He held Darin up by the hair and waited until Darin finally managed to draw the liquid out. It glistened in the darkness, as if there were more light in it than just the reflection of the pale, pale moon.
And it screamed in Darin’s heart as it formed little rivulets that filled the grooves of House Damion’s crest.
“More.”
Weeping, Darin did as he was ordered.
Hours later, it was over. The sun rose, entering the courtyard to see a small, unmoving body curled awkwardly around the proud crest of House Damion.
Darin woke alone. His eyes were swollen, and it hurt to open them.
The pain had stopped.
A knock sounded, as if at a great distance away.
“Yes?” He tensed then, before realizing that it really was his voice that had uttered the single word. He turned his head very gingerly to one side and wondered if his insides had turned to liquid; it felt much like that.
Stev entered the room.
“Darin?” he said, his voice soft and quiet. “I’ve brought you food.”
“Where am I?”
“Your new room,” Stev answered, coming closer. He carried a lamp with him; the tiny fire on the end of the wick seemed to dance.
“Room,” Darin repeated. He rose onto his elbow and then cried out in pain.
“Your arm!” Stev put something down and quickly walked over to the bed. He placed a cool hand on Darin’s forehead and pushed him back onto the pillows. “Careful of that; it’s been set by a doctor, but you aren’t to use it for near six weeks.”
“Where am I?”
“It’s all right, Darin. You were moved. You have your own room.”
“My own ...”
“You don’t have to share it with any other slaves.”
“I’m not with you?”
“No, lad. Hush. It’s a miracle that you’re alive at all.”
A miracle. Tears began to roll down Darin’s cheeks.
“The slavemaster overstepped himself a week ago. You’ve had a real doctor in to see you and you’re abed for at least three weeks by the lord’s command. You’re to eat as often as you can, and to drink more so.”
Darin closed his eyes.
Stev stopped speaking. He looked at Darin’s still face, then bent gently down. “Darin, Darin lad. It’s all right. It’s over.” He sat down on the bed and with infinite care drew Darin’s head and shoulders to rest against him. There he began to rock very slowly, backward and forward.
Darin continued to cry. But it was no child’s crying, this. He was silent, although his lips trembled. The arms around him were thin but strong.
“Ah, Lady, Lady,” Stev whispered into Darin’s matted hair.
“Lady, grant your mercy here.” He held Darin until he felt the muscles of the boy’s arms and shoulders relax. Still he did not let go, but stayed in the near-darkness.
All of Stev’s memories of life were of slavery; it was what he knew. He had seen much, both in House Damion and beyond its walls. He was as all slaves were: hardened to the injustice of the life he led. He was almost comfortable with it—or so he had thought.
But there was something about this sleeping boy that kept him here, although the tasks outside wouldn’t wait. It kept him rocking and whispering meaningless prayers and words of comfort around the growing lump in his throat.
And when the child spoke, he thought he knew why he had waited.
“Daddy, I have no name anymore, no name.”
Stev tightened his arms as if to somehow protect the boy from the bewildered pain in his own voice.
“No name. Kerren’s dead. I have ... I have no family.” He tried to sit up, but Stev still held him, and slowly he sank back to rest against the warmth of another human being. “Wait for me, Daddy? Tell Mommy to wait, too.
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