In Thrall by Madelene Martin Page A

older than Zahira was. But he was the only avenue through which to gain more status, wealth and one day - possibly - freedom. A wife - or even a concubine - could be freed by their Master, if he favored her enough.
    In the last year or so, she had spent a lot of time being frustrated. Her body was ripe, and she yearned for physical intimacy. She liked to read the titillating books that the women passed around. She daydreamed of the embrace of the handsome men from the stories and artworks. She thought about it touching herself at night when everyone else was asleep. She would sneak out onto the balconies and looked out over the city when teams of workers went by, admiring the strong muscles of their shirtless chests and shoulders.
    It was strange to think that in contrast to those strong, virile men, she was hoping for a life of devotion to a man who might live for only a few more years. And yet - it was what she must hope for.
    Suitably dressed and prepared, all there was to do was wait. She sat on a cushioned couch and waited to be called.
    Hours later, everyone else was settling into sleep – spread out on the floor on cushions, furs silks and bedrolls.  Zahira leaned against the couch and tried to stay awake. She wanted so badly to lay down, but couldn't risk disturbing her hair. She listened to the soft snoring of the women and the whispers of the few who hadn't yet gone to sleep.
    There were noises in the rest of the house – more than the usual background hum. She thought that perhaps the Master had visitors and that was the reason he hadn't yet called on her. As she listened though, Zahira heard more thumps, and then – loud smashing noises.
    Alarmed, she sat bold upright, clutching her shawl to her chest. She strained to listen, wondering what was going on. Suddenly, a male scream rang out.
    Now the girls were stirring on their mattresses. The ones who were awake were sitting up and murmuring confusedly among themselves.
    More screams, and they were coming closer.
    Zahira jumped up. “Get up! Get up, something is happening!” She called out, stooping to shake the nearest woman by the shoulder.
    There were thieves or attackers in the house. She could hear the eunuch guards stationed outside the harem milling about, yelling to each other. It wasn't the first time this had happened, of course – it was a wealthy house and like any noble family, they had their enemies. But the guards were strong and battle-proven. They would take care of it as they always did, she was sure.
    She helped gather the children and youngest girls together and assisted the servants in herding them into the bathing rooms, pushing furniture in front of the doors, while women awoke and scampered to clothe themselves decently and cover their faces.
    The sounds of battle were right outside - so close they could hear the slash of steel and male grunts and shouts. Now the women cowered and huddled together at the back of the room. A couple of them took up whatever makeshift weapons they could find – from candlesticks and letter openers to wooden clogs. Others began to cry and moan.
    “Be quiet!” One of the wiser servants admonished in a hiss, and the women were startled into silence. Zahira thought it was unlikely that whoever was attacking didn't know what was in here. From the approaching sounds, it seemed as though they were making a concerted effort to reach the harem.
    Suddenly the doors burst open. For a moment she could see nothing, but then a large brutish man pushed his way in. Zahira could see the body of one of the eunuchs laying on the ground, sprawled unnaturally. Her mouth fell open in horror.
    The man turned to yell to his companions and more of them swarmed through the doors. They were Northmen, armed with axes and swords, and dressed in linen and leather. Some of them were covered in blood. They all ranged from large to huge, and Zahira had never seen men with such blonde hair and pale skin outside of paintings and books.