But in Elyne, nobody – not even commoners – could be forced to marry anyone they did not wish to. They could leave the service of a landowner or employer and work for another. They were paid for their labour.
“Mistress, it is time,” Vora said. As Stara turned to face her the woman’s eyes narrowed. “You look acceptable.” Then the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “No, you are beautiful, mistress – and lucky to be so.”
Stara scowled. “It has only ever brought me trouble, and is likely to again tonight.”
Vora snorted softly, then gestured to the door. “I’m sure you’ve never used your looks to manipulate others, especially not in trade.”
“Once, but it had entirely the opposite effect from the one I hoped for.” Stara strode to the door. “If your appearance is all people see, they have no respect for your mind.”
“Then they underestimate you, mistress. That is a weakness you can exploit,” Vora said as she followed.
Stara weaved through the corridors of her father’s mansion. For a slave, Vora was unexpectedly forthright. And bossy. Stara knew she was letting the woman get away with it because she was unused to dealing with slaves, and couldn’t bring herself to snap at them as her father did.
Now, as she reached the master’s room, she felt the knot in her stomach tighten.
Her father sat in the same chair as he had the day she arrived, but other seats had been arranged around it and were occupied. Two men in richly decorated jackets sat to one side. She noted the knife sheaths at their belts that indicated they were magicians. On the other sat another stranger, in less colourful clothes and with no knife, and a man she recognised. As she realised who he was she felt her stomach sink. As if sensing her dismay, her brother looked up at her and frowned.
Then her father glanced towards the door and saw her waiting. He beckoned. Remembering Vora’s lessons, Stara lowered her gaze and crossed to the only empty chair, directly across from her father, and waited for his permission to sit down.
“This is my daughter, Stara,” he said to his guests. “She has recently returned from Elyne.”
The men looked at Stara appraisingly for a moment, then away. She took care not to meet their eyes, warned by Vora that it was considered rude.
“It must be a balm to your heart to have such beauty and grace in your home, Ashaki Sokara,” the man in the plain jacket said.
“Yes, you are lucky to have bred such a jewel,” added the younger of the garishly dressed men. Stara swallowed a bitter laugh. That was more accurate. Jewel. Asset. Stock to trade. Something you lock away in a safe place and only take out to show off to guests.
“Stara has been away for many years, and is still learning our customs and manners,” her father said. He met her eyes and frowned, and she realised she had been looking directly at him. Suppressing a sigh, she set her gaze on the floor.
“How old is she?” the older garish man asked.
“Twenty-two,” her father replied. She opened her mouth to correct him, then stopped herself.
“And she has never been married?” the young man asked, surprise in his tone. “Nor bred any children?”
“No,” her father replied. She could feel his eyes on her. “Her mother was instructed to prevent either, and did an admirable job.”
“Indeed she has, considering how the Elyne women behave.” Stara resisted a smile. It hadn’t been her mother’s efforts that had prevented marriage or pregnancy. Stara’s determination that nothing would prevent her becoming a trader had led her to refuse the few offers of marriage that had come her way, and magic had ensured that her enjoyment of lovers’ company hadn’t resulted in any awkward consequences.
“Sit down, Stara,” her father said.
She obeyed. To her relief, the conversation now turned from herself to political issues. She was to sit silently, only speaking if questioned, and then only after looking to her father for permission to speak. Eventually food and drink was brought by slaves, served first to her father, then to her brother, then to the guests and finally to her.
Throughout the meal she pretended moments of forgetfulness, nearly speaking or eating out of turn then quickly catching herself. The young man must be her father’s choice of husband, so she took to tapping her feet quietly when he spoke, and stifling the occasional yawn, in the hope that it would irritate him.
Aside from that first glance, her brother did not look at her again during the evening. His expression remained aloof and indifferent. He only spoke when the guests sought his opinion.
Little trade was discussed, to Stara’s disappointment. The talk was all about politics. She listened, knowing that such matters could affect trade, especially in Sachaka.
“Sachaka needs to fight Kyralia,” the older garish man declared at one point, “or it will turn on itself.”
“Invading Kyralia will only delay the inevitable,” the sober man disagreed. “We must solve our problems here, not complicate them by involving other lands, and giving those bold enough to disobey the emperor more power than they deserve.”
“If we defeat them, the Kyralians will hardly be in a position to involve themselves in our politics,” the young garish man pointed out. “And anyone who manages to conquer it will earn respect and power.”
“But a freshly conquered land needs controlling. As do conquerors, if their ambition is not satisfied but instead increased by their success.”
“The emperor would never—”
“Kakato,” the older garish man cut in, silencing his son. “Let us not presume to know what the emperor would or wouldn’t do.”
The night wore on, long past the meal’s end. Stara found herself not having to fake her yawns. When her father finally dismissed her she rose and bowed with genuine relief before she left.
In the corridor outside, Vora was waiting. The woman’s lips were pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing until they reached Stara’s rooms.
“So, mistress,” the slave said, as always with no trace of subservience, but Stara could not bring herself to correct the woman. “What did you think of your prospective husband?”
Stara sniffed dismissively. “I wasn’t impressed. He’s a bit young for me, don’t you think?”
Vora’s eyebrows rose. “Young? How old do you like your men?”
“Old?” Stara paused, then narrowed her eyes at the woman. “It isn’t Kakato?”
The slave shook her head.
“Then one of the old . . . you must be joking! Which one, then?” The soberly dressed man had spoken the most intelligently, Stara noted, whereas the older garish man had seemed little smarter than his son.
“Master Kakato’s father, Master Tokacha.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask, mistress.”
Stara gave the woman a withering look.
“I was ordered to teach you customs, nothing more.” Vora spread her hands. “To do any more than ordered is to disobey.”
“If I order you to tell me anything that might be useful or important, unless that information is specifically restricted by my father, would you be able to?”
The woman smiled and nodded. “Of course, mistress.”
“Then tell me. Everything that might be useful or important.” Stara lifted the necklaces from her neck. It was amazing how tiring the weight of so much jewellery could be. One of them caught on the headdress and she cursed. She felt Vora’s hands plucking at it and soon she was free.
