By the end of the interminable day, as she trudged in his wake towards the great hall and all its horrors, she was weary in soul. Forcing each leaden step, the raucous crowd of his people registered as little more than a roiling mass of sound as she wound her way through them. Slumping into the chair he pointed at, Aida remained dazed. Exhausted and wrung to the last tenuous strands of her sensibilities, she stared at the array of food that seemed to appear between one slow blink and the next.
Aida’s distress grew, pumping life back into numbed bones, when he snapped just before her nose. Flicking the edge of her plate so it shivered across the fine white linen draped over the umber hued table. She couldn’t eat. The very thought made her stomach lurch, a violent cascade of denial burning its way up her throat as she hung her head over the overflowing china. She didn’t recognize half of the fare, the spicy scents as strange as the rich colors and blackened skins.
Her new master had no such dilemma. Fingers slicked with grease and spice, he ate with gusto from the plates arrayed before him. Slicing off sizeable chunks of dripping meat and dunking them into small pots of gooey substances, he acted as if every bite was more delicious than the last.
“It is only lamb, fair Lady.”
Aida jumped at the male voice whispering at her shoulder, the frantic creature of her heart attempting to thump its way free of her chest. She didn’t dare to turn, clenching the table edge so hard her knuckles paled. After the incident this morning, Aida was even less sure of what to do. Remaining still and silent had only brought her master’s anger down upon her head. Speaking seemed to be something he was not fond of either.
“Do not worry so,” the man said, and now he pulled up the chair beside Aida, in full sight of everyone. Crooked arm resting on the table, he pointed at her plate as he named each. “Lamb stewed in a thick sauce of peppers and cream. This is just one of your chickens, braised with root vegetables. And this is but goat, skewered and roasted over the flame.”
“What are you doing, Ath’asho?” Anger crackled through the air as her master leaned over, casting Aida in his heated shadow as he addressed the other male.
“You want her to starve, Er’it?” Ath’asho snorted and pulled a woven basket of fluffy yeast rolls, golden and warm towards Aida.
“She will eat because I command her to.” Grabbing Aida’s chin, he jerked her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. To see the curl of his lip that held contempt and anger in equal measures.
“Yes, and we all saw how well that worked last night,” Ath’asho muttered as he leaned over Aida, sliding her plate closer to nudge one of the tiny metal pots closer. “Now this is a Denathi specialty, honey spiced with peppers. I find it exceptionally good on the rolls.”
“Now eat,” Er’it said on a low growl, the hilt of his knife meeting the table with a decisive wallop.
“Try it, fair Lady,” Ath’asho murmured, a ragged piece of steaming bread held in offering to her.
Gaze skittering from Er’it to the bread, Aida swallowed back her refusal. Dry of tears for the moment, she took the torn roll with care. Keeping her fingers as far away from Ath’asho’s as she could, lest he act upon it. At his insistence, she dipped it into the spiced honey and placed the whole lot in her mouth. Chewing as fast as she could, swallowing it down before she could even taste any of it, Aida hoped it would appease them all. Except Ath’asho wasn’t content with a single piece of bread and, it seemed, neither would her master.
He gave Aida no choice, forcing bite after bite upon her. As soon as she set aside her fork, he offered another morsel. A single glance at Er’it proved begging off would be nothing short of rebellion. It was long into the meal before Aida realized the vicious sloshing of her stomach abated, every small portion settling the tangled threads of her nerves until she didn’t have to choke down every bite. Now she ate with genuine desire, pausing to savor the food both strange and familiar. Even the crowded tables laid out across the hall failed to bother her over much as she filled her belly. The long benches filled to the brim with strange faces and colors, styles of dress both known and exotic, were a strange background to the languid calm seeping through her veins.
Ath’asho leaned closer, plucking the linen napkin from the table to blot at Aida’s lips after she sampled the sauced lamb. Lips curving with the ghost of humor, she gave a small nod of thanks. Didn’t flinch when he patted her hand, though a line appeared between her brows when he picked that same hand up. Running his thumb over the hills of her knuckles, the rough scrape of it odd in its soothing.
“Do you like sweets, fair Lady,” Ath’asho murmured, head canted as he observed the blush that sprung to her cheeks.
Aida nodded, afraid to admit she’d made herself sick more than once on confections. The courage to speak continued to fail her as she sensed her master on her other side. The creak of his chair as he shifted, straightening and turning his attention to her. It burned along her skin, goosebumps following in its wake. Turning the thought over in her mind, worrying at it
