Kekki had no shame. She had become a Companion on the strength of her knowledge of Chalcedean language and customs. It was now apparent to Serilla that she had embraced their culture as well. In Chalced, a woman enjoyed power only through whatever man she could captivate. Tonight, Kekki had shown she would go to any limit to keep Cosgo's attention. A shame, Serilla thought, that Kekki's path was the swiftest way to lose Cosgo's fascination with her. She would soon be discarded. Serilla only hoped Kekki's blandishments could keep him entertained until they reached Bingtown.
Serilla was still staring at them when the Satrap opened one drug-reddened eye. She did not avert her glance. She doubted he was even aware of her presence.
It was a mistake.
"Come here," he ordered her.
She crossed the thickly carpeted deck, picking her way past abandoned garments and discarded dishes. She stood an arm's length from his couch. "You summoned me for consultation, Magnadon?" she asked him formally.
"Come here!" he repeated petulantly. His forefinger stabbed at a spot adjacent to his couch.
She could not take those final steps. Her pride simply would not allow it. "Why?" she demanded of him.
"Because I am the Satrap and I command it!" he spat out. He was abruptly furious. "You need no more reason than that." He sat up suddenly, shoving Kekki aside. She moaned dismally, but rolled away from him.
"I am not a servant," Serilla pointed out. "I am a Companion of the Heart." She drew herself up straight and recited. " 'lest his head be turned by flattering women, lest his vanity be stroked by those who seek only to gain, let him choose for himself Companions, to sit beside him. Let them not be above him, let them not be below him, but let them speak their wisdom openly, advising the Satrap only in each one's specific area of erudition. Let him have no favorites amongst them. Let him not choose them based on comeliness or amiability. Let his Companion not praise him, let her not defer to his opinion, let her not be fearful of disagreeing with him, for any of these things may compromise the honesty of her counsel. Let her… »
"Let her shut up!" Cosgo shouted out and then laughed uproariously at his own wit.
Serilla fell silent, but not at his command. She did not move from where she stood.
For a moment, he surveyed her silently. An odd spark of amusement lit his eyes. "You foolish woman. You are so full of yourself, so certain that a mouthful of words can protect you. Companion of my Heart." He sneered the words. "A title for a woman who fears to be a woman." He leaned back against Kekki's body as if she were a cushion. "I could cure you of that. I could give you to the sailors. Have you thought of that? The captain is Chalcedean. He would think nothing of me discarding a woman who had displeased me." He paused. "Perhaps he would use you first. Before he passed you on."
Serilla's mouth went dry. Her tongue stuck to the roof of it. He could, she realized dully. He had become capable of it. It would be months before he returned to Jamaillia. Who would demand an accounting of what had become of her? No one. None of the nobles on board would oppose him. If they had had that strength of will, they would not be aboard. Some might even feel she had brought it upon herself.
She had no alternative. Once she capitulated to him, his debasement of her would know no bounds. If she showed fear of this threat, he would continue to use it. She suddenly saw that clearly. Her only hope was to challenge him. "Do it," she said coolly. She stood up straighter and crossed her arms on her chest. She could feel her heart hammering inside her. He could do it. He might do it. If he did, she would not survive it. The crew was large and rough. Some of the female servants had already appeared with bruised faces and unsteady gaits. No rumors had reached her ears, but she did not need rumors to have suspicions. Chalcedeans saw women as little more than cattle.
She prayed he would back down.
"I will." He lurched to his feet. He took two unsteady steps toward the door.
Her traitorous legs began to tremble. She clenched her jaws to keep her lips from quivering. She had made her move and lost the game. Sa, help me, she prayed. She wanted to wail with fear. She feared she would faint. She blinked rapidly, trying to drive away the shadows at the corners of her vision. It was a bluff. He would stop. He wouldn't dare follow through on this.
The Satrap halted. He swayed, but she could not tell if it was indecision or instability. "Are you sure this is what you want?" There was a leering taunt to the words. He cocked his head at her. "You would rather go to them than attempt to please me? I'll give you a moment to decide which you want."
She felt dizzy and sick. It was the cruelest thing he could have done, to offer her this last chance. She felt her strength ebbing away from her. She wanted to fling herself to her knees and beg his mercy. Only her conviction that he had no concept of mercy held her still and upright. She swallowed. She could not reply. She clung to her silence and hoped it would pass for refusal.
"Very well. Remember, Serilla, you chose this. You could have had me."
He opened the door. There was a sailor outside it. There was always a sailor outside it. Serilla had always suspected he was as much gaoler as sentry. Cosgo leaned on the doorjamb and patted the man affably on the shoulder. "Run a message to your captain, my good man. Tell him that I offer him one of my women. The green-eyed one." He pivoted unsteadily to leer at her. "Warn him that she is bad-tempered and unwilling. Tell him I have found her a sweet mount, all the same." His eyes walked up and down her body. A cruel smile curved his mouth. "Have him send someone to claim her."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tidings
ALTHEA ABRUPTLY HEAVED A SIGH. SHE PUSHED BACK FROM THE TABLE, causing Malta's pen to leave a squiggle on the paper. She stood up and rubbed her eyes. Malta watched her aunt walk away from the table and the scattered papers and tally sticks on it. "I have to go out," she announced.
Ronica Vestrit had just entered the room with a basket of cut flowers on her arm and a pitcher of water in her free hand. "I know what you mean," she conceded as she set her burdens down on a side table. She filled a waiting vase with water and began to put the flowers into it. She had a mixed bouquet of daisies, baby's breath, roses and fern fronds. She scowled at the flowers as she arranged them, as if everything were their fault. "The accounting of our debts is hardly cheery work. Even I need to get away from it after a few hours." She paused, then added hopefully, "The flowerbeds by the front door need attention if you're in the mood for outdoor work."
Althea shook her head impatiently. "No," she said. She softened her tone and added, "I'm going to go down into town for a bit. Stretch my legs, see some friends. I'll be back before dinner." With a sideways glance at her mother's frown, she added, "I'll see to the walkway then. I promise."
Her mother folded her lips but said no more. Malta let Althea get almost to the door before she asked curiously, "Are you going to go see that bead-maker again?" She made a pretense of rubbing her eyes as she set aside her own pen.
"I might," Althea said evenly. Malta heard the restrained annoyance in her voice.
Ronica made a small sound as if deciding whether to speak. Aunt Althea turned back to her wearily. "What?"
Ronica gave a small shrug, her hands still busy with the flowers. "Nothing. I just wish you would not spend so much time with her, so openly. She is not Bingtown, you know. And some say she is no better than the New Traders."
"She is my friend," Althea said flatly.
"The talk about town is that she has been squatting in the Ludlucks' liveship. That poor ship has never been right, and she has so unhinged him by living there that when the Ludlucks sent men to move her out of their rightful property, the ship had a fit. He said he'd rip their arms off if they tried to come aboard. You can imagine how distressing that was to Trader Ludluck. Amis has tried for years to keep her family name clean of scandal. Now it has been stirred again, and with it all the old tales of how Paragon went mad and killed everyone aboard him. It is entirely that woman's fault. She should not be meddling in Trader business."