Laurent said, ‘No.’
Damen realised that he was pushing at the limits of Laurent’s good mood. So he said, not without difficulty, ‘I don’t know why you did any of this, but I think the others will be well treated in Bazal. Thank you.’
‘You are permanently disgusted by us, aren’t you?’ said Laurent. And then, before Damen could speak: ‘Don’t answer that question. Something made you smile earlier. What was it?’
‘It was nothing. Ancel,’ said Damen. ‘He’s finally found the royal patronage he was looking for.’
Laurent followed his gaze. He calmly appraised the way that Ancel leaned in to pour wine, the way that the Regent’s ringed fingers lifted to trace the line of Ancel’s cheek.
‘No,’ said Laurent, without much interest. ‘That’s done for appearance’s sake only. I think not all the practices of this court would meet with the approval of Torveld’s delegation.’
‘What do you mean?’
Laurent detached his gaze from the Regent and turned it back on Damen, his blue eyes showing neither his usual hostility, nor arrogance, nor contempt, but instead something that Damen could not make out at all.
‘I warned you about Nicaise because he is not Councillor Audin’s pet. Haven’t you guessed yet whose pet he is?’ Laurent said, and then, when he didn’t answer: ‘Ancel is too old to interest my uncle.’
CHAPTER 9
HE WAS TAKEN to see Torveld in the early morning, after a long interview with two Patran servants in which he dredged up all the knowledge he had regarding the treatment of slaves. Some of the questions he was asked he had no idea how to answer. Others he was more comfortable with: Were they trained in Patran protocols, and which guests could they be expected to entertain? Yes, they had language and protocol training in Patran, as well as Vaskian, though perhaps not the provincial dialects. And of course they knew all that was needed of Akielos and Isthima. Not Vere, he heard himself saying. No one had ever believed there would be a treaty, or an exchange.
Torveld’s rooms resembled Laurent’s, though they were smaller. Torveld came out of the bedchamber looking well rested, wearing only pants and an overrobe. It fell straight to the ground on either side of his body, revealing a well-defined chest, lightly haired.
Through the archway Damen could see the tumble of milky limbs on the bed, and the burnished head. Just for a moment he remembered Torveld making love to Laurent on the balcony, but the hair was a shade too dark, and curled.
‘He’s sleeping,’ said Torveld.
He spoke in a low voice, so as not to disturb Erasmus. He motioned Damen towards a table where they both sat. Torveld’s robe settled in folds of heavy silk.
‘We have not yet—’ Torveld said, and there was a silence. Damen had grown so used to explicit Veretian talk that he waited, in the silence, for Torveld to say what he meant. It took him a moment to realise that this silence said all that was needed, to a Patran. Torveld said, ‘He is . . . very willing, but I suspect there has been some mistreatment, not only the branding. I brought you here because I wanted to ask you the extent of it. I am concerned that I will inadvertently . . .’ Another silence. Torveld’s eyes were dark. ‘I think it would help for me to know.’
Damen thought, this is Vere, and there is no delicate Patran way to describe the things that happen here.
‘He was being trained as a personal slave for the Prince of Akielos,’ said Damen. ‘It’s likely that he was a virgin before he arrived in Vere. But not after.’
‘I see.’
‘I don’t know the extent of it,’ said Damen.
‘You don’t need to say more. It’s as I thought,’ said Torveld. ‘Well, I thank you for your candour, and for your work this morning. I understand it’s customary to give pets a gift after they perform a service.’ Torveld gave him a considering look. ‘You don’t look like the type for jewellery.’
Damen, smiling a little, said, ‘No. Thank you.’
‘Is there something else I can offer you?’
He thought about it. There was something he wanted, very badly. It was dangerous to ask. The grain of the table was dark, and only the edge was carved; the rest was a smooth plain surface.
‘You were in Akielos. You were there after the funeral ceremonies?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘What happened to the Prince’s household—after his death?’
‘I assume it was disbanded. I did hear that his personal slaves slit their own throats from grief. I don’t know anything more.’
‘From grief,’ said Damen, remembering the ringing of swords, and his own surprise—the surprise that had meant he had not understood what was happening until it was too late.
‘Kastor was furious. The Keeper of the Royal Slaves was executed for letting it happen. And several of the guard.’