the jakta. I buy slaves with a thought as to their
purpose. Service, spectacle, gladiators, beastboys. Fodder. But until you
train, nothing is certain. That is the only way your place is guaranteed.”
Henri pauses again and then says, his deep voice rolling over the room,
“Life in a jakta is hard and brutal. But if you perform well, if you serve well
and earn the pride of your ja—your owner—it can be a life that is well
rewarded.”
He nods and sits, returning to his dinner and ignoring us completely.
His brother, Prator, stands, wiping his hand on a napkin before he taps
a command into the micro tablet on his wrist. He calls out, “Lena will
mentor Eleyi Petyr’re.” The Eleyi two seats down startles. A slim woman sitting
at Henri’s table motions impatiently and he stands, scurrying to her side.
Prator continues calling names and I watch disinterestedly, picking at my fish.
Even though I’m hungry, eating because I’m told to grates on my nerves.
“Kristoff will mentor Eleyi Chosi’le.” I glance up as he calls my name,
and look around as voices begin murmuring around me.
My mentor seems to interest the other trainers.
Kristoff is a small human—shorter than I am, with a smirk on his face
that encourages others to laugh at some private joke. He’s young—he looks to be
around my age. His eyes, scanning me slowly as I stand, are shrewd,
professionally assessing, and somehow disturbing—they’re old in a way Kristoff
isn’t and it gives me chills. I clamp my wings tight to my body to keep my
balance and walk to where he sits. He nudges a chair out and I sit stiffly.
Prator finishes calling names and looks around. “Mentors, you have a supply of
creds to outfit your new slave. We leave for Pente in two days. And you will
give your trainee a Pente name.”
I fidget nervously until Kristoff pushes his plate at me as conversation
swells in the room. I shake my head. “You didn’t eat enough to make Prator or
Henri happy. So this isn’t really a request, Eleyi,” he says mildly.
I glance at him and he stares back, impassively. “I’m not hungry,” I
say.
“I don’t believe you were asked,” he says, and I clench my hands, nails
digging into my palms to keep from snapping. He watches me for a moment, then
picks up the round bread, cutting a slit in it to reveal a pocket. He dumps the
pebbly rice and fish into the bread, drizzles a creamy dip onto it all and hands
it to me as he stands. “Come on.”
He leads me back down the dark hallway, and despite the confinement, I
breathe easier out of Henri Argot’s gaze.
“You don’t like being enclosed,” Kristoff says, when my wings twitch
restlessly, the long edges brushing against my legs.
“No,” I say shortly and he glances at me, amused, before we enter a
small bedroom.
There is only one bed, a detail that makes my stomach twist, threatening
to send all I have eaten back up. I can’t do this.
“You’ll sleep on the floor. Henri doesn’t believe in coddling you.
Tomorrow we’ll get you some gear, and practice a little—I’d like to get a feel
for your strengths before we reach the jakta.”
“Why?” I ask, without thinking.
“Because I want an advantage when we get home. Did he clip your wings? Spread
them; let me see.”
I shake my head, and Kristoff’s eyes narrow. Impatience and disgust fill
his psyche.
Violence doesn’t. Which is why the blow to my kidneys stuns me. I half-crumple
against him, wheezing. “Stand up and spread your wings.”
“No.”
Kristoff sighs, a noise that conveys regret and annoyance, and then he
punches me again.
After each blow—the kidneys, my diaphragm, my ear, my face—he makes the
same demand. I’m wheezing, blood pouring from my nose, and he cocks his head at
me where I’m on the ground. “It’ll be your wings, next. Stand up and spread them.”
I straighten slowly, and this time I let my wings spread. The tips
sting, and I flinch as they bump the door behind me. He
purpose. Service, spectacle, gladiators, beastboys. Fodder. But until you
train, nothing is certain. That is the only way your place is guaranteed.”
Henri pauses again and then says, his deep voice rolling over the room,
“Life in a jakta is hard and brutal. But if you perform well, if you serve well
and earn the pride of your ja—your owner—it can be a life that is well
rewarded.”
He nods and sits, returning to his dinner and ignoring us completely.
His brother, Prator, stands, wiping his hand on a napkin before he taps
a command into the micro tablet on his wrist. He calls out, “Lena will
mentor Eleyi Petyr’re.” The Eleyi two seats down startles. A slim woman sitting
at Henri’s table motions impatiently and he stands, scurrying to her side.
Prator continues calling names and I watch disinterestedly, picking at my fish.
Even though I’m hungry, eating because I’m told to grates on my nerves.
“Kristoff will mentor Eleyi Chosi’le.” I glance up as he calls my name,
and look around as voices begin murmuring around me.
My mentor seems to interest the other trainers.
Kristoff is a small human—shorter than I am, with a smirk on his face
that encourages others to laugh at some private joke. He’s young—he looks to be
around my age. His eyes, scanning me slowly as I stand, are shrewd,
professionally assessing, and somehow disturbing—they’re old in a way Kristoff
isn’t and it gives me chills. I clamp my wings tight to my body to keep my
balance and walk to where he sits. He nudges a chair out and I sit stiffly.
Prator finishes calling names and looks around. “Mentors, you have a supply of
creds to outfit your new slave. We leave for Pente in two days. And you will
give your trainee a Pente name.”
I fidget nervously until Kristoff pushes his plate at me as conversation
swells in the room. I shake my head. “You didn’t eat enough to make Prator or
Henri happy. So this isn’t really a request, Eleyi,” he says mildly.
I glance at him and he stares back, impassively. “I’m not hungry,” I
say.
“I don’t believe you were asked,” he says, and I clench my hands, nails
digging into my palms to keep from snapping. He watches me for a moment, then
picks up the round bread, cutting a slit in it to reveal a pocket. He dumps the
pebbly rice and fish into the bread, drizzles a creamy dip onto it all and hands
it to me as he stands. “Come on.”
He leads me back down the dark hallway, and despite the confinement, I
breathe easier out of Henri Argot’s gaze.
“You don’t like being enclosed,” Kristoff says, when my wings twitch
restlessly, the long edges brushing against my legs.
“No,” I say shortly and he glances at me, amused, before we enter a
small bedroom.
There is only one bed, a detail that makes my stomach twist, threatening
to send all I have eaten back up. I can’t do this.
“You’ll sleep on the floor. Henri doesn’t believe in coddling you.
Tomorrow we’ll get you some gear, and practice a little—I’d like to get a feel
for your strengths before we reach the jakta.”
“Why?” I ask, without thinking.
“Because I want an advantage when we get home. Did he clip your wings? Spread
them; let me see.”
I shake my head, and Kristoff’s eyes narrow. Impatience and disgust fill
his psyche.
Violence doesn’t. Which is why the blow to my kidneys stuns me. I half-crumple
against him, wheezing. “Stand up and spread your wings.”
“No.”
Kristoff sighs, a noise that conveys regret and annoyance, and then he
punches me again.
After each blow—the kidneys, my diaphragm, my ear, my face—he makes the
same demand. I’m wheezing, blood pouring from my nose, and he cocks his head at
me where I’m on the ground. “It’ll be your wings, next. Stand up and spread them.”
I straighten slowly, and this time I let my wings spread. The tips
sting, and I flinch as they bump the door behind me. He
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