the stable ground.
"Which horse is your favorite, human?" she said as she walked around and began to touch the horses in the stable.
"Yours Mistress." I almost cried. Her feet were covered in dust and dirt from the short walk across the floor of the stable. I swept it every night, but her entourage used six of the horses today and they had created a mess when I put them back in their stalls.
"Why mine, human? Is it because he is the best, or because he is mine?" She reached up and patted her mount's face. This horse was smart enough to fake affection and leaned into her hand. Her last horse bit her once and she rode him so hard the rest of the day that he had collapsed. Then she ripped the legs from his body as easily as a child pulls the legs off of a bug. If I answered this question wrong she might do the same to me.
"Both, Mistress." This was the most conversation she had ever engaged me with, and I dreaded an incorrect answer.
"You are smart for one of your kind, no?" She looked over at me and began to walk in my direction.
"My father often calls me a lummox when I forget one of my chores," I said, looking away from her and going back to scrubbing her boots. One of them was finished and I hoped that she would be satisfied with their shine.
"Perfect." She reached down and inspected the boot. "You are also good with your hands, human. Do any of your masters compliment you? Or is it just me?" Her silver-blue eyes burned into me. My hands shook when she handed it back to me.
"No Mistress. I only talk to you. If you don't want to speak to me I don't mind," I stuttered. Her smile turned into a sudden frown.
"I do not care if you mind or not. Your opinion of the matter isn't important to me, human. I choose to talk to you now. You will answer. Understand?" I nodded and struggled to control the terror in my body. My eyes were probably the size of her horse's.
"The other boot looks perfect. Stop now," she commanded. I picked up the other one, got on my knees before her, and raised them up so she could accept them.
"Yes. They look fine. Unfortunately, it looks like my feet are too dirty to put them on again. You will have to fix that, human." Her face wore the smirk again. This always happened after I polished her boots.
"Yes Mistress. I will get warm water." I dashed toward the back of the stable. The first time she asked me to do this I didn't have any warm water ready. It had taken me ten minutes to grab a bucketful from the well and boil it. The wait didn't suit her, so she cuffed me across the ear so hard that I wondered if I had been kicked by a horse instead. Now I always kept water simmering throughout the day.
She was perched on the crate again when I came back with two buckets of water, soap, a soft scrubbing brush, and a towel. Once I was set up on my stool she wordlessly pointed her foot into my chest. Then I reached out my hands to caress her feet.
Touching her was a mixture of pleasure and fear. Her skin felt like the smoothest piece of cloth I had ever touched: a patch of satin that another slave had stolen from the dining table at one of their mating parties. We passed it around like a sacred totem and wondered at how it could have been made. Humans weren't allowed such finery.
"Rub in the arch human," she whispered as I traced my fingers across the ball of her foot. I dug deeper with my thumbs and she hummed in appreciation. If she knew that I enjoyed this she would kill me. It was forbidden for my kind to touch the Elvens unless they were in danger of death. Even then the offending human would probably be killed.
I had never even touched a human girl. My father, brother, and I were the only three that managed the stables and blacksmith. Maintaining both involved endless work. We didn't have time to attend the rare holiday the Elvens granted us, or even walk across the estate to the hall where we could eat with our own kind. Even as I washed her feet, my mind was turning over all the other tasks I
"Which horse is your favorite, human?" she said as she walked around and began to touch the horses in the stable.
"Yours Mistress." I almost cried. Her feet were covered in dust and dirt from the short walk across the floor of the stable. I swept it every night, but her entourage used six of the horses today and they had created a mess when I put them back in their stalls.
"Why mine, human? Is it because he is the best, or because he is mine?" She reached up and patted her mount's face. This horse was smart enough to fake affection and leaned into her hand. Her last horse bit her once and she rode him so hard the rest of the day that he had collapsed. Then she ripped the legs from his body as easily as a child pulls the legs off of a bug. If I answered this question wrong she might do the same to me.
"Both, Mistress." This was the most conversation she had ever engaged me with, and I dreaded an incorrect answer.
"You are smart for one of your kind, no?" She looked over at me and began to walk in my direction.
"My father often calls me a lummox when I forget one of my chores," I said, looking away from her and going back to scrubbing her boots. One of them was finished and I hoped that she would be satisfied with their shine.
"Perfect." She reached down and inspected the boot. "You are also good with your hands, human. Do any of your masters compliment you? Or is it just me?" Her silver-blue eyes burned into me. My hands shook when she handed it back to me.
"No Mistress. I only talk to you. If you don't want to speak to me I don't mind," I stuttered. Her smile turned into a sudden frown.
"I do not care if you mind or not. Your opinion of the matter isn't important to me, human. I choose to talk to you now. You will answer. Understand?" I nodded and struggled to control the terror in my body. My eyes were probably the size of her horse's.
"The other boot looks perfect. Stop now," she commanded. I picked up the other one, got on my knees before her, and raised them up so she could accept them.
"Yes. They look fine. Unfortunately, it looks like my feet are too dirty to put them on again. You will have to fix that, human." Her face wore the smirk again. This always happened after I polished her boots.
"Yes Mistress. I will get warm water." I dashed toward the back of the stable. The first time she asked me to do this I didn't have any warm water ready. It had taken me ten minutes to grab a bucketful from the well and boil it. The wait didn't suit her, so she cuffed me across the ear so hard that I wondered if I had been kicked by a horse instead. Now I always kept water simmering throughout the day.
She was perched on the crate again when I came back with two buckets of water, soap, a soft scrubbing brush, and a towel. Once I was set up on my stool she wordlessly pointed her foot into my chest. Then I reached out my hands to caress her feet.
Touching her was a mixture of pleasure and fear. Her skin felt like the smoothest piece of cloth I had ever touched: a patch of satin that another slave had stolen from the dining table at one of their mating parties. We passed it around like a sacred totem and wondered at how it could have been made. Humans weren't allowed such finery.
"Rub in the arch human," she whispered as I traced my fingers across the ball of her foot. I dug deeper with my thumbs and she hummed in appreciation. If she knew that I enjoyed this she would kill me. It was forbidden for my kind to touch the Elvens unless they were in danger of death. Even then the offending human would probably be killed.
I had never even touched a human girl. My father, brother, and I were the only three that managed the stables and blacksmith. Maintaining both involved endless work. We didn't have time to attend the rare holiday the Elvens granted us, or even walk across the estate to the hall where we could eat with our own kind. Even as I washed her feet, my mind was turning over all the other tasks I
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