AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You like me, and you’re him.” I give him a smile.
“Not quite. We are and are not the same.” With that enigmatic answer, he tilts his head. “Shall I do the same for you? Give you the ability to see anything in the past?”
I blink at the gift offering. I’m not sure if this is out of competition with himself—Neska—or if there’s a higher purpose behind it. “I wouldn’t presume to ask for such a thing. You need your power and your focus, do you not?”
“But you are my anchor. I can learn from you by what you wish to see. It will help me understand you more.” He reaches out to touch me, and then draws his hand back. “It is something that would give me pleasure, to know that I am entertaining you.”
“Well then, how can I refuse?” I take his hand in mine. It feels cold against my skin, but they all do. It’s like they don’t know how to be a functioning, living person. That they’re just pretending, like mummers on a stage. All the while, I’m acutely aware that they have all the power and I do not. “I should like it, Ossev, but I admit I don’t know what I would look at. I want to check in on Faith and Solat and the others I traveled with, but beyond that…” I spread my other hand. “I can’t think of anything to see that has happened in the past.”
“Wars? The last Anticipation? The arrival of a great hero?” he suggests.
None of those things sound appealing to me. They’re all the past, and they don’t affect me.
“What about your birth?” he prompts. “You can watch when you came into being.”
I shudder at the thought. “That’s…disturbing. No thank you.”
“Curious.” His gaze grows sly. “What about Alothan? Would you like to see what happened to him after you parted ways?”
I tense, a knot forming in my throat. Alothan was two masters ago, and the worst one. He made me work in a whorehouse for pennies and whipped me when I wasn’t obedient enough. He felt I was getting “used up” at the ripe age of twenty and sold me to another man, where I served in his house (and his bed) for four years before I met Aron of the Cleaver. The fact that Ossev has plucked that particular tidbit from my past tells me that he’s been spying on my history. He should know how I feel. “I don’t want to think about Alothan at all.”
“What if I told you he died violently?”
“Good.” My voice is flat.
“It was interesting. Are you sure you don’t want to see?” Ossev leans in, his face practically in mine as if he’s peering at my expressions.
“I do not.” I get up and cross the room to get my sewing basket. If we’re going to continue to talk of such disturbing things, I’m going to need something to occupy my hands. They always give away what I’m truly thinking, as if the anxious feelings inside me need to flutter out via my busy fingers.
Ossev frowns. “You’re upset. But you have not seen him for years. Why does this upset you?”
“Because you are bringing up part of my past that makes me sad. That was a hurtful, awful time and I don’t want to think about it, because it brings up the memories of pain. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure.” He moves to my side, stopping me when I pick up the basket. Bright blue eyes meet mine. “I…did not wish to cause you pain. I do not like when you suffer.”
He seems genuinely distressed that he’s upset me, and I reach out to touch his cheek. He leans into my caress as if addicted, his eyes closing. “I thank you for your apology. I know you didn’t mean to harm me. But not every experience is a good one, and if I dwelled on those times, I would never smile. Do you understand?”
“I do, and I would rather see you smile.” He brushes his lips against my palm. “Just let me ask one final thing. If you could pick his fate, this Alothan, what would you have had done to him?”
My mouth curls in a wry smile as I consider this. “Something painful. A quick, easy murder would be too good for him. I’d want him covered in honey and eaten alive by rats, I think.”
Ossev’s eyes widen and a startled laugh barks from him. “You are supposed to teach us to be human, Yulenna!”
“Cruelty is very human.” I lower my hand out of his grip and shake my head, setting my sewing basket on the corner of the bed. “If someone enslaves you and abuses you, I don’t see how they merit anything but hate.”
“Do you hate us?”
I turn to face him. “I don’t know. Am I a slave here?”
The sharp edge in my voice surprises him. I can see it in the look on his face. “You are not a slave. You are an anchor. You serve us.”
“But I’m not free to go, either.” I gesture at the floor, indicating the kitchens below. “You’ve locked me inside. That makes me feel like a trapped slave.”
He blinks, gazing at me. He stares at me for so long that I worry I’ve said too much. “You want to go outside? Why?”
“Just because I can. Just to breathe fresh air. Just to know that I can leave if I wanted to. Staying because you wish to stay is a different feeling than staying because there’s no way out. Do you understand?”
“Not entirely,” he admits. “But if it means a great deal to you, then I will take you outside.”
