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Ahnah ached everywhere. Everywhere. Her arms ached, her legs ached, her head throbbed, and after all the walking they’d been doing, her feet were sore too. She could honestly say she ached in places she’d never ached before. Most, possibly all, of her discomfort was due to Malachite, whose back she was glaring at as she limped down the road. Keeping her up late and... active last night, foisting her out of bed at a painfully early hour, setting her on this long walk to nowhere... Not to mention constantly telling her to hurry up, with increasingly less patience. And when it came to patience Malachite was already in short supply.
The longer Ahnah walked down the dusty country road bordered by farms, the angrier she became. And the farther ahead Malachite got, because he had refused to turn back and check on her for several minutes now. She didn’t understand him at all. Sometimes he acted like she was a prized possession, making certain she was fed on time, clothed properly, warm enough at night. And then other times he disregarded her wishes completely, did as he wanted with her, then cast her aside, angrily, to fend for herself.
Realistically she supposed he had acted the same way before they were bound to the same master—turning chilly over a perceived slight and stomping out of the coffee shop, only to return in time to walk her home after dark, for instance. Or promising to show up in a given time and place, and then just not being there, and then acting like it wasn’t even something he needed to explain later. But now that Ahnah was living with him—and sleeping with him, though that euphemism seemed cruelly ridiculous when applied to last night—she noticed greater extremes in his behavior. Malachite’s possessive streak was given free rein, and since he knew she was legally bound to be home waiting for him every day, he didn’t bother concealing his moodiness and irritations, or even telling her where he was going when he left.
Ahnah limped more slowly, misery dogging every step—and not just physical misery. Nilak had promised—promised—to send her to the university, to set her free after high school. She said she was only keeping Ahnah as a slave for tax purposes (and cheap labor at the coffee shop). Ahnah was her niece, for G-d’s sake, her own flesh and blood. No amount of money, even offered by the Premier, was supposed to sway her.
Sometimes Ahnah wondered if her new master had used more illicit persuasion on Nilak—blackmail or extortion. Certainly her aunt wasn’t living as if she’d just earned her fortune with one signature, and such threats would be in keeping with the Premier’s less-than-savory reputation. Not that Ahnah listened to rumors like that... but working at the shop one couldn’t help but overhear gossip. But if Nilak had indeed been placed under unreasonable pressure to sell Ahnah, she certainly hadn’t expressed as much to the girl—who knew her aunt well enough to expect Nilak would try to get herself off the hook as soon as possible. Yet Nilak hadn’t offered up any excuses in the few times Ahnah had seen her since the sale.
Ahnah had to stop. She couldn’t think about it anymore. She couldn’t walk anymore. Malachite could throw a fit if he wanted but she wasn’t going another step. The teenager plopped herself down on a stump at the side of the road. The tears that blurred her vision were only partly from the sharp pain in her feet.
Less than a minute later she heard her fellow slave react. “Ahnah!” he shouted, fifty feet away. She didn’t turn her head, instead concentrating on rubbing her calves, in the hope it would help. His voice was closer with the next call, but she ignored him again, painfully flexing her toes to relieve the ache. “Ahnah!” The girl looked up finally, startled at how quickly he’d appeared beside her. How could he have crossed the distance between them so fast? Well, it didn’t matter, she told herself resolutely. If he wanted her to go on he’d have to carry her.
“Why are you stopping?” Malachite demanded, glaring down at her.
“My feet hurt!” Ahnah replied sharply, craning her neck upward awkwardly.
The teenage boy rolled his eyes patronizingly and Ahnah gritted her teeth. Sometimes she had a very hard time understanding why she had ever liked him in the first place. “Oh, come on, we’re almost there,” he insisted, with an obvious effort towards patience.
“How much farther?” Maybe, if their destination was really just around the corner... Ahnah felt herself wavering and was disgusted.
“Another mile is all.”
The wavering disintegrated. “I can’t walk another mile!” she told him firmly. “I can barely walk another foot!”
“Ahnah, you walk all the time,” Malachite shot back, hands on his hips. “You were always on your feet at the shop. Don’t be such a...”
“Such a what?” Ahnah demanded angrily, standing. Her feet protested, but it was time to give her neck a rest. Of course he was still a good ten to eleven inches taller.
Malachite sighed in utter exasperation and stared at her for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Come on, let’s just go,” he finally decided, grabbing her hand and starting to move on.
Ahnah refused to follow him, and she had the distinct impression he only stopped walking because he chose to, not because her presence had anchored him. As it was her arm had nearly been dislocated.
“Ahnah,” Malachite began warningly.
“I’m not. Going. Another. Step,” she insisted, trying to yank her hand free of his.
He held fast. “What are you gonna do, Ahnah?” Malachite asked snidely. “You won’t walk a mile to the farm, but you’ll walk two back to the house?”
Two miles? Was that how far they’d come? It felt like ten times that. And she hadn’t actually thought much beyond sitting back down on the stump and crying. “Maybe someone will come along and give me a ride,” she suggested defensively.
“And here I thought you got all your riding in last night,” he shot back meanly.
She felt an angry blush rise to her face. “Everything hurts—“
“Oh, come on,” Malachite scoffed.
“Everything hurts, I got about two hours’ sleep last night, I haven’t had breakfast—“
“Get over it!’
“I can’t get over it, because you’ve had me out on the road for the last hour, marching off to G-d knows where—“
“And I can’t believe we’ve been out here a whole hour, I could have made the trip alone in ten minutes—“
“Then why didn’t you?!” Ahnah jerked on her hand furiously, as hard as she could, at this point too angry to care about hurting herself further. Malachite had apparently chosen that moment to finally release her, however, and she found herself with nothing to jerk against. Awkwardly, Ahnah stumbled, lost her balance completely, and sat down hard in the dirt. More pain. Tears of frustration and anger clouded her eyes, threatening to spill over. She was not going to cry in front of him, she was not...
Malachite was silent for a moment, then told her harshly, “Luks said, I’m in charge of you. You have to do what I say. If I want you to come with me, you have to come with me. That’s what Luks said.”
Ahnah felt hot tears tumble down her cheeks and tried to brush them away quickly. “Well, I didn’t hear him say that,” she muttered, suddenly exhausted.
Her heart was racing again an instant later, when Malachite dragged her to her feet and held her by her upper arms just inches from his snarling face. “Are you saying I’m a liar?” he growled, and Ahnah felt real fear, seeing no softness in his deep green eyes.
“N-no, no—“ she stuttered, terrifyingly aware that she’d hit a sore spot.
Before either could say anything else—before Malachite could fling her into a tree, or whatever he was planning—the sound of a car horn startled them both. A battered blue truck, whose approach neither had noticed during their argument, pulled over to the side of the road near them. A fortyish man, blond, weather-beaten, but still handsome, smiled warily from behind the wheel. “Malachite,” he greeted.
Ahnah was abruptly released and swayed dangerously. Malachite grabbed her arm again to steady her but showed no more concern. “Hey, Mr. Sevileri,” he replied, reasonably cheerful. “We were just coming to the farm. Woulda been there ages ago but she’s slow.”
Ahnah glared venomously at the other teenager, who ignored her. The man in the truck, however, didn’t miss the interaction. “Well, no harm in that,” he commented easily. “Come on, let me give you a ride the rest of the way.”
Ahnah really wanted a ride back to the Premier’s mansion. She wanted a hot soak in her bathtub, a long nap, and a good meal when she woke up. But she would take any ride, anywhere, if it meant she was sitting. And not alone with Malachite.
“Okay, thanks,” the boy agreed. He yanked open the passenger-side door and pushed Ahnah towards it, as if he thought she would try to break and run if not hemmed in on both sides. Trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, Ahnah climbed into the cab, offering the driver a tight smile. Malachite settled in beside her, too close for her comfort, and shut the door with a thunk.
Tup Sevileri shook his head a little but said nothing, just put the truck into drive to continue the journey back to the farm. He’d heard something in town about the Premier buying Nilak’s niece—the more salacious rumors called her a “pet” for the Premier’s favorite slave, but Tup hadn’t lent much credence to that idea. Until now, of course. Anyway, the young lady didn’t look too pleased with her situation, whatever it was, and the mile-long ride was tense and silent.