0.4 [The Caged Dove]

The Caged Dove

Life in the Rosy Dawn Cult was terrifying.

Athis knew it was an ungrateful fear. She knew that her fortune had been immeasurably good to be chosen for service in Scarlet City’s premier cult of greater mysteries. It was said that a slave answered only to their master, but the reality of things was that slaves answered to whoever could freely command them. Forced to choose between insulting a stronger cultivator or parting with a slave, a weak master would always make the latter choice.

Fortunately, there was no man within the Scarlet City stronger than Damon Aetos. Unlike many female slaves, she would never be snatched off the streets in the midst of her work. No man was mad enough to spit in the face of the Rosy Dawn.

But that did not mean she was safe. It did not mean she could rest easy at night. The reputation of the Rosy Dawn’s kyrios protected her from external dangers, but it could not protect her from the cult itself.

“It’s alright,” Pervica whispered, peering out into the halls surrounding the courtyard. “They’re gone.” The faint jeering and laughter of young men echoed in the stone. Athis shivered.

She had been a slave for three months, and she had learned all too quickly that she existed to Damon Aetos only as a tick on a ledger. If she was stolen or damaged by some external source, he would retaliate the same way he would if any trinket or possession of the cult was tampered with by an outsider. If it was one of his own, though?

Well, that was all too easy to overlook.

“Let’s go, before someone else comes by.” Pervica tilted her head and slipped out of the empty bedroom, and Athis hurried behind her.

They raced silently down the halls, clutching woven reed baskets filled with wool to their chests. Once they made it to the women’s quarters they would be safe, and with any luck they would be busy spinning and weaving for the rest of the day. Moments like these were the most terrifying by far. Traveling alone, without any higher authority to protect them from wandering eyes. Utterly exposed to the whim of any cultivators that might happen upon them.

“What’s this? You’re pretty for a slave.”

Athis had been a slave to the Rosy Dawn Cult for three months, but it had only taken a week for her to see what happened to a bonded girl that caught an initiate’s eye. She’d never forget it.

Pervica raced up the stairs to the second floor of the estate, shoulder-length golden hair flying behind her. She was hardly panting at all, while Athis was struggling just to keep up. Pervica had been a slave within the Rosy Dawn for over two years. She’d had much time to learn the ways of the estate. To learn how to navigate its halls, and train her body to do so with speed. Athis didn’t know where she would be if the other girl hadn’t taken her under her wing. Likely nowhere good.

They rounded a corner, so that the gardens and pools of the courtyard were on their left. The women’s quarters were at the end of the hall, a short sprint even for her. They traded relieved smiles, racing forward.

Two mystikos emerged from one of the rooms halfway down the hall, chatting animatedly with one another. Athis’ heart sank. They should have been at the gymnasium with the rest. Yet there they were. Pervicas knew the halls better than most, but even she couldn’t account for bad luck.

Her friend smoothly transitioned from a dead sprint to an unassuming walking gait in the space of two steps while Athis skittered to a stop before hurriedly approximating a more natural pace. It was a pointless effort, of course. Pervicas knew it just as well as she did. These were cultivators, citizens who had won membership within a cult of greater mysteries.

Their only hope now was that they wouldn’t care to stop them.

Athis’ heartbeat thundered in her ears as they approached one another. She didn’t recognize either of them, and if Pervicas did it didn’t show on her face. Her expression was serene. Had she not been looking for it, Athis would never have noticed the bead of sweat on her brow.

The initiates were discussing some recent lessons as they passed. She wasn’t in the right state of mind to truly listen. One of the two glanced her way, and for a moment her heart stopped. Then his gaze slid past her and they crossed.

Athis sighed, shoulders sagging in relief.

“What’s this?”

Oh, no.

Pervicas looked back at her with wide eyes.

“Turn around, girl. Let me get another look at you.”

Oh please, no.

Athis forced herself to turn. The other initiate, the one she hadn’t locked eyes with, was staring at her speculatively. His eyes trailed up and down her body, and she bit her lip as terror and memories from not too long ago of another girl in a similar position assaulted her. She forced herself to take a breath and speak.

“How may I serve, honored mystiko?” she asked, voice tremoring only slightly.

“I can think of a few ways,” he said. He glanced sidelong at his fellow initiate, raising an eyebrow suggestively. The other initiate shrugged.

“Not my type.”

“You always did have poor taste,” he said wryly. The other initiate scoffed.

Against her will, Athis found the image of the man burning itself into her mind’s eye. He was taller than her by several palms, his body powerfully defined as cultivators tended to be. His hair was coarse and brown, the dark shadow of a beard tracing a strong jaw. His leering eyes were hazel with flakes of gold in the irises. Objectively, he was an attractive man. Athis felt her hands start to shake.

“Am I going alone, then? Make a decision,” the other initiate said impatiently. Go with your friend, Athis silently begged him. Their eyes met. She saw his decision as he made it.

“Go on-”

“What are you two doing?”

Athis spun around, heart in her throat. A man was stalking down the hall towards them. She was saved. She was saved!

It was only when his eyes roved from Pervicas to her and no further, did she realize this was not a superior member of the cult come to chastise the two mystikos. Then she took him in fully. The state of his clothes, ragged and worn, without any of the cult’s distinctive scarlet trimming. This man was far less than even a citizen. He was another slave.

In fact, she recognized his face. He was a new arrival, even more recent than herself. What had his name been? Sabas? No… Pelonus? Not quite. It was…

“Solus?” Pervicas whispered, confused. Solus. That was it.

“The others have been waiting for that wool,” he said, tilting his head towards their destination at the end of the hall. “Enough talking. Go on. Make haste.” Athis exchanged a bewildered look with Pervicas. Solus had never spoken directly to them before this moment. As far as she knew, he’d never spoken to anyone.

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But she wasn’t going to look twice at good fortune. Athis hurried to follow the command, Pervicas at her side.

Alas. Some things were too good to be true.

“Hold it, slave,” the initiate with the leering hazel eyes snapped. Athis froze. “Who gave you the right to interrupt a conversation between mystikos? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

Finally, Solus looked at the two cultivators in the hall. To her astonishment, there was no fear in his eyes. He did not quake with the sudden realization of the insult he’d just offered a sworn initiate of the Rosy Dawn. He merely eyed the initiate up and down, and then shrugged.

“I do not.”

The hazel-eyed initiate’s lips peeled back in a snarl. His companion sighed.

“Of course he doesn’t know you, Xuthus. He’s a slave. He doesn’t know anything.”

She wished he hadn’t said his name. It was so much harder to forget a face when it had a name to match it.