Kushiel's Chosen

"It is a matter of state. No more, and no less."
    "And if he were to offer?" Althaia challenged me. "Kriti's aid, for the pleasure of your company in the bedchamber. Would you refuse?"
    I considered it. The slave, Chloris, realized she was eavesdropping, lowered her head and continued to rub oil into my skin, smoothing away the myriad aches of my long ordeal. "You know the Archon, my lady Althaia," I said. "Would he?"
    She looked away and murmured, "No." Her mouth quirked with a trace of the self-effacing humor I had seen in her brother. "Well, he might. But I wouldn't trust it, if he does. He's a shrewd trader, Demetrios is. He'd not offer any advantage he wouldn't give willingly otherwise. But he might try to make you think he did."
    Her voice held the reluctant ring of truth, and there were none of the telltales of a lie in her demeanor. I smiled. "Then you have done me twice a kindness here, my lady. In turn I swear to you, my purpose here is naught but what I have said."
    "Well, then." Althaia's manner relaxed. "Why won't you bring your pirate to my dinner party, Lady Phaedra?" she said playfully. "I hear he cuts a most manly figure, and even dared rude words to the Archon himself. It would irritate Demetrios in a most useful manner if you brought him!"
    I could feel the tension in Chloris' hands. "Kazan Atrabiades is not mine to command, my lady," I said quietly. "He is a pirate, yes, but he has committed no crime against Hellas, and he is a free citizen of Illyria."
    "Oh, pah!" She made a dismissive gesture. "You could have convinced him, I am sure. You're so serious, for a hetaera! I hope you won't be so dull at my dinner party. Everyone is hoping for rare entertainment."
    "I shall do my best to amuse, my lady," I said wryly. I do not think I had ever been accused of being dull company before, but I took a warning from it. Kritian society is ancient in sophistication, even among Hellenes. If I wanted the Archon to consider my request a valid one, I had best appear in truth a D'Angeline noblewoman, and not a ragtag refugee in desperate straits. The fact that I felt myself far more the latter than the former was of no account.
    "I shall count upon it," Althaia said carelessly, adding in a rather different tone, "Chloris! Leave off your mooning and be about your work. I'm sure the Lady Phaedra is accustomed to far better service in Terre d'Ange; do not disgrace me!"
    The slave bowed her head and murmured an apology, hands kneading my shoulder blades. I waited until Althaia had made her exit to speak to her. "It is not true in the slightest," I said in a gentle tone, leaning on my elbows and turning my head to look at her. "You're very skilled, Chloris; you could find employ in any D'Angeline household."
    She flushed unbecomingly, ducking her chin toward her breastbone and replying almost inaudibly. "I am not free to seek employment."
    "Freeborn or captive?" I asked sympathetically.
    Her chin came up and she met my eyes. "Freeborn."
    There was a world of sorrow and loss in that single word, and although I never learned more of her story, I grieved for her. I have known servitude, and I have known slavery, too, and there is a difference betwixt the two. It is one thing to observe the courtesies of rank, Anafiel Delaunay said to me, the day he bought my marque and took me into his household, and quite another to treat humans as chattel. I was sold into servitude as a child; I never fully appreciated the difference until I was a slave in Gunter Arnlaugson's steading. "I am sorry," I said to Chloris, knowing the words to be inadequate.
    She lowered her head again, and her mouth twisted with bitter satisfaction. "You make her nervous, lypiphera," she muttered. "Looking like a roe deer amid cattle as you do. It's good to see." After that, fearing she had said too much, my efforts to draw her out met in failure ,.. but her words came back to me when I returned to my quarters and found that the Archon had sent an array of attire for that evening's entertainment, as well as attendants to see to my robing. Well and so, I thought; if it is D'Angeline beauty he wished, I shall oblige. I chose with care among the garments presented, selecting a gown that seemed amid the height of Kritian fashion as I had observed it; sheer folds of white, draping low fore and aft My marque showed clearly through it, and I rouged my nipples in the Kritian manner, but my hair I dressed in D'Angeline style, caught at the nape of my neck with a