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Summary:

Daerin learns that Isabel's aunt Nae has returned from the capital. He also learns that Isabel is considering having a baby-- but when he asks if he might be the chosen father, she reacts badly and locks him in a closet. This is because they share the same mother, which only Isabel knows. He is devestated by her rejection, although they make up later. Are Daerin's views of his society changing?

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Beginning:

Daerin rose before the sun, yet again. He sighed as he pulled on his undergarments, stepping to the meager wardrobe he was afforded. Pulling open the single cabinet door on the left he pulled out a dark pair of leather pants.

His eyes scanned up and down, viewing the garment critically. He didn't mind wearing them, considering the reasoning, but some days, he just did not feel like it. He flicked his wrist to shake out the garment and nodded in satisfaction. Anything for his mistress these days.

He slipped into the nearly formfitting leggings and opened his one drawer, pulling out an off white open front shirt. Buttonless, the sleeves were short and open. It was an old design, one used by some compounds famous for their lovers. It was designed to show off the chest of a man, a simple way to tell a pleasure slave from a working one. A mark of distinction, and sometimes one of contention.

He shook his head. Bad memories gave him no right to slow down. There were things to do, and his mistress would not be pleased should he be late. Slipping his arms through the sleeves, he tied the bottom closed with a simple knot, leaving two triangles of cloth to fall below his waist line. Reaching under his wardrobe he found the final piece of his outfit, the one no one ever saw. A leather armband, which he slipped and adjusted to fit his upper arm and then the knife he was allowed to carry. Slipping it into the band, he glanced at the mirror in the first hint of light.

His hair fell about his shoulders, but the knife couldn't be seen. She would know. He would know. But for much of the complex, he was a personal slave and lover. No more.

He glanced at the small sidetable, yet another gift his mistress gave him. Lying upon it were two items, a small piece of black twine and a necklace with the black and white disk of balance. Snatching up the twine he pulled his straight hair backwards and tied it off at the base of his skull. The appearance please him and he grabbed his pendant, slipping it over his head and pulling his ponytail over the string. A glance out of the floor length window told him he had finished with just enough time to spare, he wished to not miss his prayers this morning.

He opened his door, and nodded to the guard posted ten feet away. It was normal for him to do this, the guards were all to happy to report to their owners and masters of a slave trying to break the rules, all accusations were summarily turned aside. He was granted these little excursions, belief demanded it.

Outside, he found a quiet portion of the complex, free from the hustle of the early morning preperations. He looked East, glad to see the thin line of blue appearing. He dropped to his knees and crossed his ankles, closing his eyes as he sat upright. Slowly, he spread his arms in welcome and supplication. The sun was a constant, it represented a portion of the balance he found so much peace in. Each morning, it was born, each evening, it died. When it was powerful the stars and moon were weakened, when it was weak, the stars and moon were strong. Such is the way. He didn't smile, but reminding himself of these things calmed him.

He felt the first rays of the golden disk fall upon him, warming his face and spreading slowly down his body. In his heart he knew the life he loved would not always be like this. Change was a constant. The sun that was Feretris peaceful day to day life would set eventually, and cast them into a night unlike any they had ever experienced. He only hoped that day didn't come soon.

Daerin rose at last with a sigh. Balance was an odd concept. With males diminished, eventually it would need be that they would gain power. But so many males were full of hatred, if they gained power the world would sink to war. Women, at least, could keep hatred reigned and conduct buisness. He shrugged. For every one who thought like he, there was one who believed the 'women's world' was more callous and cruel than war could ever be. He frankly didn't care.

He glanced at the risen sun and shook his head. Twenty minutes before the first toll, his mistress would be displeased if her were not back at her room by then. He turned and began walking back in towards the complex, passing young men trainign to be guards, most of them not daring to look at him for fear of their trainer who led them. Then past the men who tended the gardens, most of whom cast dark glares in his direction. One old man whispered to his companion. Then as he passed the stables, the older men who worked with the horses shouted comments after him.

"There he goes, the mistress's lapdog. Never having to do more than raise her hand for her as she leaves a building." The eldest among them laughed, drawing forth an echo from his companions.

"I wonder how much real work he can do?" Shouted a guardsmen from nearby.

That comment began a bickering between the few posted guards and the stable hands, freeing Daering from the insults. He walked into the complex, marching past guard after guard, looking straight forward, slipping into the naturally arrogant pace most of the pleasure slaves had a habit of taking. Something that was raised into them. They were the cream of the crop, and they had to sell. He, on the other hand, just needed an image.

Past a set of double doors to Isabel's section of the complex, and straight to her room, where he said two simple orders: food and the files for today's buisness. The mistress would be needing them. From there, he knocked once, then opened the door, slipping inside and taking an 'at ease' position before the door.

"Good morning, Mistress Isabel. I pray you slept well?"

He paced across the floor with an even step, kneeling to her left and a little behind. Here question caused him to grin, the normal game continued. Images, smoke and mirrors, and he would always answer in kind.

"I am at peace, my mistress." He watched out the window with her, his mind ready to react, as was his place in this situation. He clasped his hands before him, the typical sign of submission among slaves.

Daerin remained kneeling as his mistress rose, his eyes following, but his body remained still. Nae? Nae. . . Something connected in his mind for a moment and then left. He puzzled on this piece of information, his face creasing with concentration as he rose and her beck. A few steps across the floor he cocked his head while she rummaged through her wardrobe.

"Nae? Would that be that incredibly rude female who used to visit oft?" He remembered a woman who held very little regard for the social graces of Feretris but huge respect for the laws that were next to meaningless in his opinion.

He glanced at the clothing and allowed a smile to grace his lips. "My mistress is displeased with her bloodline?" He understood Isabel's mind well, better than her own mother at times. But he was raised to be her second set of eyes and a pair of hands when nessicary.

He took the shirt and trousers gently from her, untying the shirt quickly before her. He dropped the plain piece of cloth to the floor and pulled on the dress shirt. Tying it with simple thongs made to hide beneath the cloth, unlike the shirt that used its own fabric to hold itself shut, he then removed his plain black trousers for the matching breeches. This outfit revealed less of his body, but this outfit was a sign of ownership, unlike his typical clothing that marked him as one of the cattle.

"Does my mistress approve?" He spread his arms for her to inspect him.

Daerin blinked at her question, pretending to recheck the lacing on the boddice to gain a few precious seconds to think. What would he like to do? He would rather be by her side, as she well knew. At the estate, he would be forced to follow his mistress's mother's orders, which were rarely so kind, and always less interesting.

Or he would be put to use as a pleasure slave. He was not unattractive, that much was certain. Simple features matching properly to ensure he was not ugly. Many times his dark hair, allowed to grow long after a discussion on the subject nearly two years ago with his mistress, drew women seeking him. Thankfully his mistress had yet to agree without his knowledge or 'consent'. He almost laughed at that thought.

"Mistress, I would, if must need be I am left here while you are away, I would like to be placed in the guard." He hoped his careful wording made his true intentions clear. The two of them had grown like this for years, playing the carefully executed game that was Feretris's social structure. Though between the two of them, the lines of status blurred significantly. Not to the point of absolution, but enough for comfort between them.

He sinched a knot into the lacing and stepped back to allow her to examine herself in the full length mirror, a rare commodity in this land with so little sand to make the glass.

He smiled gently at her question. He understood the point, and an answer was unnessicary. He was hers. It was an accepted fact. He would rather play soldier for a time than serve another. A glance at her eyes in the mirror locked them before the next comment.

He prayed his shock was not apparent. As her face turned down, he pondered for a moment. Who, exactly, would she choose to seed the child? It was none of his buisness as her slave, but he cared for her more than any living soul. He had risked his life on many occasions for her sake, on an emotional level, he felt he deserved an answer to that, eventually.

He broke the structure of normal life for but a moment to embrace her, praying the slight pain in her voice was more to worries of the estate than the true desire to be a mother. "If the Breeders do allow you to have child, what if it is but a male? That child would do little good to the future of our home." He had no doubts of how the world worked. He was, ultimately, expendable. He turned her slowly, more of a gentle pressure on her shoulders so that he may seek her eyes.

As the shadows fell in upon him he stood in open shock. This was not the first time he had been punished in some way, but this is the first time her punishment included being left alone. She always administered it to him, and then helped him to rest. This time, he knew, it would be more difficult.

He dropped to his knees, trying to think back to his morning, trying to think back to that feeling of peace he'd had in his morning prayers. Apparently, his night was coming far sooner that he had at first believed. He shivered in the dark, fighting back tears he suddenyl felt. How the hell should he feel? He'd offered everything to her, willingly! Unlike some slaves, he had only been punished before for mistakes, not willingly acting against her.

If anything, this fate was more cruel in his mind than being cast to the side and destroyed as many slaves were for misdeeds. Perhaps not on the Eldic compound, but the stories came often enough from other women and slaves. He only wished he could understand her sudden anger. "Why. . ." His voice was tiny in the space of the closet.

As the light from the main room flooded in, the woman who brought his meal found him sitting in a corner, his eyes on the floor. His usually orderly hair was loosed from it's tiny thong and allowed to fall about his shoulders. The hair just above his left temple and backwards in a straight row was braided tightly and tied off. The off center braid was somewhat disconcerting, especially for one who usually kept himself so composed as Daerin.

The woman placed his food down and lit a small lamp attached to the wall. "The mistress wishes you to eat here." The woman closed the door again, locking it behind her.

A sigh escaped Daerin's lips as he reached pulled the meager meal forward. Eating slowly, he fingered his new hair style. A promise to himself, that's what the book had said. Make a promise to yourself and twist its words into your hair. Yes, it had been meant for females, but he had enough hair to do it as well.

He would be able to recover from this, and continue serving as he always did. A smile graced his lips. And he would stand beside Isabel as always. He made that promise long ago, now her wore it in his hair.

Finishing his meal, he leaned against the wall. No point in wasting energy on nothing, he thought, and with a final content sigh at his decision, he closed his eyes.