Page 35 of Bonded By Savages

She thinks of things much differently than me.

“I’ve heard the rumors.” It’s strange to have such an open conversation about such a sensitive topic with her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to discuss a dress designed to keep harem women in a state of constant, teased lust, always ready for their insatiable triads. It’s said it feels like a thousand feathers, a little tongue licking your body up and down.

I gulp. It makes me nervous, but even having a conversation is a blessing. I get a surge of anxiety, looking left and right, a practiced motion from when a wrong word at the wrong time could lead to a slap from the wet hand of a Toad.

“You’re not scared to go into the city alone?” I realize I’ve been speaking in a hushed tone, and I let the words come out a little louder. Matil smiles, and I realize she noticed.

“No. Most know I serve Tarak and Damian. They are branded and tattooed with double honors. That’s practically a lordship on this planet. No one would dare lay a finger on me,” she says, looking up, proud to serve the warriors. She opens her satchel. From it, she takes out an iron circle.

She unclasps it, puts it around her neck, and tightens it, as proud as if she was wearing a necklace of precious diamonds. She points to it. “This means I’m off limits. That I work for a triad already, for anyone who hasn’t heard the names of Tarak and Damian.” There’s no shame in her tone.

I look away, not sure how I feel about it. It makes me uncomfortable that she’s wearing the collar…

But I realize it’s not because I view it as something shameful.

Some crazy, strange part of me is…

Jealous? That some other woman would wear a collar proclaiming them as the duo’s property? No. It can’t be.

“You said triad. Did you ever meet the third? Raython?”

Her lips purse tight. “I never knew his name. Raython. If he is half the man as the other two, he would have been a strong warrior. The loss of the third affected them. I’ve never seen Aurelians so tormented. They volunteered for every assignment, and I don’t know if it was to earn the second tattoo… They barely stay here for more than a day or two before going back to war…” She trails off. “I shouldn’t speak of my masters this way. It’s not my place.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward spot,” I say, finding it strange how easily the wordmastersrolls off her tongue, the way she can wear a collar, without a hint of shame. It’s so different from the Toad Lord’s servants. He loved to humiliate them.

“Green and black dresses it is. Stay in the shade, Athena,” she says, giving me a warm smile and walking away, casting loving glances to her gardens before she goes back into the mansion through the wide open side doors.

I stay in the thin strip of shade under the walls, sitting on the bench, looking out at what she has grown. She’s right. This garden beats anything you could build under fake lights in a space station.

I bite my lip, imagining an iron collar around my neck.

Could I do it, without feeling shame? It doesn’t bother her, and she seems proud to wear it, proud of her status working for a twice-honored triad. Those honors make my skin crawl. When I first saw them on the chests of my saviors, my dreams of being saved by an honorable triad of Empire Aurelians were dashed.

I run my hands over the wooden bench. It’s brown, so I wonder if she or Laura requested it. The Aurelians seem to only like things that match the darkness of their planet. Plus, it’s regular sized, the first piece of furniture that doesn’t make me feel miniscule. My feet touch the ground.

They barely stay here for more than a day or two before going back to war.

Those words chill me. I wish it didn’t mean what I know it does, but the two brutal warriors work for the Priests and the War-God, opposed to the noble Empire I yearned for.

How many proud warriors have the two of them murdered?

How many protectors have they slain?

I can’t stay in the shadows. I jump to my feet, my heart racing, and stand under the sun, letting it warm me.

14

Tarak

Iwatch her from the hallway on the top floor, with a window that looks out over the garden. She runs her hand over a growing tree, and a smile comes to my face. I can’t remember if I’ve smiled since my battle-brother was taken from me.

We gave her this. We gave her the soft green grass under her feet, the sun on her skin. She was trapped. Abused. And we went through reality and risked everything to give herthis.

Peace. Safety. Security. Those thin, young trees will grow tall and proud, just as my seed will grow in her belly and a great warrior will be born, no, a dozen of them, strong sons who I pray will have even a tenth of her goodness.

The wooden front doors whoosh open, and I turn from the window to walk down the flights of stairs until I get to the entrance hallways. Matil has a full satchel. The iron collar around her neck gave her free rein to go to the market and back, but it looks dull and out of place on her.

Instead, I imagine Athena, with the golden collar of a pregnant Mate. How proud I would be to walk with her leashed to my wrist, her belly swelling up, every man in the city jealous of what I have.

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