Chapter I
By Duchess of Darkness (K)

CRACKING lightning and roaring thunder sent shivers up and down my spine, the skin on my arms resembling that of goose flesh. I winced as I turned on my stomach, careful not to shift too much and have my shirt rub painfully against my red back. I turned my head to the side as I fleeced my fingers at my side, and smiled at the man with unruly dirt-brown hair sitting by the window that was darkened by the ongoing storm outside. As a loud boom of thunder shook the small room, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to wish the storm away.

I opened my eyes again when a gentle hand settles itself on my head. I smiled again as fingers combed through my own brown locks. I thanked the man for his show of affection. He had always been kind to me, a brother without blood relations that cared for me. And though he’s not related to me in any way, many of the others labeled us as such. One would think it better to call this man my adoptive father, but he has cared for me as a brother should, not a father.

I winced again as lightning made a deafening crack, sounding too much like a whip to me. The man petted me as she spoke to distract me from the storm.

“Fire?”

It was my given name. For as long as I could remember, I have been answering to that strange word, its meaning for me unknown. But even so, I automatically answer to it as I did now.

“Yes, sir?”

He smiled down at me and said, “Didn’t I tell you to call me Malachi when we’re alone and not in the eyesight of the High Lord? Now, did you finish your duties?”

I managed a small nod with my response. “Yes, Malachi. I finished them before seeing... the High Lord.”

He smiled again and patted my head. His expression was easy to read and I had to close my eyes to blot it out of my vision. It didn’t help any, though; even the backs of my eyelids showed me his face, and the faces of many who sympathize and pity my misfortune. It was well known amongst those of the city, especially the servants working for the High Lord, that he owned a child that was whipped almost daily. They all knew of the multiplying slash-like scars on my back, never to go away and to continue to multiply as long as I lived under him

“You were careful in your duties?” Malachi managed to continue.

“Yes.”

As well known as my beatings are my mistakes; my every mistake earns me double the amount of whips. It’s sad, knowing I have to endure this or else face a painful head (though dead sounds like a good options), and the only advantage is receiving hearty meals and no duties that would strain on my back beyond recovery. I cut off a sad laugh at the irony. The High Lord had no problem in scarring my skin, but he expressed quite clearly that he didn’t want me to break any bones. His proof of this would be when he sent in his private doctor to bandage my left arm; it was during our earlier sessions when I retaliated and tried to run away, instead ending up with a crescent-shaped scar on my right wrist and a temporarily sprained wrist. Every servant knew of what an expert the High Lord was with whips, a fine, black leather one always fastened at his hip.

“How was your visit?” It was a hesitant question with a feared answer, but Malachi had to ask it.

And as he had to ask, I had to answer, no matter how vague or detailed my answer was. “The same as always.”

“What were you served?”

Of course he was speaking of the food I am served every time I visit the high Lord. I answered, “Sliced roasted ham, cubes of cheese, bread, wine from red grapes, and an orange-colored food that was cut into odd-shaped squares and was sweet and juicy. I don’t remember what it’s called, though I know it was a fruit.”

“Not the fruit orange, but the color of it was?” Malachi inquired.

I shook my head a bit. “No. This fruit was sweet, not tart like an orange.”

Malachi frowned. “I do not know what it is called. Perhaps it is a new fruit from outside the city?”

I did my best to shrug from my position and only sent a shock of pain to course through my back and even affect my shoulders, arms and chest. A whimper escaped my lips and Malachi was alarmed.

“Fire?”

“I’m fine,” I grunted, turning my face away. “Could you get something for me, though?”

Immediately, he got up and headed for the exit. “I’ll see if I can get some ice from Mary. Try to relax while I’m gone.”

I grunted my reply and listened to his retreating footsteps become fainter every second until I couldn’t hear them past the rumbling of the storm. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into a light and uncomfortable sleep, not bothering to fully waken when my shirt was lifted and something cool was pressed to my back.

I woke the next day halfway through the morning with Gwendolyn looking over me in Malachi’s place. I smiled at her and slowly sat up, fixing my shirt that was still pushed up. Glancing at the window I realized that the rain had yet to cease. The thunder and lighting had stopped, yet the rain poured heavily like water dumped from a bucket overhead. If the rain had not stopped even for an hour over night, then the streets must have been flooded by now.

“Gwen,” I called while rising from my cot.

The woman came forward and steadied me as I wobbled and winced, reaching out to her for support. “Do you need anything, Fire?”

I shook my head and said instead, “Since I cannot go out to the market today or the gardens, that leaves inside work. Did the Lord request anything special?”

Gwen shook her head and crushed back a pale lock of hair out of her face. “I though think that work around the kitchen is enough. Though I do not know if He would like for you to serve him at midday or not.”

“It’s all right. Thank you, Gwen,” I said, nodding to tell her she could release me. I made my way to the small basket in the corner of the room full of mismatching clothes. I picked up the cleanest set and changes with Gwen’s help, handing her my blood-soaked clothing to be washed and worn again. “Many thanks, Gwen. Please tell Malachi I’m up if you see him.”

Before the woman left, she turned back toward me. “Fire, Malachi is with the guards right now. He will not return until night.”

I paused before nodding, remembering his duties. Malachi was a different servant for the High Lord. Though he took care of me, he was with the guards of the Lord most of the time. Malachi did a bit of everything, but was best skilled in combat and discipline. He trained the younger guards to serve the High Lord without question and taught them how to respond if and when addressed. When he doesn’t train the guards, he cares for the new servants during their first few weeks here. As for myself, Malachi grew fond of me when he met me, and I of him

“Thank you, Gwen.”

I watched her go out and ran my fingers through my hair to try and detangle it before following and heading down to the kitchen. There I met up with Mary, the main cook, and some of the other women who helped her. Mary smiled down at me and jerked her head to call me over.

“Ah, ‘morning, Fire. How are you?”

I inclined my head. “Better. The ice worked wonders. The cuts should heal completely in a few days if not by tomorrow night.”

The smile on her face wavered slightly before she composed herself and replied, “Well, I hope you can help me at this stove because the Lord has a guest today. Right now we’re just making refreshments and snacks.”

Her words caught my attention. A guest? The High Lord always had visitors, but when the word guest is mentioned, it means that it’s someone new.

“Another business associate, Mary? Will there be trade?” I asked, eyes wider than normal in both dread and anxiety. When associates come to the High Lord and they mean to trade or by (meaning that they either switch servants or else buy one from each other), that means that one of us has a very good chance in leaving this life. Though, if we are picked and our new Lord is more strict and brutal, then the only way we are to escape that life is if we go through the same process again, or else killed. Death is a very good option for many of us who have been treated lowly and have been seen with lesser value than the other servants. But still, many continue striving in hopes of finding that one master who would finally treat them with at least a bit of respect.

Autumn, a redheaded and usually cheery woman, came over with a basket of vegetables and set it down on the counter, then patted me and kissed me on the top of my head. She used to hug me constantly, but once the daily whippings started, she refrained herself. Still, I knew he deeply wanted the contact.

“Actually, Fire,” said Autumn, a light tone in her voice, “I heard from Toby that this man isn’t too interested in buying or trading.”

Both Mary and I frowned. “What?” I managed. “If he isn’t here for business, then why would he be here? Does the High Lord work in a different kind of business besides slave trading?”

Mary visibly cringed at the crude label. And even so, she turned to Autumn with a questioning look. “Autumn...?”

Autumn shook her head. “I don’t know of any other business the Lord might be in.” Of course, Autumn was one of the few women who have been working for the Lord for a long time and have yet to be traded or sold to another since she was one of the Lord’s favorites.

Mary pursed her lips and waited a moment before taking Autumn by the elbow and leading her away, instructing me to look after her cooking. By the light in her eyes I knew a secret though crossed her mind — something I certainly wasn’t allowed to head, or anyone else’s as Mary let Autumn to a corner to whisper some servant’s gossip or other. I grabbed a stool and climbed onto it and tended to the food until the two women came back, both looking slightly pale and tightlipped. I didn’t bother with asking what they spoke of, for I knew that if they didn’t want me to hear of it, it would never reach my ears.

I busied myself with chopping some of the vegetables that would be used in the meal. As I reached for another one, a hand came over mind. Recognizing the calloused hand, I looked up immediately to see Malachi looking down at me.

“Malachi?”

The man half smiled at me, the smile not reaching his eyes. “The Lord wishes you to serve him and his guest today.”

I only shook my head and silently accepted the orders. Hopefully, I would not be beaten today.

“And,” Malachi continued, “you are to wear your other clothes.”

I stopped. “Other clothes?” Surely the High Lord didn’t want me to present myself in bloody rags. Unless...

“As in your presentation clothes,” replied Malachi, with a hint of ‘you should know’ in his voice.

I sighed and put down the knife and hopped of the stool to allow Malachi to escort me back to my own room to change. The High Lord, like my room, gave my “presentation clothes” to me because he favored me over the other servants to tend him whenever he had visitors or guests. It was his way of showing off, torturing me, and stating his claim on me. Though nearly all of the Lord’s associates have seen me and have places their bets on me, the High Lord refuses to sell me. I have braved asking him once, and he told me that he had yet to see the right person to give me to. I knew, though, that really, no one could meet his price. No man was stupid enough to pay so much for just one troublesome and scarred child.

When I finished changing into my presentation clothing, Malachi pulled my hair back into a ribbon. I looked down at myself and wiggled my toes in my sandals. I was only allowed to wear them when the Lord called for me when he had guests. Sighing once more, I nodded to Malachi and we made our way back to the kitchen. By then, Mary finished with the snacks and was starting on the midday meal. There were three trays, and I took all three, balancing one of my head.

As Malachi led the way to the High Lord’s conference room where he always met with his business associates, I concentrated on balancing the trays. The High Lord, I’ll note, loved to be entertained, and if he wanted something special, he would call especially for me. Balancing something on my head was one of the numerous tricks I had to work hard at for the Lord. Malachi opened the double doors to the room; I knelt before entering and immediately spotted the Lord and his guest sitting on furniture opposite of each other.

The Lord, I should mention, has brown hair like my own, only a shade lighter, and dark eyes that I, as well as many others, refused to meet. The Lord always wore fancy clothing, lined with gold here and there. He had an air about him that commanded obedience, yet a handful of servants have always tried to rise against him. And unlike the High Lord, his guest had a calming presence. I didn’t know why, but I liked him just by being there. Risking a glance as I approached them, I noticed how the Lord guest wore simple blue clothing, all of the same style. I did not know what he wore, for his clothing was unfamiliar to me. Hiding a frown as I passed by him to kneel in front of the Lord, I wondered: Who was this foreign man, and why was he here?

AN: Please review, this is supposed to be before SE, but hey, I'm slowly working on it, okay? I'm still a little rusty wtih things and I hope it all works out. Tell me what you think, please. Continue, or die?