Unbound Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 1) (3 page)

7

Adaryn

T
he smell of hot coffee and bread washed over me. I looked around. There were a few people seated at spotlessly clean, small white tables, but they all looked to be Oppressors. My heart constricted for a moment; what if I wasn't supposed to be here? But the few who looked up from their newspapers hardly gave me a second glance. I looked over at the serving counter and saw a collared man wiping mugs with a dry cloth.

The sight of him gave me courage. I walked over to him and placed my two coppers on the counter.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said timidly. I'd never had to purchase anything in my life before. “Is . . . is this enough to buy a slice of bread?”

The man looked at me for a moment, clearly surprised. I swallowed nervously before he smiled at me and nodded. “Sure, love. Give me a moment and I'll get some from the back.” He nodded at one of the stools lined up under the lip of the counter. “Take a seat.”

I did, smiling back at him. The man disappeared through a back door. He returned a minute later, holding a plate with an enormous slice of bread with a generous helping of honey. I picked it up; the bread was still hot. Taking a bite, I closed my eyes, savoring the softness of the bread and the sweetness of the honey. I opened my eyes, smiling at the man. He laughed.

“I take it you approve, then?” he said. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged man, with soft brown eyes and a ready smile.

I nodded. “Do you own this place?” I asked, wiping breadcrumbs off my lips.

The man laughed heartily. “Wouldn't that be grand? Nah, I run it for my master. He usually oversees the setup and baking in the morning but leaves me to run things after that.”

The main door opened, and two city dwellers walked in.

“Hold on just a minute,” the collared man said as he went to help them with their orders.

Two coffees and several pastries later, the newcomers had seated themselves into well-padded chairs by the window. I shifted uncomfortably on my wooden stool. It felt rock hard.

“Sorry, but these stools are the only place here where slaves are allowed to sit,” he said quietly to me.

“That's okay. I don't mind,” I mumbled. Actually, I did mind, but this didn't seem the time or place to do something about it.

“My name is Bertram.”

“Adaryn,” I returned.

“Adaryn,” Bertram repeated. He motioned to my clothing. “Still wearing the nomadic clothing, I see. You must be new to slavery.”

“
Very
new.” I glowered. “Third day.”

Bertram whistled softly. “Wow, that
is
new.” He looked at me sympathetically. “You must still be hurting from being ‘broken.’ Take heart, girl. It usually only lasts a week or two.”

“Broken?” I frowned, puzzled. The man looked at me strangely.

“Masters are harsh with their slaves for a few days. They shock them repeatedly through the collars and often beat them for good measure. It's to make sure the slave loses any notion of defiance or escape. They call it ‘breaking.’”

I couldn't help but shudder in revulsion. “My mas—” I stopped and corrected myself. He was
not
my master, I thought stubbornly. “My captor hasn't hurt me. The only shocks I received were inadvertently inflicted when I tried to remove the collar on my own.”

Bertram looked thunderstruck. “He hasn't hurt you? At all?”

“Well, I haven't done anything to warrant a beating,” I said somewhat defensively. “The only objectionable thing I can think of that might have angered him was to try and run away. He found me though.” I frowned at the memory. “He seemed more irritated with himself than me.”

Bertram looked awed. “That master of yours is gold, love,” he said fervently. “You stay close to him, hear me? Don't go running away again or do anything stupid. There are slaves here who would
kill
for a master that kind.”

“Well, I don't think he's kind at all,” I said, irritated. “The fool man went and collared me.”

Bertram made a hushing sound, motioning with his hands at me to be quiet. “Don't say that!” he hissed, with a concerned look toward the other customers. “Speaking ill about your master is a surefire way to get yourself into some serious trouble. Worse, he may go and sell you. Trust me, if he didn't beat you for running away, that is a mellow man for sure. Don't go and do something to make him angry.”

He looked so distressed that I found myself assuring him that I wouldn't do anything like that. He calmed down a little. I slipped off the stool and faced him. “Thank you for the bread,” I said, bowing my head in polite thanks. I turned to leave when he pushed the coppers back at me.

“Take them with you,” he said with a smile. “I haven't had a good talk with a fellow slave in a long while.”

I stiffened at the word “slave,” but I forced a smile and left. The seated Oppressors didn't so much as glance at me.

I tightened my cloak around me once outside. An icy wind had sprung up, chilling me. I headed back to Aaric's house, head down. Bertram had given me a lot to think about.

8

Aaric

A
aric sat in his study, pouring over some sketches. They showed birds in flight, bone structure, feathers, and anatomy. He was furiously making notes in a small notebook. If he could just figure out . . .

He heard the thump of the door closing downstairs. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. He absentmindedly reached for his cup of coffee before remembering for the tenth time that it was empty. Grunting irritably, he made a few more notes in his book.

He heard some clattering in the kitchen and rolled his eyes heavenward. Did the girl not know how to be quiet? “She could wake the dead with that noise,” he muttered grumpily. “How on earth am I supposed to get any work done?”

He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He picked up his empty coffee cup and went downstairs. The clattering noise continued. He stepped through the kitchen and was surprised to see Adaryn washing dishes. Slowly and with too much soap, but she was doing it. She must have heard him because she turned around to regard him solemnly with her large blue eyes. She had soap on her nose.

“Ah. Sorry.” Aaric held up his hands and took a step backwards. “Don't let me interrupt your work.”

Adaryn shook her head. Her light brown hair was a matted mess. He should probably buy her a comb. He looked at her old, worn clothing. He should probably buy her some new clothes, too.

“Your presence doesn't change anything. I am only washing dishes.” She held out a soapy hand for the coffee cup. Aaric gave it to her. Her voice took on a touch of acid as she turned back to her work. “You're going to make us both sick, leaving the kitchen in this state.”

Aaric shrugged. “I usually wait to wash until I've used all the dishes. Why do something every time you eat when you only have to do it once a week?”

“Well, that's just nasty.” She scrubbed so furiously at a plate it was a wonder it didn't break.

“I'm the so-called savage and barbarian, and even
I
always clean my plate after a meal.”

Aaric smirked. “I wasn't aware savages
used
plates.” He took another step backwards at the look she directed at him. He frowned back.

Adaryn opened her mouth like she was going to say something but then closed it again with a sigh. “Never mind.” She turned and went back to washing, her shoulders slumped.

She's still mourning her loss,
Aaric thought to himself and felt a twinge of pity. He mentally stamped it out as he turned and went back to his study. It wouldn't do to start feeling sorry for his slave. That wouldn't go over well with society, and he couldn't afford to tarnish his reputation now.

9

Adaryn

T
he sound of his footsteps receded as he retreated back to his study. I sighed in exasperation. That didn't go the way I'd planned at all. It was my fault, I thought glumly. I had to go and insult his cleaning abilities. I looked down at the overfilled sink. I wasn't too good at it myself, if I was being completely honest.

I glowered at his coffee mug and started to wash it. I needed to talk to him. If Bertram was right, and Aaric was of a different sort from the other Oppressors, I wanted to know to what extent and why. Any information I could glean might be of use once I found a way to escape.

An idea started to form in my mind. I quickly washed his cup and then brewed some coffee. Ten minutes later found me in front of his study. I knocked lightly. No answer. I knocked again, a little louder. Still nothing. I pushed the door open and went in.

My eyes widened as I took in the study. Bookshelves lined the walls, bursting with books, manuscripts, and scrolls. My fingers itched to wrap themselves around one of those books. I wasn't a very skilled reader, but my father had taught me what he knew, and I never passed up an opportunity to read.

Aaric was at his desk, seated in the only chair in the room. I walked over so I was standing right behind him. Looking over his shoulder, I saw he was intently studying a large scroll depicting various sketches of birds and a couple of bats, all in flight. I was intrigued. “You're studying birds?” I asked.

Aaric nearly jumped two feet in the air, startling me in turn with his sudden movement. I managed to keep the coffee from spilling, fortunately.

Aaric turned to me angrily. “I thought I told you to knock!”

I glared in return. “I did! I knocked twice, in fact.”

“Well you should have knocked louder,” he said irritably, turning back to his scroll.

I didn't want to ruin this opportunity. I quickly held out the coffee. “Here, I made you some coffee. I . . . figured you might . . .” My voice died away as he stared at the cup. It suddenly occurred to me that he probably already had at least two cups today. He likely didn't want a third. But he then stretched out a hand to take it, his fingers lightly brushing mine. “Thank you, Adaryn. I can always use an extra cup.”

He smiled at me. I coughed nervously and looked at his scroll. “Are you learning about birds, then? I know quite a bit about them.”

“Do you?” Aaric placed the cup on the table, already forgotten as he turned his attention back to the scroll. “I'm not studying birds, exactly. Just their bone structure, flying patterns and such.”

“Why?” My curiosity was piqued.

“I . . .” He hesitated, and I saw a new expression flit across his face. Uncertainty. I waited expectantly.

He sighed. “I haven't told anyone yet, but I'm trying to create a . . . a flying machine, of sorts.”

I stared. “For people?” I couldn't keep the astonishment out of my voice. “You can make us fly?”

He shook his head. “No, I can't. Not yet, anyway,” he corrected himself. “That's what I want to make. It must be a wonderful thing, to fly.”

“I agree,” I said wistfully. “I've always wanted to fly.”

Aaric looked at me strangely for a moment, then smiled again. “I didn't know we had anything in common, but it seems I was wrong.”

I looked at the sketches again, ignoring his last comment. “You aren't going to learn much about birds in flight looking at these.”

Aaric looked puzzled. “This is one of the more informative scrolls I have. I do have a few books on the topic I've been referring to as well.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe I should go to the library.”

“No,” I said, trying not to smile. “I mean you need to get outside and look at
real
birds. If you want to know how best to fly, I doubt there's a better way to learn.”

Aaric pursed his lips. “I suppose that is true. It's winter, though. The types of birds I'll be able to observe are somewhat limited.”

“If you take me to the forest,” I tried to sound casual, “I could show you lots of different birds.”

Aaric raised an eyebrow at me, the corners of his lips twitching. “Nice try.”

I frowned, irritated he had seen through my ruse. “Fine, but if we stay here, we'll only be able to look at pigeons and sparrows. Maybe some crows.”

Aaric nodded. “They will have to do.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Real live observation is always enlightening. I hope this will be a successful venture.”

I couldn't hold back my smile this time. His excited look reminded me of a little boy at Yuletide. “I think it will be.”

10

Aaric

T
he next few weeks passed by quickly. Aaric often took Adaryn to the city square, where a large multitude of pigeons and crows gathered. He knew he shouldn't be surprised by Adaryn's knowledge of birds and their ways, being one of the nomads, but he had to grudgingly admit that despite his research, she knew more about birds and flight than he did. Plus, the birds seemed to relax her. He couldn't explain it, but a certain calm seemed to come over her when she stood there in the square, tossing breadcrumbs to the pigeons and sparrows.

Since he let her help him with his flight research, her hostility toward him seemed to lessen substantially. He hoped she was coming to accept her new life, though he wasn't overly optimistic that it would be so easy.

“What were your parents like, Aaric?” she asked him one day. They were seated in the square again. Aaric had given her a bag of crumbs, and she was crouched on the cobblestones, tossing a small handful here and there. Pigeons flocked to her, and a couple even perched on her shoulders.

Aaric blinked. “My parents? Why?”

Adaryn looked up at him, fixing him in her gaze. Her eyes were a brilliant blue. He had never seen eyes that blue. “You can tell a lot about a person based on his parents and what they were like.”

Aaric shrugged. “Well, there isn't much to tell. My father was an inventor of sorts. He loved to create things. I . . . didn't see much of him; he was quite a hit with society. And my mother—” He looked away from the girl and fixed his gaze on a stone lion statue several feet away. Her stare was making him uncomfortable. “I didn't see much of her, either. She had a lot of parties to attend and such. I only got in the way.” He grimaced at the trace of bitterness in his voice. He'd told himself he was over such foolish feelings.

He turned his eyes back to Adaryn. She was still looking at him, but there was something new in her expression. He hoped it wasn't pity. He couldn't stand to have someone's pity.

“You were abandoned,” she said softy, “in favor of inventions and parties.” There
was
pity in her gaze. Aaric felt his back stiffen.

“It's life,” he said coldly. “No one is perfect. My parents had a large reputation in society that required their presence.”

“But not their child's presence?” she asked, looking puzzled. “I don't understand.”

“No, a rover wouldn't,” he said, a little harshly. He regretted it as soon as it was said. Rover wasn't a name the nomads chose for themselves, and the name had negative connotations behind it. Adaryn's expression turned cool. She stood up, throwing the last of the breadcrumbs and brushing off her skirt. The pigeons on her shoulders fluttered away, startled.

Aaric sighed inwardly. There was no point in lingering here. She would probably be silent and offended until tomorrow morning, at least. He didn't know why that bothered him so much and refused to let himself dwell any more on the matter.