beside Gianna and Kara, planning dresses, sewing, and making delicate little amulet-necklaces with the wealth of beads.
She had done some of that, but like her dancing, there was only so much puttering with trinkets that she could do before she lost interest. Concubines were supposed to be obsessed with clothing and self-ornamentation; Rennati liked clothing well enough, and she enjoyed looking pretty, but she had al¬ways felt frustrated and confined by life in the harem, though she had taken very great care never to show it. The alternative to the harem was the life of a field- or house-slave, and they were not treated nearly as well as the concubines.
The view from her window, though restricted, was more in¬teresting than anything inside the harem. At least there was something going on out there, something different from the in¬terior of the harem tower. Weather changed, slaves walked past, birds flew by. And she was, frankly, putting off reporting to Lady Triana. The Lady had been increasingly impatient with Rennati's lack of information and, the last time, had threatened to revoke her bargain unless Rennati had more to report the next time she called.
At last, with a grimace, she decided that she couldn't put it off any longer. She picked up the little box of personal jewelry, and dug the teleson-ring out from its hiding-place among her tiny treasures. Carefully she put it on, spoke the few words that activated it, and stared into the dark green murk of the beryl, waiting for a voice to call to her thinly across the vast distance between this manor and Lady Triana's.
"Well. So this is where the disturbance has been coming from."
Rennati started, and looked up, for the voice did not come from the ring, nor was it Lady Triana's.
Lady Lydiell stood in the doorway, and in her shock, Rennati could only stare at her dumbly. Elven ladies never entered the harem, much less came into the concubines' private quarters! She had feared discovery by Gianna or Kara, or perhaps even Lord Kyrtian himself, but never, ever by his mother!
The lady was not dressed in the same fashion that she had
been when Rennati first met with her; in fact, she looked very little like the sheltered Lady of the manor that Rennati knew her to be. With her long, silver hair bound into a severe knot at the nape of her neck, no cosmetics on her face, and no jewels— wearing a soft brown divided skirt and matching long-sleeved tunic—only her air of authority betrayed her rank.
Her eyes were quiet, unreadable pools of murky green, ex¬actly like the beryl in Rennati's ring; her face as expressionless as a statue.
Lady Lydiell calmly took the few steps needed to cross the distance between the doorway and Rennati, and held out her hand.
"Whomever you have been reporting to won't answer you, child," the Lady said, with no sign of anger or any other emo¬tion that Rennati could detect. "I've taken care of that. You might as well give that teleson-ring to me."
Numbly, Rennati took the ring off and handed it to her—then automatically dropped to her knees beside the couch she had been seated on, and bowed her head, clasping her hands behind her back, waiting for the Lady to punish her.
Her vivid imagination painted a dozen pictures for her of what to expect in the next few moments, as her heart beat so rapidly she had trouble breathing, and she shivered with fear. Her mouth dried, her throat closed, and she felt as if she was about to faint. She would be punished, of course. She had be¬trayed her Master—at the behest of another Elvenlord, true, but that was no excuse. No slave could betray her master and be caught, and expect to escape without punishment. At the least, she would be sent out into the fields. At the worst—
"What on earth are you doing, child?" Lady Lydiell asked, in an astonished voice, which turned exasperated as Rennati re¬mained where she was. "Oh, for—get up little fool! I'm not go¬ing to hurt you! And look at me!"
Automatically Rennati leapt obediently to her feet, turning her astonished eyes to the Lady's face as her heart skipped beats and her chest tightened along with her throat. For a mo¬ment, she thought she would faint.
Lady Lydiell frowned, but not in such a way as—say—Lady
Triana had frowned. This frown was just annoyance, not some¬thing that would freeze the blood. It was an impersonal frown—there was no real anger in it. Though Rennati's skin felt cold and clammy, her heart slowed, just a little, and the ten¬sion in her chest eased.
"'Sit down," Lady Lydiell said shortly, and Rennati obeyed, her eyes fixed on the Lady's face. "And tell me about this ring. Who gave it to you? Why? And what have you been telling him?"
"Her," Rennati corrected automatically, and clapped her hand to her mouth in renewed alarm. But when no slap, sting of the collar, or indeed, any other correction came, she took her courage in both hands, and began her tale.
There was no reason to lie; if Lady Lydiell cared to, she could have it all out of her in a moment, either under the influ¬ence of drugs or by application of pain through the collar. And at this point there was no chance that Lady Triana would keep her side of the bargain, which had specified that Rennati remain undetected. So Rennati told everything, from the moment that Lady Triana picked her out of a slave-sale to the last thing that she had reported. As she spoke, Lady Lydiell's frown softened, until when at last Rennati fell silent, the elven lady's expression was no worse than thoughtful and slightly disapproving.
As she spoke, and Lydiell's expression eased, so, too, did the feeling of panic and fear, the awful sick feeling in her stomach. As she finished her last words, Lydiell nodded.
"It could have been worse," she said when Rennati fell silent. "You haven't given that creature much that's going to be of any use to her, and forewarned is forearmed as they say." She watched Rennati for a few moments, then appeared to make up her mind about something. "Stand up, child," she said. "I want you to come with me."
The fear returned, redoubled, and her heart raced again, her breath coming quickly as she tried to get air past the terrible tightness of her throat and chest. Now it comes, Rennati thought, heart sinking with dread. But, of course, she couldn't disobey. She followed Lady Lydiell down the stairs, past Gi-anna and Kara—
And out past the barrier at the door that kept unauthorized
slaves from getting into the harem—and the concubines from leaving it. There was a faint tingle on her skin as she passed through the shimmering curtain of magic power, and she shiv¬ered. Now she was outside, and away from the scant protection of the presence of the other two. What was Lady Lydiell going to do with her? Hand her over to the gladiators?
"You're intelligent, and I don't think you're a bad child at heart," Lydiell said, as if to herself, then looked over her shoul¬der at Rennati, who shrank inside herself when those penetrat¬ing green eyes met hers. "I'm usually considered a good judge of character, by the way."
"Yes, my lady," Rennati whispered, since it seemed that Lady Lydiell was waiting for an answer as they walked down a marble-faced hallway.
"I'm going to take a chance with you," Lydiell continued, still holding her with that,sharp gaze. "I'm going to do some¬thing that has never been done with a human from outside our own circle, born and raised among us. I'm going to show you exactly what you've jeopardized with your actions."
And for the next several hours, Rennati found herself hauled all over Lord Kyrtian's estate, seeing things that left her gaping, too overwhelmed to speak. This—this place was nothing like anywhere she had ever been before!
At first, it only seemed as if this was just an ordinary estate, although the Master and Mistress of it were unusually kind to their slaves and treated them extraordinarily well. First, the Lady took her to every nook and cranny of the Great House— not only through the rooms that she and her son and the other Elvenlords of the household used, but into the kitchen, the still-room, the laundry, the sewing and weaving room. Everywhere the Lady was greeted with respect, though not servility; more importantly, she didn't expect or seem to demand servility. In every other household Rennati had been in, slaves were ex¬pected never to speak unless directly addressed, never to raise their eyes to the mistress's face unless given permission, and never, ever, to do as these slaves did, and actually approach the mistress with a report or a query. But Rennati quickly began to
realize that Lady Lydiell not only was incredibly approachable, she was also greeted with actual affection by her slaves.
Affection? From slaves? How was that possible?
"What do you think of our home so far?" Lydiell asked, as they moved outside and headed for a long, low building. This was a question that would have been appropriate if asked of an equal or one only slightly inferior, but not of a concubine. Con¬cubines were not supposed to have opinions. They were barely supposed to think.
The question surprised her into honesty, not the least because the slaves in the kitchen had actually called cheerful and wel¬coming greetings when the Lady had first entered, leaving Ren-nati dumbfounded. "I don't understand," she said. "They like you! How can slaves like you?"
She hadn't really expected a reply, unless it came as a re¬proof. But what Lady Lydiell said in response to the impulsive exclamation shocked her to the core and left her speechless.
"They like me because they are not slaves," Lydiell said. "Neither they, nor their ancestors, were ever slaves; here, in this one manor, no Elvenlord has ever enslaved a human."
What? Rennati felt her heart actually stop for a moment.
"They are in my employ," Lady Lydiell continued. "They are my helpers, and we respect each other. Kyrtian and I protect them from the outside world, as his father did for their ances¬tors, and his grandfather for theirs, and for that protection, they and their families serve us," the Lady said quietly. "We have never had slaves here, and never shall, if we are left alone by the Lady Trianas of the world."
It was such an astonishing statement that it had to be a lie. It was simply not possible that there was a family of the Elven-lords that hadn't enslaved humans!
And yet—how could it be a lie? Why should the Lady make up such an astonishing story? What purpose would it serve? And how could she have gotten all of her slaves to act in such a natural way, unless it was true and not a lie?
As Rennati continued to follow Lady Lydiell out into the fields, to the cottages of the farm-laborers, to the barracks of
the fighters, she had been protected by a core of utter disbelief, but the more she saw, the more that core eroded. If the Lady had only shown her the household servants, she would not have trusted what she saw, but here were people who should never have set eyes on the lady, who, if they ever by some chance had seen her should never recognize the plainly-dressed Lady for the authority that she was. But time after time, the Lady was met with welcome and greeting, with the kind of common talk that might be shared with a trusted human overseer, but never with an Elvenlord, and she herself asked questions about the farming, training, or the slaves themselves and their families (families? Impossible!) that showed she was intimately familiar with the minutiae of their lives.
Even so, Rennati clung to her stubborn refusal to believe in this miracle of Elven kindness, right up until the two of them approached a set of small buildings constructed around a gar¬den. Rennati could not imagine what they could be, but to her incredulous ears came the sound of high, shrill voices—the voices of children—
As Lady Lydiell came into view of the garden, the children playing there caught sight of her, and ran toward her, shrieking greetings at the tops of their lungs.
"Lady Lidi! Lady Lidi!" "Come see my puppy!" "Will you make us sweeties?" "Lady Lidi, Jordy found a frog!"
Lady Lydiell only smiled serenely as the horde of small chil¬dren (some of them very grubby indeed) swarmed all around her, holding up flowers, a frog, a puppy, dolls, and toy bows and arrows for her approval. As Rennati stared, her mouth dropping completely open, the Lady gave each of the children her gravest attention.
Now she knew why there were no breeding pens, no mass nurseries, no other signs that human slaves were bred here with the same care to selection and carelessness as to feelings as were cattle and horses. The cluster of small buildings were— houses. Houses for families. Families who were allowed to keep their children with them. And since there were no breed¬ing pens, this must be the norm here, not the exception, as it was on the estate that had bred Rennati.
These children were utterly fearless in the presence of the chatelaine of the manor. They must never have received so much as an unkindness from an Elvenlord.
And look at the Lady herself! She couldn't have been more patient with this horde of exuberant children if she had been their nursemaid or beloved relative!
Rennati let fall the last of her disbelief, and felt the world whirling around her, turned utterly upside down.
"Will you please make us sweeties, Lady Lidi?" asked one of the boys, polite, but bold as a young rooster.
Lady Lydiell laughed. "All right. One flower each. Go pick fresh ones." She turned to Rennati, who clutched a beam em¬bedded in the corner of the house beside her, feeling actually dizzy. "Elven women are trained to use their magic in small ways rather than large—you'll find most of them making fool¬ish sculptures out of flowers, but that's a bastardization of what we originally did in Evelon. We healed wounds and sometimes sickness—but most important of all, we made the inedible edi¬ble. Lady Moth taught me that little trick, which she learned from her mother. I still use it to make honey-sweets from flow¬ers for the children—ah, here they come!"
There were plenty of flowers in the little gardens that Rennati now noticed around the houses, and it hadn't taken the children long to pick out which flower they wished made into a treat. She noticed that the girls generally chose roses; well, she was partial to rose-petal candies herself. Many of them sucked thorn-wounded fingers, but none of them complained. The boys seemed to prefer sunflowers, dahlias, anything large. But one lit¬tle girl at the rear of the group came up holding a single violet, and looked to Lady Lydiell with eyes filled with disappointment.