Bennit knocked on a door that was, if anything, more ornate than even the door to Alboim’s suite. A tall thin man, white-haired and with a cheery glint to his blue eyes, opened it. He was dressed much like Bennit, though his clothes were of the finest linen, and he wore a golden collar, thin overlapping gold disks the size of dimes.

  “Good morning, my lord Alboim. It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you in person. If I may, you are nearly the spitting image of Lord Arnulf.” He discreetly wiped a tear from his eye. “Except you have the Lady’s coloring. I am Dobsen, the Countess Elspith’s Head Butler.” The man bowed low, and gestured him into the room. “Young Bennit, I welcome you as well.”

  “I am not so formal as Dobsen makes me out to be.” Elspith called out from inside the room. The study was clearly personal space, about the size of Alboim’s bedroom with warm wood paneling instead of the stone he’d seen almost everywhere. A small plain desk sat next to the door, obviously Dobsen’s, while a much larger, grander one was centered in the room. To his left, a table and bins of rolled parchments and canvas sheets. To his right, a stiff, formal looking loveseat and matching chairs around a low coffee table with a covered platter and large porcelain pitcher on top. Well, whatever they called coffee tables over here; the beautiful bean apparently did not exist. A small dining table and chairs in a lighter wood were off to one side under the windows.

  Elspith rose from her desk, and glided—the movement was much too smooth and stately to be merely described as ‘walked’—and embraced Alboim in a hug. “Especially not toward my long-lost nephew. Come, let us sit and get to know each other.”

  She guided him to the table. “Bennit, if you would?” she asked. Wordlessly, he uncovered the tray to reveal light snacks: fruits, and crackers, mainly. He produced glasses from somewhere and deftly poured the drinks. The cups quickly gained beads of sweat. Alboim sipped. The pleasantly cold tea was minty, with a hint of berries and sweetened with something. Not sugar, nor honey, but something with an earthier taste to it and a pleasant nutty aftertaste. In the growing heat, it went down easily, and he fought the temptation to guzzle it. “This is nice.” he said.

  “Thank you. I understand that you come from a much drier climate than Brantle. Please, make sure you drink plenty of water. Bennit, make sure to remind him if he does not. This sweet, or switchel, are vital to function.”

  “Yes, my lady. I will make sure that my lord takes care of himself.” Bennit replied.

  “Now, I am sure you have even more questions than last night, and we have the leisure to discuss them at length.” She took a sip from her own glass, and picked up a grape, popping it into her mouth.

  Alboim was tempted to start with the 900-pound gorilla in the room, but, remembering Bennit’s advice, temporized. “I am not sure how much of my father’s books were real, and how much was sanitized. There are some things I have learned that are missing in his books. For instance, King Elaboim. In the books, he seemed to be a decent guy, mostly. He did turn a little ugly at the end when he tried to force Mom to become his mistress. So if he was basically decent for your society, why is he looking for them decades after the fact? Why waste those resources?”

  “You do not mince words, my nephew.” Elspith set her cup down. Elaboim is very old and not well. His thoughts turn to vengeance and, I do not know how Arnulf described his actions, Brittany did not rebuff his advances lightly.”

  “Do not mince words with the boy, Elspith. He needs to know what he is getting into.” Dobsen chastised her. He turned to Bennit and, in a stage-whisper, said, “Usually you should correct your master when alone, or with subtle non-verbal cues. The bright ones will pick up on it and change course mid direction. But the rules are relaxed somewhat for close family.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “To put it bluntly, Brittany beat his lecherous ass black and blue. And since then, he has turned a blind eye to our family’s disasters.”

  “And why are you helping him if he wants revenge so badly?”

  “I needed the crown’s resources to find Arnulf to get an heir. Elaboim is not long for the world, and Arnulf’s child can inherit from me. Well, my brother is dead, but now I have you.”

  Elspith smiled sweetly. “Would you consider staying and becoming the heir to Brantle County?”

  ~*** *** ***~

  Time stopped.

  Hundreds of Suzsises.

  Thousands of Bennits.

  All. Owned. By. Him

  The glass of sweet tea slipped from his nerveless fingers and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor.

  Shattered, like his heart.

  “I hope like hell, Al, that you never experience this,” Dad said. It was the day after Mom’s funeral, and the two were alone on the porch. Dad took another swig of the Lagavulin. “Hell of a way to treat a good whisky. But I suspect that you would rather know what it is like putting the love of your life in the ground than have her know that feeling. Just like me.”

  Agatha, clinging to him and weeping bitterly, as he watched Dad being lowered into the ground. Susan stood beside him, her thousand-eyed stare and dry eyes hurting him more than the death grip, or the tears soaking his suit.

  Suzsise, prostrated at his feet, almost naked, begging him to not beat her too badly.

  Bennit and Dobsen, speaking about being owned by another human being like they were deciding what to cook for dinner.

  Aunt Elspith, asking him to abandon his family. To join her in this hellish paradise built on the sweat of slaves, and smiling sweetly about it.

  “No.” he gasped out. “No. I want nothing to do with this.”

  Like a dream, he saw Bennit reach down to clean up his mess. Alboim sat there, slumped in his chair as the room reacted around him.

  “Please, do not push him any further, Mistress Elspith.” Bennit asked. “Let Lord Alboim recover. Just owning Suzsise and I were a shock to him. My apologies for not letting you know his thoughts on slaves.”

  “It is not your fault, Bennit.” Dobsen reassured the young man. “There is no way you could have known the Lady was even going to offer this to him, let alone that he would reject such an offer.”

  “Go, Dobsen, fetch Oswalt and Harralt. We must know more about his world. What would make him react so badly?” Elspith sighed. “Bennit, take Alboim back to his rooms; he is clearly not well. I will come to check on him later. Let him rest.”

  “No.” Alboim shook his head violently, trying desperately to clear the shock from his system. “Just give me a minute.” He got up out of the chair and sat instead on the hard stone floor cross-legged. Closing his eyes, he sat, arms at his side, back straight and head held high. Slowly, deliberately, he breathed in through his nose, filling his belly with air. Every ounce of him concentrated on the breathing. For five heartbeats, Alboim held it, then slowly pushed it out through his mouth. He repeated the breathing exorcize a dozen times, two dozen, three. With agonizing slowness, the panic left him, and his ragged heartbeat slowed to normal.

  “My nephew,” Elspith crouched in front of him once his eyes reopened. “I would not have asked you this if the need were not dire. I swear by the God of Light, this is true. Later, when you have had more time to learn about us, and me, you, we will return to this subject. If you freely decide to return to your world, I will do what I can to do so. If you choose to stay, I will do everything I can to ease your burden. Even knowing you less than a day, I can tell that you will be a better, more humane, master than the gutless bastard who is my heir if you refuse.