The Slave Breakers, 15/15

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“This was a mistake,” said Holden grimly, staring at himself for the hundredth time in the mirror over Alix’s dressing table. Bran and Jer exchanged rueful glances as Yves took Holden by the hand and gently turned him away from the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

“I look eighty,” said Holden peevishly. “I swear I’ve aged ten years for every night since Val browbeat us into issuing this dinner invitation.”

“Come on, Dad,” said Valor, catching the tail end of this as she bounded into the room with Greta rather reluctantly in tow. “You’ve got to meet them sometime. And you’re not busy for once, I mean with the business, now that Kit’s placed and that one boy’s birthday isn’t for a week. And David’s the one.”

“Yes, daughter mine,” said Holden, running his fingers tensely through his thick, graying dark hair. “You can stop talking me into it now that they are actually on their way. You’re sure the mother is dead?”

“She died in childbirth with Lisa,” Valor confirmed, dropping her mother’s hand and plopping down on the bed between Bran and Jer, who both moved over automatically to accommodate her.

“I like Lisa already,” said Holden darkly.

“Master!” said Greta, scandalized.

“Sorry.”

Valor was running her fingers up and down Bran's spine, more absent-mindedly than lasciviously; lately she seemed to have lost interest even in Yves, preferring to talk at length about David to anyone who would listen or shut herself up in her room writing long letters to him. The promise of seeing him tonight had clearly energized her. Bran's cock stirred automatically at her touch, but the rest of him paid no attention; he was watching Holden, who ran his fingers distractedly through his hair again, then let his hands drop to his sides and turned to Yves.

“I’m trying to figure out what this fantastically stupid coincidence means. Does it already count as cosmic irony, or is that only if she does the right thing by her old dad and drives young David to suicide by her eventual coldness? Which is the only way you can repay me, by the way, young lady, for making me invite Pavel Kareyev over for dinner.”

“Don’t be silly, Dad. He probably won’t even remember you,” said Valor bracingly.

“You’re too kind.”

“I mean he won’t recognize you. That was more than twenty years ago.”

“Valor, darling, please shut up,” said Greta, as they all heard the doorbell chime through the house. Holden bit his lip.

“We’d better go down,” he said. “Alix will let them in, but we can’t leave her stranded with them for too long.”

Greta was looking troubled as well. “Master, are you sure you want me sitting at table with the guests? It doesn’t seem appropriate.”

Before Holden could answer, Valor hopped up, ran forward and took her mother by the shoulders.

“Don't be stupid, Mom,” she said tenderly. “You're my mom. Of course you should.”

“It's very sweet of you, love, but--“

“No, no, no buts. We've been over all this, Mom. They know my mother's a slave. It doesn't matter to them. And if David’s really the one, he’s got to be okay with you right from the beginning, and his family, too. I learned that lesson with Gordon. Come on.”

“She's right, Greta,” said Holden. “And if Pavel’s going to recognize me he might as well do it now. I’ll be a model of decorum and we can just– Come on, Bran. I’m not a beautiful boy any more, but I can at least have one gazing adoringly up at me.”

Bran moved to get up, trying not to grin; Jer smacked him lightly on the back of the head as he stood.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” he said, “before I change my mind about being okay with you.”

“Sorry, Jer,” Bran murmured with a convincing look of remorse, and brushed too closely against Jer as he passed so that his hip rubbed lightly against the older man’s groin. “Will you let me know how I can apologize? Later tonight, maybe?”

“I said come here, you shameless little slut,” said Holden, as Jer, laughing, smacked Bran again, this time on his ass, and Bran scampered to Holden’s side. “I swear I used to tell people you were shy.”

“Not when I’m at home, master,” Bran said cheerfully while Yves reached out and brushed his tousled hair back from his forehead. “But I’ll be very shy for company, really.”

“Don’t get too shy,” said Valor, who was undergoing a similar last-minute smoothing by her mother. “I need you to seduce Lisa for me after dinner, so David and I can, um, talk undisturbed.”

“No one is seducing anyone, before, during, or after dinner,” said Holden irritably, looking in the mirror again. “I don’t care if David Kareyev is the One or the Twelve Dancing Princesses. If I have to sit through a polite evening with the man who broke my young heart, you can damn well sit through an evening without sex.”

Jaw set, he held out his arm to Greta, who blushed as she took it awkwardly, and jerked his head to Bran. “Let’s go.”



Bran hung back respectfully as they entered the formal parlor, where Alix was already seated. A pair of handsome chestnut-haired adolescents, boy and girl, rose a moment before the man seated between them on the divan. Bran examined him, fascinated: so this was Pavel, Holden’s first love, and his betrayer. He was still handsome and slender, with an aristocratic profile, a sensitive mouth and large, heavy-lidded hazel eyes that his children had inherited, but he looked at least ten years older than Holden, rather than the three Bran knew separated them. His hair was completely gray, and his face fell into lines of sadness and fatigue. He bowed slightly, lifted his head to greet them and stood perfectly still, staring at Holden.

“Here they are,” said Alix.

“I beg your pardon,” Kareyev said, confused, and addressing Holden. “You look very like someone I once--“

“Owned?” said Holden, holding out his hand with grave courtesy. “Hello, Pavel.”

Kareyev went white to the lips as he stared at Holden, ignoring the outstretched hand. “It can't be.”

“Through a curious series of circumstances,” said Holden gently, withdrawing his hand, “it is.”

“Oh, my God.“ Kareyev swallowed. “Holden.”

“Dad?” said the girl beside him, puzzled.

“You must be Lisa,” said Holden. “A pleasure to meet you; Valor's told me so much about you. And this must be David, the young man who's captured Valor's heart. Your father and I were acquainted once, but we haven't seen each other for many years.”

Kareyev suddenly stepped forward and seized Holden's hands in his, searching his face hungrily.

“Holden, I– look at me, look at me, dearest– it’s really you. Say something–“

Holden held the grasping hands, meeting Kareyev's gaze, but said nothing.

“You’re angry with me,” said Kareyev, and with a small shock Bran saw that there were tears in his eyes.

“No,” said Holden, and his voice was still calm. “It’s too long ago for that. But under the circumstances I don’t think it’s polite for you to call me ‘dearest.’”

“Of course you’re angry, and you should be. But look at you– God, you’re still so beautiful, how old are you now, I’m forty-four so you’re– forty-one– and you, what, you live here?”

“This is my house,” said Holden politely. “This is my wife. This is my daughter. I believe she knows your daughter.”

For the first time since he had seen Holden, Kareyev seemed to remember that there were other people in the room. He looked around, still clinging to Holden’s hands as if for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Alix. “I– I didn’t know.” He looked back at Holden. “But you knew, you’re not surprised, you were expecting me– why didn’t you write me, why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“I didn’t know you’d care,” said Holden coolly.

“Don’t say that,” said Kareyev fiercely. “You can’t have thought that. I nearly went mad trying to imagine what you were thinking about me, after Maria played that filthy trick– and she wouldn't even tell me whom she'd sold you to-- and when I finally managed to find out and went to the brute's house to get you back, they wouldn’t even let me in, some smirking minion just kept reciting a speech about all sales being final--“

Holden jerked his hands out of Kareyev’s and took a step back. “No. Don’t do this.”

“--and I begged and begged just to see you, just to talk to you, but he wouldn’t let me by, and I came back the next day and it was more of the same– I even tried to shove my way in, but Argounov must have hired professional bouncers to open his door, they wouldn’t hit a nobleman but they weren’t budging either– and I wrote to him and got a very very polite letter back about how well you were settling in and he didn’t think it wise to disturb you–“

“Stop talking,” said Holden, and his voice frightened Bran.

“–and I went to the police but they said there was nothing they could do, the sale was perfectly legal. Which it was, of course, because I was an idiot, Holden, I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you better, I should have kept your title in my name alone when I married, I should have freed you, anything, but I trusted Maria, I knew she didn’t like you but I never thought she’d– oh, God, I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought you’d be, I don’t know, dead by this time, I’ve had dreams, nightmares–”

Holden’s face was white. “No. No. I don't care that you sold me, it’s too long ago to care, I’m not angry, I don’t mind being civil, but this is really fucked up, Pavel, this– as if you still–"

Kareyev was crying. He held out his left wrist to Holden, pulling back his sleeve, and Bran craned his neck trying to get a better look at the thin, dark bracelet that encircled it. Whatever it was, it had a galvanic effect on Holden. He took two more quick steps backward, staring at Kareyev, said jerkily, "I'm sorry-- I--" then turned and almost ran from the room.

Alix said, swiftly and courteously, “Please excuse me for a moment–“ and hurried after him. After a moment's hesitation, Kareyev followed them. The door swung shut behind them.

There was a pause.

“Who the hell is Maria?” said David Kareyev, to no one in particular.

“From context,” said Lisa, in a pleasant, rather husky voice, “I think she must have been married to Dad before he married our mom.” She was a pretty girl, with regular features and her father’s large, deep-lidded eyes in a peaceful heart-shaped face.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” said David. He was thinner and more angular than his sister, his sharp corners and high cheekbones even more definite than Valor’s. “Are our dads in love with each other? Isn’t that going to be kind of awkward?”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Valor, smiling weakly at him. “Sorry, guys. I try to prepare people for my family, but they always end up achieving even greater depths of weirdness than I expect. David, Lisa, this is my mom, Greta.”

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Greta,” said Lisa warmly. “Val talks about you all the time. I have to admit I’m a little jealous of her for having such a wonderful mom. I don’t even remember mine. David does, a little.”

“Well, I remember her name wasn’t fucking Maria,” David muttered. “Sorry. It’s really nice to meet you, Greta.”

“And it’s lovely to meet Valor’s friends,” said Greta, a little dazedly. “I do apologize for the– disturbance.”

“I think it was at least as much our fault as yours,” said Lisa, looking at the door. Her eyes snagged on Bran on the way back, and she went slightly pink. “Oh... Val, you didn’t introduce–“

“That’s Bran,” said Valor. “You know.”

Lisa smiled at Bran, and he lowered his eyes respectfully.

“I’m sorry everything got so weird,” said Valor again. “I knew they used to know each other but I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“See,” said Lisa kindly. “You’re always saying how weird your family is, but look at ours. We had no idea our dad was still carrying a torch for the slave his first wife sold out from under him.”

“Yeah, right,” said Valor. “And that’s totally as weird as the fact that my adoptive father and my mother's mistress met and fell in love when they were both slaves belonging to my godfather.”

“Ex-godfather, I believe, darling,” said Alix, coming back in. “We may be able to talk your father out of killing him, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to find another way to finance your debut. Lord David, Lady Lisa, dinner is served if you’d care to eat. Your father and my husband have a great deal to talk about, and we thought it best that they do so in private.”

Everyone murmured politely, looking relieved to have some semblance of civilization restored. Bran moved close to Alix as she turned towards the door.

“Yves and Jer are already in the kitchen,” she said to him in a low voice before he could speak. “Run along, dear.”


The three men sat in silence around the kitchen table after Bran had finished his account of what had just happened.

“Well, shit,” said Jer finally.

“You don’t think–“ said Bran nervously. “I mean, he wouldn’t just–“

“No,” said Yves firmly. “This is his home, this is his family, he loves us.”

“He loved Pavel first,” said Jer grimly.

“But there’s more of us,” said Yves, laughing a little. “Don’t be ridiculous, you two. Jer? Bran? Come on. Even if he is still in love with the guy– he doesn’t think with his cock.”

“Hm,” said Jer with a pointed look at Bran.

“Not about important stuff,” Yves amended. “Not that you’re not important, Bran, but you being here hasn’t completely fucked up anyone’s life or anything.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Bran meekly.

But Yves ate no more than Jer or Bran, and he said almost as little for the rest of the meal.


After dinner, when Fox reappeared in the kitchen and shook her head briskly– not down yet– in response to their anxious inquiries, Bran successfully wheedled her into letting him help her wash up. True to his promise to Holden to demand little of his attention, he had gone prowling for ways to keep himself busy and, when possible, useful, at the numerous times when his master was otherwise occupied. Fox often let him help her with the cooking, but washing the good china was something she only allowed him to do after a series of dire threats concerning what would happen if he broke anything, although the one time he had broken something he had hidden unfairly behind Holden, who was laughing too hard to hand him over to Fox’s righteous retribution. He was glad no one had ever told her who had stolen her sharpest kitchen knife and left it in a cottage deep in the forest.

He scrubbed at a sticky residue of sugar at the bottom of a coffee cup, grateful for the diversion both for himself and for Yves and Jer, who were still sitting at the kitchen table.

“Well, I did tell him to learn a skill set. I guess he plans to be Fox when he grows up.”

“Yesterday, the master’s bed. Today, the kitchen sink. Tomorrow, the world.”

“Do you think he comes with a vacuum attachment?”

“I thought you were testing that out yesterday.”

“Bran?” said Valor, putting her head in at the kitchen door.

Bran looked round at her, startled. “Miss?”

“You’re washing dishes again? You’re hilarious, Bran. Come sit with us kids in the lounge. Lisa wants you to; she thinks you’re cute.”

Bran hesitated, then dried his hands rather reluctantly. He wanted to be with Holden, but as long as Holden remained unavailable, he wanted to be with Yves and Jer, who understood exactly how shaken he felt just now. But, obediently relinquishing the sink to a rather relieved-looking Fox, he followed Valor to the lounge, where David had stretched out on the sofa and Lisa sat in Greta’s usual chair, smiling shyly at him.

“Hi, Bran. Valor’s told me a little about you,” she said as David made room for Valor on the couch, “but I didn’t know you were so–“

“Gorgeous?” said Valor, grinning. “Isn’t he?” Bran glanced with some trepidation at David, but he only smiled and nodded slightly, as if agreeing with the assessment without being particularly interested. He obviously had eyes only for Valor.

“Come here?” said Lisa uncertainly to Bran. Bran went to her and knelt down at her feet, and she blushed, taken aback. Not used to slaves, then, Bran thought, interested. So Pavel didn’t keep them. Perhaps the memories were still too painful, or perhaps he hadn’t really been the slave-owning type. He and Holden had, after all, been more like lovers than like master and slave.

“He belongs to your dad, right?” said David idly to Valor.

“Yeah. He’s crazy about him,” said Valor rather ambiguously. “He was supposed to be sold a couple of months back, but my dad decided to keep him for awhile. Alix was kind of freaked out at first, but now she just says that as midlife crises go, at least Bran is well-behaved. You can touch him if you want, Lis’.”

Lisa went even pinker and reached out a tentative hand to touch Bran’s hair. He moved into her touch encouragingly, smiling up at her to put her at ease, and she smiled back, stroking him as if he were an impressive animal she had been assured was tame.

“You have... nice hair,” she said awkwardly.

Bran grinned up at her. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Speaking of midlife crises,” said David, “I guess our dads are still talking, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Valor. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

****

Bran awoke, he didn’t know how much later, slumped on the floor with his back against Greta’s chair and his head resting on the empty seat, a warm weight on his lap, numbing his leg. He stayed still, with his eyes closed, listening to the quiet voices that had wakened him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Holden was saying. “We could always just throw blankets over the kids and leave them here.”

“No, no,” said Kareyev. “I couldn’t– I need to get them home. Holden, I--”

“It’s okay,” said Holden. “We’ll see each other again, all right? Soon.”

“All right,” said Kareyev shakily. “Ah, look at them. Isn’t it strange that our children should– And, my goodness, Lisa and your young man look rather friendly as well.”

Lisa stirred as her father spoke, lifting her head from Bran’s lap and prompting a rush of pins and needles to his numb leg. He winced and opened his eyes, encountering Holden’s raised eyebrows as he glanced from Bran to Lisa. Bran blushed and looked away.

“Hi, Dad,” Lisa said drowsily, getting to her feet and brushing off her skirt. “What time is it?”

“Past your bedtime,” said Kareyev. “I’m sorry. I’ll wake your brother and–”

As he went to shake David gently by the shoulder, Lisa turned back to Bran with a sweet smile. “It was really nice to meet you, Bran.”

“My lady,” Bran mumbled, blushing hotter.

David had fallen asleep with his head on Valor’s shoulder; he woke reluctantly, gave his father and Holden a suspicious look, then kissed a half-awake Valor deeply, almost defiantly, before breaking away and getting up to follow his father and sister from the room.

“I’m awake,” Valor mumbled.

“Go to bed, love,” Holden said firmly, and for once she obeyed without protest, looking too sleepy to argue.

Holden looked after her for a few moments, then turned back to Bran and reached out a silent hand to help him up. He took the hand and scrambled to his feet, but put weight on the wrong leg and lost his balance. Holden caught him, steadied him, and then swept him up in his arms.

“Good gods,” he said as Bran blinked up at him, smiling, “no more food for you, kid. You must have gained fifty pounds since the last time I tried this.”

But he carried Bran all the way up the stairs and into Bran’s own moonlit bedroom, where he laid him carefully down on the bed and kissed him on the mouth. His lips tasted salty.

“Master,” Bran whispered, “are you okay?”

“I think so,” said Holden softly, and, to Bran’s relief, sat down on the bed next to him. “Just... sad. Gods. Poor Pavel.”

As Bran’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Holden looked down pensively at his left hand, which was closed in a fist. Bran glanced at it curiously; Holden saw the look and opened his hand, and a band of moonlight illuminated the dark bracelet that had encircled Kareyev’s wrist. Bran leaned closer and saw that it was composed of several intricate braids of some dark, glossy, slightly coarse fiber, with delicate gold clasps at either end.

“I made him give it back to me,” said Holden, still gazing at it intently as if trying to divine some hidden meaning in the braids. “It’s way too fucking weird for him still to be wearing it.”

Bran looked again at the bracelet, then up at Holden. “Master– is that your hair?”

“I didn’t have anything else to give him,” said Holden ruefully. “But he kissed me and thanked me and took it to a real jeweler to have the clasps put on– ah, Bran, he really did love me, you know?”

“Yes,” whispered Bran, picturing a shy, dark-haired boy younger than himself, offering the bracelet to his almost-as-young master, blushing with happiness as Pavel put his arms around him in thanks.

“And I really thought,” said Holden, closing his hand over the bracelet again and looking at the fist, “back when it happened, that I’d never love anyone ever again. I thought I was broken for good. But he’s the one who broke. He divorced Maria right after it happened, and he never really let anyone else in, not even those kids’ mother– he liked her fine but he never– Maybe that wasn’t because of me, maybe it’s because he trusted Maria and she– but it’s so sad, Bran, he wanted me to come home with him, he talked about how empty his house was now that the children were growing up. And I felt so sorry for him I was almost tempted. Can you imagine?”

Bran said nothing.

“It was so hard to tell him I didn’t want to, had my own family, my own life– I cried more than he did. But he understood, he’s glad for me. He’s hardly changed at all, he’s still the same Pavel, just so much sadder. I think we’ll be friends, I think we can manage that, after all this time. Maybe now he knows I’m all right he can move on. Find someone else to love, to fill up that empty house a little– even if he doesn’t turn it into a damn three-ring circus, like I have.” He looked up from his closed hand at Bran, grinning suddenly. “Do you know how strange it was trying to explain who you were?“

“Who am I?” Bran asked, feeling immeasurably relieved and rather silly. “I mean, what did you tell him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Holden tweaked his ear teasingly. “Speaking of which– have you finally moved on? I saw you in there, all cuddled up with the Kareyeva girl.”

“I was not!” said Bran indignantly.

“Shhh,” said Holden with a chuckle. “You’ll wake everyone. So she didn’t fall asleep with her head in your lap?”

“Miss Valor told her to tell me to play with her hair,” said Bran, lowering his voice, “and we all got sleepy waiting for you and– we dozed off. That’s all.”

“No need to get defensive. If you two hit it off that’s all to the good. Maybe by the time Valor’s thrown David over, you’ll have gotten over me, and I can sell you to Lady Lisa to really kick off the next generation of fucked-up family dynamics.”

“Maybe so,” Bran said, grinning despite himself, then remembered something. “Uh, master? Do Jer and Yves know– what you talked about with Lord Kareyev?”

“Not yet,” said Holden. “They’d already gone to bed when we came down. Alix was still up, but she’s asleep now. I thought I’d sleep here, so I wouldn’t wake anyone else up. Why?”

“I doubt you’d be waking them up,” said Bran, after a brief inner struggle where a powerful desire to shut up and let Holden sleep with him lost to his better nature– and to the awareness that Jer and Yves would be in much better moods in the morning if they slept securely tonight. “They might be– a little worried. I think we all were, a little– that now that Lord Kareyev had sort of found you again, the two of you would– that you would want to, um– leave us."

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Holden, sounding genuinely surprised. “Even Yves was worried?”

“He tried to act like he wasn’t, but he was,” said Bran. “You loved Pavel an awful lot, master.”

Holden shook his head. “I did, but– gods. I was a child.”

“No more than I am now,” Bran reminded him.

“Yes, and you wait until you’re forty-one,” said Holden. “See how sentimental you are over me then. I’ll be– sixty-four? That can’t be right.”

“But Pavel still wanted you,” said Bran, trying not to giggle at his master’s look of chagrin. “After all this time.”

“He didn't really,” said Holden. “He just thought I was still someone else." He sighed. "All right, I'd better go tell Jer and Yves they're idiots. You're a good boy, Bran. Give me a kiss."

"I love you, master," said Bran peacefully when Holden had pulled away from the kiss. Holden looked back at him thoughtfully.

“Does it hurt you, that I never say that back to you?” he asked.

Bran shook his head. “I just like saying it.”

Holden touched Bran’s face gently. “You know, Pavel yelled at me, tonight. I felt about fifteen again. He said I should have known he’d never sell me out like that, didn’t I know he loved me. But... no, I didn’t. He could say it all he wanted, but for all I knew– once he’d, once it was over– it was just a noise he’d made to make me smile. Because I had such a pretty smile. I won’t lie to you, Bran. I do care about you. But I won’t say what I don’t mean.”

“I know, master,” said Bran seriously, looking up into Holden’s face. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it.”

The corners of his mouth turned up irresistibly as he added, “But I think you're– mistaken."

Holden blinked at him for a moment, then tilted his head back and shook with silent laughter.

"You are such a fucking smartass," he said finally, wiping tears from his eyes. "And to think you used to be too scared of me to open your mouth."

"Actually, I opened my mouth pretty quickly for you, master," Bran grinned, and Holden shook his head. "No, I was scared, but you-- you made me feel safe. You always make me feel safe. And-- like I'm okay, like I'm-- good."

"You are good," said Holden, sobering. "You're also young and naive and idealistic and romantic and you fell head over heels for the first person who petted you instead of backhanding you. But you're not stupid. You're right, you're safe with me."

"I know, master," Bran said again, smiling.

“All right, then,” said Holden. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning."