Crimson part three
Mar. 1st, 2009 05:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffePart One and Part Two
The visit was easily arranged by phone after breakfast the next morning; Irina Galenova was at home to visitors that same afternoon. Greta spent the morning alone in her room, avoiding people. She liked her room, anyway; it was a sweet little nest, feathered with the lace hangings and spreads that she knitted and crocheted, the pillows whose delicate slipcovers she embroidered, and the richly colored silk and cashmere throws in which her mistress indulged her.
Her mistress understood this need of hers for soft textures and beautiful colors, lovely coverings for the things around her. The first time they'd met at the market, Greta had been fingering a grass-green silk scarf, on the point of getting chased off by the vendor, who could tell she had no money; the first thing Alix had said to her was, "That would look beautiful with your hair."
Greta couldn't remember what she'd answered, or if she'd managed any answer at all to the smiling blonde in the trim, tailored brown suit. It was funny to think now that Alix had only been twenty years old at the time; to Greta, she'd seemed impossibly adult and worldly-wise, not to mention beautiful. Her mistress was still beautiful, but she didn’t seem that much older than Greta any more.
It was a sunny day, and Greta lay on her bed in the warmth of a sunbeam from the window, thinking-- to the extent she was bothering to think anything-- about how easy it would be if it were just the two of them, Greta and her mistress, with no confusing, demanding, stubborn, temperamental men in the mix. No master to worry about, and no master’s boys. No mistress' former master. No brother.
Of course, that would also mean no Valor, and that wasn't a particularly pleasant thought. Peaceful-- well, yes, a little. But not pleasant.
So she'd talk to Kai. It would help.
"Hey, runt," said Kai, stepping forward, and Greta put her arms around him, feeling his go around her in return. His chest was solid and warm, his arms strong and muscular; he was big, bigger than her master, and on a purely physical level that was comforting, even if on any level that mattered it meant less than nothing.
"Hey, hulk," she said, as he kissed her on the head. "How are you?"
"I'm great," he said, of course, with his mistress standing right there. Pulling away from Greta, he turned to the slender, middle-aged woman who owned him, and bent his head, a little; his mistress didn't make him stoop, or keep him on his knees all the time, like some owners did with tall slaves. Though come to think of it, that was probably mostly men who did that. Women generally didn't mind their male slaves being taller than they were; Galenova, who was tall anyway for a woman, certainly didn't seem to.
Greta liked seeing how the two of them had the same wordless language of request, instruction, and permission that Greta had with her own mistress. When Galenova said, "Kai, you may take your sister to your room," it was for Alix's benefit; he was already moving, his big hand on Greta's arm.
Irina Galenova was much wealthier than Alix-- she was noble, after all-- but nothing in Kai's room would have told you so; it was bare and stark as a cell. The narrow bed, onto which Kai was guiding her gently to sit, was covered with two sheets, top and bottom, in stark white, and a single pillow. There was a little nightstand, with one drawer, in which Greta knew his spare tunics were kept. The only other furniture in the room was a mirrored dressing table, covered with little pots and sprays and brushes. Greta didn't really envy him that; the inconvenience of sharing a bathroom with Yves, Jer, and Bran was minimal, since none of them was much for preening, and the fact that the dressing table was very nearly the only piece of furniture in Kai's room did seem a little... pointed. Galenova didn't require a lot of makeup, but she did expect Kai to spend a certain amount of time on his appearance every day; despite the stark masculinity of his features and his demeanor, his skin was soft and smooth with moisturizing lotions, his hair shiny and crisp with oils and gels, his nails and cuticles carefully shaped and trimmed, any calluses he might acquire smoothed away with pumice, incipient gray hairs plucked out and discarded.
(He worked out, too, with a grimness that worried Greta. Yves, Jer, and Bran all exercised, of course-- sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups-- but not with the same single-minded determination. Yves seemed to take pleasure in it for its own sake; Jer did it methodically and absent-mindedly, the way he brushed his teeth; and Bran brought the same youthful enthusiasm to strengthening his body that he did to-- well, everything else. Greta herself had always been sedentary, and her mistress hadn't seemed to mind, even when the baby weight never quite seemed to come off.)
Ever since Argounov had pushed an aging Jer off into Holden's rapidly growing harem, Greta had been trying to push back her dread of a similar letter from Galenova to Alix. Part of her would have been happy to have her brother safe with her; a much larger and, she suspected, more intelligent part was sure that within twenty-four hours of finding himself owned by Holden again, Kai would have killed either Holden or himself. If not both.
“Coming up on that time of the month, huh?” he asked, sitting beside her now on the bed, and she turned her head in surprise; he grinned at her. "You know I can always tell. Your tits get bigger, and you smell different. And you get cricks in your back. You want me to rub it for you?"
"Sure," she said, and shifted, turning her back to him. "Oh-- yes. Harder. But that's not why I'm stressed out."
"What is it?" he asked, rubbing. "Holden trying to fuck with you?"
"No," she said. "But he's got a new kid. A boy. Crimson. And he's being-- kind of cruel."
Kai snorted, and Greta said, "Kai, I know you hate him, but even you have to admit, he's usually-- well, gentle. With the kids he's working with, I mean. You know. The way he is with Bran."
"So what's he doing to Crimson?" Kai asked.
Greta sighed. "I don't know. I don't look too close. But the kid's been tied up-- heavy restraints, manacles, shackles, a gag-- ever since he arrived, and when he did lose a few of the chains, the master chained him to Bran. And I get the impression he's getting punished a lot. He always looks like he's been crying. It's making me-- well." She took a breath. "I'm not afraid of him any more-- not really-- but I guess it's bringing back memories."
"Ah," said Kai, just one grim syllable.
"Kai," said Greta patiently, "he's all right, these days. He doesn't-- mess with me. You don't understand. You left when things were-- worst."
"I wanted you to come with me," said Kai, his thumbs digging too hard into her back, and her wince came out in her voice when she said, "I know-- Kai--"
"It's okay," he said, his hands gentling. "I know you love her. That's-- okay. I'm glad you're happy, I‘m glad she treats you right. But I still hate that fucking asshole and you're never going to convince me that he's anything but an overgrown schoolyard bully at heart."
"Okay," said Greta. "But can you listen?"
"Sure," said Kai, his hands big and warm on her shoulders. "Of course, Greta."
"I've got no reason to be afraid of him," said Greta. "He barely-- I mean, he barely even notices me these days, now that he's got three slaves of his own. He's so busy all the time. Working, and taking care of all of them. And when he does notice me, he's just... nice. Considerate. Like I'm a friend of Alix's."
"A friend?"
"Like that," said Greta. "Nothing any more... intimate. He doesn't touch me, he doesn't tease me. He's almost-- what's the word? Deferential?"
"Deferential," said Kai. "To you?"
"Yes."
"Huh," said Kai. "And that's a problem?"
"It makes me nervous," said Greta. "He's my master."
"Oh, come on, Greta." Kai took her by the shoulders and turned her back around. "Don't do this again. This thing where you think you owe him something just because he conned Alix into marrying him."
“It’s not that,” said Greta, turning her face away. “I’m not planning on making him any offers, or anything. It’s not like it worked out so well the first time.”
“Then what, baby?” Kai reached out one big, lotion-soft hand, brushed Greta’s hair back from her face, looking at her with love; she leaned into his hand, very suddenly wanting to cry. “What do you need to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Greta. “Nothing, I guess.”
Kai nodded. “So there’s no problem.”
“But what if I--” Greta shook her head. “It’s-- it’s too easy to feel safe, you know? Alix is so-- gentle. You know? She doesn’t-- I’m not sure she even has a temper. Not with me, anyway. I don’t have to-- watch out. Tread carefully. Not with her.”
“But with him,” said Kai.
“I could set something off,” said Greta. “Mess everything up. It would be my fault-- I never know--”
“What’s below the surface,” said Kai.
Greta’s hands lifted, slid over his skin, his hair, his back, the soft cotton cloth of his crimson tunic. Brushed his warm, smooth lips.
“I like the surface,” she said.
When she and Kai finally came back into the drawing room, where their mistresses sat sipping tea, they got a definite raised eyebrow from Galenova. Greta flushed, wondering if she’d taken too much time. Her own mistress wouldn’t mind, but Kai’s might. There wasn’t much she could do, though, beyond apologizing as respectfully as she could.
“Did you have a nice visit?” Alix asked her on the drive home, and she answered with a quick smile, “Yes, mistress. Thank you for taking me.”
“Always, love,” said Alix, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.
When they came in the front door at home, Greta was startled to see Crimson charging down the stairs and what appeared to be directly at her. He reversed direction, though, as Bran pelted down the stairs after him, apparently in hot pursuit, but laughing, not upset; Crimson disappeared into the kitchen, and Bran did, too. There was a clatter and a crash. Greta looked up to see Holden coming down the stairs at an unhurried pace.
“What in the world?” Alix asked him, and he looked up, grinning.
“Just boyish high spirits,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m taking them outside. Way, way outside, in fact-- we’re taking a drive out into the country. Crimson has some pent-up energy to get out of his system.”
“Out into the country?” Greta repeated, shocked-- from full-body restraints to the wide-open ranges in two days?-- and he turned to her.
“Want to come along?” he asked. “It’s a beautiful day out. I’m taking them to that spot near the strawberry fields-- you know, near where Karl and Tara used to live. Remember the picnics we used to have?”
Greta looked at her mistress uncertainly.
“It is a beautiful day,” said Alix, and kissed her on the cheek. "Go. Have fun. Don't get sunburned."
"She doesn't have to come," said Holden.
Greta smiled, quickly. "Of course. Yes. That sounds nice."
Crimson and Bran had run so far they looked tiny and slow, their naked, gleaming bodies-- they’d stripped off their sweat-dark green tunics long ago-- no more than a pair of pretty boy dolls in the distance, but they kept running. Greta couldn’t resist a glance up at Holden, who smiled down at her without concern.
“We won‘t lose sight of them,” he said. “This is the only hill around. If they drop from exhaustion, we’ll drive down and pick them up. It will do Crimson good to get good and tired out-- and Bran, too. He’s been too cooped up lately.”
Greta didn’t really care if Crimson and Bran did run away-- well, Crimson, anyway; she guessed she would miss Bran. But it was so nice being outside like this that she was having a hard time worrying. Holden had brought along a soft red blanket to spread on the ground under a big shade tree; filtered sunlight dappled his face and hair and hands, and warmed Greta in spots as she curled on her side and luxuriated in the soft breeze and the smells of the grass and earth.
“You still love being outside, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes, master.” Greta yawned, a little, and stretched herself, and Holden grinned.
“You look like a big sleepy cat,” he said, which, in light of what Jer had said about Crimson, made Greta chuckle. She didn’t explain why, and Holden didn’t ask, but he looked pleased to have made her laugh.
“So,” he said, after another moment. “You okay?”
She tensed. “Master?”
“I was just wondering,” he said. “You’ve been a little twitchy around me lately. You mad at me or something?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” Greta asked, sitting up and moving back a little.
“I don’t know,” he said. “When I came in after you’d been talking to Crimson, you looked… testy. I thought maybe that was it. I know I’ve been riding Crimson a little hard since I brought him home.”
“Not really a visual I wanted, master,” said Greta dryly, and Holden laughed and said, “Metaphorically. You know. Taking a firm hand.”
“’Firm’ isn’t the word I would have chosen,” said Greta, then bit down on her tongue, furious with herself. Yes, now’s a great time to pick a fight.
“What would you have said?” Holden asked curiously.
Brutal. Cruel. Greta made herself smile and shrug. “I don’t know, master. Harsh?”
“You think I’m being too harsh?” Holden asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know,” said Holden. “That’s why I asked.”
Greta wondered if he was trying to pick a fight. If he was, there was pretty much no way for her to win at this point, but maybe early surrender would help. “You know your work, master. I wouldn’t presume to interfere.”
He looked at her for a minute, and then he reached out to her, tucking her hair behind her ear just as Kai had. The skin of his hand was rougher than Kai’s, but it felt gentle.
“Greta,” he said. “I’m asking for your opinion. I’m not going to get mad if you give it to me. I promise.”
“I don’t have one, master,” she answered, her throat dry.
He didn’t say anything for a long time. Bran and Crimson were still running, the russet and honey-brown of their hair bright specks in the sunlight. Greta let herself zone out a bit; it was quite a shock when Holden, his eyes on the boys in the distance, said, “Do you still hate me?”
“What?” she said, blinking, panicked, and he turned to her; she had no idea how to read the expression on his face.
“I‘d understand if you did,” he said. “And I’d understand why you keep it buried so deep. I mean, we have to live together. But even if you do, you don’t have to be scared of me. I wish I could think of a way to make you believe that.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said, and he grimaced and turned away again. “I don’t. Why would I hate you?”
“Because I raped you,” said Holden.
“What?”
Holden made a quick shrugging gesture. “Oh, I guess it wasn’t technically rape. You can’t rape a slave, can you? That‘s what they say, anyway. So what Nikol Argounov used to do to me was sweet lovemaking. And what I did to you.”
“I--” Without entirely meaning to, Greta put a hand on his arm, and he looked back at her quickly. “Master, I said you could. I-- offered. Remember? Back when she first-- set you free.”
“Yeah,” said Holden. “Right. You offered. I remember now. The enthusiasm. The eagerness. The sincerity.”
“I was sincere,” said Greta, insulted, and Holden said, “I didn’t mean that. But you didn’t want to, and we both knew it. And I fucked you anyway. A lot.”
“Not that much,” said Greta.
“Once would have been too much,” said Holden. “I did it to hurt you, you know. Or at least-- to show you who was boss.”
“You are the boss,” said Greta. “You’re my master. You don’t have to apologize for that.”
“I’m not,” said Holden. “I’m apologizing-- no, I actually wasn’t apologizing, I was just running my mouth. But I do apologize for the kind of master I was to you, at first.”
Greta examined his face, wondering what in the world had brought this on. Had it really just been his quick glimpse of her uncontrolled expression, when he came into the room with her and Bran and Crimson? Was he that sensitive to her moods? Had he always been?
And if he’d thought all this time that she hated him…
“You saved my life,” she said, almost accusingly.
Holden raised his eyebrows. “I did?”
“I was going to kill myself,” said Greta. “I would have, if you hadn't noticed I was pregnant and said something first. And then-- you took care of me. Me and Valor. Alix and I were a mess. You made it all work out.”
“Well,” said Holden after a moment. “So I did something good. Good for me. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be mad at me for raping you. And it doesn‘t mean I‘m not sorry.”
Greta didn’t know what to say. As she watched the two boys on the horizon, the little red-haired body fell, without stopping, forward and into the tall grass, out of sight. The other stopped and looked down at him, then knelt and lay down too, so that Greta couldn’t see either one of them any more.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “Um. For apologizing.”
He nodded. “So you really don’t hate me?”
“No,” she said. Then, quickly, before she could lose her nerve, “I might be a little scared of you.”
“Oh.” He seemed to consider that, his eyes fixed on the spot in the grass where the boys had fallen. “Well. Fair enough. All the time? Or just here lately?”
“It’s Crimson,” she admitted, feeling strangely unafraid at the moment. “The way you’ve been acting with him-- well, it’s the way you used to act with me. You know. Staking your claim.”
“Oh,” said Holden. “That‘s how I‘m acting?”
“Well, not now,” said Greta. “You never put me down in the middle of a field and told me to run as much as I wanted. And if you had, I probably would have just lain down and taken a nap.”
That made him laugh. Then he said, “Do I not usually do that, with the trainees? Stake my claim?”
“Not so-- aggressively,” said Greta.
“Huh,” said Holden. “Interesting.”
He lifted one hand to shield his eyes as he looked towards the spot where the boys had disappeared.
“Should we drive down and pick them up?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Greta.
Holden got to his feet, then held out his hands to Greta; she took them and let him bear her weight on his hands, pulling her up. He held her hands a bit longer than he needed to, after she was on her feet; when she looked at him oddly, he let go, and said, squinting again in the direction of the boys, “Maybe Crimson will actually sleep through the night tonight.”
“He hasn’t been?”
Holden shook his head.
“Thanks, Greta,” he said. “For talking to me.”
“Sure,” she said again, and followed him obediently towards the car.
When they pulled up next to the boys, Bran was lying on his side, watching Crimson, who was on his stomach with his eyes closed, one arm scrunched up under his cheek. Bran lifted his head and smiled tiredly up at his master, who knelt down beside them and reached to touch Bran's cheek.
"Good boy," he whispered, and Bran's smile widened. Holden leaned down and kissed him on the forehead before he turned to Crimson and put his hand on the naked, freckled shoulder, stirring him gently. Crimson made a tiny peeping noise, but stayed slack, eyes still closed, as Bran got shakily to his knees.
"Crimson," said Holden softly. "Hey, sweetheart."
Crimson's eyes flicked open and cut sideways to Holden's face, then abruptly brimmed with tears.
"I'm tired," he whispered.
"I know," said Holden, stroking the sweaty, disheveled red hair. "You're a really good runner, Crimson. You ran so far."
"And fast," said Crimson, his lips quivering.
"And fast," Holden agreed. "And now you're worn out. So let me take you home."
Crimson hesitated, then nodded, one tear escaping and slipping down his cheek, and rolled over on his back. He put his arms up, looking as Valor once had at bedtime: Carry me, Mommy. Or Daddy.
Holden bent down, gathered him into his arms, and stood up with a slight grunt of effort; Bran rose slowly, unaided, to his feet as Holden walked towards the car, carrying Crimson.
Holly Tree - Dar Williams
The visit was easily arranged by phone after breakfast the next morning; Irina Galenova was at home to visitors that same afternoon. Greta spent the morning alone in her room, avoiding people. She liked her room, anyway; it was a sweet little nest, feathered with the lace hangings and spreads that she knitted and crocheted, the pillows whose delicate slipcovers she embroidered, and the richly colored silk and cashmere throws in which her mistress indulged her.
Her mistress understood this need of hers for soft textures and beautiful colors, lovely coverings for the things around her. The first time they'd met at the market, Greta had been fingering a grass-green silk scarf, on the point of getting chased off by the vendor, who could tell she had no money; the first thing Alix had said to her was, "That would look beautiful with your hair."
Greta couldn't remember what she'd answered, or if she'd managed any answer at all to the smiling blonde in the trim, tailored brown suit. It was funny to think now that Alix had only been twenty years old at the time; to Greta, she'd seemed impossibly adult and worldly-wise, not to mention beautiful. Her mistress was still beautiful, but she didn’t seem that much older than Greta any more.
It was a sunny day, and Greta lay on her bed in the warmth of a sunbeam from the window, thinking-- to the extent she was bothering to think anything-- about how easy it would be if it were just the two of them, Greta and her mistress, with no confusing, demanding, stubborn, temperamental men in the mix. No master to worry about, and no master’s boys. No mistress' former master. No brother.
Of course, that would also mean no Valor, and that wasn't a particularly pleasant thought. Peaceful-- well, yes, a little. But not pleasant.
So she'd talk to Kai. It would help.
"Hey, runt," said Kai, stepping forward, and Greta put her arms around him, feeling his go around her in return. His chest was solid and warm, his arms strong and muscular; he was big, bigger than her master, and on a purely physical level that was comforting, even if on any level that mattered it meant less than nothing.
"Hey, hulk," she said, as he kissed her on the head. "How are you?"
"I'm great," he said, of course, with his mistress standing right there. Pulling away from Greta, he turned to the slender, middle-aged woman who owned him, and bent his head, a little; his mistress didn't make him stoop, or keep him on his knees all the time, like some owners did with tall slaves. Though come to think of it, that was probably mostly men who did that. Women generally didn't mind their male slaves being taller than they were; Galenova, who was tall anyway for a woman, certainly didn't seem to.
Greta liked seeing how the two of them had the same wordless language of request, instruction, and permission that Greta had with her own mistress. When Galenova said, "Kai, you may take your sister to your room," it was for Alix's benefit; he was already moving, his big hand on Greta's arm.
Irina Galenova was much wealthier than Alix-- she was noble, after all-- but nothing in Kai's room would have told you so; it was bare and stark as a cell. The narrow bed, onto which Kai was guiding her gently to sit, was covered with two sheets, top and bottom, in stark white, and a single pillow. There was a little nightstand, with one drawer, in which Greta knew his spare tunics were kept. The only other furniture in the room was a mirrored dressing table, covered with little pots and sprays and brushes. Greta didn't really envy him that; the inconvenience of sharing a bathroom with Yves, Jer, and Bran was minimal, since none of them was much for preening, and the fact that the dressing table was very nearly the only piece of furniture in Kai's room did seem a little... pointed. Galenova didn't require a lot of makeup, but she did expect Kai to spend a certain amount of time on his appearance every day; despite the stark masculinity of his features and his demeanor, his skin was soft and smooth with moisturizing lotions, his hair shiny and crisp with oils and gels, his nails and cuticles carefully shaped and trimmed, any calluses he might acquire smoothed away with pumice, incipient gray hairs plucked out and discarded.
(He worked out, too, with a grimness that worried Greta. Yves, Jer, and Bran all exercised, of course-- sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups-- but not with the same single-minded determination. Yves seemed to take pleasure in it for its own sake; Jer did it methodically and absent-mindedly, the way he brushed his teeth; and Bran brought the same youthful enthusiasm to strengthening his body that he did to-- well, everything else. Greta herself had always been sedentary, and her mistress hadn't seemed to mind, even when the baby weight never quite seemed to come off.)
Ever since Argounov had pushed an aging Jer off into Holden's rapidly growing harem, Greta had been trying to push back her dread of a similar letter from Galenova to Alix. Part of her would have been happy to have her brother safe with her; a much larger and, she suspected, more intelligent part was sure that within twenty-four hours of finding himself owned by Holden again, Kai would have killed either Holden or himself. If not both.
“Coming up on that time of the month, huh?” he asked, sitting beside her now on the bed, and she turned her head in surprise; he grinned at her. "You know I can always tell. Your tits get bigger, and you smell different. And you get cricks in your back. You want me to rub it for you?"
"Sure," she said, and shifted, turning her back to him. "Oh-- yes. Harder. But that's not why I'm stressed out."
"What is it?" he asked, rubbing. "Holden trying to fuck with you?"
"No," she said. "But he's got a new kid. A boy. Crimson. And he's being-- kind of cruel."
Kai snorted, and Greta said, "Kai, I know you hate him, but even you have to admit, he's usually-- well, gentle. With the kids he's working with, I mean. You know. The way he is with Bran."
"So what's he doing to Crimson?" Kai asked.
Greta sighed. "I don't know. I don't look too close. But the kid's been tied up-- heavy restraints, manacles, shackles, a gag-- ever since he arrived, and when he did lose a few of the chains, the master chained him to Bran. And I get the impression he's getting punished a lot. He always looks like he's been crying. It's making me-- well." She took a breath. "I'm not afraid of him any more-- not really-- but I guess it's bringing back memories."
"Ah," said Kai, just one grim syllable.
"Kai," said Greta patiently, "he's all right, these days. He doesn't-- mess with me. You don't understand. You left when things were-- worst."
"I wanted you to come with me," said Kai, his thumbs digging too hard into her back, and her wince came out in her voice when she said, "I know-- Kai--"
"It's okay," he said, his hands gentling. "I know you love her. That's-- okay. I'm glad you're happy, I‘m glad she treats you right. But I still hate that fucking asshole and you're never going to convince me that he's anything but an overgrown schoolyard bully at heart."
"Okay," said Greta. "But can you listen?"
"Sure," said Kai, his hands big and warm on her shoulders. "Of course, Greta."
"I've got no reason to be afraid of him," said Greta. "He barely-- I mean, he barely even notices me these days, now that he's got three slaves of his own. He's so busy all the time. Working, and taking care of all of them. And when he does notice me, he's just... nice. Considerate. Like I'm a friend of Alix's."
"A friend?"
"Like that," said Greta. "Nothing any more... intimate. He doesn't touch me, he doesn't tease me. He's almost-- what's the word? Deferential?"
"Deferential," said Kai. "To you?"
"Yes."
"Huh," said Kai. "And that's a problem?"
"It makes me nervous," said Greta. "He's my master."
"Oh, come on, Greta." Kai took her by the shoulders and turned her back around. "Don't do this again. This thing where you think you owe him something just because he conned Alix into marrying him."
“It’s not that,” said Greta, turning her face away. “I’m not planning on making him any offers, or anything. It’s not like it worked out so well the first time.”
“Then what, baby?” Kai reached out one big, lotion-soft hand, brushed Greta’s hair back from her face, looking at her with love; she leaned into his hand, very suddenly wanting to cry. “What do you need to do?”
“I don’t know,” said Greta. “Nothing, I guess.”
Kai nodded. “So there’s no problem.”
“But what if I--” Greta shook her head. “It’s-- it’s too easy to feel safe, you know? Alix is so-- gentle. You know? She doesn’t-- I’m not sure she even has a temper. Not with me, anyway. I don’t have to-- watch out. Tread carefully. Not with her.”
“But with him,” said Kai.
“I could set something off,” said Greta. “Mess everything up. It would be my fault-- I never know--”
“What’s below the surface,” said Kai.
Greta’s hands lifted, slid over his skin, his hair, his back, the soft cotton cloth of his crimson tunic. Brushed his warm, smooth lips.
“I like the surface,” she said.
When she and Kai finally came back into the drawing room, where their mistresses sat sipping tea, they got a definite raised eyebrow from Galenova. Greta flushed, wondering if she’d taken too much time. Her own mistress wouldn’t mind, but Kai’s might. There wasn’t much she could do, though, beyond apologizing as respectfully as she could.
“Did you have a nice visit?” Alix asked her on the drive home, and she answered with a quick smile, “Yes, mistress. Thank you for taking me.”
“Always, love,” said Alix, and they drove the rest of the way home in silence.
When they came in the front door at home, Greta was startled to see Crimson charging down the stairs and what appeared to be directly at her. He reversed direction, though, as Bran pelted down the stairs after him, apparently in hot pursuit, but laughing, not upset; Crimson disappeared into the kitchen, and Bran did, too. There was a clatter and a crash. Greta looked up to see Holden coming down the stairs at an unhurried pace.
“What in the world?” Alix asked him, and he looked up, grinning.
“Just boyish high spirits,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m taking them outside. Way, way outside, in fact-- we’re taking a drive out into the country. Crimson has some pent-up energy to get out of his system.”
“Out into the country?” Greta repeated, shocked-- from full-body restraints to the wide-open ranges in two days?-- and he turned to her.
“Want to come along?” he asked. “It’s a beautiful day out. I’m taking them to that spot near the strawberry fields-- you know, near where Karl and Tara used to live. Remember the picnics we used to have?”
Greta looked at her mistress uncertainly.
“It is a beautiful day,” said Alix, and kissed her on the cheek. "Go. Have fun. Don't get sunburned."
"She doesn't have to come," said Holden.
Greta smiled, quickly. "Of course. Yes. That sounds nice."
Crimson and Bran had run so far they looked tiny and slow, their naked, gleaming bodies-- they’d stripped off their sweat-dark green tunics long ago-- no more than a pair of pretty boy dolls in the distance, but they kept running. Greta couldn’t resist a glance up at Holden, who smiled down at her without concern.
“We won‘t lose sight of them,” he said. “This is the only hill around. If they drop from exhaustion, we’ll drive down and pick them up. It will do Crimson good to get good and tired out-- and Bran, too. He’s been too cooped up lately.”
Greta didn’t really care if Crimson and Bran did run away-- well, Crimson, anyway; she guessed she would miss Bran. But it was so nice being outside like this that she was having a hard time worrying. Holden had brought along a soft red blanket to spread on the ground under a big shade tree; filtered sunlight dappled his face and hair and hands, and warmed Greta in spots as she curled on her side and luxuriated in the soft breeze and the smells of the grass and earth.
“You still love being outside, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes, master.” Greta yawned, a little, and stretched herself, and Holden grinned.
“You look like a big sleepy cat,” he said, which, in light of what Jer had said about Crimson, made Greta chuckle. She didn’t explain why, and Holden didn’t ask, but he looked pleased to have made her laugh.
“So,” he said, after another moment. “You okay?”
She tensed. “Master?”
“I was just wondering,” he said. “You’ve been a little twitchy around me lately. You mad at me or something?”
“Why would I be mad at you?” Greta asked, sitting up and moving back a little.
“I don’t know,” he said. “When I came in after you’d been talking to Crimson, you looked… testy. I thought maybe that was it. I know I’ve been riding Crimson a little hard since I brought him home.”
“Not really a visual I wanted, master,” said Greta dryly, and Holden laughed and said, “Metaphorically. You know. Taking a firm hand.”
“’Firm’ isn’t the word I would have chosen,” said Greta, then bit down on her tongue, furious with herself. Yes, now’s a great time to pick a fight.
“What would you have said?” Holden asked curiously.
Brutal. Cruel. Greta made herself smile and shrug. “I don’t know, master. Harsh?”
“You think I’m being too harsh?” Holden asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know,” said Holden. “That’s why I asked.”
Greta wondered if he was trying to pick a fight. If he was, there was pretty much no way for her to win at this point, but maybe early surrender would help. “You know your work, master. I wouldn’t presume to interfere.”
He looked at her for a minute, and then he reached out to her, tucking her hair behind her ear just as Kai had. The skin of his hand was rougher than Kai’s, but it felt gentle.
“Greta,” he said. “I’m asking for your opinion. I’m not going to get mad if you give it to me. I promise.”
“I don’t have one, master,” she answered, her throat dry.
He didn’t say anything for a long time. Bran and Crimson were still running, the russet and honey-brown of their hair bright specks in the sunlight. Greta let herself zone out a bit; it was quite a shock when Holden, his eyes on the boys in the distance, said, “Do you still hate me?”
“What?” she said, blinking, panicked, and he turned to her; she had no idea how to read the expression on his face.
“I‘d understand if you did,” he said. “And I’d understand why you keep it buried so deep. I mean, we have to live together. But even if you do, you don’t have to be scared of me. I wish I could think of a way to make you believe that.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said, and he grimaced and turned away again. “I don’t. Why would I hate you?”
“Because I raped you,” said Holden.
“What?”
Holden made a quick shrugging gesture. “Oh, I guess it wasn’t technically rape. You can’t rape a slave, can you? That‘s what they say, anyway. So what Nikol Argounov used to do to me was sweet lovemaking. And what I did to you.”
“I--” Without entirely meaning to, Greta put a hand on his arm, and he looked back at her quickly. “Master, I said you could. I-- offered. Remember? Back when she first-- set you free.”
“Yeah,” said Holden. “Right. You offered. I remember now. The enthusiasm. The eagerness. The sincerity.”
“I was sincere,” said Greta, insulted, and Holden said, “I didn’t mean that. But you didn’t want to, and we both knew it. And I fucked you anyway. A lot.”
“Not that much,” said Greta.
“Once would have been too much,” said Holden. “I did it to hurt you, you know. Or at least-- to show you who was boss.”
“You are the boss,” said Greta. “You’re my master. You don’t have to apologize for that.”
“I’m not,” said Holden. “I’m apologizing-- no, I actually wasn’t apologizing, I was just running my mouth. But I do apologize for the kind of master I was to you, at first.”
Greta examined his face, wondering what in the world had brought this on. Had it really just been his quick glimpse of her uncontrolled expression, when he came into the room with her and Bran and Crimson? Was he that sensitive to her moods? Had he always been?
And if he’d thought all this time that she hated him…
“You saved my life,” she said, almost accusingly.
Holden raised his eyebrows. “I did?”
“I was going to kill myself,” said Greta. “I would have, if you hadn't noticed I was pregnant and said something first. And then-- you took care of me. Me and Valor. Alix and I were a mess. You made it all work out.”
“Well,” said Holden after a moment. “So I did something good. Good for me. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be mad at me for raping you. And it doesn‘t mean I‘m not sorry.”
Greta didn’t know what to say. As she watched the two boys on the horizon, the little red-haired body fell, without stopping, forward and into the tall grass, out of sight. The other stopped and looked down at him, then knelt and lay down too, so that Greta couldn’t see either one of them any more.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “Um. For apologizing.”
He nodded. “So you really don’t hate me?”
“No,” she said. Then, quickly, before she could lose her nerve, “I might be a little scared of you.”
“Oh.” He seemed to consider that, his eyes fixed on the spot in the grass where the boys had fallen. “Well. Fair enough. All the time? Or just here lately?”
“It’s Crimson,” she admitted, feeling strangely unafraid at the moment. “The way you’ve been acting with him-- well, it’s the way you used to act with me. You know. Staking your claim.”
“Oh,” said Holden. “That‘s how I‘m acting?”
“Well, not now,” said Greta. “You never put me down in the middle of a field and told me to run as much as I wanted. And if you had, I probably would have just lain down and taken a nap.”
That made him laugh. Then he said, “Do I not usually do that, with the trainees? Stake my claim?”
“Not so-- aggressively,” said Greta.
“Huh,” said Holden. “Interesting.”
He lifted one hand to shield his eyes as he looked towards the spot where the boys had disappeared.
“Should we drive down and pick them up?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Greta.
Holden got to his feet, then held out his hands to Greta; she took them and let him bear her weight on his hands, pulling her up. He held her hands a bit longer than he needed to, after she was on her feet; when she looked at him oddly, he let go, and said, squinting again in the direction of the boys, “Maybe Crimson will actually sleep through the night tonight.”
“He hasn’t been?”
Holden shook his head.
“Thanks, Greta,” he said. “For talking to me.”
“Sure,” she said again, and followed him obediently towards the car.
When they pulled up next to the boys, Bran was lying on his side, watching Crimson, who was on his stomach with his eyes closed, one arm scrunched up under his cheek. Bran lifted his head and smiled tiredly up at his master, who knelt down beside them and reached to touch Bran's cheek.
"Good boy," he whispered, and Bran's smile widened. Holden leaned down and kissed him on the forehead before he turned to Crimson and put his hand on the naked, freckled shoulder, stirring him gently. Crimson made a tiny peeping noise, but stayed slack, eyes still closed, as Bran got shakily to his knees.
"Crimson," said Holden softly. "Hey, sweetheart."
Crimson's eyes flicked open and cut sideways to Holden's face, then abruptly brimmed with tears.
"I'm tired," he whispered.
"I know," said Holden, stroking the sweaty, disheveled red hair. "You're a really good runner, Crimson. You ran so far."
"And fast," said Crimson, his lips quivering.
"And fast," Holden agreed. "And now you're worn out. So let me take you home."
Crimson hesitated, then nodded, one tear escaping and slipping down his cheek, and rolled over on his back. He put his arms up, looking as Valor once had at bedtime: Carry me, Mommy. Or Daddy.
Holden bent down, gathered him into his arms, and stood up with a slight grunt of effort; Bran rose slowly, unaided, to his feet as Holden walked towards the car, carrying Crimson.
Holly Tree - Dar Williams
