The Slave Breakers, 8/15

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Bran dreamed that night that Valor came into his room, naked and with her belly grotesquely swollen, and demanded that he confess he was the father of her baby. Bran wanted to protest that he'd never slept with her and couldn't have gotten her pregnant even if he had, but no sound came out of his mouth. Valor lifted her lip at him, showing a row of pointed teeth, and shouted for her father; the door was gone and Dunaev came in with murder in his eye. Bran sucked in his breath as he came closer, managed to scream one word, and woke up. He was still panting when the door opened in reality and Holden came in, sleep-rumpled and naked in the moonlight from the high windows of the little bedroom.

"What is it?" he whispered, coming to Bran's bedside.

"I'm sorry," said Bran, his voice shaky.

"Was it a dream?" Holden sat down on the edge of Bran's bed. "I heard you shout 'master.' Me or Dunaev?"

"Dunaev," said Bran, realizing as he spoke the word that it was the first time he'd ever said his former master's name aloud. It felt oddly powerful.

"Ah." Holden stroked Bran's forehead, pushing back locks of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "You miss him, huh?"

Bran grinned briefly, still trying to catch his breath.

"Give me your hand," Holden said, and Bran obeyed, offering his right hand for Holden to clasp in both of his. "You're trembling."

Bran nodded, biting his lip to keep from crying at the concern in his master's voice. Holden lifted Bran's hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Shove over," he said.

Bran moved over, and Holden got into the bed beside him, under the bedclothes. Bran waited, still shaking, until Holden reached for him and pulled him close; then he moved gratefully into the clasp, snuggling against the warm skin of his master's chest and neck with a small, involuntary sigh.

"Technically obedient," said Holden, stroking Bran's back, "before this... incident, but sullen, unresponsive." His tone was an overly-sweet parody of Dunaev's company voice.

"Is that what he said?" Bran asked, almost laughing.

"You start to pick up on what they're really saying, eventually," said Holden, his voice pensive and drowsy in the darkness. "They talk in code. Not about the big thing, the biting or running away or sleeping around or whatever. But the little things they add, to demonstrate how they're at their wits' end. Sullen, insolent, unmanageable, unresponsive. Sullen means quiet, insolent means talkative, unmanageable means completely fucking confused and pissed off about it, and unresponsive... well, that normally means someone who's going to assume everything is a trap and anything he does is going to get him hurt. I've dealt with that before. But you..."

Bran lay, pressed close against his master, listening. His trembling had subsided. He hoped Holden would stay with him for a little longer, anyway, talking like this, holding him close.

"Even when we were first bringing you home, when you were frozen stiff and stupid with fear of whatever shit Dunaev had told you about where you were going-- when I touched you gently, you responded. You've got this innocence about you, Bran, this strange-- hope, that just comes leaping out at the slightest provocation. You still don't smile a lot, but when you do you look so damn happy, it's like the sun coming out. And that little sigh you give when I hold you, like--"

Despite the warmth and comfort of Holden's arms, Bran had begun to shiver again.

"--like everything's okay. Bran?"

"Master?" Bran whispered.

"You're trembling again. Did I upset you?"

"No, master. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," said Holden, and yawned.

Bran took a deep breath. "I'm okay, master, if you need-- if you want to-- I'm sorry for waking you. You don't have to stay with me."

"I know that," said Holden, sleepily amused. "Don't worry about it. Kids get-- nightmares--" He yawned again. "Just remind me-- in the morning-- I've got something to ask you."

"Yes, master," Bran said quietly.

"My good boy," Holden murmured, and Bran slept in his master's arms.


When he woke to the morning's first light, Holden was still asleep beside him, his lips slightly parted, looking oddly young and vulnerable. Bran tried to imagine his master as a slave, angry and frightening because frightened, fiercely jealous of the child Greta-- how old would Holden have been at the time? Twenty or so, not much older than Bran. Bran moved close enough to kiss his master's faintly lined forehead. Holden stirred and smiled without opening his eyes, and Bran, possessed with a strange daring, pressed his mouth to Holden's.

Holden's lips moved, kissing him back, and Bran pulled back as his master's eyes opened, blinking at him.

"Well," he said, smiling slowly. "And good morning to you."

Bran blushed hotly. "I-- forgive me, master, I--"

"If you think I'm one to mind being kissed awake by a pretty lad, you haven't been paying as much attention as I thought," said Holden lazily. "You haven't kissed me before, have you? I mean, on your own initiative. Bravo. Could you do it again, do you think?"

Bran leaned in and kissed his master's lips again. Holden kissed him back, softly, undemandingly, then broke the kiss.

"Mmm," he said. "But that doesn't count; I told you to do that. Try it again sometime, when I'm not looking."

"I thought a slave must wait to be commanded, master," said Bran curiously, and Holden smiled at him, pleased. With Dunaev the mere implication that his master's instructions had been unclear in any way got Bran, at the least, backhanded across the face for defiance. The first time he saw Holden detect puzzlement in his unguarded expression, Bran had flung his arms reflexively over his head, and Holden's chagrined "Oh, for fuck's sake" hadn't been particularly reassuring at the time.

"Not always," Holden said now. "That's why you learn to judge a situation. It also depends on the master. But when I sell you, Bran, I'm going to sell you to someone who appreciates your many sterling qualities of character, including how naturally affectionate you are. It's hell for anyone to live with someone like Dunaev, but for someone as sweet as you it's got to be fucking unbearable."

Bran looked away. Holden lifted his arm and ran a hand over Bran's hair.

"There you are getting all quiet again when I talk about selling you," he said. "And that reminds me-- did you and Yves get a chance to talk last night, before my dear daughter barged in on you?"

"No, master," said Bran, looking back alertly into Holden's face. He didn't look angry, so Bran hurried on. "But Greta and I talked, after the rest of you went to bed, and she told me-- some things-- I hope you don't mind that I know."

"What did she tell you, exactly?" Holden asked after a pause.

"That-- that you used to belong to the mistress-- as her slave," said Bran nervously, the words themselves suddenly seeming unsupportably impudent.

"Ah. That." Holden leaned back and smiled at the ceiling. "Yes. Explains a lot, doesn't it? You know, about my intimate inside knowledge of a slave's various dilemmas. Also, my expert cocksucking."

Startled, Bran laughed more loudly than he meant to. Holden lifted his head and squinted at him.

"I hope you're laughing in agreement. It's not good manners to mock your master's sexual prowess."

Bran covered his mouth, trying to stop laughing long enough to make the called-for compliments, but only succeeded in making himself laugh harder. Holden was grinning at him.

"I like that I can tease you now," he said, "without scaring you. I bet eventually you'll even tease back. You can do that, you know, with a master you trust. I used to tease Pavel; he liked that."

"Pavel?" Bran echoed.

"My first master," Holden said, sitting up and stretching. "We had some good times, before he broke my fucking heart. But that's a long, depressing story and you don't want to hear it."

"Yes I do, master," said Bran boldly, and Holden glanced down at him thoughtfully.

"If you're interested," he said, managing a shrug while leaning back on his hands. "It's all a thousand years ago. Pavel was a nobleman's son and I was a slum rat, and we met while he was out slumming-- probably skiving off his falconry lessons or something equally expensive. He was terribly clever and learned and funny and fascinating, and I-- I guess I was pretty enough. We swore an oath of eternal friendship and all that, and I lived for the times when he managed to throw off his retinue of tutors and come spend a few hours teaching me the Greek alphabet and saying poetic things about my eyelids." He lowered the eyelids in question at Bran, smirking slightly. "He even wrote me a sonnet once, I swear, something about my hands like gentle gravel on his skin-- gods, I was horribly self-conscious about touching him after that. His hands were smooth as silk, of course-- never did a day's work, wore gloves when he went out riding.

"Anyway, when my fifteenth birthday was coming up, so was his eighteenth. Our birthdays were only three days apart-- three years and three days exactly; of course we thought that was significant and romantic as all hell. So we hatched this great plan that he'd ask his dad to buy me for him, for his eighteenth. It all went off without a hitch, and there I was, sold into slavery and transported into bliss, dining with the gods in heaven-- the one god, really. It was pathetic how I worshipped him."

"What happened?" Bran asked after a few moments of silence.

Holden grimaced. "He got married. To a nice noble girl. That didn't bother me-- it had nothing to do with the depth and purity of our love. Or so I very sweetly thought, until one day his bitch wife sold me. Just like that. A gentleman came over for tea and left with me on a leash. I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Bran gasped. "That's horrible!"

"You're telling me," said Holden. "Poor Alix had to deal with the fallout from that one for years. Oh, sure, you say now that you love me, but what happens when, et cetera. She finally married me just to shut me up. Not that I recommend that as a general tactic, mind you, but Alix has never been much of a negotiator."

"How did she come to own you?" Bran asked.

"You're extremely inquisitive this morning," said Holden, cocking an eyebrow at Bran, who blushed. "Aren't you hungry? Enough ancient history. Let's get up."



Neither Valor nor Yves had appeared at the breakfast table by the time Fox had served the meal. Holden looked across at the empty places laid for them with raised eyebrows.

"Should I even ask?" he said dryly.

"I knocked on her door earlier," said Alix. "No answer. I thought I should let them sleep. If they're asleep."

"Yes, well, we wouldn't want to interfere with our daughter's apparent conviction that we run a combination hotel and brothel," said Holden with some asperity. "I thought she came home to study."

"Maybe Yves is helping her study," Greta deadpanned to her plate, and Bran grinned.

"If they're not down by the time breakfast is over," Holden began, then looked up in surprise as Yves hurried in, looking sweaty and disheveled, and dropped to his knees at Holden's side.

"Sanctuary," he said. "Asylum. Home base. Please."

"What did she do to you?" Holden demanded, as Alix choked and started laughing.

"Nothing," said Yves. "It's what she makes me do to her. Over and over and over again. I'm only flesh and blood, master, and I'm not as young as I used to be."

Holden looked as if he were trying not to grin as he stroked Yves' hair. "Poor Yves. Try to consider it a compliment of sorts."

Yves laid his head wearily down on Holden's knee. "She hasn't let up since last night. What happened to that sweet little girl who was so shy about holding my hand when we went for walks?"

"Puberty," said Holden, scratching the back of Yves' neck. "But she'll be all right. She's just on the rebound."

"It's not her I'm worried about," said Yves darkly.

"Well, I am. I thought we'd taught the brat better than this. Sit down and eat something, for heaven's sake. No-- drink something. You look dehydrated. I'll give Val a talking-to when she comes down. If she ever comes down."

Yves bowed down and fervently kissed Holden's feet before getting up and beginning his meal with alacrity.

"I can't believe she asked for you as a graduation gift," Holden continued.

"I know," said Yves, and swallowed. "I'm probably twenty years older than any of her friends' slaves."

"She got very emotional about it, actually," said Holden. "Said you were her first and no one understood her like you and it would mean everything to her and she'd take good care of you, honest, cross her heart. It was quite touching. What? Why are you looking at me like that? I think I've made it pretty clear that I have no intention of losing you to my inconsiderate wench of a teenage daughter!"

"Yeah, well, I'm a little light-headed right now," said Yves, some of the color coming back to his cheeks. "Just watch you don't lose me to a heart attack, master."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Holden. "Keep eating. Oh, look who decided to join us," he added, as Valor wandered in, looking grumpy and tousled in an inside-out robe and nothing else.

"Um," she said, a bit guiltily, encountering Holden's glare. "Hi, Dad."

"Don't 'hi, Dad' me, young lady," said Holden sternly. "Yves is worn out. If you can't take any better care of my property than this, what would make me think you're responsible enough for your own?"

"Oh gosh," she said. "I'm sorry, Dad. Sorry, Yves. I guess I lost track of the time."

"Mm-hmm. Sit down and eat something. I don't want you run down for your exams."

Valor sat obediently.

"Sorry," she said again, addressing Yves in an undertone. "You should've said something."

"It's not his place to say something," said Holden. "He's a slave. Making sure he's okay is your job. Have we taught you absolutely nothing?"

Valor flushed. "I said I was sorry."

"Yes, well. We can always buy you a car for graduation. You don't have to stop and check on them as often."

"Dad!" Valor wailed. "I didn't hurt him! I just..." She hesitated and looked appealingly at Yves. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

Yves tried rather obviously not to laugh. "No, Miss Valor."

"See," said Valor, turning back to Holden. "If he'd been really in difficulties, I would've seen it. Honestly. I'm responsible, I really am!"

"We'll see about that, young lady," said Holden grimly.

Valor glared at her plate.

"Good morning, darling," said Greta gently.

"Oh-- morning, Mom," said Valor, looking up penitently at her mother. "Morning, Alix. Hi, Brian. Sorry I was late, everybody."

"That's all right, love," said Greta. "We all know how it is to be young."

"Yes," said Holden irritably. "We were all young once. Do forgive us for sometimes failing to understand how hard it is to be you."

"Very funny," Valor said, trying to pout, though her dimples were suddenly very much in evidence, "but it's perfectly true. None of you ever had to take exams, or worry about grades, or a career, or who they were going to marry. You could never understand how difficult my life is, burdened with choices and parents and stability and beautiful men to sleep with. I don't know how I manage it."

She heaved a dramatic sigh and took a fortifying gulp of orange juice as Holden tried not to smile.

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