Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

And any other man he chooses to give you to. “But how do you know he will take you with him to the North? How do you know you will not be sold with the others to Piltor?”

Altene frowned at the mention of the Worick’s name. “Jarl will take me with him. He has more than once said he has never met my equal in the furs. Once you are gone, I will remind him of that regularly. And if for some reason he does not, I have enough jewels now to buy my own freedom.”

Nena changed the subject. “I need the herb.”

“Be patient. I have it here.”

“How much do I take?”

“Pick one leaf from the stem and hold it under your tongue every day for an hour. Then spit it out. Do not swallow it.” Altene held out a small branch with stiff tiny olive green leaves protruding from either side. Nena glanced at it only briefly before plucking a leaf and placing it under her tongue. The plant was unfamiliar to her and the leaf had a bitter flavor.

“Do you have more?” Nena asked.

Altene looked at her suspiciously. “You will not need more. You are escaping, remember?”

“Yes. I only wondered if it took longer than expected...”

“See that it doesn’t,” Altene threatened as she stabbed the needle again into Nena’s upper arm. “So was it as good as I said?” she asked.

Nena flushed again at the memory, though she knew better than to admit the experience to Altene. “It doesn’t matter. The sooner I can forget it and leave this place, the better.”

Altene took her redness and response for denial. “I warned you. I was worried he would be rough from the battle.”

Nena could tell she had not been worried at all, but had hoped—and was pleased.

“That is all the help you will get from me, so do not think to ask for ways to please him. I worked hard for those secrets and will not share them.”

“I would never...” Nena began, then stopped. “Gratitude,” she said, instead.

“For what? For not sharing?”

“For everything. For pushing me to see the means to escape. For the herb. Perhaps you were right that under different circumstances we could have been friends. How is it you came to be here? How are you not married to a Dor with club hands raising his children?” Nena flinched as Altene again drove the inked needle beneath the surface of her skin.

“After the Teclan raided our village, slavers caught up with the survivors a few days later. I was very young, only eight summers. I was sold to a pleasure house in Anbai, where, until I was old enough to work in the house, I was taught other things—foreign languages and customs, so as to better understand the demands and wishes of my future customers. And I was also taught the many ways to pleasure women and men—ways that do not require penetration.

“When I was old enough, my first union was sold to the highest bidder. He was no Jarl. He was a panting, slobbering old man, and I took no pleasure from it. I worked in the house for several more years until I was purchased by a regular customer. He was taking me to his home when we were attacked by these Northmen, and I was taken prisoner again. Jarl has an eye for Dor women, and I was soon to catch it—much as you were. Which is why you must go.”

“I HAVE A present for you,” Jarl announced.

Nena smiled at his excitement. “I do not need a present. And besides, your last gift to me were the cuffs.”

“I know, but I want to give you one. I want to see you as happy as I am. And the cuffs were a gift of necessity, for your safety—and mine,” he added. “This is a gift purely for your enjoyment.”

Nena hesitated. Would he give her a giant ruby as he had given Altene when she pleased him? The thought hardened her heart.

You are nothing more than a favored slave to him. Do not forget it. He even thinks to appease you with trinkets, now—as he did Altene.

“Come.” He motioned for her to follow. “It’s this way.” He held open the tent flap.

Nena followed him out into the bright sunlight and had to shield her eyes with her hand for a moment. There was Jarl’s stallion, saddled and ready, and beyond was the shadow of another horse. She assumed it would be the fat little gelding she had grown fond of, and moved around Jarl’s horse to mount. Her present must be out on the plains, or for some reason he chose not to give it to her here.

As she stepped around Jarl’s stallion, Nena saw a creature more beautiful than she had ever imagined. The mare standing saddled was the color of polished steel, with lighter dapples distributed evenly throughout her glossy coat. Where Jarl’s horse was tall and muscular, this one was sleek and refined. Nena’s eyes scanned the entire animal, finding no flaw. The mare’s legs seemed almost delicate compared to the thick bones of Jarl’s warhorse, but they were straight and perfect. Her hooves were flinty and tough, able to withstand the roughest terrain. But it was her face that drew Nena’s longest regard. The mare’s head could not have been finer had it been chiseled by the most skilled sculptor. Huge intelligent eyes were set wide on a broad forehead that tapered to a tiny muzzle with large nostrils.

Nena had never seen anything like her. She had to be one of the legendary Bedouin horses from the lands far to the south. She had heard of them but had never seen one in the flesh. The horses that could carry a man for days without rest. Horses that could survive in the harsh desert with little food or water. They were the toughest, and some argued the fastest, horses the