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It didn't take a genius to figure out something was off.
The most obvious clue was the girl herself. At a glance, she looked like any other slave meant for someone's sheets – her short blue dress was beautiful without being extravagant, and her sharp delicate features were pretty enough, even if her expression currently detracted from this. That was already unusual, though. A bed slave in front of her master was supposed to look meek and docile, perhaps coy, but definitely aware of her position and her purpose. Even Kyenne had managed that much.
This one, though... her face was blank, and not in the way of someone resigned to her fate, or even someone trying to hide her emotions. Her gaze was fixed on Anereth, remote and unwavering, like a bird watching a mouse from a tree.
She also looked young. There was always a little leeway with demons, as appearance and age often didn't match. Still, it was not socially acceptable in either Nuvaria or Enalyr to keep a bed slave who looked decidedly like someone who shouldn't be allowed to enter a gambling house or stay inside taverns after midnight. With this girl it would be a close thing, and if Anereth could hope to take her out in public without it earning him negative attention beyond a few odd looks, then only because he himself wasn't quite yet supposed to spend any nights in taverns.
Even more odd was that she was a girl. Anereth's interests had only ever really gone in one direction, and Jylin knew this very well. It made no sense he would give him a female bed slave. It made even less sense he would pick one so badly trained she was in a cage clearly not only meant to be decorative, and then just so happen to have the gift delivered precisely when his mother was away on business in the capital and his sisters were on a several days trip to Zerern, visiting the school Valithia was supposed to attend starting fall, provided she didn’t get another fever before then.
Not to mention coming from anyone but family, a slave was a highly irregular surprise gift to begin with.
I know she's not your usual taste, Jylin's card had said, but I hope you will give her a try. For a job well done.
How was Anereth supposed to explain this? If his mother learned he had entered into an agreement with Halethion's military... there was no telling what she would do. Why would Jylin risk it?
He wondered if the girl would have more of an idea than him what was going on. Certainly there wasn't anyone else around to ask.
He stepped closer. The girl should have lowered her eyes, prostrated herself. She just continued to watch him.
“What is Jylin thinking?” he asked.
He wasn't terribly surprised when there wasn't a response.
“Do you have any idea why you're here? Why he gave you to me?”
Again no response.
Anereth crossed his arms. “I'll let you out of that cage once you answer me.”
The girl didn't even blink.
“I know no one was in here since you were brought, so you must be hungry – at least thirsty. I'm not going to feed you through the bars like a tiger at some show. So just answer my questions, would you.” He paused. “Can you talk?”
The girl's stare didn't alter, and Anereth decided he really hated presents. Surely he couldn't have ended up with another slave who had a death wish.
Though there was only one way to find out, wasn't there?
He walked over to the fruit bowl next to his bed and grabbed an apple. All the popular authors on demon behavior and training would probably bury their faces in their hands in despair watching him. Throwing about empty threats and then upon being met with continued disobedience immediately making it clear they had been empty was not, in their opinion, a very good start to the relationship between master and slave.
Anereth did not care about their opinion.
He reached through the bars and put the apple inside the cage, then backed up.
The girl was still looking at him. Very slowly, her gaze moved downward for the first time, to the apple. It remained there for at least a minute as she appeared to contemplate it.
At long last she looked up again. Her nose had wrinkled. “Meat,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“I want meat,” the girl said, tone inflectionless, but her words clear.
Anereth did his best not to stare. “Answer my questions,” he finally managed, “and you can have it.”
The girl's eyes went cold. She stood, her head nearly touching the top of the cage.
To his private embarrassment, the only reason Anereth was able to keep himself from flinching was that the demon did not advance towards the bars. Instead, she turned around so that her back was to him, and sat down again.
Anereth did stare, then.
He decided to give it some time. He told her to let him know if she changed her mind, and began reading a book about water-based spells.
He found it a little hard to concentrate, though, and had already read the book three times. The slave, meanwhile, did not once so much as shift.
After half an hour, Anereth gave up, and got her her meat.
“I hope you like roast,” he said after shutting the door in the face of the servant who had brought the food. He'd barely been able to summon the manners to give the man a curt 'thank you’.
The demon had turned to face him again the moment he sent for the meal, and now observed without even the twitch of a muscle as he opened the lid below the cage's lock to put the plate inside.
Anereth could feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end, but refused to let a childish bout of nerves influence his actions, except in so far as he took particular care that his movements remained sure and deliberate. The demon had been rendered doubly powerless: a physical barrier preventing her from taking more than two steps, when the collar encircling her throat already was designed to make it impossible for any demon to do harm or manifest their magic. Anereth would be damned if he allowed a slave to intimidate him, let alone one who could barely move and who looked no further from his little sister’s age than from his own.
As soon as he pulled his arm out of the cage, the girl grabbed the roast, lightning quick. Anereth did take a step back this time before he could stop himself, though it was some consolation that he doubted the only other person present noticed. The demon ignored the cutlery, sinking her teeth into the meat with gusto.
Definitely not a bed slave. Not even a really, really horrible one.
She ate the entire thing, which should easily have been enough for two people, while leaving the side dishes untouched. Then she licked her fingers clean. She did not do it in a manner many people would have found appealing.
“I'm Ryminis,” she said. “Of the clan of Argarae. Your cooks should use more spices.”
Anereth opened his mouth, and closed it again. “Ryminis,” he repeated at last. “Of the clan of Argarae. Why are you here?”
Because she might be dressed as a slave, and the collar around her neck as well as her papers verified by the city guards said she was one, but Anereth had never seen a demon like her. And looking into her calm black eyes that not once avoided his, he could not imagine anyone paying the barest bit of attention should have mistaken her for a cute pet for him to enjoy, or something easily broken.
“So you can try to make me yours.” The demon’s steady gaze, her entire manner, deeply unsettled him, a sensation that got worse the longer he interacted with her; though he wasn’t about to let her know that.
He reminded himself that no matter what, at the end of the day she was just a girl in a cage. If he wanted, he could throw away the key and have her sent back across the border. Whatever may be going on in Jylin’s head, he could not be offended Anereth had no use for a female bed slave. Though of course, as long as he did not know what he was dealing with, it was about the most stupid way of dealing with the situation Anereth could imagine.
“Try,” he said therefore. “And then what?”
“Then we will both die.” Ryminis spoke this like someone observing the sky darkening and noting that it would soon rain.
Anereth started. Then he thought, Well, it would not be odd for Jylin to want me to die.
He realized he was digging his nails into his sides and unfolded his arms.
“Is there a spell on you?” he asked, brow furrowing. He knew he was missing something. If someone had managed to work magic into this demon, or into something she wore or carried with her, that despite having escaped the city guards’ notice would kill them both if he touched her, it would have made much more sense to choose a slave who was docile; or at least to keep the rebellious one they had chosen unaware of the plan so she wouldn't be able to warn Anereth, even if he might have easily disbelieved her.
It made no sense.
“No,” the demon said.
“Then why would we both die?”
“I want out.”
Anereth arched his eyebrows. “You just said you were dangerous. You want me to open this cage?”
Ryminis gazed at him in silence.
Anereth knew he could refuse her only at the price of not getting answers. Or perhaps he could wait her out, until she grew bored enough to talk; he did not think, though, that there was any way of getting her to respond to his questions today short of complying.
Anereth let out a slow breath, grounding himself. If Jylin wanted him dead, Anereth had to know the details as soon as possible. He was too much of a threat, the people behind him too powerful, for any delay to not have the potential to be fatal. And it wasn't like Ryminis had needed to tell him she was a danger to him at all.
It was imperative that he understood what was going on before his mother returned. Meaning as long as he was careful, Ryminis inside the cage refusing to cooperate should be a greater danger than her outside of it and talking.
Whatever else may be true, Anereth could not see a defective collar being the issue, meaning a physical attack was improbable. Since Halethion largely used their own methods rather than the Timnestra collars which were required for any privately owned slave in Desarias, when being moved across borders, Ryminis’ collar would either have been tested to determine its authenticity and condition, or exchanged. Her papers bore the necessary stamp and signatures, and while Anereth didn’t doubt Jylin had contacts aside from him in Desarias, if his reach extended to the Ivariney’s handpicked inspectors, he would have found someone easier to work with than Anereth from the start.
Anereth procured the key he'd been given with the demon's papers from his pocket and opened the cage.
The girl rose as gracefully as any bed slave and stepped out of her cage without haste. Anereth moved back, careful not to touch her, or be close enough for her to touch him, while he still didn't know what quality she possessed that made her deadly.
As she passed him, just for a second, it crossed his mind that moving aside was not enough; that he should run from the room and lock the door – or better yet, from the house.
It was an unexpected, irrational impulse, and Anereth ruthlessly squashed it. Jylin and his faction were not to be taken lightly, but if he was going to fall prey to hysterics over this much, he should never have appointed himself the one to deal with them.
She was just a girl in a collar, he reminded himself, not an actual tiger.
Ryminis walked around the room, pausing every so often. While Anereth did his best to appear composed in the face of the senseless, entirely unproductive terror gripping his heart, the demon looked at the furniture and tapestries and windows like a historian studying ancient texts whose contents were interesting, but of no particular import.
“There's no spell,” she said eventually, appearing to be deliberating upon the matter of the fruit bowl on the bedside table while she spoke. “Or there is, but not one that could harm you. Or.” She broke off, frowned. The first real expression on her face save for when he had offered her the apple. “The magic will wear off, and my hair will be red. There will be specs of orange in my eyes. If you look at my legs and feet, you will find scales easier than skin, and claws. Even then, I will remain less. Once, a glimpse of me would have sent a hundred like you running.” She lifted her chin, just slightly. “When your kind trespasses against mine, they only find one thing.”
It took Anereth a long moment to understand, but then he thought about what Jylin had told him once, about the old rumors regarding Halethion being true-- about Jylin’s family having been involved. He’d not been sure the man wasn’t having him on then, had rather suspected that to be the case, and he hadn’t dared ask his mother about it lest he rouse her suspicion, but now… now, looking at Ryminis, suddenly it seemed horribly, terrifyingly obvious.
The breath caught in his throat. “You're a dragon.”
The girl, who was no girl at all, turned to him. “I am the blood of Argarae. Your kind can hold us, but you can not control us, bend us. To lay hand on me is to have your heart ripped out and devoured.”
Anereth had convinced himself his desire to flee the room was laughable. What was laughable was that even in this diminished state, the power of the creature in front of him was such that it made his skin crawl, but he had waved it off and removed the only barrier between them, and congratulated himself for being rational and level headed while he did.
There had never been a worse fool.
“And then you will have spent your strength,” Anereth said, woodenly, “and be easily dealt with by whoever finds my bloodied corpse, if the collar does not kill you first.” He had heard the tales.
Ryminis didn't reply. She didn't need to.
The dragons were a legend. A living one, but that only made so much difference when no human alive was supposed to have ever seen one up close. There were records, though. So long as their shape resembled that of a human, they could be wounded like any other, be taken captive by someone able and willing to spend the resources. They could even be collared, if the magic woven into the collar was powerful enough.
They could not be made to do a human's bidding, though. Or at least, no one Anereth knew of had ever achieved it. People had attempted to train them, to break them, but they were willful creatures, and the nature of their inborn magic volatile. When they put their minds to it, the collar that could contain them had yet to be created.
The Timnestra collar was one of the few that came close, because there was enough strength imbued in it that even a dragon would have to give it all it had to break it, and because there were failsafes in place that meant destroying it was much more likely to kill the wearer than not to. If provoked, though, dragons had proven not to care about this, and they had also shown that it did not often take much to provoke them.
Ryminis stepped towards him. Anereth stepped back.
The dragon stopped and cocked her head, and again her manner reminded Anereth of a bird's.
Well, spring dawn birds were among the most vicious creatures one could have the misfortune to encounter, so he supposed it was not so unfitting.
“They thought I could not talk,” the dragon said. “Or would not. I considered it. I'm growing weary of your kind. But you're new.” She crossed the remaining distance between them in one fluid motion, grasping his hair. Then she pulled back an inch and opened her hand, looking down at the silver strands. Anereth didn't move. His scalp felt hot, even though that made no sense, even though she hadn’t touched it. “Why is your hair this color?” And then, without waiting for an answer, “It does not suit a human. I like it. I like your food.” She let go and stepped back. “You can continue giving me food.”
Laughter at the absurdity of the situation bubbled in Anereth's throat. He pushed it down the best he could, but did not succeed in keeping his voice entirely free of it when he said, “I can? I don't think my mother would be impressed if I told her I intended to keep a dragon.” Not least of all because it would be evident to her where the dragon must have come from.
Jylin was counting on that, of course. If he had Anereth killed using a dragon, not only would it be an unmistakable message, but his mother would have little choice but to cover up the incident herself, because otherwise how would she explain it? If there was an investigation, her own past ties to Halethion would come under scrutiny, and she could not afford that.
She could afford it even less after what Anereth had done.
Ryminis' gaze was unblinking. “I don't think your people would be impressed if you sold or gave away one of my clan without being able to explain where I came from.”
This was true.
It would still be incredibly unwise to keep her. “I could always give you back.”
“And alert your enemies right away they need to switch to a different plan? You could, I suppose.”
They both knew he would not.
Anereth was surprised, really, that she had not announced she would kill him if he even tried. Though he was not so lacking in common sense as to take this as reassurance. If anything at all he had read of dragons was true, she was much more likely to kill him in retaliation or anger than as a pre-determined measure to prevent him from moving against her.
There must be a whole host of reasons Jylin had chosen this way to dispose of something as valuable and incriminating as a dragon, and none of the possibilities that came to mind boded well for any attempts Anereth might make to rid himself of her in turn.
He had no idea how Jylin’s people would even have gotten her into the cage.
“You're too dangerous to keep,” he said regardless, because she was, and he could try and make up a story about how she'd come into his possession, or perhaps he could even find a way to kill her; though doing either would probably be more dangerous than not doing anything at all, at least on his own. Her kind were said to be immune to poisons, and nearly impossible to fell with anything but enchanted weapons. Their blood could warp someone’s magic and turn it against itself, though there was scholarly disagreement about what quantities or circumstances were required – regardless, even if he’d otherwise had the nerve to attempt to kill a dragon, Anereth wasn’t about to touch a drop of it.
“Only if you continue trying to feed me apples,” Ryminis said. She turned, and made for the door.
Anereth doubted it was to do him the favour of returning to where she had come from.
“Where are you going?”
“To look around,” the girl, the dragon said, as though that was no cause for alarm. “You should come.” And she stepped out of the room.
Anereth hurried to follow, silently vowing that he was through with slaves and would let everyone know this, so next time he got a surprise present, it would be a horse or puppy at the absolute worst.
What did you do with a dragon walking through your house as though she owned it?
At least no one else was home, save for the slaves and servants. Unfortunately, it wouldn't stay that way for long.
Anereth made a face while his would-be murderer inspected a fine blue porcelain vase in the corridor outside his room. If Ryminis did not kill him, his mother very well might.