The Master was still asleep, the curtains on his giant bed drawn, and she moved silently across the thick carpet to the bathing chamber. The heavy door opened the few inches necessary for her to slip through without a squeak and she guided it closed from the other side so that it would make no noise. It was dark in here, but after a few moments her eyes adjusted and she could make out the small marble table with its pitcher and bowl. She washed her face quickly in the water that still stood in the shallow bowl from the previous evening and then used the remainder to scrub the bowl before emptying it back into the pitcher. She straightened the light brown sleeveless dress she wore and quickly refastened her hair into a single long braid that fell down her back. The pitcher she took in both hands and made her way back through the bedroom and toward the kitchens.

There were other slaves up, but not many. Few rose as early as the Master without reason. Some of those she passed looked tired, but Devona felt wide awake. This was her second week to serve in the Master's chamber, and she had grown used to rising before the sun. The kitchen slave was bleary-eyed and irritable, but she grudgingly took the pitcher Devona offered and washed it twice before filling it with spring water and handing it back. Devona watched as she did these things, making sure they were done properly, and then took the newly filled pitcher and carried it back through the dark house and past the bed where the Master still slept. She carefully poured water from the pitcher into the bowl and added petals from the small jar that shared the same black marble table. The shriveled blue petals unfurled in the water and gave off a gentle perfume as they turned the water a delicate cyan, and she carefully draped a towel over its top to keep the scent from escaping.

That task completed, she returned to the bedroom and looked at the color of the sky. She was early; if she left to get his morning meal now it would be cold before he was ready to eat it. She tidied her small bed and laid out his slippers; she had never seen him wear them, but she put them in place anyway. When this was done she made sure his bedside table was clear and left again for the kitchens, pulling the door almost but not quite closed. There were more slaves here now, yawning as they went about their morning tasks, and Devona collected the cold portions of the Master's breakfast before she asked the cook for the rest. Once all was ready she covered and lifted the tray and started her second trip back to the Master's room.

The tray was heavy with food and drink, but Devona had been a slave all her thirteen years and was used to such burdens, and moved steadily down the slowly brightening hallway. She turned to place her shoulder gently against the door and was rewarded when it opened soundlessly to admit her. The room was now light enough for color, and she could see that his indistinct shape behind the curtains had not turned and felt relief and pride in her judgement. There was a soft shifting from within the canopy as he started to wake up, and she set the tray down gently and then carefully pulled back one edge of the curtains so that she could tie it back. It was on the side opposite the window and nearest the table where the meal sat, and she tied it carefully into place so that she would not jostle the tray. Then she went to the bathing chamber and pulled the cord that would begin to fill the giant bath and took the bowl with its water out and placed it neat to the tray.

He woke soon after, and she stood silently out of sight with her eyes downcast as he refreshed himself and ate and drank, and when she could hear that he was almost done she took the bowl and placed it again in the bathing chamber. The bath was almost full now; the water steamed as it poured from the heavy iron faucet and she pulled the cord again to stop it. She scattered more of the dark blue petals on the surface of the bath and then returned to the bedroom to take the tray. The Master usually didn't seem to notice her at all, but though she kept her eyes down as was proper she could tell he was looking at her now. She was supposed to be dismissed - a wave of the hand, a nod, a vocalization of some kind to indicate that he had no further need of her.

The tray was heavy in her arms, but she stood with her head bowed and waited. Ten seconds passed, fifteen, twenty, and she longed to shift her weight or otherwise make her discomfort known, but her training kept her in place, still as a statue.

"Go back to Soril now," he said at last in his deep, gravelly voice, and she nodded quickly in acquiesence and left with the tray, her heart fluttering. So soon! She had served him less than two weeks, and he had already decided her place and her price. Whatever role he had determined for her would rule who she was sold to and in what capacity she would serve, and she wouldn't know until her first potential buyer arrived.

Soril was the austere, heavy-handed woman who ran the house. She was the one who decided when the slaves were ready to serve the Master, and which would be sold in the public auctions and which kept back for greater profit to be offered to the nobility. She was seated at table and dining when Devona came to her, and Soril sent her to her place in the large room that housed the female slaves. Many of the others were just now waking, and though they noticed she had returned and a few made quiet conversation to her over their porridge none mentioned her time away. She went about her normal daily tasks with the rest of them and when the house opened at midday for potential buyers she fell into line with the other, younger girls until Soril directed her to the other line, the one that contained those slaves intended for sale.

A tall muscular man, avuncular in a particularly non-threatening way, greeted her. "We are honored to have you in our house today; how may we be of service?"

"Today I am purchasing a slave." Imaret informed him languidly, as if she had done this before. She hated being the baby of the family; as if turning eighteen didn't count for anything! She thought she was quite adult.

"Very well." the man smiled slowly at her with a glint in his eye. "And for such a fair example of nobility and beatuy as yourself, may I suggest a matched pair of young boys? They have been trained not only in household skills but are also well-versed in the ways of protection."

Imaret was tempted, and wanted to agree, but another hand-sign from her tutor, and she shook her head slightly. "A personal servant, female, no older than fifteen." she recited as her mother had dictated to her earlier that day. The man bowed low and exited through a door on the left. Immediately the group was surrounded by silent women, their eyes downcast as they served iced fruit juices and trays of small pastries. One woman knelt before Imaret and gently slid off the delicate slippers, then proceeded to massage her feet.

Imaret smiled slightly, pretending to be comfortable. In truth, she rarely was allowed to leave the premises of her family house, though the grounds themselves were large enough that one could get lost. She knew her place; she was to marry and bear children to continue her illustrious lineage, though thankfully that would not be required for quite a while. In the meantime, she was to learn how to behave at her uncle's court and otherwise keep out of the way.

The man returned with two young women, and Imaret watched them like a hawk as the man recited their skills and training. Isi then questioned them briefly. The first, the tutor signed displeasure with, and the second irritated Imaret, though she could not say why. She dismissed them both.

The third girl the man brought out was subject to the same process, and no one in the party could detect a fault.

"Let her serve me my tea." she suggested, perfectly within her rights as a potential buyer to request such a test. The tedious and highly ritualized tea ceremony was something Imaret was rarely allowed to partake in, lacking her own servant.

The slave girl executed the tea perfectly, and Imaret was almost disappointed that she could not find a flaw. Her heart skipped a beat as she made her choice. "This one." she nodded to the man, then turned to her new slave. Isi commenced the haggling, which Imaret knew could take the better part of thirty minutes. She turned slightly to her new possession, who was properly kneeling on the floor before her.

For as long as she could remember she had been a slave in this house. She had learned all the talents and skills that became a female slave, she had served the exacting Master without drawing a reprimand and now as her reward she would belong to this woman, as long as she could fulfill her duty. She would not be sold at public auction; she would pass hands decorously, and into such fascinating and beautiful hands. The few words the woman had spoken were smooth and spoken in the refined formal Suna of the noble families, and her bearing was regal as an empress. Devona could not imagine that anyone would hesitate to follow this woman, and she was happier than she felt was strictly proper.

"What's your name?" The question was gentle and warm, and Devona lifted her head slightly to acknowledge that she'd heard and was paying attention.