Free Children of the Blood by Michelle Sagara West

to sweat as her lips turned down into a dangerous frown.
    “Your name.”
    He wanted to turn back to Stev, but didn’t dare—not when she was so close. He looked down and saw that his hands were trembling visibly.
    “D-Darin.”
    He heard the collective intake of breath. It came from all around. In panic, he looked back to see that Stev’s eyes were closed. He wheeled around again.
    Cynthia’s smile was the smile of a cat.
    And Darin knew how a mouse felt. It didn’t help to know that the look of anger upon Lord Damion’s face was not directed at him.
    “House mistress,” Lord Damion said, the word grating through clenched teeth. “Take this slave to the slavemaster.”
    “At once, lord.” She reached out to catch Darin by the shoulder; he felt her hands trembling, although they looked steady.
    “And tell him to wait upon my instruction before meting out punishment.”
    “Yes, lord.”
    “Cynthia, I will speak with you now . Your request for a new slave is denied.”
    Darin didn’t hear her reply. He went with Korven. Only once did he dare to glance back, searching the crowd until he caught sight of Kerren’s pale face.
     
    “I’m sorry.”
    Darin bit back a cry of pain as Stev tended to his back. The warm, wet cloth stung the open strips that the whip had torn out of his flesh.

    “I should have thought to warn you.”
    Tears squeezed themselves out of Darin’s eyes. He reached out and felt another hand take his.
    “Darin?” It was Kerren.
    Darin tried to nod, gulping as Stev continued to clean him.
    “It’s a game,” Stev murmured, “a game that the younger nobles will play. It doesn’t often get anywhere.” He looked down at the mess of Darin’s back and sighed. “I’ve seen worse punishments. But they were on broader backs.”
    Darin wanted to close his eyes, but every time he did, he saw the grim smile of the slavemaster and felt his own fear well up as he stood there, naked, and was bid to turn around. The first three strokes cut the air at his sides, making him jump. That was bad enough—the fear.
    But the whip was worse. Not for anything could he imagine enduring that again.
    “They didn’t kill you,” Stev continued.
    Darin hated the slight edge of surprise and curiosity in the words.
    “And the lord almost chastised his daughter in front of the slaves.”
    “Are you finished yet?” Kerren asked, letting his voice show the fear and annoyance that Darin’s didn’t have strength for.
    “Not yet, Ker. Be patient.”
    Kerren nearly shouted back. “You’re hurting him.”
    “It’s all right,” Darin whispered, still very much aware that Kerren gripped his hand. “He needs to do it.” It helped, to be able to say what he only half believed. Clean the wounds, or there’ll be infection. If the lord didn’t see fit to kill the slave, he’ll be furious if he dies now.
    “That’s right.” Stev nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just that most of us were born to the life; most of us understand the games better.”
    Kerren’s hand tightened fiercely, and for a moment Darin wished that David were awake. Maybe he was, though. No one could sleep through the noise Darin made.
    “I wonder at it, though. Why didn’t they kill you? Ah, well. Best not to question luck.”
     
    Lady Cynthia was furious. The fine, high lines of her cheeks were stained with a red that was ugly and unbecoming to her station.
    “You do realize that the slaves are laughing behind my back,
don’t you?” She threw her hands in the air; a bracelet jangled against the taut muscles of her wrist as if it were hitting steel.
    Lord Damion continued to read the document that had been placed on his desk in the morning.
    “Father, are you listening?”
    “Yes, dear,” he replied, flipping a page.
    “What’s so special about that slave anyway? He’s obviously not worthy of the house—he named himself in front of us!” She took a deep breath and her toe skirted the rug. She was old enough now that dignity