Free SummerDanse by Terie Garrison

received your latest missive, and I fear I must caution you against complacence. Much is at stake, and all could be lost if you fail now.
    You must resist any sympathy toward the girl. For our plan to succeed, you must be harsh. Harden your heart; be cruel; beat her if you must. It is imperative that she fear you.
    I have promised her to you, should she survive her coming ordeal. She will be yours, to wed, or to bed, or to enslave in your kitchen, whatever you choose. I care not, only bring her in accordance with our plan.
    My son, I look forward with delight to our impending reunion. All these long years I have missed you. To finally see you again—I count the days.
    ~Your Father

I woke up feeling groggy but comfortable. I opened my eyes, and it was like being inside a cloud. Everything was white and gleamed with the soft golden glow of sunlight. The air was cool, and a fresh breeze blew through the room.
    “Ah, awake at last.” The voice was deep and musical. Not Anazian’s.
    Feeling too weak to sit up, I turned my head toward the voice. An old man sat in a chair facing me. His silvery grey hair and incongruously black beard were trimmed short and neat, giving his face a very precise appearance. His green eyes twinkled at me. He wore a black shirt and trousers of fine linen, and he had several jeweled rings on his fingers, plus a gold torc around his neck. He must be very rich indeed.
    “Where am I?” My own voice was weak, scarcely more than a whisper.
    “Shh. You’re safe now.” He picked up a cup from a small stand and leaned forward. “Drink this, then rest more.” He held the cup to my lips and helped me to drink the cool, delicious water.
    With a sigh, I closed my eyes and fell back to a dreamless sleep.

    When I next woke up, the light had a pink cast to it, though whether that was because it was sunrise or sunset, I couldn’t tell.
    The chair next to my bed was empty and pushed back against the wall, but I heard the rustling sounds of someone else in the room. I felt stronger now and sat up, expecting to find the elegant old man, and was surprised to find a woman instead. She was looking out a wide window through which the pink light flowed. I cleared my throat to get her attention, but she didn’t respond.
    The room was as beautiful a one as I’d ever seen. The four-poster bed was made of rich, dark wood, and the bedclothes were a crisp, brilliant white. The walls, also white, were decorated sparsely with a few pastel paintings. Even the stones of the fireplace were pale in color. A sturdy table with two pink-upholstered chairs stood beneath the window.
    I no longer wore the disgusting, filthy shift that Anazian had made we wear without letting me wash it even once. Now I wore a luxurious sleeveless nightgown whose soft fabric caressed my skin. The pale blue of it contrasted sharply with the deep red of my arms, burned by the long days in the sun. The scrapes and bruises I’d acquired proved that it hadn’t been some lingering nightmare. But now I was clean, and my skin and hair smelled faintly of lemons. My face felt puffy, and my nose hurt to the touch and was peeling, while my lips were dry and cracked.
    The woman at the window turned and looked at me just as I reached for the pitcher to pour myself more water. She broke into a smile and rushed over to take care of the task herself.
    “Thanks,” I said, giving her a smile that split my upper lip.
    Her deeply wrinkled face fell, and without a word she reached into a pocket of her apron and pulled out a small jar. This she opened and after dipping in a fingertip, spread a salve of some kind onto my lips. They stung for a moment. Then I drank the water, and I could practically feel my insides absorbing it.
    The old woman went to the door and stepped out, closing it behind her. I poured myself more water and considered going over to the window to look out, but I decided that getting up was too much effort. For now, I wanted only to relax in this