Free The Patrician by Joan Kayse

answered merrily.
    Jared clenched his teeth at that infernal chuckle. God, how he wanted to strangle the man. But not as much as the slaver now inspecting him like some sort of prized bull. Using a short, solid stick from the belt at his side, Kest poked and prodded— his legs, his arms, his back, finding with uncanny accuracy every bruise and cut on his body. Jared forced himself not to react as Kest came to stand in front of him. He met the slave dealer’s assessing gaze with one of his own.
    “Boldness is not a good attribute in a slave,” murmured Kest. He snapped his head around to ask his brother, “And why is he gagged?”
    That damn chuckle.
    “He is a bit spirited. Nothing that the lash won’t wear out of him.”
    Kest considered the possibility. “I think the lash would be the one to suffer with this one. Three hundred sestarces. ”
    “Three hundred!” For once Emperor was not amused. “You can make five times that much selling him to the gladiatorial schools. It is robbery.”
    “That is your specialty, brother. Three hundred, and not a coin more.”
    The Emperor sputtered. “Farid...”
    Kest waved away Emperor’s protests. “For once Farid would agree with me . This slave is insolent, a troublemaker, the rebellion fair shouts from his eyes.” Kest swept an appraising glance at him. “Eyes that he hasn’t the sense to keep lowered. There is not a subservient bone in his body.Recalcitrant slaves sell cheaply.” 
    At a slight nod from Kest, one of his minions delivered a sharp blow to Jared’s abdomen, doubling him over and knocking the breath cleanly from his lungs. He would have fallen to the ground if the Emperor’s men had not supported him. Kest sighed heavily. “Still, he might work out in one of the silver mines of Iberia and the quarries are always looking for able-bodied slaves.”
    “Four hundred and a quarter,” Emperor countered.
    Kest looked sympathetically at his brother and sighed. “Three plus fifty. My secretary will draw up the bill of sale and see to the payment.”
    Looking like he was going to rupture a vein, the Emperor nodded in agreement, motioning his men to follow. Without their support, Jared sank to his knees. The throbbing pain in his gut only added to the fury building inside of him. Every fiber of his being called for him to resist, to fight back. But he was a slave—for the moment—and slaves who fought their masters did not live long.
    And oh, he intended to live. And escape. And find the green eyed oracle, whose gift could never begin to discern the depth of his revenge.
    Kest’s overseer pulled on the rope around his neck, urging him to back his feet. Instinct thrust resolve aside and Jared refused, only to be answered by a stinging blow across his back from the overseer’s whip.
    Kest shook his head and muttered a curse. He turned to his secretary. “Group him with that batch of criminals. Together the lot might bring enough to salvage my purse.”
     

Chapter Four
     
    Southern Italia
    “A gh!”
    Bryna squinted, found the offending stone sliver and pulled it out of her palm. Dagda , it hurt.
    She arched backward and kneaded the burning muscles in her shoulders. Hours bent over the grindstone were taking their toll. Sticky rivulets of perspiration ran down her arms, marking trails in the fine layer of wheat dust that coated them. The heat from the blazing sun was sapping her strength as well, giving her a pounding headache. Oh, how she missed the moist, cool winds of Eire.
    This place was definitely not Eire. Bryna scooped up the last of the wheat flour she had ground, swallowed the longing for home, for her family and relegated it all to the recesses of her mind. Remembering her previous life only underscored the desolation of her current one.
    She tossed the grain into a shallow basket. Now that she was free of Coeus and his stifling room, she’d find a way to regain her freedom. But the endless duties imposed by her new master’s housekeeper