Flesh and Fire by Laura Anne Gilman Read Free Book Online Page B

Maybe. Doubt you even know. We need to put some meat on those bones first, to see how you’ll turn out. Go on with you, get dressed. Sooner you’re tested, sooner we know what to do with you.”
    Those words blurred the image of the younger boy and brought him back to the reality of his situation: naked and shivering in a room he shouldn’t be in, facing. . .what? A test. He longed to ask about it, but knew better. Detta might seem kind, but he didn’t know how far that might go. The wrong question and she might turn on him. The wrong answer and he might be back out in the dirt of the field, the crowded stink of the sleep house.
    He didn’t want to go back there. Not now. Not ever. In the brief span of a bath, everything had been turned upside down, inside out, and changed. He would do anything to stay here.
    His tunic and pants were folded neatly on a small wooden stool the same polished sheen as the doors and floors. While he was bathed, someone had taken his clothing away and. . .done something to it. The tunic was still stained and the pants worn at the knee and backside, but they felt. . .cleaner somehow. He slid them on and discovered that the old, knotted lacing of the pants had been replaced with a new cord.
    That one small thing made a lump rise in his throat, hurting when he swallowed, and he didn’t know why.
    He finished dressing without a word, and then turned to where Detta was waiting.
    “Maybe you’ll do” was all she said. “Master will decide.”
    He followed her out of the room, his scrubbed feet newly sensitive to the cool texture of the floor. This time they did not walk through the kitchen, but out a different door into a courtyard, open to the sky. There was a small fruit tree at the center of it, and a small stone well off to the side, but Detta led him past without a chance to look more closely, through another door at the other end, and they were through into another part of the building.
    The floor underneath here was not stone, but polished wood, smooth and warm underfoot, and the walls were not white daub but a smoother, creamier texture, almost like clay. He felt the urge to touch it, but dared not. His skin might be bathed, but he was still afraid he might leave a mark, a smudge of slave on the clean surface.
    They were in a small square room with three doors, all closed, plus the open doorway they had come through. Two of the doors had metal handles on them, the third did not. Tall yellow candles were placed in metal holders on the wall. They were thinner than the ones used in the sleep house, but with the same steady flicker that lit the way almost as well as sunlight. The familiarity soothed him momentarily.
    “On you go, then,” Detta said, pointing at the door without the handle. “Inside. The Master’s waiting.”
    She was new, unknown and therefore dangerous, but he wanted her to come with him. Wanted it the way he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything before, with a hunger that scared him.
    He didn’t say anything to her, didn’t even look at her, just walked forward and reached out to push the door in.
    It moved before he could touch it, swinging open in soundless invitation.
    He stepped in, and it closed behind him.
    “Good luck, boy,” he heard a faint whisper, and then forgot all about it, staring in astonishment at the vision in front of him.
    Bottles. Dozens of rare glass bottles, green and brown, racked in wooden frames taller than he was, wall to wall, each bottle bearing a small tag hung around its neck.
    The wealth of the House of Malech, there in front of him.
    The temptation was too great; he could no more resist than he could stop his own blood from flowing. He stepped forward, stopped, and then moved forward again, drawn to one wall in particular. His arm reached out, unworthy hands touching the wooden frame, not quite yet daring to touch the bottles directly.
    Wine. Crafted wine. Spellwine .
    “Sin Washer be gentle,” he whispered, and let his