‘I’ll pay you twenty for them, fifteen for those. Thirty-five all told. If you’re not happy, tell the boyar. And I will not let him forget that you failed to bring him bears.’
Captain Vereski muttered something under his breath.
‘What was that?’ snapped Mistress Malovski.
‘Thirty-five is fine, Mistress.’
‘Good. Go, then. I’ll bring these up in due course.’
‘I think I should leave someone with you, Mistress. That one’s dangerous.’ He nodded at Kizzy.
‘I have handled enough girls in my time.’
‘Me too,’ leered Captain Vereski. ‘But few have landed harm on me.’ He pointed at his cheek.
Mistress Malovski sighed. ‘I’ll be sure to file down her nails. You may leave a guard outside, but they do not enter this house, understood? And do not worry about that scar, Captain. If anything, it’s an improvement.’
Malovski shut the door on Captain Vereski for a second time, a little harder than before. I heard him barking orders, heard the cage door clang shut on our friends, and wished for them to be safe. A dairy did not sound so bad: somewhere with animals and their sounds, their simple needs. The soft work of cheese and milk and butter. I wished we could have all been kept together.
I drew closer to Kizzy as Malovski strode towards us.
‘Vicious claws, eh? There’ll be none of that with me. I can make your life a lot worse.’
Kizzy let out a hollow laugh, and Malovski reached out, and pinched the skin between Kizzy’s thumb and forefinger. Kizzy yelped, and I bit the insides of my cheeks. If it were me being hurt, she would try to protect me, and yet I could barely bring myself to watch her pain, much less stop it. What was wrong with me? Where was the strength, the courage I had felt when swinging my way towards Albu and Kem with the axe?
I pinched my own hand in the same place Kizzy was being held. It struck on a nerve, bringing bright stars of pain to my eyes.
‘Stupid girl,’ hissed Malovski. ‘There are much worse fates than this. I could have sent you to the fields, with the labourers. Even in the dairy you’d be up to your arms in shit, chafing your hands raw on churns. See how well they’d heal then.’
She let go, throwing Kizzy’s hand from her like it was a soiled rag. ‘You’d do well to learn from your sister. Your beauty may protect her, but her silence will protect you both.’
Malovski wiped her hands along the crimson sides of her gown, and stepped back, giving us both another appraising look.
‘Don’t see many twins around here. One usually dies, or else they are drowned. Unnatural things. Did your mother use witchcraft to birth you?’
‘She was no witch,’ hissed Kizzy. Was. The word struck like a slap.
‘I thought all Gypsies were.’
‘We are Travellers,’ said Kizzy, placing her pinched hand under her armpit. ‘Not Gyptians.’
‘Kisaiya,’ I said warningly.
‘She speaks!’ Malovski threw up her hands and clapped sarcastically. ‘I was beginning to think you were her shadow. Kisaiya, is it? And you are?’
I did not want to hear my name mangled on her Settled tongue, but I had given Kizzy’s – it was not fair to protect my own.
‘Lillai.’
‘What strange names,’ Malovski wrinkled her nose. ‘Still, you’ll have no use for them at the castle.’
‘What will we be doing at the castle?’ said Kizzy.
‘Did I ask you to speak?’ said Malovski spitefully. ‘I’ve a mind to start you as serving girls.’
‘I am not suited to holding trays,’ said Kizzy, and Malovski gave a little laugh, then put her hand to her lips.
‘Your hands can heal. And besides, you can serve in other ways.’
‘Other ways?’ I said, dredging up my voice.
‘Any way the boyar chooses.’
‘We are not whores,’ said Kizzy hotly.
Mistress Malovski arched an eyebrow. Her skin cracked, and I realised she was wearing a lot of powder to make her so pale.
‘Of course you are not. Whores get paid.’
She turned suddenly from us, reaching up to a shelf she could not quite reach. As she kicked a wooden block into place beneath it, I tried again to catch Kizzy’s eye. She had not looked at me once since the cart. Are you angry with me? I asked inside my head. Kizzy regarded the wall.
Malovski retrieved a wooden box with a metal hinge from the shelf, and carried it to the table, setting it down beside the bowl of dirty water. She opened it and began rummaging through it. Something clinked, like metal or glass.
‘Here.’ She snapped her fingers at us, as you would call a dog. Neither of us moved.
‘I can split you up,’ she said, without looking up. ‘Send one to the fields, or further. Boyars are always looking for fresh faces, and there are worse masters than the one you’ll find here. No doubt even your kind will have heard of the Voievod of these parts? They call him the Dragon.’
I flinched. The Dragon. The ruler Old Charani told tales of, who treated his slaves worse than rats, who bled them dry.
‘I see you have. If you want to stay together, obey me.’
Kizzy didn’t move, and I felt rooted by her indecisiveness. Had my cowardice made her hate me? But then she shook back her hair, as though shaking off a cobweb, and walked to Malovski’s side. I followed, as ever, just behind.
The box was full of glinting objects: long-handled, pointed blades, needles, but just as a fresh wave of fear washed through me, Malovski pulled out a comb, fine toothed and carved of bone, pale as the woman’s face.
‘Boyar Valcar likes long hair, so you can keep yours, but—’
‘Keep it? It’s ours.’
She slapped Kizzy across the face, so fast that if I had blinked I would have missed it.
‘I’m getting tired of your lip now. You must learn not to speak unless expressly told to. And nothing,’ she said, running her fingernails between the tines of the comb with a scraping sound that set my teeth on edge, ‘is yours any more. Common practice is to shave all the slaves’ heads. Stops the lice, and keeps the whores,’ she put emphasis on the word, glared at Kizzy, ‘in wigs.’ I looked up at her head, reassessed her lustrous black tresses, caught in their intricate swirls. ‘But this means I need to check it for lice.’
We didn’t have any, I knew. MamÄ was strict about combing our curls through with mint and vinegar, leaving it soft and shiny. She’d catch any stray lice between her fingernails and crack them with satisfying little pops. Kizzy and I loved having our hair brushed, but Kem despised it. His hair was even thicker than ours, even curlier and coarser.
‘Take off your clothes,’ said Malovski.
My stomach contracted. Of course, it was Kizzy who spoke.
‘Our clothes?’
Her black eyes glittered in the darkness.
‘I would rather not send you to the boyar even more bruised, girl. Do as I say.’
I clutched at my skirts. ‘Mistress,’ I said, keeping my voice soft, subservient, not bothering to hide the shake. ‘Please don’t make us.’
‘Oh, but I will. I can call that soldier in from outside, and he’d be welcome to stay and watch the examination.’