Clanless

Chapter 1: Daim

You are a servant now, Daimion.

The ruling family of Intamu clan makes sure I understand this. Once, I was Daimion Tovari, the first son of my clan. Now I am only Daimion. There are no more Tovari. We are conquered. We serve the Intamu now. Our name is washed from history. With it goes our honor, our pride, our hope.

And everyone wants the first son to be their servant. For the first few months, I was passed from family member to family member, bartered and bickered over like an especially succulent cut of meat.

Now I belong to Frist Daughter Danaiya Intamu. She's beaten out all the other challengers, at least for now.

Danaiya Intamu is everything one would expect of a first daughter. She is strong. I've watched her throw her brothers down to the sand in the warrior circle many times. She is beautiful. She strings her hair with platinum, shining like threads of frozen starlight through the glossy black. She is arrogant and ruthless beyond all comparison. There may be captured starlight in her hair, but it hides a heart of chilled obsidian.

"Daim," she commands, "clear this away." She waves her hand to the bronze tray of dirty dishes and half-eaten food on the table of her expansive bedroom.

I do not know why she uses that pet nickname for me. Maybe she thinks it is cute. Maybe she means to dishonor me by severing my name just as the rest of me has been severed.

I clear the tray, taking the many flights of stone steps down to the kitchens where servants even lower than me will do the washing. I recognize several of them as former Tovari, my clanmates.

No, there are no clanmates. I shouldn't think like that anymore.

When I return to Danaiya's room, she is in the process of undressing.

"My bath, Daim," she says.

I go wordlessly to the bathroom. It is all reddish tan stone, expensive, bigger than my entire room when I was a first son. There is a shower large enough for four people, but I've learned that Danaiya rarely uses it. She prefers the immense tub, nearly a small pool, where she can stretch her arms and legs out fully in the water without touching any sides. I begin to fill it and steaming water falls in a cascade from the broad tap. I organize the array of bath salts, oils, soaps, and herbal infusions I know she will want.

Danaiya requires that I bathe her.

It is the height of my dishonor. For one Ridoran to be forced to bathe another is total subservience.

Perhaps some of the male servants would enjoy it. Danaiya's body is objectively a treasure to look at, but I find nothing particularly alluring about it. She could probably get some first sons of other clans to do this job willingly. I know there are many who would court Danaiya Intamu.

I am no longer a first son, and I have no desire to court Danaiya Intamu.

"Don't miss any spots," Daniaya reminds me needlessly.

My grip on the sponge is tight. I'd rather beat her with it. I stare at her bare back, eyes flicking toward the bubbly water. She is relaxed, unprepared. How hard would it be to put my hands on her shoulders, shove her under the water, hold her there? I could do it fast. She wouldn't have time to scream. Her wrist communicator is out in the bedroom. Nobody would come to help her.

I could kill First Daughter Danaiya Intamu. I could take revenge for my clan.

The plan seems perfectly clear in my mind. My fingers tremble. If Danaiya notices my tension she gives no sign.