Rune and Ruin

Seeds of the Gods - 21 - Mow

395 B.C.E. - The Villa of the Fyrrin, City of Rune, Capital of the Tasuri, Center of the Tasurian Peninsula, Early Summer, Month of Quintilis

From her memory

Thania held still as Marcus carefully twisted her silver armband, running a rag soaked in vinegar to clean the jewelry and skin beneath. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as she prayed to the Mother for the strength to sustain her through the next hours. It had been a terrible week, she thought, closing her eyes. She was a slave amongst slaves, and in this household, there was a hierarchy that didn't exist in the Warcamp.

She did not clean, cook, sew, or tend the garden. She was the Fyrrin's whore, and never before had Thania felt that so keenly. Even in the first terrifying days, when the Warlord hurt her more often than not, Thania hadn't felt so worthless... so owned.

Her role in the villa was of a pampered pet, a farce of a noble lady with not a speck of actual nobility or the respect that went along with the title.

The rough warriors, the true soldiers in the Warlord's army, treated her with distant respect. The girls who helped her dress and bathe (as if she were a child) would glare or titter dismissively. The household servants were no better. Marcus was the only constant but often accompanied the Warlord during the day.

The Warlord himself was gone to the Senate every day. At night, he was so spent that he fell into bed with Thania. Last night he had begun to fuck her, then fallen asleep with Thania trapped in his embrace, his cock hard inside her.

It was not a comfortable way to sleep.

Thania had begun to have nightmares, tears soaking her cheeks in the middle of the night as she gasped for her breath quietly, trying not to disturb her bed companion. Despite that, often, her choked sobs would awaken the Warlord, who would hold her tightly while murmuring assurances until she fell asleep again. He must be completely aggravated with her, she thought.

Opening her eyes again at Marcus's prodding, she peered into the smooth copper surface of the mirror held by the young body slave. Thania looked tense, the lines around her eyes and mouth signaling her discomfort, her eyes dark and bruised despite the hour she had spent with a cool poultice pressed to them.

"Is there a reason you cannot attend today, lady?" Marcus's quiet question intruded on her self-inspection.

Thania inwardly cringed at the fake title. She swung her gaze to Marcus, noticing that he eyed her midsection with trepidation mixed with hope.

Gods, no. Forcing her reply, Thania said, "No, Marcus, there is no reason beyond my own reluctance." She turned from his gaze, not wishing to examine the truth of that statement. It had been many weeks since she last had her bleeding, but it wasn't unusual for her monthlies to be erratic. Marcus knew this, of course. He knew everything about the beloved pet's bodily functions.

Marcus nodded, returning to his task of briskly folding the pleats of her robes into perfection. She was dressed today as a high-born Tasuri lady. Thin strands of silver and gold thread hung from the edges of the cloth, a deep blue color. It was just like the one she wore for the tribute parade.

Thania took a steadying breath. Last night, the Warlord had told her that she would accompany him today, but it had been Marcus who had told her the gritty details of her role in today's events.

It was Rune's tri-monthly Criminal Spectacle. An event that Marcus explained in detail, much to Thania's horror. She tried to beg Marcus to ask the Warlord to leave her in the villa, but the man didn't budge. She was to be the Fyrrin Comitari and thus had to accompany the Warlord to this important task. The thought made her fidget and squirm until Marcus scolded her.