Slave Unbound Ch. 30

Her eye narrowed at him, curious.

"Oh, nothing quite as dramatic as, say, Donovan Solivier's meteoric rise from slave to HouseMaster." He said with a smile. "I certainly never fell so low as to have a chain about my throat, nor even a life where I didn't have some degree of luxury. However, I wasn't born into the kind of prestige I now hold, nor the wealth and power of being the owner of the most regarded House of the Grand Arena. All that, I gained by leaving behind a tarnished family name, rife with scandal."

He leaned forward, his grin turning deeply wry. "Surely, you didn't assume my actual surname was 'Venge', did you? No, I created the character of 'Cornelius Venge' years ago, distancing myself from a disgraceful family that would have held me back from ever gaining any kind of influence or favor."

He couldn't help but chuckle as he thought about how ironic it was that he had so much control and sway in the government of a country that labelled his family as traitors. It would be a scandal all its own for anyone of power to realize that they were connected to a son of Adolphus Esskirk, a man who had once conspired to kill the Crown Prince of Karakas. While his treason could not be legitimately proven, the family name of Esskirk would forever be tarnished.

And so, he'd re-invented himself as 'Lord Venge'. A man who had dined with the Crown Prince more than once and bedded both of his daughters. At the same time, no less.

"Anyway, I intend to help you create a new identity, my dear." He said finally, shooing away the memory of the two young women. "I ask only two things in return. First, that we clear the slates between us. I would hardly expect you to ever stop hating me for what you have endured, but perhaps we can reach an agreement that this settles the worst debts I owe you."

He sat forward again. "Second, I ask that you work for me. Unofficially and in secret, of course. Not in the same way that I originally hired you, your days as an assassin should be left in the past, I think. Nor would you be a servant or anything so low. In fact, the life I will help you step into will be one that you might well find worth whatever strings may come with it."

He rose from the stool. "However, I wouldn't expect an answer on that from you right now, even if you had the ability to voice it. Your survival is still not certain, so you should think upon these things as you rest. Even if you decline my offer for employment, you have my word that you will be allowed to walk from here, once you can, a free woman. However, you will be entirely on your own."

He stepped over to the side of the bed, putting a gloved hand to her shoulder, an uncharacteristic show of empathy for him. "I acknowledge that we have not had the best beginnings for any sort of relationship, but I like to think nothing is immutable or can't be remedied by remuneration. You've had a hard life, my dear. Wouldn't you like to taste what the other side is like? As rare as my sense of charity may show itself, I do have some notion of one. I'll not be so insincere with you as to pretend this is some form of apology, but I would hope you consider this at least some sort of restitution."

That sallow eye stared up at him, seeming to be trying to sort him out. Likely, she suspected that there was far more to this act than mere atonement. She'd be a fool not to. However, he wagered that her life, having it plucked out of the funeral coals, was worth enough to her to consider hearing him out better, when she was strong enough to hear his full plans for her.

And he had quite a few, very devious, plans for his new pawn.

********************

Lounging in a deep, silk-cushioned chair, Oscar Bellock sighed out a contented exhale as his personal 'pleasure pet' expertly worked the shaft of his manhood with her mouth and soft hand. She was the prize of his slave collection, a fyera. A cousin race to the oruhk, they were somewhat more bestial in appearance than the their far more aggressive relatives, but with features that were more feline, sleeker, and less brutish.

Many considered the marriage of their cat-like features to the humanoid elements of their biology to be extremely pleasant, at the very least. Zinnia was a paragon of that exotic beauty, lithely delicate and alluring in ways that couldn't be easily defined. She'd also been formally groomed and trained by the Municipal Brothels how to best please anyone she was commanded to. Of course, Oscar kept her only for himself.

He stroked the top of her head affectionately, letting her know that she was serving him well. He might even reward her soon by taking her more properly on the fur rug near the hearth. She made such wonderful noises when she climaxed, sounds that no other female of any race could make. Not just because other races lacked the biological components needed to emit them, but because no other pleasure slave could ever make them sound even close to as sincere and primal as Zinnia could.

He had all but decided to commence with this, when the door to his study opened, disgorging his personal valet. The servant paid no attention at all to the tableau before her, just took a formal stance to wait for him to address her.

"This best be important, Reece." He groused. "I'm enjoying my pet, as you can see."

"Apologies, Lord Bellock." She replied, though she didn't sound all that sorry. "You have a visitor that refuses to wait. I was instructed to tell you that they were here, regardless of what they might be interrupting."

Oscar glowered at her, not quite liking the idea that anyone would dare to give his own servants instructions of any kind. Still, he also knew that Reece would not have followed those instructions if it wasn't someone who had the weight to make such an impudent move. "Who is it?" He asked, reaching down to push Zinnia's head back to her task from where she had paused in curiosity.

"Lord Zendrich." Reece replied dryly.

There was nothing calm or dry about Oscar's response to this, however. He yanked Zinna off him by her hair, slinging her backwards to sprawl into the floor, and quickly stood, hastily tucking himself away into his pants and trying to generally straighten himself. Flustered, he nearly hurt himself in doing so.

"Be sure to let Lord Zendrich know that I welcome him and am glad to put aside the important House matters that I was engaged in to meet with him." Oscar instructed her, trying to organize his thoughts as he scanned about the room for anything that might betray that he was, in fact, doing nothing of the kind. His eyes fell on the pleasure slave.

"Go to your room, Zinnia." He told her, feeling a pang of regret for having his session with her cut short. He had been quite looking forward to the feel of her warm inner depths. Now was not the time, however. "Keep yourself ready for me to pick up where we left off."

As the fyera crept quietly from the room with Reece, the valet instructing one of the guards outside to escort the slave, Oscar raced about the room snatching random books from a shelf to stack on a nearby table, producing some random pages of something from a drawer to drop onto his writing desk, and strategically placing obvious House ledgers atop each.

Taking a quick glance about to inspect his work, he gave a steadying huff. "Okay, ready." He said to himself, smoothing his clothes one more time. A second later, he was dashing over to his liquor cabinet and pouring a splash of something, anything, into a glass. Downing it with a quick gulp, he poured another finger in and swallowed that too.

Lord Zendrich was envoy of the Prime Council, as good as having the Prime themselves arrive at his doorstep. He was also a particularly nasty and snobbish man who could be the literal death of someone who offended him. Oscar, as well as most people, despised the man, but any kind of perceived insult could mean some serious problems.

Blowing out another steadying sigh, he considered whether he should have had Zinnia stay, offer Zendrich a taste of his prized pet. If there was anyone who he should make an exception of his limitations on who she served, it would be him. He quickly shook the idea away, realizing that, pleasant appearance or not, some people were not interested in fraternizing outside of their species. Offering Zendirch a beastgirl might offend him.

He was considering whether to summon one of his human pleasure slaves when the door to the study opened again and Reece showed in Lord Zendrich. The nobleman looked almost like a vulture, lanky of form, but hunched of shoulder, with a scythe-like nose that looked sharp enough at the tip to puncture a steel plate. His eyes were fierce and bright, however, a radiant hazel that made them appear almost demonic.

"Good afternoon, Lord Zendrich." Oscar said in as diplomatically a voice as he could muster. "I apologize for my valet making you wait. She should have brought you up straight away." He gave a dismissive gesture to the woman, who was wise enough to pretend to look abashed. She would likely needle him later about it, but he could easily remedy whatever offense it might give her with a few extra coins to this week's pay.

"I apologize for anything I may be interrupting, Master Bellock." Zendrich returned in a rich velvety voice. Despite the severity of his appearance, the man exuded a strange charisma and more than few women found him strangely attractive. The voice was a big part of that draw. Oscar had once heard the man was also quite talented in singing and the play of multiple musical instruments.

"Nothing that I could not set aside for yourself, my Lord." Oscar responded politely, gesturing an offer for his guest to sit in one of the deep chairs. "Would you care for a drink? I have—"

"No thank you, Master Bellock." Zendrich cut him off absently, his piercing eyes scanning casually about the room as though surveying a battlefield. "I prefer not to drink when I am conducting official matters."

Oscar narrowly managed to prevent himself from making an audible 'gulp'. "You are here on official business from the Prime, then, my Lord?"

"I am." Zendrich replied, wandering about the room now, inspecting things in that same languid casualness that rang more like strategic recon to Oscar. He had spent the better part of his younger life as a military officer, so he knew what that looked like.

Maddeningly, the envoy didn't elaborate any further, letting several moments of silence pass as he went about his inspection of the room. Finally, Oscar summoned the courage to speak up. "May I inquire as to the nature of your visit then, my Lord? How can I be of assistance to the Prime?"

Zendrich didn't immediately answer, just paused at the desk with the stack of papers beneath the ledger. For a moment, Oscar feared the man might lift the binder to inspect the sheets themselves. He wasn't actually sure what was on them, pulled out at random from a random drawer. It was highly likely that they would have lewd doddles on at least a few of them, regardless of what they were, but worse yet if they contained nothing that looked like anything official.

"Your House Bloodwalker has quite a few very talented gladiators, Master Bellock, yet few seem to really stand out as more than moderate rank in the Grand Arena." Zendirch finally said, his tone almost conversational, as though merely commenting on the weather. "Of course, most of your stable is composed of savage elements that are not suitable for more civilized games. Rough orlings, hobkin, even an hyneri. Gladiators best suited for raw blood games, not honorable sport."

Oscar had always felt that everything that happened in the arena amounted to raw bloody violence, even bouts meant to be regarded as 'honorable sport'. This was combat, not civil competitions where the object was simply to throw something further or get somewhere faster. He preferred to cultivate brutes and wardogs, fighters who were trained to heel when told, but otherwise tore apart whatever they fought.

His House specialized in blood games, combats against beasts and monsters supplied by the Arena itself, thus the House name, 'Bloodwalker'. He did have a handful of more intelligent and cultured combatants, such as his star, Lamaren, who he used for the more popular sorts of matches. However, savage races, such as orlings, hobkin, goblyns, and his prized hyneri, born into biology and societies that prized violence and war over politics, were his favorites of choice for the sands.

"Um...yes, my Lord." Oscar said when he realized that Zendrich went for several moments without saying anything further. Apparently, it was the response the man had been waiting for, as he immediately continued afterwards.

"The Prime is interested in becoming a silent partner with one of the gladiatorial houses of the Grand Arena. One that is neither particularly high in the public's eye, nor particularly low. A House that has esteem among the common audience, but that isn't especially distinguished as a unique or powerful political or aristocratic entity." Zendrich finally turned his full attention towards Oscar. "Which is a very good description of your own House Bloodwalker."

Oscar blinked at the man, feeling a bit stunned. This was a rather unprecedented idea. The Prime Council, as the ruling body of the city and the whole of Karackas, despite the existence of a Crown Prince, was already a significant influence within the Grand Arena. A member of the Prime sat as final arbiter over all events in the arena, though such arbitration was rarely required. This was also where many of the country's condemned, as well as some from other countries, were sent to face execution.

While there was little, technical, conflict with them becoming patrons of a particular House, silent or not, the idea could be seen as potentially scandalous. The arena existed as a private enterprise, separate from, though allied with, political bodies. Becoming a patron of a House could raise questions. Especially in the case of those rare times when the Prime was called to arbitrate an outcome or decide the fate of a fighter.

What was more disturbing, on a personal level, was the surety that, if the Prime Council officially backed his House, it would effectively become theirs, no matter how they might frame things to the contrary. All the work he'd done to build his fortunes and independence would be blow away and he'd once again become a stooge of the empire, carrying out the whims of the ruling body.

"I thank you, Lord Zendrich, for the honor." He said, mind scrambling for a way to escape this fate. "I am...um...I am rather surprised, however, by your choice of my House. Even in light of your, slightly insulting, explanation. Wouldn't a House with better standing be more appropriate as the Prime's 'favored House'?"

Zendrich gave a dry chuckle. "To the contrary, Master Bellock, the Prime is wanting to avoid any notion of favoring a House. Thus, why we wish this to be a silent partnership. We are needing a dark horse in the arena, one that has some weight it can pull, but is otherwise unremarkable amongst its peers." He ran a finger along the edge of a bookcase shelf, making obvious note of the heavy crust of dust it collected on the finger of his glove. "That you were once a commander for the Karackan Army, used to taking orders from the Council only makes yours all the more ideal."

Oscar winced at that, grimacing at how openly the man had brought up his very worst fear in this situation. They expected him to heel like a good dog, once again, and do as they say without question. He'd served as an officer for almost two decades, his family wealth securing him a place as a commander and away from the actual combat lines. While most of his fellow commanders, all children of wealth and aristocratic power themselves, approached their positions with little sense of responsibility, Oscar had taken his command far more seriously.

He'd imagined himself becoming some revered leader of men, a war hero general that would have statues built in his image for saving the empire from some sort of threat. Instead, he'd been the man who was often told to send the men and women under his command to go butcher defenseless villages or die pointlessly inciting savage tribes to become enemies so they could validate war spending.

Every ugly order he'd been given he'd followed obediently, but always with a mouth full of bile. While he'd never fought beside the soldiers that he sent off to commit suicide or atrocities, he had felt a kinship with the rank and file. Their glory would have been his glory, but both he and they were denied such things. When he was offered the chance to retire his commission, he did so without hesitation, tired of being the obedient dog.

And now, it was about to start all over again. For a moment, Oscar considered the value of grabbing up the nearest heavy object and bashing out the envoy's brains. However, he knew he might as well bash out his own right after. Better to bide his time and try to find a way to eventually be free of them.

"Very well then, Lord Zendrich." He sighed. "My House is at your disposal. I assume you are going to want to make some changes."

The envoy waved nonchalantly. "Actually, no. Worry not, Oscar, you will continue to have autonomy and control of your House and conduct it as you have or wish to do so. It is not the intention of the Prime to interfere with how you conduct your affairs or decide your place in the arena. In fact, it is not the arena floor that the Prime is interested in."

This caught Oscar's attention. "Then what other use would a House of the Grand Arena be to you, if not for the games? Especially one that has little power outside of them?"

Zendrich smiled at him. A vulpine and predatory smile. "I believe you mean 'one that has little power...yet."