Lockes and Chains

Thank you so much for your patience as I worked on this chapter. As a content warning, this one is considerably darker than the previous five, and contains non-consensual pegging that Ezzo never quite enjoys. This is not a permanent shift; there will be lighter chapters again, but this one in particular merits a warning.

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Ezzo was still replaying the whole conversation he'd had with Clara in his head. It had effectively been the one conversation that gave him any context about the dinner he was awkwardly attending now, standing diligently behind his mistress.

Even by Bbrasian customs, this was a weird thing. Ezzo had never ownedorbeen a part of a family that owned slaves, so the idea of flaunting the favorite person he owned to his parents and siblings still felt odd.More so if I had to show my parents an implicit sex slave I owned while they ate.The thought had been repulsive enough not to dwell on it.

"Wasn't that the purpose of the first dinner, on the day I arrived?" he'd asked.

Clara had been brushing her hair in front of the mirror for a very long long while. Its sheen now rivaled the few gold coins Ezzo had seen during his days as a free man. And still, she had not looked satisfied.

"That one was more of a welcoming dinner."

And how welcoming it was,Ezzo had found himself thinking.

"This one is more of a family thing, to show everyone else we have the stewardship skills required for the maintenance of our house. It's the first time I'm taking a slave of mine too."

Ezzo hadn't shared her excitement to be paraded in front of that dining table again. Clara had been able to sense his reticence.

"You won't be cuffed, this time," she'd said while rising from her seat. Her hands had grabbed his while she'd looked him in the eyes. Ezzo had gradually come to accept the beauty of blue eyes, particularly Clara's. After a lifetime of Bbrasian blue eyes staring down mockingly at him, her innocent blue orbs were truly a refreshing - and even enticing - sight. "You will not be the center of attention either. Ira, Sura, Mother, and Father, all of them will bring their favorite slaves too. You are not exactly news anymore, you know?"

"I'm a Scombian," he'd still protested softly. It was now much harder to stick to his more caustic mannerisms, ever since they'd kissed. They hadn't repeated the deed too often. Those kisses hadn't reconfigured their whole dynamic, and Clara's preferences had still leaned towards the pursuit of innocent entertainment with Ezzo. But their relationshiphadbecome warmer. There had been times when she'd explicitly asked to kiss him again. Enough times that, when Clara held his hands or looked into his eyes like she'd done then, Ezzo's sharp tongue would become instantly dulled.

"You'll be fine," she'd promised, finally letting go of his hands. "I'll eat as fast as Bbrasian etiquette allows for."

That should let us escape that dining hall in no more than three hours.

Clara, seemingly sensing his skepticism, had smiled and extended her arm.

"Deal?"

And Ezzo, still aware that he was a slave first, no matter how close to his mistress, had then chosen to succumb to the natural instinct of smiling back at his beautiful owner and giving her his arm.

"Deal, Lady Clara."

That had been half an hour ago. Now, Ezzo was standing perfectly still, rigid behind Clara's chair as the Lockes enjoyed their poached pheasant eggs atop a decorative nest of spinach and honey glazed carrots. This was the first time he was attributing faces to the other Lockes' personal slaves.

Vera, at the head of the table, had the only familiar slave by her side. Tara was leaning her whole body against her mistress's chair like she owned the place, rather than the other way around. She would grin impishly at Ezzo whenever their eyes met, which made him mostly reluctant to stare in her general direction. Every once in a while, Vera would raise a hand, only for her catlike slave to obediently bring her face to it.I can hear her heavy breathing from here each time she submits like that,Ezzo thought, not without some disgust.

Gareth had his slave sitting on his lap. She was Velticrusan - ebony-skinned, with plump lips, and distinctly curly black hair.Probably personally awarded to Lord Gareth after some campaign down south,he speculated. The petite dark woman held a napkin in her fingers, dabbing away diligently at Gareth's lips whenever he took a sip of his wine. Her owner would idly prod at the black peppercorns on his plate. The tercio formation, all over again.Lord Gareth spends more time on the battlefield than out,Ezzo felt.

Ira, next to her father, had a muscular, collared woman standing upright - almost as much as Ezzo. That slave couldn't be further from Gareth's in terms of appearance. Her skin was pale, even paler than Bbrasians could be. Icy blue eyes, hair so blonde it verged on white, and very high cheekbones. That one must have come from the north. Rikken? Odivensk? Ezzo did not know the northern realms that accurately. Regardless, the woman looked just a little older than Ira, and her eyes remained on the ground at all times. Whenever her mistress moved her hands a little too quickly - like reaching for her glass or cutting her eggs with a knife - the northerner's hands twitched a little.Bet this one spends at least an afternoon on the Puppetmistress every week,Ezzo thought, not without feeling a hint of relief that it wasn't him in that unenviable position.

Sura's slave stood out the most, however. He was a tall man, a bit swarthy. Not as dark as Gareth's slave, but certainly darker than Ezzo. Perhaps he hailed from the Oskyite Empire? Not too far from Scombia, really, which of course meant Scombians and Oskyites were not exactly fond of one another. Still, what made him stand out was not his nutmeg skin tone, but the fact that he was not wearing the traditional beige garments bestowed upon slaves. Every other person reduced to property at that table was wearing the same bland colors, with or without the usual brass chains. Sura's slave was special, in the sense that he had been decorated with a colorful military outfit. A bright red jacket with golden embroideries, beige riding trousers, and even a pair of white gloves - the man looked fit to be a Bbrasian colonial administrator overseas. His face was fully painted, from the sheen on his lips, to the wax on his beard, to the paint under his eyes, to the artificial blush on his cheeks. Ezzo could hardly name the make-up Bbrasians were fond of using, but he could tell Sura had not spared herself any effort to get her slave all dolled up. He stood at attention, right behind his mistress.Clearly here to be looked at, I suppose.

The conversation topics had strayed quite far from the slaves themselves, though. They'd gone over court politics, Viktora's own endeavors in Sulatrava, and even the potential colonial gains of the Bbrasian Empire overseas. It was, for the lack of a better word,boringfor your average slave.

Ezzo didn't consider himself an average slave, though. He'd written as a free man, often on the very politics that Bbrasian elites claimed to be beyond the reach of simpleminded foreigners. He'd likely stillbea free man had he chosen a less dangerous occupation.What was it the judge said? 'Stoking treasonous sentiment against the Bbrasian crown?'

He was dragged out of his ruminations when he heard his name being uttered by one of the noble diners.Ira.Suddenly, the whole table was staring at him, slaves included. Their intrigued expressions made Ezzo feel especially naked. Even Tara was staring at him with the kind of hungry eyes she often only had for Vera.

Ezzo quickly figured out something was expected of him.

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" he said.

"Ira was justregalingus with a story concerning her latest interrogation," Lady Vera sounded especially riveted. "The Puppetmistress played a major part, as can be reasonably expected."

The Inquisitor seemed to suppress a mocking smirk when Ezzo shifted uncomfortably. His arms, legs, and wrists still had some very painful memories about being a playmate of the Puppetmistress.

"That, naturally, put you in the spotlight," Vera carried on, pretending not to notice how uncomfortable the Scombian was already. "You do probably know better than most of us about its efficiency."

"That wasn't right."

The whole table paused. Ezzo had already pieced together that Clara was not one to talk much in her family meals, and it seemed the other slaves had reached similar conclusions. Like Ezzo before her, Clara had earned herself an unenviable place at the center of everyone's attention, all thanks to that uncertain comment of hers.

Vera was smiling in a way that was ambiguously condescending. Ira raised an eyebrow, as if she was witnessing something curious, if unimpressive, like an oddly-colored bug on the windowglass. Sura was leaning towards her sister in a display of encouragement that Ezzo wasn't sure was genuine. Gareth was staring at his daughter intently, though Ezzo couldn't read the man any further than that.

"What wasn't right, darling?" Vera prompted right away, her voice pushing the condescending undertones out of the realm of any ambiguity.

"Ira. Taking Ezzo like that," Clara muttered uncertainly. Ezzo could tell she was forcing her hands to stay above the table, instead of retreating below to fumble with her dress.

The torture was pretty questionable too,Ezzo felt like saying. But this was hard enough for Clara without him butting in.

"Go on, dear," Vera's voice was sweetly encouraging. Too sweetly. It reminded Ezzo of parents asking their young children to explain why they might prefer dogs to cats, while preparing to give their reply mock importance. "Why wasn't it right?"

"Because... Ezzo is my slave," Clara struggled to say. She was blushing a little. "He is mine. It's not right to just take him from me without my consent."

At that, Gareth finally smiled thinly. He and Vera exchanged a meaningful look, one that Ezzo would have spent more time dwelling on had the circumstances been different.

'He is mine,' Clara had said. And Ezzo had felt his body instantly reacting. He could feel his member hardening at those words alone.Gods, I'm devolving intoTaraof all people,he reflected with some horror.

"Well, Clara is right!" Sura giggled, oblivious to Ezzo's inner turmoil. "You should just ask to borrow Ezzo like I did, Ira. It's no big deal. Clara is not greedy."

Ezzo found himself frowning at that last comment. He didn't know why, but something about Sura's wording felt off. Or at least...deliberate, which was hardly an improvement.

Clara, too, was clearly taken aback:

"Uhm. R-right."

The Inquisitor was leaning slightly on the table, her pouty lips adopting that familiar frown that Ezzo despised so much. Her gray eyes did not move away from Clara's shrinking frame.

"You are right, Clara," Ira said quietly while pushing her braid behind her shoulder.

Ezzo's mistress had to shake her head in disbelief.

"What?"

"You are right," the eldest Locke daughter repeated. "I should not have taken Ezzo from you by force. I should have asked."

There is a distinct lack of mention of the torture itself in this conversation,the Scombian remarked to himself.

"And for that, I am truly sorry, sister," Ira continued. "I've been meaning to promise you that I'll never take Ezzo from you without your consent ever again. And I see no better occasion for it than during your first supper displaying your slave alongside ours."

"Well," Clara glanced around reticently. Clearly, she was about as used to niceness from her older sister as Ezzo was. "Thanks, Ira."

Ira stabbed an egg with her brass fork. Her hunter eyes, still just as intense, swiveled to Ezzo, before returning to his mistress.

"I mean it," she said with intent. "And I believe this occasion is perfect for me to show it."

Ezzo narrowed his eyes immediately. He sensed his life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

"I won't mince words. I need to borrow your slave, Clara," Ira said solemnly, before flashing a rueful smile. "Gods know I have a hard time asking for things, especially in front of our whole family. But I figured you deserved a chance to handle a family request like this before us all."

It really is true that Inquisitors are all just snakes that spawned with arms and legs,Ezzo grumbled internally.

Vera Locke did not seem to share his disdain for Ira's little maneuver. "Very good, Ira," she said with a condescending little smile. It was unclear if Vera was commending Ira's conduct, or the way she'd manipulated things to put Clara on the spotlight again. Probably the latter.

Ira ignored her mother's jab, keeping her sharp eyes focused on her little sister. Unsurprisingly, Clara herself was stunned. How could she not be? Ira had basically made her request the 'right' way, and right after Sura had praised their younger sister for not being greedy... wait.

Ezzo glanced at the middle Locke daughter. Her eyes were now strictly focused on the other end of the room, as if Sura's new directive was to act aloof and stay out of the conversation. Periodically, she would sip her wine, but remain entirely removed from the new battleground Ira had created. Had the two older Locke sisters coordinated this?

"I... You need Ezzo?" Clara's hands were still gripping the edge of the table.

"Yes," Ira responded instantly. "And it's up to you to decide if you'll let me borrow him."

Up to you and this very uncomfortable situation that Ira carefully orchestrated, of course.

"When do you... need him?"

Ezzo cursed his luck internally. Of course Clara would not even ask him for his input. Not while her whole family was watching. The poor girl was probably not even able to really think through her implications.

"The sooner the better - it also means I can give Ezzo back to you as soon as possible. Perhaps right after dinner?"

Clara paused. Ezzo could immediately understand why.

We had planned to playlatrunculibefore bed. And Clara is too embarrassed to deny Ira her wish by telling the truth,he realized.

"I figured nighttime would be the best occasion to borrow Ezzo. It felt less... inconvenient for you."

Ira smiled sweetly, as if she was doing her sister a favor. Ezzo could already feel his heart pounding. After dinner, he'd be tortured. Just like that. No delays, no chance for him to plead with Clara in private. He would watch his mistress eat her eggs, maybe one of those eggy desserts Bbrasians are always fond of, and then he'd be dragged off to Ira's office.

"Well, I... I guess..." she muttered uncertainly.

"Wonderful. You are a good sister, Clara."

Ira folded her cutlery neatly as she finished her meal. After tapping her lips with her cloth napkin, she turned her gaze towards Ezzo.

"I assure you, you will have him back before you know it."

Game over,Ezzo realized.There is no way Clara has the guts to go back on this half-agreement in front of her parents.

The table seemed to agree with him. It wasn't long at all before they moved on to other topics as their desserts rolled in on a trolley. Normally, Ezzo took a bit of pleasure in looking at the lovely stacks of cakes and pastries that the Lockes had at their disposal. There had to besomeperks to controlling so much of the known and unknown world, and those included the cocoa and coffee beans that were ground and blended into the tarts that his masters consumed.

With Ira looming over his immediate future, however, Ezzo could hardly be consoled by feasting his eyes on pastries. Clara, it seemed, was of a similar mindset. She'd poke at her slice of strawberry pie, but eat relatively little as the fateful moment approached. Ira, to her credit, did not rush to get her dessert over with. On the contrary, she ate at that same polite rhythm, still engaging with Vera and Gareth concerning multiple conversation topics. Ezzo had to wonder if that wasn't in itself meant to torture him.

Irrespective of Ira's intentions, her meal eventually came to its end. She set her plate aside, dabbed her lips with a napkin again, and stood up like a titan rising from the depths. Terrifying.

"Well, Clara, you have my thanks. Again. I'll see to it that I return Ezzo to you before bedtime."

She tilted her head towards the pale slave behind her. The northern woman paced around the table until she got to Ezzo. Her hand gripped his arm roughly as she started leading him out of the dining hall alongside the Inquisitor. A glance back at the family was all Ezzo managed to get, catching a glimpse of Clara staring at her unfinished dessert miserably.

"Don't overindulge, Ira," sang Vera, just as they reached the door.

The eldest Locke daughter paused for a moment, before glancing at her matriarch over her shoulder.

"I never do, Mother."

With that, Ezzo was led out of the dinner.So much for me being fine,he told himself sourly. The northerner's calloused hand did at least let go of him when they got through the door, even if she was trailing behind Ezzo only half a step behind from then on. He expected another trip to that horrible office. To the trapdoor, concealed under Ira's carpet. The memory of the Puppetmistress and her strings dangling, eager for him in that dark cellar, was enough to give him cold sweats.

Surprisingly, they took a turn right once they'd climbed those marble stairs. Ira led her two slavesawayfrom her office, which would be on the other wing of the manor. Instead, she took them to a door Ezzo had never seen the other side of. It took two turns of the Inquisitor's key for the room to be revealed to them.

There was little doubt from the start that this was Ira's bedroom. It looked hardly any more furnished than Ezzo's slave quarters, even though it certainly featured more space. A small window, a mundane wardrobe without carvings or adornments, and a surprisingly plain bed with a sturdy chest at its feet were all illuminated by a trident candelabrum in the corner. It almost looked like they'd snuck into a free servant's quarters rather than the oldest daughter of such a powerful Bbrasian family. The only hint of Ira's personality in the whole room was the monstrous lock she'd chosen to protect whatever belongings she'd stored in that chest. It was easily the size of Ezzo's fist.And probably twice as heavy.

The door was pushed shut by the slave behind him, while Ira knelt by her chest and fiddled with her keys. The northerner's hands returned to Ezzo's biceps right away, though, and she was still rough enough to clarify, without a word, that her intentions were far from comforting him.

The lid of the chest creaked horribly as Ira lifted it. Restrained so close to the door, Ezzo could not see what Ira was digging out from there.Dead kittens, if I had to guess.

His eyes locked in on the first retrieved item when she chose to reveal it. The straps rattled faintly as Ira's lips curled into a soft smile, partly illuminated by the candlelight. In her hand, a polished, pale stone artifact had been carved into a very suggestive shape. The stone appeared to have been smoothed over by several masons, glistening with a sheen that almost made it look wet when exposed to the firelight. On Ira's other palm, two silvery rings were stacked neatly on top of each other.

"Are you familiar with any of the Inquisition's practices, Ezzo?" Ira asked as she took a step towards him, the three items still on display in her hands. The candlelight from the corner left half of her face in the dark, but it was not difficult to tell she was still very amused by his predicament.