Chapter 1

Island of Alderis, Continent of Aedris

There is only one fact that needed telling of Ruby and Jasper: they were born senja, and that is why two decades later they are here, lying just as they were when they came into the world. Naked senja.

The market was noisy, much like the rest of the city. Merinad had been home for three years, and by now they had grown used to the sounds and the smells of its fine and dusty streets. Traders haggled and bickered with merchants, sailors, businesspeople and their spouses. The smells of spices and freshly-roasted lamb drifted over from the food stalls. Other vendors offered more lasting wares: Dionesean weapons and armor, embossed with symbols of Odesia; golden jewelry from Zamade and Choqoris, glittering with strange gems, pearls, and marbles; vibrant cloths from Illustria, with colors so bright that they seemed unnatural for any wool or silk to have taken.

Yet the commodity that brought the masses to the market was neither silks nor jewels, but people. The tents of the slave traders were the most diverse, ranging from ramshackle pitches to elaborate awnings worthy of a circus, and the wares within beckoned their prospective buyers from the shade of their shops. Many tents were guarded by one or more traders, but there were just as many who had no individual separate from the potential slaves. These ‘unsupervised’ tents were the operations of the slaves themselves, assembled in groups that negotiated their own terms with buyers. Some sought work, others ownership, and all were hoping for something stronger than a tent to sleep under. Merinad’s legendary wealth was only matched by its population; it was the most populous city in Aedris, and as the demand for work grew, the status of skilled laborers shrunk. It was commonplace here to see smiths, taverns, merchant houses, and other places of commerce attended by senja, paid little aside from a cheap roof over their heads and a slightly higher sense of security. Such thoughts did not hang over Ruby and Jasper, however, for they knew they were far too valuable to be wasted on such drudgery.

Ruby and Jasper observed the scene together, felt the world around them together. You could feel everything with your body completely bare. The warm sun kisses your skin until the clouds obstruct her lips from you, and the cool breeze sweeps in to tickle every bit of flesh, a playful reminder of all that is exposed to the world. It wasn’t anything new to them, but being in such a state still surprised them with renewed sensations, and that kept their life exciting. Senja that never feel the occasional unexpected timidity after a thousand eyes have seen their bodies or as many hands felt their vulnerable parts were senja that grew bored, and such a creature would lose value fast.

That word broke through the noise of the crowd. In a tent opposite theirs across the wide footpath, a slave threw off her drapes at the command of her master. It was as simple as that single word, senj. A slave. Jasper was senj, as was Ruby, and the two of them with their many fellow senja in their tent were here to be sold, if their owner could manage to find a buyer. Any person who was not a trader nor a trade that entered the space in front of their tent, where they could turn and see the slaves’ naked bodies, was an opportunity, one that they had to make themselves known for.

Jasper sat with her legs together, both bent at the knees with toes pointed to the left, and her body leaning against her propped-up arm on the right. Ruby was lying on the velvet floor of the tent, his head on her thighs. His hair, flowering out amongst her lap like a diminutive drape, was as long as hers, and would just barely reach his shoulders when he was upright. Their hair was the source of inspiration for their names; Ruby for his vibrant red, and Jasper for her rich violet (it wasn’t until a year ago when she learned that jaspers were, in fact, not violet at all, and she still wonders if she’ll ever get the chance to tell the person who named her). Slaves were often given such material names, names that evoked beauty, exoticism, or a flash of intrigue. And although they had no relation aside from being born in the same place at the same time and to the same caste, they were inseparable since they were named, and no pose for display was unnatural so long as the two of them were posed together. If all went well, they would be sold together, and their combined value would return a fortune for their owner.

And by the Ancients, did they know their value. Jasper’s body was lean, not too thin, a demure sort of form, with sweet curves that could fit against any shape in a bed. The features of her face danced between soft and boyish, a trait that appealed to a wide range of prospective buyers. Ruby was similarly gifted; his own lean form complimented by wide hips, long legs, a toned torso, and a face that stunned every eye that met it. Their skin had been kept as smooth as it was when they were born; below their scalps, there wasn’t a hair that could be found anywhere on their bodies. In the absence of any original description, they were beautiful, and above all else, beauty was the first and foremost marker of a pleasure slave’s value.

It remained a mystery how Raksus had not been able to sell the both of them sooner. His skill as a trader was obvious; the two lying on the floor of his tent had seen many other servants come and go in their time with him, a man with wit as sharp as his tongue. A good deal for one of his slaves was no great challenge, but in the case of Ruby and Jasper, he would not settle for any humble amount. This was in no way helped by his half-Drakonian heritage, something that no amount of charisma could blanket: his skin was marred by uneven patches of red-green scales, hidden by robes except for those on his arms and on his face, thin dagger-like regions that shone in the sun like bloody tears. The reptilian Drakonians themselves were distrusted, if ever found, and half-bloods—called drakes—received little better judgement. As far as Jasper was concerned, Raksus was a good man, who treated his merchandise with care and never cheated his customers. He just drove high bargains, or nothing at all.

A nobleman wading through the crowd caught sight of them and trotted towards their tent. His status was excessively evident in his appearance, what with the sheer amount of finery it took to cover the whole expanse of his massive garments. Jasper could not recall ever seeing such a round human, though the ugly superiority in his expression was certainly familiar. She could just barely hear Ruby mutter “oh Gods, no” at seeing him approach, and would have laughed herself were she not just as concerned.

“Is this the whole selection?” The man asked.

“Each one that you see in this tent is for sale,” Raksus told him. “With the exception of myself, of course.”

The fat nobleman paid no mind to the joke or the grin that came with it, only to give Raksus a look as though he had heard it too many times today.

“Tell me then,” Raksus said, quickly recovering, “what it is that you are looking for. Strength? Beauty? Pleasure?”

Raksus, of course, was indicating to the four slaves that stood at the entrance of the tent, arguably the most valuable in his entourage. Ruby and Jasper, lying in the center, comprised the half that was considered the pleasure. The other half were two specimens flanking either side of them: Deckar was strength, for certain. He was one and three-quarter meters tall—not towering, but still above average, and he looked strong enough to outrun a horse. Not that he could, of course, but that did not stop him from boasting. On the opposite side of both the tent and physicality was where Brassa stood: she was short, less than one-and-a-half meters, though everything else about her was considerably large regardless of her stature, from hips to breasts to personality. Like Deckar, she wore a long, thin loincloth when on display, but unlike him, she sported a more unique decoration as well: a stock fastened around her wrists and neck, linking them together, which Raksus would unlock when she took her break from display. Short and stout, she was an adorable beauty for sure, though that was the limit of the pleasure she could provide. Brassa had no desire for men or women, and derived neither excitement nor joy from their touch. Thus, she was marketed as beauty alone, an origa. Where Deckar might be either a builder or a sexual servant to a woman, Brassa would be a simple servant, tasked with serving food, pouring wine, fetching items, or cleaning halls, and when those tasks were done, she would simply wait in one place and look attractive and jubilant for her masters. Her job right now—to display herself—would change little when she was eventually sold.

The nobleman looked Deckar and Brassa over. “I am in the market for pleasure, but could consider the others.” He focused on Brassa. Atop her open palms and her head, she balanced glass goblets filled to the brim with water. Balancing goblets was a common task for her class of slave, and her capabilities had to be on display as well.

“She seems well-trained. Has she been with a man?”

“She is not a pleasure slave. She will perform menial tasks, and provide aesthetic pleasure while doing so.”

The nobleman groaned. “Why must there be a distinction between beauty and pleasure?” He turned away from Brassa and her frown. “What of this one?” He waved a hand at Jasper, lying below him.

“She and the boy both have taste for men, I assure you.”

“Well, I have none,” the nobleman remarked, sounding insulted by the insinuation. “Nor do my clients. I am not shopping for myself.”

Praise the Gods, Jasper thought.

“Well, perhaps there is a woman you know who would be in the market? The boy has taste for women too.”

“He has had taste of a woman as well,” Jasper said, drawing an indignant look from the nobleman and a strained scowl from Raksus.

“As does the girl,” her master continued, clearly annoyed.

“Well, I have no need for an insubordinate slave,” the nobleman said. “She should reserve her tongue for her work, not for snide remarks.”

“The two of them are worth every coin.”

The nobleman stroked his chins, pinching the flesh between two pudgy fingers choked by a superfluous number of rings.

“Two thousand for the both of them,” he finally said. “Four if you include the ‘aesthetic’ one.”

She held her tongue, but in her mind, Jasper was screaming. Cheapskate! Two fucking thousand?

“Brassa here is worth at least four thousand on her own,” Raksus growled. “Jasper and Ruby are each worth at least six. Name another price.”

“Three thousand each.”

“Four thousand or nothing.”

“Hmph.” He continued to stroke his chins. “Very well, we’ll settle for your price tag. I’ll take her for four.” He pointed to Brassa. She beamed with pride, and stood up straight for her buyer, causing the goblet on her head to shake and spill a few drops. Her soul was so light and bubbly, even when she had no idea who would ultimately be receiving her.

“Perfect. I’ll need to see your papers, as well as those of your client,” Raksus informed him.

The nobleman gave him a strange look. “He is indisposed at the current moment. I can present mine.”

“Then inform him that I will be here next week, and he can make the purchase himself then if he must.”

“We can make it five thousand, if you insist.”

“Get out of my sight before I call the guards,” Raksus hissed, the humor drained from his expression. The nobleman scoffed at the threat.

“Do you know who I am?” He demanded.

“I know you’re a bloated, miserable man who doesn’t deserve the privilege of fucking me even if he wanted to.” Ruby’s words struck the man’s pride like a ram. Without saying another word, the nobleman turned and trotted off. Ruby threw his hand before his eyes to shield them from the dust clouds he kicked up as he fled. Jasper grinned. Ruby was shy, not with his body of course, but with his words. He was much better than she was at holding his tongue, but always seemed to reserve it for the right moments.