Chapter 1

Despite the trappings of opulence in the form of large tapestries that absorbed all stray sound, the chime rang clear and commanding in Amanda's ears. When her feet did not obey the summons but remained sunk into the plush carpet, a hand alighted on her shoulder.

"Don't dawdle. Go."

Amanda turned her head, but could see Larra only out of the corner of her eye. Larra nudged her, accompanied by a short outtake of breath, not so much admonishment as exasperation. Amanda knew what it meant: don't screw this up. Or whatever the appropriate phrase would be in the Urisi culture.

Amanda took a step forward just to avoid another shove. At least, she could be content with the fact that Larra would never be considered a Trainer. In the eyes of the Urisi, Larra and Amanda were the same. They both had permanent slave collars about their necks. Larra's was "more" permanent; hers had been sealed about her neck some two decades ago, and had long since had time to fuse into a single, unbroken piece.

Amanda's fingers fluttered along her own collar. Until a quarter moon ago, she could still feel the point where the two halves had been joined by magic soon after Norlan had purchased her. Now she could no longer find it. She trembled for a moment, and her heart thumped.

The chime sounded again. Larra sighed.

Dammit, Amanda thought, and surged through the curtain that hung over the archway.

A chill swept over both her mind and body as she stepped into the Slavemaster's chamber. The stones were cold against her feet, a shiver starting in her legs and rippling up her body as cool air cocooned her from gaps in the walls on either side. Her nipples rose, taut and hard, and tingled with unbidden pleasure that tickled her womanhood behind its seal. She drew in her breath and let it go as a quavering sigh, her body flushing with renewed lust as it had been conditioned to do.

A non-stop diet of that cherry-flavored drug over the past three days while sexual relief had been denied her had helped as well.

"Present."

Amanda did not hesitate; she obeyed the command as if it had somehow been relayed to her telepathically. She stood straight, spread her feet apart, placed her hands atop her head, and thrust out her chest.

Another shiver passed through her, this one of desire as her breasts lifted and the taut skin around her nipples stretched. Her pussy burned along with her nipples, stoking the sexual fire but allowing it no air to become the inferno she needed for relief. Her slit oozed through the plastic-like seal over her sex.

The Urisi Slavemaster approached her. He did not swagger. That was for men pretending at power. It mattered not that he was lean of frame, with thin, bony arms and a narrow chest. His face held the bearing that his body did not, with hard, unyielding eyes of ice blue, and locks of brown hair that framed a stretched, narrow face with a pointed chin, and thin lips bent into a scowl.

He tapped the crop against his other hand as he approached. Amanda tried not to let her eyes be drawn to it, or to the dozens more that festooned the walls, each nestled in velvet as if they were shrines as well as instruments of discipline.

A few strands of raven black hair strayed in front of Amanda's eyes. She held her breath when the tip of the crop caressed her cheek as the Slavemaster brushed the errant lock aside. For a moment, Amanda was cognizant of even the smallest sensation from anywhere in her body. She could feel her hair spilling halfway down her back, long and luxuriant from over a year of no cutting. Norlan had shown no signs of wanting it shorn, despite all his other slaves sporting shorter hair.

Amanda let herself be distracted. It kept the undesired feelings from her dark eyes.

"Why did you not answer the summons the first time, slave?" the Slavemaster demanded in a low, cool voice.

"I'm sorry, Master, but--"

SNAP!

Amanda flinched but made no sound as white-hot pain flared in a line across her thigh, the skin glowing red in a long, thin welt. In seconds, the welt faded and vanished. The pain eased, and moist, wet pleasure flooded her pussy a moment later, leaving her panting.

"Again," the Slavemaster intoned. "Why did you not answer the summons?"

"I was just--"

SNAP!

Pain, then pleasure. Her pussy oozed and dripped. She would have preferred one of the crops that brought only pain. It would have seemed less deceptive.

"Fail this very first part of your final test again, and I will wash my hands of you and report you as untrainable," said the Slavemaster, sounding almost bored.

Amanda's voice was breathy with desire when she answered. "Your slave is sorry, Master. Your slave only begs forgiveness for her behavior."

The Slavemaster paused for what seemed an eternity, tapping the crop in his hand again. He nodded once.

Amanda suppressed her sigh of relief. There was little about which to be relieved. She realized then what she had missed above all else since arriving in the Urisi Nation: the sound of her own name.

The Slavemaster cast a look of icy steel into her eyes, as if disappointed that he did not have the excuse to walk away from her. He stepped back. "Submit."

Amanda lowered her hands and dropped to her knees, then to all fours. Every movement was fluid and automatic, with little forethought or volition. She slid her hands forward and stretched out her arms, until her face touched the floor and her rear thrust into the air.

His boots scraped the stone as he circled her. Amanda closed her eyes and forced her muscles to remain relaxed and supple. His fingers skittered along her spine and she was proud that she did not flinch. He was looking for the same thing that she was avoiding: any sign that she was too tense or too scared.

Amanda had no issue with the latter. In the two moons since she had arrived, she had moved beyond the fear that had gripped her initial days in remedial slave training.

The crop cracked across her ass cheeks. She still did not flinch as pain seared and needled her buttocks. Pleasure then suffused her pussy in sodden warmth with no outlet. Her nipples brushed the cold stone, sending more shivers of unrequited delight through her sex. Had the seal not been in place, a single touch to her womanhood would have had her writhing in climax.

"That was for your tardiness in answering the summons," the Slavemaster said. Amanda thought the statement unnecessary. She had ceased to care for what he disciplined her when he started using the pain-then-pleasure crop.

Amanda gasped when there was a sudden pressure against her slit. She trembled when she realized it was the crop.

The Slavemaster slid the crop back and forth, pressing until it bent and indented the seal. Amanda bit her lip to withhold a whimper. She could feel the pressure and the slide of the thin crop between her labia, but no stimulation reached her.

The Slavemaster withdrew the crop and held it up, turning it as he examined the glistening moisture that clung to it like dew. "Your only saving grace is your sensuality and sexual response. I daresay I will not have to work your nipples very much longer before you can achieve near orgasm by mere touch."

Amanda let out a slow sigh. He had confirmed what she had suspected. First Freya with naiduna, which had left her nipples permanently sensitized before she had ever left Oceanus, and now the cherry-flavored arousal tonic. She doubted she could ever wear anything covering her breasts again.

Not that she would be allowed relief except by her Master's decree. The sex seal, she had learned, inhibited orgasm by any means.

She squeezed her eyes shut when they threatened to well up in tears again. Not for what was being done to her, but for her memories of Oceanus. She had not allowed herself to think about it since her collar had become one solid piece.

Amanda flinched when the crop cracked across the bottom of one foot. She whimpered, first against the pain and then the swell of unwanted pleasure in her sex.

"Remain focused!" the Slavemaster snapped.

Amanda tried to voice an apology again, but her pent-up emotions cascaded out of her control when she thought how the Slavemaster was nothing like what a slave Trainer should be. She uttered one small sob before she caught herself.

Oh gods, Sirinna, I miss you, Amanda thought, and her body quaked.

Nor had she allowed herself any thought of her absent lover, hoping to get through the last of her training before she could despair over that properly.

She heard a low, long sigh, and the tap of the crop against his hand. Amanda forced herself to take a deep breath, and she focused her mind into the center of her sexual heat. She blinked away the few tears that had formed, and her body became rock-still.

It was what Sirinna would have expected of her: to be the good slave no matter what the circumstance.

The Slavemaster stepped in front of her. "Knees."

Amanda shed her remaining angst like a man slipping off an overcoat as she settled back on her feet. The tip of the crop hovered and flicked in front of her eyes, then touched her chin and pressed. Her eyes rose to his, wet but properly meek and submissive.

The Slavemaster sighed through his nose. "Mantra."

Amanda had been waiting for this moment. She resented herself for being so weak as to come so close to breaking down on the very day of her final test. She was not going to let herself make a mistake here.

"Master, behold your property," Amanda intoned, her words slow and deliberate. "Property does not have will. Property does not have wants. Property is to be owned and used for your pleasure."

Amanda paused to take a breath. Her eyes shimmered. The Slavemaster stared into them, his own narrowing.

"Master, behold your slave, your property, your pleasure," Amanda concluded in a heavy voice.

The Slavemaster continued to stare. Amanda held his gaze but wavered as was expected of her. Finally, she averted her eyes and cast them downward. A tiny sigh escaped through her nose, and a minute shudder passed through her body.

She pleaded in her mind for him to let her gaze remain downward. If he forced her to look up again, he would expose the lie. Her emotional outburst had robbed her of the energy and resolve she needed to give him what he wanted.

Amanda had thought Norlan did not care so much about this. Why would he be so enamored of her if he had not wanted someone with a streak of defiance? Handing her over to a Slavemaster as soon as they had arrived in the Urisi Nation had been a shock and a disappointment. Or did appearance among the other high-born men matter that much to him?

Or did he relish the thought of breaking her?

If Norlan had been Roquan, she could have asked him to explain it to her. As it was, she could not speak her mind unless given leave to do so, and Norlan had ceased to do such since that moment on the ship when the last sliver of Oceanus and her former life had slipped past the horizon.

"You got it right," said the Slavemaster in a toneless voice.

Was he disappointed? Amanda would have relished it if he were. She did not feel the swell of guilt that may have accompanied such a thought during her training in Oceanus. It no longer mattered to her what she thought. Appearance was indeed all that mattered. She simply had to appear as the Urisi wanted.

That was her greatest fear in failing this test. If she were forced into more training, she would become what she only acted at now.

Amanda did not thank him. She had learned very early in her remedial training that stating "thank you" was considered bad form. She was not told why, just like everything else she was told to do. But she could make an educated guess. To say "thank you" was to recognize the original statement as praise; to recognize something as praise, she would have to recognize herself as a person rather than property.

"Normally, I would test your sexual prowess, but this was one area in which you needed no retraining, much to my surprise."

You need to get out more, Amanda thought, and immediately regretted it. Now another look into her eyes would indeed reveal the lie.

Amanda heard a faint noise. She did not dare raise her eyes. She guessed it was the crop being set down.

"You will remain where you are and not move until you are summoned," said the Slavemaster as he swept out of the chamber.

She heard the soft sound of fabric falling back into place at the doorway in the Slavemaster's wake. There was a silent, pregnant pause, and another faint fall of the drapery.

Amanda's back was to the door. She could not see Larra's approach, only hear her footfalls. But barely; despite her full-figured frame, her steps were as light as those of a cat, almost indistinguishable from the soft whoosh of the air from the vent-holes.

"He's gone," Larra said.

Amanda did not move. She did not even turn her head. She closed her eyes and breathed slow and steady, trying to quell some of the heat between her legs.

"Did you hear me?"

Amanda remained silent. A muscle twitched on her arm. Her eyes closed tighter.

Slaves were considered things, commodities to be owned, used, bought, and sold. No hierarchy was supposed to exist for property. Yet it existed anyway, if only at the Slaveowner's tacit acceptance, or perhaps for his amusement. But to curry more favor from the Slaveowner was always at the expense of the other slaves.

"You don't want to stand up for a bit?"

Amanda again remained still. She had fallen for that only once. She had made the mistake of thinking that Larra wanted to show Amanda some mercy, or help her acclimate more easily. Instead, she had reported her disobedience to the Slavemaster.

Larra crouched by Amanda's side. She slid her hand down Amanda's back, her touch light and sensual, and was rewarded by a small shiver. "You've learned to be a good slave," Larra said, and Amanda thought she had heard disappointment.

Amanda sucked in her breath when Larra cupped her breast, but let it go as a slow, controlled sigh. Larra squeezed the pliant flesh until the nipple hardened against her palm. She traced a fingertip in a slow circle about the taut, pink knob.

Amanda shuddered. Pleasure rose and hung until she trembled, and another drop splashed to the stones from her sodden sex.

High Lord Ardon brought the goblet to his lips with the haughty air of one about to issue a scathing rebuke, and that the actual sampling of the product was little more than a formality. Indeed, after taking a sip, his lips had already poised themselves to deliver the first cutting remark, until the pleasure of what he had tasted managed to override his automatic response.

He gazed into the deep red wine with muted astonishment. "Why, Lord Ambassador, this is actually quite passable."

Norlan swept up his own goblet, already half-drained, and raised it as if in toast, presenting a wide smile to the High Lord. "You always did know how to flatter people, my Lord."

The High Lord took another sip. "Come now, Norlan. It is about time you enjoyed some luxuries more befitting your position. What else are you going to do with all that platinum?"

"My position?" said Norlan, his voice lofty. "Was I promoted past Lord Ambassador without being told?"

Lord Ardon wandered towards the mantel above the fireplace. "Do not play games," he said without looking in Norlan's direction.

"Oh, but it is a game, Lord Ardon," Norlan said, his smile never wavering. "One very large game."

Lord Ardon's eyes flitted along the mantel, alighting from one small sculpture, gemstone arrangement, or work of art to the other. "Fine, then. It is a game." His eyes lingered upon one curious object, a blue pearl sealed in Mage Glass. He tilted his head slightly at it before he turned back towards Norlan. "And you have far more pieces in play now than you ever did before."

Norlan took a slow, long sip of his wine. He let the High Lord's words swirl in his ears for a moment, and repeated them back to himself in his mind until he was satisfied.

Lord Ardon lowered his goblet and approached Norlan, a sly smile curling his lips. "Oh, you are milking this, aren't you?"

"Me? I would never do such a crass thing."

"Crass things are second nature to you, despite the regard in which the High Lords now hold you. Or have you not looked in the mirror lately?"

Norlan slid his hand over his cheeks and around his chin. He had let his beard grow since returning to the Urisi Nation. While the fashion had never been in favor -- all high-born men were expected to sport smooth cheeks and chin and a large mustache instead -- he had kept it trimmed just enough to avoid the worst of the disgusted looks.

Lord Ardon's smile twisted into a smirk. "Perhaps some of the things Mandas says about you are true."

"Mandas? Who's that?"

Ardon laughed. "Pity that the King did not execute him. Or even remove him from his post."

"Yes, there is that," said Norlan in a suddenly neutral voice.

Ardon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?" said Norlan.

"What of Mandas?"

Norlan shook his head.

"You are one who has always chosen his words carefully, Lord Ambassador."

"Or I could simply be playing the game again. Perhaps I consider you a piece I am moving into play."

Lord Ardon recoiled. "Now, that was indeed crass, Norlan. Take care how you flout this influence of yours. I may be your friend and advocate of old, but do not push it."

Norlan took another long sip of his wine, nearly draining the goblet. "You are still upset that I paid off my debt to you so quickly."

"And why would I be?" Ardon said in a stiff voice.

"Come now, who is the one playing games? I decided it would feel too stuffy being carried about in your pocket."

Lord Ardon let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes turning hard.

When the Inonni had completed their conquest of Oceanus and dissolved the Overlord Manors, Norlan had yet to return home to the acclaim of the High Lords. He had few funds and large debts. Lord Ardon had lent him the platinum to purchase Amanda.

Such loans were not uncommon, but demanded a service in return so long as the loan was outstanding. Norlan was to see to it that any trade agreements he brokered with other kingdoms would help fill Lord Ardon's coffers.

Or would have seen to it. His acclaim had attracted more influence, and more influence begot more returns on his investments. He had used his new-found wealth to pay off the debt early. Such a thing broke with tradition; even one that had the funds to eliminate such a debt felt obligated to leave it in place as a symbol of loyalty to one's benefactor.

Yet Lord Ardon's anger did not last long, for he put the two apparently disparate pieces together, and his eyes widened in genuine amazement. "Sometimes your insight astounds me, Norlan."

Norlan drained the rest of his goblet and set it down. He fell into a plush chair. "So are you here to confirm that I was wise in keeping my freedom of movement by avoiding attachment to any one High Lord? Or that I should be concerned that Mandas was retained as an ambassador?"

Lord Ardon sighed. "And I suppose you will tell me that you suspected this the moment I walked into your palace."

"Considering that you have been avoiding me because I was so 'crass' as to pay my debt in full, I did indeed find this visit interesting to say the least."

Lord Ardon stared at the wine in his goblet for another moment. "It may be nothing."

"Obviously, His Majesty thinks otherwise."

Lord Ardon looked up and frowned. "He jumps at shadows! He only wishes an excuse to disparage the High Lords' good fortunes."

"That was not your attitude when I first came to you with the wild scheme from the merchant Jollis. You called it madness, I believe."

Lord Ardon thumped his goblet down upon the table, splashing drops of wine over the polished wood. "Then call me addled with my new wealth of slaves! Already I have made more platinum from selling them than I can count. The Oceanus slaves only increase in value. But I did not come here to debate the slave trade. I came here to pass some information to you to do with as you will. It is more than you deserve, as insistent as you are in ignoring tradition and protocol!"

"What is it?" Norlan said.

Lord Ardon's lips thinned. "An intelligence report, meant only for His Majesty's ears," he said in a tense but softer voice. "Do not repeat that you have heard it or it means both our necks. A fleet of the Oceanus navy has gone missing."

Norlan raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon? Missing?"

"I will not repeat it. You have heard me."

"A fleet does not simply disappear, Lord Ardon. Even the most powerful Mage cannot make such large objects invisible."

"You take the words too literally, Norlan."

Norlan steepled his fingers and considered in silence. "Is what you are trying so delicately not to say, my Lord, is that a fleet has gone rogue?"

"I say nothing," said Ardon. "Draw your own conclusions if you wish."

"You leave me with no other conclusion in which to draw. And the next conclusion I am forced to make is that you would not be telling me this were you of the mindset that this was purely an internal Oceanus matter."

Lord Ardon stared at Norlan. Behind him, sunlight glowed against the frosted glass as the morning fog lifted, making the High Lord look pale and gaunt. "His Majesty has our navy -- such that it is -- on alert."

Norlan laced his fingers together. The Urisi navy was largely ceremonial. They had always relied on the powerful Oceanus navy to keep the trade routes free from pirates and fend off any incursions by lesser powers. The new masters of Oceanus had pledged to keep this arrangement.

Lord Ardon folded his hands behind his back and stepped away from the window, reclaiming some of his regal bearing. "I had hoped I was misinterpreting Mandas' maddening retention of his title. Obviously His Majesty is holding him in reserve."

"And Mandas is going along with it."

"Bloody sycophant," Lord Ardon muttered.

Norlan smiled. "You could ascribe that title to many people at court. It is hardly an insult anymore."

"When it is applied to someone in the employ of the King, it is."

"It makes sense for Mandas. He obviously realizes he has fallen out of grace with the High Lords, perhaps permanently. Now he seeks to align himself with the King." Norlan lowered his hands. "This worries me."

Ardon raised an eyebrow. "You? Worry? About what? Let him be the King's toady, for all the good it will do with the High Lords in the ascendant!"

"I am thinking beyond petty political games, my Lord. Consider the worst case scenario, if you will: the rogue fleet decides to seek asylum in a Urisi port, and it becomes a sensitive political matter with Oceanus."

"It should not. If the fleet is indeed rogue and not flying under the Oceanus banner, we will have every right to do with them as we please for violating our maritime borders. Oceanus will be glad to be rid of this disloyal lot. No, Ambassador, if this becomes a political incident, it will be because the King wills it!"

Norlan inclined his head. "Pardon, my Lord?"

"You heard me! Mandas may be annoying and a boor, but he can be wily when the need arises. If he has indeed thrown his lot in with the Crown, he just might help the King make trouble for the High Lords by using this incident to claim -- again! -- that we do not care for matters outside of Urisi shores."

Norlan slowly smiled. "But you don't, save for when it can line your pockets."

Lord Ardon scowled and snatched up his goblet. "I was wrong. You are not crass. You are far worse. You are presumptive."

"I have merely decided that I do not need to worry about whom I insult, my Lord. And you only prove my point. Your worry is how the King will regain prestige. My worry is what this means for the Urisi Nation if someone as incompetent as Mandas is put in charge of something that could potentially blow up in our faces." A mellow chime sounded. Norlan glanced at the chamber door and called out, "A moment, please."

Lord Ardon shook his head. "No, take your visitor. Your words and manner have irritated me to the point that I need the pause." He turned away towards the window as he brought the goblet to his lips.

Norlan nodded once. "Very well. Enter."

The door swung inward. The Slavemaster breezed into the room, and Norlan stood to meet him. "My Lord, you wanted to know when I was done with your newest slave."

Lord Ardon paused, then suddenly spun around.

The Slavemaster looked, smiled, and bowed his head. "Forgive me, Lord Ambassador, I did not know you were entertaining such an esteemed guest."

Lord Ardon gave a single bark of laughter and smirked. "So this is what you did with the rest of your platinum, eh, Norlan? Good to see you again, Slavemaster Roawan."

"I am honored that you remember me, my Lord," said Roawan with another bow of his head.

"Roawan, you said you have finished Amanda's remedial training," Norlan said.

Roawan turned towards Norlan. "Yes, my Lord." His eyes darted to Ardon for a moment. "As much as I feel I can do with her."

Lord Ardon stepped closer, taking another sip of his wine.

"You were recommended as the best, Roawan," said Norlan. "And the fact that Lord Ardon, who is very particular of who trains his slaves, recognizes you tells me that your reputation has been earned up to this point. Did you continue to earn it?"

Roawan stiffened. "With all due respect, my Lord--"

"Please, simply answer the question."

Roawan's lips thinned. "She is obedient. She knows her place. Her sexual skills are beyond reproach."

"You had little to do with that last part."

"Be that as it may, my Lord, I feel I have taken her as far as I can without remanding her to a dedicated slave training institute. I gently remind you that this is what I had suggested at the start."

Norlan sighed. "Is she submissive, Roawan?"

"She acts submissive."

"That is not what I had asked you."

"I stand by what I have said, my Lord," Roawan said in a louder voice. His gaze again sought Lord Ardon. The High Lord looked on with eyes holding neither sympathy nor judgment.

"Bring her to me."

Roawan frowned. He again looked at Lord Ardon. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

Roawan straightened. "As you wish, my Lord."

The Slavemaster rushed out of the chamber. Lord Ardon stepped forward. "Is this slave he speaks of the same one you borrowed platinum from me to purchase, Norlan?"

"The same. Why?"

Lord Ardon laughed.

"Did I say something amusing, my Lord?"

"It seems that for every advance you make towards the privileged life of a well-monied aristocrat, you stumble back towards your, ah, simpler beginnings. Perhaps it is best that you did not remain indebted to me. I would have relished holding such a thing over your head."

Norlan said nothing in reply, and simply offered a small, tight smile to the High Lord.

Amanda knew that the Slavemaster was returning by the way Larra withdrew and scurried to the opposite side of the chamber, folding her hands before her. A moment later, she heard his boots against the stone.

"Up."

Amanda rose to her feet on trembling legs. As the Slavemaster procured a set of shackles, her eyes followed and silently pleaded for him to notice her heavy, lustful pant. As he pinned her wrists behind her back, she closed her eyes and willed him to notice her shaky legs. As the shackles were closed about her wrists with a snap, she mentally begged for him to see the moisture dripping from her sealed, swollen pussy.

Amanda opened her eyes and turned her gaze towards Larra. She let all the resentment she had built up towards Roawan burn in her eyes. Larra met Amanda's gaze with her own soft, proper, and submissive one.

I'm not the only one around here that knows how to act well, Amanda thought as a chain was attached to her collar. The collar pressed into her throat for a moment as the chain was yanked, and she turned her now neutral gaze towards the Slavemaster.

"I am taking you to your Master. He has an important guest. You will mind yourself, and you will stay focused. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your slave understands, Master," said Amanda.

The Slavemaster yanked the chain again, then turned away and held it over his shoulder. Amanda fell into quick step behind him as he marched out of the chamber. Amanda resisted the urge to give Larra one final look. She would not give the older slave the satisfaction.

Amanda's arousal would not abate. His long stride forced her to jog to keep the chain slack. Letting it grow taut would be interpreted as dawdling and earn more punishment. Her breasts bounced, the nipples still taut and erect, sending hot spikes of pleasure into her sex. She struggled not to stumble as she strained at the edge of an orgasm that would not come. Her thighs grew damp and slick with her unrelenting sexual excitement.