He led her away, to an alley behind the Cripple's house and Kit felt her heart try to hammer its way out of her chest. Kit had not imagined that Jet had felt that way about her; perhaps he did? Perhaps the other female slaves went through something similar? Gods be damned, she would have to kill him. Kit braced herself to draw res out of the depths of her soul; she could push it into his mouth and do the same thing to him that her father had done. Kit didn't have the skill to make it work, but surely she could make it
kill.He laid a hand on her waist. "In dancing," he said, the evening's purple hue dimming behind him. "It is important you keep a proper beat." She felt a finger on his hand tap, tap, tap in a steady rhythm. "Step according to this rhythm, and you will do fine."
Perhaps this was all for dancing, and he had brought her out here for more room? More freedom to move. "Now, step as I do. One, two, three. One, two, three . . ."
Kit was proud of her body in a way she was proud of nothing else. She could scale a building and find a way across the rooftops; she could cushion herself against a fall the gods hadn't built humanity to survive. But then she followed her own mad, manic rhythm. Jet's made her clumsy and awkward. Step, step, slide. "You stepped on my foot, Red." Step, step, slide. "Keep your back straight." Step, step, slide. "Do not walk across the ground; glide."
The dance, Kit realized, once she started doing it with more grace than rabid badger, was a slow and simple one. Short steps and glides that led them in a slow circle. "Take my hand. Hold it out to the side." She did so, and it was not hard to keep in time with the beat his fingers sang against her side. "Put a hand around my waist. Look at me." He said, and Kit did, staring up into his big sad eyes
The closeness of it made Kit feel uncomfortable. Her skin crawled a little. "Let go of my waist," he said and he let her go. "Step back spin away, but hold on to my hand." She did. "Come back."
Kit's feet learned the pattern of it quick enough. Step, step, slide. Step, step, slide. Step, step, slide. Eventually his commentary stopped, and there was only the dance and the uncomfortable closeness of him. "It is not so bad, is it?" He said.
"The dance?" Kit said. Admittedly it was not. How this would help her in her acrobatics, however, was a point lost on her . . .
"The city." He murmured into her ear. "He spun her away with enough grace that it almost made her for her clumsy steps. I heard of slaves from Sunberth who are beaten by their masters every day."
A pit of anger found its way inside her stomach. Kit knew the proper response was Red's, and Red's was meek and grateful agreement. She let Kit out instead. "I was born
free," she reminded him, her eyes going narrow.
"Free to starve," he said. "Free to sickness. Free to die. Ravok protects you now, Rhysol protects you now. You are safer now than you have ever been. A slave here is
safe. Can't you see?" Ah, so that's what this was about. Take her for a moonlight stroll and tell her she'd never really wanted to be free. Fun times.
He was right, in his own broken way. Bad weather was something that just didn't seem to happen here. Misfortune didn't seem to happen here. But she was a servant of Ionu. Ionu was not
caged, bound in chains and made to unfurl their colors at other's behest. Leave that to Nikali. Ionu changed according to their own whims.
Kit did not consider herself a worshiper. How could Ionu respect a worshiper? Someone who simpered before an alter and hoped that everything would work out in the end? She was a follower. She would pay tribute to Ionu by being
like Ionu. And Ionu was not a slave.
"You make some good points, Jet. I'll think on it," Kit said, eyes cast down. Step, step, slide.
And done thinking. Petch yourself seven ways sideways. A change of topic was what Kit needed now. "Sometimes master can be . . ." Cruel? Psychotic? So many words that Red would not say . . . "Cold." Don't accuse; you're a slave. They don't get the right! Shape the question so the blame falls on yourself. "Have I done something wrong?"
Step, step, glide. Silence. Step, step, glide. Kit almost thought he wouldn't answer her. "Master was a bard," he murmured. "He was brave and daring, and he left the city to sing his songs in other places. But Rhysol's divine protection only covers this city . . ."
And, and,
and . . . ?"It was in Sunberth," Jet said sadly. Step, step, glide. "He sang . . .
There’s an ear in the shadow and an eye in the lock,
and the words you said are rumors new
‘cause we all want to see what She’ll do to you
in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!
There’s an old boatsman, down ‘tween the docks,
who’ll get you where you’d like to go,
and he’ll throw you out for less than a gold
in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!
There’s a sweet young girl, with bold black locks,
and eyes so bright and pretty good rack;
she’s a knife in her fist and it’s in your back
in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!
There’s a clergyman you ought not mock,
don’t call him a snake or a fake or a cad;
got a tongue the kind of silver that’ll make you mad
In ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!
And there’s a fine ol’ city in the middle of the loch,
watched and ruled by the greatest of the gods!
He loves us and protects us against the odds:
It’s ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!
Ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!"
He was not, Kit noted with some jealousy, a bad singer.
"But a man in the bar took offense to the song and cut his hand clean off. He couldn't play his instrument and smoked his voice away. He can't stand to watch. He can barely stand that we
exist."
Kit felt cold. She tried to imagine what might happen if someone were to maim her. Gods above. The cripple had come back and built up what he lost with other people's talents, but remembered too late they would never be his again.
"He doesn't hate you." Jet whispered, his face much closer to hers. Step, step, glide. Spin, return. "He hates us all." He closed his eyes and leaned down, and Kit understood.
She released him and staggered away from the dance and left Jet kissing open air. He blinked eyes open and stared after her. Kit wrapped her hands around herself, swallowed hard. Those same damned sad dog eyes. She couldn't take them.
I'm not like you, she thought.
I'm not!Kit turned around and slipped back out of the alley, shaking like she'd caught a chill. All the while she felt
those eyes burrowing into her back. She hurried her pace, expecting him to call out to her, yell or demand. He did none of those things.
Somehow that made it worse.
