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Authors: Ashley Zacharias
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tonight’s entertainment more pleasurable than
most of the entertainments that you have attended?”
Five gentlemen raise their hands.
Seven did not.
Irene would not eat breakfast or
dinner tomorrow.
She wanted to weep as Tamarind had
done, but steeled her courage and said, “I’m sorry to have failed you. I will
starve again tomorrow, as is your wish. Goodnight, and may luck be with you always.”
When she turned toward the other
slaves, she saw looks of satisfaction on their faces. She had put them through
a considerable ordeal for the night’s entertainment – an ordeal that they
thought completely unnecessary – and they found it just that she continue
to stave while they filled their bellies with breakfast and dinner tomorrow.
Peach, in particular, looked
positively gleeful.
* * *
Breakfast was a misery. Irene had told the slaves that the
loser would be forced to watch the other slaves eat. But after Tamarind was pardoned by Lord Snow , she was the only loser.
Nickel took pleasure in ordering
her to sit at the breakfast table in front of an empty plate while the other
slaves slurped their porridge in exaggerated delight, slurping loudly and
telling each other how exceptionally delicious it was this morning.
Then they commented on how
wonderful the canapés had tasted the evening before, just to remind Irene that
she had not been able to sample even one of those morsels.
They were merciless. For two
hungry days, they had resented Irene for depriving them of food. It didn’t
matter to them that she had deprived herself equally. As far as the slaves were
concerned, it was all her fault. She had designed the horrible entertainment
and she deserved to suffer for it.
After breakfast, Apple and Lime washed
the dishes. Nickel would have ordered Irene to do them herself, just to torture
her by having to watch the leftover porridge get washed down the drain, but she
feared that Irene might manage to sneak a couple of bites by wiping her finger
on the dirty bowls and licking it off.
She was determined that Irene
wouldn’t taste even a crumb of food until another twenty-four long hours had
passed.
When the dishes were finished,
Nickel told Irene that she was to wait in the pleasure room for Lord Snow.
Irene waited alone on her knees in
the center of the room for several minutes.
Lord Snow couldn’t be pleased by
the outcome of the entertainment. The majority of his guests had decided that
it was so badly handled that she, as director of the entertainment, should be
starved for a third day in a row.
As soon as he entered from the
billiard-room tunnel, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For failing you. For failing to
provide an adequate entertainment for your guests.”
He looked around. “Are you all
alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then stop talking like an idiot.
Get off our knees and sit down in a chair.”
He stepped out of the room and
then returned with a picnic basket. The most wonderful odors in the world
drifted out of it. Her mouth filled with drool.
“Eat up,” he said, handing it to
her.
“Sir? I can’t eat today.”
“I told you to stop talking like
an idiot. I own you. I can feed you anything I like any time I like and you
damn well better eat it or I’ll have my whiphand take
a strap to you.”
She opened the basket.
She hadn’t seen food like this
since she had sold herself into slavery. Her last owner, a commoner, ate well,
but he didn’t eat like a lord.
She tried to be dainty as she
devoured the roast quail, asparagus with orange sauce, roasted new potatoes,
and cucumber salad, but failed. The most that she could do was to force herself to take the plate out of the basket and use the
knife and fork provided. She wanted to dig into the basket with both hands and
shove the food directly into her mouth.
The food was fresh and still hot.
These weren’t leftovers; someone had been cooking the meal since early this
morning.
“Thank you so much,”
most of the entertainments that you have attended?”
Five gentlemen raise their hands.
Seven did not.
Irene would not eat breakfast or
dinner tomorrow.
She wanted to weep as Tamarind had
done, but steeled her courage and said, “I’m sorry to have failed you. I will
starve again tomorrow, as is your wish. Goodnight, and may luck be with you always.”
When she turned toward the other
slaves, she saw looks of satisfaction on their faces. She had put them through
a considerable ordeal for the night’s entertainment – an ordeal that they
thought completely unnecessary – and they found it just that she continue
to stave while they filled their bellies with breakfast and dinner tomorrow.
Peach, in particular, looked
positively gleeful.
* * *
Breakfast was a misery. Irene had told the slaves that the
loser would be forced to watch the other slaves eat. But after Tamarind was pardoned by Lord Snow , she was the only loser.
Nickel took pleasure in ordering
her to sit at the breakfast table in front of an empty plate while the other
slaves slurped their porridge in exaggerated delight, slurping loudly and
telling each other how exceptionally delicious it was this morning.
Then they commented on how
wonderful the canapés had tasted the evening before, just to remind Irene that
she had not been able to sample even one of those morsels.
They were merciless. For two
hungry days, they had resented Irene for depriving them of food. It didn’t
matter to them that she had deprived herself equally. As far as the slaves were
concerned, it was all her fault. She had designed the horrible entertainment
and she deserved to suffer for it.
After breakfast, Apple and Lime washed
the dishes. Nickel would have ordered Irene to do them herself, just to torture
her by having to watch the leftover porridge get washed down the drain, but she
feared that Irene might manage to sneak a couple of bites by wiping her finger
on the dirty bowls and licking it off.
She was determined that Irene
wouldn’t taste even a crumb of food until another twenty-four long hours had
passed.
When the dishes were finished,
Nickel told Irene that she was to wait in the pleasure room for Lord Snow.
Irene waited alone on her knees in
the center of the room for several minutes.
Lord Snow couldn’t be pleased by
the outcome of the entertainment. The majority of his guests had decided that
it was so badly handled that she, as director of the entertainment, should be
starved for a third day in a row.
As soon as he entered from the
billiard-room tunnel, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For failing you. For failing to
provide an adequate entertainment for your guests.”
He looked around. “Are you all
alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then stop talking like an idiot.
Get off our knees and sit down in a chair.”
He stepped out of the room and
then returned with a picnic basket. The most wonderful odors in the world
drifted out of it. Her mouth filled with drool.
“Eat up,” he said, handing it to
her.
“Sir? I can’t eat today.”
“I told you to stop talking like
an idiot. I own you. I can feed you anything I like any time I like and you
damn well better eat it or I’ll have my whiphand take
a strap to you.”
She opened the basket.
She hadn’t seen food like this
since she had sold herself into slavery. Her last owner, a commoner, ate well,
but he didn’t eat like a lord.
She tried to be dainty as she
devoured the roast quail, asparagus with orange sauce, roasted new potatoes,
and cucumber salad, but failed. The most that she could do was to force herself to take the plate out of the basket and use the
knife and fork provided. She wanted to dig into the basket with both hands and
shove the food directly into her mouth.
The food was fresh and still hot.
These weren’t leftovers; someone had been cooking the meal since early this
morning.
“Thank you so much,”
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