She slid the sheath of material down over my torso, pinning it at my shoulders and gathering it in flattering drapes at my waist and hips. Then she ruched up the hem to show as much of my legs as possible. She clad my feet in laced-up boots and slid thick bronze bracelets onto my wrists. Lastly, she fastened a belt of polished bronze discs set with purple stones around my waist. The cosmetics woman dusted some kind of powder over my arms and legs, and then finally I was led in front of a long, polished bronze mirror.
I gasped at the sight.
“It’s all in the presentation, dear,” the dressing woman trilled with a grin.
A creature made of living molten gold stared back at me.
The dust on my limbs and face shimmered in the sunlight that spilled in from the courtyard, making it seem as though I was lit from within. My hair was twisted into dozens of plaits that the dresser had woven into a subtle crest that lifted high over the crown of my head and flowed down my back. The effect somehow reminded me of the crested plume on a Roman warrior’s helm.
Then Elka stepped up beside me. Our transformation from two filthy castoffs was staggering.
She was carved out of glittering ice.
And I was golden, forged in flames.
The only discordant thing about our reflection was the dull iron rings we still wore around our necks. I reached up and traced a fingertip over the rough surface. The skin beneath was rough too. Calloused. Even if the collar were removed, I would bear the marks for a long time to come.
“It’s a pity, that,” the woman who’d fashioned my hair said, leaning against the mirror and regarding the collar. “It clashes with the rest of the look.”
I glanced back at her, noticing that her long neck was smooth and white and bore no collar. “You don’t wear one.”
“I would never try to escape.” She smiled wryly.
“You think I would?”
She snorted softly. “Given even the hint of a chance. I can see it in your eyes like it was written there in fire. I, on the other hand, have no need. I’ve made my own freedom, and that is something I’ll never give up. Especially not for some hollow ideal of that word.”
Hollow? I thought. How could she even think such a thing? Freedom to my people was like air or water or love. It was essential to life. What kind of freedom could she possibly have made for herself without liberty? I wondered how I would survive in this new world I’d found myself in. I wondered if I’d ever understand it. I swore to myself that I would never be like her, so imprisoned that I didn’t even need a collar to obey my masters.
I curled my fingers into fists at my sides to keep from clawing at the iron circle. She might have been content to live life as a slave, but I was the daughter of a king. And I would find that warrior girl inside me again and find a way to set her free.
“We could try to find a scarf to cover it.”
“No!” I shook my head. “No. I would prefer whoever buys me to know exactly what it is they’re getting.”
I saw a glimmer of respect in the woman’s gaze as she reached out and patted a stray lock of my hair into place. “Then you’re ready to go.”
XIII
THE FORUM. The marketplace of Rome. Except it wasn’t so much a place as it was a violent assault on the senses. The crush of people and animals was terrifying—so loud, I thought my eardrums would burst—and that was while I was still hidden away in one of the covered wagons Charon transported his slaves to market in.
The men and women I’d traveled with for weeks, while not all given the same kind of elaborately costumed treatment as Elka and me, had at least been polished up to some degree. One or two of the handsomer lads wore only loincloths with wide, ornamented belts, and they had been oiled so that their muscles gleamed. I saw that the girl with dark hair who had given me her slippers was wrapped in a sheath so sheer that the sunlight shone through it. I was happy to see that she also had new leather sandals that laced up her calves.
As the wagon rattled along, the wheels clattering over the paving stones of Roman streets, I could hear the wagon drivers shouting at the buyers and sellers crowding the Forum to make way. The tumbled strains of many different kinds of music floated over the general chaos—bells and drums and flutes, voices raised in song—and, again, I was torn between fear and curiosity. I peeked out between the curtains and saw what awaited us.
Market day.
The wagon rumbled to a stop, and I could see that a raised wooden stage and temporary wooden seating had been built along one side of the plaza. The stands were already full to capacity. In the back row, people were shaded from the morning sun beneath colorful fabric awnings suspended on long poles held by slaves. The whole scene boasted a kind of festival air that reminded me of Lughnasa and made me long for home. I could feel waves of anticipation surging off the crowd, as if they waited for a troupe of performers.
Gruoch shouldered me aside so she could also peer through the gap in the curtains. She made a little noise in the back of her throat and muttered, “Huh. The Collector is here. That should make for an interesting bit of bidding.”