The Valiant (The Valiant #1)(28)
She ordered us both to sit on the stools and forbade us to move, speak, or fidget.
One elegant woman with hair dyed an unnatural shade of deep purplish red attacked my snarled locks, brandishing brushes and hairpins made of polished bone and silver. I didn’t twitch a muscle for fear of losing an eye to the flurry of implements. She brushed out my long brown hair until it gleamed. But where I would have simply dressed it off my face with combs or a circlet, this woman began to twist and fasten, pulling strands up from the sides of my head and weaving them together at the crown. Her fingers moved in a swift, intricate pattern. I could feel my hair piling up on my head, bit by bit, and felt dizzy from the scent of perfumes.
When I muttered something under my breath questioning the necessity of such effort to sell a few slaves, the woman laughed quietly and leaned down to whisper in my ear: “What do you think we are, my dear?”
My confusion must have shown on my face.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” she murmured. “Rome only exists because of slaves. That’s how it functions. We are its muscles, its brains, and most of all its secrets. You are now a part of that world. You are what you are, no matter what you once were. But there is power in such a position. Understand that. And learn to use it.”
Her breath in my ear was warm, but her words sent a chill down my spine. I hadn’t even guessed that this refined woman was a slave. But of course she was. Trained, specialized, highly skilled, but not free.
Power? I wondered. I’d never felt so powerless in my life. I wasn’t even allowed to scratch an itch.
I stayed still and silent while another woman took over, powdering and painting my face so that I resembled one of the figures adorning the walls of the room. After my hair and my face were done, a plump, smiling dressing woman prodded me over to stand near the shelves. She began pulling down basket after basket of carefully folded garments in an array of colors I’d never even seen before.
She bustled back and forth between me and Elka, who now looked entirely unlike the girl I’d come to know. Her fine, pale hair was back in braids, but far more elaborately woven this time. And she wore a wide band of silver around her forehead that narrowed to a peak between her brows. It made her look both regal and predatory at the same time—like a hunting owl—and it emphasized her ice-blue eyes, which were lined with dark kohl.
“Slaves are usually sold naked in the marketplace, you know,” Maia said. “But Charon plays a different game than the average trader. A smarter one. He instructs us to make you appear not as you are but as you could be. He sells potential to the good people of the Eternal City. Prestige. Fantasy. And they pay him handsomely for it.”
Potential for what? I felt as though I might be sick.
The dressing woman draped Elka in shades of blue and mauve, and then she rummaged around in a basket and brought out a length of shimmering green-gold fabric. The woman held it up in front of me and almost chirped in delight.
“Oh! This makes your eyes shine,” she said. “Perfect! Arms up now!”
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.