In which a woman possessed of strength and will becomes a mere shadow of her former self…
Cadaela struggled to lift her hand to her aching head. Her limbs felt stiff and heavy, and it was difficult to think. There was another dull throbbing, lower on her body, but its meaning escaped her for the moment. The rocking motion of the floor was a much larger problem, and one that meant she was not where she wanted to be. The dark and the stench were other problems, but not nearly as pressing; they would be solved as soon as she was somewhere with a stable floor.
“She’s awake. Get more of that concoction of yours. Move!”
Rough hands forced her mouth open as she choked on the bitter liquid that was poured down her throat. The mere blackness of the ship’s hold gave way to the total oblivion of unconsciousness.
* * *
“He assured me she was an Aes Sedai witch,” a boorish male voice insisted. “She’s the look of one, anyway. I want two thousand golden marks.”
Fat drops of rain spattered on Cadaela’s upturned face. Her clothes were already soaked, the close folds of the Tolmari-cut silk clinging closer than usual.
“She has been…damaged,” a slurred voice replied. Seanchan. Damaged? “But we will not require reparation. You may go now.”
A cold piece of metal closed around Cadaela’s neck. The soft snick held a disturbing note of finality, and her eyes flew open. A woman with almond shaped eyes, sallow skin, and dripping black hair leaned over her, her delicate fingers still touching the collar, the matching silver bracelet on her wrist attached by a narrow leash. An a’dam. And so, Cadaela, the White Tower’s foremost member of the Brown Ajah, became no more than a piece of chattel, a weapon in the hands of the enemy.
“Nari, take her in out of the rain while I see to these men. I expect her to be clean and dry by the time I come back.”
The orders came from a woman somewhere out of Cadaela’s vision, and the woman holding her leash inclined her head obediently. She helped her to stand, Cadaela’s long-unused legs wobbling unsteadily beneath her as they moved toward a weathered grey building. The street was muddy, and Cadaela watched the stains grow on her ivory slippers and skirts. She saw, too, another stain, red, streaking down her skirts. Damaged. Raped. By Mors, most likely; those sniveling sailors in the street were too fearful of her, even drugged as she was. Her jaw set stubbornly; she would not be a damane forever, and Mors Tynaeus would pay when she escaped.
The inside of the building was warm and dry, filled with lounging sul’dam and a few damane kneeling at their mistresses’ sides. Nari pulled her toward the rear, leading her through a doorway to a small chamber with a steaming bath tub. Moments after bathing, she was garbed in a severe gray dress that marked her as damane. The steam went a long way to clearing the drug from Cadaela’s mind, and the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. She would not be here forever, and Mors would yet pay for his actions, but she would likely be here a long, long time.
“What is your name?” The woman’s slurred speech caught Cadaela by surprise, having been silent so long. She was brushing Cadaela’s long auburn hair, careful not to brush out the loose curls beginning to form at the damp ends. Unbraided, her hair reached nearly to her waist.
“Cadaela,” she replied laconically, sitting passively under the woman’s ministrations. The actions were performed not as by a sister or a maid, but as one would groom a favorite dog.
“Cadaela,” Nari repeated, her accent making it sound more like Shydalla. She set the brush down on the table, using her fingers to stroke her hair one last time. “Come, Meris will want to see you.”
It took all of Cadaela’s practiced calm not to react to the petting or the small tug on the leash. Her unreadable Aes Sedai face showed nothing, though, and she only lowered her eyes to the floor and followed Nari quietly back to the common room. Meris was waiting for them, the woman who had dealt with the sailors. Cadaela had not seen her there, only heard her voice, but it was evident by the set of her face and the respect accorded her by the rest of the room’s occupants that it was she who issued orders in this house. Cadaela curtsied low, keeping her eyes downcast, her head bowed. It had been a long time since she had offered such a sign of respect to anyone, and she did so now only because the cold metal around her neck demanded obedience. Meris tilted her chin up with one finger, examining her features, then looked questioningly at Nari.
“Her name is Shydalla,” Nari supplied quickly.
Meris took Cadaela’s hands and examined the fingers, seeking the tell-tale white band where a Great Serpent would have hidden her skin from the sun. She spent too much time indoors for the mark to be very distinct, but it was there, on the middle finger of her right hand, and another on her left hand where her wedding ring should have been. She supposed the sailors had taken it. Meris nodded to herself and rubbed her thumbs over the places.
“No,” she said evenly. “Her name is Teia.”
Teia stared back at Meris for a long moment, and her green eyes seemed lit from within by the fiery strength of her anger and hatred. Her lips twisted into a small smile, and she bowed her head again, obedient.
(to be continued)
