To Market to Market

"Come away from the window, my lady," urged the young maid. "You'll ruin your complexion if you stand there too long. The glass, you know, it reflects the light doubly. That's what the scientists say, least ways."

"Oh, Isabelle, you don't really believe what those men say?"

Isabelle looked shocked at her ward's disbelief in science. "Your father pays them!" she said a little loudly.

"It doesn't mean they're right," she said softly. "My father pays them to give him answers, and as long as he gets answers, they keep their heads. It's in their favor to say whatever my father wants to hear."

Isabelle immediately fell silent; she liked her mistress, she really did, but she was worried that one wrong word might earn her a one-way ticket to the kitchens. She couldn't afford to have the little lady mad with her. "You're right, of course, Lady Clarissa," she murmured.

"Oh, don't call me that, Isabelle. I've asked you before to call me Clary," she sighed without turning from the window.

"It's respectful, my lady," Isabelle said simply.

Clary shrugged and focused her gaze on the market below. When she was so far above the ground in her tower bedroom, the workings of the people were unclear, but she saw the gate open and a herd of people being led in. Surrounding them were men on horses and vicious looking dogs, and when the men and women and children who made up the herd were cowering away from them.

"Who are those people, Isabelle?" Clary asked suddenly, signaling for her maid to come over. "All those people coming in the gates."

Isabelle approached cautiously. Clarissa was a strange mistress to have, and she was rumored to be peculiarly tempered. One moment, she was perfectly polite and fine, and the next, she was furious and ranting. It made Isabelle very nervous to be too near her. "Well, my lady, I believe they are the slaves brought from the last invasion. Wasn't your brother sent to some distant territory with conquest in mind?" Isabelle peeked sideways at her mistress to see her reaction. Clarissa's face was oddly blank at the mention of her brother: her eyes were glazed over, her lips pressed together, her unblinking stare oddly empty. "He's very brave, your brother."

For the first time, Clarissa stirred from her watch and leveled Isabelle with a stare. "Brave?"

"He goes to war," Isabelle said breathlessly. "He fights and kills and brings home riches, doesn't he?"

Clary's eyes hardened. "Riches, you think these are riches, miss Isabelle? Do you consider yourself to be one of the prizes my brother brought home?" Clary's cheeks were slightly pink now. "You were brought here a slave, yes? Your land conquered, your people slaughtered, and you, a slave to the king's daughter?"

Isabelle stuttered helplessly. "I-I just meant that your brother is a warrior. No offense was meant, my lady." Isabelle took a step back quickly. "And-and I am grateful for being brought here. I've been given a chance to correct my mistakes and my beliefs-"

Clary shook her head quickly, and just the slightest smile flitted across her lips. "Oh, Isabelle, don't panic. I wasn't angry with you. Sometimes I forget that you are no educated politician."

Isabelle snapped her jaw shut quickly. Clarissa was certainly the strangest woman Isabelle had served. "No, I'm no educated lady like yourself, but my mother taught me and my brothers our letters and numbers." She said this just a little proudly, but then tipped her head. "But I'm not lucky like you, my lady."

Clary's smile slipped away and she returned to her watch. "No, no you are not, for I am the daughter of the king. Child of Valentine Morgenstern, and you are but a farm girl made slave. I forgive you, Isabelle, please, do not worry."

Isabelle waited with bated breath for her mistress to give her an order. Clarissa set her on edge, and she almost wished she could go to the kitchens. "Would you like me to go, my lady?"

"No, stay here," Clary said. "Will you braid a ribbon in my hair, Isabelle? You are so gifted with hair."

Isabelle bowed. "It would be an honor. What color would you like?"

"Something bright for Market Day, something festive for our victory. My father would like that." Clary stood from her seat at the window and moved to her chest with in a flurry of bright skirts. She dug through the small chest and found a thick red ribbon. "This one, I want this one in my hair. It will match my gown."

Isabelle took the ribbon, marveling at the silkiness and then nodding to the settee for Clary to sit. Clary fell gracefully onto the seat and watched at Isabelle combed out her hair and began to work the ribbon into the strands. As she worked, Clary eyed her with a vague curiosity. "You have brothers, Isabelle?"

Isabelle jumped a little at being addressed by her mistress. "Why yes, an older brother named Alec, and a little brother named Max. They work here as well."

"And how did that happen?" Clary asked sharply. "I was under the impression that most of the men were killed during the raids?"

Isabelle paled. "We-my brothers and I-convinced the soldiers who came to spare Alec."

"How did you do that?" Clary asked shrewdly.

Now Isabelle panicked. Was Clarissa going to go to her father with the truth? She didn't want to be responsible for her brother's death. She couldn't bear it after her parents. "Well, my brother needed someone to look after him if I was moved somewhere else, and Alec is very capable with animals."

Clary smiled wryly. "I'm not going to report you. I was just curious." Clary returned her gaze to the mirror and smiled at herself. "Never mind, Isabelle. Just finish my hair, please."

Isabelle quickly braided the ribbon through the last strands of Clarissa's thick red hair, and then worked then entire braid into an elegant bun. "Is that alright, my lady?"

Clary stood and turned her head from side to side. "Excellent, Isabelle, now help me into my dress, and we'll be off."

"Where are we going today?" Isabelle asked as she helped Clarissa into a beautiful velvety red dress with gold trimmings and embroidery.

"Down to the market," Clary said simply. "I want to see the new slaves among other things."

"Will your father let you go?" Isabelle asked quietly

Clary went quiet a moment and pressed her lips together. "I will enlist my brother as an escort. Who knows, perhaps I will make another valuable fine, much like I did with you."

Isabelle stepped back and bowed. "Perhaps you will, Clarissa."

Clary stood triumphantly and viewed herself in the mirror on her wall. She was short with alabaster skin, red hair, and pair of emerald eyes. She was pretty enough, she decided, but no ravishing beauty. Not that it made a difference really, not when she was the princess, her royal highness, daughter of the king…

She snapped her fingers. "Come, Isabelle, let us find my brother and we'll be off."

Clary led her servant through the castle imperiously, people bowing out of their way as they passed down lavish corridors and wide staircases. Many of the ladies of the court who were there waved and asked Clary questions, hoping to win some favor, but Clary didn't care. She had very little interest in these women, they were airheaded idiots, they lacked enough common sense to do their own hair. When they reached the doors to the Throne Room, Clary nodded haughtily to men standing guard and they opened the double doors quickly.

Isabelle hung back, feeling nervous and terrified. Valentine was responsible for the death of thousands of her people. He had enslaved her and made her the servant of his daughter. He was monster and conqueror, and man to be feared. When she looked upon him in a hurried glance, she wanted to cry. He was tall and well built, with cold grey eyes and a halo of white blond hair. His face was carved like marble, the planes of his cheeks making his face harder. But it was the quality of dark power that simmered around him that made Isabelle fall back. There were rumors he was a sorcerer.

Clary strut through the doors with her head high. "Father," she said with a pleasant smile. "I would like to go to market today; I saw there were more slaves in market today. Perhaps I could find myself another servant."

Valentine flashed a smile. "My daughter, the economist."

"I mean to be," Clary returned with equal verve; her face was set when she added, "If you must, Jonathan can accompany me."

"I had planned it," Valentine said, and his eyes raked over his daughter. "I'll have him sent for. This will be an excellent way for you two to spend the day, especially after the most recent campaign."

It took only a few minutes, and Jonathan arrived. He surveyed the hall before him and smirked when he saw his sister. Jonathan was a handsome man, tall and lithe, well built, his handsome face capped with while blond hair like his father. Only his black eyes upset the perfect vision, because they seemed to be a void in his soul. He sauntered in, all contained grace and wicked eyes.

"Father, you called?"

Valentine laughed. "Your sister wishes to go to market, and I think I'll have you escort her. I trust you won't mind spending the day with your lovely sister?"

Jonathan rotated slowly until he had Clary in his view. Isabelle noticed that Clarissa's back snapped straight under his gaze. "I think there would be no other way to spend such a day." Jonathan smiled and walked over to his sister. He took Clary's hands in his and pulled her into a very tight huge, kissing both her cheeks. Clary stood very still and didn't say a word. "Shall we spend the day together, dear sister?"

Clary seemed to compose her face carefully. "It would be a pleasure, brother."

Isabelle watched the exchange and waited silently while Jonathan offered his sister his arms and then pocketed a number of coins from his father. They left the Throne Room in a silent group, Clary oddly blank in the face and Jonathan's dark eyes furtively looked at his sister. Isabelle felt a rush of excitement as she trailed her mistress out of the great doors and into the courtyard and warm summer air.

Clary was barely able to contain her excitement once they passed through the garrison at the entrance to the castle. They passed beyond the tall outer walls and were suddenly on a cobblestone road and heading into the bustling hive that was the market. Men and women were crying out their wares, waving them back and forth. Clary quickly found a way to free herself of her brother's grip and made her way purposefully toward the center of the market.

"My lady, shouldn't we stay with your brother, lord Jonathan?" Isabelle asked tentatively. "I mean to say, it is rather inappropriate for a proper lady to be out alone."

"I'm not alone," Clary answered firmly, pushing her way past a crowd of peasants. "I've got my servant with me, haven't I?"

Isabelle flushed a little. "Well, yes, but I don't see why can't wait for your brother."

"Maybe I feel like I don't need Jonathan with me at all times of day. I certainly don't think I need him holding my hand." Clary paused and shot Isabelle a very cold look. "I suppose you agree with me. I plan to spend as little time as I can with my dearest brother, and if you find that thought unappealing, you may want to find yourself another mistress who spends time in Jonathan's company."

"N-no!" Isabelle said hurriedly, trying to keep up as Clarissa took off again. "I didn't mean that. All I meant-didn't mean-"

"Then we are in agreement," Clary said stoutly. "Now hurry, I want to see the new lot of slaves."

Isabelle wondered vaguely why Clarissa Morgenstern was so interested in slaves, but she decided not to push her luck any farther with the princess. Men and women stepped aside to make way for a member of the royal family, and very quickly, Isabelle found herself standing beside her mistress before a raised stage where slaves were being walked and presented to the crowd.

Isabelle could still remember her trip across the stage, could still remember the eyes that fell on her as she was dragged forward and the fear that she and her brothers would be separated. She could still recall the sound of Jonathan's voice as he raised his voice and offered a ridiculously low price for her. She's looked around desperately, trying to reach out for her brothers, who came forward. They too had been bought in quick succession along with a number of other slaves, and they were taken back to the castle in chains.

Clary liked to watch as the new slaves were marched before her eyes. It was cruel and horrible, but it made the weight on her heart a little lighter when he saw others even more helpless than her. She'd spent so long living in fear…so long running away from nightmares…Clary smiled coldly at the slaves; she might be helpless, but she would never be like them. Someone might hurt her, but she could hurt them, hurt someone. Prove she wasn't weak and helpless.

The first few slaves brought out were poor stock. A woman with an ugly scar, a farm hand, a few starved children. Clary considered a brown haired young man with broken glasses and very pale skin, but decided he wasn't quite up to scratch. Clary glanced about, whispered something to a person beside her, and the kindly man vanished and returned with a small chair. She sat down and toyed with her gown while men and women were forced out, auctioned off, and led away by different people. Clary was about to throw her hands in the air and give up when her servant gasped excitedly.

"Oh, my lady, look at him!"

Isabelle, who had spotted the boy first, felt a mixture of excitement and pity. He was a handsome boy, her age probably, with the haughty look that suggested he had been someone's son. Isabelle flicked her eyes over his golden hair and eyes and skin, and thought to herself that if he had been born a girl, he would have been made into some man's personal slave. But he hadn't been born a girl, and Isabelle frankly had no idea what happened to handsome male slaves.

Clary purred in a pleased sort of way, and smiled widely. He was exceedingly handsome she thought. He had golden hair, tangled a little, a good build, and an absolutely gorgeous face. The air of arrogance that he gave off intrigued Clary, since most slaves had given up hope by the time they marched across the stage, and she was drawn to it.

With a flourish, Clary stood and raised her hand. Anyone who had meant to make a bid on the boy fell silent and sat down. The auctioneer clapped his hands together and motioned her up. "Princess," he purred. "It's wonderful to see you out and about and frequenting my shop."

"You have good stock," Clary said, nodding at Isabelle, and knowing she was being cruel.

"You honor me." He bowed. "If you just head around the back, you'll find a number of tents set up. You'll find yours in tent B; he's number thirty-four."

Clary smiled brilliantly and gave him a polite bow. "Thank you."

Clary walked with a bounce in her step to tent with the big red B painted on it. As she entered the tent, the scent of sweat and fear rolled over her. She knew that smell well. All around, people were being paid for, their hands being bound together, their lives being changed forever. Clary walked up to the man taking coins.

"I've purchased thirty-four," she pronounced. "Bring me round to him."

The man seemed at a loss for a moment, and then stumbled into action. "Of-of course, he'll be just this way."

Isabelle and Clary followed the man through the tent; all around were makeshift corrals where slaves were chained by their wrists to poles. They came to pause by a corral in the corner, and Clary's eyes darted about until they landed on a golden head. The boy was sitting in the dirt in tatters of pants and a shirt. He was listlessly pulling at the cuff that held his wrist to metal pole, but his face was set in a passive stare. Clary liked his determination, it reminded her of herself…once.

"I don't carry any money on me," Clary explained, not taking her eyes off the boy. "My brother keeps it with him. Isabelle, go find my brother and tell him he needs to come pay for my purchase. I'll wait here."

"Yes, my lady," Isabelle said uncertainly. She didn't know where the prince might be, and she was half terrified of him.

With Isabelle gone, Clary drifted along the edge of the fence until she was beside the boy. He didn't seem to notice her approach, so Clary was able to observe the boy as much as she pleased. He was even more handsome up close, and it woke strange emotions in Clary. He was beautiful, and beautiful things were often broken by this world, and for just a moment, Clary was going to change her mind and send the boy somewhere else, somewhere far away from the nightmare he was unknowingly facing. But then she gave herself a mental shake.

"Good morning," Clary said with a half smile.

The boy started and then looked over her way. His eyes widened for just a moment, surprise and wonder mingling, and then he slumped forward, trying to be uninterested. "Good is the operative word."

Clary immediately liked him. "Alright, I'll give you that; I can't imagine it would be very comfortable tied up in here. But, I assume that someone will soon be moving you out of here."

The boy gave her a curious look. "Why are you talking to me? I'm a slave now, and you, lady, are obviously not. Who are you?"

"My name is of little consequence, but yours isn't," Clary said, her smiling widening. "You're very unusual for a slave, you know that? You don't act like one. You act like you're above your station."

"Maybe I was a prince before I was brought here?" offered the boy.

"I don't think so," Clary replied, eyes sparkling. "I don't think the king would allow a foreign prince to be sold into slavery here. I think the king would have brought the prince to the castle for interrogation."

"What would you know of it?" the boy asked, genuinely interested.

"I have my place in the court," answered Clary lightly.

"Your place with the king's son?" the boy shot back to quickly, sneering so slightly.

Clary's playful smile dropped almost instantly. Her face darkened and her eyes narrowed. "I am not Jonathan's woman."

"Oh, it's Jonathan now, is it?" the boy pushed, sensing weakness.

What little joy Clary had taken from the boy vanished and she frowned. "Yes, it is, and you would do well to watch yourself, slave. I have a short temper."

"Is your temper dictated by your height?" he asked.

Clary rolled her eyes and smirked. "Give me your name, boy, for I am curious who you are."

"Give me yours," he returned.

"As I am a lady, it is polite for you to answer first, no?" Clary leaned against the fence, swaying her hips in a way that most men found attractive.

"You hardly behave like a lady," he pointed out, but turned his gaze away from her very feminine body. "My name is Jace."

"Jace," Clary said with a twist of her lips. "Your name is Jace. I like it, simple, short, sweet, nothing to remember trouble yourself with. A good slave name."

This seemed to annoy Jace, because he flushed and looked at her with cold eyes. "You like my name? Well, I'm glad you find it attractive, but I hardly care what a young woman thinks. I have more important things to worry about."

"You think so, Jace?" Clary asked, straightening up. "You think there is another person to whom you may owe your allegiance and service?"

"Well, as you said, I wouldn't be here unless I was about to be bought." Jace looked around. "So I have a master, and he is the only person who I need to worry about."

Clary burst out laughing, her voice both pleasant and horrible. She winked at him and turned about to face someone in the crowd. Jace craned his neck to see who she was signaling to, and watched at two figures emerged from the throng. One was a tall, pretty girl in servant's dress, the other was a handsome man with an arrogant look about him. He draped an arm over Clary and smiled at her.

"So, Clary, your little servant girl tells me you've found yourself another slave?" Clary smiled tightly and nodded her head at Jace. Jonathan turned his eyes on the boy. "This is him?"

"Clary?" Jace asked, staring at the man with his arm around her. "You're name is Clary?"

"Silence, boy," ordered Jonathan casually, reaching into his cloak and drawing out a coin bag. "This is my sister, her royal highness, the Princess Clarissa, and you would do well to remember it."

Jace blinked in shock and then slowly turned to Clary while Jonathan went to find the slave master. "Princess?"

"I told you to watch yourself," Clary said with a superior look. She turned her head with an elegant twist and watched while her brother paid the slave master for Jace. With a triumphant sniff she smirked at Jace. "And now, Jace, you belong to me."