Loran swallows, the little speech surprisingly reassuring. Because Markus is right – he has been making choices. And if his benchmark was whatever would cause his master to be least angry with him, does that matter? He’d sought to minimise his master’s anger because he knew that that was the best outcome for himself. Now he just needs to skip the middle merchant and consider what will be best for him now he’s free.

  “Perhaps talk about the options out loud,” Markus suggests. “You may find that one feels right to you as you speak, or by realising everything that’s possible, you can narrow down the options to make the list less overwhelming.”

  It’s so simple, Loran feels stupid for not thinking of it himself. Then he pushes that thought to the side – it won’t help him. Instead, he gives Markus an uncertain nod.

  Slowly, stumbling at first, and then gaining in confidence, he outlines the various options that come to mind, not worrying about how achievable they are, or ordering them in any way. Finally his words run out.

  Markus waits patiently for a few flickers before he speaks.

  “You’re right – that’s a lot of options. No wonder you were getting overwhelmed. Did any seem more right than others as you spoke?”

  Loran considers it.

  “Perhaps having an apprenticeship,” he murmurs finally. “I’ve learned some things during my time as a slave – gardening, caring for horses, cleaning, serving, even a little cooking.” He nods at Markus. “And now something about nobles. But I don’t want to find a job like that,” he decides. Even as a servant rather than a slave, the tasks would be too similar. He fears he would fall too easily back into the mindset he formed in the last two years. “A craft, however….”

  “Any craft in particular?” Markus asks, giving no hint as to his own feelings on the matter. Even the Bond is closed tightly.

  Loran shrugs.

  “Perhaps carpentry. I…I’m good with my hands.” There’s a hint of shame to that – one reason he’s so dextrous with his hands is because he spent years learning how to pickpocket people so they wouldn’t feel his theft, or picking locks and jimmying windows. But perhaps he can turn his skills to something that’s less likely to lead to another collar around his neck – courthouses don’t tolerate repeat offenders and if he is caught stealing again, he’ll receive the same sentence again, only with a doubled contract price. And if he’s able to make a living as a crafter, he won’t be so dependent on Markus’ mercy.

  “Then perhaps you should go down that route. We saw this morning that there are lots of carpenters here in Whalehost – you could approach one of the masters.”

  “Yes…but-” he bites his lip sharply. Markus eyes him questioningly.

  “But?” he prompts.

  Loran sighs and gestures around at everyone, all the beasts and humanoid lizards who are relaxing around them.

  “I don’t want to lose this.” His feelings about Markus himself might be a little complicated, though Loran is aware enough to recognise that most of that is because he had lumped the man into the same ‘master’ box as all of his previous masters and it’s hard to separate him from the emotions tied to them, despite the fact that Markus has never acted anything like his other masters. But his feelings about the man’s companions, especially those who were trapped in the basement along with Loran, are far clearer.

  He doesn’t want to go back to being alone. He has no idea if his siblings will accept him again after all of this. And even if they do…he doesn’t want to lose this.

  “Then don’t.” Markus makes it sound so simple.

  “But I have to choose one option,” Loran points out in frustration.

  The lord shrugs.

  “It’s simple. If you genuinely want to stay with us, all we need to do is find a master carpenter for you to apprentice under who is willing to travel with us to the Lost Continent.”

  Loran makes a slightly rude noise, then realises what he’s done and darts a look at Markus. He relaxes when he sees the lord isn’t offended.

  “That’s easier said than done,” he points out, a little more diplomatically.

  Markus raises an eyebrow at him.

  “You think we don’t need to take at least one carpenter with us? We just need to make sure that one of them is willing to mentor you. We can do that tomorrow in between interviews with the captains.”

  Loran blinks at him. Is it really that simple?

  Apparently so.

  Markus seems to realise that he’s said enough. He drops Seal and sound fills Loran’s ears once more. Standing, he pats Loran lightly on the shoulder.

  “I’ll give you some time to think about it. It would be good to have an answer before tomorrow morning, but if you’re not sure you want to learn carpentry, consider what else you might like to learn. We’ll be heading to Azaarde the day after tomorrow, as you know, so if there’s a different craft you want to learn, we might find a master for you there. I’m already going to be doing that for the Pathwalkers.”

  Loran looks up at him, a question on his lips.

  “Why?” He hopes that Markus understands it even if he’s not sure entirely what he’s asking. Why are you making these offers? Why are you entertaining the possibilities when you don’t have any responsibility for me anymore? Why are you being so understanding?

  “While you’re part of the pack, you’re mine,” Markus answers quietly. “Mine to protect, mine to nurture, mine to heal – whether they’re physical, mental, or soul wounds.” He pats Loran’s shoulder again. “Think about it,” he suggests, then steps past Loran, flashing a grin. “I’m going to see a man about a horse.”

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  And then he’s gone.

  Loran stares after where he’s gone for a while, still feeling a little lost, but not as bad as before.

  You know, you can speak to us too, if you want, River offers. Markus isn’t the only one who can be a listening ear.

  Yes, Catch agrees. We may not be human like you both are, but we care for each other to the best of our abilities. If that is listening to you speak through your emotions so you don’t hurt yourself again, then that is what we will do.

  All of us left our world behind, Enchanter adds. I still miss my other sisters and brothers. Longing comes from her direction, echoed by the other samurans. We understand pain, even if not the exact pain you have experienced.

  And you are not the only one who struggles with your emotions from time to time, either, Bastet contributes. An intense sense of grief suddenly emanates from her. I lost almost my entire pack, once, only the cubs remaining. And one of them was killed not that long ago.

  Misery spirals from Ninja’s direction, strong enough that Loran can only reach out to her. She flinches, but Loran recognises that it isn’t because she doesn’t want to be touched, but because she fears the pain it might bring. The pain of getting close to someone only to lose them. He knows that pain far too well. Opening his own heart, he silently shares his experience of loving and losing – from his parents as a young boy to the girl he loved and had been sold away from. Ninja hesitates, and then sidles closer until she’s pressed against his side and half in his lap.

  Left father behind, chirps Noir sadly, the fact that he’s talking startling by itself. And sister. He and Ivor press close to each other, intertwining their necks and tails in a way of comforting themselves.

  I have lost cubs too, rumbles Kalanthia, unexpectedly. The nunda doesn’t come to join the group pressed close around Loran, but when he looks over he sees the pain in her golden eyes. And…. She hesitates and Loran senses her pulling up her courage. And I have escaped captivity.

  Loran’s breath catches at how much pain there is in her voice, and the sudden flood of emotions that she shoves his way. A sense of being lost, of not knowing what to do or where to turn, of betrayal by those who had had him/her in their care. The feelings are so close to his own that they blur and he can barely tell where his emotions end and hers begin.

  And then she pulls them back, retreating from the network as if she’s revealed more of herself than she wished. She even pushes herself to her feet and pads further away, moving to stand staring over the city. Loran sends her a flicker of gratitude for her sharing, then gives the giant mila her space.

  Far from feeling overwhelmed by their emotions, Loran is comforted. There’s something about knowing that he’s not the only mess that is reassuring. It allows him to start speaking, slowly at first, then faster until it’s an outpouring of emotion and words combined into a mass that should be incomprehensible, but somehow isn’t. Stories of the past two years; recollections of the pain and the fear and the desperation felt on far too many occasions. But also moments of beauty, of love, of joy, made bittersweet for the fact that they were so fleeting and surrounded by awfulness. Words he could never say to Markus, not while he’s still partly ‘master’ in Loran’s mind.

  It feels like lancing a boil – painful in the telling, but when his words run dry, he feels better. Tired, exhausted, really, but better.

  Looking towards the door for the first time in what feels like hours, he is startled to realise that Alyna and Rory are there, the metal bands around their throats glinting dully in the evening light. Dread thuds through him – how much of that did they hear? He’d been speaking mentally, but that’s hardly private when they’re part of the network. Shame joins the mix as he realises his mas- Markus probably heard it too.

  But the two other humans aren’t looking at him with pity or contempt. Instead, he feels the shared pain and understanding from Alyna, and the horror and fear from Rory.

  “Loran…I’m so sorry,” Alyna tells him, stepping forwards as if being pulled along a string. “I didn’ realise…If I’d dealt with the ward on that safe….”

  “I’d have been caught sooner or later,” Loran replies, shaking his head. “It was only a matter of time.”

  “Is…is tha’ what we have te expect?” Rory asks next, gulping and lifting a hand to his throat to tug at the collar as if it’s choking him.

  “Not from Markus,” reassures Loran. “At least, not in my experience,” he qualifies. Who knows what might happen in the future. “But from other masters?” he continues, his mouth settling into hard lines as he once more mentally touches on the different contract-holders he’d had. “Yes. And worse.”

  “Worse?” Rory almost squeaks, the sound odd coming from the big man.

  Loran just nods his head, thinking about some of the slaves he’d spoken to and the tired horror that he’d seen in their eyes – how even the most sadistic master Loran had served had seemed kind in comparison to some of their stories.

  Alyna looks less surprised – Dexil probably kept her in line with horror stories of what would happen to her if he threw her to the courts. And knowing the man, he’d backed it up with some evidence just to make sure Alyna wouldn’t think he was bluffing.

  “Looks like ye’ve made out well now though,” Alyna points out practically. “Ye gonna take that into a courthouse?” she asks, nodding at the service contract still clutched in Loran’s hand. His grip tightens, fearing irrationally that the wind might take it from him.

  “Yes,” he agrees. “We’ll be heading to Azaarde soon. I’ll do it then.” It will be a painful walk down memory lane, but at least this time he’ll be walking away a free man.

  “Probably best,” Alyna nods. “Take it back te the same courthouse where ye were sentenced. That way none can say there’s an ‘unfortunate irregularity’.” Her voice is bitter from past experience of run-ins with the law. Then her eyes flick to the door and she lowers her voice. “Got any tips fer us?” She gestures towards Loran’s bare throat. He lifts his hand to touch it, the skin extra sensitive.

  Then he drops his hand and shrugs.

  “Markus appreciates loyalty,” he offers, seeing no harm in it. “And genuine loyalty at that. If I’d helped his other companions just because I thought he might free me for it, I don’t think he would have. And with the Bond, don’t think he can’t tell the difference,” he warns. They both look a little disappointed. Loran understands, but can’t help much.

  “But…do ye think he’d…sell us?” Rory asks tentatively.

  “If you keep trying to escape, yes,” Loran tells him sharply. He’d heard what had happened while Markus was rescuing them from the basement, and he’s seen how Rory has started collecting little items he’s found around the place and tucking them in his clothes. A coin here, a chunk of bread there, a wire found in the bin…. He can read Rory’s actions well enough.

  The man whitens.

  “Ye won’ tell him, will ye?” he pleads. “I…I wasn’ even gonna…I jus’ wanted some…options.”

  “I won’t tell him,” Loran agrees, “but he might already know.” He looks pointedly around at the various beasts who are watching the conversation with interest. Rory’s hands clench and he looks briefly angry before he obviously forces it back. He swallows and goes silent.

  “So, basically, he’s gonna know whatever we do? An’ the best thing is te go along with him?” Alyna asks Loran dubiously.

  Loran shrugs again.

  “He repays loyalty with loyalty, and service with service,” he says simply, suddenly realising that he knows that to be a fact. “I don’t know what will cause him to free you – I could never have predicted it for myself. But serving him willingly and to the best of your abilities is probably a good start.”

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