Estienne did not let go, but pushed down, forcing the knife in, blade and hilt both, until only the decorative tassel on the end still protruded, dripping blood.

Akan’s breath rattled in his lungs as he died. Screams rang in Estienne's ears, and he heard the orders for kill him, the guards already moving to seize him. A blade stung his throat, and he dropped and rolled, off the dais to the floor below, on his feet like a cat before hands could seize him.

More screams rang in his ears, and then a barked order. 

The court fell silent. 

'Stop!' The order came again, this time in Estienne’s own tongue. He looked up, then made to rise from his crouch. A soft-booted foot pressed against his chest and pushed him back.

He stared into eyes like forest pools.

The woman glared back. 'I own this man,' she reminded the court in a ringing voice. 'He must face punishment in my court, not Akan nala Torrine's. This is the law.'

Estienne almost choked as she pulled him up by the chain around his neck. 'Moreover, as Akan nala Torrine has no issue or heir, then as the master of the man who killed him, his property passes to me. Guards, stand down. At once.'

'Yes, Lady Lisbata.' The guards sheathed their swords. She glared round, as if daring anybody to challenge her claim. Nobody did. Here, the law was sacred. 

She tugged on the chain. Estienne followed her from the court, the nobles melting away from their path. 

'Keep your head down,' she snapped. She yanked him forward again, and he almost stumbled. 

'Why did you buy me?' Estienne grasped the chain and pulled back. 'You made a mistake. And now I have killed Akan nala Torrine, the Lord Protector of Carene and Olene. Could there be a more heinous crime?'

'Shut up.'

He sneered. 'Perhaps I will kill you. You have not paid the price you bid for me. In the event of the death of the one who sells the slave, the buyer must pay the slave.'

‘I don't know where you think you heard that ridiculous custom but I know a load of rubbish when I hear it. I'll keep both my fifty thousand and your delectable young body, to sell or use as I wish.'

He spluttered. 'You're a brothel mistress!'

'I am…and more. I have vast estates in Mortua - and that, my lovely, is where you're going. You needn't worry; I know you by reputation, and I know you have plenty of useful skills.'

'Eighty percent, then.' He decided that boldness was the only way. 'Eighty percent, and I will serve any client you like.'

'This isn't a business arrangement.' She stopped and looked him over thoroughly, though he had no doubt she'd already done that several times. 'You are a slave. You have no bargaining power, or indeed any power, though breaking you of the habit of thinking you do will be fun, I’m sure!'

'I have my wits, and my cock, and my hands, and you wouldn't believe what I could bargain for with those!'

She snorted. 'I daresay.'

She took Estienne to her chambers, located in the guest quarters to the South of the complex, and built half into the hillside. Lord Akan had planted olive trees there, their leaves blowing silver-side to the wind that came over the sea. He had half-hoped to explore the grove, since he liked the trees. Too easily distracted, he chided himself, and heard his stepfather's voice saying the same thing. The only thing the man had managed to teach his wayward stepson was how to sail. He was a master at that, and he'd taught Estienne to be one too. There was nothing either of them could not sail. 

But Estienne was flighty, and fickle. He’d never managed to settle on one venture for long, with an ache for greener pastures constantly gnawing at his soul. It wasn't as if he lacked passion; it was just that there were too many things in the world to be passionate about, and he wanted to try them all. The moment he attained something, he no longer wanted it, and was on to the next thing. He'd left a trail of devastated hearts behind in Vartjastafel, and was fast running up a tally in Cartha too. Hearts….and bodies.

He threw himself back on Lady Lisbata's bed, ripping the chain from her startled fingers. 'Get this off me.'

'Pshaw! I'd sooner unleash a devil. You are not getting your freedom, slave. Say one more word about it and I’ll sew your lips shut.'

Estienne rolled onto his stomach with a sulky huff. 'At least don't make me travel in these clothes.'

'You'd freeze to death if I did. Or be raped. Either way, I am not about to lose my investment to foolishness just yet. There're clothes in my chest: find something to fit you. I don't care if it's a gown or trews.'

'You're very open-minded for a Carthan.' He rummaged through the chest, looking for a shirt and loose trousers, and finding several of both that he liked. 'Your people usually hate people like me.'

'You mean the men who cannot decide if they should lie beneath a man, or mount a woman? I couldn't care less. In my trade, fussiness loses business, and I cater for all.'

He laughed. 'I make a lot of money, in your trade.'

He did not mention his other ventures. The less she knew about his illegitimate trade in dragonscale and contraband silk the better. He pulled on a linen shirt of a blue so deep it was almost black, and a pair of black silk trousers, high-waisted, loose and shirred, with cuffs embroidered in gold. He knew the contrast against his skin and hair would be extremely appealing, if not irresistible. He left the silver leaf in place. 

She came over and cupped his cheek with one hand, her lips pursed. 'I know a little of your stepfather,' she said, 'but nothing of the man who sired you. He must have been a character indeed. Are you much like him, do you think? Or do you take after your mother?'

'I never knew my father. He died before I was born.'

'Do you love your stepfather?'

Estienne frowned. He didn't understand her line of questioning, nor did he want to indulge her with answers.

She patted his cheek. 'It doesn't matter. You won't be seeing him for a while. I just needed to know if I could expect his ransom for you.'

Fuck. He puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. He’d known someone would be asking for a ransom for him at some point. His parents did not know what he did in Cartha, other than 'trade'. They were wise enough not to press him on the issue, and other than making sure he paid the appropriate taxes to Silverheim, the King said nothing about it either. 

Lisbata was busy ordering her servants to pack up her things and take them to the baggage carts and from there to the port. Estienne watched the activity with interest, and accepted a platter of olives and cheese and cured meats. He was pleased to see that his new mistress clearly did not mean to starve him. He gulped the wine a servant girl offered him.

The glass was removed from his hand almost as soon as it was put there, and wine spilled down his chin. 'Come on. I want to be away on the next tide. We have a treasure hunt to go on – would you like that, Lord Estienne?’

'Thought you'd claimed this island as yours?' He eyed the wine wistfully, ignoring her odd question.

'I have. I'm leaving my seneschal to deal with the niceties.' She gave him an appraising look. 'Don't worry: tradition is stronger than any sense of outrage in these island folk. My claim won't be challenged. My claim to you might be, however, so if you're not too tired, you poor boy...move!'

Her sharp bark galvanised him into action before he could stop himself. The moment he was on his feet she wrapped the end of his chain around her hand and pulled him from the room with her. 

He cast a regretful glance at the olive grove, blowing silver-green in the salt sea breeze on the hill, and vowed to himself that he’d be back one day – and the island, and all its secrets, would be his.