Dally sang a lot louder, for the next few days, with his rough voice and off key. It got bad enough that Red asked why he was so happy, and then he looked at her and got quiet. There was no way the senator would buy her too. Or Lane, or any of the others.

“How long now?” he asked Gita, at their next meeting.

“Three months,” she said. Then, a couple of days later; “Three months, and you best not ask again. What’s the name of that female, the one with the eye?”

Dally stopped asking. After a while he stopped singing, too, going back to quietly humming along.

Back when Dally was a dumb kid, always running and touching, his mother had threatened him with stories about the great mage houses. “You quit that,’ she told him, ‘or I’ll send you to the magi.” Maybe she would pinch his arm; “You’re a skinny boy, but young meat’s the best. They eat thrall every day, those men.”

Now Dally saw it was all true. This place was eating him; eating his brain right out of his skull. Boredom. Whenever he stood around outside Lyle’s office he would whisper conversation with whoever else was posted there, until they got tired of him. Then he picked at the hem of his jacket, and tapped the hilt of the stupid saber. Maybe he tried playing the perfect round of serbat against himself, swapping rhymes back and forth in his head.

More and more, though, he stared at the walls. It got so he knew every vine in the floral wallpaper, every hairline crack in the tiles. His boot heels were getting thin on the back edge, from how much he rocked in place. He stared at the walls and waited for Lyle, with hair rising on the back of his neck. In a way that was like waiting for a fight; the sick nerves were there, and the buzz too. Lyle was the only thing that ever happened in this place. Lyle pushed drinks and good human food on him, and looked at him, and took him places.

Was this how Lane got all screwed up?

On one cloudy afternoon, Lyle came out of his office and put a hand around the back of Dally’s neck, the way you would to make a dog look at something. As if Dally wasn’t already looking. The other thrall - Tol - stared past them at the wall.

“Now,” Lyle said, quiet, “I hope you know Jona will be home today. Come and we’ll have a talk.”

Dally could only blink, and follow him. Jona was not someone Lyle talked about.

In a dark, gilded lounge, the governor made him sit. “He’s a fine young man,” he said, “my son. I’ve told you about him.”

Not true. “Yes, master.”

“You know he’s a fine boy. Fine boy. Well, but he’s been troubled. It’s ah, it’s this problem with Mariel - that’s my other son. They were very close.”

Dally glanced away. “I see.”

The ‘problem’ with Mariel that he got killed in the war. Dally shouldn’t know that, though. He bought that information with Gita’s cigarettes.

“You could say,” Lyle went on, “that Jona he idolised him. Do you know what that means? He thought he was a shining knight, you see, a mythic kind of hero. Do you understand?”

“I think so, Master.”

“Good, so. Of course he sees me the same way, you know. The way boys see their fathers. Dally - There’s whisky there, pour some for us-”

Dally did, grateful - he needed the distraction.

Lyle kept talking. “I think he needs a young, brave sort of idol, though. His mother has her claws in him - that’s why I sent him to that school. But they only teach him books, there, not character. I fear she’s already ruined him, but not beyond hope.” As soon as the drink was in his hand he gulped, winced. “That’s why I brought you here.”

Dally froze, with his glass halfway to his mouth. Lyle was just watching him, like this conversation was normal and made sense.

“Thank you, Master,” Dally guessed.

Lyle smiled. “I knew you’d understand. So. I’ll have him take you hunting, things like that. Of course I’d go, but my back-” he sighed, and reached to lay a hand on Dally’s arm. Lyle’s back was a national tragedy. “In any case a young man should learn to handle thralls. He’ll love you, of course. You’re loyal, and you have a good temperement.”

Loyal? Loyal. Damn.

This was it; this was what Dally got for ‘saving’ Lyle at that protest. Now Dally was a good thrall, like on the posters. Now he could easily replace Jona’s dead brother; being his pet and his hero at the same time. Perfect. And while Dally played out this flawless plan, he wouldn’t be getting the information he needed to keep Gita happy. This would all end with him in that back room, screaming.

Dally had kept his face blank, but his arm had tensed under Lyle’s hand. The governor frowned at him. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“I- maybe, Master. I mean, I want to do right by your boy but-” He glanced around the room, desperate. “Who’s going to protect you?”

Lyle’s mouth twitched. He squeezed Dally’s arm. “It’s just for a little while, I’ll be alright.”

The boy came that afternoon. His car had run hard to get there from the school in Savos, and you could tell. It’s armoured sides were heaving when it pulled up, and it sank on it’s belly before the doors even open. In the frozen night Dally was the only one waiting, silent, with dusk snow settling on his shoulders. He was holding a coat for Jona, one Lyle had plucked at random from the boy’s room.

Steam poured from the doors as they opened, like a breath into the freezing air. Dally crept closer, and stopped as a young human clambered out of the cabin.

Jona face was narrow but familiar, as if Lyle was whittled down to nothing. He was tall for his age and pale even for a southerner, so pale you could almost see through him. He had Gita’s green cat eyes, though, which looked strange surrounded by such soft features. Dally hadn’t been around human children, but if Jona was a thrall he would have been about fourteen.

The boy snatched the coat, like he was worried Dally would try to put it on him. “Mother told me he bought another one,” he said, acid.

Shit.

“Can’t have too many, young master.” Dally swayed awkwardly in place. “Your parents are waiting inside.”

Jona was staring at him, slow, up and down. His cat’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t look like a human at all.”

Before Dally could blink Jona swerved past him. Inside the house the boy marched straight towards Gita’s rooms, with Dally jogging to catch up. Then he turned, and shut the door in Dally’s face.

Left alone in the corridor, Dally scratched at the hilt of his saber, and moved himself awkwardly into a corner. Homunculi passed him, back and forth. Maybe Dally imagined it, but their smooth faces had a pitying kind of stare. Why? At least he wasn’t with Lyle, right?

It was dark when the humans finally came out, and Dally was slumped against the doorframe. He stumbled to attention, with Gita staring at him. She looked looked surprised to see him, Jona disgusted.

“Come along,” the boy said.

Dally turned a blank look on Gita, but she had nothing to say about that. Both of them followed.

As they walked she drifted closer, leaning to murmur under her breath; “I hope you’re not following my son around.”

Dally didn’t look at her. If he did he might let out the helpless laugh building in his throat. “It’s your husband’s idea,” he said. “You know, to make him a man? Something like that.”

“Make him a man.” It felt like her glare was burning into his cheek.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dally muttered, “he’ll give up when he sees how great it’s working.”

They reached the dining room, where the table was set and Lyle was waiting with a half-full cup of wine. He didn’t stand, just waved Jona over to him. The sullen boy sat with him, and accepted a cup of his own from a servant. While Lyle made awkward hellos Jona drained the cup, and stuck his arm out for a refill.

“Is that girl of yours still there?” Lyle asked his son, “The Unwin girl? Her father and I-”

“I wouldn’t know,” Jona said, “I stopped talking to her years ago. Besides she’s a skip, you know? Couldn’t light a candle. Dull girl.”

‘Skip’? Dally had to search his head for that one; Jona probably meant the aurum-rich blood skipped a generation with this girl. Lyle laughed like it was a dirty joke, which fit. For people who never did any magic, they cared a lot about their magic blood.

Gita was barely listening- she didn’t care about any of this. She ate behind a veil of smoke, watching her boy with a soft kind of smile. It was only when Lyle called Dally to the table that she remembered they existed.

Her smile disappeared. “Now? Tonight?”

Lyle had a hunk pork speared on a knife. He threw it down on his plate again, a clatter that rang in the sudden silence.

“Alright,” he said, “let’s have it.”

“You’re feeding your pet in front of your son. It’s disgusting-”

“He’s not a pet-”

They were talking over each other already. Dally let a low breath and rocked on his heels, until he remembered where he was. Lyle and Gita’s fights got boring fast, and this was already old. Because he hadn’t been dismissed he had to stay by Lyle’s elbow, staring at the food he wouldn’t get. His own rations tasted worse these days, less filling. Maybe with the shortages the feed company really was cutting it with sawdust, like the wards said. Or, maybe Dally really was getting spoiled-

“Here,” Jona said, sugary sweet. “Here, Dally.”

The fight slowed. As Jona’s parents watched, the boy took a carving fork and speared one of the big river trout from the center of the table. It dangled, dripping juice, until he flung it whole on the floor.

“There you go.”

Dally glanced at the fish, still good, lying on the tile, then back up. Jona looked proud, like he had just invented this game all on his own; screw with the thrall. Dally was meant to not want the fish, now, because for humans it was humiliating to eat something that touched the floor. A whole damn fish.

He snatched it up before they could tell him not to, and tore the tail end off with his teeth. Hot fat spillled over his tongue, bone crackled against his gums. It had some weird flavours, spice and salt, but mostly tasted of good meat. He took another bite as Jona laughed. Clear juice ran over his fingers. His eyes narrowed, blissful.

“Don’t-“ Lyle hesitated, and rubbed his mouth with a hand.

It wasn’t actually an order, so Dally kept chewing. Jona’s cackling was getting thinner, now, and his smile quickly fell away. By the time Dally crammed the fish head in his mouth all the humans were silent, watching him. The skull was soft from cooking, but it still took a second to crack and swallow.

They stared, Dally stared blandly back.

“Jona,” Lyle said, “apologize.”

“Father-”

“You made him eat it.”

Gita stood, smoothed out her skirt. “We’re leaving.” She held out an arm until Jona latched onto it. They marched out like that, while Lyle tried to call them back.

Safely ignored, Dally licked his teeth, and used his uniform sleeve to wipe his mouth. Three months.