A Tour of Silverport

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I flopped onto my back on the stone floor of the dragonkeep, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. "I'm sooooo bored," I announced to no one in particular.

Sapphyra lifted her head from her egg just long enough to give me an unimpressed look before returning to her maternal duties.

"I know, I know," I sighed dramatically. "At least you have something to do. You get to watch your egg. Me? I've already cleaned the entire keep twice, organized Master's weapons collection three times, and rearranged the kitchen stores by color, size, AND taste."

The dragon huffed, a small puff of smoke curling from her nostrils.

"Master's been gone three whole days," I continued, rolling onto my stomach to face her. "And he said it could be up to two weeks! What am I supposed to do with myself for that long?"

I understood why I couldn't go with him, of course. Vasilis was an assassin, and his current contract had taken him far to the north. And, while I was a well-trained slave, watching someone get killed wasn't exactly my idea of a good time. Plus, I always felt terrible for the victim's family and friends.

Still, being left behind was absolutely mind-numbing. Sure, I had my daily tasks - keeping the keep clean, tending to the dragons - who mostly took care of themselves, by the way - preparing meals for when Master returned. But everything was already spotless, the dragons were fed and content, and I couldn't exactly cook food when he wasn't expected home anytime soon.

"Maybe I should reorganize the weapon room again?" I mused aloud. "I could sort them by shininess this time instead of size..."

Sapphyra's tail twitched in what I chose to interpret as agreement, though it was probably just annoyance at my constant chatter.

"Or I could polish all the daggers again," I continued, warming to the idea. "Though Master might notice if I change their arrangement too many times..."

The memory of his last return made me giggle. He'd taken one look at his meticulously organized weapon collection and pinched the bridge of his nose in that way he always did when I'd done something particularly... enthusiastic.

I rolled onto my back again, watching dust motes dance in the sunbeams streaming through the high windows. Four days down, potentially ten more to go. What's a bored slave girl to do?

I sat up suddenly, inspiration striking. "That's it! I'll go to the docks!"

Sapphyra lifted her head, regarding me with what could only be called draconic skepticism.

"Oh, don't give me that look," I told her, already scrambling to my feet. "Master said I could use the horses when needed, and we're running low on... um..." I did a quick mental inventory. "Salt! Yes, definitely need more salt."

The fact that our salt barrel was nearly full was beside the point. The market would have lots of other things we might need.

I hurried to my small room, trading my simple house tunic for proper traveling clothes - sturdy leather shoes, and a fine wool tunic of blue, with a woven design in the hem.

The housekeeping money box sat on its shelf in the kitchen, just where Master always kept it. I counted out a few coins, carefully noting the amount in the ledger beside it. Master was very particular about keeping accurate records.

I couldn't help but feel a thrill of pride as I carefully counted out the coins, double-checking my math in the ledger. Most slaves would never be allowed anywhere near their master's money, let alone have free access to it. The trust Master showed in me made my heart almost burst with gratitude, and I was determined to never give him reason to doubt that trust. Every copper piece would be accounted for, every purchase carefully documented - just as he'd taught me. Some might see it as overly fussy bookkeeping, but to me, each neat line in the ledger was proof that I deserved this responsibility. It wasn't just about the money - it was about being worthy of the faith he placed in me.

In the stable, I found Shadow already awake and eager for exercise. The sleek black mare was one of Master's mountain-bred horses, sure-footed on the treacherous paths that led down to Valemark. Not like the massive war horses bred on the harsh plains of the Thunder Steeps, and trained to be ridden into battle - beautiful animals, but too heavy for the narrow mountain trails.

"Ready for an adventure?" I asked, scratching her favorite spot behind her ears as I slipped on her bridle.

Shadow nickered softly, nudging my shoulder with her nose as I fitted the saddle onto her back. She was always gentler with me than with Master, though I'd never tell him that.

I gave Sapphyra a little wave as we passed the dragonkeep. "Don't worry, I'll be back before dark! Keep that egg warm!"

The great dragon just huffed another smoke ring in my direction before settling back down over her precious charge.

The morning air was crisp and clean as Shadow picked her way down the mountain path. Far below, I could see Valemark sprawled along the coast, its harbor already bustling with activity. Ships' masts swayed gently in the morning breeze, their sails furled as they waited to depart with the afternoon tide.

I couldn't help but grin as Shadow navigated a particularly tricky switchback. Finally, something interesting to do! And who knew? Maybe I'd find some real treasures in the market to surprise Master with when he returned.

I guided Shadow through the outskirts of Valemark, the bustling sounds of the city growing louder as we approached. The public stable sat just inside the city walls, a well-maintained building where travelers could safely house their mounts.

"Good morning, Master Thorn!" I called out cheerfully to the stable master as I dismounted.

The gruff older man nodded in acknowledgment. "Trinket. Your master's not with you today?"

"No, he's away on business." I handed over Shadow's reins and a few copper pieces. "She'll need water and a good brush, please."

"Aye, I'll take good care of her." He patted Shadow's neck. "You know where to find her when you're ready to head back up the mountain."

I made my way down to the docks, weaving through the morning crowd. The salty breeze carried the familiar scents of tar, fish, and sea air. A large merchant vessel dominated the nearest pier, its crew busy loading cargo for the journey.

Box after box disappeared into the ship's hold - spices from the eastern lands, bolts of fine cloth, barrels of wine, and crates marked with merchant seals I didn't recognize. The loading proceeded with practiced efficiency, each item carefully secured in its proper place.

The clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones drew my attention. Three ornate carriages pulled up near the gangplank, their matched pairs of horses gleaming with good care. The first carriage door opened, and a distinguished-looking man stepped out, his clothing rich but understated. No flashy noble's silks for him - this was clearly someone who wielded real power rather than just displaying it.

More passengers emerged from the other carriages - men and women in similar attire, their bearing suggesting importance without ostentation. Diplomats, perhaps, or high-ranking government officials. Their clothes and manner spoke of authority and influence, though they wore no noble crests or formal regalia.

A small group of slaves followed, carrying various bags and cases. Unlike the rough-dressed dock workers or plainly attired house slaves, these slaves wore fine tunics of deep blues and greens. Their clothing and grooming marked them as belonging to wealthy, powerful owners who wanted their status reflected in their slaves' appearance.

I watched with interest as one of the slaves, a young man with carefully styled brown hair, organized the luggage with quiet efficiency. He directed the others with subtle gestures, ensuring everything was arranged to his masters' satisfaction without drawing attention to himself.

The efficiency of their movements fascinated me - no wasted motion, no unnecessary words. These were clearly highly trained personal servants, probably born to slavery and educated from childhood to serve the elite. Very different from my own rather unconventional path to my current position.

I watched as the well-dressed passengers began filing up the gangplank, their personal slaves following at a respectful distance with the luggage. A deliciously mischievous idea popped into my head.

My eyes tracked the last slave in line - that efficient brown-haired young man - as he stepped onto the gangplank. In my fine blue tunic, I looked just like them. I moved like them. No one on the ship knew I didn't belong there.

My heart started beating faster. I could just... walk on.

Master would be furious. Well, exasperated at least. But he was gone for potentially two more weeks, and I was so desperately bored. And really, what was the worst that could happen? They'd tell me to leave? I'd just bat my eyelashes and apologize for the confusion.

The brown-haired slave was halfway up the gangplank now. It was now or never.

The decision crystallized in an instant. I smoothed my fine blue tunic, took a breath, and fell into step behind him. My heart hammered with excitement as I ascended the gangplank, but I kept my expression carefully neutral and focused - just like all the other well-trained personal slaves.

I spotted some bags still sitting on deck and immediately sprang into action. Picking up two of the leather cases, I followed the other slaves below deck to the passenger cabins. The narrow corridor buzzed with activity as slaves arranged luggage and prepared cabins for their masters.

"These go in Cabin Three," the brown-haired slave who'd been directing earlier called out. He barely glanced at me as I nodded and carried my burden to the indicated door.

Inside the cabin, I carefully placed the bags where they wouldn't slide during the journey, just as I'd seen the other slaves doing. The familiar motions of tidying and arranging came naturally - after all, service was service, whether in a mountain keep or on a river ship.

I slipped away from the cabin as soon as I could, my pulse quickening. The narrow corridor was still bustling with slaves and their tasks, but I couldn't linger. Down here in the close quarters, it would only be a matter of time before someone asked which master I belonged to, or worse - tried to give me specific instructions for a passenger I'd never met.

"You there!"

My heart jumped into my throat. I turned to see the brown-haired slave gesturing at me with an armload of linens. "Take these to Cabin Five, would you?"

"Of course," I said smoothly, accepting the linens and hurrying in the direction he'd indicated. I deposited them quickly on the cabin's bed, then made my escape.

The stairs to the upper deck seemed impossibly far away. I kept my pace measured and purposeful - rushing would draw attention - but every instinct screamed at me to run. Another slave brushed past me carrying water pitchers. The ship's steward emerged from a cabin, studying a list in his hands.

Finally, I reached the stairs. Cool fresh air hit my face as I emerged onto the deck.

I'd made it. The deck buzzed with activity as sailors prepared to cast off. Thick hemp ropes were being untied from the dock cleats, and the gangplank had already been withdrawn.

I found a quiet spot near the stern, out of the way of the busy crew. The dock slowly began to recede as the ship pulled away. A light breeze filled the sails, and soon we were gliding smoothly downriver. Valemark's buildings grew smaller behind us, the bustling port becoming a colorful blur of activity.

The breeze carried the mingled scents of river water and tar, along with something that made my stomach growl - fresh bread baking. Following my nose, I found my way to the galley. The small kitchen space was warm and steamy, dominated by a large wood-burning stove. A burly man with graying hair stood at a worktable, aggressively kneading a mass of dough.

"Need any help, Master?" I offered cheerfully, bouncing on my toes.

He looked up, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. "Shouldn't you be down below with that fancy lot?"

"Oh, well..." I scrunched up my face in a grimace. "One of the mistresses gets terribly seasick."

"So?" He continued pounding the dough, clearly unimpressed.

"I'm a sympathetic vomiter," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say no more!" He held up his flour-covered hands, eyes wide with understanding. " Here-" He thrust a pile of vegetables at me. "Make yourself useful. Dice these for the stew."

"Yes, Master!" I grabbed a knife from the rack, grinning as I set to work with the same cheerful efficiency I brought to all my tasks. This was turning out to be much more entertaining than reorganizing Master's weapons again!

I wiped my hands on my tunic, satisfied with a morning's work well spent. The galley smelled amazing - fresh bread, hearty stew, and the lingering aroma of the pies I'd helped Master Cook prepare for the fancy passengers' lunch.

"You're a good worker, girl," Master Cook said gruffly, stirring the huge pot of stew one final time. "Here." He handed me a bowl filled with chunks of tender meat and vegetables swimming in rich broth, along with a thick slice of crusty bread still warm from the oven.

"Thank you, Master," I said gratefully. I settled onto a crate in the corner, savoring every bite. The meat was perfectly tender, and the broth had that deep flavor that only comes from hours of slow cooking. The bread was heaven - crusty on the outside, soft and pillowy inside, perfect for soaking up the last drops of stew.

After helping clean up the lunch dishes, I'd wandered up on deck where First Mate Davies put me to work coiling ropes. He showed me the proper technique - how to loop the heavy hemp in even circles so it would play out smoothly when needed.

"Not bad for a fancy house slave," he'd commented, inspecting my work.

I'd grinned at him. "Oh, I'm full of surprises!"

Next came helping the cabin boy scrub the deck, then assisting the quartermaster with organizing supplies. Everyone seemed happy for the extra pair of hands, and I was just pleased to be useful.

The sun had moved well past its zenith when I heard increased activity from the passenger cabins. Voices raised in command, the shuffle of feet, bags being moved - clearly the official party was preparing to disembark.

I hovered discreetly beside a stack of crates, watching as the well-dressed passengers emerged from their cabins. Their personal slaves trailed behind, carrying bags and document cases. Through snippets of overheard conversation during my time helping in the galley, I'd learned these were diplomats heading to Silverport for important negotiations.

The brown-haired slave I'd noticed earlier hurried past with an armload of scrolls. His expression was focused as he carefully arranged everything in a leather satchel, treating each scroll as if it were made of delicate glass.

"The Silverport council won't be easily swayed," another diplomat commented as she paused near the railing. "They've grown comfortable with their monopoly on sea trade."

"That's precisely why we need this agreement," her companion responded. "A formal alliance between our cities would benefit everyone - better protection for the caravans, regulated tariffs, shared access to both river and sea routes..."

The negotiations sounded complicated - far above the concerns of a simple slave girl. Still, I couldn't help but be fascinated by all the intrigue and politics. It was like a grand game of strategy, with trade routes and treaties instead of pieces on a board.

I held back, watching carefully as the personal slaves gathered their masters' belongings. The brown-haired slave who'd been so efficient earlier was the last to step onto the gangplank. Perfect timing.

I smoothed my fine blue tunic one last time and fell into step behind him, matching his careful, measured pace. The welcoming party from Silverport waited at the bottom - several well-dressed officials and their own complement of personal slaves.

My heart fluttered with excitement, but I kept my expression neutral and focused, just as I'd observed the other personal slaves doing. Head slightly bowed, eyes lowered respectfully, moving with quiet purpose - I'd watched them closely enough during the journey to mimic their manner perfectly.

The gangplank creaked softly under our feet as we descended. I could hear snippets of formal greetings being exchanged between the diplomats and their Silverport hosts, but I kept my attention focused on following the slave in front of me.

My leather shoes touched the wooden dock, and just like that, I was part of the group being welcomed to Silverport. None of the officials gave me a second glance - why would they? I looked exactly like what they expected to see: another well-dressed personal slave carrying out my duties.

I followed the group as they moved away from the docks, maintaining my position near the back of the party where the other personal slaves walked. The bustling sounds of the port faded behind us as we made our way toward the more affluent part of the city.

I couldn't help but feel rather pleased with myself as our party wound through Silverport's streets. The local officials proved to be excellent tour guides, pointing out important landmarks and explaining the city's history. I kept my expression properly neutral, but inside I was fascinated by everything we passed.

"And here is our famous Temple of the Moon," one official announced, gesturing to an elegant structure of white marble. "Built over three centuries ago..."

I listened intently while maintaining my position among the other personal slaves. The Valemark diplomats' household staff assumed I belonged to the Silverport group, while the local slaves naturally thought I was part of the visiting retinue. This was working out perfectly!

We passed through the merchant district, where shops displayed exotic goods from across the kingdoms. The spice merchants' stalls filled the air with enticing aromas, while jewelry makers showed off intricate pieces that caught the sunlight.

After what seemed like hours of walking, we finally arrived at an impressive building near the city center. The entrance hall featured soaring ceilings and polished stone floors that clicked satisfyingly under our shoes.

The officials led us into a formal meeting room dominated by a massive wooden table. Plush chairs lined both sides, with an especially ornate seat at the head. Tall windows let in plenty of natural light, while detailed tapestries decorated the walls.

Along one wall, several smaller tables had been set up with an array of refreshments - decanters of wine, plates of delicate pastries, and various fruits and cheeses.

As the free people took their seats around the main table, I smoothly fell into step with the other slaves heading toward the refreshment tables. We worked together efficiently, filling glasses with wine and arranging small plates of carefully selected delicacies.

I watched the other slaves, copying their precise movements as they served their masters. When in doubt, I simply mirrored whatever the brown-haired slave with the scrolls did - he clearly knew exactly what was expected in these formal situations.

I scanned the gathered dignitaries, noting who had personal slaves attending them and who did not. My attention was drawn to an elegant lady seated near the center of the table. Her deep burgundy dress and subtle but expensive jewelry marked her as someone of importance, yet she had no slave hovering behind her chair.

Perfect.

I glided over to her side, positioning myself just behind her left shoulder - close enough to be attentive but not so near as to be intrusive. When her wine glass dropped below half-full, I smoothly refilled it from the crystal decanter.

"Thank you," she murmured, her accent marking her as from one of the northern cities. Her smile was genuine as she glanced up at me.

I dipped into a small curtsy. "My pleasure, Mistress."

When the cheese plate was passed, I noticed she favored the sharp white variety from the mountain regions. Making a mental note, I slipped away to the refreshment table and arranged a small plate with extra pieces of her preferred cheese, along with a selection of fresh grapes and thin wafers.

"Mistress?" I presented the plate with another small curtsy. "I noticed you enjoyed this particular cheese."

Her eyes lit up. "How thoughtful! Yes, it reminds me of home." She selected a piece, then paused. "I don't believe I've seen you before at these functions?"

"No, Mistress." I kept my eyes appropriately lowered. "I hope my service is satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory," she assured me, patting my hand. "Silverport's household staff is always exceptional. Please, stay close - I find these meetings can drag on terribly, and it's lovely to have such attentive service."

I resumed my position behind her chair, suppressing a grin. Sometimes the best place to hide was in plain sight, being exactly what people expected to see.

Throughout the afternoon, I anticipated her needs before she could voice them - fresh water when the wine ran low, a light shawl when the breeze from the open windows grew cool, another plate of carefully selected refreshments when the first was empty.

"The bandit raids along the river route have increased threefold this quarter," one of the Silverport officials was saying as I refilled his water glass. "Our merchants are demanding better protection."

A Valemark diplomat nodded grimly. "Which is precisely why we need this agreement. Neither city can patrol the entire route alone." I moved silently to the next guest, carefully committing every word to memory.

"You're a treasure," the lady in burgundy commented during a brief break in the proceedings.

"You are too kind, Mistress," I murmured, dipping into another small curtsy. "I am truly honored to be permitted to serve during such important negotiations."

Her eyebrows lifted slightly at my words. "Important? Most slaves find these meetings terribly dull."

"Oh no, Mistress!" I kept my voice appropriately low, mindful of the other discussions happening around us. "The trade routes affect everyone - from the highest noble to the lowliest slave. And the Bedouin tribes..." I caught myself getting too enthusiastic and quickly moderated my tone. "Forgive me, Mistress. I speak out of turn."

She waved away my apology, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Not at all. Please, continue. You were saying about the Bedouin tribes?"

I carefully refilled her water glass before responding. ""Well, Mistress, I've heard they control much of the desert trade routes between the eastern cities. Their cooperation would be vital for any agreement to succeed - especially with the recent troubles along the river forcing more caravans into the desert." I gestured discreetly toward the scrolls spread across the table.

"My, my," she murmured, studying me with renewed interest. "You're quite well-informed for a household slave."

I lowered my eyes demurely. "One learns much by paying attention, Mistress. And these negotiations are fascinating - how the decisions made here will affect both cities, the trade routes, even the relationships with the desert tribes."

"Indeed." She selected another piece of cheese from the plate I'd prepared. "You have a remarkable grasp of the larger implications."

"Thank you, Mistress. I simply wish to serve as best I can, and understanding the context helps me anticipate needs better."

I carefully committed every detail to memory as I continued serving - the names mentioned, the specific trade routes discussed, which officials favored or opposed different proposals. Master would find all of this fascinating. As an assassin, information was his stock in trade, and he always said the best intelligence came from people who didn't realize they were sharing it.

These diplomats thought nothing of discussing sensitive matters in front of slaves serving them. After all, we were just part of the furniture - present but not noticed.

My thoughts drifted to Master's reaction when I told him about this little adventure. He would probably pinch the bridge of his nose when I told him about this little adventure, but he wouldn't truly be angry. Not when I brought him such a treasure trove of information.

I suppressed a smile as I refilled another wine glass. Master always said I had a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Though I suspect this wasn't quite what he meant!

The meeting finally adjourned as the sun began to set, and we all moved to an opulent banquet hall. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the polished wood tables, while tall windows offered glimpses of the darkening sky.

I maintained my position near the lady in burgundy as she took her seat, noting with satisfaction that she was placed in a position of honor near the head of the table. The other slaves and I moved smoothly into action, bringing out the first course - a delicate seafood soup garnished with fresh herbs.

"Would Mistress prefer white or red wine with her soup?" I murmured, gesturing to the selection of bottles I'd carefully arranged on the serving table.

"White, I think," she replied. "You've been so attentive - I don't believe I caught your name?"

"Trinket, Mistress." I poured her wine with practiced grace, then noticed several other glasses needed filling. Moving around the table, I topped off drinks and assisted the other slaves in serving the soup.

The kitchen staff had outdone themselves. Each course arrived perfectly timed - tender roasted meats, fresh vegetables prepared with exotic spices, delicate pastries filled with local seafood. I kept a careful eye on everyone's needs, refilling glasses and replacing empty plates without being asked.

"More wine, Master?" I offered to one of the Silverport officials, noting his nearly empty glass.

"Yes, thank you." He barely glanced at me as I poured, too engrossed in his conversation. "If we can secure safe passage through the Bedouin territories, the desert route becomes viable again. Far better than risking the river bandits."

His companion leaned in. "But the tribal leaders will want assurances. Regulated tariffs, protected waypoints..."

I moved on to the next guest, filing away every detail before I circled back to the burgundy-clad mistress, ensuring she had everything she needed.

"The chef has prepared a special desert wine to accompany the final course, Mistress. Would you care to try it?"

"That sounds lovely." She smiled warmly at me. "You truly are exceptional at your duties."

"You honor me, Mistress." I curtsied before heading to the kitchen to help bring out dessert - an elaborate creation of thin pastry layers filled with sweet cream and topped with local berries.

The evening continued in a pleasant blur of serving, pouring, and anticipating needs. I found myself enjoying the rhythm of it all - the quiet efficiency of working alongside the other slaves, the satisfaction of providing perfect service, the snippets of interesting conversation I overheard as I moved around the table, storing it all up to recount to my Master on his return.

As the last of the free people filed out of the banquet hall, I lingered behind with the other slaves who were beginning to clear the tables. The massive crystal chandeliers still sparkled overhead, but the warmth of the gathering had faded, leaving only the daunting task of cleanup ahead.

I made my way down to the kitchens, following the clatter of dishes and the murmur of tired voices. The space was alive with activity - slaves bustling about with stacks of plates, others already elbow-deep in soapy water at the washing stations.

"Here, let me help with those," I offered, reaching for a precariously balanced tower of plates from a younger slave who looked ready to drop them.

"Thanks," she breathed in relief. "I'm not used to handling the fancy dinnerware yet."

I carefully added the plates to one of the washing stations. "Neither was I, at first. But you'll get the hang of it."

An older woman with graying hair tied back in a neat bun approached me, wiping her hands on her apron. "I don't recognize you, girl. Who are you?"

"I'm Trinket," I replied cheerfully, already pulling on an apron over my fine tunic as I began to tackle the mountain of dishes. "I'm one of the slaves from Valemark. The free have all retired for the evening, and I have instructions to make myself useful."

Which was absolutely true - Master Vasilis had drilled that into me from day one. 'Make yourself useful, Trinket.' It was practically his motto for me.

"Well, we can certainly use the help," she nodded, apparently satisfied with my explanation. "These diplomatic dinners always generate more dishes than we have hands to wash them."

I grabbed a cloth and dove right in, falling into an easy rhythm with the other kitchen slaves. Wash, rinse, dry, stack - it was simple work, but satisfying in its own way. And the quiet conversation and occasional laughter made the time pass quickly.

As the kitchen finally cleared out and the last dishes were put away, I faced an interesting dilemma. I hadn't exactly thought through where I'd sleep for the night.

The Valemark slaves had their own assigned quarters, and they'd definitely notice an extra person trying to squeeze in. The Silverport household slaves would be just as quick to spot an outsider. Each group believed I belonged with the other - which had worked brilliantly all day, but now left me without an actual bed.

I couldn't exactly curl up in a corner of the kitchen. Someone would find me and ask questions. The stables? Too far from the house, and I'd freeze. A storage room? Too risky if someone needed supplies in the night.

I wandered the quiet halls, my footsteps echoing softly on the polished floors, trying to look purposeful rather than lost. The diplomatic guests had been given luxurious quarters in the east wing, with their personal slaves housed in adjacent rooms. Light still spilled from under some doors, accompanied by murmured conversations as masters and servants prepared for bed.

Think, Trinket. What would Master do? Well, Master would probably have planned this better. But failing that, he'd say to use what's available and hide in plain sight.

I noticed a linen closet at the end of the hall. Inspecting it, I found the expected stacks of linens, blankets and pillows - clearly meant for the household slaves to use when making up the guests' rooms.

Perfect.

I grabbed a couple of blankets and a pillow, then studied the hallway. Which door? The lady in burgundy had been kind to me. Plus, she was from Valemark, so if anyone saw me outside her door, they wouldn't question it.

I settled myself on the floor in the hallway between her chamber door and the next one over. It was a common enough sight in wealthy households - a slave sleeping near their master's door, ready to attend to any midnight needs. No one would question it. Even the visitors from Valemark, having seen me serving throughout the day, would assume it was an additional measure for their comfort by their Silverport hosts.

The stone floor was hard beneath me, even with the blankets for padding. I curled up on my side, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position. The hall was chilly, and I pulled the second blanket up to my chin.

Voices drifted past as other slaves moved through the corridors, finishing their evening duties. My muscles tensed each time, waiting for someone to ask what I was doing there. But none of them gave me more than a passing glance. After all, what could be more natural than a personal slave stationed outside their mistress's door?

I shifted again, trying to avoid a particularly cold spot on the floor. This definitely wasn't as comfortable as my nice, thick mattress and soft pillow back in Master's keep. But it would do for one night.

My makeshift bed might not have been luxurious, but I'd certainly slept in worse places during my years as a slave. I mean, I lived for two years in the Huntress's camp. The cots we had there weren't much more comfortable than this floor, and these blankets were warmer.

And tomorrow... well, tomorrow would bring its own adventures.

I woke early, my muscles protesting from the hard floor. By the time I'd refreshed myself and smoothed the creases in my tunic, shaking it out thoroughly so that it didn't look like I'd slept in it, the place was already bustling with activity as slaves hurried about, preparing for the day ahead.

Following the others to the kitchen, I pitched in helping serve breakfast. The spread was impressive - fresh bread still warm from the ovens, platters of eggs and meat, bowls of seasonal fruit, and pitchers of steaming coffee.

I resumed my position serving the lady in burgundy, whose name I had learned was Lady Margheurite. She was now dressed in a lovely shade of bronze with green accents, and greeted me with a warm smile. "Good morning, Trinket. I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, Mistress, thank you." I poured her coffee just the way I'd noticed she preferred it yesterday - with a splash of cream and no sugar.

The morning meeting was much shorter than yesterday's marathon session. Most of the details had already been hammered out, leaving only final arrangements to discuss. I kept the coffee flowing and made sure everyone had whatever they needed, all while committing every word to memory for Master.

As the meeting concluded, the Valemark delegation began preparing for departure. I fell in with the other slaves gathering luggage from the guest quarters, helping carry bags and boxes down to the entrance hall.

"These go to the second carriage," the brown-haired slave directed, pointing to a stack of leather cases. "And those trunks are for the first."

I grabbed two of the cases and headed outside where carriages waited to transport everyone to the docks. The morning air was crisp, carrying the tang of salt from the harbor.

"Mind the corners on that one," another slave cautioned as I lifted a particularly heavy trunk. "It's got the diplomatic seals inside."

I nodded, handling the trunk with extra care. The official documents from the negotiations were precious cargo indeed - not that anyone questioned my right to handle them. I'd become just another trusted member of the household staff in their eyes.

Back and forth we went, moving bags and boxes until everything was properly stowed in the carriages.

The lady in bronze appeared, adjusting her traveling cloak. "Ah, Trinket. Everything arranged?"

"Yes, Mistress. Your bags are in the second carriage, and I've placed a warm blanket inside for you. The morning air is quite cool near the water."

"Thank you, dear. You've been absolutely wonderful." She pressed a small coin into my palm - a generous tip for good service.

I blushed, not accustomed to tips - no one thought to tip slaves - and curtsied deeply. "You are too kind, Mistress. It has been my honor to serve."

I watched as the Mistress settled into the carriage, then fell in with the other slaves heading down to the docks. The morning bustle of Silverport swirled around us as we walked - merchants setting up their stalls, fishermen hauling in their early catches, dock workers preparing for the day's shipments.

At the docks, I joined the efficient line of slaves moving luggage from the carriages onto the ship. The air was heavy with salt and tar, mixed with the sharp scent of fresh fish from the morning's catch.

"Those go in Cabin Two," the brown-haired slave called out, pointing to a set of matching leather cases.

I grabbed the cases and made my way up the gangplank, the wooden boards creaking softly under my feet. The ship's deck was already alive with activity as sailors prepared for departure.

Once the last of the luggage was stowed, I slipped below deck and made my way to the galley. The familiar warmth and smell of baking bread greeted me before I even reached the door.

"Well, look who's back!" Master Cook's gruff voice boomed out as I entered. He was already at work kneading another batch of dough, his strong arms dusted with flour. "My favorite little helper returns!"

"Good morning, Master Cook!" I bounced on my toes, grinning at him. "Need any help with lunch preparations?"

"Always room for willing hands in my galley." He gestured toward a pile of vegetables. "Those need chopping for the morning stew. Think you can handle it?"

"Of course!" I grabbed an apron and tied it around my waist, then picked up a knife and got to work. The routine was comfortingly familiar after yesterday's session in the galley.

The sun had nearly set by the time we docked in Valemark. I'd spent most of the journey helping in the galley again, though this time I made sure to slip away before the diplomatic party disembarked. No need to push my luck by trying to maintain my charade on familiar ground!

The streets were quieting as I made my way to the public stables, though a few merchants were still closing up their shops for the night. The familiar smells of hay and horses greeted me as I approached the stable doors.

"Well, well, look who finally returns!" Master Thorn's gravelly voice called out as I entered. He emerged from one of the stalls, brushing straw from his clothes. "Shadow's been wondering where you got to."

"Has she missed me?" I asked cheerfully, heading toward her stall. The black mare nickered softly as I approached, stretching her neck over the gate to nudge my shoulder.

"Missed you? She's been the most pampered horse in my stable." He crossed his arms, fixing me with a knowing look. "Gone overnight, were you? Been up to mischief again, I'll warrant."

I couldn't help giggling as I slipped Shadow's bridle on. "Oh, Master Thorn, you wouldn't believe me if I told you!"

"Hmph. Probably best I don't know," he grumbled, though I caught the hint of a smile beneath his stern expression. "That master of yours lets you get away with far too much, if you ask me."

I just grinned as I led Shadow out of her stall. The mare seemed eager to head home, and honestly, so was I. My little adventure had been fun, but I was ready for my own bed!