Mikota still covered in filth, stood in front of the paltry fire wrapped in a drying cloth while Samanda ordered the tub emptied and refilled by several slaves.
“Back in,” Samanda ordered when the fresh water was steaming once again. “Wash the rest,” she said handing the soap to Mikota.
Mikota lathered the soap and washed herself three times. She scrubbed at years of dirt until not one bit of filth marred her creamy skin. She bit the black lines of debris from under her nails and spit them in the water.
She was clean, truly clean for the first time in her life. She refused to think about the reason for it and focused on enjoying the new sensation and eradicating every last speck of hidden dirt. Now that her secret was discovered, there was no need to ever be filthy again.
“Time to get out, ” Samanda said rising from a reclining position on the bed and walking toward the tub.
Mikota stood.
Samanda stepped toward her to drape the drying linen around Mikota’s shoulders when she gasped and stumbled backward. “NO!”
Mikota looked back quickly fully expecting to see the beast master. There was no one but a shaken Samanda.
“You’re marked!” Samanda cried, eyes wide and making warding signs with her hands.
Mikota looked down at her full breasts and flat stomach. “Marked?”
“It’s true!” Samanda accused. “You are descended from the cursed!”
Mikota grimaced and reached a stiff arm out for the drying cloth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The color of my eyes does not make me cursed.”
All her life the other slaves distanced themselves for no better reason than the color of her eyes. They whispered stories of witches and curses.
Samanda cut her off. “It’s not your eyes I’m talking about. It’s that!” Samanda pointed toward Mikota’s navel.
“There is nothing there!” Mikota said through clenched teeth looking once again at her flat stomach.
Samanda ran to the dressing table and clasped a polished silver hand mirror. “Not there,” she said holding the mirror at an angle. “There!”
Mikota looked at the reflection of the small of her back. She stiffened and jumped from the tub in one smooth motion dripping water in her wake. She ran to the full size polished mirror by the bed. She stood at an angle and looked again, hoping, praying it was just dirt.
The spit dried in her mouth and knees went weak. On the small of her back was what appeared to be a tattoo. Three interconnected diamonds each the length and width of her middle finger.
“What is it? WHAT IS IT?” She said licking her fingers and rubbing furiously at the mark.
Samanda made another warding sign with her hands. “You’re marked. You’re cursed!”
Mikota looked up into her own reflection dimly aware it was the first time ever seeing herself naked in a looking glass. Wet brown hair clung to her too white face. Purple eyes with huge gold flecked pupils stared back at her. Hysteria was a breath away. Think, her calm inner voice commanded.
Think.
Marked, she was marked. Everyone knew any child born with a mark was not permitted to live. A marked child was something the masters believed would conspire with prophecy to destroy them.
Could someone have applied this marking after birth? The slave trader would not do such a foolish thing and render her worthless. No one else would have a reason. Was it something that came with her flow? How long did she bare these marks?
She looked again. Three diamonds interlocked. What could it mean? How did it come to rest on her back?
She turned troubled eyes toward Samanda. “I need clothes.”