Inayah stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the vast array of knives spread before her. One knife in specific was double-edged and sharp enough to slice through the skin with ease. So much ease. 

“Stop lazing about.” Mathilde’s voice echoed from somewhere behind her and Inayah gripped the potato in hand. Inhaling a measured breath, she began to precariously peel the vegetable, gripping the knife handle tightly as the blade swept beneath skin. She was careful enough to cut out chunks of flesh lest Mathilde injures her again.

Then again… Inayah’s eyes flickered to the fire hearth with a cauldron set atop, two pokers pressed into the bright orange coals that glimmered with embers of heat. She licked the back of her teeth thoughtfully. 

Completing the remnants of dinner, Inayah arranged the variety of foods on a platter and as she did, her mind wandered to Lycus who was caged in the basement. With an acerbic taste in her mouth, Inayah wondered if he had eaten. She wanted to ask Mathilde if she fed him since the woman had been placed in charge of Lycus, however, from the looks of it, the prospect was unlikely. 

Inayah picked the tray and beelined out of the kitchen, falling in tandem to Mathilde’s confident strides. She gripped the tray tightly, such that her knuckles paled ghost white as the dining room came to view. She heard classical music and something similar to the violin. As she rounded the final corner, her steps faltered at the sight of Salem standing by the corner, playing his violin. 

She studied him a moment, slender pale fingers guiding the bow over strings, eyes shut as he played in the silence a melancholic song. Her gaze dropped as his opened, dutifully setting the trays down. 

“Both of you,” Salem began, “will be joining me for dinner.”

Inayah started, incredulous yet wary eyes rising briefly to Salem’s before dropping. She did not feel hungry. Mathilde’s mouth opened and shut, clearly at a loss for words for he had never invited slaves to eat at the table. This was new and unmarked territory for her. 

“Thank you, Master.” She finally managed, a small hue tainting her cheeks. 

“Thank you, Master.” Inayah echoed tonelessly and reached for a seat opposite from Mathilde. 

Salem sat as well, flattening his napkin over his lap and gesturing for them to begin. Inayah watched, hesitantly, as Mathilde reached for a plate and scooped an amount of rice then blanched vegetables. The roast had not been sliced yet, still sitting at the centre of the table and both slaves knew, perhaps out of submissive instinct, that Salem was to cut it first.

Inayah followed suit, placing a small amount of each item and a bread roll. Her mind slipped like a fish, back to Lycus still in the basement. She inhaled deeply and raised the bread to her mouth. 

“Wine?” Salem rose and plucked a bottle of aged wine, screwing the cork open before approaching them. Without waiting, he picked Inayah’s glass and filled it halfway. Her stare remained steady on her plate. She picked a dinner roll and tentatively nibbled around the edges.

“Do you prefer wine, Mathilde?” Salem inquired and she stared at him with slight wonder, perhaps in a daze over how intimate and normal he treated them both. A glow Inayah had never seen on her face suddenly shone and she seemed younger then. 

“I do, thank you.” Salem stood by Mathilde’s side while pouring her a generous amount of the drink. 

His gaze flickered to Inayah’s, catching her in an open moment of staring. Inayah hastily looked back at her plate, missing the slight quirk of his mouth. “Do either of you prefer meat?” He had picked a slicing knife and silver fork, carefully stabbing the roast before slicing into it. Each cut is thin and precise. 

Mathilde nodded, already lifting her plate to him. “Thank you.” 

Salem smiled. He placed three slices on her plate and continued. As he slices away, he speaks; “Before we eat,” the knife winks wickedly at Inayah as it cuts through white flesh, “I would like us to resolve some conflicting issues.”

Inayah tensed on her seat. Mathilde did not seem to worry.

“Inayah,” Salem gestured with his knife, “kindly rise.”

Wordlessly and after a drawn moment of hesitance, she did. 

“Lift your shirt for me.”

Inayah blinked, “What?” 

“Just halfway,” his mouth curved into a surly smile, “until the wound Mathilde inflicted on you shows.”

Inayah’s gaze fleeted to Mathilde who had frozen on her seat, the spoonful of peas hovering before her mouth. If she was nervous, Inayah could not tell. Swallowing a thick lump in her throat, she reached for the hem of her shirt and slowly lifted it to her midriff, allowing them site of the dark circular mark just below the curve of her ribcage. It had healed considerably, but the scar remained as a reminder. 

Salem's gaze lowered to her ribcage and he let out a soft 'tsk', "Tell me, Mathilde, what would warrant you to assault her in such a way?" 

Mathilde seemed at a loss of words, incredulous eyes darting between the two. Her lips parted and shut like a goldfish seeking air, "I-" she began then paused, "master she- she started it." 

"Did she?" Salem mused and the woman nodded vehemently. 

He regarded Inayah, "Did you start it?" 

"No." 

Mathilde shot to her feet only to sit back down as Salem's hand landed on her shoulder, baring her back down. "She's lying! I swear it-"

Salem's head idly angled in Inayah's direction. "Are you lying to me, Inayah?" 

Something sharp leapt in her throat, "No."

Mathilde's face grew bright red, now sputtering for the right words. She gazed pleadingly at him, "I swear I would never harm her unless she threatened to harm me, and she did!" the woman shrieked, placing a hand on her now healed cheek, "she punched me."

"Did you, Inayah?"

"I did."

Salem was silent, wiping bits of flesh from the blade with a napkin. He turned the knife in his hand thoughtfully, "I see." And then he was reaching for Mathilde. 

His hand moved like a viper, swift and in a blur as neither woman could comprehend what he was doing until his hand fisted her hair and yanked her head back. Mathilde barely let out a sound of shock before the blade flashed silver across her exposed throat, from ear to ear, a perfect upward smile.

Inayah stood shocked.

Salem retracted the blade with a sigh of exasperation and began to wipe it clean again. 

Mathilde was still staring at the ceiling in shock, her hands rose to her neck which began to bleed, spilling red down her neck, between her fingers which proved futile in sealing the wound. She was gaping, stunned, trying to speak, unable to righten her head and face Inayah. 

Inayah's heart thundered in her chest, the pulsing sensation rose to her ears as she watched the woman struggle and buck like an animal before growing still. 

Salem sat and served himself a plate of roast with the same knife, he lifted the fork to his petalled mouth and took his time chewing, savoring then swallowing. His eyes opened and met Inayah's paralyzed frame; "Sit."