When he'd become human in the first place, he'd promised himself he'd never mention it. Samandriel couldn't bear the thought of what any master might think of a slave who had once been so much more than he was now.
There was something about Mitchell, something kind and caring despite his superiority. A slave's job was to please and tend to his Master, but for the short while Samandriel had known Mitchell, it seemed to be much the other way around. Like when he'd met the other man earlier, Samandriel thought very keenly that his dear elder brother set over silence wanted him to remember how to sing. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture Duma looking kind and patient at him. Safe. Mitchell felt safe and worth trusting.
"Only Heaven could do this to me," he said softly and then found his courage somewhere amidst the flutter of fear in him. "Samandriel was the name of the angel of vivid Imagination, of creativity, and one of many set over fertility. Except now my papers say my name is Alfie and I'm nothing more than human."