Torturous Alliance

by Kristine Lichtlider

  Chapter 8

  Kate sat in her customary spot in the garden, seated on a stone bench. A thick dark orange cushion had been placed upon the hard surface, something she normally eschewed. The garden was awash in light, due in part to the clear sky and bright crescent moon hanging overhead. Dozens of torches and nearly a hundred candles made the expansive garden, if not bright at midday, at the very least more than sufficient for safety's sake.

  A serving girl stood nearby, using a long frond to fan the noble woman. The night was sultry, the air causing her fine gown to stick to her back. She had chosen a dress in muted yellow, with a more conservative bustline for her father's sake. A pattern of green ivy leaves adorned the hemline of the skirt and shoulders, matched in color by the silk sash she wore around her waist. A pair of shoes with flat heels covered her feet, resembling fancy sandals more than anything. Her toes wriggled in nervousness as she waited for the first guests to arrive.

  Dozens of chairs, as well as a long table, had been drug out to the fragrant, colorful garden. The table was laden with a fine repast of traditional harvest fare. There were fresh apples, their skin lush and green in a basket near the center. A silver bowl sat empty, waiting for a load of steaming potato mash to fill it. A large roast hoss, nearly the size of a small horse, sat glazed with honey, another servant diligently fending off a nearly constant assault by flies.

  Nearby, a troupe of minstrels tuned their instruments, their merry laughter doing little to ease her tension. Ever since she and her father had discussed his involvement with the rebellion, she had been on edge. Frequently she would awaken in the dead of night drenched in sweat, having dreamed terrible visions of the Templars bursting into their manor and putting her father to the sword.

  She forced a smile onto her painted face as her father strode into view. He had dressed in a rich burgundy doublet and matching hose. A golden hued belt gathered the hemline up to just above his knees. She noted with a bit of pride that his legs were no less muscular than a man half his age. His expression did not soften as he approached, and she swallowed hard when he stood stiffly before her.

  “What is the meaning of hanging a portrait of a heathen god?” said Mannix harshly.

  Kate blinked, then chuckled a bit.

  “You mean the tapestry of Lesk?” she said chidingly “he's not really a god, but-”

  “I am speaking of the portrait of a black cat with a harvest moon adorning his head,” he said, rudely cutting her off. “Do you wish to anger the king?”

  “That tapestry was woven by mother,” said Kate crossly.

  Mannix's eyes softened a bit, and he blew out a tired sounding sigh.

  “I know,” he said “but we are in a...delicate situation right now. Remember our family proverb; The nail that sticks out-”

  “Gets hit,” she said sadly. “Perhaps some nails were meant to jut out, Father.”

  “I have no time for philosophy,” he said, irritation creeping back into his voice “the cornucopia I had planned to put out is riddled with mold, the wine tastes like the servants boiled their undergarments in it, and now I have to find someone to take down that heretical decoration.”

  “I'm sorry if I have made things difficult for you,” said Kate, trying to sound sincere. More than a subtle hint of aggravation was in her tone, however.

  “Not as sorry as you will be,” Mannix growled. “Servant!”

  A naked maid froze mid stride, the bucket in her hands sloshing water.

  “Go and fetch Madame Letwatt,” he said “and be quick about it. My Daughter is in need of her discipline, urgently!”

  “Father, please!” Kate cried. “Madame Letwatt is too cruel!”

  “That is why I employ her,” Mannix said harshly. “Prepare yourself for her arrival.”

  Kate sniffled as she stood up and tugged her dress down. Her father glared as she stripped to her undergarments, then took them off as well.

  She turned about and put her hands on the table, lifting her ass in the air. Soon she heard the clack of Letwatt's heels on the cobblestones.

  “Do your worst, Letwatt,” Mannix said. “Show no mercy.”

  Letwatt ran her gloved hand down Kate's back, fingering her many freckles. Kate shivered as Letwatt's lips brushed the back of her neck.

  “Some people never learn,” she tsked. “Give me those hands.”

  Letwatt harshly yanked Kate's hands behind her back. Thin leather thongs soon bound them securely, but Letwatt wasn't done. She used another length of cord to bind Kate's elbows tightly together.

  Letwatt turned her about and caressed Kate's nipples. They hardened immediately, much to Kate's chagrin. Though the feeling was pleasant, she knew it was only a precursor to something far more sinister. Sure enough, Letwatt's finger suddenly twisted her soft teats into wrinkled knots.

  Kate opened her mouth to scream, and Letwatt cursed.

  “You are much too loud,” she said, taking a handful of Kate's discarded undergarments. She wadded them up and thrust them into Kate's mouth, tying them in place with one of Kate's stockings.

  Letwatt punched Kate in the belly hard enough to double her over. While she gasped in pain, Letwatt lifted her bodily into the air and laid her on her back on the table. Letwatt opened her trick bag and withdrew more thin rope, which made Kate whimper.

  Using the cord, she bound Kate's ankles to her upper thighs. Kate had little mobility, and her legs naturally spread to allow the entire garden a view of her pussy.

  “Now then,” Letwatt said. “I think fifteen lashes are good for embarrassing your father.”

  Kate relaxed. Fifteen lashes on her buttocks didn't seem so bad.

  Then Letwatt rubbed her leather riding crop across her pussy lips, and Kate cringed. She closed her eyes but it did nothing to forestall the pain as the crop cracked down across her clit.

  “Well done, Madame Letwatt,” Mannix said in approval.

  “I don't hear you counting, Lady Mannix,” Letwatt said, cracking her again with the crop. Despite the gag in her mouth, Kate managed to count intelligibly, but Letwatt feigned ignorance, smacking the leather down on her soft flesh far more than the fifteen times proscribed.

  Kate was a simpering mess when the assault finally ended. Letwatt slowly unbound her, admonishing her the whole time.

  “Now,” she said as she removed Kate's gag. “Tell your father how sorry you are.”

  “I'm sorry, father,” Kate said between sniffles. “I'm sorry.”

  Her words seemed to soften her father's anger. His eyes seemed on the verge of tears and he indicated she should dress herself.

  “No,” he said, putting his face in his palm “it's all right. If it were any other night, any other ball...”

  He turned on his heel, leaving her without saying farewell. She noted the tension in his shoulders, and fretted inwardly. Her father had always seemed like a strong man, a man capable of handling almost anything save grief. To see him flustered, as a normal man might be, shocked her more than a little. She mused to herself that part of growing to an adult was realizing that one's parents were but human beings.

  She rose smoothly to her feet, as she noted the arrival of their first guest, a minor noble from Breslin. Her smile was easier to fake now, as she did not have to stare into her father's soulful, hurting eyes. Kate would do her duty, even if her pussy throbbed in pain and her heart was breaking inside.

  Aven stood with her eyes closed, one hand in a fist suspended over her open palm. Lines of deep concentration wrinkled her brow, and a bead of sweat slid down her forehead. The fire at her back was uncomfortably warm, but she focused on gathering her innate magic rather than her physical distress. The crescent moon shone down on her, making her skin seem silvery and luminous.

  Seated before her, his hands bound before him with rawhide, was Crown. The assassin looked very uncomfortable as Aven stood stock still. Nearby, Bruno and Hector watched with eager eyes, hungry for the display of the faerie's power. Neither dared to speak, and ke
pt tight reign on their breathing so even its subtle rhythm would not disturb the maid. The only one making any noise at all was Lily, her freckled face largely concealed by a folded white cloth. Hector had gagged the slave when she wouldn't stop complaining about the ropes being tight.

  Bruno glanced at the red headed slave and grinned. Her slender arms were bound behind her with thin twine, elbows melded together and wrists crossed and tied tight. No matter how she strained her freckled fingers, she couldn't hope to reach the knots. Hector had become quite proficient at dealing with the girl. Judging from the adoration pouring from the girl's eyes, he figured the ropes were unnecessary; Lily was in love with Hector Brandywine, and would likely follow him anywhere. It happened quite a bit, especially with young slaves. Bruno wondered if Hector was Lily's first. She hadn't bled, but that didn't mean as much as most folk thought. Why, Katherine of Mannix had broken her hymen during a horseback ride when she was eleven…

  Bruno forced thoughts of the noble woman out of his mind. She had made her decision, rejecting him because of his skin color. Far better to enjoy his time with Aven. He returned his gaze to her, sensing the throb of magical energy flowing into her body.

  At last, Aven felt she had gathered sufficient power. It was an old spell she was to cast, one dating back to the ancient beginnings of her people. She remembered the day she had learned it, many, many moons ago...

  Forcing the painful, distracting memory from her mind, she opened her eyes and stared at Crown. The little man swallowed hard, as her green eyes seemed otherworldly even in her human guise.

  “Killer,” she said “you will repeat the words that I say, precisely.”

  “Of course,” said Crown, shifting a bit as Bruno put his hand on the hilt of his blade.

  “Should treachery rule my heart,” said Aven.

  “Should treachery rule my heart,” said Crown, his expression fearful.

  “Then pain shall rule my hand,” said Aven.

  “Then pain shall rule my hand,” said Crown.

  Aven focused her energy, imagining it as an orb within her belly. Spreading her hands and thrusting her arms outward as if she were tossing it, she spoke the word of power.

  “T'hrall,” she said.

  Crown blinked, unsure if he should say the last word or not. He certainly did not feel any different. A bit of hope flared up in his chest that the maid had failed to use her magic properly.

  “Is that it?” said Bruno skeptically.

  “That is it,” said Aven, sighing a bit as weariness overtook her.

  “Did it work?” said Hector, staring hard at Crown as if he could see the enchantment on his face.

  “Only one way to find out,” said Aven, cutting the man's wrists free with her wide bladed knife. She also slashed the bonds holding his ankles together. Crown rubbed his wrists and stared up inquisitively at her.

  “Well,” said Bruno “he is not leaping to his feet and attempting to throttle me. That's a start.”

  “Give him a blade,” said Aven.

  “What?” said Hector, half laughing “are you mad?”

  Bruno narrowed his eyes at Aven's missive, but nonetheless he took Crown's simple sword from his saddle pack and tossed it on the ground at the man's feet.

  Crown gingerly picked up the blade and rose to his feet. Not knowing quite else what to do, he belted it around his waist. He stared blankly at Aven.

  “Finish your mission, assassin,” she said bluntly “if you dare to try.”

  Crown turned to gaze at Bruno, who crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. The faerie had great faith in her magic. Perhaps he could get in a killing blow if he struck suddenly enough-

  Faster than a striking snake, the blade was free of its scabbard. Bruno scarcely had time to put his hand on the hilt of his sword before Crown was thrusting the tip at his unprotected throat. Before the assassin could follow thru with the attack, the sword dropped from his fingers. This was due to the sudden burst of blue flame that licked over his hand, searing his flesh and eliciting a ragged scream. Crown dropped to his knees, holding his wrist with his other hand as the fire blazed.

  A second later it was over, and the man stared in disbelief at his uninjured hand. As painful as the fire was, it was apparently not capable of doing lasting harm.

  “I'd say it was a success,” said Aven happily, collapsing to her bottom on a moss covered log.

  “Amazing!” said Hector, a delighted look in his eyes.

  “Useful,” said Bruno somberly, still uncomfortable using faerie magic.

  “The fire is burning low,” said Aven, unaware that she had stood still that long.

  “I'll gather some wood,” said Hector.

  “I'll go with the boy,” said Crown, rising to his feet. Lily looked up from where she knelt in the grass and whimpered behind her gag.

  “I don't think so,” said Bruno, his voice a guttural growl.

  “But I am helpless to raise a hand against you,” said Crown, spreading his hands. “Surely, this most recent display is enough to convince you that I am harmless as a kitten.”

  “There are many ways to wound,” said Bruno “not all involve blades.”

  “True,” said Crown with a wicked grin “there are garrotes, clubs, horseshoes...I once killed a man by gouging my thumbs into his eyes until...”

  He swallowed hard, noting the three harsh stares aimed his way.

  “I'll be silent on these matters, I think,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “Come, Gray Death,” said Hector, slapping the man on the shoulder “let us be about our business. We may have to range far and wide to find decent wood.”

  The squire looked at Bruno and grinned.

  “We may be gone for more than an hour,” he said. Lily whimpered behind her gag as he turned to depart.

  As the pair made their way into the woods, Bruno looked with concern on Aven. She appeared drained, slouching on her log seat, her eyes half lidded. The knight trod over the soft ground and sat down next to her, making the log shift a bit with his weight.

  “Are you alright?” he said.

  “I'll be fine with a night's rest,” she said, managing a weak smile. “My magic drains me more than most of my folk.”

  “Why?” said Bruno, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Because,” she said, staring away from him into the fire “I am only half faerie.”

  “What?” said Bruno, nearly sputtering. “How can such a thing be?”

  “My mother was faerie, and my father...” she turned to face him, a sad smile on her face “was a Templar.”

  “You jest,” said Bruno, chuckling. “No Templar would...”

  His voice trailed off as she gave him an incredulous look. Bruno swallowed hard.

  “That is,” he said “what was his name?”

  “I never knew him,” said Aven “their love was forbidden by my folk as well as yours. Our king put the man to death ere I was even born.”

  “And your mother was not too happy about that,” said Bruno.

  “Indeed,” she said “I had barely taken my first breath when she ended her own life.”

  Bruno reacted as if slapped. He put a hand around her shoulder, pulling her close.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “That is terrible. I...never knew my parents either.”

  “You were adopted by Lord Cromwell, if I recall,” said Aven.

  “Aye,” said Bruno “though it was guilt that motivated him. You see, he was on campaign far to the south, across the Drakken Sea-”

  “We call it the Vast Water,” said Aven “but go on.”

  “whatever one wishes to call it, he traveled many miles past Port Gar, to the land of my ancestors, the Sun People. Back in those days, the Templars were aggressively expanding the church's influence. Many of the natives were understandably resistant to the idea of giving up their heathen gods. Sir Cromwell stabbed my mother in the belly while I was still within.”

  “Horrific!” gasped Aven, s
carcely able to comprehend assaulting a woman with child.

  “It was not entirely his fault,” said Bruno “she had crept into the church to steal bread for herself, for the Drakken taxed the people greatly even then. When my...father saw her hiding behind a tapestry, he mistook her for an assassin and...ran her through.”

  “But you survived,” she said, nestling her head against his stout shoulder.

  “Aye,” he said “the blade slid past me without so much as taking a notch out of my ear. Fortunate, I suppose. Also fortunate that I was raised in the civilized north, rather than the mud huts and heretical culture of the Sun People.”

  “You should not feel so,” said Aven “from what I know of them, the Sun People are a noble race, with their hearts close to nature. Much like the faerie.”

  “I feel...traitorous,” said Bruno.

  “Because you may have to unseat the king?” said Aven, raising an eyebrow.

  “No,” he said “I feel traitorous to the Allfather. I swore an oath that I would be forever faithful, and here I am, in...involved with a faerie woman, using her magic to aid my cause...”

  Aven leaned away from him and scowled.

  “Sorry to so test your faith, oh knight,” she said stiffly.

  “I'm sorry,” said Bruno quickly “my words do not always fit my emotions. As I said, Templars are trained to be stoic, silent protectors of the church. Besides, it has been some time since I, in my heart of hearts, truly had faith in the Allfather.”

  “Why is that?” said Aven, leaning upon his shoulder once more.

  “At my Confirmation,” he said “after I had survived the Heartfire, I was told that I would feel the Allfather's love enter my heart, and my soul would sing in ecstasy. But I felt nothing, just glad to be alive.”

  “What did you do?” said Aven.

  “Being...different,” he said “means you have to put on a masquerade, at times. I fell to my knees and exulted the Allfather, as I had seen others do. The...approval of my order, of my foster father, it all felt so...wonderful. I suppose I buried my feelings deep and never cared to examine them closely since. Until I met you.”