Shrugging, I set the mask aside. "If it does not please you, I do not require it."
He searched my expression. After a moment he took a half-step back from me and crossed his arms, and a cold sense of worry trickled down my spine. Had I upset him?
"Remember what we talked about?" he asked. "How you must say atala any time you wish me to stop? That I will not allow you to endure any punishment or pain beyond what you agree to endure?"
"Yes. I have done as you asked. I have spoken the word when I needed to."
And you have always done as you promised and relented the instant I did. Except for... in the sacred shrine...
I bit the insides of my cheeks, rebuking the thought. Alaric. That was Alaric, not Bannon, who refused to yield.
"Why do you ask, Sir?"
Bannon raised a hand in gesture to the toys and tools on the wall. "The same is true for all of these, and the acts for which they are used. I'll give you the discipline you desire. I'll work that beast inside you into submission and I'll temper your wild lusts with my own. Together we'll draw pleasure and fulfillment from the exchange. I'll even trace a knife's edge along your skin just enough to tease and torment, but there are some lengths, Sadira which are too far for me."
Pointing at the mask I'd set aside, he said, "I don't wish to suffocate you. I don't wish to crush your beautiful breasts in a vice or thrust you in an animal cage. Do you see what I mean? I may also say atala."
I blinked. "Oh. I... yes, Sir, I do see."
Turning to face the display of tools, I touched a finger to my lips. "Traditionally, a Master and his slave may forge agreements regarding such details. Acts which are desired, and those which are refused."
"Yes." He smiled, as though it relieved him to know I'd read of such agreements in our book of sensual mastery. "I assume Alaric did not bother?"
"He didn't." I reached up and selected a large, smoothly carved implement resembling a hook. "If he had, though, I can think of plenty acts I'd have refused. I did not enjoy everything he did."
Bannon's tone softened. "Will you tell me what?"
I returned the hook to its place—I had no intention whatsoever of taking it with us—and picked up an obscenely oversized bronze phallus, another plaything I'd come to despise. A painful tightness coiled in my chest.
Bannon waited for my reply without prodding me. Once I'd tossed the phallus disdainfully to the floor, I took a deep breath.
"Trading me to the others. Like a... like a tool to be borrowed, used, and returned. Allowing them to be master over me when I wanted nothing to do with them."
I hated discussing Alaric's practice of giving me to his followers. It made my skin crawl, and a nauseating shame brewed in my gut. Bannon knew by now, of course, but even so, I couldn't shake off my disgust and disgrace.
"Please do not ever do that to me," I whispered, avoiding his gaze. "Please."
Bannon touched my shoulder, then drew me into an embrace.
"Never, dear heart. Put it out of your mind."
I rested my head on his chest, savoring the warmth of his body despite the muggy desert heat. After a moment of quiet intimacy, I straightened, stepping out of his arms, and offered him a smile.
"I never liked the mask, either."
The hour neared noon, and Bannon had already made clear his intention to leave the castle before the sun hit its apex. Together we selected a small collection of playthings—only those I found irreplaceable and to which Bannon did not object—before tucking them away in the crate along with the furs and the mirror I'd claimed.
Everything I want to keep, relegated to one single crate. I smoothed the last of the blankets over the top of my new belongings. Everything I inherited from a life of slavery.
Of course, I'd never imagined I'd inherit anything at all in my whole life.
Bannon settled the lid over the crate and one of the workers came in to seal it with nails. He and Bannon hoisted it up between them and carried it out the doors.
I remained behind, gazing around the room.
"Time to leave you at last," I whispered, fingers brushing the base of my throat. "Everything you did to me. All the hateful evil you spread, to all of us, and everyone around you."
No answer. Had I expected one? Perhaps, even now, I did.
"Goodbye. Good riddance."
I turned my back on the master suites, on Alaric's grand bed and his shattered shrine to Akolet, on the bittersweet memories of the torture chamber and the ruined beauty of the baths. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I exited into the hall.
Then I gasped as a freezing cold passed over me like a malevolent shadow, and the heavy, iron doors to Alaric's bedchambers slammed shut of their own accord.
Chapter Three
The port city of Olyb marked the end of the desert, and the gateway to the bright, sparkling expanse of the sea. It stood at the mouth of the river delta, a teeming hub of travelers, merchants, tradesmen, and treasure hunters. Not as large as the capital city of Vashtaren—and yet, it threatened to crush me.
I'd never been to Olyb before, nor anywhere even like it. My pulse raced and my chest tightened as we rode through the busy streets. No one else seemed bothered. Beside me on the bed of the supply wagon, Ailsa, Rayyan, and two Sanraethi refugees gazed at the bright market pavilions and bustling people with interest, as calm as if they navigated such volatile seas daily. I, on the other hand, thought I'd never be able to pick through all the activity or wade through the tide of different faces and bodies all around.
Thank goodness I'm up here. I gripped the wooden bench beneath me until my knuckles ached. Most of Bannon's soldiers flanked the wagon on foot; if it had been my turn on the ground, I'd surely get lost in the mania. Underneath the cloak I wore to stave off sunburn, a nervous shiver traveled through my limbs.
What is wrong with you? You lived in the capital of the Cursed Sands! These streets are no different than those of Vashtaren!
They were, though. Vashtaren had been a royal city with cobbled streets, buildings erected from the same ochre yellow sandstone, and pale, sharp-eyed loyalists living tidy, ordered lives under the custom of the Khan dynasty. Olyb had never belonged to Alaric's family, and the Vash people here were easily outnumbered by other desert natives, not to mention foreign visitors and pirates.
No carefully cobbled streets here. The boots of the soldiers and the hooves of the horses leading our wagon beat up a red cloud of dust from the unpaved road. Soaring banners bearing wild colors flapped in the wind overhead, and the cries of merchants, like cawing birds, filled the air. The whole city seemed in a state of constant, winding, undulating movement. It made my chest grow tight.
"Aren't you a soldier?" one of the Sanraethi asked when he noticed me rubbing the heel of my hand against my chest. "Were you never sent onto a battlefield? Far more chaotic than this."
"I served as bodyguard," I replied, staring out over the crowd. I had a feeling I'd said it too softly for the man to hear, but Rayyan spoke up for me.
"It's different," he said. "Except for the final days of the war, Sadira remained at Lord Khan's side to protect him personally. He rarely ventured far from the capital city, except to cull more harem girls and slaves. He'd never bring Sadira to any port or trade hub like this."
"His enemies would have far too strong an advantage," I murmured. A long, undulating banner of bright sky blue stretched across one of the side streets we passed, and I quirked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar language written across it.
The Sanraethi man gave a soft, curious huff, but said no more. I caught sight of a young woman standing before a market display of fruit and flowers, leaning forward to pick ruby red pomegranates from a basket.
"Oh, pomegranates." Rayyan put a hand to his heart and turned his eyes heavenward. "It's been ages since I had one. Do you want to come with me to select some before we reach the docks?"
I faced him, frowning. "There are so many people."
"It won't be bad. I'll be right there with
you."
At that moment, the wagon came to a stop, and from his place atop the buckboard, Bannon called down to exchange words with a person on the street.
"Come on." Rayyan took me by the arm. "It won't take long."
"You're safe to go," Ailsa put in. "I'll let the captain know. Just report straight to the docks when you're done."
I threw a glance up to where Bannon sat. His back was to me as he and the driver of the wagon conversed with whomever we'd paused for. I hated to go without his express permission, but Ailsa waved me along.
"You don't need his approval for every little thing," the healer told me.
My first instinct told me to argue. Bannon himself had said as much before, though, hadn't he?
You're only clinging because the crowds frighten you, said some unfamiliar and serene part of my brain. But your Master wishes you to face your anxieties, and grow, silly face.
I blinked. Silly face? Why did that phrase slip so easily into my mind?
Rayyan tugged on my arm again, and I relented. Together we slid down from the bed of the wagon to the dirt road, and Rayyan led the way into the crowd.
The smells of frying seafood, sweaty bodies, and exotic perfumes pelted me from every side. A scrappy dog bounded past and gave a bright, happy bark as Rayyan paused to pat its head. A man perusing a cart of wares bumped into me and muttered a soft apology without even looking up. I had just enough time to be grateful no one could see my telltale piercings and tattoos underneath my cloak when a flash of gorgeous sapphire color caught my eye.
I came to a halt, jerking Rayyan back. Rayyan spun, startled by the abrupt stop, and I took hold of his wrist to pull him toward an open shop display.
Spread out on a shelf below the store window lay a dozen folded bolts of cloth, in an array of rich gemstone hues. I ran my hand over a smooth cotton length, finding it light and cool, gliding through my fingertips like water.
"These are beautiful." Folding and replacing the first, I turned my attention to one of striking gold and orange hues which darkened to deep, midnight blue at one end. "I've never seen such lovely sari before."
The dressmaker smiled her thanks. She'd been arranging one of the bright, draping dresses over a young customer on the other side of the window and returned to her work without saying anything, but a young, skinny boy who appeared to be her helper rose from his seat and approached. When he peeked underneath the hood of my cloak, though, he blinked with surprise.
"You aren't one of the river or desert tribes. I've never seen eyes your color before."
"She was one of the captive people under the rule of the Khan dynasty," Rayyan replied before I could. He squared himself beside me, his expression careful. The dressmaker and the boy both resembled Alaric's people, pale and sylvan, with dark eyes and fine features. They could easily be loyalists.
Neither one appeared bothered, though, and the boy—after a poorly-disguised attempt to get a better look at the tattoos on my face—held out his hand to me.
"Oh, I'm sorry." I quickly re-folded the cloth and returned it to its place on the table. "I can't buy anything. I just saw how bright and fine the dresses were and came over for a closer look. I shouldn't have touched it."
I thought I might anger the dressmaker, but the woman's smile remained. Finishing the final wrap of the sari over the shoulder of her customer, she called the boy to finish the sale and took his place at the window instead.
"You really are a foreigner, aren't you?" the woman marveled as she tilted her head to get a look under my hood. "I thought you might be one of the red-haired Sanraethi we've seen in town lately, but you don't look like them either. Where do you come from?"
A prickle of unease crept over my shoulders. I shied away, taking Rayyan's hand, when a tall figure moved close beside me. Bannon.
"I thought the two of you were off to claim some pomegranates." He rested a hand on my back and scanned the table of bright saris before us. He offered a genial tip of the head to the dressmaker, who returned it.
"I apologize, but I'm afraid I have to cut the shopping trip short. My soldiers are needed at the docks."
"Ah." Rayyan rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sorry, Captain. We'll go there now."
"Go on, then." Bannon waved us along. "I have supplies to procure. If you move quickly enough, maybe I'll buy those pomegranates you were after, and they'll find their way into your pack."
"It was very nice to have met you, foreigner," the dressmaker told me. Her smile widened, eyes sparkling. "Thank you for your compliment on my sari. I'm sorry you weren't able to purchase one."
I nodded and muttered a soft thanks of my own. As we turned away, Rayyan put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a tiny squeeze.
"Strange, isn't it? To have someone speak to you, even be kind to you, never knowing who you used to be?"
He wore a bittersweet grin. I put back my hood and scratched my head as we made our way to the docks together.
Mara had begun assigning tasks by the time we arrived. As Rayyan and I reported back to our wagon, the lieutenant pointed to a set of large crates already unloaded and set to one side of the dock.
"Those are too heavy to carry up the planks," she explained. "So, you two work with the deck crew to hoist them aboard by rope and pulley."
I marveled at the enormous ship before us. The gleaming flanks rose almost straight up, the slender curve of the hull almost too subtle to be noticed, making it resemble a floating fortress more than the sloping, canoe-like fishing ships I'd seen in the river colonies. Dozens of long oars angled down from an open gallery along its sides, and from my place on the dock I could just make out what seemed to be a large tower atop the deck, where a pair of Sanraethi archers stood chatting, their bows set carefully to one side. The rear of the ship swooped high into a curl like a fish's tail.
Eye of Akolet!
I had to take a step back to get a clear view of the prow, which seemed to hunch low and solid over the water. A long, jutting promontory thrust forward across the surface as though to cut through the waves, and a regal, gilded carving rose over it in the shape of a massive, snarling draconian beast.
"Sadira?"
Mara tapped her foot, one eyebrow raised. I collected myself and turned my attention to the deck above, where a crew I didn't recognize—the sailors of the ship, no doubt—assembled a pulley. Rayyan had already moved down the dock to the crates we were meant to move.
With a quick salute to Mara, I hurried to my work.
Rope nets had been laid aside in a pile for us, and Rayyan spread the first one out flat before the crates. Together we lifted the first of our cargo over the net and set it down, then wrapped the ropes over it and tied them at the top. Rayyan showed me how to secure the net with a strong workman's knot before the deck crew swung their pulley over the side of the boat and lowered a thick steel hook. I attached it to the net, and the crate was hoisted into the air.
Rayyan dusted off his hands and gazed at our work with pride. "Right. Just like that."
Not so long ago, he'd asked me if I'd ever worked with my hands and done good, physical, invigorating labor. Trained as a bodyguard and consort, of course, I hadn't, and I hadn't expected my friend—also a consort most of his life—to have done any, either. He took to it easily, though, and it gave him an obvious pleasure. I smiled at him and followed his lead as we moved on to the next crate.
"We're lucky," he told me as we worked. "One of the ship's crew said they've been loading cargo for days. On a ship this big, they've probably stored thousands of pounds of food and livestock. And look, they're loading horses down at the end of the dock. There's a whole stable on board. And we've got just these last few supply crates to manage."
The briny smell of the sea invigorated us, and the buzz of activity from the market and the city streets now seemed far away. They no longer suffocated me. Perhaps, out on the dock, I'd managed enough distance to appreciate the pleasant energy without drowning in all the noise.
Fro
m here the sound of the criers and the merchants is actually pleasant. Pausing between crates, I put my hands to my lower back and arched, basking in the warmth of the sun. I can smell the spices and cooking meats from here... I didn't realize I was so hungry.
"Sadira." Rayyan tapped my shoulder, interrupting my thoughts. "You've got an admirer."
I glanced back and forth, but no one had approached us. Then Rayyan pointed down. There, by my feet, a small, skinny gray feline crouched, staring up at me with wide, soft green eyes.
"A caracal?"
As I met its gaze, the creature brightened and came to its feet, tail standing straight in the air. Most caracals had a tawny, auburn coat, but this one—just a cub—had shabby fur like old pewter. Like others of its species, though, it had large, pronounced ears with long, sleek, dark tufts. It wound around my ankles with a high, raspy mew.
No animal had ever shown interest in me. Not like the beautiful songbirds tamed and kept by the other consorts, or the loyal, slender black dog which had adopted one girl and followed her everywhere. Many cats had gathered in the corners and crawl spaces around the castle kitchens, and helped keep pests away, but none had ever come to me or played for my attention.
"She must be hungry." Rayyan gathered up the cat and looked it over. The mangy creature squirmed in his hands, though, working its way free to pounce onto my shoulder instead.
"But... why?" I plucked the cat up stared at it. It stared back, placid and perfectly behaved, with no hint of struggle now that it was in my arms.
Rayyan's right. She must be hungry—I can see her ribs!
"Where did she come from?" I asked. But before Rayyan could answer, the sound of an argument caught our attention.
We turned back toward the pier. A crowd of people had gathered there, arguing with a pair of female Sanraethi standing watch at the head of the pier. My heart dropped as one man stepped out from the agitated mob and stabbed a finger in my direction.
"Oh, no..." Hardly realizing I did it, I clutched the cat to my chest.
Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2) Page 3
