"That would please me very much," I said. "But as it comes to assuaging my restless mind... I prefer other methods."
I hadn't realized how much I feared he might be losing interest in our arrangement, as we traveled farther away from the dark circumstances which had brought us so violently together. Bannon tilted my face to his, though, claiming my mouth with a kiss, and gave my upper arm a fierce squeeze.
"Oh, I had no intention of neglecting you in that regard," he rumbled. "For one thing, I won't have you sulking and worrying over things like sailor's superstition. So, you'll be getting a good paddling tonight, for sure."
His playful tone made me smile. A small relief cooled the heat of my anxiety.
"Now get up," he instructed, and I did, rising with him. He took me by the shoulders and looked me in the eyes, face somber.
"No more sulking."
His tone was not playful, not gentle or encouraging, not compassionate. He commanded me, and with that simple, succinct instruction he lifted the weight of the worry from my heart. I might not have any more answers about the troubling events, but at his direction, I didn't need any. He freed me from the burden of responsibility for these mysteries, and from the bottom of my heart, I gratefully obeyed.
"Very good," he told me, as though he read my mind. My expression must have told him all he needed to know. His kissed the top of my head. "Your training begins tomorrow. You'll start by serving shifts at the oars. I will inform the master of the rowers."
I twined my fingers with his and gave his hand a tiny squeeze. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."
"As for tonight, you'll be in the cabin by the time first watch is called. If I hear the page calling for watch and you are not on your knees before me, bare-bottomed and ready for your spanking, I'll double your punishment and there will be no play for the night. Understand?"
An impish thrill flickered in my chest. "Yes, Sir. I will be there as you say."
He kissed my brow. "Very good, kitten. I shall see you then."
I made it a point to return to the cabin well before my barbarian and waited for him exactly as he'd instructed. I even went a step further, excited by a flutter of inspiration. He'd instructed me to leave my bottom bare, but he'd said nothing about other attire.
I located a black-and-red corset among my meager clothing, a well-crafted and enticing piece I'd always found daring and desirous, and a pair of fine black leather boots to match. Before assuming my kneeling position, I selected the riding crop from the small collection of toys we'd brought, and as I settled onto my knees, I held it out before me in both hands like an offering.
Bannon arrived not long after, shutting the cabin door behind him.
"Very good!" he exclaimed. "What initiative. You truly know your art, my kitten."
Joy lit up inside me. "I am eager to please you, Sir."
He ordered me to rise and bend over, spreading my legs and placing my hands one over another on the footboard of the bed. The first red-hot slap of leather on my buttocks jolted me with rapturous delight. All the dread and regrets of the day sifted away as my Master delivered my absolution.
Afterward, as I slipped into the blissful gratification of surrender, Bannon put me on my knees and gave me his cock to worship. He stroked my hair and crooned sweet words as I obliged him, and we took our time in a flirtatious dance of indulgence and denial. A careful game of cock teasing, drawing out our play long past midnight and culminating in his final, forceful, overwhelming climax. He plunged his wet cock in my mouth, thrusting deep until I struggled to manage him without gagging. As he came, I swallowed, overjoyed to bring him to such a finish.
"Show me," he demanded, and I opened my mouth to let him see I'd gladly taken it all.
At last, I crawled into his arms, and he lifted me into bed, covering me with the quilts and sliding in beside me. He kissed my shoulder, my neck, my earlobe, whispering, "Good girl. Such a good girl. My beautiful and obedient harlot."
I slept easily, and no terrible dreams—no horrid sounds in the night—troubled me at all.
When I rose the next morning, my rear end still stung from our excessive, attentive round of hard spanking, and my thighs were fatigued from kneeling to serve my Master's desires. Wonderful. I always loved play so rough I still felt it for days afterward.
I dressed to report to the rower's galley and looked myself over in the small, round mirror on our cabin wall.
Why rowing? I wondered for the first time. Bannon had already risen and gone to join the morning watch, but he'd arranged for me to work at the oars for the entire morning shift—a deeply demanding physical exercise. How would it aid me in learning to fight like a Sanraethi, though?
Schala bounded straight from the floor to my shoulder, leaning into me with a heavy, vibrating purr. The sudden weight made me stumble—she might be a kitten, but caracals are not simple housecats. Still, I scratched her chin and clucked my tongue at her, pleased by her company. She'd wormed her way into my heart.
I left the room and turned down the passage which would lead me to the rower's gallery. It was accessible by our deck and the one below us, and the entrance wasn't far. Any minute I'd hear the first rumble of the drum they used to measure time, as it called the first shift to their stations.
My next turn, though, led me to an unfamiliar passageway. I stared, confused, throwing a glance back the way I'd come. Had I missed an intersection?
The narrow hall behind me looked completely unfamiliar. The lantern I'd passed just a moment ago... had it been on the left, on the inner wall? Now it hung to the side of a porthole peering out into gray morning fog.
Was the porthole even there?
I turned a slow circle. How could it be possible? I'd gone less than a dozen yards.
Was I mistaken about the direction in the first place? I thought for certain there was an entrance to the gallery on this deck. Didn't Ashe show us?
It had to be nearby. I pressed onward and took the next corner moving toward the center of the boat, listening for the sound of the drum.
Silence. I didn't even hear the voices of sailors, or the thud of boots from the open deck overhead.
I took two more turns seeking an exit, a stairwell, even a simple door to an inner cabin. By now I should have reached some sort of open cargo or staging area or run into deckhands busy with their morning tasks. The Drekakona was not a labyrinth.
I couldn't make sense of any of it.
And I was lost.
Chapter Thirteen
Focus, Sadira.
I paused to lean against the wall, closing my eyes and rubbing at my temples. Is this another dream? More tunnels to explore, looking for that dying light?
No. The smell of wood and resin, and the cool, flat, metallic scent of the early morning sea, shrouded in fog, grounded me in stark reality. The corridors were not dark, though they weren't precisely bright, either. Still, though, no beating glow beckoned me.
As though to drive the point home, Schala shifted on my shoulder, briefly gripping me with her claws before bounding down to the floor. I winced and rubbed at the place where it stung.
Come on, think.
A fearful cold came over me, and I fought the urge to shiver, forcing myself to remain calm. My stomach did a nervous flip, and goosebumps ran up my arms.
Schala wound around my ankles, purring harder. I let out a low sigh and resumed walking, and she bounded into step beside me. We wandered blindly for several moments more, until I wondered if we were even still on the Drekakona at all.
"Let's... try to go back," I said to the cat, as though she could understand me.
I turned on my heel—and found myself faced with a passage entirely different from the one I'd just passed through.
Wait. Did someone just slip around that corner?
Adrenaline shot through my veins. I scooped Schala up in my arms and strode quickly for the intersection of corridors where I'd just caught a glimpse of a person. When we turned the corner, the last flicker of a shad
ow disappeared ahead of us, around another bend.
Any last thought of reporting to the rower's gallery fled my mind. I picked up my pace, hurrying after the unseen figure, while Schala trembled, tense in my arms.
The next turn took us to a row of compartments I recognized: supply closets and cargo holds on the rear orlop.
The orlop? But I was on the middle deck! How could I have come down two whole—
Freezing in place, I caught my breath. Straight ahead of me, waiting before one of the closed doors, stood a woman.
Me?
Tall and blonde; almost regal in a Vashtaren ceremonial bodice and long, black sarong. Unmistakable, though, were the scrolling tattoos and brands and scars, a dark history on rose-honey skin.
My breath caught in my throat, and my heart nearly stopped. The figure wavered and shimmered, a smoky, ghostly shape aglow with faint silvery light. She—I—hovered before one of the doors, hand upon its brass doorknob.
The image lasted only an instant. As I let out the breath nearly bursting in my lungs, she disappeared, shivering from existence like pipe smoke snatched by the breeze.
The door...
Schala whined and struggled in my grip. I loosened my hold on her, and she slipped smoothly up to my shoulder. I approached the door, expecting the caracal to start growling or making her low, throaty complaints, but she remained silent.
The door had no marks on it. Nothing to denote any significant secrets. I lay my palm flat upon it and felt nothing strange; only smooth, old wood.
It will be locked, I told myself. My hand fell to the knob anyway, though, and when I tried it, it turned smoothly.
The door swung open.
At once, a sweet, pleasant scent greeted me, mingled with an understated whiff of dust. Medium-sized crates stood in stacks around the small, crowded room. A clean beam of morning sunlight poured in from a single porthole across from me.
Wasn't it still dark, though? Wasn't the sea still covered in fog?
I took a step into the room, searching for the source of the sweet smell. Something about it struck me with a vague familiarity. I couldn't place it, but it called up a warmth and excitement within me. An old, childlike delight.
The door swung quietly back on its hinges as I moved further in, searching for the source of the aroma. Atop one of the stacks, a crate stood with its lid askew.
"That's not right..." I lifted a hand and scratched Schala's chin. "Even if somebody had reason to pry it open, they wouldn't leave it like that. Whatever's inside could be raided by rats, or spill, or..."
Shrouds of thin muslin packing had been left unfolded and opened, revealing the contents inside. Round, red fruits the size of pomegranates, with a tantalizing, glossy skin; smaller, berry-like clusters, their color dark and shining like blood; round, mottled nuts, vaguely heart-shaped.
The sight of them, like sweet and precious jewels, made my mouth water. I plucked up one of the fruit clusters and turned it over in my hand, examining the three plump berries. I plucked one from its thin stem and popped it into my mouth. Rich, tart juice filled my mouth, and a shiver of pleasure ran through my whole body.
Cherries. The word came into my mind from somewhere deep in its hidden corners and forgotten shadows. These are cherries. Real cherries. These are—were—Seren's favorite.
I spit the cherry pit into my palm and then ate the other two. A soft moan of delight escaped me. I sat down on another stack of crates as I selected a fresh batch of cherries to nibble on.
And these are apples.
I selected one of the bigger fruits and sank my teeth into it. The apple was fresh and bursting with a refreshing, cool taste.
Schala uttered a throaty, curious mew, butting her head against my ankle before bounding up on the crate beside me. She sniffed at the fruits and pawed at the muslin packing but seemed to find nothing of interest.
As I finished the apple, wiping the juice from my lips, a flash of light drew my attention. I hadn't noticed it before, but atop one of the stacks of crates, an ornate mirror sat propped against the wall.
Alaric's mirror. The one I'd chosen to keep and wrapped in furs to protect.
What's it doing here?
I rose again, climbing up on a shorter stack to get a closer look. I recognized the small spots of tarnish along the edges of the glass, and one chipped corner. No mistaking it: this was Alaric's—my—mirror. Someone had unpacked it without permission and left it in this cargo hold, loose and unanchored. One good lurch of the ship and it could slide from its place and shatter to pieces.
What's sailor's superstition on that, I wonder?
I wanted to scowl and be angry. I should have been angry. I only had a few possessions to call my own, and I hadn't allowed anyone to remove them from their places, only to leave them in other careless, unprotected spots.
The emotions evaporated before they could come to a boil, however. I leaned closer, narrowing my eyes. My own reflection peered back at me, but I had the distinct impression there were other eyes on me. Cold, bright eyes.
You crush the eggshells to prevent angry entities from following you.
I touched the mirror. My reflection did the same.
The cargo hold had grown chilly around me. Had the porthole been open when I came in? The morning fog appeared to have seeped in around me, sending goosebumps up my arms.
My reflection wore a sharp, wicked smile. I brought my fingers to my lips, wondering if I wore the same expression.
My reflection's hand didn't move.
My heart skipped. I tried to pull away from the mirror, when all at once, gravity seemed to tilt. The room rolled; I thrust my hands out, overtaken by the sensation of falling forward, tumbling into the glass as everything turned upside down.
The reflection wasn't me anymore. Shocking, electric-blue eyes like storm lightning swallowed me. Hands pale as milk reached out for me, and icy fingers dug into my upper arms.
I ducked my head, and fell into a dark, burgeoning world of shadow.
Fog surrounded me. Black, rolling clouds, like thick smoke. It didn't smell like smoke, though: when I inhaled, the scents of crisp water and lush river plants rushed in on me. Cedar and something sharp, almost acrid. Tree sap?
No more hands on me. I still felt the sting of their strength, digging into my skin, though. And somehow, I knew I wasn't alone in this unfamiliar darkness. Somewhere in these swirling clouds, something reptilian—something huge and primal—lurked.
It's... female. Like... like the monitor lizards of the Ruined Sands. The females crouched to defend a clutch of eggs.
Thoughts bloomed in my mind unbidden, random, and alien. This had happened to me before: strange thoughts, strange words, finding their ways into my mind.
Somewhere in the miasma, a bird called. Hoofbeats thudded through grass, and as the images took shape in my brain I stood in that grass, a field of waving green stalks as high as my waist. I hardly had time to take it in when a trio of racing creatures, like antelopes, rushed past me. I caught the breeze off their flanks and the blunt, wild aroma of their hides.
A different world materialized before me. A still, dark blue lake on my left; a line of unfamiliar trees ahead. The tall grass of the field spread in all other directions, dotted with white clusters of flowers like bells. When the gentle wind sifted through them, they even tinkled and chimed in a soft, barely audible melody.
Here is your wood. Here are your people.
"What?" I glanced back and forth, turned in a circle, but I was alone.
Dae Caedan. Dae Catori.
Here, where the dragon sleeps.
My people. I waded through the sea of grasses, searching the shifting light and shadow of the trees before me. The scents of apples and cherries wafted toward me on the wind—and walnuts, yes, the round brown nuts were walnuts—and I paused, closing my eyes, inhaling with a soft sound of pleasure.
"Seren!"
My eyes flew open. "Madrēn?"
A hopeful thrill flut
tered to life in my chest. I moved faster, picking up speed into a jog as I reached the edge of the wood. Clean sunlight and cool spots of shade danced around me.
Ahead, though... The skin prickled at the back of my neck. The light. I know it... the blue light.
Soon I was running, and the trees flew past. The daylight dimmed as the forest grew thicker and thicker around me. And yes—there was the light, glowing and pulsing, beating like a heart. And my mother—
But my thoughts started to scatter. The wild aroma of the trees and fallen leaves and deep, cool soil called me instead; the cry of rooks and the low, sweet hoot of an owl. There was a light ahead, but it was the light of a flickering bonfire, bright orange and wickedly beautiful, calling to me like home.
I came to a stop as the trees gave way to a clearing bathed in that feral orange glow: a pair of torches set before a stone altar, amid the tumbled fragments of ivory columns and the broken segments of a frieze. A fallen temple.
A woman kneeled before the shrine, naked except for a headdress and cloak seemingly made of the skin of one of the horned animals I'd seen before. As I watched, she sat upright and lifted her arms skyward, chanting in a language I did not recognize. Except—
Dae Catori, madrēn en tal...
Dae Catori. Those words, over and over. When I heard them, I closed my eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. They came to me like oxygen, new and replenishing, filling my lungs and heart and mind.
Here are your people.
When I opened my eyes again, I no longer looked upon the woman at the altar. I was the woman, bowing and supplicating myself, murmuring words I did not know. Spread before me, white chalk lines formed a geometric figure of seven lines and seven points, forming a star. Its prominent point, larger than the others, aimed directly at me. Small bones and stones and feathers had been arranged—by these hands, her hands, my hands—around the figure in some sequence. In the center, the familiar skull of a cobra grinned.
Thoughts of Akolet and Alaric, and the hideous seven-headed golem raised from the dead upon the Ruined Sands, filled my mind with terror. The eye, pulsing within the monster where a heart should be, rolling and wheeling to find me.
Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2) Page 11
