Beauty's Secret (Beast and Beauty Book 2)

by Brantwijn Serrah

  I wrinkled my nose. "Your goddess Sherida."

  "Aye." He stroked his beard. "Ailsa is more devoted, religiously, than I. But even she isn't trained in the ways of the holy sisterhood to interpret your dreams or call upon the goddess's powers to heal you."

  "Heal me?"

  "If," he amended, "there is anything to heal. Or, if there are some manner of dark spirits clinging to you still."

  I lifted Schala to my shoulder and hugged my knees to my chest. Staring into the fire, I tried not to let my skepticism show on my face. I didn't like the idea of Sherida's priests any more than Akolet's.

  "So then, what do we do, as long as your goddess and her disciples are still so far away?"

  "I wish I could tell you. I'm no spiritualist. I don't know anything about spirits or ghosts or curses. I will do anything I can to protect you. I just don't know what I'm protecting you from."

  I heaved a sigh and stood, walking to the tent flap to gaze out into the gray, sheeting rain.

  "Tomorrow," Bannon continued behind me. "We'll go back into the city. You'll buy some parchment, or a book. A journal. You'll begin writing down these visions and any other strange experiences you may have, from now until we can visit a temple to the goddess and seek the aid of their seers."

  "Yes, Sir," I murmured, out of habit more than anything.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Until you give me an enemy to fight, I don't know what else to do."

  An enemy to fight.

  Our last enemy had been an unnatural monster, a construct from the black, dark place beyond death. Now, I saw vague figures in the shadows, and white, glowing eyes in waves of blue flames. How could I point them out to Bannon and say, there is the enemy. There is my fear and my pain. Slay it for me.

  And slave or no, did I really expect my Master to slay my demons for me?

  I am a soldier, too, damnit.

  The rain drummed on. We said nothing. Somewhere between us, our bond lay cracked and damaged, and more than anything I wished I could see it, touch it with my own hands, fix it.

  That must be how he feels about my strange visions and evening visitors.

  Far in the distance, the shape of the Drekakona rose above the beach. Her sails reefed, her rigging swaying and blowing in the stormy wind. She looked like a ghost herself at this distance—a gray shape in a gray world, almost transparent. If I stood at her side and put out my hand to touch her hull, would I even meet the familiar, firm resistance of hard wood?

  Another sigh escaped me. The world seemed to melt like spun sugar under the storm.

  A single light shone from the ship. Somewhere on the middle deck, near the stern. In my heart, I knew where it came from. It shone from the officer's cabin belonging to Bannon and me.

  A blue light. Beating softly in the storm, like a heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  The rain lasted long into the next day. Bannon took me into the city, as promised, and this time the streets were nearly empty of people. Streams and runnels and whole rivers of rainwater flowed along the cobblestoned intersections, leaving some areas too flooded to explore. The people we did see huddled in their doorways, cloaked heavily against the cold and wet, watching us with mildly curious expressions.

  They weren't unfriendly. Some even waved and wished us a good day. Only the weather kept them from coming out and socializing with the gusto they had the previous day, and it stopped many of the merchants from rolling out their carts of wares and setting up sales.

  I liked the cool and the quiet. Vash had never been like this. We weren't accustomed to rain, of course, as it had never rained over the Ruined Sands. I loved how it covered the world like a soft blanket, the gray clouds keeping everything close and quiet, driving people together to seek warmth and comfort.

  Well. Not everyone.

  Bannon walked beside me without touching me. No hand around my waist. No fingers twining with mine. A chaos of fear and sorrow raged in my chest, senseless without his reassurance, but I walked with him in silence. I couldn't bear to be the one who invited more talk about painful disappointments, when neither of us would have any more answers than before.

  It took us some time to find a supply shop carrying journals, and when we did, the store owner seemed in a crabby mood, much worse than anyone had been the day before, as if the weather itself had somehow personally wronged him. He was stingy with the purchase, and stingier still when we asked for writing implements. As we left, I couldn't help but think his foul mood had worsened ours as well. Bannon took on a grim and unapproachable mien as we walked back to our camp.

  He assigned me to remain in our tent for the day, recording the details we'd discussed. He wanted to be away from me, I thought. He still hurt, and now felt uncertain as to our association. No sense of Master or slave between us now. We might have been anyone, two people thrown together on a voyage with no real connection, besides that I needed his instruction in a world I didn't know.

  He left me to my work, going to his, erecting the remaining areas of camp. I spent the morning writing, in sullen distraction, alone except for Schala, who'd caught herself a fat rodent of some kind and crouched at the back of the tent snacking on it.

  I hardly knew where to begin. I paced the tent in circles, pausing only to stoop and scratch at Schala's ears, wondering where it all started.

  Was it when she came to me on the docks in Olyb? Or in the marketplace there? What about before then, when the doors in Alaric's castle slammed shut on me, barring me from my previous life altogether?

  Probably there, I decided, and sat to write once more. Yet still, it nagged at me, incorrect somehow. Incomplete.

  My hand came up to where my collar used to be. I stood and paced some more.

  What about the cargo hold full of cherries and apples? The mirror that drew me into some foreign time and place? Was it real? Or only a delusion?

  I thought of the woman, then women, whose bodies and hands I'd seen. I'd been them, hadn't I? Hadn't that been the point of the vision?

  My gaze wandered wistfully to the tent entrance and the gray morning beyond. To the woods where yesterday I'd run free, like a creature of the wilderness myself.

  Also like my vision. Running through the forest toward... something. Toward the temple. The shrine to—

  I poked my head out into the rain. Bannon led a team of soldiers raising another tent on the other side of the clearing. Mara stood beside him, bellowing orders.

  At the sight of her, a streak of red, bubbling anger hit my chest.

  "Mara," I grumbled. At the tone in my voice, Schala looked up from her breakfast, uttering a curious chirrup. Bounding to her feet, she came to my side, butting against my ankles and winding around my legs with a purr.

  "Why is she always ready to come to his side whenever things are worst?" I snapped. Letting the tent flap fall shut, I picked up my cat and stroked her, circling again. "Probably jumped at the chance to get close to him the second she sensed he and I were at odds. Can't wait for an opportunity to say evil things about me and remind him all about my vile past."

  Be sensible, Sadira. Of course, she's doing no such thing. She's his lieutenant. She's only doing her job instructing his soldiers.

  "Horse shit!"

  I kicked at a basket of breads and cheese, my foul temper worsening as I watched them tumble out over the floor. All at once, I hated Mara to the very core. I loathed her smug, polished professionalism and her cold, insufferable stares. "That tight, frigid, mean bitch!"

  And as soon as the words escaped me, my mind plunged into unwelcome images, visions of Mara's transformation into a sultry woman of desire in my Master's arms. Of Bannon's warm, dusky skin against hers, all her stiff unpleasantness cast aside as she revealed her true intentions at last.

  "Damnit!"

  I dropped Schala and tore at my hair.

  I'd never been jealous before, not of anyone. I'd feared dismissal, certainly, if Alaric paid particular attention to another consort or spoke about how much mo
re pleasing the other ladies of the harem could be. He'd never been exclusive, of course. In fact, he'd bade me watch him with other partners many times. Not only women. I'd watched him fuck men and be fucked by them, had seen him claim androgyne slaves and slaves expressing both masculine and feminine roles at his command.

  And did any of them ever upset me? No. I feared Alaric, not them. Because he wished me to. He wanted me to be afraid, to worry he would replace me and cast me aside.

  Bannon would never do that.

  So why did the sight of Mara at his side make me downright furious?

  "Ugh!" I screamed, desperate for something to break or someone to fight. I ought to write this down, I realized as my eyes fell on the journal again. But no. Bannon could read it. I would die of shame if he knew the ugly, petty thoughts about him and Mara running through my head.

  I swallowed the bile in my throat and returned to my pacing.

  As our days in port continued—along with the rain—Bannon brought us together again to hone our skills with the axe, as promised. He called Rayyan and Ailsa and me to practice every morning and brought along some of the younger soldiers to break us into sparring teams. We continued the use of the wooden weapons at first, but soon he asked us to wield true blades, and showed us how to throw them.

  When Bannon threw his axe, he could stick it deep into one of the thick, short trees all the way up to the eye. The trunks we used for targets bore dozens of deep, ugly scars after his demonstrations, and sap oozed from the deadly-looking wounds.

  I didn't have the strength to launch nearly so great an attack, and Ailsa, despite her own familiarity as a shield maiden, couldn't manage the same impressive destruction as her towering father. Rayyan, on the other hand, had built up a noticeable sheath of muscles in his arms and chest. When he threw the battle axe, it flew with beautiful grace and thunked home with an audible, appreciable sound, as though splitting a man's skull like a gourd.

  "It's all the rowing," he confided to me, showing off his newly defined biceps. After missing my initial shift at the oars, of course, I'd missed the chance to build my own strength in the same way. Once the ship set sail again, I vowed I would elect for double shifts in the gallery to make up for it.

  Each day, after the sun reached its apex and began descending to the west, Bannon dismissed the rest of the soldiers and kept just Rayyan, Ailsa, and me. "That's enough time with the axes for today," he'd say. "Sadira, retrieve your khopeshes, and let's have you show us your style of two-handed swordplay."

  Ailsa had her own first set of wooden blades to meet mine, but after a few quick demonstrations it became clear I must use wood as well, or else leave her defending with only a pair of sliced-up sticks.

  I despised using the wooden khopeshes. Something Mara appeared to pick up on when she came to observe us, studying my movements with shrewd eyes and rubbing her chin. Worse, she strolled to Bannon's side to exchange critiques, pointing, shaking her head, speaking in a murmur too low for me to hear.

  My ugly jealousies returned along with her. I seethed under her observance, my mind treating me to all the unpleasant, negative remarks she must be whispering in my Master's ear as Ailsa and I sparred.

  I am tired of this! Let her try me again now. Let me at her with my own weapons, on even ground.

  As I wrapped up my quick match with Ailsa, I bowed to her in customary respect. Before she could take up a defensive position again for a new round, though, I pointed my weapon at Mara.

  "Care for another round, Lieutenant? Perhaps you'd like to try and learn the way of the black magician's blades, now that we have the time?"

  Mara's expression soured. Bannon's turned puzzled; his lips tucked into an uncertain grimace as he considered the merits of my challenge.

  "Certainly, the Red Bear's best soldier isn't afraid to try her hand at the khopeshes?" I prodded. "These wooden toys are really no substitute, though. Maybe you'd like to bear your own axe against me for now, and pay mind to my technique when I pry it from your grip?"

  The lieutenant narrowed her eyes. "I have no interest in learning an assassin's blade. Your desert style is a dirty and dishonorable art. Those weapons are cheater's weapons."

  "Do you think so?" I jeered. "Or are you simply intimidated? Of course, you must know that a fighter with two khopeshes is at a disadvantage coming at a Sanraethi shield maiden head-on. My style is not meant for direct combat and yet, I'm willing to pit my skills against yours. Are you so afraid I would stab you in the back?"

  "That is exactly what I'm afraid of," she grumbled. "As there is no ship's railing handy to cast me overboard this time."

  More anger flared. Accusing me of throwing her off the ship on purpose?

  "That's ridiculous!" I held up my blades at the ready. "Get in here and let me see you really fight!"

  She ground her teeth, eyes flashing. "I said—"

  "Ah." I straightened. "So, I see even the Sanraethi hordes may harbor soldiers with no spines."

  That tripped her anger. Mara's face turned a sharp, brick red as she snapped, "All right! Somebody bring me my axe so I can show this serpent-worshiping whore the folly of challenging a Sanraethi blade!"

  I seethed but refused to contradict her. Giving her any response meant giving her the opportunity to discard it like trash in the street, and I didn't need to give her a psychological upper hand like that. I was no serpent-worshipper, no matter what my visions indicated, and she should be clear on the matter by now. Telling her so wouldn't make a difference. I was going to lay her out flat on her back and make her see.

  One of her squires brought her axe and shield. I crouched into a ready position, scowling. Behind Mara, Bannon looked on with disapproval, but I ignored him for the time being. I was going up against an opponent with the advantage in close melee, and I knew it. I'd have to be faster and cleverer than Mara because I wasn't going to let her win.

  "Get on with it!" I taunted her, clashing my khopeshes. She entered the circle we'd marked with stones, and rain streaked down her blade and shield, making them somehow stand out, bold and solid against the gray landscape.

  "Let's see you fight, desert rat!" she hissed, thumping her weapon against her shield. "Do you think you can win without resorting to the cheap tactics Lord Khan was known for?"

  "Maybe I can and maybe I can't." We slowly began to circle on another, while the other soldiers closed in. "What you need to understand, Mara, is it doesn't matter, if I kill you."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mara's face twisted up with sharp fury and alarm. I lunged in, swinging with both blades while she was distracted, and she raised her shield to meet me. I'd known she would—one of the biggest disadvantages of two-handed khopesh fighting was a shield blocking both strikes—so I dropped back in a feint and lunged in again from the side.

  One of the advantages of two-handed khopesh fighting against an axe and shield was the speed I could abuse. Mara had a weighty, wooden obstacle in one hand which did wonders to protect her when in the right position. On the other hand, I could pry at the shield with one of my sickle-swords, and she would have to contend with me trying to drag her off-balance.

  I could out-maneuver her, but she could outlast me, if I didn't take her down quickly. If I could keep myself squarely behind her shield, prompting her to try and bash me with it, I could feint back and possibly dart to one side, attacking her vulnerable flanks.

  Cheap tactics. That would be her undoing. If she insisted on fighting to uphold some semblance of honor instead of fighting to win, I'd come out on top.

  Why so eager to prove it to her?

  I ducked to the right as Mara tried to sweep me with her axe, forcing her to open up from behind the shield. She backed up a step, and I knew already she wasn't used to an opponent darting in so close, so quickly. I had to keep the pressure on her; if I gave her the opportunity to create a strong field of defense, to push me out of the dangerous zone, she'd have all the advantage.

  Why the need to defend Alaric
's ways?

  For once, I didn't care if my associations with Alaric Khan made me look bad. Mara wanted me to feel inferior. She wanted me to doubt the training and customs of my upbringing. Not everything I'd learned was tainted by Alaric's madness. I fought well. I was strong.

  I wouldn't allow her to make me seem small in front of my Master.

  I brought one khopesh crashing down against her shield, and she pushed back, attempting the shield bash I'd hoped she would. I took the thrust, lunging back with it—I didn't yet want her to realize how I could turn it against her. Let her grow confident in it and frustrated with my defense.

  Let her throw all her strength into it.

  Her axe came swinging down from above. I slipped out of the way and brought my khopesh down on top of it, catching the axe head under the hook of the blade, giving it a twist and a yank to pull it from her grasp. It put us in a tug-of-war, until I flipped my blade free and sent Mara wheeling back, carried by her own momentum.

  This was the trick. I needed to wear her down using her own strength. The harder she came at me, the more I could pull her off-balance and into a disadvantageous misstep.

  I put myself in a bad spot, allowing her another opportunity to strike me with the shield. She'd have to push me back if she wanted any chance at all to hit me with her axe—this time, though, she seemed to catch on, and dropped away, trying to put distance between us.

  Oh no, Mara, that won't do.

  I took a flying leap, raising both swords overhead, in a calculated gambit. She shifted her weight onto her back leg, tilting shield up, raising her axe to strike back as soon as she'd deflected. As I struck her shield, though, I met her force and rolled off, letting her push me aside.

  She realized the mistake just as I swept in low and caught her ankle with the curve of my sword. I yanked, and she slid in the mud, fighting not to fall. It took a wide, wheeling maneuver for her to rebalance and come at me with a swing of her axe, and already I'd rolled to the side again, keeping even with her profile.