The Stolen Warrior

by Anastasia Rabiyah

  “I wish I could set you free, but I’m just a servant here. What could I do?” His hand swept over her shoulder to brush one of her breasts. She sucked in a breath.

  “Everyone has some sway.” His thumb rimmed her nipple, kept from her skin by her thin dress. He toyed with her until the flesh hardened. “Even a servant in the Omi House knows secrets.”

  “Not me.” She struggled to hold still as he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, swirling both digits until her sensitive skin peaked even more. “I am no one of importance. I have no magic, no knowledge beyond that of my duties.”

  “Can you find out who the woman is they will send to me?” His hand cradled her breast, thumb tapping at its center. “Surely, you can discover that much.”

  Her head swam for a brief moment of bliss, brought on by his touch until what he asked settled in her mind. “Woman…” She frowned. He wanted to know what woman they would make him breed with? It seemed a strange request. If he wanted to escape, he ought to ask for keys or a weapon at least. “Why?”

  Footsteps shuffled in the upstairs hall. A man spoke, his voice weary.

  Hessa shook her head and backed away from the cell, sudden jealousy burning inside of her. She thrust her hand into her bag.

  “Because if I can’t have my freedom, I want you to take that woman’s place,” Gunnar whispered. He gave her a stern look and then went to sit on his pallet.

  She swallowed her jealousy and went about her work, dropping food in the cells or into the hands of the prisoners. She went up the steps, but not without a backward glance at her stolen warrior. Gunnar was watching her. He didn’t smile or nod, but she heard his voice softly humming.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, the wind rattled the smeared glass high in the upper cells. A storm must be coming, she thought.

  “You’re early.” The cell keeper eyed her with suspicion.

  “Yes,” she bowed her head lest he take more notice of her. “I have more work than usual behind the tavern today. I wanted to get a head start.”

  He snorted and patted her shoulder. “You always work like a horse, woman. If I had spare gold, I’d buy you myself. Keep you in my house.”

  A spark of hope shimmered in Hessa’s heart. She raised her chin to look at him. He was old and worn, his body muscle bound. Gray and black hair framed his narrow face. He had small eyes and a large nose. He didn’t make her feel anything at all—unlike Gunnar, but he could be a way out. It was not freedom, but she had never really hoped for that much.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “You speak kindly.”

  His smile revealed three missing teeth. He had lived a hard life. “I lost my wife three summers back,” he confessed. His eyes clouded over, and the cell keeper ambled away, his shoulders slouching. He didn’t say anything more to her. Hessa finished her chores just as the water bearer entered. They nodded at each other, and then Hessa left the cells to tend to the rest of her work.

  She thought of her stolen warrior, of the fire he had ignited in her middle when he touched her breast. She wondered if she could find out who would be sent to him. Could she take that woman’s place? If she did, what would happen? Would he hurt her? Use her? Or something entirely impossible; would he make her fantasy come true?

  On her way to clean in the brothel rooms, Hessa hoped for a night alone with Gunnar. She hoped for the chance at stealing a small time of happiness, of closeness. He couldn’t really care for her. She knew that and accepted it, but she wanted the chance all the same.

  She set in on the first room, gathering up discarded clothing and piling it for the laundry. She pulled the linens from the soiled bed, the scent of sex heavy in the air. All that had happened in the room during the night only made it worse for Hessa. She tried to stop thinking of Gunnar, but she couldn’t.

  She swept, mopped, and then she set the laundry in the baskets in the hall. After the floor dried, she made up the bed with fresh sheets and imagined herself sprawled there, her warrior waiting in the corner of the room wearing nothing at all.

  Hessa groaned. She moved on to the next room and started cleaning in there. There was less mess than the first, as if the coupling that had happened hadn’t been as violent or unorganized. The sheets were hardly rumpled and a few flowers had been placed on the table by the bed. The scent of them made the room feel fresh and innocent. Outside the window, clouds gathered in the sky. Hessa closed her eyes and thought she could hear her warrior’s voice dancing in the air.

  Chapter Three

  Hessa was ready to go deliver the midday meals to the prisoners when the new women were brought through the brothel’s back door. Some had been sold into slavery. Others had been raised in servitude and reached the age of maturity—an age that meant childhood services of cleaning, weaving, or grinding grain had come to an end. For the young women with no magical abilities, it meant service in the brothel to the men who paid. For women with a little magic, it either meant sale to a guild clan or bedding the men who had survived the pits in order to make babies that would fetch a high price when they grew to the age to show their powers. A few looked frightened, their eyes wide and their lips pursed. But one stood out among them.

  She tossed her golden hair and glared at the master who led them through the hall and away. She looked dangerous. She looked deadly. And by the color of her fair skin, she had not come from Bisura. The woman glared at Hessa over her shoulder.

  “They will not break me.”

  At first, Hessa didn’t understand where the voice had come from, but then she realized it was the gold haired woman. She was able to mind speak, something the Shan-Shei priests were known for, a talent that always startled Hessa. Surely, she would be sent to the dungeons and the pit fighters.

  Hessa swallowed down her nervousness, and followed the women. She watched the master assign them each to their rooms. Pretending to dust a length of shelving that normally held clean linens, she waited until they had all been shut away.

  They would soon be given assignments.

  Hessa refolded a few sheets and set them onto the shelves. This might be her chance to be with Gunnar—her only chance. If she could discover which of the women would be sent to him, she might be able to convince her to trade places. But how?

  She needed to get to the kitchens and fill her sack with bread and cheese. Sighing, she turned and started toward the next chore, toward an endless agenda of work and servitude. She trudged to the kitchen and went about her work, looking forward to the moment when she would walk down into the dark and feel his touch on her skin. It was a small thing to hope for, but she hoped nonetheless and envied the spirit of the woman with the golden hair.

  That morning, a bull had been killed in the pits. It meant that in the evening, there would be better meat in her stew. She wondered if she could sneak into the dungeons and bring a bowl to Gunnar. As she walked along the hall and toward the building that housed the pit fighters, she memorized each place where she might hide, each cast of shadow or pile of straw. She thought she might be able to get down there if she was careful and planned ahead.

  There were two guards at the door, but she knew they drank in the evenings, and often passed out from taking too much. She noted the bundles by their seats, provisions for a boring day, food and wine. Hessa nodded when she walked past. They said nothing for she was no one of concern to them.

  She hurried along the line of imprisoned men, passing food into their hands. Soon after, the water girl followed to portion out the men’s drink. Hessa could hardly breathe by the time she reached the steps. She took them slowly, waiting for a sound, the familiar grunt that meant he was watching her approach from his cell. She squinted at the pale shaft of light spilling down from the window high above. Her heart skipped inside her chest.

  Gunnar was seated in the corner of his cell, his head bowed and pressed into his hands.

  Hessa edged to the cells and passed out the food. She soon returned to Gunnar’s. “Are you unwell?” s
he asked.

  He lifted his face. His eyes lit with joy. “Hessa. Is it time again for you to be here?”

  She nodded and held out his apportioned food. He rose and came to her, taking the bread and cheese, only to set them aside.

  “I dreamed of you.”

  “Of me? What did you dream?” She closed the bag and set it beside her.

  “We were on the sea in my ship. The wind was strong, pushing your hair back from your face, and you smiled when I sang to you. I was taking you to Chalois.”

  “That is a good dream.” She closed her eyes when he reached through the bars to caress her cheek. His rough fingers ran along her face, tracing her lips, her chin, then tickling down her throat to her chest. He circled her nipple, but not like before. This time, he tarried there only a small time before his fingers shimmied to the hem of her skirt. He slipped his hand down inside, tugging her against the bars.

  With her body pressed so tight to the cool metal, she felt what it must be like to be imprisoned. His lips brushed hers in a teasing kiss. “Will you come to me? Will you be the one the guards bring to me?”

  She sucked in a breath and kissed back. His lips warmed hers. Heat spread through her body. Her nerves fired off and sent a ripple of tingles through her which settled in her middle. She moaned when his mouth opened, and his tongue darted out to taste her. The wet heat slid over her lower lip, her upper. He pushed inside, and she raised her chin and allowed him entry. Below, his fingers curled at her mound, stroking her with slow, measured movements. Her legs went weak, and she started to shiver.

  When she had trouble catching her breath, he lifted his mouth from hers. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you want to be with me?”

  The water bearer came down the steps, her footfalls interrupting them. Hessa stepped back from the cell, gathered up her bag, and tried to look innocent.

  “Do you?” Gunnar pressed.

  She nodded.

  His expression became solemn. “At sea I have seen great creatures that travel through the waves. They are often alone, but they find each other. Somehow, despite the vastness of the oceans, they find each other and become mates.” Gunnar smiled. He fetched the bowl for the water bearer and waited as she meted out his portion. After the server left him, he spoke. “I feel that way now, that I have been searching, swimming through the darkness. The day you descended the stairs of this prison, I knew.”

  She looked down at her feet. “You knew,” she repeated. “But you do not truly know me.”

  “I want to know you. I have waited through my capture, the long travel to come to this place. I have survived the fighting pits, great beasts from the Gods alone know where that have been sent against me, men from other villages with powers strange to me. Swords, daggers, axes, none have defeated me there. I waited for my one reason for being to come to me. I prayed for it. Then you appeared at the steps to bring me food. I knew then, Hessa.”

  “I am but a servant, born into this horrible place, destined to work here until the day I die.”

  He touched her face, running his fingers over the scars on her cheek. “You are what you wish to be. If you wish to be more than this, you will be. All you must do is believe that anything is possible. And when the chance to become what you desire is offered, you must take it, no matter the cost.”

  “I wish to be with you,” she said, her voice low. “I wish to have you hold me each night, and for you to take me away from here—to your island, your world. A place I can’t really grasp because it seems to be all a fantasy.”

  He leaned his forehead against the bars and blew out a sigh. “It would seem that…and it is. Water bluer than the sky that stretches across the horizon. The slap of sails above and the crash of waves below. From there we can go anywhere.”

  She shook her head, imagining such a place. “How can I free you? I see no way to do it.”

  He closed his eyes, frowning. “You must find a way.”

  She took her leave, toting her empty provision bag out. When she left the building, the guards stared at her before moving on to their drinks. The wind was whipping through the streets, gathering clouds higher above. She listened and heard Gunnar’s voice trailing through the air, caressing her face and tickling her skin. He was tied to the wind—an elementalist of sorts. Rare indeed and very valuable to the Omi masters.

  “How goes your work this evening?” A man’s voice asked from beside her.

  She turned to see the cell keeper again, his face rosy from drinking, his hair combed back neatly. “All went well.”

  He nodded and gripped his chin, rubbing as he thought. “I wonder, would you like to accompany me to the tavern this evening? I’ll buy you a meal and a drink.”

  She took a step back, fearful of what else he might want from her. “I should get to my room. I have work to do.”

  The cell keeper frowned. He looked away from her, his small eyes searching the darkness growing in the sky. “I’m sorry to hear that then.” He sighed and started away from her toward the road that led to the tavern. The keys at his belt jingled with every step he took.

  Even a servant has some sway, she thought. Hessa tucked the lip of her bag into her belt and hurried after him. “Maybe I could come with you…for a little while. If you promise not to—”

  “I only want the company.” He stopped and faced her, his eyes sad. “Nothing more. I swear it on the grave of my late wife.” He held out his arm to her. She slipped her hand through and let him lead her away. No one had ever paid much attention to her, not like this anyways. “My name’s Kadley. Friends call me Kad.”

  “I’m Hessa.” She smiled up at him.

  He looked away, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “We can sit in the back room. It’s quieter there.”

  She’d never been in that part of the tavern. They entered the building to the raucous greetings of surly men who’d been drinking for some time. Those of the assassin’s guilds sat near the bar, most wearing garb that shadowed their features. Hessa tried not to look at them. She didn’t want their kind of attention. Whores danced across a rickety stage at the other side of the room, their garb vibrant and eye-catching. Coins bounced at their feet, offered up from the appreciative men seated before the show. Hessa wanted to watch, but Kadley kept moving, bypassing it all as if it meant nothing to him.

  He took her into a dimly lit back room with few patrons seated about. A fire burned in a large hearth, heating the space. This was more a place to eat than to drink and be merry. They sat by the fire at a small table, and a serving girl attended them. Soon bread, stew, and cheese were laid out, as well as a decanter of wine. The cell keeper poured out the glasses of wine and sat back in his seat, sipping between words.

  “Do you have a man you fancy, Hessa?”

  Her wine went down the wrong way, causing her to cough. When she recovered, she shook her head, no. It was the safest answer.

  “I imagine it must be difficult for you as a servant. The men of Omi House take what they want, and most aren’t honorable about it at all.”

  She nodded and ate a spoonful of stew.

  “My wife was from Omi House, born into it. She worked as a whore when she was young. But after my first night with her, I saved up my pay and bought her out.” He refilled his glass, offering her a smile. “She was my only happiness. And we so wanted children.”

  Hessa leaned forward. “How did she pass?”

  “Nedra was with child. We tried for years, but she always lost them. The last one stayed, but when she was close to birthing…” Tears welled up in his eyes. He brushed them away, unable to finish his sentence.

  “I’m sorry.” She reached across the table to set her hand on his. “That’s terrible.”

  He pursed his lips, but went on after a time, sharing with her the moments he and his wife had been happy. He told her stories of his lost love until he swayed in his chair from having drunk nearly all of the wine. He ordered another de
canter. She watched and listened as he finished that too.

  Hessa ate everything that was offered to her. She had not felt so full in a very long time. But when she tried to excuse herself to leave, Kadley stood and grasped her hand. “Let me take you back to your quarters. There are men of a bad sort about,” he slurred. He wobbled when he walked, bumping into chairs and the edges of tables. At the door, he pulled her out and into the night. The wind had turned cold and chilled her skin as it passed through the thin cloth she wore.

  Kadley wasn’t leading her to the servant barracks. He was guiding her to the guard housing. She tried to break away from him, but he was strong and held her hand with a firm grip. “It’s late,” he explained. “We should get to bed. There’s work in the morning.”

  “I have to go to my room,” she tried to explain. “Have to feed the prisoners…”

  “It’s past dark. No one will miss you.”