She pleaded, but her father was stone.
She flattered her father, which almost always worked, but not this time.
So, there was nothing for it.
She found herself picking her way through the wooded area that surrounded the villa at dusk each night, to an agreed-upon spot, where Duranth would meet her.
The first time they met, he only wished to observe her magic, and he asked her to touch things and make them grow. But he tired of that very quickly.
It was only the second time of their meeting that he showed her his magic.
She had been stunned and frightened. She remembered sputtering things about the iron rings in his ears and nose, about the evilness of his magic, about how she must tell someone.
“If you tell, I’ll be whipped again,” he said, fixing her with a penetrating gaze.
She didn’t tell.
Then, when they met, they would do things.
He would touch flowers and make them wither or coat them in glittering frost. Then she would touch them and bring them back to life, melt the ice and coax back their life and warmth.
She would cause weeds to grow, tangle them around the both of them so that they were encased in a tower of tangled plants, and within that small space, he would lift his hand and his fingers would drip icicles. He would blow on them, and make it cool inside, which was welcome on the sweltering nights. They would be surrounded in a swirling winter storm, and she would part the icy clouds and calm the fury of his magic.
Then sometimes he would bring in insects in a jar, and he would touch the top and they would all drop to the bottom, dead. If she was quick enough, she could bring them back, completely back, but sometimes, it was the way it had been with Csaer, where she had put the semblance of life back into the creature, but no real life, only a mechanical bit of magic that made its body work.
They graduated to small, slithering lizards and then—once—a bird, but that had made her very upset, and she’d been practically inconsolable over its little motionless body. Don’t kill birds, Duranth, I can’t bear it. Even after she had brought it back to life, and it had flown off, seemingly no worse for wear, she could not stop her sobs.
Whatever he did, she could counter, and vice versa. And during all of it, she would feel his magic around her, touching her, sometimes within her, and it felt… good.
There was a euphoria to it, to doing magic with Duranth, and this was part of the reason why she protected him, even though she knew it was dangerous for a fae to be so powerful.
He was also Duranth, and she loved him.
It was during one of these sessions, when they were surrounded by a tangled-weed-tower of her making, a fire burning over head that she had kindled with magic, that hung in the air overhead, burning as fuel only the magic that the two of them seemed to make together, that they kissed for the first time.
She had been thinking about it for a while.
She knew that she wasn’t supposed to think of Duranth as an equal, and that she couldn’t ever marry a fae, but she also knew that it was permitted to use fae for one’s satisfaction, and she had determined that it was not shameful to want him if she would only ask for service from him.
She would practice on Duranth, so that when she met a human man, the sort of proper man who could be her husband and who she could fall in love with, she would know what she was about.
Duranth was gazing above them at the burning fireball. “Do you think it is simply its heat that makes it float, or is it somehow our magic that does that?”
“I don’t want to talk about magic right now,” she said.
“Well, I do, and I think that it’s got to be—”
“Duranth, you are horrid. Now, attend to me, as is your place. I have a service I require of you.”
He slowly dragged his gaze from the fireball to her face. “Little Magda, all bluster,” he murmured, amused affection in his tone.
“Don’t call me that, and don’t address me that way.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m quite serious. This is an order from your dominissa.”
He laughed then, his eyes dancing. “Oh, is that so? An order. Well, I must obey that, mustn’t I?”
“Duranth.” She tried to make her voice sound threatening.
He wasn’t the least bit threatened. “What is this order?”
She drew herself up, keeping her tone even and important. “Kiss me.”
The smile slid off his face. “What?”
“I’ve never been kissed, and I want to see what it’s like, and you are my slave, so you must do as I command.”
“All right,” he said, but his voice had changed. They were both sitting cross-legged inside this tower she’d made, close enough that their knees had been touching. He shifted position, moving up onto his knees.
She wasn’t sure what to do. She uncrossed her legs, stretching them out.
He settled down between them, and now there were only inches between them. He lowered his face until it was just in front of hers.
Her heart picked up speed, and it seemed to pound too loudly against her rib cage. He couldn’t hear it, could he?
His voice was soft and deep. “Close your eyes, Magda.”
She hesitated, mostly because he was telling her what to do, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but then she obeyed him.
Another few moments passed, her heart beating out of rhythm. She felt his breath against her chin.
Then, she felt the warm brush of his lips on hers. She might have gasped, but she hadn’t expected to feel his magic when they touched in this way, and she did. It was all churning inside him, untamed and wild, like a black and stormy sea, battering against her, demanding entry.
She opened her mouth, and his tongue swept inside and so did the flood of his magic. It filled her and overwhelmed her.
He pulled away suddenly, gasping for breath.
She opened her eyes.
His eyes were wide, almost frightened. “Not yet.”
She swallowed.
He settled back down into a cross-legged position, a good foot away from her.
For several moments, there was no sound. Not except her heart, which was still beating, and the occasional harsh sound of his breathing, which he didn’t seem to have under control.
Finally, she managed to get herself together, at least she thought she had. But when she spoke, her voice was trembling. “Duranth, when I give you an order—”
“How old are you, Magda?”
Didn’t he know how old she was? She kept track of his age, for Fortune’s sake. “Fourteen.”
“No kissing yet,” he said.
“Listen, you don’t get to make that decision,” she said, strength returning to her voice.
“When I kiss you, I lose control,” he said, shaking his head, looking concerned. “I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t think I’d want to stop.”
“Well, I don’t know if I wanted you to stop.”
“I mean, I’d want to do more than kissing,” he said. He looked up at the fireball above them, which was now burning very brightly, and she realized it had somehow doubled in size. Had that happened while they were kissing?
“You mean…” She trailed off, because this was some strange, secret thing that had yet to be explained to her, and she was too embarrassed to ask anyone about it. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at her, and then a sly grin spread over his face. “Hasn’t anyone ever explained sex to you, Magda?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Well, how unfortunate for you.”
She waited, thinking he’d say something else.
He didn’t.
“You explain it,” she said.
“That would hardly be appropriate.” He was amused again.
“I order you to explain,” she said.
“Well,” he said, still smiling that smile of his, “if it’s an order, I suppose I must obey.”
“You must,” she said.
He scooted closer to her again. “Well, you do know that there are different things between men’s and women’s legs, don’t you?”
She nodded. She had been robbed of her voice.
“Between your legs, Magda, you have a cunt.”
The word was blunt and vulgar and powerful. It made her twitch, deep inside.
“And between my legs,” he continued, his voice going low and deep again, “I have a cock. In your cunt, there is an opening, a space, a place where my cock belongs, where it should lodge.”
“Lodge?” This was strangled.
He moved closer. “Penetrate you. I will put my cock inside your cunt, and then I will work it within you, in and out, over and over, and it will be very good for both of us, and continue to build and build until it’s very good—too good—and then…”
“And then?”
His voice dropped even lower in pitch. “Don’t you ever touch your cunt, Magda?”
Her lips parted, and her face heated up. “M-maybe once or twice, b-but…”
He waited.
She was dreadfully embarrassed. “Was something supposed to happen?”
“Nothing did?”
“This is why we’ll wait,” he said. “Because you’re too young. Keep trying, and eventually, we’ll…”
She shook her head. “No, we… you are…”
His lips brushed her cheekbone, and his voice was a velvet whisper. “Wait for me, Magda. Save yourself for me.”
She shook her head again.
“Save yourself for me,” he said, “and I’ll save myself for you, all right? Is that a bargain?”
“You mean, you’ve never…”
“No,” he said, leaning back, his voice resuming a normal pitch. “I’ve had opportunities, but… I don’t know… it’s never felt right, and now I know why. Because of you. Because when we’re together… you feel it, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“So, you’ll wait for me?”
“Duranth, you are a slave—”
“That might change.”
“How could it—”
“Promise to wait for me.”
And she wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she did promise. “All right,” she said. “I’ll wait. I’ll save myself for you.”
He kissed her again, and it was a swirling mass of goodness and bliss, magic and pleasure and her body, all of it pulsing together at once.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ONIVIA CLENCHED HER hand into a fist.
“No, not a fist,” said Larent. They were in his bedchamber, not the sitting room, because he said that if they needed to tumble, the bed would be handy for avoiding injury. He was making good on his promise to teach her to defend herself.
“Not a fist?” she said.
“You’ll likely hurt yourself worse that way,” he said. He lifted his hand and his fingers were pressed together, his wrist stiff. “Make your hand like a blade.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding, mimicking what he’d done.
“Good,” he said. “Use that to go for the throat.” He brought his hand gently to her throat, pressing the edge of the hand-blade against her there. “Like this. You try.”
She brought her hand up, just as gently as he had.
“No, with more force, domina. It’s all right. I can handle it. Come at me.”
She took a deep breath and then launched herself at him, slicing her hand through the air and chopping at his neck.
At the last second, he evaded her, stepping backwards.
She let out her breath.
“That was good,” he said. “No hesitation. You feel how it should work?”
She was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t let her hurt him.
“All right, so let’s assume that you’re on the ground, and a man is trying to get at you. Lie down on the floor?”
She hesitated, mostly because she was imagining this happening, and it upset her.
“Domina?” His voice was soft.
She shook herself. “Fine.” She got down on the floor, lying on her back.
“Lie on your side, as if you’re sleeping,” he said, getting down in a crouch. He crawled up over her. “I might take your shoulder here, to turn you toward me—”
She brought up her hand immediately, making that same chopping motion at his neck. And this time, she connected, because she’d acted before he could tell her to.
He recoiled, hand to his throat, coughing.
She was a little stunned to see how badly she’d hurt him. It felt both good and guilt-inducing. She pulled her knees to her chest, watching him as he recovered.
“So,” he wheezed, “you’d use this time to get up and run.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. She actually was, although she also wanted to escape him, wanted to hurt him. He was her captor, after all.
He waved this away, massaging his neck. “You’re a quick study, domina.” He settled down, seated on the ground, resting an elbow on his bent knee. “But as you can see, such a thing doesn’t cause much permanent damage. You can hurt a man worse by going for other sensitive areas, like the groin or the eyes. Anything you can do to incapacitate him.”
She nodded.
“I don’t think we’ll practice your hitting me in the groin. You might enjoy that too much.”
She found herself blushing.
He noticed, and then he blushed too.
It was quiet.
He coughed again, but she wasn’t sure it was because of the injury she’d done to his neck. “Uh, if you’re standing, both of you, you can try to get at his knees or trip him.” He pushed off and stood up. “Let’s try that?”
She stood up too.
He advanced on her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. “If it’s like this?”
She nodded. “All right.”
“Kick at my knees, or tangle your legs up with mine.” He demonstrated with his own feet, but gently. When he hooked a foot around her leg, though, she did immediately feel off balance. “You try?”
“All right.” She did her best to imitate his movement.
“Good,” he said. “If you can get him to go down, to let go of you, then you can run.”
“It’s always about running.”
“If it’s going to be a struggle of brute strength, you’re going to lose,” he said.
She thought of him wrestling her into the cot in his tent and tying her down. She grimaced. “But what if there isn’t anywhere to run?”
He looked away.
She felt dull and angry.
“All right, if you bend at the waist, make your back curve, and get your hands around his ankles, you can throw him over you,” he said.
“It’s not fair,” she said.
“What isn’t?” He was confused.
“Why are men so much stronger than women?”
“I think it’s because we’re meant to use that strength for protection and care,” he said. “Not… against weak things. But—”
“I’m not a weak thing.”
“Apologies, domina. I don’t mean it as an insult. But, the fact is, you are.”
“I don’t want to be,” she said, her tone acidic. “There must be something you can teach me, something that is more than simply a momentary bit of advantage so that I can run away.”
He licked his lips. “Well, if you have a weapon, you can use that. Go for the throat, go for the eyes.”
She shook her head. “And if I don’t have a weapon?”
He let out a long, low sigh, surveying her.
“There’s nothing?”
“I don’t know if I trust you with this knowledge, domina,” he said finally. “You do have access to me when I sleep.”
“Yes, and I could have smothered you with a pillow anytime, but what would that get me except executed? I couldn’t get far. There are guards on the door, and they’d catch me and kill me.”
“True,” he said. He considered. Then, d
ecided, he knelt down. “Get behind me. Wrap your arm around my neck.”
She obeyed.
He looked up at her as he reached up to touch spots on his neck. “Here. Do you feel that beneath? It’s an internal pipe, and you need to block it off. And here too. Block both of them. Tighten your elbow, put as much pressure as you can. You don’t need much to accomplish it.”
“What’s going to happen?” she breathed.
“I’ll lose consciousness,” he said. “Only for a few seconds as long as you let go. Can I trust you to let go, domina?”
She sucked in a breath, looking down at him, and the sudden intimacy and power of this seemed to overwhelm her for a moment. “Yes, you can trust me,” she said, even as she tightened her elbow over his neck.
He didn’t offer any resistance, and she was stunned at how quick it was.
When he went slack against her, she let out a little cry. She let go immediately.
He slumped to the floor.
A moment later, he was blinking and squirming, disoriented. He sat up, rubbing his neck again. “If you hold it longer, a man will stay out longer once you let go. The time of unconsciousness is roughly equivalent to the amount of time you block the pipes.”
Her fingers twitched. “And if I held on for a very long time, could I…?”
“Yes, you can kill a man that way.”
A dark thrill of power went through her, and she was overwhelmed by it. She went and sat down on Larent’s bed.
“Obviously, you’re not going to have a man who’s attempting to assault you sit down in front of you on his knees and allow you to put your arm around his neck,” said Larent. “Furthermore, he would fight you, try to pull you off. It wouldn’t be easy.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured.
He got to his feet, looking down on her where she sat on his bed.
“Thank you for this,” she said.
“We can practice again,” he said. “You may need more time to try it out before you feel comfortable enough to execute this in a frightening situation.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “And… and if I haven’t thanked you for Cassus, then I should say thank you for that as well.”
Battles of Salt and Sighs (Rise of the Death Fae Book 1) Page 20
