by Dani Smith
“You’re my man tonight, Ashy boy,” he growled, grinning. “I want you handling the new prize from now on. She’s a special one.”
Drake swung his legs over the throne arm and stood, arms spread, letting out a rough bark. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, the band in the corner went silent and the hall held its breath. Ashe reached down and fingered the hilt of his kukri, looking back at Drake’s first slave queen. As the Doomhand chief began to speak, the unicorn maid’s eyes—as albino pink as a rabbit’s—darted to Ashe’s face, the delicate pearlescent horn sprouting from her forehead shimmering briefly. Her kind was the last of the Horned who could still command some magic, and it was difficult for her to hide the fact, as much as she tried. Showing magical abilities among the Doomhands was a risky thing, indeed. Ashe’s eyes met hers, and she abruptly looked away.
She knows another girl is about to walk into this life and face what she faces, Ashe thought. And for once, she just might get a break from him.
“Friends, countrymen, and the finest Horned around,” Drake boomed. “Our most recent raid was one for the ages. Those Kits didn’t stand a chance, and you all should be godsdamned proud. Without your dedication to our efforts, I would not have come away with the finest prize a chief could ask for! It is my pleasure to show her off to you before I enjoy her for the first time!”
He gave the unicorn maid’s chain an abrupt yank, jerking her forward slightly. “Don’t be jealous, now, Omnia, darling,” he sneered. “You’ll get plenty of the Drake man for yourself still, you’ll see. Bring out the Kit!”
A resounding huzzah went up from the satyrs crowding the room, many of them almost as brutish as Drake himself. The clan wasn’t known as the Doomhands for nothing—they brought pillage and destruction wherever they traveled. Just as they had with Ashe’s own tribe. That, of course, had been over five years ago. He wondered if his grandparents were even still alive, if they ever thought of him and this faraway life in a strange metropolis. Drake had told him he would leave his family alive if he came to serve him, had he kept his word—
His thoughts were abruptly cut off as the crowd shifted, muttering to itself like a massive swaying beast. A satyr handmaiden emerged from a doorway at the other end of the big room, holding a long iron chain identical to Omnia’s. Another figure emerged from the shadowy doorway behind her, walking slowly but proudly.
Drake’s new bride was almost too beautiful to look at, and Ashe, who had grown used to the narrow, tanned bodies and bladelike faces of satyr women, felt his breath catch. She was clothed in a green silk dress with a low neckline that exposed the top swells of her full, heavy breasts and showed the shape of her to be both lithe and sweetly curved. Her skin was creamy pale, spattered warmly with freckles. Her pointed fox’s ears, tufted with soft orange fur, twitched atop her head as she took in the sounds of her new home, and nine silky, white-tipped fox’s tails curled magnificently from beneath her long skirt. A slender silver ring looped through one dainty nostril, winking in the torchlight. From a distance, her eyes appeared colorless, but as she moved close to Drake’s throne, Ashe saw that they were in fact a shimmering, shifting blend of purple, teal, blue, green, and gold, fringed by long dark lashes like peacock’s feathers. All of this he took in, unaware that he had stopped breathing for a moment.
Quinn was looking Ashe straight in the face with a lopsided grin. “The plot thickens,” he mouthed, winking.
Ashe’s brows furrowed. “Shut up,” he muttered, defensively.
The fox maiden was led by chain and collar to stand before Drake, who was grinning like a fiend. Beside him, Omnia was staring at her new slave sister with a mixture of pity and relief. Drake snatched the chain from the handmaid and waved her away.
“Behold,” he growled, his eyes gleaming, “my new bride. Say hello to your new sister, Kit bitch. The three of us will be having a grand old time soon enough.”
Ashe swallowed a lump in his throat. All around him, the Doomhands cheered and remarked at what a lucky SOB their chief was as they split off to party and drink. The beer and whiskey had been flowing all day, and it would continue to flow as night came on. Their earlier raid, as Drake had said, had been exceptionally good, and nearly all present were already smashed. One satyr jabbed an elbow into Ashe and mumbled something to him about sex on a sour breath, then stumbled away.
Drake looked up and nodded toward Ashe. The fox maiden, like Omnia, was standing as straight and proud as a pillar, despite her newfound situation. Her smooth, incredibly long hair hung down her back like molten copper, falling to the floor and pooling onto the green train of her gown. Ashe stared at her as he strode over, his sword hand on his hilt, waiting for her peacock colored eyes to rise to his. They didn’t.
Obey your boss, faun, he thought bitterly. Do the job you traded your tribe’s freedom for.
“Ashe,” Drake said. “I want you to meet Iona, my new bride. I expect you to keep an eye on her when I am not around. She is … headstrong.”
Ashe was suddenly aware that Iona’s chain was in his hand. Drake shot him a dirty wink, grinned, and nodded to his new captive. “Take my new present to my rooms and see to it that no other Doomhand goes near her. She’s stirred a lot of blood since I snagged her and some here have drunk enough to make them brave. Omnia will follow you a little later, to help her new sister prepare for me.”
His eyes tightened to slits in his skull as he looked at Ashe. “Keep your hands to yourself, little brother.”
He leaned toward Iona and caressed her breasts roughly with big war-dirty hands. Ashe heard her breath catch, but she didn’t move. Drake slapped one breast lightly and leaned back, his teeth too big and white in his head. Beside him, Omnia looked away.
“I’ll see you shortly, little fox,” he growled, and Ashe felt less like celebrating than he ever had in his life.
Iona followed him silently out of the meeting hall, through the spacious front doors, and out into the courtyard, her gown swishing around her silk slippers as they crossed the cobbled yard. A few Doomhands had gathered here to drink and converse raucously, and they eyed Ashe and his new charge with greedy eyes. There were whistles, howls of lust. One remarked that he would gladly take the new bride off his hands, Drake would never know the better of it. Ashe fingered the hilt of his kukri and the interloper quickly moved on. Instinctually Ashe pulled Iona’s chain closer and soon she walked beside him toward Drake’s private quarters, her eyes staring straight ahead.
Drake’s rooms were at one far end of the main building and up a spiraling flight of stairs, closed off to all but those the chief most intimately trusted. Ashe unlocked the door with the ring of keys that Drake had entrusted him with long ago and led Iona into the first chamber which held Drake’s huge bed and all the trappings of princely comfort awarded to a raider of such success. Ashe dropped the chain and reached for Iona’s collar. For the first time she jerked back, staring at him. Her eyes were hard and breathtakingly beautiful.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.
Ashe shook his head slowly, wanting to calm her, to ease her fear. “I couldn’t hurt you, even if I wanted to,” he said softly. “You’re his. But that chain … I thought you might want it off.”
Her dark pink lips trembled; her gaze sharp. Slowly, she nodded. Ashe gently unhooked the collar chain, his fingertips fleetingly brushing the smooth line of her collarbone. She drew back immediately, her hands rising to her throat and grasping at the leather and metal collar that signified her new life.
“This, too?” she asked.
Ashe shook his head, averting his eyes. “He likes you in it. Sorry.”
Her lips trembled. “Help me,” she whispered. “He’s … he’s going to … please. Help me. I want to go home.”
Home. The word resounded so intensely within him that he almost gasped; it was like he had been punched. As he drew back from her, he saw her eyes fly to the hilt of the kukri sheathed at his side. Before he could react, she was grabbing for it, try
ing to tear it from its scabbard and end her life before the real misery began.
She was fast, faster than he would have expected. She managed to get the big sword and swing it away from him, trying to maneuver the blade against her own throat. Ashe grabbed at her and she flailed, catching him in the hand with the razor-sharp tip of his sword, drawing a hot ribbon of pain down his palm. He hissed and seized her wrist, twisting it until she cried out. The weapon clattered to the floor and Ashe pulled her against him, clenching her tightly.
“Please!” he hissed. “You can’t!”
He held her close as she wailed and beat at him with small clenched fists, her face wet with tears and snot. Finally, her struggles weakened, and she leaned against him panting and sobbing, exhausted.
“He killed them,” she moaned. “Almost all of them. They only left a few of the women and children. We didn’t have a chance. I want to go home … I have to see—”
“Quiet,” Ashe whispered. “Please … quiet.”
“I have to see who is left,” she whispered. “At the monastery … ”
There was a soft knock and the bedroom door swung open behind them. Ashe pushed Iona away and snatched his kukri up, sheathing it with expert grace just as Omnia’s moon-pale face peeked in. Her pink eyes darted first to Ashe, then to Iona. Her soft white doe ears twitched as she swept into the room with a rustle of blue velvet, closing the big door quickly behind her, her jewels and hair ornaments tinkling softly. She held her arms out and Iona, seeing an instantaneous ally and sister in misery, darted into them. Omnia stared at Ashe with tourmaline eyes, all the while stroking her long white fingers through Iona’s copper hair. It was as if she could see through him, see all that had just happened in that brief span of time. He had no doubt that she could.
“You can go now, Ashe,” she said softly. “Go see to that.” She nodded toward his hand.
Ashe suddenly wanted to stay, despite the warm blood welling from the cut on his palm. He had held Iona for only the briefest moment, but in that time, he had experienced so much. He had felt the warmth of her skin, felt the press of her breasts against his chest. He had inhaled her spicy scent, like cinnamon and pine and the old books he had seen in the markets of Shale City. Scents that reminded him of quiet winters in the distant mountains. Of home. He wanted more of that scent.
But he could afford Iona less comfort than she could him. She belonged to Drake now. A beautiful bird to be kept in a crystal cage, save for when the Doomhand chief wanted to make her sing for his pleasure. Ashe turned toward the door and tramped out, favoring his wounded hand.
Quinn was waiting outside in the courtyard, munching a piece of dripping roasted meat as he emerged from Drake’s quarters. He looked briefly at the cut in his friend’s palm, and then at his face. Something passed between them, silent and knowing.
“C’mon, Goat Boy,” Quinn said through a mouthful of meat. “Let’s get that wrapped up and then go find us some fun.”
A bit later that night, his hand bandaged, Ashe trekked into the lower slums of the city with Quinn. At a brothel above a bar they had become fond of, he lay with a faerie woman with hair the color of fire. As she rode him, her back arched and her head tossing, he caressed her body with eyes closed, thinking only of the smells of ancient books and pine and cinnamon, and eyes the color of peacock feathers. After he had come, he fell into a drunken sleep with his head on the girl’s belly, snoring as her fingers twined lazily in the stiff locks of his mohawk, the fantasy of Drake’s new bride still burning like a bright candle in his mind.
Iona, I want you, he thought as he drifted down into nothingness. What’s been spoken for may be unspoken.
Chapter 3
“Where is it?!”
Drake’s voice, loud under normal circumstances, boomed through the hallways surrounding his private rooms. Just down the hall in her own room, Omnia raised her head, her horn shimmering faintly in the shadowy room. The sound of her husband’s voice roiled her guts and made her curl into a quivering ball on the bedclothes, hugging her knees against her body. Despite the hot night, she shivered as if she were freezing. Drake’s voice rose like a monstrous wave on a stormy sea until it seemed to tower above her, threatening to crash down and drown her in blind rage.
At least I am not the one with him, she thought. Oh, gods … gods … that poor girl.
“Damn you, Kit bitch, where is it? Keep lying and see where it gets you!”
There came a crash of some object breaking, and the sharp crack of someone being struck, hard. Iona’s wails of fear soon joined Drake’s roars, and Omnia buried her face in her hands, sobbing silently, her pale shoulders quaking.
He’s taken everything from her, she thought bitterly. What more could he want?
At some point, Omnia drifted into a restless sleep plagued by nightmares. She awoke near dawn to the sounds of Drake’s footsteps thundering down the hallway outside. He was cursing bitterly under his breath.
Omnia slipped from her bed and tiptoed to the door, opening it carefully. She peered up and down the hallway before hurrying down to Drake’s chamber.
She found Iona just stepping into the bathtub. Next to the rumpled, fluid-stained bed was a shattered pile of broken green glass, shimmering ominously in the gaslight.
Iona ignored Omnia’s entrance, grabbing the bar of soap perched on the edge of the tub. She began to scrub her skin furiously, attacking every inch of her flesh, washing thighs, stomach, and breasts, followed by her arms and elbows, knees and feet, and all nine of her tails.
”Iona?” Omnia murmured.
“Go away!”
”Sister, I came to check on you—"
“I’m not your bloody sister!” Iona shouted, scrubbing harder despite her skin turning a dusky scarlet.
“I know you want nothing to do with me, or anyone here,” Omnia said softly. “And I can hardly blame you. When I was brought here—”
“I don’t care,” Iona whispered, staring down at the slimy cake of soap in her hand. “I know nothing of you, nor you of me. Leave me alone.”
Omnia nodded, brushing a loose lock of hair behind one pearl-white doe’s ear. “I understand your fear and your pain. Better than most, in fact. I was taken from my tribe, just as you were. I can help you survive here. So, perhaps you should care.”
Iona looked back over her shoulder, allowing Omnia to see the bruises on her face, her swollen lip, and the red marks of Drake’s monstrous hands. Omnia’s heart lurched, tears stinging her eyes.
“Oh. Oh, my dear … my dear … ”
Omnia gathered her skirts and sat down on the floor beside the tub. She saw Iona’s gaze move up to the pearlescent horn sprouting from her forehead as it caught a bar of bright morning sunlight. It shimmered briefly and Iona’s sensitive fox ears twitched.
Omnia picked up a jug next to the tub and dipped it into the bathwater. Silently she poured it across Iona’s back, soothing the red scratches left there by Drake. Little by little, Iona relaxed, huddling over with her knees drawn up. She still clutched the soap to her breast, squeezing hard enough to leave deep grooves in the melting bar.
“The Doomhands invaded my tribe two years ago,” Omnia explained softly as she dipped and poured.
“You’re magic?” Iona asked softly.
“Yes. The last of the Horned that are. Satyrs, fauns, Duneyrr … their magic was lost long ago. Drake wanted my magic, as well as the fealty of my tribe. When they refused and tried to stand against him, he took me and slaughtered them like cattle.”
Iona looked over her shoulder, where bruises had bloomed like terrible flowers. After a moment’s hesitation she said, “He wanted my crystal ball. My Jade.”
Omnia paused in her pouring and gazed at her fearfully. “Did Drake find it? This Jade?”
Iona shook her head. “No. I hid the real crystal while they were outside tearing down the walls around Yellowseed. I know he wanted to take it. I think he wanted it even more than he wanted me. I brought a false crystal alon
g with me, to trick him.”
Omnia paused in her pouring and sat back, shocked. “That’s why he was so enraged last night!”
Iona bit her lip, her eyes welling. “Y-you heard?” she whispered.
“I’m afraid so.”
“He hurt me so badly,” Iona whispered, tears leaking down her bruised cheeks. “The things he did … ”
Omnia stroked the terrified fox girl’s hair back gingerly. “I know. He did the same to me.”
She went back to pouring.
After a few moments of silence, Omnia asked, “What’s so special about this bauble?”
“It can manipulate the mind of anyone it is turned against,” Iona whispered, her eyes widening. “Even whole armies. If Drake finds it … we’re all doomed.”
Chapter 4
Snow leaned back against the wall, cleaning his nails with a pocketknife as Drake paced, raging, spittle flying from his mouth in foamy curds. The Doomhand chief’s great horns gleamed mellowly in the torchlight of the meeting hall, his voice echoing like that of a vengeful god. Snow guessed that if this conversation went any farther south than it was already heading, the little Kit bride would be dead by nightfall.
“Arrogant little ginger headed snit, how dare she hide anything from me!” Drake ranted. “I’m going to kill her,” Drake spat, pacing. “First, I’ll screw her. The shag I just gave her will be like a mother’s kisses compared to what she will face from me now! Then I will wring her scrawny little magical n—”
“Perhaps,” Snow interrupted evenly, his weird pale eyes watching his master languidly, “punishing her isn’t the best course of action.”
Drake spun on him, his face hard, eyes narrowed, the tiny muscles beneath them jerking and trembling. Snow continued to lean back against the wall, gazing evenly at him, his upper lip curled in a casual sneer as he picked his teeth with the tip of his knife.
“Not to question your methods, but you should remember what message that old nag Aura sent you,” he said quietly. “About how you should show a little mercy to the mistress if you want to snag the prize. Honey collects more flies than vinegar.”
