Mistress of Winter

by Giles Carwyn

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Kherish King does not want to see the Summer Fleet in the great ocean. He sent us here to prevent that from happening. With our help, you could kill more Waveborn tonight than your countrymen have killed in the last ten years.”

  Phanqui’s brow furrowed. He looked at the others. They were tired, frightened, physically ravaged, but anger still burned in their eyes. He could see it.

  “Do you want one last chance to wet your blade with the governor’s blood?” the Kher asked.

  Phanqui thought of Shafyssa, thought of his little daughter. The other Physendrians said nothing, waiting on Phanqui’s answer.

  His lips tightening into a line, Phanqui looked up at the Kher and said just what Brophy would have said.

  CHAPTER 30

  Shara’s eyelids flickered open. She swallowed down a dry throat, and it burned the entire way. She didn’t move at all, knowing what would happen if she did. The pain was everywhere, like she had been scraped inside out.

  But with the agony, with consciousness, came memory, and with memory came knowledge. The pain was hers, and she drew it into herself, bending it, using it.

  “Another would be dead right now…” She heard Jesheks’s voice in her head.

  She twitched, blocking the memory. Then, slowly, she let it come. He had rolled the hot iron rod across her back, searing her until she screamed.

  Controlling her breath, Shara went to that spot, felt her magic growing stronger. She drew the pain out like poison from a wound, speeding the healing. Her flesh throbbed, growing red-hot, and the torment receded. Her magic grew, swelling in the quiet room.

  She continued along the rest of her body, finding the weeping lacerations, the delicate, deep punctures. She visited each one, infusing it with ani, feeding her body’s desperate need to heal itself.

  Trembling, she remembered his thick fingers caressing her cheek.

  “Fear is pain, also, my dear. Look down. See what I have done. Look and let the fear fill you. Take it. Use it.”

  Hanging from the scarves he had tied to her wrists, she looked down. Sweat covered her naked body. Two streaks of blood painted her sides down from her breasts, perfectly symmetrical.

  “No, my sweet. Look here.” She looked farther down, and saw the steel rod. Thin and glistening, it protruded from her skin, just above her hip, covered with thick, dark blood.

  She shuddered, whimpering. It went through her. It went completely through her.

  “Go there, my sweet. Find it. Embrace it. If you cannot harness the power, this beautiful body will be forever maimed.”

  The fear coursed through her, and she thrashed against the chains. “Please,” she begged, “no more. No more.”

  “I told you, my sweet. Once we started, we could not stop.”

  Shara grabbed the memory and used it, swirled it into her magic.

  The pain lived within her, flowing through her as strongly as any orgasm. It was not bad. It was not good. It was simply powerful, a rearing lion of energy, fierce and alive.

  Shara swirled it into her magic as she went to her other wounds, the cuts on her back, the burns on her legs and feet. She went to the hole he had put through her side, filled it with energy, encouraging the flesh to knit back together.

  She lay there resting, soaking in all the feverish intensity. The entire world had changed. Her eyes were opened, and she would never be the same. Her heart felt so blessedly empty that she had not even realized how clogged and tangled it had become. There was no anguish as she once knew it. No doubt. No fear. Jesheks had hurt her so badly, so incredibly badly. The pain burned everything in its path until only she remained, as clean as a baby.

  The night had been nothing like she expected. Nothing at all. He had been so kind, so tender at first. He led her to the fire, and they sat together next to the warmth of the flames.

  He showed her his gold pinky sheath, pricked his own palm with the sharp tip.

  “The first step of a Necani is to feel your pain, really feel it, without fleeing, without taking the mind away. It all starts with the breath…”

  He pricked her finger with the point, then her palm, her wrist, and each of her thighs through her dress. Each time he breathed with her, helped her accept the sensation, embrace it. The exercise was so similar to her early Zelani training as a child that she took to it easily at first. She accepted the intensity, let it course through her.

  “Ahhh…” Jesheks murmured, shuddering. “You are radiant. Your will is iron, my sweet. Look at what you can do on your first attempt. But we will turn that iron into steel…”

  She floated on his praise, the words like a long-needed caress. She felt his magic working on her, drawing her in. She began to lean on him as he slid the golden needle deeper and deeper into her flesh. They explored these strange waters; she relaxed into his steady hands. He was not kind, but he was truthful.

  Shara slowly realized that he was binding her as Victeris had bound her, as she had bound Mikal. The power swirled around her, and the pain seared as she balked.

  “You’re trying to take me…Trying to make me yours,” she breathed.

  “I am trying to make you your own master, not a slave to pain and fear like the rest of the world. I will take you there and beyond.”

  He withdrew a glowing iron from the fire and she pulled back, wincing as she lost control of her breath. She should leave. She should stop, back away, take her wounds and this lesson and go, work through the Necani form on her own, at her own pace, just like she had with the other forms. This was a ruthless man, cruel and cold, his eyes delighted in the agony of others.

  “Your mind will lie to you, my sweet. It will beseech and cajole, create horrors to make you flee. Anything to keep you shackled in the dark. Anything to keep you a slave. But you can be the master…”

  A cruel man, yes, but had he ever lied to her? Hadn’t he always been honest, even when it went against his own plans?

  “Are you ready for more?” he asked.

  Shara looked at him through half-lidded eyes. Already her mind was foggy. She should say no. She should stand and leave.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then stand, my sweet. Take off your dress. It would be a pity to ruin it.”

  She rose on shaky legs.

  Leave!

  Slowly, methodically, she undid the laces at the bodice, tugged it apart, revealing her breasts, then pulled her arms out of the sleeves one at a time.

  Run!

  She worked at the sash on her waist, pulled it free. The sheer dress slumped to her waist, and she pushed it over her hips, let it fall to the floor.

  As she undressed, Jesheks levered himself to his feet and shuffled to a wooden chest, withdrawing two long, silken scarves. He went to her, paused to run his hands along the smooth skin of her arms.

  “You are exquisite,” he said. “You will be even more magnificent before the night is done.” He tied the scarves around her wrists and led her to the fireplace, ran each scarf through an iron ring bolted on opposite sides of the hearth. Tugging them tight, he tied each into a sturdy knot.

  Shara’s heart thundered in her chest as her arms were pulled apart. If she picked up her feet, she could hang from the scarves right in front of the roaring fire. The flames were uncomfortably hot on her thighs and belly.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked in a breathless voice.

  Jesheks stood behind her. “I’m going to take you to a place beyond your control. I’m going to break through the limitations you have placed upon yourself.” He paused, ran a hand across her shoulder, across her arm to her bound wrist. A thin sheen of sweat shone on his pale arms. “I have never met one as strong as you. I will have to take you beyond your pain, to that place where you are free. I have been gentle with you to this point, but I will not coddle you further.”

  She nodded.

  “I have been easing your path until now, but I must take away all of your crutches, even
those I have given you. You must stand on your own. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “After this point, I will not stop, no matter what you say. No matter what you do. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again. Her eyelids still felt heavy.

  “Now, I will release the spell I have woven.”

  She felt the magic around him shift, and suddenly her mind was very clear, her thoughts no longer fuzzy. She felt the fire at her breasts and thighs, hot against her skin. She jerked, pulling the scarves tight.

  “No, wait,” she said, trying to sound calm.

  He nodded, a patient smile on his lips. “It is all right, my sweet. This is how it begins.”

  “No, stop.” She put every ounce of command into her voice. She reached for her magic, but it was fragmented. Again, she yanked against the scarves, but they were strong, and they held her. “Jesheks, I mean it. Stop for a moment.”

  “That’s right,” he said softly. “Take the fear. Use it.”

  Panic exploded in her chest, and she watched in terrified silence as he knelt beside her and pulled a steel rod from the fire. Its tip glowed orange.

  “Breathe…” he said, “and let us begin our dance.”

  Her heart thundering, Shara mastered herself and began an even breath. She was on the course. She would see it through. Her breath came to her, steady and powerful. She would do this. She would accept it all.

  He touched the glowing rod to the underside of her arm. She lurched, wanting to gasp at the pain, but she continued her breathing.

  Again, the rod touched her. Again, she yanked against her bonds, but her breathing remained steady. She pulled the pain into herself. It surged through her body, and she ran with it, riding on top of the flood. She could master this.

  “Very good,” he said. “Very good. So strong.”

  Jesheks’s ani flowed around her, seeping through her wounds, swirling into her chest, warm and welcome.

  “Now let’s try something a little more intimate,” he whispered in her ear.

  He touched her again on the inside of her thigh and everything changed. The man’s power exploded inside her body, engulfing her, searing her from the inside out. Shara screamed.

  She opened her eyes, looking around the strange room. Black velvet drapes. No fire. Not Jesheks’s room. Not that horrible, glorious room that took her beyond where she had ever thought she could go. She felt the rocking of the ship through the dull ache that hovered around her like a cloud. So much of what happened after that moment was a blur in her mind, but not the lessons. The different tortures blended together, but Jesheks’s voice was always present, praising her, telling her how strong she was, how powerful, telling her she was almost there. Don’t give in. Not yet…

  She closed her eyes, feeling the deep well of calm within her. Clean. Clear. Her mind drifted back to that night.

  Hanging there, bleeding, burned, vibrating with agony, the steel rod piercing her body, Shara reached a place beyond tears, beyond screams, where there was no more pain. She had not fled, but the pain did not hurt, not the way it had. It sang like music through her.

  Jesheks’s thick hands touched her cheeks and pushed her lolling head upward. She blinked at him. He smiled back at her.

  “Can you feel that, child? You are nearly free. Washed clean. Soon your heart will be empty. You can fill it with whatever you want.”

  She tried to nod, but she couldn’t move her head.

  “We are in a place of clarity now. We can go forward in absolute honesty, or we can regress and continue this dance. Do you want to move forward?”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Are you ready for my question?”

  “I…”

  “Speak, my sweet. You have the strength. You have all the strength you need and so much more. Speak.”

  “I want…”

  “Yes, my sweet. You know the question already, don’t you?”

  “I want…”

  “What do you want, my sweet? What lies in the bottom of your heart? Dig it up. Dig it out. What do you want more than anything else in the world?”

  “Brophy,” she sobbed. “I still want Brophy.”

  He smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “Excellent. Now we can begin.”

  And he did.

  Shara curled up in a ball. She was too weak to rise, and she knew it. But she must rise, and soon. Rise from this bed and begin her new life, like the day after her Zelani test, reborn. Ready to spread her fledgling wings and fly.

  Jesheks had been true to his word. He had done exactly what he said he would. He had opened a searing gate, and she had stepped through, seeing these last weeks for the benighted escape they really were.

  But she had a debt to pay before that new life began. As powerful as Jesheks was, he was still tortured, still fragmented. He believed he was whole, but he longed for something more, longed to be something other than a scarred and mutilated half man. His closed heart ached, and she was the only one who could open it. She could not leave him without returning the compassion he had shown her.

  The albino had true strength, buried deep below the fortress of pain he had crafted for himself. She only hoped that he had the strength to reach the far side. If not, the resulting battle might be too much for both of them.

  And after that debt was paid, Shara would begin her new life. Her old life. Her only life.

  It didn’t matter if Brophy loved her anymore. She loved him, and no amount of fear or hatred could change that. Loving him was her choice, hers alone.

  She’d spent half her life fighting for that love, then gave it up simply because it could not be returned. Had she honestly thought she could love somebody only if they loved her back? Those were the thoughts of a woman still terrified of losing control. Had she honestly thought he owed her for the years she’d given him?

  The sun peeked in through a slit in the black curtains, lighting the dust in the air and touching Shara’s hand. Her eyelids drooped as she mingled her ani with the sunlight. Just a little bit longer and she would be ready to rise and face the day.

  CHAPTER 31

  The black-robed Ohohhim worked steadily and silently on their tributes to the heroes of the Cinder, and Brophy worked right alongside them. He was the Sleeping Warden, a god to the pilgrims who built these monuments, but he was content to sweat with them like a normal man.

  More than that, Arefaine thought, he seemed almost at peace for the first time. It baffled her. This manual labor was a refuge to him. His tumultuous emotions grew softer the harder he worked, though they did not leave him. They would never leave. That was something she knew well.

  For the past three days Brophy had thrown himself into building the monument he claimed he didn’t believe in. He was stripped to the waist, a sheen of sweat on his pale skin, and she watched the muscles in his back ripple as he lifted another stone. He carried it from a dust-covered stone carver up a ramp and along some scaffolding to a pair of masons. He set the stone atop the half-built blue-white marble wall of the shrine. It was Brophy’s own memorial they worked on, an exact replica of the Hall of Windows, built from marble instead of glass. A series of exquisite statues stood waiting to be placed on top of the temple at its completion. They depicted Brophy, Baelandra, Medew, and the others at the moment when Brophy closed his eyes, locking the emmeria in his dreams.

  Brophy helped the masons set the stone into place and headed back to the stone carvers. He was unlike anyone she had ever known. Arefaine tried to control the emotions that welled up inside her whenever she looked at him.

  Was it because he was an Ohndarien? Was it the strangeness of a foreigner she couldn’t stop looking at? She had certainly felt a moment of glorious freedom with the other Ohndarien boy, Astor. It had been like running wild after a lifetime of taking tiny, measured steps. But this feeling was different.

  During the first few days with him, a small thrill ran through her every time he looked at her. There was no fear in his ga
ze. No worship. Not even pity, the way the Emperor sometimes looked at her. To Brophy, she was just another woman. A woman like any of those Ohohhim below who labored with him. Was that what it felt like to be normal? Not a goddess, not a legend?

  She had not expected this. It threw her into confusion. No matter where she went, people focused on her. Even when she was completely still and silent, her presence moved others. When she said something, it mattered. When she said nothing, it mattered.

  But the only thing that seemed to matter to Brophy was moving rocks. She felt the anger seething inside of him, but he channeled it into his arms, into his legs and tirelessly continued his work. On the rare occasion he spoke at all, he spoke softly to those around him. The Ohohhim deferred to him like the god they thought he was, but Brophy treated them like brothers.

  But not her. Why not her?

  He was the only other person who could possibly understand what she had been through, and why she had become who she was, but he refused to claim that kinship.

  Brophy returned from the monument to the benches where the stone carvers worked, but none of them were ready for him. He paused there for a moment, breathing hard, then turned to the fountain for a drink.

  She kept her face a mask of calm as he approached, one hand lightly on the edge of the fountain’s rim.

  He stopped next to her, only glancing at her as he dipped the ladle into the water and took a drink. She could feel the heat from his body, smell his sweat.

  “You look well,” she said. “Temple building agrees with you.”

  He took another drink with closed eyes, then looked at her sideways as his breathing slowed. “It’s good to be doing something useful. I haven’t used my arms for anything but…” He paused, looked down at the ladle, then took another sip. “It’s nice to build something.”

  Arefaine wanted to reach out a hand to him, but she stopped herself. Why did she long to touch him so much? His skin tantalized her. His muscles, built during his time in the Physendrian Nine Squares two decades ago, continually drew her eye. He was tall and fair-skinned. Just like her. They were of the same people, the Great Race.