Ronda scoffed, then her mouth curved in a predatory smile. “I promised myself I would make you suffer.”
“Valentine will find you.” Mirella sat high, raising her chin.
“Valentine—” Ronda repeated the name in mockery. “Master Lobo should’ve never brought you to the manor.” She appraised Mirella, then spat at her feet, missing Mirella’s boots by mere millimeters. “He would’ve been mine to do with as I pleased. From the beginning of time, damned blessed brides stay confined in the Vestal House, getting heavier with the masters’ pups, while courtesans give them everything they need. We are the perfect companions. We know how to satiate their appetites. We know how to give them pleasure beyond your wildest imagination. Look at me. I have the body of a goddess. I pity the master for having to bed you—” She paused, then continued, “Everything was going as planned until you showed up.”
At hearing Ronda’s tirade, Mirella could see there wouldn’t be any reasoning with the woman and elected not to talk, but Ronda wasn’t of the same opinion.
“You think you are so much better than the rest of the world, do you?” Ronda grabbed Mirella by her chin, but Mirella slapped her hand away.
“Don’t touch me,” Mirella said, controlling her voice. She kept her eyes on the woman, never lowering her gaze.
“Or what?” Ronda towered over her.
Mirella raised an eyebrow. “Never forget I am the Blessed Bride.”
Laughing, the courtesan turned on her heels. “You are nobody here.”
“Where I am doesn’t matter.” Mirella felt her anger rise, but she kept her voice low and measured. “Anywhere in the Coral System, I am the Blessed Bride and nobody would dare hurt me.” She bluffed.
The attackers at the Vestal House had meant to kill her, and she couldn’t know what would have happened at the hidden market if she hadn’t lost the men in black.
“Your privileges won’t last long. The Leader will see to that,” Ronda said.
“The leader?” Mirella asked.
The courtesan’s mouth closed in a thin line.
“What leader? What are you talking about?” Mirella shivered.
Ronda tilted her head as her feverish eyes narrowed, but she didn’t answer Mirella, who asked again, “Who’s behind this?”
“It must be hard not to have all your whims obeyed the moment you speak,” Ronda sneered. “What does it feel to be ignored?”
Seeing the error of her approach, Mirella changed tactic. “This leader, he must be powerful if you think he can spare you from Valentine’s wrath.”
Inching closer, Ronda made to raise her hand, but didn’t follow through. Instead, she said, “Your master should be the one afraid of the Leader’s wrath.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need to know.” Ronda shifted on her feet, coming as close as possible to Mirella without touching her.
Forced to crane her neck in a painful position, Mirella leaned against the wall and shrugged. “I think you are lying. It’s just you and those two guards, and you all will pay for your foolishness. When my husband arrives, you’ll regret having brought me here.”
“I’ll regret nothing! Nothing. You hear me? Our Leader will triumph, and the revolution—” Ronda hissed, swinging her arm.
Mirella caught Ronda’s hand before it would hit her face. “There’s no leader and there is no revolution.”
“Who’s the fool now?” Jerking her hand away, Ronda shook her head, a maniacal look back on her face. “The Blessed Bride is so sheltered that she doesn’t see the malcontent of Lupine.”
“What malcontent?”
“Shifters and vampires have dominated humans for too long. It’s time we rebel and get rid of them. Werewolves have been ravaging our planet since the first colonists arrived, but their time has finally come to an end,” Ronda said as if reciting from a propaganda pamphlet.
Mirella couldn’t help the retort that escaped her mouth. “Didn’t you forget something? You’re the head courtesan to one such werewolf.”
“I was asked to maintain my position at the manor. The Leader contacted me and let me know how important my job was. He gave me purpose. Then you arrived and ruined all my plans—” Ronda tensed, and her hands opened and closed as she breathed for a few counts before resuming. “I instructed stupid Laura to drug your tea and Dragon’s, and yet Master Lobo forgave you and kept you when he should’ve sent you far away. Everything would’ve been so much easier without you always present, always meddling in my affairs.”
“Did you kill Laura?” Mirella asked, steadying her voice. The mention of her ex lady’s maid had reopened a wound that hadn’t healed yet.
Ronda gave her a look of disbelief. “Of course I killed her. She was weak and didn’t believe in the cause the way I do.”
“She was but a girl.” Memories of the last time Mirella had talked to Laura came back to her. The girl was more nervous than usual and it showed in the way she served Mirella’s tea, her hands trembling as the porcelain cup rattled against the saucer.
“She was a sniveling coward and would’ve talked on the first occasion, ruining all I’ve been working for—”
“And what would that be?”
“All will be revealed in due time.” Ronda’s eyes focused on a spot behind Mirella’s shoulders. Her voice suddenly dropped to a lyrical tone. “Our Leader, His Holiness showed me the right way—”
Ronda’s newly acquired religious fervor worried Mirella more than her acidic tones and threats.
“I’d like to talk to your leader,” Mirella said.
“The Leader would never speak with a wolf-lover.” Ronda’s maniacal laughter echoed in the empty room. “There’s a hole in the floor for your needs,” she then said, pointing at the corner encased in the shadow. Then she turned on her heel and left, slamming the door close behind her.
A lock was drawn into place with a resounding clang.
Yanking her leg, Mirella immediately tested how long her chain was. She could barely reach the privy. Even without a lock, the door would have been beyond her reach. She resigned to wait.
Shifting on the hard surface of the cot, Mirella rubbed her forehead, trying to alleviate the pounding headache. In her mouth there was a bitter taste, and she was thirsty as if she had eaten a handful of salt.
The memories of her kidnapping where sketchy. One of the two guards had hit Crea with his gun, sending her to the ground, while the other had grabbed Mirella’s arm and pressed something prickly against her skin. The pain was brief, but afterwards Mirella felt her strength dwindle and she collapsed.
Crea’s empty shoe was the last image Mirella recalled before losing consciousness. She didn’t know how they had transported her outside of the manor and had no idea where she could be or how long had passed.
The only light in her cell came from the crack under the door and it had the blue quality of an artificial fixture.
Soon, she found herself in the predicament of having to use the facilities. Between the chain and her large gown and crinolines, attempting to squat over the hole wasn’t easy. Clamping two fingers over her nose, she raised the layers of fabric higher than her ankles.
She refused to feel humiliated by the experience. It was what Ronda aspired to achieve, breaking Mirella, and Mirella would never grant the woman such an easy victory.
In the solitude of her new quarters, Mirella let her mind wander. She would not get scared and she would not despair. If Valentine didn’t come to free her, she would find a way out.
Time went by with no interruption from Ronda or anyone else. Mirella had no way to determine how many hours had passed, but the blue light from under the door seemed brighter. It might have been night already.
Thirsty and hungry, Mirella lay on her side, hugging herself against the chill. Restless sleep claimed her at last.
Ronda woke Mirella with a kick to the cot’s edge. “How’s our Blessed Bride feeling today?”
“Rested,” Mirella answered, stretchin
g her neck.
Cramps tore her midsection and her headache had become stronger. The pressure behind her eyes was such that she could barely see the woman standing in front of her.
“Maybe I treated you too well—”
A bout of nausea gripped Mirella and she doubled over, heaving over Ronda’s shoes.
The courtesan let out a string of vile curses, then raised her hand to slap Mirella.
Gathering what little strength she had left, Mirella blocked Ronda’s hand by grabbing her wrist. “I told you not to touch me.”
“We’ll see if you are so high and mighty in a few days,” Ronda said, jerking her hand free.
Her gown couldn’t keep the cold at bay any longer, but Mirella didn’t let Ronda hear her chattering teeth as she stood and straightened to her full height. “I won’t be here in a few days.”
“You might be right—” Ronda gave her one of her spiteful smiles. “Maybe you are already dead by then.”
Spending time in isolation without food or water was taking its toll on Mirella. Ronda’s words didn’t sound like empty threats, and Mirella didn’t know how long she could pretend to be brave.
Her desire to wipe Ronda’s smile from her hateful face gave Mirella an extra boost. “Kill me, and you’ll be the first to pay with your life. Valentine will avenge me. Don’t expect a merciful death.”
Ronda stepped closer, but Mirella kept her ground without flinching.
“What?” Mirella asked, stepping forward and forcing Ronda to move back. She commanded her legs not to tremble. “Do you really think you can kill a blessed bride without repercussions?”
“The Leader is strong and the support of the people is growing. Your death will destroy any chance the werewolf has at obtaining an heir for the foreseeable future.” As soon as Ronda finished her propaganda speech, a shrewd light illuminated her eyes. She looked down at her soiled shoes, then at Mirella. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you already pregnant?”
“You expect me to answer your question?” Mirella scoffed, folding her arms below her chest.
The courtesan stared at her for a long moment, then left without another word.
As soon as the lock secured the door from the other side, Mirella collapsed on the cot. Her whole body shook, and she couldn’t stop the tremors. The nausea was stronger than ever. She needed water to rinse the awful taste in her mouth.
There had not been time to talk to Balenus, but she had no doubt now she was with child. She felt it, deep inside. At the moment, the thought terrified her, but she would be strong for her son.
One again, she was left alone for a long stretch of time. Her nerves calmed but her stomach soon rumbled. The last meal she had was at least a day ago. Or maybe two. She could no longer remember. Hunger and thirst had made her weak, and she dozed in and out of consciousness. Every now and then, she woke to painful pangs tearing apart her stomach. Then there was the constant headache.
When she was awake, she thought of Valentine. What was he doing at the moment? She imagined telling him she was expecting his child. Of course, Balenus would have told her husband by now. Was Valentine happy about the news? The question simmered in her mind for a long time.
Hours later, the door opened wide and Ronda entered with a tray.
Sitting with her feet perched on the edge of the cot, Mirella looked up, but her vision was blurry.
“Your gourmet dinner, Blessed Bride.” The courtesan sneered, then slammed the tray on the cot and reached inside a pocket in her gown. “Time to send your husband a message,” she said, raising a pair of scissors to Mirella’s face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“She needs you at your best,” Dragon said, after leaving sweet bread and curcuma tea on Valentine’s studio desk.
After two full days of fruitless search, Valentine’s fear and anger had grown into a state of terror he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with. Staff and servants avoided him, and besides his friends, only Aldo and Martali dared come close.
He hadn’t gone back to his apartments once. The idea of sleeping in his bed while he didn’t know how Mirella fared was unbearable. Besides, resting wasn’t on his agenda. Killing and maiming whoever had dared touch his bride were the only thoughts in his mind.
Alternating their visits, Dragon and Gabriel had come several times with food and drinks, but Valentine had barely touched the meals.
On the third morning since Mirella’s abduction, it was the Solarian’s turn to give Valentine the pep talk.
“Break your fast, at least.” Dragon pointed at the food on the table.
Aromatic steam filtered from the teapot’s spout, perfuming the air with the rich scent of freshly grated curcuma root. The sweet bread glistened with the honeyberry syrup glazing the golden-brown crust. Shaped like a double braid, the bread was still warm.
Usually, the sight and smells would have whet Valentine’s appetite, but he didn’t reach for the tray, even though he had only played with his dinner the night before.
He also didn’t snap as he had done every time his friends tried to make him eat. The lack of reaction from Valentine’s side must have worried Dragon, because instead of leaving him alone, he pulled a chair from under the desk and lowered his large body onto it.
“What do you want?” Valentine caressed his head.
He hadn’t shaved in days, and his new hair prickled his scalp. A dark-blond stubble covered his jaws, and if it weren’t for Aldo who deposited fresh clothes on his desk every morning, Valentine wouldn’t have changed at all. He didn’t care.
“We’ll find her.” Dragon folded his arms over his chest.
“Of that I’m sure.” Valentine was terrified he would find her too late.
“Any news from Martali?”
“Besides finding that the two guards visited Ronda frequently in the last month, nothing else,” Valentine said.
When his head guard had reported the detail, he also said that they were looking for the courtesan already, but the woman had disappeared. Since the morning Valentine sent her away, nobody had seen her. The harem had been questioned, but all the girls answered that they didn’t know where she went. Ronda had no family in Adris and no living relatives anywhere else. The two guards who had escorted her off the premises were missing as well, and according to Crea’s testimony they were the same two who kidnapped Mirella.
“Ronda will appear in due time—” Dragon said, but didn’t finish his thought because his attention was directed to something happening outside the window.
A great flutter of wings swiped before the panels, obscuring for a moment the landscape behind.
“What the—” Valentine stood at once.
A dark-green stallion with electric blue stripes was drunkenly flying over the hanging gardens. It was Merian, one of his stolen draglets. The beast’s movements were sluggish and soon it glided closer and closer to the ground, until it collapsed on top of a wooden gazebo that shattered under its weight.
Followed by Dragon, Valentine ran out of the studio and reached the entrance to the hanging gardens where he found Aldo heading toward him hastily.
Without changing pace, Valentine asked Aldo to call Martali.
“He’s gone to Adris, following a lead,” the majordomo answered, adjusting his steps to a run as he tried to keep up with Valentine.
“Call the animal medicus.”
“Already done.” Aldo pointed ahead at the airbike landing by the beast several meters ahead of them.
Valentine sprinted and reached the draglet a moment later. The winged animal’s breath was labored and great puffs of white vapors escaped its nostrils.
The animal medicus had dismounted and was already checking Merian.
“Is it hurt?” Valentine asked the medicus.
“It’s malnourished and tired, and it was beaten.” The man shook in outrage as he showed the signs left behind by several lashes. “They used a rod—” He couldn’t finish his sentence, but had to look away.
> Fury swelled anew in Valentine’s tight chest. As he gently caressed its round head, Merian lowly purred, then brought forward a talon. A wooden box, no larger than Valentine’s palm, dangled from the black hook.
“What’s that?” the medicus asked.
Valentine cut the rope securing the box, then opened its lid.
Inside, laying on a piece of paper, there was a lock of auburn hair. Valentine gingerly picked up the lock, his heart thumping loud as he let go of the box.
“Is it Mirella’s?” Dragon asked, a step behind him.
His bride’s scent was several hours old. He brought the lock to his nose, breathing in the essence of Mirella. His wolf whined in pain. “She’s alive,” he said out loud, but it was meant only for him.
The full weight of three days of fear came down on him, and his composure crumbled.
“What does the message say?” Dragon pointed at the paper that had fallen out of the box when it hit the ground. He leaned and grabbed it, then passed it to Valentine.
Pay one billion reales or the Blessed Bride will die.
The words were scribbled in black ink on the piece of paper torn from a tan grocery bag. He handed the message to Dragon.
“What are you going to do?” The Solarian read the ransom note, then looked at Valentine.
“I’ll free Mirella. Then I’ll kill those bastards with my bare hands,” he answered without thinking.
The sum requested by the kidnappers was equivalent to a decade or more of earnings for Valentine. He would have given away ten times the amount if that meant Mirella would be safe.
Finally driven by a certain purpose, Valentine patted Merian. “Good boy. Go rest now.” With a careful hand, he unstrapped the ruined reins from the collar around the draglet’s neck.
The worn leather was impregnated with foreign scents and caked with mud and crushed leaves. Valentine smeared his fingers with the wet dark-brown mire, then brought them to his nose. “What do you think?” he asked Dragon, handing the reins to him.
Dragon studied the mud with intent eyes and flared nostrils, then said, “The smells are still fresh but are vanishing. Let’s saddle Dallian and Carellian, they’ll be able to follow the traces if we leave right away.” He gave the reins back to Valentine.
The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2) Page 12
