“Sit up, girl. Don’t think you can hide your sniveling face from—” He stopped when Sara obediently sat up and calmly looked at him.
Nir grabbed her jaw, turning her head so that the lantern light fell on her face. His thumbnail dug into her cheek. “What’s this, Sarathena? No tears? You think to resist me by hiding deep in your head, but you’ll find there is no place to hide from me. I’ll drag you out kicking and screaming.”
Sara watched him, not blinking.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for you. The first time I saw you, you were racing on horseback, wild as a Grasslander. I wanted to chase you down, pull you from your horse and plunge into you until you screamed. Your father promised you to me, then reneged, but I have you now.”
Sara waited.
Nir’s nostrils flared. “I’m very good at this game, but I admit I’m surprised, Sarathena. I always thought you’d be a fighter. I’d prefer it.”
He was her master. “If you wish.” Sara pulled back her arm and smashed her fist into Nir’s left eye. He cursed, and his fingers loosened on her jaw. She pulled free and struck out again—but this time he caught her fist and twisted.
Pain jolted up her arm to the shoulder. She punched with her left, but the blow was weaker, and his muscled abdomen felt as hard as iron.
Nir bared his teeth and, still holding her right fist, backhanded her with his other hand.
Her head snapped back, and her cheek stung fiercely. She fell back on the mattress.
“I think you’ve given me a black eye,” Nir said, twisting her arm again and looming above her. “You’ll pay for—”
Sara rammed her knee into his chin. His jaw clicked together, and red suffused his face. Before she could kick his genitals, he fell on her like a mountain, driving the air from her lungs and trapping her legs.
He yanked both her hands over her head and pinned them to the mattress with one hand. His other hand closed around her throat, cutting off her air supply.
Sara struggled, but he was too strong. Her vision blackened, and her heart tried to fight its way out of her chest.
Did he mean to kill her?
Feebly, she kept fighting. Before losing consciousness, she saw Nir smile...
When she opened her eyes again, Nir still pinned her body, except now her thighs were splayed open. His strangle hold had eased enough that she could take small sips of air, though coloured dots swam in her vision.
“Had enough, little girl?”
Sara considered. Choking might hurt the baby. “Yes.”
“Too bad. Lesson one, don’t start a fight you can’t win.” His hands closed around her throat as he began thrusting into her again.
He choked her into unconsciousness three more times before spilling his seed.
* * *
Sara spent the night with her wrists chained at shoulder level in a corner of the room. By morning pins and needles pricked her arms, waking her from her doze.
It was as yet too dim to see, but she had a number of bodily aches and pains to hold her interest and catalogue: her throat, her bruised cheek, her twisted shoulder, and, of course, the fiery soreness between her legs from Nir’s rutting. She tried to decide which pain was the most intense: her strangled throat or between her legs. Both were swollen. She could feel dried blood on her thighs, but if she stayed still the pain between her legs dulled to an ache, whereas every breath brought fresh agony to her throat.
Of course, that might change if she had to walk.
Lance would be unhappy at her condition, but she didn’t think any permanent damage had been done. And since he wasn’t here to touch and heal her, she might as well explore the sensations.
Seen in the creeping gray light of dawn, the chamber was large, with a wide bed and a feather-stuffed mattress and polished black walnut furniture. Of the most interest to Sara was the painting of Jut, God of Travellers, that hung on the wall above her. By craning her neck she could make out the handsome God standing at the prow of a galley crossing the Kunal Sea.
Movement attracted her attention to the bed. As she watched, Nir woke up. Within seconds of opening his gray eyes, he rose from the bed. His gaze found her, but he didn’t say a word to her as he pissed a long stream into a chamber pot.
Still naked, he crossed over to stand in front of her.
Sara waited. Hair covered his legs and bony knees.
“Hiding again, I see,” Nir said. “I’ll break you of that habit soon, but I’ve too much to do this morning.”
He dunked his head in a basin of water, then dressed in his legionnaire uniform and strapped on his sword.
With a last glance at Sara, he exited the room, pointedly leaving the door ajar.
Why? It wasn’t to provide light. The sunshine from the window fell on her, warming her bare skin.
Whatever the reason, Sara soon realized that with the door open, people could look in and see her chained naked to the wall. Because of the angle of the door, the temple guests on their way down to breakfast didn’t see her. Sara glimpsed only their backs as they passed by. But she could always tell when someone coming up the stairs noticed her. The person would pause on the second to last step.
She noticed that the men reacted differently than the women. The women either shivered or pursed their lips. Both kinds averted their eyes.
The men stared. If they traveled in a group, the first to see her would elbow the others until they all stared.
Had they never seen a naked woman before? Sara found their fascination peculiar.
One big-jawed man attired in a homespun tunic and trousers, nudged his companion. “Look what a tasty tidbit someone chained up for us.”
The second man licked his thin lips. “Hehehe.”
“You look lonely. Want some company?” the first man asked.
Sara didn’t even have to consider. “No.”
He ignored her and took a step inside the room. “Who’s your owner, sweet thing? Or are you one of the temple’s amenities?”
“Nir holds my contract.”
His face paled. “Who?”
“Nir. The high priest of the God of War.” Sara watched as his thinner companion swore and yanked him from the room. His arm hit the door on the way, and it swung open wider.
The next person to come up the stairs was a homely youth. From the tray he carried and the red trim on his robes, Sara judged him to be an acolyte of Jut, God of Travelers. Or, perhaps just a dedicant.
The youth paused at the doorway, staring openmouthed. “Are you hungry?” he asked finally.
Sara’s stomach rumbled at the smell of bacon and fried bread coming from his tray. “Yes.”
He glanced up and down the hallway, then lowered his voice. “I’ll bring you some food in a moment.”
Sara listened to his footsteps continue down the hall. She heard a knock on a door, murmuring voices, and then the dedicant returned empty-handed.
A short time later the dedicant came back holding another tray. This one held only bread, no bacon, but Sara didn’t complain. She reached out, making the chains clank.
Her fingers didn’t want to uncurl. They had gone past pins and needles into numbness.
Lance wouldn’t like that. He’d told her to take care of herself and the baby. She should have exercised her fingers to keep the blood flowing—
“You want it?” the dedicant asked. Under his patchy beard, his face was flushed. He closed the door to the hall.
“Yes.” She’d already told him so.
But instead of giving her the food, the dedicant lifted his robe, exposing his penis. “What will you do to get it?” He moved closer.
“I’m a traveler,” Sara said. “A guest in the house of your God. All I need to do is ask, and you must provide food and shelter.”
; His face turned even redder. “You dare lecture me, you filthy twotch?”
She was a slave, not a twotch; didn’t he know the difference? But that reminded her. “I’d like a bath as well as a meal. And the meal should have fruit.” Lance was quite insistent about that.
He dropped his robes and picked up the tray. “You can starve to death then.” He slammed the door shut behind him.
Sara began to laboriously curl and uncurl her fingers. The pins and needles returned; the dedicant didn’t.
* * *
Sara’s stomach was clenched with hunger, and the sun no longer slanted in the window when Nir finally strode back into the room.
He stood in front of her with his hands on his hips. “Did you close the door?”
Sara couldn’t even reach the door. “No.”
“Who took pity on you, then, and hid your shameful state?”
“No one.” She had only a murky idea what pity was, but did not think the dedicant had closed the door for that reason. Nor did she think that she’d done anything to be ashamed of.
His hand shot out and grabbed her chin. “Tell me who closed the door.”
“A dedicant of Jut.”
He turned her face from side to side. “Did you beg him? Did you look at him imploringly?”
“No.”
He slapped her face. “That’s for closing the door.” He paused, watching her, then said, “There’ll be no door for you to hide behind tonight. I’ll chain you in front of my tent like a dog.”
He produced some keys from his belt and unlocked her manacles. Sara lowered her arms. Before she could ask for food, a blonde woman entered the room.
“Cassia,” Nir said without looking. “Find Sarathena some clothes. We leave immediately.”
“Of course, my lord—I shall see to it,” Cassia said. Her voice sounded sweet, but she curled her lip when she looked at Sara. “I’m sure the acolytes can find some castoffs.”
“No,” Nir said. “Give her one of your gowns. The yellow one.”
Cassia narrowed her eyes, but said sweetly, “It shall be done, my lord.”
“Oh, and clean her up,” Nir said on his way out.
Cassia stared down at Sara, one finger twisting a long, blonde curl. The neck of Cassia’s gown showed a generous amount of breast—and the heart brand that marked her as a third-generation coeurelle. Once Sara looked, she also saw the woman’s slavechain, an anklet with five silver links and a ruby.
Memory stirred. This woman had been in Nir’s bed when Nir carried Sara in last night. Nir had thrown her into the hall and told one of his legionnaires to take her.
Cassia picked up the basin of dirty water and tipped half the contents over Sara’s head. The water was cold. “Wash.”
Sara lathered herself up with a bar of yellow soap on the washstand.
Cassia dumped the rest of the basin on the floor, then widened her eyes. “Oh, dear, we seem to be out of water.” She leaned her hip against the wall.
Sara went to the door and stepped in front of an acolyte carrying a tray of half-eaten food. “I need water to wash and food.”
He stared at her breasts, then at the wall. “I’m busy right now. You’ll have to wait.” He continued downstairs.
Nir had said they would leave immediately. Sara didn’t have time to wait. She walked down the hallway, dripping, and opened doors until she found an empty room with a washbasin that had not yet been emptied. Sara used the dirty water to rinse herself then returned to Nir’s room.
Cassia was already gone. So was Nir’s trunk.
Sara dried herself off on the bedding, pondering. Should she wait for Cassia to return with clothes?
No, Nir was her master, not Cassia. On her way out, a splash of yellow caught her eye. The promised dress had been kicked under the bed. Sara put it on and traipsed down the stairs.
Nir wasn’t in the common room so she stepped out into the courtyard. Long-haired acolytes of Jita, the Goddess of Horses, were leading out three mounts and a packhorse. The God of War’s sigil was stamped into their leather saddles.
Sara took a step toward them, but just then a fiftyish man with a shaven head approached her. “You, come with me.”
He took three steps before he realized she wasn’t following. “Hurry up.”
Sara ignored him and kept searching for Nir. The snorting gray stallion looked like one Nir might ride.
“Are you deaf? Come here.” It was the shaven-headed man again. His Elysinian-style vest displayed thickly muscled arms and a bare, beefy chest. A teardrop on his cheek branded him a Blood Slave, but she saw no slavechain, and his linen trousers were finer than a sanguons.
“I can hear you.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her face close to his. She smelled bacon and onions on his breath. “I don’t care how your former owner treated you, you’re in my charge now. You’ll obey me or feel the whip.”
Sara studied him and the black whip coiled at his side, then took the rare step of explaining herself. “I know I’m a slave. Nir bought me last night. I don’t know who you are, and I won’t go anywhere with a stranger.”
Something in her speech made him hesitate, though his grip on her arm remained just shy of bruising.
“My name is Wettar. I’m Nir’s slave master.”
Blorius had said he would send her slave contract to Wettar. Perhaps she needn’t seek out Nir. “If you are the slave master, you are responsible for feeding the slaves. I need food.”
He bared his teeth like Rhiain. “If you’d gotten up at dawn, you would have been fed. Missing a meal will teach you not to be lazy.”
“I wasn’t lazy. Nir chained me to the wall.”
He hustled her across the busy courtyard, dodging legionnaires and manure. “Then perhaps my lord didn’t wish you to have breakfast.”
Sara considered. “He would want it if he knew not doing so would result in my freedom.”
“What are you talking about?” Wettar said, still dragging her along.
“Didn’t you read my slave contract?”
Wettar scowled. “Why would I? They’re all the same.”
“Not mine. It’s a Qiph contract. It specifies that I receive three generous meals every day, one of which must contain meat or fish and one which must contain fruit or vegetables and one which contains milk or cheese,” Sara recited.
“Meat, fruit... I don’t eat that well,” he protested.
“You’re not pregnant. I need good food for the health of the babe,” Sara quoted Lance.
“You’re pregnant?” He stopped walking. “Does my lord know this?”
Sara considered. “The bump from the baby is still small. I don’t think he noticed.”
“Praise Diwo. If the Goddess of Luck favours us, we can get rid of it before he does then.”
“No.” Sara dug in her heels.
He grunted. “Trust me, better to lose the babe now when it’s small. If Nir beats it out of you later, you’ll likely bleed to death.”
Sara’s skin roughened with chills. “No.” She forced herself not to reach for her belt-knife, and tried to explain. “You do not want to do that. If you give me a potion to make me miscarry, then my contract will be dissolved. Nir will blame you.”
“What? I’ve never heard of such an outrageous contract.” He dragged her over to a red horse, dug a sheaf of paper out of the saddlebag, then began to read. He glanced up sourly after the first page. “Did Nir read this?”
“No. Though Blorius warned him several times my contract was unusual.”
A grunt, then a spate of swearing. “Vez’s Malice. He signed it. Without reading it.” Wettar’s voice was so loud, two legionnaires on horseback broke off their own conversation to stare. “And I have to tell him.” Wettar glared at Sar
a. “I hold you responsible for this mess.” He strode off.
Sara followed.
Nir stood in one of the stalls, inspecting a black mare’s legs. The black arched her neck and snorted, but allowed the touch.
Although Sara sensed Nir knew she was there, he ignored her. Them.
Wettar waited until Nir looked up before saying softly, “My lord?”
Nir turned to a nearby acolyte of Jita. Most of Jita’s acolytes were female, but this one was a man with gray braids almost as tall as he was. “She needs at least another day of rest. Keep treating her as before. I’ll leave a man behind to catch her up with us.”
The acolyte nodded. “As you wish.”
Nir gave the mare one last pat then left the stall.
“Yes?” he asked Wettar, still ignoring Sara.
“My lord, I fear Blorius is attempting to cheat you. This contract...I recommend that we return the girl.”
“She stays,” Nir snapped.
Wettar bowed his head lower. “I do not think any slave could be worth—”
Nir snorted. “Blorius said she was expensive. How much?”
“Twenty gold coins—”
Nir turned away. “That’s nothing.”
“—for five months or less of service.”
He stopped. Spun back. “What?”
“It gets worse,” Wettar said grimly. “Her slavery lasts only as long as her pregnancy.”
Nir stopped pretending Sara wasn’t there. He yanked up her dress. Cool air played across her bare legs and private parts. Cassia hadn’t provided undergarments. Maybe slaves didn’t wear them.
Nir prodded the small bump in her belly. Red veins pulsed on his forehead. “Get rid of it.”
Wettar spoke faster. “If she miscarries, she goes free. Furthermore, if she’s disfigured or crippled we have to pay fifteen hundred gold coins in damages. If she dies, other than in childbirth, it’s ten thousand gold.”
Esam hadn’t told her about that clause. Sara would have argued against it, trusting Lance to heal her afterward.
Nir slapped her. Hard. Her cheek stung as if pricked by a hundred needles. “Who’s the father?”
“I don’t know,” Sara said truthfully.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 29
