Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  Sara laid her hand on his arm. He stared down at the slender fingers, golden brown against his pale skin, then met her anxious eyes. The black words died on his tongue.

  She’d chosen to endure this for their baby. He wished he could be a slave in her place, but he couldn’t. The least he could do was to not make it harder on her by rushing wildly about, frothing at the mouth.

  “Just promise me that when you cross the line from finding pain ‘interesting’ to suffering it, that you’ll tell me and we’ll go. No lingering, no excuses.”

  After a pause, she nodded.

  No one seemed to have noticed their exchange, but Lance tried to be discreet in healing her. He let his arm touch hers as though by happenchance, while they stared off in different directions. Seconds passed, but nothing happened.

  Lance’s chest constricted. Where was the Goddess? With such injuries, She should have come instantly. He laid his hand on Sara’s jaw, concentrating on the swollen flesh, and willing magic and healing into her. He felt a response, slow and sluggish, but real.

  Relief was followed by anger. Was Loma punishing him for daring to be angry at Her? He had a right to his ire. She’d betrayed him.

  By the time, Sara finally sighed and relaxed, Lance was seething. How dare Loma treat him this way, after all his years of service? Hadn’t he earned Her respect?

  He used the anger to bury the tiny seed of fear inside him, but like many seeds it began to germinate and grow in the darkness. He was losing his ability to heal.

  * * *

  Rhiain wrinkled her nose against the lingering scent of smoke. Only a day had passed since Nir’s Legion burned half the city of Tolium. She wished the rain weighing down the dark clouds overhead would fall soon and wash the air clean.

  On the other hand, the stink of ashes might remind this crowd of what it had lost.

  In the early evening, five hundred men had crossed the bridge out of Tolium and gathered in the cool green twilight of the cedar forest. Some of them were in shock, but most were angry and more than ready to listen to Fitch. In addition to the usual younger sons and hotheads, there was a fair mixture of middle-aged shopkeepers and even a few city guardsmen, one with a black eye and bandaged side.

  Fitch had brought a group of Willem’s archers as his escort, having ordered his Grasslanders to stay in camp. Rhiain had feared he’d leash her as well, but instead he’d asked her to watch for traitors from the shadows.

  Rhiain patrolled around the edges of the crowd, staying out of sight in the trees, but still able to hear and glimpse Fitch.

  He stood on a ten-foot-wide stump looking handsome enough to be a god with his thick golden hair, wide shoulders, and strong chin. A sliver of melancholy made her sigh. He would’ve made an excellent shandy. Turning her head, she saw Edvard, standing tall at his brother’s side. He smiled tentatively at her.

  She ducked her head. Ever since he’d told Fitch he wanted to become a shandy, she’d felt shy and nervous around him. That combined with her promise to Fitch not to try and influence Edvard’s decision had meant that they’d spent little time together alone.

  Fitch raised his hands, addressing the crowd. “Fellow Gotians, I am glad to see you, but angry at the cause. I’m outraged at the Republic of Temboria’s treatment of her loyal people! I’m angry at what the Legions have done to our beautiful city—burned her shops, attacked her guardsmen, sacked her homes. I know you’re angry, too.”

  A roar of agreement.

  “I’m outraged and angry,” Fitch repeated. “But I’m not surprised. Why? Because Temboria has always treated Gotia as a second-class province, and its equitains as lesser than their nobles. You know this. You’ve seen it yourselves, in a hundred different ways...”

  Movement at the back of the crowd attracted Rhiain’s attention, but it was only a drunken man stumbling away to piss against a tree. She ghosted forward on silent pads, watching Fitch. He looked so impassioned and handsome and fierce, she quivered.

  “I’m proud to be Gotian! We have a glorius history. Before the Republicans stole our pride, we were warriors to be reckoned with, and we can be again!”

  The crowd rumbled approval.

  “That’s a crock of shit!” A broad-chested man with a large blond mustache pushed his way to the forefront of the crowd. “You can sing about the glories of Gotia until your throat’s raw and it won’t change anything. Gotia can’t stand against the Republic’s Legions, and everyone here knows it!”

  Silence.

  Fitch opened his mouth, but the other man drowned him out.

  “It’s your fault they burned us out! If you hadn’t talked Breslin into taking part in your doomed rebellion, he’d still be alive and Tolium unsacked.”

  “Is that what you think?” Fitch asked coldly.

  “Yes! I think we should truss you up and set you on Nir’s doorstep as a present.”

  “And do you think Nir would thank you for doing so? Reward you with gold?” Fitch’s voice dripped contempt. “Would he rebuild the city?”

  The man faltered. “He’d leave us alone.”

  “You would’ve sold yourself to him. You’d be his spy, and become quite rich reporting your neighbour’s offenses.” Fitch sneered.

  The crowd began to frown at the other man, as if he’d already betrayed them.

  He protested. “I’d never—”

  Another man shoved him. “No, you wouldn’t, because if you say a word to anyone, I’ll burn you out.”

  Agreement from the crowd.

  Fitch resumed his speech. “My grandfather was Chief Deglas. Gotia had many strong chiefs, so strong the Republic had to resort to trickery to defeat us. We fell because the Republicans played one chief against another, promising one tribe aid against a rival, and then turning on them and enslaving them all...”

  The heckler was elbowed to the back of the crowd. After a moment, he slunk away. Rhiain tailed after him. Here was a potential traitor!

  He headed straight for the bridge. He could just be returning to his home in Tolium, or he could intend to tell tales to the Legion encamped at Tolium’s other gate. She couldn’t take the chance.

  Abandoning stealth, she leaped out in front of him, blocking the road. “Go back,” she rumbled.

  He was running before she finished speaking.

  Joy at the hunt shot through her, and she had to stifle her urge to pounce. She settled for chasing him a mile into the forest, until he was red-faced and gasping and more than likely lost, before she faded back. She felt confident he wouldn’t return to Tolium by nightfall.

  When she returned, Fitch had the crowd in the palm of his hand. They roared approval and shook their fists at his every utterance.

  “The ring of kingship crafted by Diwo, the Goddess of Luck, has been returned to us! We cannot lose! Will you answer its call and bring Gotia back to the glory it deserves?”

  “Yes!” howled the crowd.

  Satisfaction filled Rhiain’s belly like thick cream. She purred, almost wishing the legionnaire’s commander could’ve been here to see what he’d wrought by sacking Tolium. Instead of crushing the rebellion’s base, he’d doubled its numbers. Why, he’d all but done Fitch’s work for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “You’ve done the rebels’ work for them. What, in Nir’s name, were you thinking?” Primus Ambrosius Pallax paced the smoky, torchlit interior of the tent while Nir lounged on a couch. Despite his relaxed pose,
Sara noticed that Nir’s neck muscles tensed every time Pallax started lecturing him again.

  “This will flush the rebels out of hiding,” Nir said stiffly. “It will force them to think defensively.”

  “None of that changes the fact that you burned my city!”

  “They harboured traitors!” Nir thundered back, coming to his feet. He loomed almost a foot taller than Ambrosius Pallax, but was cadaverously thin while the Primus had a powerful, heavy chest and hairy arms. Both men had gray in their hair, but the Primus was a decade younger, at forty.

  The Primus didn’t budge an inch, yelling, “You’ve turned the whole countryside against us!”

  “We crushed Gotia beneath our sandal once, and we can do it again! They need to be reminded who their masters are!”

  The two men glared at each other toe-to-toe for a long moment, wills clashing. Sara wondered if they would draw weapons.

  Primus Pallax took in a deep breath. “It’s been over two months, old friend, and the insect is still uncrushed. I’ve been hearing rumours—”

  “That the God of War favours the rebel chief? Lies,” Nir snarled.

  The Primus continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption, “—that a racha beast was spotted during the raid on the governor’s villa.”

  Taken aback, Nir frowned. “The Fourth Legion legate reported one. And so?”

  “When I fought the Slavelanders, they had a number of hunting wolves and one racha trained to fight for them. The coincidence troubles me, as neither place is near the deserts of Qi.”

  “A mystery,” Nir agreed. He sat back down and gestured to Sara. “Have some wine, Ambrosius.”

  Sara glided forward and offered the carafe. Would Nir notice her healed jaw?

  Primus Pallax’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “That’s—that’s—What’s she doing here?”

  Sara was surprised Sylvanus hadn’t told him. When he’d come to her defense, she’d thought his House loyalty had outweighed his shame at his sister’s enslavement.

  Nir pinched her buttock. “Do you like my new coeurelle?”

  Primus Pallax’s mouth compressed. “I prefer my women with longer hair.” He stared at her taut belly. She was six-and-a-half months along now and visibly pregnant. “Is the child yours?” he asked Nir.

  “No,” Nir said coldly. “Wine?”

  Primus Pallax nodded.

  Sara poured them both goblets of red wine. She hoped she’d be allowed to leave, but Nir waved a hand. “Feed me some grapes.”

  Obediently, Sara picked up a blue bowl of fruit and knelt. Her weight was distributed too far forward for the maneuver to be graceful, but she didn’t spill. She pressed a purple grape to his lips. After only three, Nir grabbed her wrist and pulled her astride him on the couch.

  He squeezed her breasts, his penis hardening against her thigh. Cold chills ran over Sara’s skin. More than distaste—revulsion. The meal she’d snatched after Lance healed her jaw wanted to crawl back up her throat.

  She couldn’t let Nir catch emotion on her face. Once he knew he could affect her, he’d never leave her alone. He’d pick and pick at her until she cracked wide open. Screamed. Fought.

  And then he’d laugh as he raped her anyway.

  For the first time since losing her soul, Sara prayed. Loma’s mercy, please don’t let him notice.

  “Cold, Sarathena?” Nir mocked, running a fingernail up her gooseflesh-covered arm. His gray eyes searched for any sign of weakness.

  Sara blanked her face and lied. “Yes.”

  “Nir’s sword!” Primus Pallax swore. “Play with your toys later.”

  Sara had forgotten his presence. Usually when Nir started to molest her, the other officers would call for their own slave girls and debauch them all together, but Primus Pallax’s face burned red with anger.

  His nostrils flared as if he smelled something bad. “If this is how you protect the realm, then it’s no wonder that boy-general is beating you!” His voice was scathing.

  Nir snarled and shoved Sara off his lap. She barely managed to break her fall. Anxiety tightened her chest. Had Nir seen her instinctive move?

  No, he was too angry, facing off with the Primus. “You forget who I am. I’m Nir’s high priest!” He towered over the shorter man.

  “No. You forget who I am, and whose Legions these are.” Primus Pallax flung out a beefy arm.

  “They are all followers of Nir.”

  “But they are my legionnaires first, just as that was my city you burned. Mine, not yours.”

  A spasm of rage crossed Nir’s face. His hand sought the hilt of his sword.

  Primus Pallax’s voice became frigid. “You dare lay your hand on your weapon in the presence of your Primus?”

  Movement at the flap of the tent made Sara suddenly aware of the honour guard standing outside, ten legionnaires who could be inside in an instant. Ten men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill Nir. Sara held her breath.

  Nir bared his teeth, but lifted his hand and held it palm up.

  “We’re old friends, you and I,” Primus Pallax said after a moment. “Because we are, I’m going to give you the opportunity to take a walk and clear your head.” His voice was biting. “When you come back, we’ll discuss how to deal with this rebellion.”

  Nir’s mouth thinned, but he inclined his head. He pushed his way out of the tent, almost knocking over one of the crimson-cloaked guards.

  Pallax faced Sara. “He’ll be back soon. Quickly, whose babe do you carry? Is it my son’s? Say it is, and I’ll free you.”

  For a heartbeat Sara considered lying for the second time today, but reason intruded. He lacked the power to free her. She was Nir’s slave, not his. “I don’t know who the father is. Claudius is one of two possible fathers.”

  He stared at her, then cursed. “If you’d sworn the babe was Claudius’s, I would’ve doubted you.”

  Sara didn’t know what to say. In the silence that fell the baby shifted; a soft grunt escaped her lips as his foot dug into her ribs.

  Primus Pallax watched the movement in her abdomen with fascination. “The child seems strong.”

  “Yes, he is,” Sara said.

  “He?” A raised eyebrow.

  “The Goddess of Mercy says the baby is a boy.”

  “May I?” He laid a hand on her taut belly without waiting for her permission. Wonder relaxed his expression as the baby kicked again under his fingers.

  Just then Nir ducked through the tent flaps. The Primus withdrew his hand, but not soon enough. “What are you doing?” Nir demanded. If he’d walked off any of his anger, it had been in vain. A thunderous scowl pulled down his eyebrows.

  “Has she told you whose child she carries?”

  Nir shrugged. “She named several possible men.”

  “Do you remember who they were?”

  Nir’s gaze burned a hole in her stomach. “Oh, yes. Lance and Claudius. I took special note.”

  A twinge of unease ran through Sara as she understood: he’d made an effort to remember the names in case he ever ran across the men. If he knew Lance was here, in camp, he’d slaughter him on the spot, dedicant or no.

  Her reasoning for letting Lance come with her seemed suspect. She’d done it for the comfort he brought her, but it was dangerously unwise.

  “Why does it matter to you who the twotch spread her legs for?” Nir took a swig from his goblet.

  “It matters because one of them was my son, Claudius.”<
br />
  Nir spit out a mouthful of wine. “Your son—” He broke off and stared at Sara. “You lay on your back for Claudius Pallax?”

  “No.”

  Nir started to relax. Primus Pallax tensed, and Sara realized she’d focused on the wrong part of the question.

  “He raped me standing up,” Sara clarified. She thought back. “Well, he was standing. I was bent over Vez’s altar.” That had happened just after she gifted her soul, and her memories were distant and fuzzy.

  “Are you accusing my son—” Primus Pallax choked, though there was no food in his mouth.

  “Have any others, beyond those two, fornicated with you?” Nir asked harshly, gripping his sword. “Standing, sitting or upside down?”

  “Only you.”

  Primus Pallax interrupted. “I claim her child as my progeny.”

  A seed of hope budded in her heart. Pallax couldn’t set her free, but, under the God of War’s rules, if a follower of Nir impregnated another follower’s slave he could ask for her slavechain to be passed to him. It was considered rude to refuse, disrupting the brotherhood of warriors with petty jealousy.

  Pallax would treat her gently. She still believed a harsh master would gain her more magic in a shorter period of time, but Qiph magic wouldn’t do her any good if Nir beat her and the baby to death.

  Nir’s fists clenched. “You don’t know if Claudius is the father or even if she’s telling the truth—”

  “Claudius himself told me he had her,” Pallax interrupted.

  “—and Claudius isn’t here. You’re not the father.”

  Primus Pallax stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You would fight me on this, old friend? Deny me? You know how much I long for an heir.”

  Nir bared his teeth. “She’s my slave!”

  “She’s Lady Sarathena Remillus, and you know it.”

  Nir shook his head. “No. I won’t give her up. She’s mine. A grandfather has no rights.”

  Primus Pallax bowed his head, and when he looked up again Sara’s skin chilled at the defeat written on his face. “Very well. I would not deny you your prize. But—I wish to see the babe when it is born.”