by G. R. Lyons
Never in his life had he reacted to a woman with such intensity. Even as dirty as she was, he wanted her. Seven be praised, he thought he might explode right then and there if she just looked at him the right way.
That was when she drew herself up and lifted an eyebrow in a knowing manner. The confidence in her stance made Benash shiver.
The steadiness of her gaze astonished him. She leveled a look at him with more straightforward intensity and acknowledgment than any man ever had. Her open recognition of him made him feel suddenly alive, as though he'd been born at that moment rather than thirty-two years earlier. And also like a newborn, her gaze left him feeling utterly naked.
A trifle disconcerting, that.
Her eyes never left his, and though he felt no pressure on his mind coming from her direction, he got the impression that her ocular sense alone was enough for her to reach the very depths of his being, giving her access to everything from his physical makeup to his deepest, darkest desires, the ones he never even let himself acknowledge for fear that the thoughts would accidentally project outward and be picked up by someone who ranked above him. Unsettled as he felt, he also had a sudden desire to bare himself completely to this woman, body and soul.
Something about her spoke of life in the way a person was meant to live it, and Benash felt his mouth suddenly go dry, wanting that feeling for himself.
“I'm not going to bow to you if that's what you're waiting for,” the woman said with a cheeky smile on her face, “even for all you are an officer.”
Her voice mesmerized him, and though it snapped him back to reality and made him remember that now he was going to have to haul her down to the prison, he also wanted nothing more than to stand there and listen to her all day. The tones coming from her lips were soft but firm and quite decidedly feminine. Benash had to shake himself, his mind conjuring up visions of lying in her lap in the clearing on a sunny day while she murmured all manner of unspeakable things to him in that engaging voice of hers.
Where in the gods' names did that come from? he wondered, surprised by his own imagination.
“What are you called?” he asked, his voice husky and unsteady as he tried to push the vision aside.
“Vorena.”
Benash raised an eyebrow at the simple response. A woman was supposed to always be called by her given name as well as the name of the man to whom she belonged—whether it be her father or her lord husband.
“Who owns you?” he asked in a slightly peevish tone.
“I do.”
“I– I beg your pardon,” he stammered, almost choking on the words.
The cheeky bitch actually had the gall to grin at him.
“Who is your father?” he insisted, growing irritated at the exchange.
Vorena shrugged. “Dead.”
“Husband?”
“Haven't got one,” she said with a proud smile, and tugged down the collar of her shirt to bare her left shoulder, showing the smooth skin below her collarbone where a marriage scar would normally be placed. It was difficult to tell with all the dirt on her face, but he guessed her to be somewhere around five-and-twenty—which meant that for at least a decade she'd somehow managed to avoid being wed. Such a delay was simply unheard-of, even for the ugliest woman imaginable: There was such a drastic need to rebuild the population on Tanas, according to the Elders, that women were often married off the moment they completed a first mooncycle.
With exaggerated patience, Benash bit off, “What in seven hells is an unclaimed woman doing sneaking about in the woods all alone?”
Vorena—Damn her!—smiled at him again, and Benash got the impression she knew something he didn't, especially when she answered simply, “Running away.”
Benash flinched, startled by her honesty. “Praise to Inaria,” he gasped, too stunned to remember to add the reverential gesture that normally went along with the invocation. “Why would you admit that, and to an officer, no less?”
She shrugged. “No sense in lying about what's quite obvious.”
He blinked twice while he hesitated, mulling over her words, then finally said, “You know I'll have to arrest you for that.”
The thrice-damned wench threw her head back and laughed. “Well, considering I've broken at least three laws from the moment you stepped around that corner and spied me, my confession seems a rather superfluous reason to arrest me, don't you think?”
Benash just stared at her. He'd never seen anyone laugh so genuinely before.
Seven hells, he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed so much as a chuckle himself.
“Who are you?” he asked.
His question came out just above a whisper, but she must have heard him because she sobered instantly and looked at him with something close to pity written across her lovely features.
And her features were lovely, Benash realized, even if they were covered over in several days worth of dust and gods-knew-what other filth.
She was silent again, no longer laughing, but standing there perfectly calm, waiting for him to act.
A sudden pressure shoved up against the barrier around his mind. Benash let down his defenses just enough to ease the stabbing pain, cursing himself when he recognized the mental signature of his superior officer, wondering why in seven hells Benash was late.
He quickly replied that he was in the middle of an arrest, and the pressure went away.
Benash allowed himself a brief tremble of relief, then took a deep breath, drew himself up, and strode toward the woman, spinning her around forcibly and binding her hands behind her back.
“Took you long enough,” she joked.
“Be silent,” he spat, shoving her forward, and kept a firm hand on the bindings as he guided her down the path toward the underground prison.
Horrid as it was, Benash had to focus on the smell of her as he pushed her along, trying with all his might to drown out the delicious sound of her voice in his head, and the temptation of feeling the flesh of her wrist under his fingers. He wondered how she would look and feel after a thorough washing, with her skin glowing and her hair shining and…
Stop that, you fool!
Vorena seemed to shake with silent laughter for a moment, and Benash wondered if he'd accidentally projected his inward curse—or, even worse, the thoughts that had come before it. Clenching his jaw, he focused on the path and found himself counting rocks and twigs just to keep his mind off of her.
VORENA SECURED her mind while the officer pushed her down the weed-choked path. She knew very well that her life was over: They would either kill her for running or at least lock her up to rot away in darkness. A part of her wanted to break down and cry, knowing she'd never see sunslight again, let alone ever have a chance of making it to Agoran like the rebel camp had planned.
Kalos's hell! Even if she hadn't been caught, she probably wouldn't have lived long enough to reach Agoran anyway. There was no sense denying that fact.
At least her cousin had gotten away. Vorena took comfort in the fact that the officer was steering her in the exact opposite direction Jevon was moving, thus expanding the distance between them considerably. She was determined never to let the officer even find out about her cousin, or any of the other rebels they'd been trying to gather together. Her mental blocks were more than secure after years of practice, and no amount of torture from the officers would make her drop those defenses and reveal information about their desperate attempt to escape Tanas.
Taking a very slow, deep breath, she tilted her chin up a bit farther and mentally recited prayers to each of the seven gods in turn, hoping they would aid her cousin and the others to safety.
They followed a sharp bend in the path and suddenly faced a low hill with an imposing iron gate set into the side, the gate guarded by two more officers.
Vorena.
Her breath caught, but she managed to keep her steps from faltering and her face expressionless.
Jevon, you idiot, she thought, sensing him hiding in t
he trees somewhere behind her. What in the gods' names–
I had to try–
No, she cut him off. Just go. Get yourself and your daughter as far away as possible.
But we could distract them, maybe? Create a diversion and run, and–
Guns, Jevon, remember? she told him while the Hawk dug in his pocket for his keys. You and I are no match for three officers. We'll be killed or captured, and then what happens to Asenna?
But, Vor…
Go, Jevon. Get your daughter to freedom. Please.
She felt his hopelessness flow through his thoughts, and finally sensed him moving away.
Be strong, he told her. We'll figure something out.
Goodbye, Jevon.
His thoughts closed up, but still she could sense him going back the way he came. She stretched her mind, searching for Asenna, and almost sighed with relief when she realized the little girl was hidden far away, waiting for her father to return.
Gods be with you, little one, she thought just as the prison gate opened.
Vorena glanced up at the sky, took one last breath of clean forest air, and bid her life farewell.
Chapter 10
BENASH HESITATED at the sight of the prison gate. It was his duty, of course, to throw this lawbreaker behind bars, but it seemed almost a sacrilege to do so.
She was just too alive. A small part of him, buried deep and never acknowledged, couldn't bear the thought of seeing this vibrant woman rotting away with no hope of ever seeing daylight again.
They reached the end of the sloping tunnel and came to a stop at the first guard desk, where the balding record keeper sat, looking more bored than usual, if that were possible.
“New one?” the clerk asked in a dull monotone, hardly looking up from the large book that lay open before him.
Benash gave a curt nod, then shoved at the woman's shoulder, prompting her, “State your name.”
Vorena turned to look at him over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
This gods-damned bitch and her games, Benash muttered inwardly, then shouted, “State your name!”
She barely flinched at his outburst. Giving him a confident smirk, she faced forward again and said, “I am Skelroth incarnate, lord of creation and destruction–”
Before Benash could act, the lifeless clerk launched from his seat, his eyes wild, and backhanded Vorena across the face, sending her tumbling to the dirt floor.
“She speaks blasphemy!” the man shrieked.
“–and I have come to destroy you!” Vorena finished with a laugh that was oddly mirthful considering the blow she'd just taken.
The clerk had his hands fisted at his sides, fuming as he glared at the prisoner. Benash ordered him to sit down, then hauled Vorena unceremoniously to her feet and undid her bindings while she still shook with laughter.
“Vorena,” he barked, then pointed at the clerk's book so the man would know to make a record. “She is called Vorena, and is currently unclaimed.”
Three other officers, who had been idling about the anteroom, all stopped their chatter and looked up at that, each of them looking as flabbergasted as Benash had felt upon Vorena's admission to him–
Damn, was that only a few minutes ago? It seems an age…
The clerk finished his entry, still shaking with anger over the woman's blasphemous words, then looked up at Vorena and ordered, “Turn out your pockets, then strip.”
She said not a word in response, and the only move she made was to raise an eyebrow—in question or surprise, Benash couldn't tell which.
“I said, 'Strip', you bitch!” the clerk growled, raising his hand as though to strike her again.
Benash had to clench his jaw shut to keep it from dropping. The woman just stood there, calm as the breeze in late Auriel, when summer is just beginning to give way to fall. Again, she remained silent, and didn't make the slightest move to comply.
Two other officers strode over, vicious grins on their faces, and yanked the woman from Benash's grasp. He stumbled aside, making an effort at remaining stone-faced as he watched the officers roughly strip every garment from Vorena's body.
Benash turned away and pretended to be checking his sidearm, taking his time and trying to appear fully absorbed in the task. He simply wasn't going to allow himself to look at her.
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. It struck him that he'd never actually seen a woman fully unclothed before. He'd never even gone through the effort of fully stripping his wives, since he could find the necessary release without bothering to do so.
Though all prisoners went through this strip search before being tossed into a cell, Vorena was the first woman Benash had ever seen endure the process. Most women simply didn't make it as far as a prison gate, alive.
And now, here was Vorena, being stripped and prodded by the authority of the Hawk badges all around her. Benash finally gave in to curiosity, holstered his weapon, and turned to watch the scene.
His fellow officers leered at her and made rude gestures while her clothes were searched, and in the midst of it all, Vorena stood perfectly still, staring at the wall with a placid expression on her face.
And beneath that face…
By the gods, Benash thought, swallowing hard. Inadra, Lady of Passions, tempt me not!
“What in seven hells is this?” the clerk asked.
Since his eyes were still on her, Benash saw Vorena look up at the clerk, her eyes going wide and her breath catching for just a moment before she reined in any other outward signs of panic. Benash followed her gaze, and saw the clerk unwrap a scrap of oilcloth and lift a burnt and creased piece of paper from within.
The clerk turned it over several times, a puzzled look on his face, and held it out to Benash. “What do you make of this?”
Benash took it, just catching another flash of panic in the woman's eyes, and turned the page toward the light to study it. One of the perks of being an officer was that he'd been taught how to read—something no citizen ever got to learn—and his curiosity about this woman piqued even more, wondering who in all seven hells she could possibly be if she was carrying around printed material.
The page was well-worn, the title burnt through at the top, but as he scanned the lines, printed in the Common Tongue, the details triggered something in his memory.
“Faneck's Histories?” he asked, flabbergasted, recognizing the page as being from a volume of that forbidden collection, something the Elders required all officers to read so they would know what sort of blasphemous information was circulating in the world. “Where on this thrice-damned Isle did you ever come across a copy of Faneck's Histories?”
The woman didn't answer him, but her eyes were trained intently on the page. He shifted his hand to one side, and her eyes followed the movement, then repeated the motion in the other direction, and her eyes never strayed.
Benash stared at her, completely at a loss for words. There she stood, naked, defenseless, and surrounded by men who could effortlessly perform all manner of unspeakable acts upon her person, but he got the startling suspicion that nothing like that could break her so easily as a simple tear to the illegal piece of paper in his hand.
Who is this woman? he thought, wanting to scream the question.
Instead, he wrapped the fragile page back into the folds of oilcloth and tucked it into his coat, announcing, “I will present this to the chief, or directly to the Elders. They ought to be made aware of its existence.”
The other officers—Seven be thanked!—nodded agreement, and Benash resisted a sigh of relief. He would get to the bottom of this mystery first, and with the leverage now sitting securely in his coat pocket, he would get answers from the woman herself.
He looked over at Vorena as he straightened his coat and saw her expression had turned carefully blank. Benash turned away to sign his name to the register as the arresting officer, and when he looked back up, he saw his fellow officers closing in on the woman.
One of them reached out to fondle her breast, and Benash had only half a second to indulge a jealous rage, wanting her for himself, when Vorena twisted around and landed three solid punches to the officer's face, knee, and groin.
The officer crumpled in a whimpering heap on the ground while the others looked on, mouths agape, and Benash saw a proud smile creep over Vorena's lips before she heaved forward, coughing heavily.
She gasped in a wet, rattling breath and coughed again, falling to her knees while her body shook. Benash stared at her, unable to move while she coughed and choked, bracing herself on her hands on the dirt floor of the main cavern.
Vorena coughed once more, grimaced, and spat on the ground. Her expression showed something like surprise or relief as she looked down at the expelled phlegm, and Benash wondered why, but dared not ask with the other officers around.
She rose slowly to her feet and regained her steady posture.
The clerk hurled her clothes at her and barked an order for her to dress. With a careless shrug, Vorena did as she was told, then raised an eyebrow as she looked at each officer in turn.
An awkward silence passed, until Benash remembered himself and stepped forward to grab the woman by the arm and steer her toward the cell cavern over which he was in charge, it being the only one with an available cell thanks to the recently deceased. He felt through his keys, unlocked the cavern door, pushed her through, and locked themselves in.
Vorena lurched to a stop, tilted her head up slightly, and sneezed.
Benash tried to push her forward, but she kept her place and sneezed again. He heard a collective intake of breath from the officers behind him as she sneezed a third time and looked satisfied.
“Gods be praised,” someone muttered. “She's cursed!”
Benash closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer, hearing similar words whispered all around him. When he opened his eyes, he saw the woman looking at him with amusement.
“Hells, you are a suspicious lot, aren't you?” she asked with a grin, then deliberately clapped her hands together three times.
“By the Seven, she's going to put a hoax on this place!” someone whined.
