by Nicole René
One more thrust, and he would be completely inside her. Namoriee’s eyes squeezed close, keeping the vision of the blond-haired warrior as he smiled at her close to give her strength to endure what was coming.
Just as suddenly as he appeared, Cantos was yanked off her forcibly. An enraged yell made Namoriee’s eyes snap open. Sounds of a violent struggle met Namoriee’s ears as she dragged herself forward towards the trees, desperate to get away. The sounds of a fight followed her.
A hand on her shoulder made her scream, her hands slapping against her attacker’s face and body blindly as she turned.
“Enough!”
The sharp tone of the familiar voice that accompanied the jerk of her body made Namoriee snap out of her blind terror. She opened her eyes and was shocked to see the hard-faced Tristan.
Her eyes traveled over his wide shoulders to the bloodied, slumped form of her would-be rapist behind them. The realization of what would have happened to her had Tristan not saved her overcame her, and she burst into tears.
Her sobs were ugly and shook her entire body as she gasped for air. She clung to Tristan like a lifeline when he jerked her into his chest. She didn’t put up a fight when he pulled her onto his lap, letting her soak his tunic as he rocked her, murmuring incoherently into her ear to calm her.
Neither of them paid attention to her state of dress.
She didn’t know how long she clung to Tristan, but after a while, her sobs slowed to sniffles, and Tristan gently tilted her chin, forcing her face up to his gaze. Whatever he saw made his eyes burn with ferocity.
He looked murderous.
“I should have killed him,” he muttered, shooting a glare at the slumped form of Cantos.
“H-h-he’s a-alive?”
Tristan turned back to her, his grip on her body tightening as she began to shake. “I would not deny Tyronian his right.”
His reply was so simple, so straight to the point, but they caused panic to bubble up in her throat.
“No!” Namoriee cried, clutching his shoulders. “You cannot tell him!”
Tristan scowled, his grip on her chin becoming painful. “This,” her jaw moved with his frustrated shake, “is not something you can hide, stupid girl!”
Namoriee couldn’t explain it, but the thought of Tyronian finding out what happened to her terrified her.
“Please, T-T-Tristan, he cannot know wh-what happene-d-d here!”
“I don’t know what has come over my kin as of late,” Tristan said as he pushed her off him and shot to his feet, disgusted. “Why they waste their time on foolish girls is beyond me.”
Namoriee flinched at his insult, but she kept eye contact with him. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t t-tell him. I couldn’t bear it.”
Tristan was silent, but his expression displayed his anger and aversion. She watched as he started to walk away from her.
“Wait!” Namoriee cried out, scrambling to her feet. “W-what a-b-bout—”
Tristan whirled back around to face her, furious. “Do you really think I would just leave him here?”
He didn’t wait for her reply, instead, Namoriee watched as he grabbed Cantos’s bloody form by the foot and started to drag him away.
“Tristan!”
He stopped, exhaling angrily as he glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Thank you,” she choked out tearfully. She wasn’t thanking him for his silence.
Tristan’s only response was to turn away and disappear out of her sight.
Tyronian watched as another piece of their prisoner’s flesh was sliced away by Xavier’s blood-covered blade. His ears had long since gotten used to the volume of the screams that were torn from Hiinex’s throat as Xavier tortured him.
When Leawyn had interrupted his talk with Namoriee, he never expected it was because Xavier had sent her to find him after an attack in their hut. Leawyn had managed to talk her way into separating from him to find Tristan, while he went to Xavier’s aid in the hut that he and Leawyn shared.
He had prepared himself for the worst, but when he got there, Xavier had calmly bound his prisoner and ordered Tyronian to string him up in the hut they reserved for such occasions.
That was a while ago, and now Tyronian was watching his cousin meticulously skin a man alive, trying to get the answers they sought.
“Who’s the leader?” Xavier asked calmly, staring at the bloody man with cold eyes. Xavier himself was covered in Hiinex’s plasma, and the hut smelled of the metallic liquid, bile, and urine—all of which belonged to Hiinex.
“This is a waste of time,” Tristan muttered from beside him. Tyronian eyed him without taking his gaze fully away from Xavier’s torture spree. Tristan had been in a prissy mood since he’d come back a little bit ago, having left when Xavier first started torturing Hiinex. Something must of have happened during the time he was away to cause his fouler-than-usual mood.
“He’ll break,” Tyronian assured him. “They always do.” Tristan’s response was to give him a noncommittal grunt.
Typical.
“Tell me!”
Xavier’s bellow brought Tyronian’s attention back to him. Tyronian was a warrior. He had seen his fair share of gore, but the sight of Hiinex’s broken ribs stretched and covered by only the muscle within made even him queasy. Xavier stalked forward, gripped Hiinex’s chin, and rested his dagger underneath Hiinex’s eye.
“I was going to save your face for last, but I can always change plans. Tyronian,” Xavier called out to him without turning his gaze away from Hiinex. “How many eyes does a man need to see?”
“One,” he answered helpfully.
Xavier tilted his wrist, the tip of his blade dipping into the corner of Hiinex’s eye threateningly.
“Start talking.”
Tyronian had to give the bastard credit; he didn’t even flinch in fear.
“Your wife is full of secrets,” Hiinex gasped, his voice a weak whisper. That’s the second time he’d mentioned Leawyn, and Tyronian was starting to get nervous.
Was he trying to play at Xavier’s weakness?
“You spend . . . all this time . . . interrogating me . . . when really,” Hiinex coughed, bloody spittle trailing down his chin, “you should ask her. It all . . . started . . . with her.”
Tyronian and Tristan shared an uneasy look. He didn’t like where this was going.
“She . . . knows. She knows who . . .” Hiinex’s responses were getting weaker, no doubt from the blood loss.
“What does she know?” Xavier demanded. He shook Hiinex roughly when he started to lose consciousness. “What does she know?” he yelled.
“Ask . . . her.”
When Hiinex’s form slumped against his bindings, Xavier reeled around, his eyes homicidal.
“Xavier.” Tyronian stepped forward, intercepting him on his way to the door, knowing where he was heading. “We don’t know—”
“Get out of my way,” Xavier growled at him, his body visibly vibrating with his fury.
“He could be lying,” Tyronian said, trying to reason with him. If he confronted his wife now, Tyronian feared what he might do to Leawyn. “You need to calm down. You’ll terrify her if you go to her the way you look now.”
“Good,” Xavier snarled, shoving Tyronian out of the way before he could stop him. He watched his cousin go helplessly and prayed that the strength Leawyn hinted that she possessed would shine through tonight.
“Do you think it’s true?” he asked when Tristan stepped up beside him after Xavier left.
“For her sake, I hope not.”
Tyronian rolled his eyes. Not only did that not answer his question, it wasn’t very comforting, either.
“Well, I feel much more reassured now. Thank you, Tristan, you’re always so helpful,” Tyronian said sarcastically.
“Glad I could help.”
The aches and pains of her ordeal really hit her by the time she made it to her hut. The first thing she had done was strip off her torn clothes. On
ce she had a fire going, she threw them inside.
She felt guilty because it was Leawyn’s dress, but the damage was beyond repair. Namoriee knew that the horrible memory of tonight would never go away, but it was satisfying to watch the fabric burn.
Like she was burning the memory away.
She didn’t bother with getting dressed again. Instead, she simply donned the only robe she possessed and gingerly made her way to her bed. She was dirty; she could feel the grime covering her body, and she knew she must have leaves and twigs in her hair, but she didn’t dare look at her reflection in the basin she kept for light washing. She could hardly see out of her left eye, and she knew it would be swollen shut and bruised more than it probably already was tomorrow.
She’d wake early, bathe in the creek, and find a way to send word to Leawyn that she was ill.
Plan set, she wondered if it was normal for her to be so calculating after what had happened?
Was her mind and body simply in shock, trying to process in the only way it knew how?
But hours later, she knew that it was temporary, because in the middle of the night, she had a nightmare, and all the emotion she felt came rushing out of her body in the form of great, heaving sobs. Her tears stung her cheeks, and her body screamed in pain with each gasping heave she took, but she couldn’t stop.
She cried until she could cry no more and then fitfully fell back asleep.
“Aggod, our tribe welcomes you, as always.”
A fourteen-year-old Namoriee watched as the chief of the Asori tribe, Yoro, clasped his fist to his chest before bowing at the waist, customary for a respectful greeting. Aggod showed the same respect, and a rare smile graced her lips when she straightened.
“Yoro, I’m happy to be here.” Aggod looked to the right of the Asori chief, where his wife stood. “As always, it is an honor to learn from the legendary healer, Cissilee. Chief Xavier sends his regards.”
“And how fares he?” Yoro asked. “I have been hearing rumors of late of a marriage between the Rhoxolani and Izayges. Is the master of death really getting married? No doubt it would be a relief to Boers to finally settle the feud between his people and yours.”
Namoriee shifted uncomfortably. She was warned beforehand by Aggod to keep quiet, with the threat of receiving a lashing should her tongue speak freely if that question was asked.
Aggod’s expression gave away nothing but politeness. “Our travel was long, and we wish to rest.”
“Of course.” Yoro chuckled. He must have known that Aggod would not answer his question, no matter how cleverly he fished for it. “You shall stay in the same quarters upon your last visit. Rest well.”
With one last respectful gesture, Namoriee followed Aggod until they reached the tent that would house them for the duration of their stay at the Asori village.
“Is it t-true, A-a-Aggod? Will Chief Xavier m-m-marry?” Namoriee asked timidly. Aggod was used to her stutter, for she was one of the few that Namoriee spoke to.
“Our tribe has been battling the Rhoxolani for decades. Chief Xavier is the only one that sought to find peace between us. It helps that the Rhoxolani tribe has a daughter, who, I hear, is as beautiful as she is young. The chief is smart to join with them, as it benefits only himself.”
The Izayges were the biggest tribe of Samaria. They had the most land and the most man power, and so there was an unspoken agreement with the other tribes that the Izayges ruled all. Should any of the tribes decide to rise in mutiny, it would be their death.
Had the Rhoxolani daughter, Lyrical, not been caught bedding another man on the day of her wedding to the son of the Izayges, there would be no war between the two tribes.
Chief Xavier was a dangerous, forbidding man, and clever as well. His eyes were black and lifeless as the night, and his skill was rivaled by none. He was a ruthless warrior who ran his tribe with the same empathy he showed when killing his enemies.
He was not a kind man, and she did not wish anyone to be his wife.
She hadn’t realized that she had spoken that thought out loud until the pain of a backhanded slap sliced across her face.
“You do not know what you speak!” Aggod hissed at her.
Namoriee lowered her gaze, bringing a hand up to cup her stinging cheek. She heard Aggod sigh, and then her footsteps padded across the room. She stiffened when she heard her rummage through something, then the distinct sound of a belt unraveling followed.
It was the sound she detested the most.
“Take off your dress, girl.”
Namoriee sniffled, fear paralyzing her before the familiar detached numbness settled when she completed the steps that were all too familiar to her. She undressed until she was as naked as the day she was born and walked over to Aggod, who wordlessly gave her the strip of leather that she was to put in her mouth. Namoriee pulled her hair to the side the same time her knees hit the floor, her back to Aggod.
Crack!
The leather of the belt snapped against her skin swiftly, the bite bringing instant tears to her eyes. The second happened just as suddenly, and by the third, Namoriee’s teeth were clamped around the leather to silence her scream.
Crack!
Crack!
By the time Aggod was finished with her punishment, Namoriee had received fourteen lashes, and her face was slick with tears in the same fashion that blood trickled down her back.
“You dishonored me tonight, Namoriee. Let the pain serve as a reminder to never dishonor your tribe and the chief,” Aggod said from behind her. “I will not heal these, but you may rest your back in the river.”
Her hand was shaking when she placed the leather strip in Aggod’s outstretched hand and gingerly stood. It would be agony putting her dress back on, so she settled on downing her cloak instead. The rough wool scratched her open wounds, but Namoriee didn’t dare complain.
Without saying another word, Namoriee grabbed a torch and walked out.
Namoriee winced, biting her lip against the sob that wanted to break free as she sunk deeper into the icy water. The Asori tribe was located higher, near the mountains, so it took longer for the snow to melt.
The cold stole Namoriee’s breath and instantly numbed her body. Icy pins and needles pricked her skin, the freezing cold both a blessing and a curse on her open wounds.
It took her a moment, but after a while, Namoriee was numb enough for the cold not to bother her, even as she shivered while floating on her back. The torch gave her just enough light to see in front of her, while the rest of the wilderness was cloaked in inky midnight. She closed her eyes, finding contentment in the noises of the wild; she heard the owls cooing, the constant sympathy of crickets, and the distant howls of wolves.
It was peaceful.
Until it wasn’t.
“You’ll freeze.”
Namoriee screamed, jolting upright ungracefully at the sudden voice. A boy stood on the bank, but she couldn’t make out his features clearly, as he was half shrouded by the shadows.
“If death is what you seek, I could easily relieve you in a quicker way.”
Her insides became just as chilled as the water she stood in with that offer.
“Unless you enjoy swimming in freezing waters at night, though I have no clue why anyone would.” He took a step forward, the light illuminating from the torch revealing only the curve of his jaw.
“What is your name?”
Namoriee’s lips stayed clamped shut. It wouldn’t be the smartest idea to give that information to a stranger.
“Do you speak?” the stranger asked when she stayed silent, sounding amused.
She looked around her. It was dark, her torch the only source of any kind of light besides the moon. She could dive underwater and swim far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to track her movements. It would be cold—no, it would be freezing—but what choice did she have? She looked at the tree where her cloak hung and groaned inwardly.
She would swim to shore, get out with no cloak, and t
hen make her way back to the Asori village for all to see her nakedness—if she didn’t freeze to death first.
Brilliant plan.
But, what choice did she have?
“Don’t,” the stranger said, as if sensing her intent.
She looked at him, startled to see that he was now at the foot of the bank, illuminated. She was more startled to see that he didn’t look to be much older than she was.
He had brown hair, the top of which was pulled back while the sides were shaved. She wasn’t close enough to see his eyes, and the shadows played tricks with his form, so she couldn’t tell how tall he was. What she could tell though, was that he was almost as naked as her, minus the breeches that were cropped at the knees and the fur pelt around his shoulders.
“I will not harm you,” he said to her, hands raised in a surrender. “I was simply looking to quench my thirst, when I saw you.” He spoke in a tone equal to what you would use to not spook an animal.
“What are you doing out here?”
She didn’t realize that she’d moved towards him, her curiosity ruling out her smarts, until his eyes flashed down and he took a sharp intake of breath. She looked down.
Her hardened nipples were peeking out of the water, and the top of her mound was visible beneath it. She gasped, covering her chest and sinking down deeper in the water, face flaming in embarrassment.
“I . . .” His voice came out high-pitched, and he coughed. “I’ll just . . . uh . . .”
She tracked his movement with her eyes when he crossed over to where her cloak was, grabbed it, and walked back over to her.
“Here,” he said with closed eyes, holding her cloak open.
Namoriee hesitated, looking between the cloak and him.
“I won’t look. I promise.”
A promise of a stranger had no merit, but her limbs were starting to get heavy. He grew still when the water rustled, then relaxed when she took the cloak from him. She wrapped it around herself quickly, then took several steps back. He waited a beat, peeked an eye open, then stood straight when he saw that she was decent.
