“I was enjoying your wife’s hospitality.”
“Well,” a corner of his mouth lifted. “Now you’ll enjoy mine.” Guidon pulled his knife. He whistled and it all stopped: the music, the laughter, the thrusting. People from realms I knew (and probably some I didn’t), uncoupled and froze. Panting and sweating, they stayed motionless, waiting to see what the King would command.
Guidon pointed to a handful of women. He whistled again, the music started up, and everyone he hadn’t chosen, buried themselves in someone. Those he indicated rushed up and formed a line in front of him. Of varying ages and races, they were all fairly attractive, and all heavily under the influence. He twirled a few of them around, presenting them to me. “What do you think, Troy? Are they to your liking? Or would you prefer something more…masculine?” he grinned.
Even with a swollen lip, I gave him a decent scowl. “I get that you hate my kind. We’re a threat. We scare you.”
“You don’t scare me,” he blustered.
“But there aren’t just Shinree here, Guidon. Some of these are your own people. They’re Kaelish citizens, and you’re treating them like animals.”
“Not at all. I’m giving them what they want. Oh, they may not admit it publicly. They’ll cover up their desires. Conceal them with responsibility and modesty, and all the humdrum boring little duties of their daily lives. But when it comes down to it,” Guidon placed the tip of his knife against my chest, “there is only one thing they really want. One thing we all want. To feel,” he whispered, pressing the blade in. It didn’t go far, just enough to bleed me, before he withdrew the knife and gestured with it. “Look at them, Troy. They’re warm and fed. Accepted. Pleasured. I have peasants from the city. I have nobles from across the sea. They all come to have their hunger sated without responsibility, or fear of reproach. Some stay for a day, or two. Others never leave. And none are hurt that don’t ask to be. Well…mostly.” Guidon turned to the four women standing in front of me on display. “Smile for our guest, ladies.”
They did. And there wasn’t a single tooth among them.
I snarled at Guidon. “You did this?”
“Personally? No. I have suppliers for some of the more common whores. But I believe you’ll thank me for it anyway.” He slapped them each on the ass. “Go now, all of you…attend him.”
With no thought, no hesitation, the women stepped forward. Fingers caressing, bodies pressing in close, they took turns trying to kiss me. I pulled away from their insistent mouths and peered at Guidon through a mess of hair that wasn’t mine. “Get them off me.”
Thoroughly enjoying my helplessness, he laughed. And beneath my anger, I felt something. It was a fluttering, a wrenching sickness deep in my stomach. It wasn’t an injury. It wasn’t even a conscious desire. It was a single, sudden, bodily notion that grew the more attention I paid it. Purely instinctual, the yearning went beyond want. It was an incurable ache I’d suffered nearly my whole life.
I didn’t just desire magic. I needed it.
I needed to feel the pulsing vibrations. To suffer the pleasure of the auras as they descended into my veins; spreading, warming, swelling. I needed to kill and know it was my power, my choice. The frustration that I couldn’t, that the Kayn’l yet choked me, came out in a seething scream. “Goddamn it, Guidon—stop this!”
“I’m sorry, Troy,” he answered carelessly. “We’re just getting started.”
He crossed his arms, watching, as the women swarmed over me. They held nothing back. Assailing me with hands, tongues, naked flesh; it only took minutes for my craving for magic to get lost in the overload of sensations. Their groping hands rubbed oil onto my skin. They poured wine into me by the pitcher full. More than I could drink, the purple-red liquid ran from my mouth. It streaked down my chest and stomach, and soft, eager mouths took great care to lick off every drop.
It became evident pretty quick that the wine they were feeding me wasn’t straight. My vision had been reduced to a pulsing haze. My head was cumbersome. My stretched out shackled arms were heavy as stone. I couldn’t feel my hands. They were as useless as my ability to gauge time. The shadows that lengthened and shortened didn’t make sense anymore. Sleep came and went. I couldn’t tell if minutes, hours, or days, were passing.
A young woman knelt in front of me. My breeches were down. My cock was in her mouth. Her tongue was slinking expertly around me.
“Guidon…” Heart pounding, I strained against the shackles. “What the hell is this?”
“This,” he said, coming out of the shadows, “is a lesson in how completely unimportant you truly are to this world, Troy. I’m not Draken or Reth. I don’t give a damn about your blood. Your seed.” He edged closer. “Both will drain out of you and onto my floor like the worthless piss they truly are. And, don’t worry. I have no intention of turning you over. They had their chance with you. It’s my turn now.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t waste the energy. I had to focus on staying calm and not feeling what they were doing to me. I didn’t want to grow in her mouth. I didn’t want to give Guidon the satisfaction. But the blood was rushing too fast through my veins. Bodies were touching mine, warm and soft. Breasts slid over me like mounds of silk. Tongues pressed in. The one with the wine had exceptional lips. Before I even realized it, I was kissing her back.
“Reth cared only about breeding you,” Guidon said, going on like I was still capable of conversing. “He wanted to create a perfect, Shinree brat to do his bidding. All I want is to be entertained.” Moving up, he threw a couple of the pawing women aside and buried a fist in my stomach. “So entertain me…witch.” He struck me in the face a half dozen times before moving off. “Yes,” he said, shaking out his knuckles, “you’re going to be tremendously popular here.”
Blood flew from my mouth as I gasped, “I won’t be your fucking toy.”
“Like you have a choice?” Guidon touched the shoulder of the woman who seemed quite at home between my legs. “Work quicker.” Promptly, her mouth tightened. Her ministrations picked up speed. “Good girl,” he praised, patting her head. “Let’s see if the witch can obey as well as you.” Pulling his knife, Guidon lowered it. He rested the edge alongside the woman’s chin. His eyes challenged mine. “Do it. Spill your seed down her throat, or I will cut it open.”
“Fuck you.”
“Do it, Troy. Or she dies.”
“You can’t expect me to…”
“I will kill her.”
Panic rushed cold through my veins. “I know you hate me. But she has nothing to do with what’s between us.”
Ignoring me, Guidon took a handful of the woman’s brown hair in his grip. She didn’t waver. She just kept sucking me, harder and deeper, into her throat. “I’m losing patience,” Guidon warned.
“Please.” I shook my head at him. “Don’t hurt her.”
“I have one rule here, Troy. Do as I say.”
“I can’t.”
“Such a shame.” He looked her over. “She’s pretty, don’t you think?”
I yanked at the shackles. I tried to shove her away. Thrashing, crying out, I heaved at the chains, struggling to rip them from the wall. But my futile attempt to break free did nothing but scrape my wrists raw, wrench my back and shoulders, and expend my last scrap of energy. There wasn’t even enough left for me to do the one thing that would save her life.
Still, I tried. I focused, struggling to give myself over to her attentions. But there was too much pain and panic moving through me, and I was limp.
I turned pleading eyes on Guidon. “I can’t,” I panted. “Not like this.”
“Well. That is unfortunate.” Guidon jerked the blade. Her throat opened and blood splattered warm across my groin. I slipped from her slack mouth. She fell over and I let out one despondent, rage-filled cry after another that no one in the room paid a damn bit of mind to.
Guidon nudged the body aside with his boot. He brought in another woman to take her place. She knelt down, wiped the b
lood away, and went to work.
Breathless, my throat burning, I begged her. “Stop. You don’t have to do this.”
“Most certainly she does,” Guidon said smoothly. “I command it.” He stroked the girl’s head affectionately as it bobbed up and down. “I don’t mind wasting some of my stock on you, Troy. As you can see, I have plenty. And you’re going to be so worth it.” He moved on from petting the girl to petting me. “If your performance here pleases me, I can be generous. But if you don’t accept that pleasure and pain will be felt only on my whim, then you will hang on my wall and feel neither.” He grabbed my chin and leaned in close. “When I finally allow you to feel again, that first touch will be mine. And you will be grateful. You will beg to kneel before me. To please me.”
I spit in his face.
Laughing, Guidon shoved me away and stepped back. As he cleaned himself off, I noticed the smell of herbs had grown significantly more pungent. A fine layer of smoke wafted my way. Breathing it in made me dizzy. The walls began to roll and bend.
Voices turned to echoes.
Thickly, I said, “You’re burning something. What is it?”
“Ah,” Guidon cooed eagerly, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask. “You know, the shunning Kaelish medicine receives is so unfair. They put down our physicians and their brews. But this city has the finest apothecary in all the realms. Whatever ails you, whatever you need, they have a remedy for it. This little mixture,” he took in a long, drawn-out breath, “amplifies the senses. It causes even the most modest to become wild and impulsive. It stimulates vitality and stamina. Desire. It opens the mind to new possibilities and heightens every, single touch.”
As he spoke, I realized the mouth wrapped around me felt hotter, wetter.
Guidon sauntered close. “Have you ever been tortured without the benefit of Kayn’l? Even a slight dose muffles the sensation. While this brilliant concoction actually makes you feel more. What you feel more of,” he jabbed his knife into my side, “is up to you.”
I ground my teeth against the pain. “I’m going to rip you apart.”
Guidon withdrew the blade. He lowered it toward the kneeling girl’s head. My blood dripped off the blade and turned her blonde hair red. “Now,” he said. “Let’s try this again.”
Iron cut into my wrists. Stone bit into my knees. The thick, metal cuffs wrapping over my shins and bolting me to the floor were stiff and tight. The chains attached to the shackles on my wrists and anchored to the wall on either side of me, had no slack. I couldn’t help but give Guidon what he wanted; me, kneeling before him.
“So,” he sighed with a melodramatic flair. “Are you finally going to tell me why you’re here? Or am I going to have to cut you more? I can’t remember…” Guidon tapped his chin in thought. “Did you like the blade best heated, or cold?”
Head on my chest, I lifted my eyes and looked at him. “I came…to kill you.”
“Did you now? And how did bedding my wife fit into your plan?”
“It didn’t. That was just for fun.”
His lips tightened. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is? Me, owning a Shinree that’s so disrespectful?” he huffed. “I don’t understand why this is taking so long.” With a snap of his fingers, more women lined up. In various states of undress, small-breasted and slender, they were considerably younger than the last ones.
“Guidon…I can’t. Not like this.” I rattled my new bonds.
“If you want free, you’ll have to earn it.” Circling the girls, inspecting his inventory, he glanced at me. “Is what I’m offering so terrible? I can provide anonymity. A place to hide from your enemies. Food. Shelter. All the pleasure you can crave. In return, you amuse me and any who request it. That’s all. Yet, you insist on disregarding my authority. You gripe and snub every comfort I provide. Frankly, I’m insulted.”
“Insulted?” I laughed. Nothing about my situation was close to funny and it made my swollen, bloody face hurt like hell. But hearing Guidon rationalize his twisted take on torture; it was almost comical. “Fuck you and your guests, Sire,” I said, my amusement vanishing. “I’m not going to let you turn me into one of your drugged-out whores. I’ll die first.”
Guidon grabbed one of the girls. Lovingly, he caressed her face. He kissed her. Then he snapped her neck. “You won’t die, Troy.” He threw her body down. “They will.”
Wrath roared out my voice. “You fucking bastard!” Rage shot through my veins and strength came out of nowhere. I heaved on the chains; not even feeling the pain. “I’m going to fucking tear you apart! Do you hear me? TEAR YOU APART!”
“So you keep saying.” Guidon moved up behind the next girl in line. He brushed her hair aside, exposing her neck. As he pulled her willowy body close, her woozy stare caught mine. She didn’t see the knife coming, or even react much when it sunk in. There was only this far-away relief in her eyes as she slumped to the floor.
My throat thick, I held her gaze as the blood ran out. It was the least I could do. Life swiftly dwindling, her eyes on me turned fixed and glassy like a lake frozen solid. Her convulsing body stilled. The girl died, and a tiny flicker of something new sprung up inside of me—something that wasn’t pain or hunger. It was much more powerful.
Pulse racing, I tried to isolate it. The source was slippery, undefinable. It was just in me; a dim, tingling vibration; a little spark of quivering energy.
It was comfortable. Familiar. I wanted more.
The stirring intensified. It flourished, pulsating and expanding until the sensations were hurling through me. They were fire and ice at the same time, blending and pushing through my veins.
The weight was too much. I couldn’t catch my breath.
Suddenly, it was outside me, too; reaching in, sinking through my battered skin. It ran alongside the other and the two raced, spreading euphoria like the wind. The external stream possessed a slightly differently feel; enough that I could fold my mind around it and isolate the sensation.
Curious, I followed. Pursuing the vibration back to its root, I tracked it down.
Down…
Down…?
I looked at the floor. It was wood and stone. Both were overlaid in places with white marble tile. A dark glow oozed up around the edges of the tiles. They were shuddering, wobbling in place; as if something was below, trying to force its way up.
The phenomenon was happening all over. As Guidon’s toys mated on the floor, the space beneath and around them shimmered and shook. None of them saw it. No one else felt the heat radiating, the air tensing.
No one knew the swell of power growing in me.
“Guidon,” I said. “Where are we? I don’t recognize this place.”
“It was my father’s private chamber. I found it too small and drab for my taste. So I had a few walls knocked down and redecorated. I am King after all.”
Impatient, I shook my head. “No. Where are we in the castle?”
Beneath his curls, his forehead wrinkled. “Second floor. Above the Great Hall. If you’re considering an escape out the window, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
The Great Hall...? Struggling, I tried to recall when I was last there.
It was after the eldring attack. King Sarin was dead. I went to the hall, wanting to see him. I was injured. I couldn’t walk straight. I remembered heading to the back of the room. I passed the obsidian pillars that lined the path to the dais where Sarin’s body was.
I fell against one of them. I felt something.
Guidon gave me a parting slap on the face, then took the remaining girls and went back to his bed. Others joined him, men and women. I tried not to watch. I focused instead on the floor and the spark growing in me. Both were pulsing.
The pulse built, faster and faster. Still, it couldn’t keep up with the fury rising in me. Already at a dangerous level, it was multiplying swiftly, making me sweat. Causing me to tremble with hatred for Guidon, for all those like him—for every moment of pain I’d suffered at another’s han
ds, and every goddamn misstep I’d taken in my life that had ended me up here; chained in a Kaelish house of pleasure.
The thoughts infuriated me. The need to use what was in me, to be complete, shrouded the pain. The prickling numbness in my arms and legs abated. The haze from the burning herbs, the ache in my shoulders and back, the sting of my wounds, had all gone distant. The only parts of me that were clear and defined were the vibration and the rage. They seemed to run in harmony, to nourish each other, to escalate and spread in union. It was hard to tell one from the other. And I didn’t care to. I enjoyed them equally. I liked being lost in their coupling. The magic and the anger, it made me feel something I hadn’t in ages: strong. I was in a good place. One I would have gladly stayed in, floating forever in the vigorous, thumping wrath that was filling me. But the moment shattered as a hand touched my face.
The woman it belonged to wore an elaborate gown made of a black, crinkly fabric. The bodice was laden with emeralds. The strands stretched off the fabric at her shoulders, looped around her neck, and wound through her black hair. More green stones bordered the deeply cut neckline of the dress, accentuating a good half of what was undeniably one of her best features.
She was eye-catching. It still took considerable effort to reach past the power mounting inside me and recognize her. “Jillyan,” I breathed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“My husband is a beast.” Sweeping the train of her skirt aside, she crouched and brushed the hair out of my face. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 15
