Still, Diesa had to admit that her time with Scanlon had not been exactly trying. In fact, the only real pain he had ever delivered to her was that wicked jolt of magic after she had hit him. And in truth, she wasn’t even sure he had meant to do it. No, that didn’t make sense. How could he not have known what he was doing? She shook her head, confused, again looking over at him.
So, if he is so kind and generous, why then do I fight him? Because, she found her own answer, he’ll take my heart and my love and I’ll be forever yearning and never fulfilled. Still, there could be worse things to endure. She closed her eyes and admitted with a shudder that Scanlon had begun to chip away at her heart. It was going to be hard to summon any anger to deal with that. Very hard.
Or so she thought. But by the fourth day out, she was seething. Her attitude had deteriorated drastically since leaving Estower, while Kittellan’s had done just the opposite. He was completely enamored of Drake and spent what time he had away from Scanlon with the boy, leaving Diesa alone and forgotten. Gone were the shared confidences, the tender words, the gentle touches. Drake got them all.
For the first time Diesa had to admit to herself that she was jealous. She knew that in the dark of the night they lay close together, their arms holding each other, their kisses speaking of new-found passion and love, while she lay alone and cold, feeling more lonely and self-pitying than she had in a long time. At times she wished Scanlon had sold her to Corwin. At times she wished he’d not bought Drake. Yet the decisions had been made and there was nothing she could do about it but suffer and be miserable. And make everyone else miserable, too.
The day had started out badly with a bone-chilling drizzle. Kittellan had previously roused her from sleep in the mornings with a firm shake, a gentle kiss, and a list of Scanlon’s preferences for breakfast. But this morning the kiss was not there, only the shake and Scanlon’s request which, to Diesa’s weary mind, had sounded an awful lot like an order. Orders she would take from Scanlon, not from Kittellan. She had snapped back at him and that had set the tone for the entire day.
Scanlon wanted hot cereal, presumably to take the chill from their bodies. It was the hardest thing to cook over an open fire and had to be watched and stirred constantly to avoid burning. Diesa had not slept well the previous night and she nodded off. The porridge burned, although she salvaged enough to form three helpings, which Scanlon and the boys took. Diesa had nothing, though it was at her own insistence, and spent over half an hour scrubbing the pot clean in a stream cold enough to thoroughly numb her hands. It was with numb hands that she tried to repack, fumbling about and dropping things until at last Scanlon ordered Drake to do it.
Now, it was lunch and she was famished, but had only a few moments to bolt down some cheese and bread before Scanlon sent her off to dig roots and gather herbs while he and the boys got in some sword practice. As usual, she thought. They enjoy themselves, while I’m left with the drudgery. She dug furiously, her anger overwhelming her. When the spade struck a rock, the handle snapped away. Diesa stared at it in dismay. It was ruined. Her irritation turned to anger, and she tossed the useless tool aside, then attacked the hard dirt with her fingers. She dug until they were raw and bleeding. The pain only intensified her sullen mood, and she stumbled toward the stream, where she plunged her hands into the icy waters. The cold took her breath away, but it also temporarily stopped the bleeding. She rose, picked up her meager rewards of roots, and started back toward camp. On the way she spotted a willow tree and used her knife to cut several branches, dulling the blade in the process, but thinking only of the mind-soothing tea she could make with the bark.
The moment she arrived back in camp, Scanlon was on his feet. His gaze swept over her, coming to rest on her hands, which had warmed sufficiently to bleed again.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Nothing," she snapped, quite forgetting whom she addressed.
Scanlon approached her, his own frustration showing. He reached out for her hands, then lifted his eyebrows in surprise when she brushed him away.
"I said it was nothing. I broke my spade and had to dig for the roots." Diesa knew her tone was harsh, but it didn’t seem she had the ability to change it. She started past Scanlon, then froze when he gripped her by the arm.
"Your hands," he stated.
Diesa put down the roots and held out her hands. Scanlon healed each finger with a stabbing prick of magic. Diesa yelped, and jerked away, her anger roiling over. "You did that on purpose!"
She heard Drake gasp, saw Kittellan wince, but Scanlon said nothing, and motioned to Drake and Kittellan to break camp. The ride only served to fuel Diesa’s anger. Pearl continually edged her way toward the stallion despite Diesa’s resolve to keep the two horses apart. She was soon exhausted and muscle sore from fighting with the horse. Not to mention she had been hit with a profound sense of fatigue since early that morning. A fatigue that only got worse as the afternoon dragged on. Drake and Kittellan had ridden on ahead to hunt for supper, and when Scanlon and Diesa finally met up with them, she almost fell from the saddle. Kittellan had brought down three rabbits and now dropped them at Diesa’s feet, beaming with pride. She stared at them in outright disgust, holding to the saddle for support.
"I don’t know how to prepare rabbit," she said wearily.
"It’s not that hard," Kittellan told her. "I’ll show you." He hunkered down and sliced one of the rabbits open, spilling foul smelling entrails upon the ground.
Diesa felt a warm flush begin to spread over her body. But when Kittellan gripped the animal by the back legs and started to peel the skin away from the meat, Diesa gagged. She spun away, but was not quick enough, and retched all over the dead animal. Kittellan yelped and snatched the other two rabbits out of harms way as Diesa vomited again. And yet again.
"Drake, take over meal preparations," Scanlon said, a look of concern on his face. "Kittellan, clean things up here. Diesa –"
"No!" Diesa snapped, wiping at her face. Sudden tears of humiliation stung her eyes. "I’ll do it!" She grabbed up the supply pack, and fumbled in it for the pan, but the overpowering smell of the dead animal sent her reeling. This time she vomited directly into the pan. She heard Drake let out a groan of dismay, and abruptly rage tore through her. She uttered an oath and flung the pan away from her. It bounced once on the hard ground, and struck Scanlon soundly on the shin.
Drake and Kittellan gasped together, their eyes widening in alarm.
"Enough!" Scanlon boomed, his eyes narrowing with anger. "Since you seem to have so much energy, Diesa, you may clean up here!"
"Fine!" she retorted hotly, and actually pushed past him, bringing another round of disbelieving gasps from Drake and Kittellan. It didn’t take her long to scoop up the animals’ remains, and bury them a respectable distance from the camp. Still, she did so with almost continual gagging and vomiting. She refused dinner and retreated to her blanket pale, shivering and exhausted. She lay huddled in her blankets, listening to the quiet conversation of the men, feeling as if she were on the other side of a wide chasm. Her heart had hardened once more against the elf and anger was back in her corner. And not just anger at Scanlon, but anger at Kittellan and Drake as well. Even Pearl did not escape her dark thoughts. She resolved to shut them all out. She vowed to take full control of her emotions, to either win freedom or die trying. She would not stay in this situation, would not stay a slave, would not allow any more men to control her.
The next morning she managed to wake before Kittellan and did not return his smile. "What does Lord Scanlon want this morning?" she asked coldly.
Kittellan sighed. "Eggs and sausage," he replied softly, then added, "Are you feeling better this morning?" When she refused to reply, he continued. "Come, Diesa. Don’t go back into your anger. I like you better without it."
She glared at him. "You don’t need to like me, Kittellan. You have Drake." She rose, stepped past him, and began meal preparation, trying to ignore how self-pitying she had sounded. The breakfast turned o
ut perfect. She was even able to turn Scanlon’s eggs without breaking the yolks, and the tea she made from the willow bark was admired by all. She was the only one who did not eat, a fact that was not lost on Scanlon and he questioned her on it.
"I am not hungry, M’lord," she replied. "My stomach is still in a bit of turmoil from yesterday."
"I see." Scanlon regarded her for a long moment and Diesa could not tell if he invaded her mind or not. That fact sent her cool detachment into anger. Scanlon rose. "Then clean up here. Kittellan, Diesa’s dagger could use sharpening. Drake, prepare the horses."
They rode on through the thick forests of pine over paths made muddy by the previous day’s rain. Diesa’s mount slid and stumbled, jarring her painfully and adding to her anger. Drake brought his horse up beside her.
"Loosen your reins," he offered. "Let her choose her footing. Stop fighting her for it."
"And you’re an equestrian?" Diesa snapped.
"No." Drake sighed and dropped back.
Kittellan glared at her, having heard the exchange, but said nothing. And that was the problem, Diesa thought. No one talks with me anymore. They talk at me. Telling me what to do, how to do it and when. A slave to all. A friend to none. She sighed and stared at Kittellan’s back. I’m glad you’re happy, Kitt, she thought. But I’m not glad that Drake came between us, because now all that’s left is Scanlon. And I want him about as much as the plague.
Diesa thought she saw Scanlon stiffen, but ignored it and they rode on.
Chapter 7
* * *
Seven more days in the wilderness did much to harden Diesa’s body and will. She was able to clean a rabbit without retching, she learned of new plants and berries that were both edible and medicinal, thanks to Scanlon’s knowledge of such, and she honed her rage to a fine point that promised to keep her heart totally hers.
The thing she couldn’t do was keep away a persistent nausea and overwhelming fatigue, so it was with a joyful eye that she spotted the town of Rucer in the distance. Scanlon had promised a stay there to replenish both supplies and strength, although he and the boys didn’t look as if they needed such. In fact, the weeks in the wilderness had put muscles on both of them and they looked healthier than Diesa had ever seen them. In addition, the daily sparring and archery sessions vastly improved both boys’ skill and confidence. Their love for each other grew, as well as their devotion to Scanlon. He, in turn, seemed to view them less as slaves and more as children. The only holdout to the happy group was Diesa.
Although she performed her tasks without complaint, answered when spoken to, and afforded everyone polite acknowledgment, she kept herself apart. Even Kittellan stopped trying to break through her self-imposed isolation, which both hurt and helped.
The inn Scanlon chose was one of the nicer ones in town and he purchased their rooms. Diesa found hers well appointed with a bath already drawn and a fire in the hearth. She dropped her pack and tested the water. It was warm and she quickly stripped and took advantage of it, scrubbing two weeks of road from her hair and skin before simply lying back and enjoying the soak.
Scanlon had told her to meet for dinner in one hour. A whole hour to herself. No one watching her, telling her what to do and how to do it, no one uttering sad little sighs of pity. Just her and a warm tub. She closed her eyes and drifted to welcome sleep.
"You’re late." The voice startled her awake, and she sat bolt upright, sloshing water over the side of the tub and all over Scanlon who stood frowning down at her.
"M’lord!" she gasped, then remembered her nudity and slid quickly back into the water, spilling even more of it. Her face flamed and she stared back at the elf, her anger seeping forward. "M’lord. I … I apologize. I fell asleep."
"That is apparent." Scanlon held out a drying cloth, which Diesa snatched. She rose swiftly and covered herself with one movement.
"I’ll dress at once, M’lord," she whispered, backing toward the fire.
"No need." Scanlon’s voice was cool, his own anger apparent. "Dinner is done. It looks as if you’ll have to go without."
"Yes, M’lord." Diesa swallowed hard, trying to ignore the nausea that threatened.
"I trust you’ll be on time for breakfast," Scanlon said, then turned and left the room.
Diesa relaxed, exhaling sharply, then made for the wash basin to vomit. When she was done, she stumbled to the bed and fell onto it, not even bothering to crawl beneath the covers. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. She was too tired, too sick. Scanlon had healed her injuries from the man’s attack, she knew that. So, what was it that ailed her? Something she had eaten on the trail?
She closed her eyes, shivering. Whatever it was she was sure she would find out in time. She tried to sleep but her hunger only served to increase the nausea and she found herself making frequent trips to the wash basin to empty her stomach of nothing. At last she gave up on sleep, wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in a chair before the fire.
Where does Scanlon take us? she wondered. And for what purpose. We’ve been going steadily south for weeks now and not once has he shared our destination. Diesa frowned and tried to think of what she knew of the southern lands. It wasn’t much. Her knowledge of the land was limited. She hadn’t done much traveling. But then most girls her age hadn’t. Nor did they have the desire. Her friends seemed quite content to marry young and start a family in the same forest in which they had grown up. Diesa had always been different. She longed to travel, to see the land for herself, to put reality to all the words she read in the literary scrolls in the town hall. But money had been scarce, time even worse. It was a struggle just to survive, she didn’t have the resources to be entertaining thoughts of travel and exploration.
But when Omerron burned and Diesa found herself alone, she had decided to start those travels. She hadn’t gotten far. A young girl alone, without weapons—tired, hungry and scared—was easy prey for the slave traders. Six days of freedom was all she’d managed. Six days of answering to no one but herself and Mother Nature. She smiled, recalling it. Yes, she had been scared, but looking back, she would trade all of her security now for the taste of freedom.
A soft tap at her door startled her and trailing her blanket, she went to it and opened it just a crack. Kittellan smiled at her and she pulled the door wide. He pressed two chunks of dinner bread into her hands and shushed her.
"It’s not much, but it’s all I could hide from Scanlon. I just didn’t want you to go hungry. You look as if you’ve not been feeling well." He shrugged. "I thought it would be best if you ate. I’d better go. If Scanlon finds out, he’ll punish me."
He leaned forward, kissed her forehead and quickly stole down the hall to his room.
Diesa stood in the doorway for a long time, holding the bread and staring after him. "Gods, Kitt," she whispered as pain leapt into her heart, "I love you."
She closed the door, returned to her chair and munched absently on the bread, thinking back to her first meeting with Kittellan. She had been furious with Scanlon for his actions, furious with Kittellan for his mute acceptance. She thought she had scored a point against Scanlon when Kittellan’s sexual preference was discovered, when actually the only point had been scored against her. She put the bread down, curled into a ball, and cried herself to sleep.
She woke early, stiff, cramped and sick. She stumbled in a fog to the wash basin, realized she hadn’t cleaned it, turned away in revulsion and retched on the floor. She groaned at her own folly and fetched a cloth to clean up the mess. There was a soft tap on the door and Kittellan poked his head into the room.
"Diesa, Scanlon—what happened?" he cried, seeing her down on her hands and knees.
"Nothing," Diesa returned. "I’ll be there in a minute."
Kittellan walked into the room. "You’re sick, Diesa."
"I’m fine!" she snapped, coming to her feet and whirling toward him. She collapsed into his arms as blackness swallowed her.
A moment later she opened her eyes.
She lay on her bed, Kittellan hovering over her, his face ashen. "You weren’t drinking again, were you?" he demanded.
His words stung as sharply as a blow. "No! Of course not! I must have eaten something on the trail that disagreed with me, that’s all!"
"Then how come no one else is sick?"
"I’ll be fine! It will pass! It has before and it will now!" Diesa fumed.
"Before? How long have you been sick?"
Diesa brushed him off and sat up. He took her firmly by the shoulders. "How long, Diesa?"
"A few days. Why? Why is it so important?" she cried.
"Because, believe it or not, I care about you!" Kittellan retorted hotly. "And I’m tired of you pushing me aside!"
"Me?" Diesa shrieked. "You’re the one who suddenly has no time! Every minute you’re not with Scanlon, you’re with Drake! I might as well be dead for all the notice I get. Except, of course, at mealtime. Then, all of a sudden, I’m important. But only as a slave, Kittellan, to Scanlon, to Drake, to you. Just leave me alone, Kittellan! It hurts less that way."
She shoved him aside, rose and started dressing with a fury. He waited until she was done, then took her tightly by the arm. She stiffened, not looking at him, but not pulling away from him either. "What, Kittellan?" she asked, her voice cold. "What do you want with me?"
"Your forgiveness," Kittellan said simply. "You’re right. I’ve been neglecting you. And I have no excuse. I’m sorry, Diesa. I’m really sorry."
Diesa closed her eyes, trying in vain to stop the tears. They came anyway, seeping from under her lashes and rolling down her now-lean cheeks. Kittellan sighed and pulled her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair. She stood stiff in his arms, trying desperately to quiet her heart. Her composure lasted but a moment and she began to sob.
"Kittellan, I lied," she said. "I thought I could accept you as a friend, but Gods, Kittellan, I love you! And it hurts so much! I see you with Drake and my heart breaks. It breaks and I don’t know how to put it back together."
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