Dockalfar

by Nunn, PL

  She wanted him to look at her and regret the loss of her benediction. He needed to know her animosity.

  She convinced herself of all of this, stroking the venomous emotions to a hot fire until he appeared in the midst of Azeral’s select cronies. Too passive and too complacent under Azeral’s will. Not looking at her at all, even when Azeral explained, with no small bit of dry amusement, what Victoria wished. Hair gone dark in the low light and traced with fire streaks fell over his face. Damn, she wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to register that she was the author of his downfall. But he would not. He let Deigah and Neferia strip of him of his cloak and bare his flesh to the waist. Let Deigah and Ephron tie his wrists to a ring over his head. He merely stood with his forehead against the wall, his hair a silky fall of tangled waves down his back. It reached his waist. Neferia lifted the mass of it, slowly twisting it in her hands before she sat it over his shoulder, baring the smooth skin of his back.

  Azeral’s breath caressed Victoria’s cheek. He leaned over her, placing the stout handle of the whip in her cold hands. His fingertips brushed the backs of her knuckles over so lightly. He whispered in her ear. “The object of your desire… for revenge. What you want, my lovely Victoria, it is my pleasure to give to you. Avenge your honor, your trust. Heal yourself.”

  Her fingers clenched on the whip.

  Why wouldn’t Dusk look at her or say anything? Why did he not plead for her understanding? Alex had. She had seen it in his eyes. The sidhe looked on in anticipation. Muted excitement sizzled in the air. They wanted this more than she did. They wanted Dusk’s pain. They wanted one of their fears dismantled. She knew in a moment of clarity that they hated him more than any other fear. Hated him because of what he was and the power he had to kill any one of them, regardless of any safeguards they could put up. Hated him because he was yet one more advantage Azeral held over them. Hated him to the point where the thought of seeing him beaten had them salivating and writhing. Yes, they wanted his pain more than she did. It occurred to her that there was no being here in this entire keep that cared. Not one that loved him, not even his master. No wonder there was no surprise at this summons, no pleading.

  Who would listen?

  Nausea erupted. She was suddenly dizzy and sick. She could not hold the bile back. It burned her throat.

  “Let him go,” she whispered. They stared at her as if she had asked to have her own head lopped off. She dropped the whip from limp fingers and backed away.

  “Oh God, oh God,” she repeated over and over. She needed salvation. She needed hope that she would not become like them.

  Her twisted mind kept pulling her down to their depths. Madness and schizophrenia warped her personality and she felt the changes and could not alter them. And nothing brought out the demons in her as well as Dusk.

  She sobbed and fled. Their eyes were upon her. Their disappointment palpable.

  The hate shifted. She stopped hating Dusk and started hating them. And just a little bit of the loathing she left for herself.

  ~~~

  Azeral watched her go. Perfect teeth ground together and ice blue eyes narrowed. The five of his court who he had allowed to attend this spectacle were staring at anything but his dark face. The stupid human bitch. She was impossible.

  So close to the edge of darkness and she refused to topple over. So very much more fierce than her male. So much vaster a power. More than Alex could ever hold.

  To kill her would be such a waste.

  With a silent sweep of the arm he banished the sidhe. They fled his wrath, disenchanted at the lack of entertainment.

  Neferia stayed and pressed herself against the wall, watching him. He picked up the discarded whip, smoothed the hardened leather tongues.

  “Let him go,” he repeated the girl’s plea/command. “Unpredictable wench.”

  He drifted to Dusk. He had been prepared to sacrifice his Ciagenii for this stupid girl. One of his prize possessions. And she still defied his seduction. He ran a hand down Dusk’s ribs, felt a very slight shudder under silky skin. If she knew the price he had paid for this slender, deadly creature she would not take his gesture so lightly.

  “Have you bewitched her, my lovely?” he whispered in Dusk’s ear, pulling tendrils of hair away from the neck. Baring one delicately pointed ear and elegant cheek. “Or is it the other way around?”

  Lashes trembled on cheeks. Dusk shook his head ever so slightly.

  “No.” A mere murmur of denial.

  “No?” Azeral brushed fingertips across the soft skin at the nape of the neck.

  “Then tell me why she is alive. Tell me why you did not strike to kill when she attacked me. Do you value your soul so lightly that you would risk it for a human girl?”

  “No.”

  Again, the soft denial. He realized he had never in all the time he had possessed his Ciagenii and that had been all of Dusk’s life, heard him speak above a whisper. What an absurd realization to strike him. He laughed. “You’ve never struck but to kill and yet this female lives. I find that disturbing.”

  “She has value. Was I wrong?”

  “Did I tell you to preserve her life?”

  “You said bring her back.”

  “A body might have been sufficient.

  You risked my life with a blunted blow.”

  Dusk did not answer. Azeral could not read him. No magic could reach through his veneer. The magic, that was not magic, of the Ciagenii. Immune to magic. Destroyers of souls.

  “Beautiful, beautiful child,” Azeral breathed in his ear, tilted his head back and rested fingertips against the beating pulse in the throat. “What should I do for such laxness? What reprimand do you suggest I deliver?”

  Silence. That in itself was a rebellion. Azeral frowned. He struck out with the whip. Dusk almost controlled the spasm. Red welts sprang up across his lower back.

  “You’ve never tasted the bite of the lash. Perhaps my leniency with you is what led to this. Perhaps my hand has been too gentle.” He hit again and blood bubbled to the surface. No sound from Dusk. Nothing more than a quickening of breath. Azeral cursed the dark gods of Annwn. Neferia stood in the shadow, huge shining eyes fixed on him. Her face was a pale play of soft contours. Lovely creature with dark appetites. But weren’t all his folk of that nature?

  He whirled and thrust the whip at her.

  She took it with a slight turning of the lips.

  There was a quirk of pleasure at the corner of her mouth. She appreciated small gifts. He paused at the steps without looking back at her or the Ciagenii. A warning, lest she damage the irreplaceable.

  “Remember his value.”

  Her soft voice, tinged with pleasure and anticipation. She would be properly grateful come nightfall.

  “Of course my Lord.”

  ~~~

  Victoria found herself in unfamiliar territory. In dark halls where moisture clung like ice to the walls. Where the smell of fungi and algae were strong in her nostrils. She thought she was deep beneath the upper levels of the keep. Below the line of earth and delving into the bowels of the mountain. She ran for some time, pausing early on to empty her stomach of rebelling matter. She felt better after that.

  Physically. Mentally she was still on shaky ground. Her thoughts were a shifting turmoil. She could not begin to understand what had prompted her to trigger the travesty she had fled. Her emotions were not her own of late. They seemed to belong to some flighty, easily offended woman with a definite malicious streak that she did not know. She was not so gullible or egotistical to believe herself pristine or saintly, but she was not the raging bitch that had been surfacing recently.

  It was not all her fault. She laid a good deal of blame at Alex’s feet. To betray her in the manner he had was unforgivable. To pretend she was nothing more than a minor concern was infuriating. She had every right to rage at him. She was shamed that she had taken her frustration out on Dusk when he had done nothing more than his duty demanded. She was shocked that
Azeral held such complete control, that the assassin would go so calmly to his own torture. She discovered she hated that compliance. Why ever did Azeral deserve it, grand manipulator that he was?

  Foot pads echoed behind her. Her heartbeat sped in fear that it was Azeral or some member of his court coming to drag her back to the torture of her diversion.

  She turned and stood trembling the dim hall way, ready to put of a fight if necessary. The shadow that turned the corner was not sidhe tall and willowy, it was short and gnarled and it furtively crept past the corner, then jerked back in alarm when it saw her waiting for it.

  She gaped in surprise as her furtive pursuer fled, then ran forward and called his name.

  “Bashru! Wait!” She skidded around the corner and found him leaning against the wall, glaring at her from under his great slab-like brows. “Why were you following me?”

  “No sane reason,” came the muttered reply.

  “Then what insane one?”

  He did not answer at first, his small black eyes glittering in the shadow of his eye sockets. Then finally, he shrugged.

  “Wanted to see where you was runnin’ to.”

  Her eyes widened in dismay. “You were there?”

  “I was around.”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  He snorted, loud and rudely. “No hair offa my hide what sidhe and their like do to each other.”

  “I’m not sidhe,” she cried. “And it was horrible. And why did you follow me if you didn’t care?”

  “Like to know things is all,” he admitted with terrible nonchalance. He pushed himself off the wall and made to turn away from her. She caught his arm. Steeled herself at the dirty feel of his hair-coated skin. His muscle was like stone.

  He looked from her hand to her face with something akin to awe that she would touch the likes of him.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she whispered. “This place is making me mad. They want me to become like them.”

  Carefully, he shrugged her hand from his arm. “Nobody crosses Azeral.”

  He walked away from her, leaving her in the middle of the dank stone passage. A trail of moisture made its way down the outside of her cheek.

  “Why did he let them do it?” she whispered at his back.

  The little man hesitated, turned his head slightly as if to better hear her words. “Like I said, nobody crosses Azeral.”

  “Would you have let them?”

  “Humph! I’d of run for the haunted hills afore I let the lot of them at me.”

  “So why did Dusk?”

  “Azeral don’t own my soul, wench. There’s a difference.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that. How can it be?”

  The spriggan made a sound of frustrated disgust. “Why this. Why that. Don’t you ever tire of askin’ questions?”

  “I want to know.”

  “Dark sidhe ain’t never been nothing more than skulking forest thieves, with no more worth than a passel o’ fairies. Only thing they ever have of any value is a Ciagenii every generation or so. Don’t ask me why only Dark Sidhe produce Ciagenii, ‘cause I don’t know. But one outta a thousand babies be born with the knowin’ of how to kill. Not just takin’ a life, but takin’ any life and when the urge hits ‘em, the takin’ of the soul. No magic can touch them, there’s no protection from them. Would you trust something like that in your employ without damn strong assurances it wouldn’t turn on you?

  Especially when it comes from such a upstanding lot like the dark sidhe? There was a time when the high lords went to all sorts of trouble to hunt down Ciagenii and wipe the blight out of Elkhavah. The more powerful the lord, the more frightened he was of the ‘death that was unstoppable’, then some enterprising high sidhe came up with the idea of using the Ciagenii to their own ends. And the only way to do that safely was the unbreakable bond of holding their souls. But you can’t take a soul from a living breathing body. Once it’s attached, it’s there for good. So they take it from the womb. Ohh, the dark sidhe wench who finds out she’s carrying a Ciagenii is a happy wench indeed. She’s got something the most powerful of the high lords will pay dearly for.”

  Victoria stared at the spriggan in horror. “You mean they sell their babies before they’re even born?”

  “As soon as it can be determined it’s a Ciagenii. The only way to separate a body’s soul is before the soul is good and secure. You have to do it in the wench’s belly.”

  “My God. That’s what happened to Dusk?”

  Bashru shrugged. “I was there. Was me that the greedy little wench contacted with the proposition for Azeral. I took her to him and soon as he was satisfied that what she carried was Ciagenii the two of them set to bargaining. She got a good price. Then Azeral took the soul. Didn’t hurt the wench, but it hurt the baby. You could practically see it trying to claw its way outta her belly. Then it stopped and everything was okay again. Few months later she had the brat and went on her merry way. And Azeral had a Ciagenii that was assured to be loyal no matter what. Now what else you want to know?”

  She leaned against the wall, knees feeling weak and head spinning. The audacity of this place and its minions sapped her strength.

  “I hate it here. I want to go home so bad.”

  He looked at her without a speck of understanding. She wondered if he had ever known a place better than this.

  “Little chance of that,” Bashru muttered. “Azeral don’t let go of things easy. Want my advice? Don’t fight them. You do and they’ll crush you.”

  How true, she thought. This place had already started to make her loose herself. How much more before it crushed her will and her spirit?

  “What do I do then?” she asked.

  He shrugged, and she saw the hint of a toothy grin. “Do what I do, humor ‘em. Let ‘em think they’re smarter than you. And if you get on the bad side of one, never turn your back on him.”

  “Or her,” Victoria murmured.

  ~~~

  She wore the dresses Azeral provided for her. Found each and every one cut to perfection and of colors flattering to her hair and eyes and even her skin tone. One and all they were of richer material and trimming than those she had worn at Ashara’s keep. The bodices were lower cut, the skirts filmier, the designs more elegant. She felt like she had accidentally walked into the wardrobe of a fairy tale princess. It was bribery, of course. As if clothes and jewels could win her over. As if scrumptious food and flattery would make her forget her grievances. They were polite to her, of course. She was certain it was on Azeral’s orders. They called her Lady, and made pretty comments to her when she passed. Not one of them attempted her inner shields, although sometimes, late at night she could feel the delicate prying fingers of a master and knew Azeral secretly worked at undermining her privacy. She did not mention she was aware of his trespass to him. She took her meals in her room, or in one of the gardens and occasionally, when she was feeling brave in the great hall with the majority of the court. She never attended the evening feast, although she sometimes heard the servants talking fearfully of who would serve this night or that.

  She was terrified of running into Alex. Although as the days passed she found that he and Leanan were conspicuously scarce. Azeral’s doing?

  The Dark Lord personally asked for her company during a grand dance the court was holding in the great hall. Her day, being a particularly boring one and bereft of most company, could well use some change of pace. She was feeling daring, and Azeral promised not to hold her for long. So she agreed.

  He appeared at her door himself, immaculate in royal blue and silver. She felt drab next to him in forest hued greens, and duller still when she entered that gaily-colored crowd of fey creatures.

  They glimmered with vitality and a magical aura that she no longer had. They were dream folk. With clouds of flowing silky hair and faces and forms to surpass the most comely of angels. She felt undeserving of their company. A little human girl thrust
in the midst of gods. She felt their eyes on her, their contempt. So she did the only thing she could do in her defense. She held her head high and pretended not to notice. She walked among them on the arm of their lord and master and made believe that this was nothing more than an elegant cocktail party peopled by ordinary humans.

  There was a troupe of lesser sidhe musicians, sad eyed and long faced, but fingers and lips working light hearted magic on their instruments. The tunes were heart catching. Victoria found herself loosening despite her reservations. Music always had the ability to sway her moods.

  The sidhe whirled about her in a sensuous, wild dance. Azeral pulled her into the rhythm. She let him. She was ashamed to admit that the dance did not repel her. Her partner, for the moment, did not have her suspicions soaring. She was content to let the music transport her to an euphoria so far inexperienced here.

  Azeral leaned close to her ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin there. “I’m told you are a singer beyond compare, Victoria.”

  She blinked up at him, taken off guard. “Alex told you that?”

  “Is it true?”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable with the question. It delved into a private part of her she did not wish to give away.

  “It’s what I did before you saw fit to bring me here.”

  “I would be pleased to hear you sing.”

  She lowered her gaze to his chest.

  She would not sing for him. She would not be an entertainment for his lot. He took her silence for what it was. She felt his shrug.

  “Perhaps later.”