Broken Wing

by Judith James

  De Sevigny smiled, running a finger down his cheek, and then gripped his jaw, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “Then I shall tell you how. Here. Now. Tonight. You will show the other one how it’s done.” He looked pointedly in Valmont’s direction. “You will endeavor to please me, Gabriel, and you will acknowledge me as your master. Until then you will be treated as a slave. Prove to me your devotion, make yourself worthy of my favor, and I will reward you. I may even free you. If you fail, or if you dare to defy me, I won’t kill you, nor will I return you to the bagnio or sell you to the Dey. I will have you hamstrung, and then make a private sale. There are many here who share my vice, Gabriel. I will ensure that your life becomes a living hell.”

  “I would not like that, Monsieur le Comte. I would prefer to stay with you. I can obey.”

  “Can you? You’ve lied to me before. I think you will have to prove it, my dear,” he said, tugging open Gabriel’s shirt and running his hand across his chest.

  Gabriel winced, drawing away. “Your men … my ribs … I need more time. I … I beg you.”

  “You beg me? That’s good, Gabriel. That’s very good! My men hurt you, I know. They weren’t supposed to, and they have been severely chastised, I assure you. I shall give you all the time you need. Do you see how pleasant it can be when we are nice to each other? But first you must give me a kiss, to show me how you love me. You do love me, don’t you, Gabriel?”

  “No, Monsieur le Comte.”

  De Sevigny burst into delighted laughter. “Then you must pretend, until you do. Show me, Gabriel, and show your friend. He needs to learn. Kiss me, and then I will leave you in peace.”

  He hadn’t expected that. It had never been asked of him before. His kisses were for Sarah. No one else. But that life was fading now, almost gone. It had started the moment he’d fallen, battered and torn into an angry sea. Monsieur needed convincing. Let the games begin. Leaning forward, he took de Sevigny’s face between his palms and pulled him gently into a kiss. He touched his lips, featherlight against the count’s, pretending it was Sarah he was kissing, his heart breaking as he knowingly defiled the purest thing they’d shared between them, knowing that by doing so, he was saying good-bye to her forever. He deepened the kiss, almost sobbing, and then pulled away. “Like so, Master?”

  Dazed, de Sevigny pulled himself to his feet. Gripping the wall for support, he stumbled from the cell as if drunk. The guards locked the door after him, and followed him up the stairs. The chevalier coughed, but said not a word.

  Gabriel lay motionless, staring at the ceiling. He had wanted to kill de Sevigny when he’d dared put his hands on him. He’d almost choked on his hatred, and his hands had clenched in anticipation, reaching for the chain. He had imagined himself wrapping it around his neck and twisting, breaking Monsieur le Comte’s vertebrae with a satisfying crack. If he’d done so, he would have died. The guards would have killed him, or the Dey’s justice would have.

  Two months ago he’d been a rich man. He had a wife he loved, who loved him in return. Blithe and carefree, trusting in himself and his future, he’d reveled in it. Now fate was punishing him for challenging her, and daring to take for himself what he was never meant to have. It was a harsh lesson, a costly and painful one.

  He remembered something Davey had told him a lifetime ago. It had resonated with him, because he’d always known it to be true. Your best armor, is your mind. He needed to steel himself, to kill every weakness including hope. All that was left was revenge. Fate might have taken everything else from him, the vicious bitch, but he wouldn’t let her rob him of that. The seed was planted. De Sevigny was going to die.

  CHAPTER

  27

  The next evening, two guards came to remove Gabriel from his cell. Valmont sat, staring pointedly at the wall. They hadn’t talked to each other since the day before, and they didn’t speak now. The door slammed shut and Gabriel was escorted down the hall, up the stairs, and out into the night. There were three men at a post in the corridor, guarding the courtyard and the access to the second floor and cellars. Two more were posted on the roof. He took everything in as he was led, dirty and bedraggled, through the house. Cooling fountains, rich carpets, lush gardens, all the accoutrements a connoisseur like de Sevigny might require, but he had not neglected security.

  He was brought to an area with two luxurious tiled rooms, one housing a steamy, rectangular bath, and the other a cool refreshing pool. Stripping off his vermin-infested rags, he allowed the attendant to wash his hair and shave him as he sank blissfully into the heated water. Its warmth was a welcome balm that soothed his aching muscles and abraded skin. Who would have thought such a simple thing could give such pleasure? When he was done with his bath, he was handed clean clothes and fitted with a chain around his ankle attached to a five-pound weight he would have to carry or drag behind him. It seemed to serve no purpose other than to humiliate and remind, but it had potential as a weapon.

  Feeling greatly restored, he followed meekly as he was led down another corridor and brought to a halt in front of a large, ornately carved door. Two more men were stationed here. The door opened onto a suite of opulent rooms, flanked by a long gallery that took up the entire south wing of the building and offered a commanding view of the courtyard, gardens, and stables below. Another guard was stationed in front of an imposing door etched with a crest Gabriel recognized from years ago. This must be de Sevigny’s private suite, and that was his sleeping quarters. So far he had counted ten guards in all. The man tapped on the door and de Sevigny opened it, smiling in appreciation.

  “Oh, my, you’ve cleaned up very nicely, my dear,” he said, caressing Gabriel’s shoulder and stroking his arm. “You’ve grown into a very handsome young man. Do you feel better, now that you are clean?”

  “Yes, Monsieur le Compte, thank you. I am hungry, though. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “Ah, because of the laudanum. It was for your own good, you know. To ease your pain and help you sleep. Nevertheless, if you don’t want it, I will order it stopped. You’ve pleased me, Gabriel, and you will find that I am generous when I’m pleased. You will sleep in my suite from now on. I’ve had a small room prepared for you next to mine. It is not luxurious, but a great improvement from where you were. When I know I can trust you, your situation will improve. Rest now. I’ll order food sent, and we’ll speak again tomorrow.”

  Gabriel was shown to a small closet adjoining de Sevigny’s bedchamber. It was fitted with a trunk, a stool, and a comfortable mattress, but it offered no privacy. It lacked a door and was positioned in full view of the sentry. De Sevigny might want him, but he didn’t trust him. He was brought a meal of aromatic lamb stew, soft white bread, lemon sherbet, grapes, and wine. He tore into it, wolfing it down and savoring the wine. It had been more than half a year since he’d eaten anything nearly as good. Clean, sated, and comfortable for the first time in months, he settled down on the soft pallet and fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Early the next afternoon the count had Gabriel brought to his chamber. He was dressed in the Turkish fashion, much as Gabriel was, and wore a magnificent jeweled dagger tucked in his waistband. The guard took up a position by the open door. The room was sumptuous to the point of being excessive, but there were several interesting features. The far wall held a collection of swords and other weapons, and Gabriel’s eyes sparked when he saw his own Toledo blade there. The count must have acquired it from the corsair captain.

  He turned quickly to scan the rest of the room, praying that de Sevigny hadn’t noted his interest. There was a piano that seemed strangely incongruous in the corner, an ornate fountain splashing against geometric tiles in the center of the room, and a long window seat that overlooked the gallery and the courtyard below. He studied the room, he studied his surroundings, and he studied the count, as a predator studies its prey.

  They played chess, and de Sevigny ordered him to play the piano. He did as he was told, somewhat surprised that after a
few rough notes, the music flew from his fingers as light and effortless as it ever had. Tiring of it, without asking permission, he rose and went to lounge by the window, gazing out to the courtyard below. No guards there, just grooms and stable boys, likely all slaves.

  De Sevigny rose and came to join him, and Gabriel closed his eyes, steeling himself, suffering the kisses, the insistent caresses, remaining mute as his heart roiled with hatred. He couldn’t tolerate much more. He needed to kill Monsieur le Comte the first time they were alone, and he needed to get him alone soon. He’d learned much from Madame after he’d left de Sevigny, and he used it now, pushing him away with hooded lids and a knowing look. “You promised to give me time … Master.” His voice was seductive, beguiling. “You promised to let me heal.”

  “I didn’t promise to let you play me for a fool, though, my dear. I think I shall have you examined by my own physician. If I find you’ve been playing games with me, I will punish you, Gabriel. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Monsieur le Compte. I understand,” he whispered against de Sevigny’s lips, then turned his head away and returned his attention to the courtyard below.

  “Leave me now, Gabriel. Go to your room. I shall send my physician to attend you directly.”

  Gabriel rose, bowed low to the ground, and returned to his room to wait. He’d recognized the look in de Sevigny’s eyes. He’d deliberately provoked it. Lust and greed and wanting. He’d seen it a thousand times before. It would override caution and good sense. The physician would come, he would examine Gabriel and pronounce him healthy, and the count would delight in the opportunity to chastise him for his lies. He would want privacy to do so. The trap was set. Gabriel was a grown man, powerful, deadly, trained to kill, not the defenseless child the count remembered, but de Sevigny couldn’t see it. Blinded by habit and hubris, he imagined himself all-powerful, and Gabriel well schooled in obedience. His hunger would rule him. It shouldn’t be long now.

  The physician came and went, and Gabriel awaited the summons. It came just before midnight. He had fallen into a light sleep. The guard stepped into his chamber and kicked at his pallet.

  “The master wants you. Be quick about it.”

  Gabriel entered the chamber with the same mix of anticipation and dread he felt before battle. De Sevigny was waiting, cloaked in a long white silk djellaba, a jeweled belt cinched around his waist, his dagger thrust through it. He was tapping a rod against his boot. “Leave us,” he snapped at the guard. Hurriedly the man bowed and backed from the room, pulling the door closed behind him. “I am very disappointed in you, Gabriel. You lied to me. My physician says there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all.” He flicked the rod against his boot, making it whistle and snap. “I so wanted us to get along. But you force me to punish you.”

  “I am sorry, Monsieur le Compte. It was only a game. I thought to amuse you.”

  “Come here.”

  Gabriel moved forward, eyeing the rod warily.

  “Remove your clothing.”

  “I have said that I was sorry. I did not understand the game we were playing.”

  “Do as I say!” de Sevigny snapped. “I would see that you are unarmed,” he added evenly.

  Gabriel removed his clothing, spread his arms wide, and turned around in a circle. “I carry no weapon … Master.”

  “I don’t wish to punish you, Gabriel. If you show me your loyalty and your devotion, I will spare you this.” De Sevigny twirled the rod in his hands.

  “What must I do, Master?” he rasped.

  “Come here,” de Sevigny said, pointing to the floor in front of him. “Kneel.”

  Heart racing, breathing heavily, Gabriel knelt in the soft carpet.

  “That’s right. Oh, my, such fire and passion in your eyes!” Placing one hand on top of Gabriel’s bent head, the count swept his robe aside with the other, and leaning over, whispered, “Now, offer me your submission, Gabriel. Show me that you love me. You know how.”

  And so he showed him. Wrenching the jeweled dagger from its gem-encrusted scabbard, he plunged it into the soft underside of Monsieur le Comte’s belly, turning and twisting it with one hand as the other reached up to stop his mouth, stifling his anguished screams. Rising to his feet in one fluid movement, he sliced him from pubic bone to breastbone, castrating him, gutting him, and laying him open. Dropping the dagger, he hugged him close, holding him upright as he gazed into his eyes, watching his shock and terror. “Now you know how much I love you,” he whispered, fierce against his cheek. Taking his hand from his mouth, he grasped the back of his head and kissed him savagely as the life fled from his eyes. “Know that I give you this kiss freely, de Sevigny. It’s the kiss of Death. Now go to hell!” He let go of the body, pushing it away, and watched dispassionately as it crumpled, lifeless, to the floor.

  Stepping calmly around the body and its widening pool of blood, Gabriel barred the door and went to immerse himself in the fountain. He spent several minutes scrubbing away all trace of de Sevigny, his touch, his scent, his blood. When he was done, he began rifling through the count’s trunks, throwing the treasures he found there haphazardly onto the silk-covered bed. A pair of leather riding boots, a finely made burnoose, and copper-plated leather gloves. He opened another trunk and smiled slightly, pulling from it a sword belt and a cuirass ornamented with gold calligraphy, made of black steel plates and chain.

  Retrieving the dagger, he sat on the edge of the bed and began working at the iron around his ankle. Loose fitting and flimsy, it had been meant for decoration, a sign of ownership, and he was able to pry it open with little difficulty. He put on gloves, trousers, boots, and cuirass, and cinched the burnoose with the sword belt, before going to examine the weapons that decorated the wall. He hadn’t felt naked without his clothes, but he had without a weapon, and now he equipped himself with short sword and pistol, as well as his Toledo blade. Drawing the blade with a lightning flourish, he whirled it about in a dazzling sequence of maneuvers before sheathing it. It felt good to be armed again.

  Scooping gold and jewelry from a casket beside de Sevigny’s bed, he wrapped them in a silk cloth, tying them into a small purse and tucking it under his robe. People saw what they expected to see, and he was no longer a slave. Now he was a wealthy renegado. All was quiet. He needed a moment to plan and gather his thoughts. Peeling an orange, he sat back in the window seat, one leg dangling down, and gazed out into the night.

  CHAPTER

  28

  The guards would have to be killed. There could be no one left to identify him or raise an alarm. His freedom and his life depended on it. He had managed to avoid bloodshed in the past, except for the German, and de Sevigny, of course. It hadn’t been necessary. Now he was pumped with energy, still fueled by his hatred, and Davey had trained him well. He supposed he would accustom himself to it. He drew the Spanish steel from its scabbard with a metallic hiss, tossing and catching it contemplatively, pondering his first move. The only real advantage he had was surprise. He would need to be silent and quick.

  Retrieving the chain from where he’d dropped it on the bed, he wrapped it loosely around his left forearm and strode to the door, sword drawn. Lifting the bar, he kicked it open and stepped out into the corridor. The startled guard hesitated a moment, blinking, surprised and confused, not recognizing him in his warrior’s garb. That split second of indecision was his last, as the silver blue blade sliced down, cutting through artery and bone. His lips were still twitching as Gabriel stalked down the hall.

  He loosened the chain as he went, unwrapping a three-foot length and swinging it, gathering momentum. The doors to the suite opened outward. The guards stationed on the other side of the door were conditioned to prevent entry, not exit. They were sitting at a table rolling dice when he burst upon them. The chain whooshed and swooped through the air catching one on the temple, felling him instantly. The second man gave a shout of anger and leapt at him, his scimitar cutting downward in a death stroke. Gabriel threw himself fla
t and the sword whistled above him, slashing through empty air. Lashing out with the chain, he caught the man around the throat, strangling the breath from him and jerking him down to the floor. Cursing, praying no one had heard the cry, Gabriel gripped the chain with both hands and twisted as his opponent struggled for his life, kicking and heaving, his hands desperately scrabbling to loosen it. A jerk, a sudden snap, and he lay still.

  Panting for breath, Gabriel leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor. He’d been months without proper practice, his ribs were still tender, his arm ached, and he had yet to fully regain his strength. He was fortunate no one had heard. The hardest part was before him. At last count, there were at least three men at the guard post on the lower floor.

  Edging stealthily down the staircase, he kept his back to the wall, sword drawn and chain at the ready, hiding in shadow as he surveyed the area. One man was lounging back in his chair, his feet resting on a battered desk, eyes closed. Another had his back to Gabriel, and was leaning against a pillar smoking a long Turkish pipe and looking out onto the courtyard. He couldn’t see the third.

  Bursting into the hall, he sent the chain snaking through the air, felling the sleeping guard so quickly he never woke up. He let go of the chain as the second man jumped him from behind, shouting for help as he grabbed him by the hair, jerking his head back to cut his throat. Gabriel managed to grab his wrist before the blade descended. Turning into him, he tripped him and threw him to the ground, kneeling on his chest to slice his throat. Catching a glimpse of movement reflected in the dying man’s eyes, he whirled to his feet, wheeling to strike, catching the last man through the heart.

  Chest heaving, rasping for breath, he stumbled to the desk and rifled through the drawers, finding two sets of keys. Hooking a lantern with his fingers, he opened the door to the cellar, starting down the stairs. “Valmont? Chevalier?”