by Susan Wright
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Praise for the Novels of Susan Wright
A Pound of Flesh
“This unusual fantasy uses elements of Norse and vam piric mythologies to create a very different kind of tale, where even the least slave can have a profound impact upon world affairs. Plenty of gratuitous sex and no small amount of warfare serve to make for a fast, light read.”
—Monsters and Critics
“Wright has managed to paint a vivid world where every person and locale manage to leap from the pages. Told from a first-person perspective, Wright lets the readers submerge themselves into the novel, trailing Marja’s path. They are able to identify with her and the other characters, rejoicing in their triumphs and mourning their losses. Featuring cultures that stand vividly apart from the norm, yet still allow the reader to connect, Wright weaves a spellbinding tale that will leave read ers yearning for the next installment. This is definitely not one to miss.” —Affaire de Coeur
"An interesting tale. . . . Fans who enjoy something dif ferent in their reading will appreciate this erotic fantasy. " —Midwest Book Review
To Serve and Submit
"Spellbinding . . . [with] plenty of political intrigue and battle scenes. The heart of this work lies in the character of Marja, who accepts her sensual nature as a normal personality trait." —Alternative Worlds
"Featuring vivid cultures and lots of action, this should appeal to fans of Jacqueline Carey, Terry Goodkind, and Storm Constantine." —Library Journal
"Susan Wright has built a very believable fantasy world. Although erotic, the sex scenes are in good taste. This book carries you away into the exotic world of sex slaves, hardy heroes, and barbaric chieftains." —SFRevu
"Sensual and well constructed." —Kirkus Reviews
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Published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin
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First Roc Mass Market Printing, June 2008
Copyright © Susan Wright, 2007
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Acknowledgments
Liz Scheier, my editor at Roc, and Lucienne Diver, my agent at Spectrum Literary Agency, for their exceptional guidance and support.
1
With my first step onto the ruddy sand of the beach, the evil spirits infesting Vidaris pressed in on me. Clinging wisps of foul air snaked along the ground, drawing closer to suck at my strength and muddle my mind. My instincts cried out for me to flee before they found a way to seep inside.
The native Thule who had brought Lexander and me back to Vidaris also sensed the demons. The dark-skinned warriors gathered close, silently supporting each other’s inua. They left everything in the round-bottomed umiaks except for their spears and bows. Even the two wounded men readied their weapons, making the warband a full score strong. They had come to free Qamaniq, the granddaughter of Nerriviq, who had been lured away by Lexander to become a pleasure slave.
There would be no rest—Lexander planned to attack Vidaris at once.
The sliver of moon cast barely enough light through the clouds to reveal the sheer red cliffs of Fjardemano Island. On top of the cliff there was something new: a rough wooden tower rose next to the gate in the palisade, overlooking the ocean. I urged the merry olfs to rise up the cliff face to illuminate the tower. There was no sentry in sight.
Lexander could see through the darkness even without the olfs’ light. "I hear one freeman on watch." He tilted his head. "He’s snoring."
I didn’t doubt Lexander’s uncanny ability, though the crashing of the waves nearly drowned out the howling of the wind through the forest trees above. "Helanas built it?" I asked.
His golden eyes shone much brighter than those of the Thule. "She intended to be forewarned of my return."
I shivered at his tone. "What will you do?"
"That is my concern." Lexander turned away so I couldn’t see his face.
Nerriviq approached, his distrust for Lexander evident in his watchful eyes. "My granddaughter waits."
Lexander gave Nerriviq a curt nod. "Stay with me, Marja."
He led the Thule to the mouth of the river that followed a crevice in the line of cliffs. Vidaris had been Lexander’s estate for nearly two decades, and he knew every step up the winding path.
As we climbed inland, twisty little demons—mere puffs of smoke—whipped branches into my face, seeking to tear out my eyes. The Thule chanted in low voices, begging the olfs to aid us. Those faithful creatures gathered around us, surrounding us in a warm glow and warding off the
malevolent spirits.
Some olfs flew ahead to light our way, while others dabbled in the dreams of those sleeping in Vidaris. A fussing baby was lulled by the gentle singing of a pair of olfs. Even the animals sighed and drowsed.
We ducked under the bridge for the wagons and not far beyond was a ravine. One by one we pushed through the brush that filled the bottom of the gully, then climbed the crumbling sides into the fields. The oats were nearly ready for harvest, the heads of the stalks glowing golden in the moonlight. Insects buzzed around us.
When we finally reached the haushold, I was panting from withstanding the malicious pressure that was building around me. I feared one of the demons would wake Helanas and warn her about us.
The servants had gone home to their own cots, so the kitchen was empty. Lexander lit a handful of candles from the rack and conferred briefly with Nerriviq. The Thule split up, going in opposite directions to block any possibility of Helanas’ escape.
I followed Lexander into the fire hall. Everything was achingly familiar, from the red brick walls to the padded benches set before the hearth.
Nerriviq and his son followed us, stepping cautiously over the cool bricks and warily watched the towering ceiling far above them. My mam’s people were attuned to the spirits like no others, so they could sense what had happened here, like echoes of the pleas we pleasure slaves had made for mercy. I could almost hear Sverker’s cries as Helanas bound him too tightly and his wicked laugh as his cruelty fed the demons, taking his pleasure in penetrating me, making me cry out as he repeatedly forced his fat tarse into me . . .
Lexander motioned for the Thule to wait while he entered the smaller slave hall. Sleeping ledges lined both walls, but there were only six slaves now where once there had been a dozen.
"Wake up," Lexander called out softly, "but don’t be frightened. I’ve come to take you away."
I lifted my candle higher to see Niels sitting up, rubbing his eyes. The two Skraeling sisters huddled together, their long dark hair tousled and their narrow eyes fearful at the reappearance of Lexander. Torngasoak was brave enough to put an arm around each of them. The two blond brothers from Fylkeran were confused, but in the scant few moons they had been in Vidaris, they had learned not to ask questions.
Lexander went to check the other door. Niels stood hunched over as if expecting to be hit, whispering, "Marja, is that really you? Where are Sverker and Rosarin?"
I was pained by the thought of what my slave-mates suffered now in the hands of Lexander’s people. He had saved me from that fate, but they had not been so fortunate.
Lexander returned. "Quiet, or you’ll wake Helanas."
The slaves went very still at her name. At our gentle urging, they followed us into the fire hall, scurrying in fear when they saw the Skraelings waiting for us. They clung to each other, including the Skraeling slaves who surely recognized the Thule as a northern clan.
"Where’s Qamaniq?" Lexander asked.
"She was summoned to Helanas’ chamber," Niels offered.
Lexander gestured to me. "Take them to the bathhouse, Marja. Stay there until I come for you."
He sounded much like the master of Vidaris that I remembered, though he had freed me himself a few days ago, before the battle of Tillfallvik.
Lexander took Nerriviq through the courtyard. I paused in the doorway to the kitchen, the slaves close behind me. "Niels," I ordered, "take the others and go to the bathhouse."
"What about you?"
"I’ll be there soon. Now go."
He gasped, shocked that I would defy our master. But he was accustomed to obedience and left without another word of protest. The baths were familiar. The slaves would be safe there.
I went through the courtyard, and was surprised to see Lexander’s chamber was open. He appeared holding a long sword. It had an ornate guard on the handle, yet he held it lightly as if its weight were no burden.
He glared when he saw me. "Go away!" he insisted under his breath.
I set my lips and shook my head.
He hesitated but could not take time to argue. The Thule blocked the hallway on either side of us, their spears pointing inward.
Lexander handed the heavy casket to me, opening the top to pull out a key. With a motion of his hand to stay back, he threw open the door to Helanas’ chamber, rushing inside with the Thule warriors behind him. My candle shook as I followed, casting wild shadows on the flowered tapestries that hung on the walls.
Someone screeched in protest. I wasn’t sure if it was Helanas or Qamaniq. Then I saw the Skraeling woman on the floor, her dark hair a tangled mess and her body limp. I knew that Qamaniq was beyond suffering right now.
Nerriviq’s kin picked up Qamaniq, exclaiming over her naked form. But I had eyes only for Helanas. My mistress was on her feet, a knife in her hand.
Lexander caught her with the point of his sword against her throat. Her shapely body was bare. Many times had I caressed those generous curves and stroked my mistress until she writhed in pleasure. Yet Helanas had never smiled when she took her satisfaction, preferring to glower and furiously taunt the slave who served her even as she climaxed.
With two steps, Lexander drove Helanas back against the tapestry until she could go no farther. "Drop your knife!"
Helanas hesitated, her eyes taking in the Skraelings in the room. She sneered when she saw me. "That sly bitch! She’s seduced you from your duty, Lexander. You will live to rue the day you found her—"
"Silence!" Lexander demanded.
There was an edge to his voice that I had never heard. Perhaps Helanas was right: someday he would regret the choice he had made to leave Vidaris and abandon the ways of his own people. Perhaps he feared that fate more than anything else.
"You drove him to it," I told Helanas. "If only you had not been so cruel—"
"You will not look at me, slave." Her hand tightened on the knife. "Gesig!"
My knees buckled in an unreasoning compulsion to obey. But I fought my trained reflexes and stayed on my feet, clutching the heavy casket tighter. The brass studs dug into my flesh, piercing the demon-roiled cloud that threatened to overcome me.
Disgust twisted Helanas’ face, marring her satiny skin and perfect features. "Think of what you’ve done, Lexander! You can still rectify this terrible mistake. Stay here in Vidaris. I won’t tell Saaladet—"
Helanas hardly shifted, but suddenly her knife slashed up.
I gasped as Lexander blocked it with his arm. The blade bit in deep as he thrust it away. The knife flew into the tapestry and clattered to the floor.
Lexander hadn’t moved the sword from her throat. Nay, it pressed in, and a line of blood trickled down to the hollow of her throat.
"You’re hurt," I cried. But Lexander didn’t even glance at his bleeding arm where the sleeve flapped open.
Helanas went quite still. Now her eyes were very wide and I saw my mistress’s fear for the first time. "You don’t have to kill me, Lexander. Take what you want and go. I’ve done nothing to you."
"Did you send word to Stanbulin that I left?"
Her eyes shifted. "Naturally! By merchant ship. But I could fix it for you. I could tell them I made a mistake. Without me, you are renegade—and will suffer the consequences."
I couldn’t see Lexander’s face, but hers was eloquent. She was gloating, even with his sword at her throat. She would get her way, as she always did.
"You lie," Lexander said quietly. "You were never able to fool me, Helanas. Never."
Her expression grew more guarded. "You don’t think you—"
Helanas didn’t finish. Lexander leaned in, driving the point through her neck. Helanas clutched at the sword as if to stop it, the sharp edge slicing into her fingers. She gurgled as blood welled over the blade and poured down her chest.
When Lexander withdrew the sword, her arms flailed. Then he brought the sword slashing across her neck.
I dropped the candle and ran from the room. Helanas’ body was too beautiful, t
oo flawless to be ripped apart. And Lexander’s expression was . . . inhuman.
Lexander appeared in the doorway, glaring at me. "You insisted on seeing that."
I clutched the heavy casket to my chest. "Why . . .Lexander, why?"
"It was the only way to stop her."
A high-pitched wail began to rise, making my ears ring. The evil spirits that had been drawn by the slaves’ terror and pain had grown strong over the decades. They had fed on Helanas’ misdeeds, and would not disperse easily. I was buffeted by their swirling presence.
"Something terrible is happening," I gasped.
"We have to get out of here." Lexander still held on to the bloody sword. "Come!"
The sky was growing brighter with the approaching dawn. I swallowed hard when I saw the blood staining the sword and the long cut in Lexander’s forearm.
The Thule carried Qamaniq’s bruised and battered body out of the haushold. Nerriviq’s eyes blazed with anger. Only the sight of Lexander slaying Helanas stayed his hand from striking down the man who had enslaved his granddaughter.
Evil spirits careened around us, and I realized there was heat welling up from below. The Thule felt it, too.
"What is it?" I asked.
"When a master is killed in our own house, retribution follows." Lexander ran down the gravel path toward the bathhouse, where the slaves huddled. "Hurry," he ordered then. "We must get away from the haushold."
They followed us meekly. In the morning light, I saw that Niels had lost his childlike beauty. His face was thin, lined by despair and weariness like a shriveled old man.
We had not yet reached the gate in the palisade when the earth shook beneath my feet. I stumbled into Lexander, who supported me. I glanced back to see the walls of the haushold split apart as flames roared through the peaked roof. Everyone ducked as bricks went flying high into the air.
Lexander leaned over me, trying to protect me from the falling debris. We were far enough away that most of it missed us. But the estate lit up like daylight from the fire that roared into the sky.
