by Aimee Moore
The indescribable pain lasted an eternity. If hell existed, this was it. I wished I had just died instead.
When the Warlord had finished with me, he got up, wiped my blood from his mouth, and said that Dal could now do what he pleased with the Eyes and Ears of the Warlord. Then he strode out with a nasty grin. I couldn’t move. Dal let out a sob of anguish and rushed to me, stopping just short of me with a rattle of chains.
“Sera.”
“Dal,” I croaked, my throat too bruised to get out much more than that. Every part of me was bleeding or bruised. Some parts of me had been pushed beyond their limits, and some parts of me I did not know anyone would want to violate. I closed my eyes and hoped I would die after what the Warlord did to me. I wished death would be swift.
Dal let off a struggled groan that turned into a roar. A massive rattle of chains sounded again and again. A moment later, hot, calloused hands were on me. Gentle, caressing, caring. I was lifted from the bed and cradled close to the familiar warmth and smell of Dal's chest. I didn't deserve it. I was dirty. A used, filthy rag.
I put one feeble hand on Dal's chest to push him away, but I could barely lift my arm.
Wetness met my skin as Dal's broke into the dimly lit space. “Foolish, Sera. So foolish.”
I opened my eyes to see tears trickle down Dal's face as he held me close. I was torn into pieces at the sight of my warrior reduced to tears. Darkness obscured my vision again and the sounds and sensations around me cut through my encroaching blackness.
Dal ran a careful hand through my braids. Pressed the tender muscles of my neck and arms with care, checking. Gave the spike that had been driven through my nipple a deft tug to remove it, and a hiss escaped my lips. His exploration continued, until his warm hand stopped on my belly, and I knew that fear lanced through both of us in that moment. If my actions had harmed the child, then I deserved to die.
A shiver racked me. Dal pulled three more metal spikes out of the lowest part of the skin over my spine, and one out of parts that were surely never meant to be pierced. The darkness of my existence became complete, and I was aware of nothing more.
Chapter 26
Choices
I awoke the next morning, under the blankets, curled into Dal's side. He had stayed with me. I remembered the fresh horrors of the night before and began to shiver, a sob escaping me as my heart tore in two again.
Dal stirred, and I turned away from him. I stunk of the Warlord, I was sticky with blood and the worst kind of markings. I was a vile creature. I could never drag myself out of this bed or be whole again. I could never forgive myself for the things that Dal watched me do. I buried my face into the furs and sobbed.
“You have a bath ready,” Dal said. “Chatska arranged for it in the early morning. She removed the chains and brought healing herbs as well.”
“Leave me,” I said, choking on my bruised throat.
Dal rose, and for a sickening moment, I thought he was going to do what I said. But I wanted him to leave, to cast his eyes away from my wretchedness. But I never wanted him to leave me. Strong arms wrapped around me and I gasped as I was lifted from the bed.
“Put me down,” I rasped. “Leave me. Let me die,” I said through tears.
“You will not let your pity burn you to the ground. You will rise from these ashes. You will be stronger.”
Dal lowered me into the freezing bucket of water, and with a loud gasp I lit my body on fire to warm cool liquid. In no time at all, my aches and pains were being soothed as my blood clouded the water. I covered my face, digging my palms into my eye sockets to push away the horrors of last night.
“How can you look at me,” I said. “I never imagined...”
Dal crouched by my tub, running water up and down my naked back, speaking in soft tones, seeming oblivious to the burn I had given his pectoral. “The same way you can look at me after what Patroma has done to me.”
“You saw everything. Everything. I am filth, Dal. I took all of that wretchedness and I was too proud to say stop.”
Dal raised a bit of soap in his hand and began to wash my bruised shoulders. “You will heal.”
I stared into the cloudy water, hating myself as Dal worked my braids free. He washed me with careful patience, taking special care of my most sensitive places. I loved him so much that I cried again, and he furrowed his brow at me in confusion.
“I don’t deserve you, Dal.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to my forehead. “No matter what has happened to you, Seraphine, no matter what sacrifices you have made, you are still Seraphine of Lambston, and you are still the only woman that I want at my side.”
I cried anew. His love only made me less after what I had done.
✽✽✽
Three days passed in my tent as food and fresh water were brought to me by Chatska, along with her herbs. I didn’t heal nearly as fast as Kraw, but Chatska's skill helped. Dal stayed with me the whole time, except to go take care of personal matters. Chatska scolded me in his absence.
“Small beast, not meant for this,” she said under her breath.
“You act as if I had a choice.”
“Always choices.”
“Not this time.” I flinched away as Chatska lifted my leg.
“You haven't stopped bleeding on the furs, I need to see,” she said with impatience.
Panic gripped me. “What?”
“Lay back,” Chatska said, grabbing a bowl full of yellow paste.
I scowled and did as she said. She clucked her tongue and began applying paste on parts of me that made me blush.
“Where am I bleeding?” I asked, looking down my bruised body at the weathered face of the woman working to heal me.
“Where aren't you,” Chatska said.
“Chatska, please.”
Silver lashes raised to my face, and a recognition touched the brown eyes of my healer before she returned her attention to my ruined flesh. “Puncture wounds, split skin, cuts that are too deep. I've seen him inflict worse, nothing I can't heal,” Chatska said in her rough tone.
Relief flooded me, but quickly washed away as I realized that it didn't mean anything. My aunt had slipped in the stable mud when she was with child and didn't lose the baby until days later. I let Chatska scold me some more as she ordered me to sit up, working more of her foul paste into my wounds.
“This... this was brutal.” Chatska looked at more wounds on my chest.
I hissed as she applied her paste.
“Does your Dal know about the child?”
I stopped breathing as my gaze flashed to Chatska's face. She didn't look at me as she did her work.
“I don't know what you mean,” I said, heart thundering in my ears.
“Hah.” Chatska slammed the foul bowl on the nearest surface and grabbed a substance that couldn't have been from this world. It was a silvery blue, swishing about in the bowl like oil. “Lie to every other Kraw on this miserable rock, lie to your Dal even, but don't lie to your healer.”
I deflated as Chatska grabbed a brush and began to paint the strange liquid over my pasted wounds. “I am the Eyes and Ears, I can’t let anyone know of the child,” I said in a flat tone.
Chatska gave a dry laugh, like hay, and shook her head as she worked. “Mess, this is. One big mess. A frail, beaten Eyes and Ears. With child. A traitor's child.”
“His name has been cleared,” I growled. “Do you think I did this for my own amusement? A part of me died with every wound you see. I am not frail.”
Chatska shook her head again. “What you lack in fortitude, little beast, you make up for in spine, I'll give you that.”
I grabbed Chatska's wrist, putting enough heat into my palm to make her eyes flash to mine. “I am Seraphine, your Eyes and Ears,” I said in a dangerous voice.
Chatska furrowed her brow at me, a wrinkle in the sagging skin of her weary face, and I let go of her so that she could continue her work.
“So you
are. Does your Dal know, or not?” Chatska said as she squinted at a smaller wound, painting it with delicacy.
“He knew before me.”
Chatska gave a soft, deep chuckle, nearly imperceptible. “Of course he would.”
“Is that normal? For a Kraw man to be so... aware?” My cuts and bruises tingled warmth with the paste and the silvery blue liquid painted on them.
Chatska finished her work and set the bowl down, wiping her hands off. “Only if you're his mate,” she said.
Warmth suffused me, and I looked down at my legs, a strange patchwork of pale skin and yellow paste and shimming blue and silver gel.
Chatska shook her head again as she worked. “That one wasn't meant for war, that one was meant for more. Still don't know why he's here.”
“Your elders knew what they were doing,” I said, not entirely sure of it myself.
With a grunt, Chatska gathered her things and headed to the door. She paused at the tent flap, glancing at me once. “Tomorrow, Eyes and Ears.”
✽✽✽
Dal refused to let me wallow in self-hatred over what I had done. As hard as he tried, I was embarrassed and ashamed to be near him. I still bore the fading bruises from the abuse I had suffered, still had wounds in private places that took their time healing, painful reminders of that horrifying night. The wounds were continual violations. Doubly cruel. I was grateful to Chatska for making the torturous reminders heal quicker.
“Enough,” Dal said. “You are the Eyes and Ears of the Warlord. You will dress and you will march among those people and show them that you cannot be beaten.”
“I’m afraid,” I whispered.
Dal, sitting on my bed, held out my pants to step into. They were laced up the sides, more of Patroma's old wardrobe. “You were afraid before, too.”
“I’m afraid that they’ll see my bruises and know I’m weak. Afraid to face him again.” With a wince, I stepped into the leather pants and dressed myself as we spoke. I tried not to look at Dal's burn through his open shirt, in the shape of my hand. He refused to let me apologize, saying only that no apology was ever needed for strength.
Dal let a long breath out of his nose. “Your body was taken from you as surely as mine was. Permission by force is still taking, Sera.”
“My heart tore in two when I looked upon you in her bed,” I whispered. “I knew not what you suffered, only that it was wrong and I was angry. I'm so sorry.”
Dal waved an impatient hand. “My torture is passed now, as is yours.”
I looked into his eyes and shook my head. “I saw the tears in your eyes the night the Warlord came to me, Dal. And yet you act as if I simply have another hill to crest, as if I should raise my head and move on already. I can’t recover from my horrors as easily as you have. I don't have two hundred years to teach me how to rise above my demons.”
Dal let off a long sigh, turning away from me and frowning. “I knew that he would endanger your life, but I did not know that every fresh violation he forced on you would also be a violation of me. What he did to you was far worse than anything Patroma had done to me. I have not recovered.
“You are mine, Seraphine, and the Warlord will die at my hand for what he has done to you. And, we cannot conquer our demons from in this tent.” He held my sheathed sword out to me in strong arms, and I took it with small, shaking hands.
“Dal, what would happen to you if you killed the Warlord?”
Dal gave a noise of thought in his throat, the soft, almost grunt that I had become to accustomed to as his brilliant mind rolled out the dough of life's complexities. “I would ascend him, take up the title of the new Warlord. I would answer to harsh and unyielding councils in my world, having to prove myself worthy time and again. I would be sent abroad to other dying worlds, and I would be responsible for carrying out the Kraw method of saving them.”
Dal lifted dark lashes to meet my gaze. “I would be forced to become the thing that I despise.”
I let out a soft breath, brow furrowed as I strapped my sword around my waist. The thought of Dal becoming the new Warlord, in that light, was terrifying. I tried to picture him with pointed teeth and black lips, blood red leathers and scarred, horrifically large and veined hands. I couldn’t, he was my warrior, but he was still gentle and caring when he touched me.
“I don’t want that for you, Dal. I want to return with you to the place where your dreams reside. Where no war will touch us and no cruelty exists.” I brought my hand to my belly. “I want our children to be safe.”
Dal smiled at me, running a large hand down my front. The gesture warmed me, and I couldn’t help the smile that touched my lips as he rested both hands on my hips and pulled me close.
“You warm me.”
I tangled my fingers in the silken black strands of Dal's hair, frowning as worries plagued me. Dal gave a soft laugh.
“He is alright, Sera.”
“How can you know?” I whispered.
“He is Kraw, and Kraw are strong.”
I frowned.
He gave me a slight smile and lowered one side of his head to my belly, closing his eyes. I hadn't the faintest idea what he was doing, but I let him be for as long as he wished, finding a soothing comfort in Dal's nearness, in the weight of his warm head pressed against my middle.
Perhaps he meant to comfort us both with the contact, and his head was simply level with my belly. It worked; I was soothed. After a few minutes in which I played with the silken strands of Dal's hair some more, he lifted his head and looked at me.
“His heart beats.”
“What?” I gasped, looking down. “How could you know?”
“Kraw senses are superior. He is strong.”
Joy flooded me, and a smile stole over my face. “How do you know it's a 'he?'”
“Perhaps she.”
I laughed, then lowered and wrapped my arms around Dal's neck, holding him close. The strong arms came around me, and hope suffused my limbs. If an unborn child survived what I went through, then I could soldier on through this war.
I rose then, unsure of how to word my thanks for Dal's strength. As always, his gaze slid between my eyes and he read my book with ease, smiling, tucking a piece of my hair back. Flashing him a return smile, I gave myself some messy war braids, stuck some fangs and bones in them for good measure, and smeared my dirt about. I touched around my eyes with black, and this time I didn’t make it delicate and pretty. I smeared black across my face.
“You prepare for confrontation,” Dal said.
“I do.”
“Sera, be careful.”
“Don’t worry for me, Dal. I’ve survived the blackest tortures of hell. Come, we must move.”
Dal rose from the bed, sheathing his black blade, and following me out of my tent. Warriors ran about clad in battle gear, fueled by the excitement in the air.
“They move without me,” I said.
“Yes, the Warlord is impatient to be done with this world.”
“Good, we're impatient to be rid of him.” And with that, I straightened my back and marched to my assaulter’s grand tent.
Chapter 27
The Fifth Pup
Upon entering the Warlord's tent, I didn't expect the revulsion that skittered up my spine at the sight of him. I was repulsed at the skeletal piercings in his nose and chin, the war braids with yet more gore, and the black eyes glittering on me like carrion beetles.
I didn’t make eye contact, but instead marched to the maps with Dal at my side. Gurlok was there with a few other warriors, relaying information to the Warlord. The eyes of death pierced the side of my head, and I ignored them.
The Warlord interrupted Gurlok mid-sentence. “Perhaps there's some Kraw in this human after all, she has returned to bleed more,” he said with an amusement in his voice that made me picture the black lips peeling back over pointed teeth. Pointed teeth that had pierced my flesh.
I didn't bother to look up, the response fired out of me like a cannonball.
“Do not spew your evil at me, we have work to do and I'm in no mood for your pointless games.”
With a snarl, the table was thrown, scattering maps everywhere, and I, jittery with confrontation, drew my blade quickly. I lit fire along the sword and looked into the eyes of the man who had violated me as all of the Kraw in the room postured and snarled.
“You dare,” the Warlord growled, and instinctive terror shot into my gut.
“I dare. I have suffered your repulsiveness enough. All debts are paid. Now we must accomplish our task so that we may both be rid of each other.”
I was acutely aware of Dal's warmth at my side, and all the other Kraw, Gurlok included, standing tense and ready to strike. At me.
The Warlord, tall as the blackest tree on the most haunting night, smiled his chilling smile at me, and death seemed to prick the goosebumps on my skin. “If you defy me, then you are a traitor. Which is only fitting, since you choose to let a traitor defile your many gifts.”
“I will be in this war, whether I am with you or against you.” I aimed the tip of my flaming sword at the Warlord. “Choose which side you'd rather have me on.” I drew fire to every part of me, from my toes to my hair, and it licked its way around me with whispering confidence.
The Warlord considered me for an agonizing minute, and then his face broke into a calculating grin. He turned to the other Kraw, standing in tense silence, and barked orders. “Right the table, fools, and find the maps.”
And then the Warlord turned to me and quirked half a smile as his chest convulsed in a silent laugh. That frightened me most of all. I kept my blade at the ready, just in case he had more nastiness up his sleeve.
A crudely sketched map of the city of Elanthia was brought out. I had a rough idea of the lines of demarcation for each caste of people within, but Dal spoke up in a confident voice, drawing a finger across the map in places that were of strategic importance.
“And here, they give way to farms, not battle. These people have not seen war for a long time, and so will be soft.”
