The Beast of the Barrens

by Val Saintcrowe

  “Except you don’t want to keep me,” said Ziafiata in a hard voice. “Not if you can profit from me instead.”

  “Oh, don’t be that way about it,” said Diago. “You were raised the same as me. Family first. Duty first.”

  “It’s not that I come second to you, Diago,” she said. “It’s that I don’t matter at all. Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Does everyone know that you only married me to bed me?” she said.

  “Who told you that?” said Diago.

  “You certainly were only interested in that from me last night,” she said, drawing herself up. “You would have said anything to convince me, wouldn’t you?”

  “It wasn’t exactly hard to convince you,” said Diago. “You wanted it just as badly as I did.”

  “Did I?” She barked out a laugh. “Did I really want to be mauled and squeezed and hurt? You didn’t do anything with me, Diago, you did it on me.” She marched across the room and snatched up the dagger that Chevolere had left on the table by the door.

  “Ziafiata,” said Chevolere, alarmed.

  Ziafiata advanced on Diago, brandishing the knife.

  “Oh, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” said Diago, shaking his head. “What did you expect, truly, Zia? Did you really think I could be married to you? Even back then, you must have known it could never last.”

  Ziafiata made a slashing motion with her arm. The knife glinted as it slid through the air. Diago gurgled, hand to his throat.

  Chevolere moved forward. “Ziafiata?”

  Red liquid was spurting between Diago’s fingers. His eyes were bulging. He went down on one knee, face going purple.

  Chevolere reached Ziafiata and he tugged on her arm.

  She shoved him off.

  Diago’s hand fell away from his neck, as he crumpled lifelessly. Blood continued to spurt out of his neck.

  “Blazes,” said Chevolere. He hadn’t expected that to happen.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ziafiata looked down at her hand. She was holding the dagger still and there was a fine mist of red droplets all over her skin.

  She furrowed her brow.

  Her lips parted.

  She felt as if she was down a long tunnel, and that everything going on in the room around her was far, far away. Even the sound was distorted.

  Chevolere was speaking to her, but she couldn’t make out any of the words.

  He pried the dagger out of her hand.

  At first she tried to fight him off, and then she didn’t have the energy for it. She released her grip. She looked down at her bare legs and the shirt of Diago’s that she was wearing. The fine mist of red droplets were there too.

  She touched one of them on her hand. It smeared.

  She brought her finger up to her face and looked at it.

  The room smelled like metal.

  Blood, she thought.

  She drew in a breath and let it out, and it seemed as if she rushed back through the tunnel at high speed and slammed back into herself, back into normalcy. Everything was very, very normal, and that was somehow wrong. After what had happened, things shouldn’t be normal. Perhaps things should never be normal again at all.

  “He lied to me,” she found herself saying to Chevolere. “He manipulated me. He must have been doing it all along, as you told me. You were right about him.” She turned to look at Diago’s crumpled form, which was awful to look at. There was a pool of sticky red blood around his head. It was seeping into his clothes. His neck was gaping open, blood glistening there. She cocked her head to one side, taking in the sight of him. She wanted to look away, but no, she had done this, and she must look at it. “I suppose I shouldn’t have done that, should I?”

  “Well,” said Chevolere in a low voice, “I can’t say the world will miss him, and I’m happy not to have to give over iubilia to the Caputios at a loss, but it does leave us in a bit of a predicament.”

  “It does?” She looked back at him.

  “Yes, because he does have men very close by, some in the hallway,” said Chevolere.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m sorry about that.”

  He was gaping at her.

  “Stop looking at me that way,” she said. “I won’t have it. You, of all people, cannot judge me.” She turned back to Diago’s body. She should be feeling something now, some sort of guilt or regret. Or even some satisfaction at having dispatched him, having hurt him the way he’d hurt her. And yet, there was nothing.

  “I am trying to stop looking at you,” said Chevolere in that same low voice. “But I am not quite managing it, I admit.”

  “You are perhaps regretting the lengths you have gone to purchase me,” she said. “I’m not what you thought I was when you paid for me.”

  “You’re not,” he agreed. “But I don’t regret anything, and I’d prefer if you didn’t say such things.”

  “What things?”

  “That you’d been purchased,” he said. “You are not a thing.”

  “Aren’t I?” she said. “Isn’t that how you treat me? That is, in fact, how everyone treats me.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Chevolere. “Are you going to cut my throat? I would deserve that.”

  “You took the dagger.”

  “Ah, yes, I did. That was rather intelligent of me.” He smiled at her. He had not stopped gaping at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you are magnificent?”

  She was not blushing at that, not now, not over the body of the man she’d thought of as her soul mate, a man who had never cared for her at all, not from the words of another man who was even worse than the one she’d killed. She swallowed, willing the heat in her cheeks to fade. “In fact, no. I have never been told such a thing.”

  “Well, you are breathtaking,” said Chevolere. “I…” He shook his head slowly. “The fact remains that we are still in this predicament.” He took off his cape and wrapped it around her shoulders. “That might do to hide the blood stains.”

  The cape smelled like him. It should have been abhorrent, but it was better than the coppery smell that permeated the air. She huddled into it, and she suddenly felt a bit unsteady. She reached back and gripped the foot rest of the bed for balance. “Can you not simply fight your way out? You are said to be ruthless, are you not?”

  “Well, most of the things they say about me are quite embellished,” he said. “I’m not entirely worthless with a weapon, it’s true, and I did bring a sword.” He touched it. “But I would be rather badly outnumbered, and I think it’s not likely I’d prevail. Perhaps I could distract them while you got away. I’m sure they’ll blame me for his death.”

  She was quiet.

  “I would truly do that for you,” he said. “You inspire a bit of gallantry within me, oddly, though I can’t imagine you appreciate it. Even so, you should. I would never offer to die for anyone else. It’s not a small thing. I’d like you to at least acknowledge it, if you don’t mind.”

  She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t suppose I owe you anything, Chevolere. Even if you did die for me, it would not balance the scales between us.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Besides, I’d rather you didn’t die,” she said. “Because I have nowhere to go, except with you.” She paused. “Perhaps you wouldn’t want me to go with you, though.”

  “Oh, I would indeed,” he said. “I wouldn’t insist on it at this point, though. I think I have done with keeping you captive, actually. For what it’s worth, I found it all rather distasteful, and I hate that I made you… something broke in me when I saw how tightly you’d laced those stays. Why did you have to be so loyal and brave and blazingly stubborn? I never wanted to be forced to do things like that to a…” He shook himself. “There’s no time for this right now. Fine, then, if I live, you are quite welcome to stay with me.”

  “Good,” she said. “And there will be no locking me up or cutting off my clothing or hurting me for your pleasure
or anything of that nature.”

  “I don’t actually derive pleasure from—” He coughed, seeming to think better of this. “Yes, agreed. The fact remains, I am still very likely going to be killed by Diago’s men. But, let’s make an attempt anyway, shall we?” He offered her his arm.

  “Oh, don’t be foolish,” she said. “We can do better than that.”

  “We can?”

  “Listen to me closely,” she said. “This is what we will do.” And she began to explain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Chevolere threw open the door, backing out, screaming at the top of his lungs. “She’s possessed. She’s gone wild!”

  The Caputio guards were in a cluster, glaring at the door as if they suspected something. Had they heard sounds of a struggle? Had there been sounds? Well, no matter.

  Chevolere flung himself at the men. “Her strength, it’s unparalleled. There must be an evil spirit that has taken over her. She got my weapon. You must stop her.”

  Ziafiata appeared in the doorway, swinging Chevolere’s sword, her hair in her face, which was smeared in blood. She bared her teeth and let out a shriek that chilled Chevolere.

  She was rather good at this, wasn’t she?

  “Chevolere, I will have your blood.” She lunged for him.

  Chevolere darted behind one of the men. “For the blaze’s sake, stop her.”

  The man, however, stared at Ziafiata in horror, and when she came for him, he moved out of the way, muttering a litany the brothers taught.

  Ziafiata was coming for Chevolere, growling.

  Chevolere let out a throaty scream. “Demoness!” he cried and then went running down the hallway with Ziafiata hot on his heels.

  No one even gave chase.

  Once they were around the corner from the inn, Chevolere stopped running and settled into a walk.

  Ziafiata fell into pace with him. She was laughing. “Oh, did you see their faces?”

  “They were terrified of you,” he said, also laughing, taking off his cape again and handing it to her. They’d determined that she wouldn’t come running out wearing the cape of the man she was trying to kill, but now she was walking the streets in only a bloody shirt, and he thought she was likely a bit cold.

  She took the cape and wrapped it around her shoulders, huddling inside, but still grinning, her face radiant. “I suppose it will be a blow to your reputation, having been bested by a mere woman.”

  “A demoness,” he corrected. “And I can repair my reputation. I can do nothing if I’m dead. Thank you. Your plan was quite good, and you executed it perfectly. What I said before about your magnificence?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes? What about that?”

  “Well, I am in awe of you,” he said. And again, he found it hard to take his eyes away from her, even though she was covered in blood—perhaps because she was covered in blood.

  She really was magnificent. Such strength, such fierceness, such ruthlessness. If there was a beast in him, perhaps there was one in her as well. He forced himself not to stare at her.

  When they reached the tavern, his employees had already arrived and were beginning to ready the place to open in several hours. He immediately called Marta over and told her to see to Ziafiata, who would need some attention.

  He went to his own chambers and changed his clothes, because there was some blood on them as well. He washed his hands in a basin. And then he waited for some time, until he was sure that Ziafiata would have had time to bathe.

  He knocked on the door to her room.

  “Marta?” came Ziafiata’s voice from within.

  “It’s me,” he said.

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, come in, then.”

  He stepped inside. She was still in the bath, which was sitting in the middle of the room. One of her legs was draped over the side and soap suds clung to her toes and her knee. Her leg was the shape of beauty incarnate. His mouth was dry.

  He backed up. “I will come back when you’ve finished with the bath.”

  “Why does it matter?” she said.

  “Why does it matter?” he repeated in a disbelieving voice.

  “It’s not as if you haven’t seen everything already,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  “I suppose,” he said. “But that was… different. It was a trespass against you.” He was, of course, still staring at her perfect, bare leg, at the way her calf curved, at the loveliness of her toes. He had not ever even given any mind to toes, but she had lovely toes. He should stop staring at her, especially at her bare skin, because he had been monstrous to her, and it wasn’t right to stare. He really should stop.

  She leaned her head against the lip of the tub. Her hair was wet. Her shoulders were bare, but the suds covered her chest, her breasts. “You didn’t mean it, though, I suppose. It was all in service of trying to find out the location of the key.”

  Blazes, thinking about her nudity made his body tighten in the worst of ways. He couldn’t endure this. “I really must go.”

  “Wasn’t it?” she said.

  He bowed his head, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “Yes, I do wish to know about the key, of course, but we needn’t talk about it right this second. If you will find me when you are dressed, that would be better.”

  “You don’t want to look at me now?” she said.

  He raised his gaze to her. “It’s not necessary to threaten you in that way anymore. I wish I hadn’t done it at all, in fact. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good man, but that was rather the lowest I believe I’ve ever sunk. I am not proud.” He squared his shoulders. “I’ll leave you now.” And then, somehow, he tore his eyes away from her and left the room.

  * * *

  Ziafiata was still waiting to feel something, but—at present—all she felt was relief at how good the warm water of the bath felt.

  She felt no pleasure in having killed Diago. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. She certainly didn’t know anything about how to slit a man’s throat. She’d never done it before. And she didn’t think she’d struck out with the intention of doing it.

  She wasn’t certain, though. Everything about it all was blurry.

  The last thing she remembered feeling was a white-hot rage. It had eclipsed a painful feeling, her heart shattering like glass when Diago had admitted that he’d been planning to give her back to Chevolere all along, and that he’d said those things to her simply so that he could get her clothes off and pry her legs apart. He had used her. She had been nothing to him, and he’d been willing to pretend to love her. He’d made her promises, and he had been lying.

  She’d never had anyone care about her, not truly, so she didn’t know why she had expected that Diago did. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock.

  But it did.

  Maybe that made it hurt worse, because she also felt so stupid. So blazingly stupid. How could she have thought that Diago would marry her or that he would defy his family for her? How could she have thought he would rescue her from Chevolere?

  It was foolish.

  All of it was foolish.

  The pain of all it had been too great, and so the rage had come. It had washed through her and saved her, and it had propelled her forward for the dagger and then…

  Then it was done.

  Now, she felt nothing.

  Why had she come back here with Chevolere? It was true that she had nowhere else to go, and he did have a reputation of being ruthless, so she didn’t think anyone else would try to hurt her if she was with him.

  It was probably that stupid, stupid thought process she’d had about taming him.

  He was different now. He seemed to take every opportunity to flatter her. And he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her anymore. He was even apologetic and regretful, and he was good at it. She was tempted to think he was sincere.

  The man was a liar, though. She couldn’t believe anything he said.

  He was using her, just as Diago had been. But
at least Chevolere was honest about using her, and at least she knew what he was using her for.

  He wanted revenge against her father. She didn’t mind. She hated her father as well.

  Perhaps she could allow herself to enjoy his flattery, even if he was probably only doing in order to manipulate her in some other way. She had loved Diago with a pure, innocent love and it had all been tainted.

  This false flattery that Chevolere offered, it was perhaps all a person like her would ever get.

  She was not meant for nursery tales and beast men turned kind.

  She was only meant for lies and darkness and blood. She didn’t mind this either. For the first time in her life, she felt strong.

  She got out of the bath and dressed herself. She had no more stays, however. They had all been ruined or lost. But she did have one dress that had a bodice that laced up the front. It wasn’t boned or supportive, but she was able to at least pull the laces tight enough that she wasn’t flopping about uncomfortably. Perhaps the fabric clung in an indecent way, but—as she’d said—Chevolere had already seen everything, so she didn’t care.

  She went looking for him in his rooms, but he wasn’t there, so she went downstairs. He was in the corner, speaking with one of the musicians, who was gesturing above his head as he spoke in an animated voice.

  She approached.

  “What’s this going to cost me?” Chevolere was saying.

  “Any costs will be made up in the increased profits you make selling drinks. If we do this, we will pack the place,” the musician was saying as he gestured around the tavern.

  “Yes, the last time you said that—”

  “That was last time,” said the musician. “This will be popular, though. Ask anyone. They have all gone to see the show at the Magnifica. Ours will top theirs.”

  “Mmm,” said Chevolere. “Well, work up a cost sheet for me, and—Ziafiata.” His gaze swept her, settling on her breasts and seeming to get stuck there. He flinched, clenching a hand into a fist, and then he turned back to the musician. “We’ll discuss this later.” He pushed past the man and went to her. He seized her arm and his fingers dug painfully into her skin as he dragged her back towards the steps. “What is wrong with you?”