Allomi 'Dove' Castarede - Past, Present, what future?
Water lapped across the sands, tide sliding in and tumbling out with white foam dancing across the top. Had the woman standing at the edge of the beach truly been looking at the scene before her, maybe a smile could work its magic to draw the corners of her mouth up. The gaunt-cheeked Aquilonian was far away from here, too lost in the past and the exquisite pain that former memories brought as the wind blew the straggling chestnut curls across her piercing sapphire eyes. How had Allomi Castarede - dancer, scholar, wife and mother, come to be a broken woman?
Once, she had been young and pure, preparing to become a priestess to Mitra and humble herself before the simplistic god. Perhaps, if there had been no assault, then she would have never seen the lavish glory of Ophir, where gold and jewels gleamed so brightly that they dazzled the eye. Had she not been alone, left behind to wash away what she deemed her guilt - a punishment of her father's to douse her flesh in frigid waters until the commonly paled skin was red and chafed - then perhaps she would have not been gathered, merely eleven, and given into captivity. It was startling that, with such a pretty and innocent face, she'd remained whole for so long. Instead, because of her light steps, she was given to dancing for the nobles.
Along with the other young dancers, she pivoted and swirled as raiments similar to a rainbow flowed about on the floors, smaller than most of her fellow slaves. With her graceful motions and her earnest expressions as she undulated across the floors, her owner had dubbed her "Dove" for her innocense. And when dancing, she flittered about among the others, far away from everyone else and seemed happy to entice the generous nobles from their great wealth and shied away from any of the hands searching to have a touch. Inside, however, she seethed at what foolishness these nobles preferred, railing at them in hidden fury to allow such sloth and gluttony. Clusters of men admiring the young, nubile flesh and showering their riches upon the young women in hopes that their owner and master would allow just one night of pleasure - they sickened Allomi; it was no wonder that he'd caught her interest.
Or perhaps it was the opposite way.
Tall, blonde, and remote - so very different from the other Ophirians who were tanned, dark-haired and somehow towered above him as they leaned over the rails to pitch clusters of gems across the floor - her first and strongest memory of the man she would someday wed had been one of awe. He showered no gold or gems, nor did hunger flame in the pale blue eyes. Only a tactical expression gleamed while he turned his bored attention upon her - only her. None of the other girls mattered to him, and so for him, she danced with everything within her. There'd been no surprise that he'd appeared on the horizon, riding a camel up to the luxurious tents, and spoken with Master Aborus in privacy. That night, Allomi had been tethered to a mule to be carried back, at only fifteen.
Was it immediate love? No, far from it. He had found her... favorable enough for a concubine, and had paid a great deal for her, as he explained when she displeased him. At first, she was "Girl" and then "Dove" four long years. She lived in silks and jewels, kept to her own quarters, and traveled when he did as she was his favored bed-mate. What happened from there, still, was a mystery. Somehow, his longings for her increased, as well as his jealous fears that somehow there would come a day that she'd be sold away from him. In order to keep this from happening, she became his wife and bore a son for him less than a year later. Keth was as blonde as his father with eyes of the summer sky. They had become her world. And, like all stories, this one came to its ending. For, in the eastern lands, an enemy rose and attacked in the dark of night. Their skin had been blackened, their eyes dark and filled with hellfires that could scorch deep into the soul. And they had not been kind with her.
It had been brief, the attack, and had left that small world of hers in remnants. They'd taken tapestries, jewels, gold, servants and mounts. And had left her unconscious in a pit of bodies already stabbed to death for the carrion to devour. Once awoken, she'd searched through the remaining bodies, but found no sign of her husband or child.
Were they alive? Dead? Were they held captive in Aquilonia? What had happened to their lavish home? Burned to the ground, of course. It had been in flames when she'd been dragged out by her hair and beaten to an inch of her life. And still, she had no answer to why. For all she did know, her family no longer lived. The burn grew stronger than before and she tumbled to her knees to vomit. It was imperative to keep her eyes closed, to ignore the strong stench that assailed her nostrils, and focus on rescuing them wherever they might be.
Strength mattered, if Allomi was to find them. Strength and turning herself back to Mitra. In him, there would be guidance and comfort. He, the God of Light, was loving and would surely not have taken her husband and son for sacrifice. They were alive. Nails digging into the soft flesh of her hand, she unfurled her fist to stare at the blood that welled up. No, there would be no blood shed in Mitra's name, but in vengeance for what was taken from her. Surely Mitra would forgive and understand that.
Once the heaving had slowed enough that she could struggle to her feet and wipe the dampened sand off her still-bleeding palms, the sapphire gaze returned to the wash of the tide flowing in and out. Healing, mending, soothing the gaping wound inside of this once proud woman's chest. Allomi must die... for now. Dove would live, the light dancer and skilled scholar, the priestess whose path would falter for now in order to seek her revenge and her family. Yes, Mitra would have to forgive and understand.
Pride was punished.
Pride was punished. Gluttony was punished. Sloth was punished. The hard whip's handle cracked upon the child's knee to punctuate each sentence and drew from the whelp a harsh, tear-clogged scream. This was what Relom desired most, to hear the agony of his daughter's fear. Of course, he would never admit such truths to himself, for Mitra would surely find disfavor with him. As though bedding an Aquilonian harlot to produce this child couldn't be punishment enough, for their daughter resembled her mother greatly. Too greatly for Relom's liking. The edge of the whip's handle was shoved beneath Allomi's chin to force her eyes to meet his.
"Repeat after me. Greed will lead you to pride. Pride will lead you to gluttony. Gluttony will lead you to sloth. And sloth... where will sloth lead you," he demanded in his harsh voice.
Do not cry. There will be more whippings if there are tears, so do not cry. In her childish voice, wavering and so soft it could be a butterfly's wing skimming through the breeze, Allomi replied, "Sloth leads you to wrath and Mitra is a forgiving god, so we must never give into the path that leads to wrath and hatred." So why can't you forgive me, Father?
"You are learning, at least," he snarled and dropped a skein into her lap. "Clean yourself before this evening's meal. You've duties to tend to." A horrible shudder rushed along her, knowing that should she fail in any of said duties, there would come another strong lashing. She could only count the days that she would be chosen as a priestess for Mitra. Father said she would be and, at times, she wondered how he could know such a thing. Aside from gleaned abilities to mend and a strong memory to store knowledge, she was too plain and simple to catch Mitra's eye.
The daylight had begun to wane while she'd washed herself and she realized she'd dallied long enough, placing aside the now-emptied skein Father had left for her. The horses were to be cared for and the fires going soon, if she expected to be fed this night. So, dragging the rough-patched tunic over her curly head, she scampered from the warmth of her abode and into the chilling night. The grass was dampened still with recent rains and there was a bite to the wind that spoke of more impending showers. At least the cluster of horses allowed momentary heat as she pressed to their velvety sides while feeding them hay and specially selected herbs to strengthen their bodies for combat and racing across the expansive plains, hills, or wherever the animals were demanded to go.
Once the animals were fed, she would touch each nose with a grand gesture and whisper the name of each one. Father had little use for names for them, let alone her, and had lashed her hard when she dared to title his horses. The wound across her cheek had mended with time and patience, as well as the soothing touch of her warm palm against the jagged roughness across the scar bit by bit, but the lesson had been learned immediately - Mitra demanded simplicity, hence simplicity was to be a way of life.
Coming to the last, a petite filly especially for the woman who proclaimed herself "mother" but was known as Abrema and was Father's newest wife, Allomi touched the blazing white patch that smeared across its nose. "Silk," she murmured with pleasure, thinking how the soft patch felt as lustrous across the fingers as the material had been in the markets. She gave a farewell scritch to the nose and dashed toward the house at full-speed, her bony legs pumping to seek the heat. Already her alabaster flesh was turning pink, chafed by the frigid air. And, in her desperation to return, she found her demise.
Abrema's platters crashed to the floor when the girl dashed into the door and collided with the heavy-set woman, and the dogs jumped on the roasted hares, snarling and attacking, their jowls quivering as they sank their teeth into the freshly roasted meat and devoured it. It was harder to say if the beasts shook with stronger force or if Allomi did as she saw her father's ire rising, hand lifted to smash across the top of her head and slam her into the wall.
"You little fool," he roared in fury then lashed his boot at her leg to knock her to the floor. One of his beasts found her arm and dug their hard canines into her flesh to make her yelp. A few quick blows to its snout and it released, but blood trickled freely from the indentations. She'd little time to clasp her injured arm to her chest before she was lifted by the knot of hair upon her head.
"Upstairs with you, impudent whelp, and tomorrow you will have a strong lashing. Then you may bathe yourself in the waters to wash out what senselessness remains inside of you. You'll never be a priestess if you continue to act in such a rash manner." She was slung to the floor and one blunt finger pointed to the rickety wooden ladder. With the greatest of care, she pulled herself up the rungs with hopes that the rawhide which bound it together wouldn't snap loose and send her plummeting back down to break anything, though she feared her hip would already bear signs of injury.
As she stared through the gape of thrush on the roofing to gaze at the brilliant whiteness of the stars, her fingers stroked over the tender, reddened flesh. Tendrils of heat slid through her, a soft burn that made her hiss and squeeze out tears, but slowly spread and eased the agony enough so she could roll onto her back and sleep finally. Mitra was forgiving and loving, was he not? Mitra would surely not look with favor upon this treatment, she reasoned with herself and drew the bearskin higher still to nestle under her chin. The longing to be given to the temples increased ten-fold in that one second of deep thought, and she sent a fervent prayer up high in hopes Mitra would hear and see her plight. Surely he wouldn't condemn her for asking to leave the man who clothed and fed her. Her last winking thought, as the lids grew heavy and exhaustion took its toll on her, was another fleeting plea Please Mitra, tell me that I'll escape to greater things than this.
"Wake up, whelp." Icy
"Wake up, whelp."
Icy water sloshed across her face and soaked the threadbare tunic to her body. Giving a hoarse gasp, the "whelp" threw away the bear-skin rug and gazed into thickly veined eyes burning down at her, the early morning pink of day giving her father's features a demonic expression as the shadows made deep groves into the contours of his face. She had little time to make a noise as the blunt fingers curled into her straggling locks to jerk her to the floor. She was still half asleep as the whittled, thin rod swept through the air to slash down across her legs. The stinging sensation built quickly as he cocked his hand back, pulled the rod down across her legs, then jerked his hand up again to repeat. At first, she had wailed without thought, but as the burning sensation spread across her legs, she worked herself down to whimpered prayers to Mitra to calm him, to let him forgive her enough that he'd end the lashing.
Relom still felt the deep rage threading through him with each loud slap of the switch against flesh. Somehow the welt had disappeared in the night, his lesson to her gone in less than twelve hours. She had no right, the little bitch. Even with her legs a bloody mess of lines in all directions, he couldn't help but feel she deserved more. Unwanted... spawn of filth... unwanted. As though only yesterday, the fresh memory replayed in his mind. The woman had been lithe and willing, and he'd been a glorified guard to the temples, only sent upon his duties in Aquilonia for the Priest Hyrarm to collect scrolls from an accomplice placed within their walls. It hadn't been her fault that he'd been robbed of the scrolls, of course, or that she'd been willing to help this tall, dark-eyed and dark-haired beast of a man. But how could he forgive the jezebel for robbing him of his freedom? There had been no choice but to take the woman, caught with her mid-coitus in the thick furs of her tent by the spy's guards who had played Relom and Priest Hyrarm the fools. Seven months later, he was given this girl-child to raise on his own. To his everlasting relief, the harlot Ezrayl had died days after giving birth, but that had left him with an infant that may not have been his.
And now, this worthless curr of an Aquilonian, for she would never be Nemedian to him, had become nothing more than a nuisance that took space in his lofts. Unwanted. Unneeded. Useless spawn of filth. His words rang with the hatred he felt for her, ever burning deep in his gut as the switch was forgotten and he used his large hands on her, pleased to see the red slaps across her flesh. Something inside of him felt satisfied to hear her animal grunts of anguish, to see how she cowered and cringed before him, begging now for forgiveness in a quavering voice. The rage had blinded his eyes red so deeply that he couldn't see the trickles of blood that spattered along the wood, and would have likely caused more wounds to bleed Allomi dry -- had not Abrema, hearing the screams of terror, thrown her bulky form at her husband to halt him. "Relom, be at peace. Relom, my love, you have taught her the lesson she deserves," Abrema soothed him and ran her oddly slim fingers through the thickened growth along his chin. With sweet, tender kisses, she was able to assauge his temper and draw him back down toward the flames below with promises to knead his tensed shoulders and more. Once he had climbed down the rickety steps, Abrema turned to Allomi with a cool expression, her voice dispassionate as she told the girl, "Take yourself to the river and clean yourself of your sins. You shame your father and me looking as you do. Now go before he finds reason to chastise you again."
It had taken a great amount of strength to rise, especially when thick needling pain drove itself up her legs and into her hips. Teeth digging into her bottom lip, Allomi muffled her whimper so there would be no slap about the head from "Mother" for being such a weak child. Already her fingers were sliding along the sore legs with soft tendrils of heat gliding along them. As she passed Abrema, the older woman almost stopped her to demand to know how the girl's flesh could already mend itself. Disgust rose thick in the woman's throat. Witchery in the child, just like her mother. Something would need to be done about this.
Once the door had closed firmly enough and long seconds had drawn out, Abrema sashayed back to her husband, already removing the leather jerkin and pulling the thick black hair over her meaty shoulders to rest along her flesh in an enticing curtain. Relom watched with immediate satisfaction, resting back on the heaped-up skins, and running his hands along his knees to his thighs in anticipation of touching the silken flesh that danced before him. She didn't wait long before she was at his knees, her head bowed and searching for the strings to unbind his tunic. With nimble fingers, she unclothed him and rested herself along his form, hands in his hair and mouth sweetly pressed to his. "Relom," she whispered, knowing that he was lost now to her charms, that he would allow her anything. "Relom, my love, we must do something about the child."
He only grunted his response since he preferred instead to take the charms she so willingly gave. One muscle-thick arm moved about her waist, ready to roll her to the ground. "Later," he responded when pressed again to speak of the wayward girl. But Abrema was unwilling to take the answer he gave. "She is bewitched, my love. She must be sold. Think of the profit she is worth. Much more than should she enter Mitra's temples. Let us sell her. Then she'll be away from us," she cooed before pulling his hulking weight down upon her. He stared into the woman's eyes, a slow light dawning in them. Gruffly, he replied, "A great price, you say. Then let us be quick, for I must speak to someone."
The springs had barely
The springs had barely come enough to begin thawing the iced formations along the edges of the swollen river. They seemed thin and jagged like a dagger, ready to slice the skin open and bleed the body out. Horrific thoughts of Al'Kiir rose momentarily to the surface of the girl's mind, and were dashed away with a firm mental push. Father would have punished her for skittering away from the waters over childish fantasies of the monstrous demon God. Perhaps when younger, she believed a four-horned, clawed monster would rise from the depths to devour her, but she was now ten - almost eleven - and initates didn't give into harmless, though dreaded, fears such as that. Hooking her thumbs into the straps of the tunic to tug it off, she slid her way slowly down the bank to the water's edge. The cold cascades doused one clumsy foot and immediately numbed it. For all she knew, sharp rocks could shred into the sole of her foot and she'd never know it.
The other foot slipped uneasily into the depths, up to her ankle, and again her flesh numbed almost immediately. Meanwhile, her calves needled horribly. "Mitra bless me," she gasped out as bit by bit, she moved deeper into the waters. Once chest-high, she held firm and let the water slosh against her shoulders and along her arms. And then began to count. "One... two... three..." Once she reached one-hundred, she would return to the bank, pull her furs around her body and let herself thaw out. Then repeat the punishment. Each puff of air came out a thin cloud that dashed away in the frigid air as she crawled weakly out of the river, her body quivering and teeth clacking so loudly together that it hurt worse than grinding her teeth together to still them. The flesh had gone past pink to a blue tint, which alarmed her, and she searched with shaky fingers for two flint among the small stones and pebbles. Some of the grass that had peaked its way through the hardened ground was torn up and placed in a small bunch, along with a few fallen twigs and not-quite damp leaves to build a small fire to warm herself.
While she huddled near the fire in an attempt to heat her body, and the smoke blew heaven-ward in thick white puffs, an overwhelming urge for sleep took claim of her and made her eyelids grow heavy. It was a short fight.
A tall man stood in the middle of the white temple with his flowing robes as pristine as the marble columns. Silver threaded through his sooty gray hair and beard so beautifully that it could be thin chains laced through the thick, bushy locks. In one hand, he held a spear. In the other, an apple that shriveled slowly, turned brown in his grasp, and was mush within seconds. The apple fell and splattered across the ground, staining it. The brown juices turned a deep red, like blood, and spread further still while the man laughed. It seemed that, while the crimson stains spread along the marble, that it wouldn't touch near his feet and so there was a ring of pristine white left. The spear was lowered to the ground to make a path of snow in the thick sea of maroon to allow Allomi to stride forward. Her hands were spread out, pleading to the god before her, empty as she kneeled before him and lowered her head. One of the hands touched her temple, then beneath her chin for her to gaze at him. "Blood will shed many times for you and there will be long trials of endurance. You must learn sacrifice to overcome. You will be fine, child. Have faith for now and know there is purpose. This will not be our last meeting and remember what I have told you here and now," he murmured and lifted the spear again to --
-- thwack hard across her back and shake her from her sleep immediately. In an instant, she rolled, searching for the small dagger she'd brought with her but to no avail. Hovering above her was a dusky-skinned warrior clad female with a shaved head and the dagger Allomi had been searching for in hand. "Looking for this, servant," the warrior asked of her and flicked the dagger into the air to catch it by the handle again with ease. "On your feet now, before I strike you again. You belong to me, now." A noose was dropped around Allomi's slender neck, then end held by a large Stygian on a fierce looking horse with shorn locks to match his rider. Both stared at her with obvious contempt. "Tie her up, Vizea, and let's be gone. We've miles to ride still." His accomplice brusquely bound the child's wrists and, with one hand on its rear, jumped atop her shorter, more-muscled mount with ease. "Let's be off, then, before anyone comes this way," she replied and dug her heels into the horse's flanks.
For miles, she stumbled behind them, her feet sore and cut by the rocks she had to climb over. Time after time, she stumbled and scratched her knees, legs, hands and elbows up. It seemed as if the pain wouldn't end this day, nor would the constant fear. Would her father worry? Remembering the tactical gleam her "Mother" had given, she had a strong suspicion that not only would they not care but they'd been part of this elaborate plan to do away with her. After all, no one traveled the river that far north. Not without purpose and guards. It was clearly a set-up to be rid of the nuisance in their lives. Tears stung the brilliant blue eyes, made them seem like crystals that gleamed. Betrayal was new, as was this strong urge to scream in anger. Anger was never allowed before, so she didn't understand the feeling at first. It was only a deep burn in her gut that filled her with new purpose. He called her weak, but she would endure and show him. Someday.
While the young slaves
While the young slaves cavorted about and danced for each other outside, the two Stygians sat in a luxurious tent with thick cushions cast about the floor and a feast of fruits and the roasted haunch of an elk to dine upon. Their host reclined on his pillows, rubbing at his bald pate while one of his many girls rested nearby, draped in a plain silk that showed her assets clearly while she fed him bits of food. The rotund stomach mountained up into the air when he shifted onto his back in order to stare at the young thing cowering in the corner. "Make her come here," he ordered Vizea with the haunch in his grip shaking toward the girl. Immediately, there was a hard jerk on the rope and Allomi stumbled forward, her curls cast into her face. For a while, the round man merely chewed as a cow does its cud, the jaw working loudly at the meat between his teeth, then wheezed horribly when his slave pushed at him to sit. With a flick of his hand, the curls were out of her face so he could inspect her eyes, the dimple in her right cheek, the smattering of freckles along her shoulders. "So innocent looking, even for a child. She is flawed, though. She has marks at her back and legs. Tell me why I would wish to buy such damaged property and how would I know that she is still pure?"
Vizea flashes a predatorial grin at him and replied in her barking voice, "Have I once cheated you, Aborus? The marks can be taken care of, as you know already. She is lithe, even for a child, and will be a very skilled dancer." To make a point, she grabbed one of the girl's ankles, bent the knee so he could see the flat of her foot. "Finely shaped feet, too. She will be as skilled as your own in little time."
Aborus pressed his large teeth into the meat, ripped off another section to chew in silent contemplation while studying the child again. After he'd swallowed half of his mouthful, he grunted, then replied, "We will see, won't we? She's younger than I have taken from you before. How much will this one be?" Allomi had been silent through most of this, wallowing in her newfound hatred and shame, but now she replied, "You can't own me. I don't belong to them or to you. I belong to Mitra. He told me so in my dreams." She thought her words would stun them, but she only received a sharp slap across her face. "Quiet or I'll slap you again," Aborus told her in a bored tone, then reached for his money purse to haggle over her with the two Stygians. Finally, a price was agreed upon, and the three adults rose slowly. Vizea touched her accomplice's shoulder, said something that only he could understand, and jerked her finger toward the door to show he should leave.
Once the man had gone, Vizea hissed at Aborus, "I was paid quite well to take this one and to let you know that she is a mulish Aquilonian like the wench mother she came from. Be certain that you keep her in task." The thin lips curled into a contemptuous smirk, a foot coming out to press against the top of Allomi's head and force it down. "She'll need all the lessons you can give her." Spinning about, Vizea left with no other word, but Allomi's hatred intensified by this confirmation that her father had his hand in her kidnapping.
Aborus grabbed one of her arms roughly to demand her to her feet, his fingers cruel and pinching into her flesh. "Stand child. There are few rules, but you will learn them quickly. You obey me, I am your master now. I have no hesitation to punish you as I see fit. If you raise your voice, I will punch you. If you attack me, I will whip you. If you run from me, a foot will be taken. If you lie against me, your tongue will be gone. And if you dare give yourself to a man without my permission, it is your death. Kyena, take her to the bathing chambers and give her the mark after she has been washed." He flung Allomi against the servant behind her. Kyena's grasp was much gentler and the smile given was far kinder as she led the younger girl away from the tents.
At first, there was silence to give Allomi the ability to gaze about at the other, smaller tents and the tall, well-muscled guards who roamed along the tents' perimeters. When the two girls reached the tent farthest from the circle, only then did Kyena speak in a shy, uncertain voice. "It really isn't all that bad. We eat well, we wear beautiful raiments and he can be kind to us." The simple garment was removed from the taller girl's body so she could step into the heated, scented waters of the plate-metal bath. "Join me and I will wash you." Once Allomi stepped into the sudsy water, all her energy seemed depleted. She sank into the arms of the kinder girl and sobbed with all she had, part of herself hating the weak tears. But Kyena soothed her as a mother would a child. "There are no need for tears. I was frightened, too, when Master Aborus bought my sister and me. We were sold by our uncle to him because they had no money and could no longer care for us. We are happy here, though, and are allowed a bit of freedom. Besides, we entertain all over to kings, queens, nobles and in theater like domes. What more can you ask for than that?"
Choked on her sobs, Allomi struggled out, "H-home. Te-emple." Kyena only laughed and threw water over her head before she scrubbed down the thick curls down along Allomi's back. "This is your home now and we are your sisters and friends." Seeing that the tears refused to abate, she tried another tactic. "I am Kyena, a Cimmerian. The rogue woman, she said you are Aquilonian?" This was the first sign of Allomi's opening up as the tears faltered enough for her to speak. "I am Nemedian. M-my mother was Aq-quilonian," she responded in stutters, then rubbed the water and tears off her face. Kyena assisted her, then resumed scrubbing lilac-scented soaps through Allomi's hair. "How is that possible? Are they not at war with each other?" Another bucket of water sluiced along Allomi's back and up through her hair to wash the suds away. When the girl didn't answer, Kyena tried her hand again. "What is your name, then? We can hardly call you Nemedian."
For a moment, Allomi cringed from the word and replayed what the female Vizea had said. Her mother was Aquilonian and her father had not once seen her as any child of his. If this was so, then why should she be Nemedian? Her skin was a soft alabaster and her curls were the lightest of brown that would someday darken. Her eyes were a haunting blue that had captured more than one merchant's eye, a deep color that resembled the sparkle of sapphires and yet could become as clear as crystal at times. She was Aquilonian, then, and would cast off the shackles of her father. The man was dead to her spiritually and, had she a hand in it, would be dead as well physically. "Allomi," she finally responded in that butterfly whisper, so faint that it was barely heard.
"Allomi, then," responded Kyena with a further smile and began to scrub at her back. "You'll like it here, Allomi, I assure you. Tomorrow, you will learn the steps and will be given garments to wear. But tonight, you can sleep in the tents with my sister, Keyda and me."
Gold? Was that truly
Gold? Was that truly gold placed around her ankle? A white gem twinkling up at her with odd runes carved into the precious metal?
It took great amounts to stifle the joy that shot through Allomi as she fingered the anklet. It was still warm from the fires, too, but not warm enough to burn her flesh. If anything, it kept her partially resistant against the chilling winds that ruffled through the camp and sent her hair blasting off her shoulders and across her face, dark tendrils that momentarily blinded her and forced her hands to constantly brush against her eyes. Lifting her voice fractionally, she asked the two sitting beside her on the stony ground, "How long until we move again?" Neither spoke while they chewed on their hard bread, though both set their golden eyes on her. Finally Kyena whispered harshly, "It isn't wise to speak while we eat. He will speak soon to us, and if we aren't listening, then we are punished for wasting his words."
The momentary pleasure was tamped out immediately, that same tight feeling she'd always known before had now wormed its way back into her gut and settled there, her eyes now half-lidded to conceal her expression. Just as Kyena had said, Master Arborus swished his way out of the folds of his tent and held his arms wide, voice lifted high. "We have a new child among us," he exclaimed and settled his dull green eyes on Allomi with dispassion. "You are required to teach her as you have been taught. She must be ready by the time we reach Brythunia in two weeks time." He clapped his hands loudly and retreated. Almost immediately, there was a spill of voices, still muted for fear there would be punishment, but still loud enough that she could overhear the others' words.
"Brythunia," she murmured as she dug her thumb into the hard bread. "That's on the other side of the river, isn't it? How will we cross the river?"
Again both sisters rested their golden gazes on her and Keyda responded this time with, "He has assistants, boats, whom he pays richly. Sometimes he allows the men to lie with certain girls for payment if he doesn't have enough." Kyena touched her sister's shoulder and something flowed between the two, some understanding that Allomi failed to recognize. But the moment ended abruptly when Kyena lowered her hand and her sister continued, "If it weren't so mountainous and possibly snowy where we go, it would take a week possibly. He is being cautious after last time..." Uncertainty shone, then was blinked away to be replaced with a comforting smile.
But Allomi's curiosity was piqued too strongly to let it rest. "What happened last time," she asked, leaning forward so both could hear her. Again came that quicksilver look between the two before Kyena told her, "We do not speak of that. It is forbidden. Eat now, while you can, for we must teach you and you'll need all the strength you can get." Left with only that answer, the younger girl brooded while forcing down the dry bread, wanting to know what large secret the sisters shared that would cause retribution if spoken of. The remainder of the meal was in silence to her great frustration.
"Girls be ready! Girls,
"Girls be ready! Girls, girls! At your marks! Go, go, go, go!"
One after one, they swept out from behind the gauzy curtains in fine silks of blues, greens, golds, deep reds and soft yellows, bright oranges the color of the sweet fruit, purples as royally dark as the robes kings would wear. All of them in their exotic, flowing gowns that swayed as they took one step, twirled and bent to their knees, then stood and rolled their shoulders back, their hips forward and thrust first the left foot out, then then right while their hands remained splayed out and arms slowly lifting, then dropping. They were soft butterflies who made no sound. There was no need as they gyrated for the high lord in his high throne, his guests milled about in a circle to watch this spectacle. There was enough sound of music - flutes piercing high and hands beating on skins stretched over drums to make a hard thump, dried cat guts stringed over hollowed gourds to make small chiming sounds, even a small gong that a rotund man smashed a small hammer into at certain times.
But she saw none of this; she only saw that her hands were quivering as they fell to her hip and she went akimbo; that she missed a step and the gray scarf had woven around her waist unbecomingly; that she tread the wrong way and soon she would fall if she kept spinning so much. And then it was over. The music ended and she was on her knees, hands cupped upward and her head to the floor along with the other girls, and her breaths coming hard. The applause, the cat-calls, they drowned out her uncertainty. None had seen her mistakes, they had only seen the materials flowing along her body. A tremulous smile worked its way across her features but dashed away as soon as it came. There was to be no smiling, no staring at the men or women, and certainly no talking while on the floor. Once the applause and murmurs died, each girl stood again to stride out without expression. They were almost mechanical in their actions now.
Once the gauze curtains had fallen and the girls had huddled outside in the cool night, the guards immediately began to section them off into groups of five. The others expected it, but Allomi struggled against the guard's firm grip. He sneered at her, tossed her to the floor. "Do not move," he demanded and strode off. Kyena slipped an arm around her, hoisted her up, whispering, "Don't fight against them next time. They're not above using their fists and feet." A tremor rushed through the older girl and impulsively Allomi placed a comforting arm about her. "Just remember not to fight them. Master Arborus won't allow them to hurt us if we behave."
Two of the groups were sectioned from the others and ushered back inside, while the others were told to return to the tents. Keyda, however, wasn't among them.
"Kyena, what's happened to Keyda? She was beside me on the floor and now she's gone," Allomi complained. Given no answer, she turned about and saw the miserable expression on her friend's face. "What have I said?"
"Let's not speak about it," Kyena whispered thickly, her hands shaking as she poured a glass of rich wine, payment for a successful evening of entertainment. But Allomi knew something bothered the others. They all wore deep frowns that etched lines into the corners of their mouths, similar to Kyena. So, she persisted, "If something is the matter, isn't it better that I know so there isn't a chance of stepping wrong? I'd rather not be punished."
When Kyena raised her tear-streaked face, Allomi faltered back and almost demanded Kyena think nothing of whatever troubled her, to discuss Cimmeria or anything that would take the pure misery from her face. But Kyena spoke before she did. "He takes a few of the older girls and gives them to men who pay high price for a night with one of the "exotic" lovelies from all over. A year before you came, we danced for a small king and his son desired Keyda and me. She protected me, though, and gave herself. The prince was rough... she had bruises on her cheeks and arms. Keyda didn't dance for a month, because she was so very injured by what the prince had done to her. She won't speak to me of what happened, of course, but she says it's horrible. The pains are deep fires in the pit of your stomach and your legs lock up. None of the girls here will speak of it, either." Silence descended, heavy, over the two of them. And, for a moment, Allomi assumed that Kyena had finished speaking. With tears clogging her throat, the older girl continued, "Some of them, if they aren't careful, will disappear. One came back to us seven months later and sobbed for many months after. She was my friend Yatuni. She was fourteen summers when she was taken away, but when she came back, she seemed as old as thirty summers."
"What happened to her," Allomi whispered, touching the back of Kyena's hand with a feathery brush to bring her back. "What happened to Yatuni?"
"She took a sword when she came back. She couldn't endure the loss, she said, or what she'd become. She snuck into the master's tents, took his dagger, and slit her throat."
Swallowing a bit of the wine, Kyena gazed off into nothing as so many emotions flickered across her seemingly calm face. "Keyda says that she was weak for taking her life, for not understanding the loss and taking her revenge in other ways. but I think Yatuni was brave. She refused to be used anymore."
It was almost dawn
It was almost dawn before the tent's flap moved back and the missing girl shuffled into the room. The two other girls were wide awake and remained still to listen to Keyda's soft moans of pain, then the muted cries she pressed into her sheets. It was Allomi who rose first, who came to her and spoke words of comfort while she brushed the black hair off Keyda's damp face. Kyena rose to light a lap, but a single gesture from her sister made her lower it again. "I don't want you to see me," she begged miserably, both arms covering her face to muffle her already broken voice. "Please, just let me be and go to sleep. I wish to be alone." Against their better sense, they retreated and left her be, but come morning, there was no sign of Keyda. Kyena dashed from tent to tent, demanding to know where her sister was and had anyone seen her. None had, but one of the older girls, an Aquilonian with a crooked nose named Mela cautioned Kyena, "If she has gone without word, then I would not ask so freely. Master Arborus may have sent her away."
"Away? Where?"
Mela rose her thin shoulders to her ears. "Where they all go when they're taken. I have heard they are sent to the private temples for the babe to be sacrificed to Set or Ishtar. Others have said they are chained down and fed poisons to expel the child."
"Child? Babe?" Allomi's eyes grew round. "What is this talk? Are you saying that Keyda is with child?" Kyena turned pale at the thought and pitched forward, but was caught by a guard who happened to be walking toward them. He shook the slight girl awake, then smacked her roughly on the cheek. "You should be cleansing yourself and preparing for travel. You waste time." Instead of carrying her into the bathing chamber, he let her loose to drop back into Mela's arms, who quickly shoved her into Allomi's grasp.
It was a great feat to half-drag, half-carry Kyena to the bathing chamber, tipping her over into the still-warm and fragrant tub. Kyena came up clawing her hair from her face, teeth chattering, spitting out water. But spoke no words or acknowledged Allomi's presence. It was up to the smaller girl to scrub her back now, to remove her garments and help to bathe Kyena, who seemed to have gone into a catatonic state. "Kyena, I've finished washing you now. You can stand, can't you?" Nothing, no response, no movement. "Kyena, I'll have to call for help if you don't do something. Please, Master Arborus will be angry with us if we don't roll our tents up." Still nothing. Giving a helpless sound, Allomi swiftly spoke to Mela and her bed-mates to assist with dragging Kyena from the bath. The four circled the silent one, speaking and touching, trying to make her speak. Finally, Mela stood and decided that the master should be sought for this matter, glad to clean her hands of them, and went to speak to him personally.
His appearance was swift and his ire even more so. "What is the meaning of this," he demanded to know, then hunched down over Kyena. He regarded her without any compassion or care, only slapped her cheeks and chafed her hands. When there was no response, he asked to know what had caused the state, then told each of them to leave her with him. Allomi paused in her steps, turned back, whispering, "Master, is there anything I can do to help?" The expression in the dull green eyes caused her to step away. "You'll leave if you value your skin," he seethed. Allomi turned away, unsettled more than she cared to admit, and returned to her tent alone.
Hours passed with no sign of either sister and preparations were finished, the girls now packed up and ready to continue on into Aquilonia. Allomi asked person after person, even the guards, what had happened to the two sisters without any sort of real answer. Finally, she was left to ask Yo'kee who was the master's personal attendant and guard. He was easily bribed with wine and had wandering hands, from what Kyena had told her before. Luckily, there was still half a bottle left from the previous night, and was easily acquired. Yo'kee was, at first, reluctant to speak, but won over by the sweet intoxicating perfume of rich red wine, he hunkered down in the grass, drawing Allomi down with him to whisper, "The two Cimmerians you seek? Best you stop looking for them, or you may meet the same demise as they did."
There was no chance to ask what the man meant, nor was there time. For the first time in so long, since coming here, loss settled its heavy weight upon her. Something inside, though, hardened. Loss would happen, as Mitra had said, and blood would be spilled. But he had a plan for her, and it was necessary to keep her sanity and her wits close at hand if she were to succeed. She would not break or be broken, she thought to herself while wiping the few tears off her cheeks. And there would come a time that revenge upon the master would be at hand as well.
Four Years Later: "Tell
Four Years Later:
"Tell me a story, Dove. Tell me about dancing for the tribes near the woods, and how everyone escaped. Or tell me how Master Arborus was tricked out of his servant. Tell me something you haven't told me before," said the nine-year-old bundle of nerves. Kitra bounced eagerly on her bedding while Allomi dragged a brush through the fine strands and arranged it with a few clusters of flowers. "Tell me about how you came here, again! Tell me something, though. I'm bored."
Allomi heaved a great sigh, brimming with laughter. "If you don't hold still, we'll never be ready in time to perform and we'll be punished for sure," she admonished the younger girl, pushing down on her shoulder. "I'll share a story with you, but only if you'll let me finish dressing you and you won't give me any more complications." That was all it took for Kitra to hold still and allow Allomi to curl the fine strands around a finger, then hold them in place with a little sap that made the hair gleam. "I'll tell you about how I learned to dance. Maybe it will help you to learn correctly, as well."
By the time the story and Kitra's blonde hair were both finished, she could hear the gongs playing. Time to perform. "Stay outside, little one, and watch the dancers," she whispered to her new prodigy, patting the girl on the back. The other dancers were taking their places, two lines of fifteen who entered on tip-toe. The same performances they'd given before, dancing, moving, twirling. Now that she knew the movements by heart, she could look at those in the crowd while she moved, barely seeming to see them as she ran the transparent silk across her face. Swine, filth, all of them. They didn't deserve the riches they squandered on their fine clothes and ornate jewelry. The women reeked of exotic scents and painted their faces, looking in delighted contempt at the young girls paraded about for their pleasure. The men in their rugged garments and their noses tipped up, as though they could smell the stench coming from the floor before them. Heads laden with circlets, jewels, flowers, crowns; gowns of light material, so thin that nipples thrust out and the bulges the men seemed so proud of barely hidden. And yet they looked down upon the stage, at the dancing peasants who had no choice but to dance for their food.
As it had in the five years since she'd been sold to Master Arborus, Allomi felt a flurry of rage settling at the base of her gut and slowly work its way to her middle. By the time they would finish, she would be seething and would stamp it down as always, would train her features to remain calm, uninterested, when it was her turn. At first, she'd begged the master not to send her alone out there. But he'd explained... painfully, that the nobles seemed to enjoy the innocence she portrayed as she swung her body about for them. That they would see more gems (at least he would) if she would dance a little more. Had she any other choice but to accept? So, with no more complaint, she had learned. And danced. And, without her knowing, had earned herself a reputation as the solemn innocent. A dove among the peacocks. Master Arborus used the title and even gave other girls similar bird names. Swan with her pristine skin, her pale hair almost as white as moon rays, and slender body. Parrot for her bright red hair, the piercing green eyes, and the lusty cry of laughter she gave when pleased by something. Nightingale for her lovely voice that had broken her free of Arborus and now enjoyed resplendent wealth as a singer for the new king of Ophir.
Keeping her head low and the gray scarf over her head, she waited for the drumming to begin. It was slow at first, a few soft pats as Allomi moved her hips and slid her feet along the sanded floor. No one would know that she had distanced herself as she moved seductively, her arms spread out in front of her and beckoning, head leaned back so the long curls could shimmy down over the barely concealed swells of her bottom. Or that, when her body undulated in a primal rhythm, the erotic act only a tease at lovemaking, she was damning them all with her piercing blue gaze. The scarf fell away and trailed behind her as she rushed forward, fell to the floor, then kneeled as she arced herself back, the budding promise of womanhood so apparent now. She slowly rose up, hands sliding down, and saw him. The brilliant blonde hair, the eyes of sky blue watching her with something akin to boredom. His disinterest was daunting. His clothing was normal, a subtle black and brown, and he wore no gems like the other dandified men.
That intrigued her enough that she almost missed a step. Almost, until she heard the hard beat of the drums again and she resumed putting all she had into the dance. But the look she'd shared with the man... it had pierced her fiercely in a way she'd not known was possible. And hours after she'd finished and had returned to the tents with Kitra dancing around her eagerly, she knew she'd see the man again. Soon.
Kitra giggled as she
Kitra giggled as she turned cartwheels about the floor with the assistance of Guard Kyan's help. The large Aesir added his own lofty chuckle to her childish laughter as he grabbed her legs and tilted her over. It was a wonder neither were toppling over from dizziness. A few of the girls had gathered about to sew their garments, a chatter that was stilted with laughter while the six of them watched the child's clumsy turns. Mela placed aside her skins and stretched her back, hands placed at the small curve of her backside and her chest thrust forward. "I wish we would come to Nemedia already," she complained as she lifted her arms up toward the sky. "Arborus takes his time again. Surely he does not wait for Lyhani to return to us?"
The name gave a few of them pause to shoot dagger-filled glares at Mela. All knew of Mela's undying hatred for the shy, older girl who had won over two young princes -- the same who had begged to purchase Lyhani much to Mela's ire since she had fervent hopes of her own to become their personal slave. Yet, not enough sexual innuendos and taunting reveals of flesh could sway them to like the loud-mouthed and oftentimes cruel Mela.
Syrea spoke up, her voice a lazy drawl so uncommon from other Stygians that Allomi had known. "I believe we wait for Arborus to receive a visitor from Ophir's performance two nights before." As she said this, her calculated gaze was on Allomi. "Dove, you seem flushed. Is something the matter?" All the others turned to face her, some amused and others blatantly curious. She covered the sudden flood of heat by fanning her hand rapidly near her temple and exclaiming, "It's hot out today." While that appeased most, Syrea and Mela still stared in open amusement at her. Syrea already knew of the man Allomi had placed hopes upon. Mela, having eavesdropped, told quite a few of the others that Dove was foolish to set hopes on any man. "Too young looking, too frail, too cowardly," she had commented with winks, having no knowledge that her comments would easily come back the object of her contempt.
So, in a rare malicious moment, Allomi decided to comment, "I know who is coming. There was talk of riders coming from the west." Mela's head jerked high and a smile showed broadly. Nemedia and the princes were to the west. Seeing that her barbed hook had found flesh, Allomi continued, "There is talk of someone being purchased. At least, that is what I heard Master Arborus say." Somehow, the others knew she lied, but none spoke up or reprimanded her for it. Mela was too infused with self-satisfaction to find flaw with what Allomi said.
As the evening waxed and the torches burned around the camps, the girls gathered to snicker at Mela, who drifted about in her dancing silks and had painted her face for the occasion. Her steps, always fumbling and uncertain, now were light as she pressed her bare feet to the sand, contorted her body back, and slid her hands up her torso to skim over the full breasts suggestively. The guards had gathered to watch this interesting and impromptu show, their arousal apparent by the show of Mela's suggestive movements. One, Rifus, a hulking ebony-skinned brute with little temper, reached for her arm. The man's grip was painful, his fingers dug deep into Mela's tanned skin hard enough that it paled white around his fingertips. She slung her arm out to slap him across his scarred cheek.
"Little bitch," he grunted, slapping her back hard enough that her head cocked back and smashed her in her nose with a sickening crunch. She squealed and collapsed on her knees, covering her bleeding nose as droplets spattered over her soft yellow raiments. The other men grabbed Rifus, hauling him back, while some of the dancers helped Mela to her feet and murmured over her. None saw the tall golden-haired man with seven guards approach, nor that he had watched this interlude for long minutes before he motioned for one of his men to step forward and take the reins of his steed before sliding off its back.
Only one person saw him and stepped away from the torch lights to study him longer. The high cheek bones, the long, straight nose, his long hair so fine and reaching the middle of his back, the icy blue of his eyes. Somehow, he seemed remote and involved at the same time, amusement a fleeting spark that warmed the eyes but for a mere second.
Though she hid in the shadows, he saw her separated from the others and advanced toward her, one hand stretched out. "Where is your master," he asked of Allomi in a calm but commanding voice. Something hot twisted in her gut to stare into that face. Only a slight tremor showed how unsettled she was by him, as well as the way she stuttered. "He's in his tent in the middle... sir," she worked out, then turned on heel and led the man directly to Arborus. He had come, as she'd known, and tonight she would not sleep in these cold tents.
As the candle light
As the candle light danced over the two men's faces, Allomi studied their features with held breath. So austere, this tall man. Their words were muffled, their expressions neutral, but she knew they spoke of prices now. Otherwise, there would be strained smiles as the two felt each other out while establishing dominance. By the way Arborus' lips tightened, it was simple to conclude that he'd lost. Now, if only their words were louder so she could hear what was spoken. Her small feet pummeled against the grass with irritation, her body hunched closer against the outside of the tent with her eyes rounded with fascination. So easy, in this darkness, to study the man she would belong to where none could study her. At least, so she'd thought.
However, the light seeped through the small crack and had caught this proud man's attention. His gaze drifted haughtily toward the small beacon and their eyes locked. Arborus stiffened as the noble commented under his breath, turned his head slowly to glare toward the corner, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder and barked an order to his guard. Allomi stumbled away from the small flap and ran face-first into the side of a camel to end up sprawled on her back across the ground. Rifus came to her first, his fingers tight as he took her arm and half-dragged, half-carried her in to Arborus. Her cheeks now red and smudged, Allomi found herself unwilling to peer at the nobleman who'd brought her curiosity to its peak, but instead fought the hold Rifus had on her. "Drop her," the master demanded, to which she was thrown onto the floor with a bark of angry pain.
"So mistreated," the visitor asked loftily and brushed aside the tumbled curls from her dirty face. His thumb stroked her soft skin to wipe away the dark stain. "Yes, she will do for me." His hand dropped away to support him, pressed to the ground so he could roll to his knee, then stand. "Prepare a horse," he said to one of the men standing nearby. Their gold and silver armor clanked merrily as they strode out one by one. In the flicker of light, she saw a great symbol on the back of one of the men that she would later come to understand was thought to be a blessing from the war goddess.
"See that she is bathed and placed in my tent, " said the man as he cupped Allomi's chin to tilt her head up so their gazes met again. He studied her with frank appraisal, then asked, "Do you know why I am here?"
"To purchase me," she replied huskily, her voice thick.
"You are sure of yourself, aren't you?" He seemed amused, but there was a dark kindling fire in his eyes that took her breath away. She nodded dumbly and stiffened at the brief touch of his mouth against hers. "You belong to me now. Do you have any qualms with this?" The question was startling and set her off balance. She studied him, touched his forehead where a freckle hid in the thin, straight line of his eyebrow, then shook her head. "I belong to you with pride." Almost with a smug taunt, she added, "I knew you would come for me. You didn't disappoint... Master." He laughed, patted her cheek, and nodded to his man. "See that she's bathed properly for me." With that, he flung his cloak over his shoulder and strode out.
The night had grown
The night had grown chilled in the short duration that she had languished in a bath of scented waters. Now, as she wandered from the safety of the master's camp to the tents placed up by the noble, she could feel her skin bumping up, her nipples taut. Though it was not fully from the cold. She could almost feel the heat of his breath on her lips now. "Stop," she admonished herself, pushing away the flap to enter. He sat at a small fire that burned in the middle, the smoke rising up through the narrow hole above.
At first, she thought he was naked, the fire gleaming off of his chest and coloring it an odd gold and bronze. But when his head turned and he stood, beckoning her forward, she realized he had only a loincloth that did little to conceal his arousal. Anxiety took place of her excitement, her nerves suddenly on edge. She knew nothing of the bed. And yet ... now she would lie with him. Did he know?
"Come," he told her, the smile he'd worn sliding away into a grimace of nuisance. "Come. Lie down." It took great strength to push herself forward and lower herself to the pallet created for them. He removed the thin chemise from her body, sliding it from her shoulders and arms with only one hand. The heat from his fingers slid through her and made her aware of the hard line of his body against hers. "I am your first," he asked, though the words seemed more a statement. At the nod she gave, he released a deep sigh. "Good."
One finger touched an erect nipple, skimmed around it slowly, enjoying the shudder evoked by his doings. "Yes, you are virgin. I can tell. You and I, we will both enjoy this, then." She lost control of her body as his mouth took over, his fingers touching and teasing along her form. As he reached between her legs, urging and probing, she couldn't understand the animal sounds that she gave or why she was unable to stop bucking. And, when he removed his finger from inside of her to fit himself between her legs, why she begged and urged him for more.
There was no hesitation on his part in the least. He was forceful and she screamed in pain, feeling as though she was torn in two. His mouth covered hers to muffle the sound of her sobbing as he took her, giving her no time to enjoy the experience, but to take from her what he desired. It seemed that eternity spun before her closed eyes, the pain shredding and filling her stomach and chest. She tried to detach herself from it, from him, but his groans increased in sound and... it was over.
His breathing was labored, his body shaking and damp from exertion. As he rolled from her, he flung an arm around her waist to keep her as she lay. "I am sorry," he worked out once he'd caught his breath. "But I was eager to have you. Next time... next time, I promise you..." His words slipped into silence and she turned to stare at him. Features relaxed, blonde hair sliding along his shoulder. He was handsome, no doubt. She almost forgave him for the pain, until she turned under his arm and saw the blood smeared across her thighs. It had pooled between her legs on the cloths and spread. When she looked at his body, she could see it covering the length of his shaft.
And hated him.
She turned from his body, covering her mouth and eyes. And wept for the innocense taken.
It was interesting,
It was interesting, having so many guards around one man and his new concubine, as though expected attack. Even Arborus didn't have twenty guards to protect him. Her head lifted higher each time she realized she had left the buffoon behind; no longer forced to entertain the crowds, no longer forced to scrape for food, to endure the squabbles and chilled nights on hard ground with only a skin for warmth. She was free - as free as a slave could be. She dug her heels into the mule's sides, had it catching speed. The tall, proud Argosian who served as her personal guard instantly caught up with her and hooked his hand around her reigns. "Where are you going?"
Dove stiffened her legs against the sides of the animal and grabbed the wiry mane. "I was trying to join my master," she snarled at him, grabbing at the reins. "Is there a rule that says I cannot? Must I ride near the back of the entourage?"
With a throaty laugh, he tossed the reins aside, his silver eyes sliding along her. "Do as you wish, slut." He noticed that she bridled at the word, pleased at her reaction. "Do you think you are anything more than a slave to Master Reidmar? You may warm his bed, but you are nothing but a slave to his passions. Less worthy than those who clean his stalls."
His hatred was palpable, from the cruel gleam in his eye to the way his lip curled into a sneer. She defensively lifted her hand, curled her fingers into a fist. "I may be nothing more to you, but he chose me. Remember that as you decide what you believe of me." His face turned a dark red, visible even in the darkness. "And you are his servant, just as I am, yet you guard my person from protection."
"You lit-"
"What goes on here?"
Unbeknown to them, the master had turned his steed about and watched them critically. He'd noticed the tension between them, the fist Dove had lifted and how Tarrun reached for his whip. Anger was slow to rise, even slower to bring him to intercede. Tarrun was in the right to reprimand her if she had done something unwise, such as attempt to escape. However, thinking of the cruel whip splitting open her flesh disgusted Reidmar strongly. "What has the girl done to transpire a lashing," he asked Tarrun coolly.
Tarrun turned purple with rage and swallowed his fury. "She has a loose tongue, Master. She needs that tongue curbed immediately. I propose to do it for you, if you'll allow me." Giving her a smug glance, he rode his horse closer to the master and whispered low to him. Certainly a lie by how Master Reidmar's expression darkened. Her muscles tensed as Reidmar galloped toward her, a hand stretched out toward her. She expected punishment from the hand and missed the flash of hurt across his face. "I won't hurt you. I am not harsh to my slaves unless they deserve it. I merely wished to speak with you."
"Anything you desire, Master."
Had she not used that phrase, she may have made an ally of her new owner. Instead, his features tightened and his hand dropped to his side. "I desire you learn to curb your tongue like a good concubine, remain behind me, and I do not wish to hear another sound from you while we ride," he replied haughtily. "If you dare bring the guard's ire again, he has my permission to beat that beautiful hide of yours." The horse jerked about with force and made it whinny. She swallowed her hateful response, her jaw clenched tight as Tarrun smirked down at her and removed her reins from her hand again. The two held back while her hands were bound before her roughly. She grimaced at her captor and wished fervently to punch his throat and silence his harsh chuckle.
"You are a slut, expect to be treated as one." He slapped her on her rump, squeezed it. "Be careful or you'll be serving his men as well." He spurred his mount to increase speed, uncaring that her mule balked and she almost fell from the saddle. The resistance of his tugs on the rein only made him yank harder. The mule brayed its refusal and locked its legs. Tarrun was forced to hop off and remove the whip from his hip. "Get moving. Yah!" Without uncurling it, he smacked the animal on its hind quarters. It brayed again, kicked out with its feet and caught him in the leg.
There came a crunch and the guard fell with a lady-like squeal of pain. Immediately heads turned back toward them and questions arose in the air.
"What happened?"
"Is he alright?"
"Was it an attack?"
"Tarrun fell. Was it the bitch?"
"What were they doing?"
"Did someone alert the master?"
They were silenced as Reidmar moved between them all, seeming taller than most of them, his fair head shining among their darker ones. "Report," he demanded of Tarrun in a sharp voice. Tarrun writhed against the ground as he removed the dented platemail from his injured leg, slow to respond. Sweat had already begun to bead on his brow. "S-sir," he worked out in stutters, Adam's apple working with each swallow, "I attempted tuh-to spur her... her animal... sh-she h-had it balking m-me. Luh-little bitch m-made the damned beast... kick me. Buh-broke my damned... l-leg, Sir."
Reidmar's cool blue gaze slid toward the fiery heat in Dove's dark amethyst eyes, unasked questions lurking. She would not speak nor ask for mercy. Whether she realized it or not, she had begun to earn his respect, though he'd never admit such a thing to a slave. She could have argued with the man, denied what had happened. Instead, she remained cool, lips thinned to a line and her hands clenched tight enough in the mule's mane so hard her knuckles were white.
"Get him mended and on a horse. We waste time," he barked to one of the men. "Dimani, set his leg. The slave will ride with me."
Placing one arm under behind her, he pulled her from the mule and into his arms with ease. "And you, my little one, are causing me more hassle than I'd prefer," he muttered to her with a soft growl as he swung them both onto the tall dun and situated her before him. "Whatever you've done to upset him, I would watch my step, Little One. He is out for your blood and will find it in any way he can. And I can't protect you constantly."
Urging the horse forward again, he moved the others up the first cropping of rocks along a steep hill as he speculated, "It may be best to teach you how to use a sword."
One year later: His
One year later:
His hand curled loosely about the weapon, then swung through the air to strike at her. She took a step away, leaned back and deflected the blow with her own wooden sword. Reidmar chuckled at the movement, his apparent amusement showing in the twinkle of his eyes. "You're doing better, Dove," he commended her and motioned her forward for a brief kiss. Behind him, the other concubines giggled and continued on with their conversations while they braided hair and played instruments for their master's entertainment.
Naedari, Reidmar's favorite, brought forward a pitcher of juices for his pleasure and received a deep, lusty kiss. As they broke apart, she sent Dove a smug glance. "My master is so strong," the woman purred and poured him a mug, her head bowed as she offered the tray up to him. He watched the dark head bowing low, patted her on the head. "Thank you, my lovely." As he lowered himself into one of the chairs to rest, Dove was pulled into his lap as well so he could comb a hand through her thick curls.
Neither missed Naedari's reaction - the sour expression, the tightening of her hands against the tray or how her shoulders tensed. Reidmar found perverse pleasure in testing her, as she was his oldest and dearest concubine. But lately her jealousy knew no bounds. He had heard of the threats she had given the other girls, how she had coerced her way into his bed on many nights when he wished for the others. And his irritation grew over the lust he had for her body.
Even now, as he ran his nimble fingers along Dove's form, toying with the small breasts and enjoying the light rasp of her breath, he noticed that Naedari stared with utter contempt at the younger girl. And something akin to fear entered him. Would Naedani attempt to murder Dove? A swift rush of anger was suppressed by the urge to protect the female on his lap. And, as often as this happened, so did the desire to conquer his Dove. He spread her legs and entered her, his loincloth pushed away, while Naedari watched, while the other girls paused and took note of the way that Dove held back her sounds, even as she was consumed in pleasure.
"Naedari," he grunted, one finger curling. "Stand before Dove. Watch her. Enjoy yourself," he ordered, knowing both women had contempt for each other. As he helped Dove to ride him, he enjoyed Naedari's humiliation. She covered her face with her jet-black hair while she removed her garments, her fingers sliding along her and finding the source of heat between her legs. But she was not eager, nor did she delight in presenting herself in such a humiliating way. Dove, however, knowing his intentions, did. And broke free of her quiet coccoon. As her first climax hit, she sobbed.
The sounds she created had the desired effect upon Reidmar and he, too, soon followed her. As both leaned back, depleted and satisfied, Naedari briskly dressed herself and would have left had not Reidmar barked, "Stop. No one asked you to leave. I gave you an order and you will continue to do so until I say otherwise." The other concubines clucked their tongues and exchanged whispers, noting the ugly blush that came across her face. She took another step, meaning to deny him, but found herself grasped by one of the guards. "Let me go," she ordered, but shrank back quickly as her master decided, "She'll be chained up until she remembers that she is the slave and when her master gives her an order, she is to do as he bids."
Once she was carried away, Reidmar pushed gently at Dove, removing her from his lap. She could feel his release coating the insides of her legs and pressed them harder together as she pulled down the skirt of her garments. "Go wash and I will see you tonight for your performance," Reidmar whispered, kissing her temple. He seemed to feel the uncertainty that ate at Dove. Whether it was because she was quite younger than the other concubines, or because she was silent and remained distant from the others, he only knew that she needed watching more than the others.
Before Dove could leave and return to her own room, he paused her with a firm grasp around her arm. "Tonight, we have visitors. Prepare your raiments." Her head bowed and she whispered, "Yes, Master" as she often did, unwilling to meet his gaze directly. Giving a frown of irritation, he turned to the other females and motioned for them to come to him. "Give your master kisses," he called to them pleasantly, his arms extended. The other females rushed at him, giggling still and chattering.
That little bitch...
That little bitch... who does she think she is? Some Nemedian whore... her blood is tainted. Not like my pure blood. What does the master see in her? Naedari bit hard into her lower lip, ignoring the sting of teeth tearing into flesh. She watched from the outer balcony above the entertainment and coveted the swirling garments that moved about Dove as the younger girl twirled on her toes for Reidmar's guests. His father, an aging lord who was blinded in one eye, cracked the other pale blue open further to enjoy the sight of the dancer's lithe movements.
Before she came, Master desired me the most Naedari growled to herself and released her bottom lip to wipe at the dot of blood that beaded up. She ignored the rational part of her mind that chided her, reminded her that she'd bribed the other females and had doted on him, had stayed under foot waiting for his call. She wanted to become important to him, more than the others. And someday, when he chose to wed, perhaps... She smiled to herself and licked away another crimson bead before it could splash down her chin. Oh yes, she would bring him many sons.
Below, the music increased and there was laughter as the lords and ladies came to the circle that Dove had deserted. They rotated about each other, hand to hand and eye to eye, making conversation with each other. Naedari ignored them, searching out the one who mattered most. He had disappeared as well, though. She moved briskly, ignoring the pain that sliced up her back and into her neck. Those bastards with their whips... she'd never blame Master Reidmar for it, though. She was blind to his flaws.
"Master... please... not here." The words ended with a muffled gasp, then, "I beg of you master. Someone will see us."
"You were so beautiful tonight. No one will see, my Little One. Just let me..." There came a grunt and the light slap of flesh to flesh.
As quick as possible, Naedari moved behind a cluster of columns that was heavy with ivy, her fingers pushing through the leaves to make a hole large enough that she might see through. Reidmar had found Dove alone in the courtyard and had drawn her to the shadows. Enough torch-light flickered on their bodies that Naedari could make out their coupling. More importantly, she could see Dove struggling as he kissed her, his form pressed against hers as he mounted here. Everything about him drew her fury. The bitch... the little bitch... Naedari watched with a jealous eye as Dove turned her head. Every ounce of grief and confusion was etched in the very lines of that young face.
How could she not enjoy his ardor? How dare she hold herself back from the master when all he asked was that she pleasure his body? Naedari leaned back, wondering to herself. Would he not do better to rid himself of her? He would focus his time and attention on me again, if she were gone. Isn't that so? She's a passing thought, a desire that will die out. Except... deep inside, she wondered if this were true. Would Master Reidmar truly tire of Dove in time? She slid away from the posts, finding her room, the sounds of her master's pleasure echoing in her ears.
The air lingered still
The air lingered still with the fresh scent of rains to come and mingled with the lingering aroma of smoke, hot house flowers and roasted meats. Naedari believed that years after the night was finished, she would always remember this perfume on the wind and think of it as success. After tonight, the master would look to her and adore her as he had no other. A ripple of delight ran along the concubine's body and her hand tightened around the handle of the dagger that she'd strapped to her thigh.
It was precaution, she reminded herself over and over as her finger lovingly caressed the metal hilt. So many lords and ladies this night had drifted back to their own estates intoxicated and full of cheer. But there were quite a few who had remained behind. She'd only brought the dagger to keep herself from bodily injury, nothing more.
While this was true to a certain point - a few nobles and their servants had remained behind, all but the minimal few now in their beds and sleeping away the night - there would be no attack to needlessly worry over. The concubines who were in lesser favor had been doled out to Master Reidmar's favorites and the Lord Castarede, the elderly patriarch, had turned his lewd attentions to the newest concubine - a Khitani woman who Master Reidmar had purchased with his father in mind.
Even now, the old noble was probably wrapped in the young female's arms. And Master Reidmar was-
Naedari had, by now, come to the last door and her fingers were pressed to the wood, ready to enter Dove's abode. And her nerves made her falter. What if the master had decided to bring himself to the little bitch's bed and enjoy her pleasures longer through the night? That hadn't come to mind until now... but there was no turning back. The poison had been placed with care on the dagger's tip and she needed only a deep enough nick to draw blood. Everything else would be taken care of. No more innocent eyes to fawn over, no more watching the slut cavort about for her master and his cronies. She drew her courage about her and pressed the door open. To her relief there was only the small, huddled lump of a lone body deep in slumber.
As the door closed behind her, giving a small snicking sound, Dove's head lifted enough that for one blindingly frightful moment, Naedari was certain the girl had been awake and waiting for her.
"Iidriil," the younger girl asked thickly, rubbing her eyes. There was no answer, only darkness and a jealous, infuriated Stygian that Dove couldn't see from her vantage point. As her head sank back into the feather pillow, Naedari gave a sigh of relief and crept toward the bed inch by inch, listening to the soft and even breaths of the younger female. Sweat began to bead on her dark brow. So very close... so... very... close. Dove's chest was bared, the sheets twisted and wrapped about her lower torso and her arms spread out.
The dagger lifted and centered above where the girl's heart was and she could almost feel the crimson gushes that would cover her. As she prepared to sink the weapon fully into Dove's chest, her victim's eyes flew open and her lips peeled back, ready to release a horrified scream. Naedari's strong hand clamped over the opened mouth to muffle it before it gave rise and woke the whole manor. "You little bitch," she seethed, pressing down with her weight against the mouth. Around her spread fingers, she could almost see the flesh darkening to a bright red against the pinch of her nails. This made her smile and dig deeper into Dove's cheeks. "Did you think I would let you take him from me? I have worked years for my master's desires and you think you may sashay in, pale as milk."
She could feel the heat of Dove's terrified tears against the tips of her fingers and it pleased her to know that she had the young female exactly where she wished her. Now there was no escape, no turning back for either. If Dove screamed, it was Naedari's life. If she backed away, Dove would tell the master surely and she would be tortured. Not that she would dream of letting Dove go, however. She would simply enjoy Dove's terror a bit longer and end her life. To intensify the excitement more, she ran the blade's tip along the child's chest lazily, ran it over one of the coral nipples without breaking the skin. She could feel the girl flinch beneath her, trying to pull away.
Her smile deepened further. "I have you where I want you now, don't I? I could fuck you with my dagger, tear your pussy and shred it and no one would know it was me. I could cut your breasts off right now, if I truly wished to." She made a move to do so and chuckled when Dove bucked strongly. Her hand gripped harder at Dove's face and pushed her down into the pillow. "When I say move, you move. Otherwise, you lie still and you enjoy your last precious seconds of life." Shifting her body so that she knelt over Dove, the dagger was again positioned above the girl's chest. "This is for my master, you know. Before you came, he was happy. Now he frowns and mutters about you. You make him unhappy, so very unhappy, and I will not have that. If you will not be a good concubine, then what use are you? Turning your head and begging him no." She gave a cluck of her tongue in dismay. "Did you think he would love a child who cannot give him more than baser needs?"
"Naedari. Put it down."
Her hand tightened around the hilt of the dagger as she turned her eyes over her shoulder to see her master had slipped into the room at some point and now watched her with hate-filled eyes. The hate was her undoing and her curse. She would fight against it, would not lose his favor. "This is for you," she said scathingly, wanting him to understand. He only pushed the door wider and revealed the guard who had watched Naedari in silence without her knowledge, his crossbow in hand and ready. Reidmar said in an icy voice, "Kill her and you will die slowly. Release her now and I may be lenient with you."
The wild eyes slipped back to Dove's clear, blue ones, then back to stare at Reidmar and his guard. No, she was losing. She couldn't lose, not to this bitch. If she had to die, then Dove would die as well. A wild scream reverberated from her chest as she brought the dagger up, ready to plunge it into the girl's breast. Something impacted with her and she barely felt the rending of her heart as the arrow protruded through her chest. She had mere seconds to register pain and betrayal before her eyes emptied and her life ceased.
Dove pushed herself from under the body and dragged herself away from the bed, her ass scooting against the stone roughly enough to break the skin, which didn't register. Not yet. She barely felt Reidmar's arms closing around her and hoisting her up against him. Nor did she hear him order the guard, "Clean this up. Dove will bed with me in my chambers. See that the bed is changed fully and feed her corpse to the dogs. I want the bitch's head on a pike as an indication," he stormed, unable to stop the tightness in his chest as he cradled his concubine against him. Dove was in a state of shock, he could see. Her eyes were wide and unfocused and her arms were limp about his neck. He helped her lock her legs around his waist, easier to carry her from the sullied chamber, and barked more orders to nearby guards who had heard the scream and had come running.
Once in his own rooms, he was gentle to slip Dove into his sheets and examine the girl over. Aside from nail marks in her cheeks, no physical damage was seen. He slipped into the bed beside her, pulled her close and rained kisses over his face. It was with great surprise that he felt her respond, sluggish at first and then with such intense desire that he found himself the seduced and she the instigator as she took control and covered his body with her slim, lithe form.
Had Naedari known that her doings would lead to Dove's push into love, perhaps she would have ended the girl's life sooner. Or maybe not at all. But the results somehow ended with Allomi's realization that she loved the man beneath her. That he had sheltered her from greater pains than she could imagine. This knowledge only heightened her awareness and, in the end, it was she who took from him as never before until they ended, depleted, in a sweat-slicked heap and she'd unknowingly earned her master's heart as well in her final act of giving.