The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “I must insist,” Lucas said.

  “It’s fine,” Torsten said, nodding Lucas along. Not having Lucas join him was going to throw a wrench in the plans, but if he argued too much, the thugs might start to get suspicious. He would have to improvise. He’d have to be like… Whitney Fierstown. The thought nearly brought bile to his throat.

  “Sir?” Lucas said.

  “I’d rather be all alone with her,” Torsten lied.

  “Sir Unger, you can’t see,” Lucas said. “I don’t think—”

  Torsten pulled him close. “Don’t let another soul get down there,” he whispered. “I don’t care what you must do.”

  “All right, let’s go, my Lord,” Curry said.

  “You won’t need this, my Lord,” Abigail stole the cane from Torsten, then took his arm and led him around the bar. Torsten banged his shin on a stool but didn’t let the pain show. Someone behind the bar worked some keys, and a door opened, then Curry led them downstairs.

  The stench of shog was promptly replaced by one more familiar to the Vineyard—sweat, sex, and shame. But that wasn’t all. It had been over a decade since Torsten’s investigation took him anywhere near the Vineyard’s basement, where lewd fantasies came true, but the metallic tinge of dried blood was unmistakable.

  “It’s been a while since we got any Shieldsmen in here,” Curry said. “But Mr. Tehr is always happy to show the protectors of our kingdom a good time. He always says, ‘stress is the bane of civilization.’”

  “Like you know what that means, Curry,” Abigail remarked.

  “Better than you do, girly.”

  “Oh yeah, what then?”

  “Well, I ain’t know what a bane is,” Curry said, “but it means that men need the touch of a good woman. Wait.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, earning a curse from Abigail as she bumped into him. “I thought Shieldsmen weren’t supposed to lay with anyone? That’s why they always sneak around while here.”

  “We aren’t priests,” Torsten said. “We are simply betrothed to the Crown.”

  “Well, I won’t tell her you’re cheating.” Curry laughed at his own joke.

  “They sneak here because this place is filled with vermin like you,” Abigail said.

  Curry clutched her hard by the wrist, earning a wince. “Careful, Shieldsman,” he said. “This one’s got a mouth on her. Good for this line o’ work, but that’s about all.”

  “I think I can handle her,” Torsten said.

  “Let’s go then,” Abigail said, grabbing Torsten’s arm and pulling him along.

  As they followed Curry, Torsten focused on every sound around him, no matter how minute. The way air passed through openings, footsteps within one of the rooms, the sound of wine pouring into a glass. Somewhere along that hall was Valin’s office and quarters, buried underground like a rat. If he kept records of anything, they’d be locked up in there.

  Curry greeted a handful of Valin’s thugs along the way. Not too many. If Torsten had his eyes, handling them would’ve been no problem. In fact, he recalled from all those years ago that Valin never was one for over-securing anything. He preferred to flaunt what he did to those who cared to look hard enough; show how untouchable he truly was.

  The confined nature of the corridor opened up, and the ground suddenly shook.

  “Quiet down, Uhlvark!” Curry shouted across a vast room they entered.

  The giant’s feet slid on what sounded like sand. Chains rattled, then snapped, and the dim oaf moaned in displeasure.

  “Foooood?” he said.

  “Maybe next time make the cow last a week, numbskull,” Curry said.

  “Be nice to him,” Abigail snapped. “I’ll find you something in the morning, honey!” she called to the giant.

  Uhlvark clapped his hands, the bonds on his wrists clanging together. “Thank youuu, pretty Abigail. Pretty as a daisyyy.”

  “You keep sweetening up to that thing, he’ll wind up snapping your back like he did poor Lenny,” Curry said.

  “Oh, that was an accident,” Abigail replied.

  “Accident? He nearly made his head pop off.”

  “Valin warns everybody not to bother Uhlvark while he’s eating. That was Lenny’s yigging fault.”

  “Excuse me, but are we in Valin’s fighting pit?” Torsten asked.

  “What pit?” Curry said.

  “I was the Wearer of White. You think I don’t know about Valin’s other businesses?”

  “Valin don’t pay me to think,” Curry said.

  “That’s for sure,” Abigail remarked.

  “One more word out of you, you’ll be pleasing the pigs who walk in,” Curry said.

  They wound their way around a curved path, then Curry stopped. “Got another special guest for the box,” he addressed someone. After a few exchanges of small talk that got Torsten’s skin crawling, the new thug pulled aside a curtain of beads.

  “Mind if I go take a leak then, Curry?” the thug asked. “You can look after him for a bit.”

  “Make it quick,” Curry said. “All right, in you go Shieldsman. It ain’t as luxurious as upstairs, but ‘the people come first,’ and all that shog. Enjoy a taste of the bitter North. Sweeter than the ‘Flower of Drav Cra’ herself.”

  Torsten froze for a moment upon hearing the title. But Abigail towed him along through the entry. Now he knew where the stink of sex came from. He heard it too. Rooms on either side of him were occupied by Valin’s women and their ‘guests.’ He heard them faking moans, others whipping the men and getting them to howl. He dared not imagine who among them he might know, who among them might occupy the very same floor of the Glass Castle as him.

  It was no wonder nobody ever shut the Vineyard down. It was difficult for him to imagine that Liam himself hadn’t ever visited its filthy halls, with all that Torsten now knew about the man’s vices. The Vineyard hadn’t always been the only brothel in Yarrington, but Valin had long since put all the others out of business. His girls were exotic, catering to man’s every sinful desire. Places like Westvale and Winde Port offered depravities as well, but they couldn’t compete.

  Glinthaven, where Torsten’s ancestors were from, was known for such decadence. But their bodies were said to be treated like mere housing for their auras within, and they treated them like such. Watching his parents’ decay in such places as the Vineyard probably had a lot to do with why Torsten had never visited the place of his ancestors. He’d gone a lifetime struggling to care about anything but his kingdom and the king who’d raised him from the filth. Never had he even felt tempted, until…

  “Right here,” Abigail said softly. Her words came out like a purr, and her breath was hot on his neck. She yanked on his arm and drew him through another set of beads. Another push and he fell backward onto a bed. Considering everything else, it felt like lying on a cloud the sheets were so soft. One might even think it luxurious if not for the pounding and forced moaning from the couple in the next room.

  “Sorry about the noise,” Abigail said, chuckling. “Tough times, these are.”

  “That’s all right,” Torsten replied. He sat up, and before he knew it, her foot found his groin and pushed, ensuring he remained where he was.

  “We’ll make enough noise to get them back for it.”

  “You don’t—“ he started, but the next thing Torsten knew she was straddling him. His mind reeled back to that night with Oleander when she threw herself at him. He’d needed every fiber of his being to fight temptation then, and he feared tonight would be the same.

  “No need to be shy here,” she whispered directly into his ear, then she nibbled on the lobe. A shiver slithered along his spine like a snake carved from Winter’s Thumb. “I want this. You deserve this. You saved my life… twice. All you need do is relax, my knight.”

  Torsten could hardly recall precisely what she’d looked like, but thanks to Curry, he knew who he imagined sat atop him. And her own words, “my knight…” she sounded exactly like Oleander. From
her voice to the attitude behind her words. Like there wasn’t a soul on Pantego who could touch her.

  “You’ve saved me more than you know, Torsten Unger,” she said, her hand grazing along his inner thigh, playfully swerving back and forth. “You know what those savages did to us girls when they came through? You deserve a goddess.”

  “Please, I need to—”

  Her lips pressed against his, silencing him. She ran her hands over his bald head. Her legs closed on his hips, squeezing tight. He tried to push her away, but she’d already hiked up her dress, and his massive hands clenched her legs instead. They were long, supple, just like…

  “Oleander, stop,” he managed to squeeze through his lips.

  Abigail drew her head back slightly, but still so close that the warm breath she exhaled became what he inhaled. “So that’s who you want tonight?” she said. “I can be her. Take me, Sir Unger. Take me, or I’ll hang you over the walls like the others!”

  Before he could answer, she kissed him again. Her long nails dragged along the back of his head and down his neck as she pulled him in. Her long hair framed his face, silken and nearly silver in his mind’s eye. For a moment, he lost himself. He kissed her in return, flipping her, so her back was now on the bed.

  He pawed at her chest for the laces, and she helped guide his hand, all while loosening his belt with the other. Passion overcame him—a year of denying himself because she was the wife of his king. Denying himself because the whole world saw her as a monster, and for so long he had too.

  The dress lifted over her head, and his palm came down between her breasts. Her skin was cold, but it was what lay beneath it that finally stirred him.

  A heartbeat.

  Oleander’s corpse, lifeless beneath him filled his mind, and he staggered back, falling off Abigail as he tumbled from the bed.

  “Sir Unger, are you okay?” Abigail shrieked.

  She groped at him, trying to help him up, but he crawled back. “I…I’m fine.”

  Abigail chuckled. “Perhaps less queen is in order. I know you Shieldsmen deny yourselves so much. We should start slower. Perhaps some manaroot to help ease your mind?”

  “No.” Torsten shook his head, then aggressively scratched at the still-tender flesh around his eyes.

  “That’s fine. Just come back.” She patted the bed. “Let me do the work.”

  “No…” Torsten stammered. Using the curtains, he pulled himself to his feet. “No, Iam forgive me, no.” He wiped the phantom tears he imagined trickling down the scorched skin at the top of his cheeks, which only made it itch again.

  “Iam can’t see you here,” Abigail said. “It’s just Oleander, and you.”

  “You’re not her!” he snapped.

  “I thought this is what you wanted?”

  “You’re not… I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t really come here for this.”

  “Well, you came here for something.” Abigail stood, moseyed toward him and ran her nail along his cheek. “So just tell me what you want. I promise, I’m so happy to see you.”

  “This life,” Torsten said. “Do you enjoy it?”

  “What?”

  “This,” Torsten repeated. “Do you enjoy this?”

  “It’s fine, I suppose. With good company. Keeps me from having to sleep on the street or move somewhere far worse.”

  “What would you do if you didn’t have to stay here and keep Valin Tehr’s pockets full?”

  “Honestly?”

  Torsten nodded.

  “I s’pose… I always wanted to see Panping,” Abigail said.

  Torsten gently clutched her face. “Then go there,” he said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his pouch of autlas, and placed it in her hands.

  “Iam’s shog,” she swore, then covered her mouth. “S-sorry.”

  Torsten wasn’t wealthy by any means, but his new position on the Royal Council left him considerably better off than most of Yarrington. He’d gone so long not realizing how good he had it. Liam hadn’t only given him purpose. He’d saved Torsten from becoming a dishonorable lecher like nearly everyone from South Corner he’d ever met.

  “My Lord, I can’t accept this,” Abigail said, shoving it back. Now Torsten knew with no doubt he wasn’t with Oleander.

  “You can,” he replied. “My aide is stuck upstairs, and I cannot see. But you can help me.”

  “I’m not…” She swallowed loudly. “I’m not sure I can anymore.”

  “You can. All I want you to do is run out screaming that I hurt you, I’ll do the rest. I need to get one of Valin’s men to take me to his private office, and I fear that unless I get the jump on him, I won’t have a chance.”

  “But… but you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “I know. And I know this sounds bad, but what happens next can decide the fate of this kingdom. You helped me once before, Abigail, and nothing good came of it. But this time, we can change everything.”

  “But Valin—”

  “Won’t know a thing. You take that gold, you hop on a wagon, and you go wherever your heart desires. Can you help me, one last time, Abigail? Will you once again serve your kingdom?”

  He listened to her throat bobbing as she dressed herself. Silence passed between them, and the pace of her breathing hastened. “You saved my life from the Black Sands murderers,” she said softly. “Then all of us from savages. I’ll help you with anything, Sir Unger. Grab here.”

  Abigail took his hand and placed a piece of fabric in it.

  “What’s this?” Torsten asked.

  She yanked on the other side without answering, and her dress tore down the front.

  “It will look more believable this way,” she said.

  “Clever girl,” Torsten said.

  “That is the arena back there by the way,” she said. “It’s one big circle, crawling with Valin’s boys. You might be seen attacking one of them. They’re used to us girls running out in a frenzy.”

  “I’m sure they won’t be able to look away from you.”

  “You’re too kind, my Lord. But I think I can distract them a little longer for you.”

  “How?” Torsten asked, wary.

  “You’ll see.”

  She turned away, but Torsten quickly turned her head back to face him. “Abigail, the last thing I want is for you to get into any trouble.”

  “I’ll sneak around just like in the Fellwater Swamp. I’ll be fine.”

  Torsten sighed. “Just be safe, and you will be. Iam clearly favors you. Thank you, Abigail. I hope that, should we run into each other again, it will be on better terms.”

  “Last time you saved me, I was shoveling shog for murderers. Now I’m here. Next time, I’ll be the queen of somewhere… for real this time.”

  “What a lucky place that would be. Now, are you ready?”

  “I am. Just one thing first.”

  A response was on the tip of Torsten’s lip when she kissed him. Only this time, it didn’t feel like she was doing a service or forcing passion. In fact, Torsten wasn’t sure he’d ever been kissed like that in his life—not even by Oleander.

  “Sorry about this,” she said. She pulled away, and again, before he could respond, she slapped him across the face.

  “What did you just call me, freak!” she squealed. “Don’t touch me like that. Ouch!” She threw herself through the beaded curtain, and out into a wall.

  “Hey, what’s going on!” the thug posted outside shouted.

  “He… he… he cut me!” Abigail yelled.

  “Get out here!” Curry yelled at her, and then his voice drew nearer. “Hey, Sir Unger. I don’t care who you are. Nobody damages Mister Tehr’s property.”

  Torsten found his footing as he listened to the sound of fingers on leather—Curry’s grip tightening on a club just outside the room. Torsten breathed out slowly, focusing every ounce of his energy on his hearing.

  “I’m talking to you!”

  The curtain swung open, beads rattling. Torsten ducked to th
e side, then drove his elbow into Curry’s gut. The man doubled over, and Torsten raised a knee into his head to daze him, then wrapped his bicep around Curry’s head and covered his mouth with his enormous hand to muffle any screams.

  Torsten patted Curry’s sides, searching for a weapon more efficient than a club. He gave the man’s ankle a kick and discovered a knife tucked into his boot. Curry wriggled to get free as Torsten bent to retrieve it, but Torsten shoved him against a wall. Dragging the dull side of the blade along the back of Curry’s head he stopped when he found the soft spot at the base of his neck.

  “Quiet,” Torsten whispered. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish. Understood?” Curry shook his head and attempted to shout. Torsten dug the point of the knife in until it drew a spot of blood. “I said, do you understand?”

  This time, Curry nodded.

  “Good, I’m not here for you,” Torsten said. “You’re going to lead me to Valin’s office. Can you do that?” Torsten let off his mouth a bit.

  “You think I have a shogging key?” Curry asked.

  “I don’t need a key. Let’s go. Slowly. And you try anything, it’s death or the Glass Castle gallows, your pick. The Shieldsmen have business with your employer tonight.”

  Torsten felt the lump in Curry’s throat as he swallowed hard, then the thug led Torsten out of the room.

  “Everything’s fine,” Curry said, likely to some other patrons who’d heard the disturbance. “Enjoy your time. Just a bit of a misunderstanding.”

  The air grew fresher as they emerged from the makeshift brothel of draped fabric and beads. Curry turned Torsten the wrong way, but Torsten promptly forced him back and made another show of force with the dagger. He may not have known which door belonged to Valin’s office, but he could feel the flow of air from the exit to Valin’s expansive cellar.

  “Don’t even try it,” Torsten warned.

  “I didn’t mean—by Iam.” Curry froze. “Who let him free!”

  “Uhlvark, huuuungryyy,” the giant said. Chains no longer rattled as his footsteps made the very ground shake. A cow began to whine, the sound of metal bending causing goosebumps all over Torsten’s body.

  Abigail, you genius, Torsten thought.

  “Back to your chains, oaf!” another of Valin’s thugs shouted.