by Ruby Dixon
It’s still not fast enough. The thundering of hooves gets louder and louder as they grow closer and closer, and I start racing full out, my breath panicked and rasping. The land-hippos are almost upon me now, but I can’t stop, mindless fear pushing me forward. Even if I get run over, I’ll have at least died trying.
Hands grab me around the waist and haul me into the air.
I scream as I’m pulled against an armored stranger, flailing my fists and kicking against him. He laughs as if my attacks are nothing. “What have we here?” His hippo slows, the thunderous clod of its feet quieting.
“Fuck you,” I tell him, trying to hit once more.
The man grabs my arms and pins them at my side and grins down at me. “A runaway slave, I think. Unless they’re letting pretty women into the Aventine militia now?” He eyes my stolen military tunic. “How good are you with swords, love?”
Well that’s a dirty question if I ever heard one. I scowl at him, struggling against his grip. “I’m not a runaway, and let me go! Put me down right now or you’ll be sorry.”
“Is that so?” Another rider comes up next to him, and I notice that all of the hippo riders—four of them—have paused to watch me attack their friend. I don’t stop squirming or struggling, because I’ll never give up. Giving up means that they win, and I’m tired of the bad guys winning. “She’s a pretty face. We can take her to the slave pits in Aventine and sell her for a fair coin, I think.”
“More than a fair coin,” the one holding me says. “Look at these fine tits.”
“Hey, remember me?” I say snarkily, jerking my shoulders. “I’m my own person and you can’t sell me.” I don’t point out that someone did just that a few days ago, because they don’t need those details. “And besides, I’m already claimed by the big guy.”
“Big guy?”
“You know, Lord of Storms? Aron? Kinda cranky? Has a scar? Arrogant as fuck?”
They laugh at me. “By a god?” One sneers in my face. “Do you think me a fool?” He gives me a jiggle. “These tits are nice but they’re not that nice.”
“Clearly you missed the memo,” I tell them, twisting. Jesus, how is this guy managing to hold onto me like this? I swear his arms are like a steel trap, because no matter what I do, I can’t get free. Of course, I’m tired from walking all night, so maybe I just don’t have any strength left, but I’m frustrated nevertheless. “Aron returned and he picked a servant and it’s me. So you need to let me go unless you want a lightning bolt up your butt.”
Hey, it sounded good in my head at least.
The men just laugh again. “Storytelling—a good trait in a pretty slave, but I imagine her mouth will be put to other uses.”
“Ew,” I tell him, revolted.
“Wrap her in your cloak and let’s go before someone shows up to reclaim her,” the rider closest to my captor says. He reaches over and grabs the tasseled reins from his buddy, who wraps me in his dark green cape. Dick.
“I swear, I belong to Aron,” I tell them. “You have to believe me. I’m his anchor.”
“If that’s so, where is your god?” One arches an eyebrow at me, amused.
“Er, around.” Shit.
He snorts and it’s clear no one believes me.
And then, despite my protests, they continue to set off across the hills of the Dirtlands. They ignore the cobbled path and go cross-country, and I realize they’re taking me in the opposite direction I was heading with Aron. To the Citadel, like the one said. The goddess’s city, though I don’t remember her name, just that Aron wasn’t a fan of her.
I still struggle, but my movements grow more fatigued with every beat of the land-hippo’s hooves. I’m tired and all of my energy is gone, but I can’t give up. I can’t be sold into slavery again. I just can’t. Is that all this land does is freaking enslave people? Why am I here if I’m just going to be sold from person to person? Frustrated, I glare up at my captor, but he just grins down at me as if I’m the most adorable little runaway slave he’s ever seen, no doubt mentally counting money in his head. I hate this guy.
At least he didn’t call me “tart.”
I blow out a breath and relax for a moment to regroup. I’ll need energy to run away, I tell myself. I’m not giving up. I’m conserving my strength and I’ll slide off the land-hippo when we stop. Somehow. Then I can wiggle free and run away. Sure, it sounds good in my head. More than anything, it doesn’t sound like giving up, and that’s the only thing I’ve got right now.
Aron’s nowhere to be seen, but of course he’s not. We’re crossing hill after hill of dirt, the hippos plodding over them with fierce determination, and Aron stuck to the road. As I stare out, I realize there’s something big and dark floating in the air in the distance. It’s the Citadel, and it looks like a gleaming castle in the sky.
I gasp at the sight of it. When they said it was a citadel, I thought it’d be a fortress of stone, similar to Aventine’s thick walls. This is a glorious, delicate castle that gleams in the sunlight with a thousand colors and floats above the ground like it’s on a cloud.
“How…” I begin, but a wave of pain hits me and I black out.
14
I'm lost in agony.
It rolls over me with surge after surge, unending and growing fiercer by the minute. The pain is so strong that it makes me black out, only to surface again with new pain and succumb once more. I have no concept of where I am or what day it is. I don't know how long I'm being tortured out of nowhere. I just know that it keeps going and going and going. It's needles in my scalp and knives in my gut and a million things all at once. It rocks through me so hard that I vomit all over myself and I'm pretty sure I lose bladder control. How can I not? My entire body feels like it's clenched into someone's throbbing fist or I'm being turned inside out.
I scream. A lot. I keep screaming, and when I run out of voice, nothing but raspy gurgling escapes my throat. It still hurts.
It feels like it’s hurting forever.
Vague flashes of thought appear through the haze of agony. Of the soldiers talking in low, concerned voices only to disappear. Of being dumped into a bed of straw, a door slammed behind me. Of being left in the dark. I sink into the violence of my body turning against me, and time slides away.
Fog. My head throbs.
Someone kicks my leg and I turn over in the cot. Everything aches and throbs. Clearly I'm dying. I open my mouth to scream, but my throat feels like fire itself.
A hand touches my ankle and for a moment, everything washes away. Cool relief moves through me and I open my eyes to see the face of a woman with long, dark hair and silver jewelry. She studies me with a little tilt of her head and then gets to her feet.
Immediately, the pain crashes over me again. I moan, pushing my face into the straw as if that will somehow stop the agony.
"She has been screaming like this since you arrived?" The voice is cool. Sweet. Perfect. Just the sound of it makes me ache all over, makes me want something intangible and out of reach. It's the woman.
"Yes, my lady Tadekha. The soldiers said that she mentioned Aron of the Cleaver and that she was his anchor. Of course they thought she was lying…" The voice trails off.
The woman gives a sweet, musical chuckle. "Indeed. She is his anchor, true enough. The pain she suffers can mean nothing else. A lesser mortal would have died by now under such agonies."
"Then she did not lie." His voice is full of astonishment.
"Why would anyone lie about being the anchor to that one?" She makes a soft sound of disgust in her throat. "I cannot imagine who would volunteer to serve him with their life, not even this unfortunate creature."
I want to protest, to speak up, but my brain feels like an egg being fried. I press a fist against my brow to try and stave off the worst of the pain, but it doesn't work. Panting, I manage to spit out, "Who…you?"
The voices ignore me. "Which Aspect do you think it is?" one says.
"Who knows. It could be any."
I try to open my eyes and look at the speakers, but the dim light in the cell fills me with new, fresh pain. This is like the worst hangover and migraine rolled together and I just want it to end.
"Do you think he'll come for her?"
"Without a doubt," the woman says. "We should be ready for him to arrive soon. If she's in pain, he will be, too." There's a swish of robes. "Treat her better. Get her out of this filthy hole. I will not have Aron claiming I mistreated his mortal anchor. Gods have long memories.
"As you wish, my lady Tadekha."
Hands reach for me, and the moment they touch my skin, it sends a sizzle of pain through my body. I fall into blackness once more, screaming.
Always screaming.
It takes a while for me to realize I'm no longer in pain. I remain with my eyes closed, lying down. I don't make any sudden movements in case one of those migraine-from-hell things trigger again. I don't know what caused it before, but I never want that to happen again. My memories of the last few days are vague and my throat hurts like the dickens.
I vaguely remember a visitor. A woman. My thoughts are muddy beyond that, though. A woman, having a conversation about me, and then sliding back into the migraine-of-death.
"My lady, are you awake?"
I frown to myself, wondering who is in the room with me. And…are they talking to me? I've been “tart” and “slave” ever since I got here. I've never been anyone's lady so far. I squeeze one eye open, testing.
No pain. Huh.
The room I'm in is pale white and beautiful. Cool sunlight filters through delicate glittering glass windows that take up an entire wall. I'm no longer resting on hay but on soft woven blankets, and there's a pillow under my head. I still feel grimy and achy with exhaustion, but my circumstances have changed. Slowly, I sit up and look around. "Where am I?"
There's a sound of pouring water, and I flinch automatically, expecting a shockwave of pain at the sound. There is none. Whatever happened to me seems to be gone as mysteriously as it arrived.
"You are in Lady Tadekha's Citadel," a woman answers, and her voice sounds like it's behind a nearby screen. I glance around the room, frowning to myself. It's all pale curtains and pale screens and white everywhere. Not an antiseptic white like a doctor's office, but something a little purer and sweeter. Soft fluffy cloud white.
"Someone brought me here," I say, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed (also white) and onto the marble floors (white as well). "They snatched me from the road I was on and dragged me here against my will. I’m a prisoner.”
The woman makes a soft, absent-minded noise of dismay as if she's sympathizing but doesn't really give a shit. The faint scent of flowers touches the air. "Would you like a bath?"
Gee, thanks for listening to my concerns.
I feel for my belt with my money pouch and my knife, but they're gone. The only thing I'm wearing is my filthy borrowed guard tunic, and it's stinky from days of my sickness. Even if I'm weirded out by this place, I really, really would like a bath. "I think so."
"Come over here then, child. We'll prepare you for your master."
My master?
I test my balance but there's no pain when I get to my feet. It's so strange. I keep expecting everything to hurt but it's like all the pain just decided to up and vanish without reason. I pad forward on the cold floors and move toward the woman's voice, behind the white screen.
Standing there over a deep marble basin for a bath is an angel. I gasp at the sight of her. Holy shit. She really does look like an angel. Her hair is so silvery blonde it looks white. Her skin is milk pale and crystalline wings sprout from her back. She wears a white dress that cascades down to the ground in soft ripples.
My jaw drops at the sight of her. “Am I dead?”
Her mouth quirks. “No, my lady. You are not.”
"Who are you, then?"
She inclines her head. "I am one of Lady Tadekha's priestesses. All of us here at the Citadel serve her. Come. Would you like to bathe?" She gestures at the bath. "The water is warm and you have time to wash your hair before dinner tonight."
"Dinner?" I echo dumbly. I’m having dinner with someone?
"Yes. You have been summoned by Lady Tadekha. I suspect your master must be here."
"Master?" I echo again, equally dumbly.
"Lord Aron of the Cleaver. You said you were his anchor, correct?" The angel looks perturbed at my ignorance. “I am told you shouted it quite repeatedly to everyone while you were…ill” She clears her throat delicately.
Ill? She makes it sound like I’m making things up—or that I wasn’t really hurting. “I don’t remember.”
She makes another sympathetic noise and then gestures at the tub. “Come. You must be clean for your master.”
"Can we quit calling him that? We're more of a partnership than a master-slave sort of thing. I'm not down for that sort of vibe." I tiptoe toward the bath, and god, it smells good. Steam rises from it and a delicate floral scent touches my nostrils. It smells so much better than I do at the moment.
"And you are not in any pain?"
"Er, no?"
She nods knowingly. "Then your master must have arrived to retrieve you."
“Still not my master, and I’m pretty sure he’s not here?”
The angel smiles. “I am sure it is not my job to speak of such things.”
The woman reaches for my clothing and I let her help me undress, since I'm not really sure how many options I have here. I'm fascinated by the way her prismatic wings ripple and sway as she moves around the room. They really do look as if they're attached to her body and not just some sort of ornament she's wearing. It’s so pretty. "So what did you say your name was again?" I ask, stepping into the tub.
"I need no name as long as I serve my lady. I am but an extension of her."
Well isn't that just great. "So I guess your goddess is not big on free will, huh?" I sit down in the perfumed water and do my best not to moan with pleasure, because it's so hot and wonderful and I'm so very grimy. I close my eyes in bliss. "I'm Faith."
"Mm." A wet hand towel is slapped against my arm and then the nameless woman starts to scrub me with rough, abrasive strokes that defy her gentle appearance. Ow. I squeeze an eye open and see that she's got a frown on her pretty face. I guess I hurt her feelings.
"I'm sorry," I offer. "I'm not from around here and I don't know the customs. And it's been a rough few days. I wasn’t trying to be rude."
Her gaze flicks to me and her scrubbing turns gentle. She smooths the cloth up and down my arm as if I’ve never washed myself before. I want to protest that I can do it myself, but it feels rather nice. I settle into the tub and let her wash me.
"It's all right," the angel says softly. "You aren’t familiar with our customs. Do you know anything about Lady Tadekha at all?" When I shake my head, she continues, her hand smoothing water up and down my arm. "Those of us that serve the goddess live here in the Citadel all our lives. We choose her glory over our own. It is a great honor to wear her wings and serve at her side."
"It sounds like it," I say, trying to appease her as she has me lean forward so she can wash my back. I wonder if I should take the washcloth from her but I'm afraid of offending again. Still, it's strange to be washed by another woman when I'm fully capable of doing it myself. Her touch has changed to delicate and tender, and the cloth moves over my skin like a caress. "So…did you say your goddess was here?"
The woman's face turns radiant with excitement. "Our lady arrived on the day of Anticipation. I have been chosen to be first among those that serve her needs…other than her anchor, of course.” For a moment, she looks jealous.
"Can I call you 'First' then? It beats 'hey you.'" At her nod, I continue. "So your goddess is here and er, my god is too. Is this a common sort of thing? All the gods showing up at once?"
"It is the Anticipation," First says as if that explains everything. Her hands glide over my buttocks. "I do not know about any other Aspects,
though. As I said, we do not leave the Citadel. We remain here to focus our lives in prayer. Our needs are supplemented by caravans of tithes from Aventine."
Didn’t Aron say that Aventine was getting ready to go to war with the Citadel? Maybe I misheard.
Overall, being one of Tadekha’s servants sounds way better than being Aron’s anchor. You get angel wings, beautiful gowns, perfumed baths, and get to live here. Meanwhile, I'd been dragged through the gutters of Aventine, almost beheaded and nearly had to whore myself. I have to wonder though…have others been pulled into this world like I have? Or am I the only one out of place?
I decide not to ask. I suspect it’s information I need to keep to myself.
She dips the cloth in the scented water again and then begins to wash my breasts in teasing, delicate strokes. I gasp, shocked at the intrusive touch—and how my body responds to it. I should not be turned on. I barely even like this woman. I snatch the cloth from her hands. “I got it, thanks.”
First gives me a questioning look, then sits back on her knees and watches me bathe.
I scrub my skin, hard. Time to get this bath over with quickly. "So…do you know Aron?"
"I have only been privileged to meet my Lady."
I snort. "Oh, meeting Aron isn't a privilege. It's more like a test of your patience."
First gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
Ah, crap. I've offended her again. I just shake my head and continue scrubbing. I'm giving up on being polite and unobtrusive. "Trust me, when you meet him, you'll see exactly what I mean."
15
I finish my bath with awkward bits of conversation with First, but it's clear she doesn't know what to make of me. That's fine, since I'm not entirely sure what to make of her. She brings me a dress made of a white gauzy material that looks innocent and virginal when First pulls it out, but when I put it on you can see every body part through the fabric.
Every. Body. Part. Nips, snatch, you name it, everyone can see it. I glance over at First, plucking at the material to pull it away from my private parts. "Bra? Panties?"