Those eyes... those enormous eyes under the water. Dark, waving, winding coils... and those eyes...
At one point, my thoughts returned to what Torv had said to me just before the attack. He'd asked me to beseech the spirits and call upon their mercy. Me? He wanted me to call upon gods I didn't know and didn't understand, and somehow guide us through this nightmare? I, who'd never even seen the sea before, who couldn't even swim, who froze in the face of—
What was it?
A snake. Somehow an enormous, icy snake from the deepest, darkest blackness below. I remembered the coils breaking the waves, slowly winding around me and the other thrashing crew. The tail, rising high into the murky sky and crashing down.
No one had been killed. This time. Bannon assured me of this as he brushed my damp hair, his voice a low and gentle tone, something for me to grasp onto. There were injuries, yes. Some quite serious. Everyone had been recovered from the waves, though, and everyone would recover.
"Will they?" I managed to ask in a tiny voice. "In the castle... during the sandstorm... Ailsa lost patients with only minor injuries, people she expected to recover. They... they just slipped away."
Bannon shushed me and planted a kiss on my temple.
"I'm here," he whispered, soothing me with each slow stroke of the brush. "You're safe now. I'm here, and Schala's here, and everyone's safe."
I pulled the cat closer to my chest and she obliged me, wriggling only enough to settle comfortably in the new position. Her cheek rubbed mine, the gentleness and affection bringing tears to my eyes.
"Hold me please, Sir."
"Of course, kitten." Bannon set the brush aside and slipped under the blanket beside me. He fitted his body alongside mine, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Like this?"
"Just like that."
I closed my eyes, sinking into a place of warmth and shelter between his body, the quilt, and the caracal. I huddled deep down, trying to bury myself and my fears, and find sleep.
The ghostly memory of the lights beneath the water—the moony, shining eyes—still followed me down.
I stayed in the cabin for three days, sick with fear. Bannon brought food from the galley and stayed by my side, nursing me day by day, saying little. I couldn't handle much in the way of conversation, really. So, he lay with me, or sat beside me to stroke and caress my hair, or my arms, or my back.
He told me about the activity above decks. The crew had started to set out nets for catching fish, to keep food supplies replenished and ensuring the livestock and the horses weren't the only options for meat. The hauls brought up plenty to keep the galley supplied, but water would be another matter. Torv and a few of the sailors had set up barrels and rags to capture moisture, but even with the fogs continuing to hang low and thick over the deck, it was a slow process, and wouldn't keep up with consumption.
The fogs. They still hadn't lifted. The Drekakona had drifted for nearly two weeks, and even the oldest of Arne's sailors, with the longest memories, had never endured such a morass.
Elathae. Speak to them. As you do your familiar.
On the fourth day, I stirred from my place, rising from the bed. Bannon, sitting at the small reading desk with an old, dusty book before him, looked up. With the quilt still wrapped around my shoulders, I crossed to him and knelt, resting my brow on his knee.
"I need you," I whispered. "Sir... I am so lost in my head... I am so lonely. Please, my barbarian... help me."
He cupped my chin in his hands.
"How?" he asked.
The tone in his voice startled me. My Master, my ruler, sounded just as lost as I.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
"How can I help you, Sadira?" His gaze searched mine. "You've been pulling farther and farther away from me this whole trip. Resisting my hold. Breaking away. Am I your master anymore? Or have you moved beyond my grasp?"
"I still need you." I laid one hand over his. Tears stung my eyes. "Bannon, I'm falling apart without you."
"Then why do you hide from me when you're afraid? Defy me, lie to me? How can I be your master if you no longer submit to me?"
I cast my eyes down to the floor, ashamed to look at him. "If the slave disobeys, it is the master's right to punish her. You could have beaten me for lying, or made me sleep in the livestock pens, or—"
"No."
He firmed his grip on me, making me look him in the eyes again.
"That has never been how this works, Sadira. From the moment we forged this bond, it has been a mutual agreement about trust and intent. I do not punish you for vengeance or for my own pleasure. I do it because you trust me to strengthen you through it. You give me the power to discipline. If you do not, then it is only violence between us."
I closed my eyes. "Alaric—"
"You are doing it again." His tone grew dark and displeased. "Hiding behind shadows, throwing excuses into my way instead of baring yourself to me, as we agreed. I am not Alaric Khan, and I have never been the master he was to you. Our bond is not his. You are not allowed to absolve yourself of responsibility by turning me into him."
I blinked, struck dumb as if he'd slapped me across the face.
Is that what I've been doing?
Holding back from him. Holding back my fears and my misgivings. Holding back my anger. Leaving it to him to beat it out of me and resenting him when he didn't.
I drew in a long, deep breath, and bowed my head.
"You are right. I should have recognized you would not rule as he did."
He stroked my hair. "If you still desire my domination, you must yield to me. Let me into that vulnerable place again, Sadira. Show me that raw, beastly beauty inside you."
I choked on a soft sob. "Sir... Bannon... please. I need you."
He rose from his seat, towering over me. For one horrible, fleeting second, I thought he would leave altogether. Instead, he slid the stool to me, and plucked a short length of rope from on top of the desk.
"Kneel over the stool."
I did as he said, gathering my knees under me and resting my elbows on the cushioned seat. He stooped to bind my wrists down, tying them to one of the wooden legs in a tight, twisting braid. Then he moved around behind me, lifting the blanket away and leaving me naked, on my knees, before him.
"Tell me you trust me."
"I trust you," I whispered.
The brief sound of shuffling came from behind me. He lowered a dark strip of silk—a Vashtaren veil—over my eyes, blindfolding me.
"Say it again."
I did as asked. He unsnapped a rivet on his belt, and a moment later the cold, hard tip of his hunting knife pressed into my skin just between my shoulders.
"Do you remember what you must say, if you want me to stop?"
"Atala," I recited.
"Very good, kitten."
I drew in a sudden, shuddering breath as the knife bit against my flesh. Not meant to cut; only to impart the threat and sensation of cutting, the sweet silvery edge of pain. Bannon drew the blade slowly, deliberately down my back, following just alongside the shape of my spine.
"Mm," I moaned softly as he completed his first long stroke. Then I gave a startled twitch as the point of the knife returned to the place it had begun.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
"I do, Sir."
He dragged the blade down my spine again, pressing it deep against my muscles, always just shy of breaking the skin and leaving a trace of shining, burning sweetness like a vein of deep liquor. Under the darkness of the blindfold, I sank into the sensation, able to focus only on the touch of steel, the heat of its fine pressure.
"Do you trust me?"
"I do."
He repeated the question with each new kiss of the knife, and I repeated back my promise. He drew lines across my back in rows and slants, careful to let each mark sink in before beginning another, filling my mind with beautiful, grounded order. I embraced each touch, bracing myself as my body quivered, holding my breath for e
very long, stinging stroke.
"I'm going to press harder," he whispered in my ear. "Don't worry. It's only the flat edge of the blade."
Yes. Just as I told him, in the torture room all those weeks ago. No need to draw blood. Just the kiss of the blade on skin.
I let out a moan, arching as the pressure deepened. He stroked back and forth, tracing the lines of my shoulder blades, the back of my neck, the swell of my hipbones. After a time, it seemed all I was, all I understood, was my skin, the shape of my body, the sense of touch. All else fell away, until his voice reached through to me again.
"Are you all right, kitten? You've been quiet for a long time."
"I'm all right," I murmured. I had no inkling how long I'd been kneeling, though my legs ached and my elbows, even on the cushioned stool, begged for relief. The thrill and sweet, sore lines upon my back sang to me like strong wine, and as I tried to find my balance again a soft, lacy dizziness teased my head.
"I think that's enough, then," Bannon murmured. Somewhere above me came the click of the knife being secured in its sheath. Bannon's hands warmed mine, and he untied them, then checked each of my fingers with a soft tug and a gentle, kneading massage. He didn't remove the blindfold, though, as he gathered me up in his arms and returned me to the bed, where he wrapped me in a blanket—a different blanket, not the quilt under which I'd hid for days but one of the lush, sweet furs I loved so much—and cradled me, stroking my hair.
A soft motion on the bed signaled Schala had joined us. She padded up to me and settled, purring, in my lap.
"Do you feel better?" Bannon asked after a long, quiet time. I couldn't summon up my voice yet, but I nodded, breathing in his wonderful scent of steel, and autumn, and fire.
"Do you think you are ready to come up to the open deck again? You need to stretch those legs and take in fresh air. Can you come with me for that?"
"Yes," I managed to mumble.
"Very well. Up with you, then."
He took of the blindfold, and I woke from my bliss as easily as if the dawn sun had broken through a window. Bannon kissed my lips, and I lifted a hand to stroke his cheek and the rough bristles of his beard, my heart brimming with desperate, joyful affection.
"Master..." I breathed.
He crooked a finger under my chin, gazing into my eyes with a fierce look of pride. We hung in a still, perfect, silent moment, sharing a deep understanding without needing words.
"Let's get you dressed," he murmured. With a nod, I obeyed.
Ten minutes later, we emerged onto the main deck, into the frosty drizzle of the gray fogs still crowding us. This time, though, as I inhaled the crisp, cold air, it invigorated me. I closed my eyes and laid my hand over Bannon's on my hip, smelling the fresh salt of the sea and the unique, fresh scent of rain.
"No scent of death this time," I told him. He made a sound of agreement, brushing a strand of hair out of my eyes.
But the Drekakona still drifted, stranded at sea. Who knew how far off course we'd gone by now? Without the sun or stars to navigate by, we were utterly lost.
"Some of the crew have started to wonder if we've drifted beyond the veil," Bannon confided to me as we walked the deck. Dispirited sailors and soldiers gathered in small knots or languished by themselves in lonely corners. Those working on their daily tasks did so with listless energy and frightened irritation.
"Arne sent out two lifeboats with some of the more experienced sailors, to seek out aid, or an end to the fogbank," he went on. "But I question whether they could find their way back to us, even if they did come upon an answer, or a haven where we might land."
"Torv?" I asked.
"He led the first boat. They've been gone since the day before yesterday."
"And the creature in the water?" A flurry of fear touched my heart, but along with it, a spark of intrigue. "Has it been seen again?"
"Not a trace. Plenty of the others who fell overboard with you have been keeping an eye out. Every unexpected bump or lurch of the ship makes people jump, though none have been nearly so powerful as that day."
"Not only that day," I said. "Remember, Bannon, when Mara fell over the side? The ship lurched then, too. At the time, I think we all dismissed it as a freak swell or a patch of rough water. But it was the same, wasn't it?"
His mouth twisted into a grimace, and he scratched the side of his head. "I suppose you're right. But that happened before the fire below decks, and before we made port for two weeks. Could it be—"
"That creature has been following us?" I finished for him, my eyes going wide.
We'd nearly reached the bow of the ship. I opened my mouth to say more, when I spied Rayyan sitting near the forward deck, by the catapults and ballista that were rarely ever manned. Now, a member of the crew had been stationed at each, and two on the ballista, no doubt in case the rounded, winding coils of our sea-snake were spotted again.
"Rayyan!" I slid from Bannon's arm and crossed to my brother's side.
He hadn't been assigned to the weapons, it seemed, and he crouched on the balls of his feet, peering into a bucket. He didn't glance up as I neared him, and deep furrows of concentration lined his brow.
"Rayyan..." I tilted my head as I came close to him. "What are you doing?"
"It's a trick my uncle taught me," he mumbled, chewing his lip in thought. "I don't know if it will work... I've been trying to get the needle to point straight for days."
"What do you mean?"
He'd filled the bucket with water, and on the surface bobbed a rough round of cork—probably the stopper for a bottle of wine someone had claimed during the long, empty days. I cocked an eyebrow, studying the nail he'd perched flat on top of the cork.
Bannon joined us as I crouched down beside Rayyan. "What does it do?" I asked.
"If I've done it right, the needle should point north." He prodded the cork, nudging the tip of the nail to one side. It rebounded when he withdrew his finger, returning to its previous orientation.
I glanced up. To our left, where the nail pointed, a rigging line anchored to the deck rail had been marked with a scrap of bright red cloth.
"I did that," Rayyan explained without looking up. "To make sure it keeps pointing the same way. I think we've probably drifted a little bit since I started, so it's not pointing directly at the cloth anymore... but it's close."
"How did you do it?" Bannon asked, stroking his beard.
"My uncle used a lodestone, stroked against the edge of the nail." Rayyan pulled his knife from his belt. "I used this. At first it didn't work. I wasn't striking the nail correctly. You have to repeat it a hundred times, striking it the same way, before it will point north."
"How do you know it's north?" I asked.
He shrugged. "In the Vashtaren river valley, we knew because the river flowed south, and at night you could judge by the stars. As for now... I suppose I don't know for sure."
"It's pointing in a straight line, though," Bannon said. "That should be enough. If Arne sends out a pair of scouting boats, tied to the bowsprit, we could steer ourselves accordingly and at least know we were on a steady course."
"Yes!" Rayyan jumped to his feet. "That was exactly my thought, sir. Do you think Arne will agree?"
Bannon clapped Rayyan on the shoulder. "I think it's the only chance we have."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I stood at the ship's bow, gripping the rail until chips of wax finish came up under my nails. Captain Arne wouldn't allow me onto the guide boats since I couldn't swim. I would have defied him outright if Bannon hadn't agreed with the man and instructed me to stay on the Drekakona. He'd gone out ahead though, with Rayyan and Ashe, and Jahn and others in a second boat. Each carried a version of Rayyan's needle and cork, and a third needle—the original—sat on the deck between the catapults, with Mara keeping watch over it.
The lines tying the guide boats to the Drekakona had remained steady and tight for hours, and in the thick fog ahead, voices called out to one another, confirming i
nformation. I couldn't make out the words, but the tones at least kept me at ease. I worried about a sudden change, a scream of terror or the crunch of wood, indicating one or both of the boats had suffered some deadly fate.
"Stop fretting," Mara muttered. "It's useless and disruptive."
"Well, how do you suppose I stop?" I snapped at her. "My brother and the man I love are down there, with some sort of monster lurking about in the fog."
She scoffed. "Well, wringing your hands and fussing and pacing won't do them any good, now, will it?"
I narrowed my eyes at her and dug my nails deeper into the wood. "I am not doing any of those things."
At my feet, Schala gave a little growl in Mara's direction. Mara rolled her eyes and flicked a hand at the caracal in dismissal.
"Go find something to occupy yourself elsewhere," she told me. "We're at work here and we don't need your distraction. That's an order."
I cringed at the word, wrinkling my nose. I hated taking orders from Mara, and she knew it very well. Unfortunately, as Bannon's lieutenant, she held sway over me in his stead, and I must obey.
I stooped to pick up Schala. "Please have me summoned if anything happens."
"Of course," she replied. Despite our tenuous, unfriendly relationship, I believed she would do as she promised.
Stroking the caracal in my arms, I left the bow, tossing a glance over my shoulder to reassure myself the tether lines were still taut and pointing in the right direction.
My first thought told me to go downstairs to our cabin and wait for him. Perhaps on my knees. Perhaps with an implement of torture from among our secret chest of treasures held up for him to consider. For the first time in a long time, I had a racy desire to have my thighs and ass thoroughly flogged, and to return the favor with a long, lustful session of pleasure giving.
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