THE CHOOSING

by PhyllisAnn Welsh

  The head slave was waiting for her when Feenix and the guard returned to L’Garn’s room. There was no sign of the prince. Feenix wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or disappointed. But at least she wouldn’t have to listen to his slander.

  Without warning, her lips tingled with the remembered texture of his as he had kissed her back. The flavor and scent of the prince teased her tongue and caused shivers to run down her spine.

  Lala dismissed the guard, and the elf’s movement broke Feenix’s reverie.

  “Kelma tells me you worked fairly well today, Teela. She only had to hit you three times.” The old slave watched Feenix closely to see how her words were received.

  Feenix rubbed her shoulder a bit. “Any halfwit from the lowest scum pile could do the work, Lala. If they had a mind, and the muscles.”

  Lala nodded once. “I would like to know why you cooperated so readily. I would not have expected it from you. In fact, I was anticipating having to use force.”

  “Is this a test?” the warrior woman snarled. “Look, what did you expect me to do? I’m chained, without my weapons, half dead from a beating and then an illness. The cavern must have had over fifty guards crawling all over the place—”

  “You counted. I expected nothing less.”

  “If I had caused a row, I would have been killed. I’m crazy, Lala. Not stupid.”

  “Still,” Lala continued, “I thought your tongue would get you into more trouble. Apparently, you kept it between your teeth and only spoke to Kelma and Eagnad.”

  “Gossip travels fast in Cragimore,” Feenix commented dryly. “How did Kelma manage to tell you all this before I got back here? The troll and I had our conversation just before Kelma sent me back to the room.” She quirked an eyebrow and cocked a grin. “Eagnad is a troll, right? Although I have to tell you, I’ve never seen a troll that little or even one that was friendly.”

  Lala couldn’t hide a slight smile.

  “We believe Eagnad’s father was part troll. We do not know for certain, as he was born here in Cragimore after his mother had been taken in a raid. His mother did not survive the birth. What did you and Eagnad have to converse about?”

  Feenix didn’t want to discuss the Kestrel flowers with Lala.

  “He wanted to give me some disgusting and smelly meat. I don’t know why. Are you telling me Eagnad’s been a slave all his life?” Feenix could not even begin to contain the horror at such a fate and used the little troll to move the subject away from the blue flowers. “How long have you been here, Lala? Were you born here, too?”

  Lala walked to the table and adjusted the dish and cup laid out for L’Garn’s meal.

  “No, I was not born in Cragimore.” Her words were so low, Feenix had to strain to hear them.

  “It’s obvious you’re not a Night Elf. Where did you come from?”

  The head slave whirled around and threw an angry glance at her. “Do you not know it is highly rude to ask such questions, human? Where we come from matters not. We are of Cragimore now. We have no other life than to serve.”

  Feenix couldn’t believe her ears.

  “And how long did they have to beat you for you to believe that lie?”

  “Enough of this talk! It is not your place to question me, Teela. While I was not born here, Cragimore is my home now. Leave it at that.”

  Feenix sensed something from the elf. Lala said all the correct words, but Feenix wasn’t convinced that the head slave believed them. Something in the way she stood, her mannerisms, even a quality of her voice, told the warrior woman that Lala was not as resigned and content being a slave of Cragimore as she would have her believe.

  “Are slaves allowed to have mates? Families?”

  Lala seemed startled by the question.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s a terrible crime that you are forced to live your entire life in a place not of your choosing, doing work for other people at their whim. But it would be a tragedy if you were not allowed to find a little bit of happiness in such an existence.” She peered at the slave’s face to try to read the emotions on it. “Please tell me, Lala, that you have a mate or someone who holds you at night while you sleep.”

  For a moment, Feenix thought she saw deep sadness and the beginning of a tear in the head slave’s eyes, but before she could be sure, Lala turned her back and walked to the other side of the room.

  “Your questions are not proper. Are you hoping for something more than a slave/master relationship with the Prince?” Lala’s voice was serious and pensive. “Believe me, the most you can ever hope for is to become his concubine for a short while. You must put such thoughts from your mind.”

  The thought of being L’Garn’s concubine sent a rush of heat through Feenix’s blood. She may have enjoyed kissing the elf-man, but she certainly wasn’t going to be around long enough to find a Night Elf attractive! By Mac Lir’s ears, she would not start hungering after him, she commanded herself.

  Herself wasn’t listening.

  “I have no intention of becoming anyone’s concubine and I won’t be around here long enough to get attached to the prince. But if I feel the urge to enjoy a pleasant romp in another’s bed, by the god’s blue eyes, I will!”

  Lala shook her head.

  “You are the property of Prince L’Garn. He will approve or disapprove of what you do and what you think.”

  “You’re the second person who has told me your prince owns me. I belong to no one but myself!”

  “If the prince—your master—grants you the supreme honor of finding a mate, you will have had to work long and hard to earn that gift. Such a thing does not happen often. Do not even think along those lines until you have learned to curb your tongue and obey without uttering a word in question.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Feenix was horrified. She had never had to ask permission for sex, and she wasn’t about to start now, just because she found herself in a difficult situation. If some male caught her eye, and if he was willing, she’d damn well please herself. No stinking elf-man was going to stop her.

  “You will find, Teela, that I am very serious. My job is to teach you the way to go on as a slave of Cragimore. There is no room for disobedience. If you do not listen and learn, you will find yourself with a scarred back and the most menial jobs. Do yourself a favor and learn quickly. It is the only way to survive.”

  “By the god’s ears,” Feenix muttered to herself, “then I might as well be living in a nunnery!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  L’Garn entered the room quietly so as not to disturb Teela. It was not that he was being thoughtful of her needs. Rather, he was still pondering his grandfather’s words and did not want to have to answer questions from the human, or worse, get into another argument.

  The order he had been given to kill the slaves, survivors of the Meedrion wars and captives brought back from those long ago raids, did not sit well with him. Some of those elves he had known all his life, and to simply kill them in cold blood left a bad taste in his mouth.

  If they were part of an uprising, or attacked from within Cragimore as Zimpher suggested, he could understand the need to eliminate them. But these were old slaves, many serving his people for over three hundred and fifty years. What possible threat could they pose to the people of Cragimore? Surely they were in no position to cause trouble.

  But L’Garn knew that if he refused to comply with the king’s orders, Zimpher would make good his threat to kill both his mother and Teela.

  The mere thought of the unruly slave caused him to glance over to her cot. She was sleeping soundly, and his legs dragged him over to the side of her bed.

  The human disturbed him in a way that went beyond his comprehension. L’Garn looked down at her sleeping form and cursed himself to Tuawtha’s halls.

  Being a ‘Breed, he had very little natural magic of his own. Spell casting for him needed to be supplemented with a magical object, and even then, the spell was not as powerful or as
accurate as spells of full-blooded elves.

  He wished he could probe her thoughts to get a better understanding of her nature, but his limited magic did not lie in that area. He was forced to rely on direct questions, and his ability to discern the truth from her. No easy task, especially since she seemed to delight in arguing and fighting with him.

  She had been his captive for better than four nights now and still he put off questioning her at length. Of course, most of that time she had been in a very bad way; unconscious from the whipping that animal, Holdert, had given her and the resulting fever and illness. Strange, she had not asked about the guard when she regained consciousness. He had fully expected her to demand to kill him herself. How she enjoyed threatening people.

  Of course, it was all bluster, he assured himself. He did not believe for a moment that a female as feminine and delectable as Teela could truly kill. Although, he thought as he rubbed the trim beard at his still-sore jaw, she certainly knew how to throw a punch. He really ought to punish her for that, he supposed. His grandfather was correct in that, at least.

  After his talk with the king, he was going to have to make a decision about her, and soon. His grandfather was asking awkward questions and even his mother had heard about the bombastic human he had captured. He wanted her close so that he could question her at his leisure, but he was running out of excuses for not sending her to the slave quarters. Her wounds were almost completely healed, and it was not common practice for a slave to be housed in the quarters of the royal prince.

  That was another point of contention between his grandfather and himself. How was it that the human was healing so quickly? Magic potions and spells were not squandered on slaves. It was against the laws of Cragimore. However, she seemed to heal faster than the normal time for wounds that had festered and caused fever. It was as if someone had cast a Healing spell upon her.

  Of course, all of Cragimore knew it could not have been him, he thought with a mental snort, so no investigation would be ordered. But people were interested in his slave, and gossip and speculation were rife as to his purposes.

  He watched her as she slept and an ache to touch her smooth face was too much for him to deny. L’Garn traced the dark arch of her eyebrow with a gentle fingertip. The contrast between his pale, creamy skin and her deep tanned tone was startling. She was a woman accustomed to being out in the deadly rays of the sun. He knew she was not going to adapt to life in Cragimore with ease.

  She murmured something in her sleep, and a delicate smile grew across her full lips. He touched the corner of her mouth and wondered what she was dreaming about. The thought flitted through his mind that he should wake her and ask.

  Lala had reported that Teela worked long and hard in the laundry that night. While he was leading a company of surly warriors and scouting out the Sea Elves in Shalridoor, Teela had been washing his family’s clothing. Appropriate duties for a slave and a female, but for some reason he did not feel it would have suited Teela’s temperament. Lala’s report that she had been cooperative did not ring true in his mind.

  Why would she suddenly decide to cooperate with them? He did not think it was because she was afraid of another beating. He had never seen anyone hold up so well under the whip. During the entire time, she had continued to threaten and insult them all. No, he was sure she was not intimidated.

  L’Garn decided to continue to watch her closely and see if she gave herself away. In the meantime, he was tired for he had traveled a long distance this night, but then to be ordered to kill innocent people was not conducive to a pleasant rest. Somehow he needed to find a solution to his problem. Either he refused to obey the order, or he had the slaves killed. Either way, his sleep would be troubled for many a coming rest period.

  If that problem were not enough, the constant strain of keeping his men in line and forcing them to obey his orders was wearing on him. He wished his grandfather did not put as much pressure on him to conform and overcome his human side. How did one totally do away with a part of himself, he wondered? He had been tracking that elusive goal his entire life.

  A tiny voice deep inside his heart admitted that he did not want to completely purge his humanness. Why else would he refuse to remove his facial hair? Secretly, he took pride in standing out from among the Night Elves, demanding their attention with his obviously alien background.

  His grandfather and mother were always ordering him to remove the trim beard that proclaimed him an Outbreed. He refused, preferring instead to let all who saw him know that he was different from them. Perhaps the small act of defiance was his way of excusing himself for his lack of full silvan magic. A double disgrace to the House of Meedrion.

  By the Jewels, if he had to be different from everyone else, he would flaunt it! He would proudly wear this badge of disgrace and spit in the eye of any who dared to question his right to the royal title of prince. If tainted blood flowed in his veins, so did the honor of royal blood, and he would carve a place for himself in Cragimore, despite the impurities of his bloodlines.

  L’Garn had determined long ago that he simply had to work harder, achieve the near impossible, and his grandfather would find him suitable and acceptable to ascend the throne of Cragimore.

  That was where this human was going to play a large role in his future, he decided. Perhaps she could give him the clue to the inner workings of his human heritage, and thus provide him with the answer to his dilemma. He had to use her to find himself. In order to have the time and opportunity to do that, she must stay close by him.

  He pulled the light blanket from the bottom of the pallet, where Teela had kicked it, and covered her shoulders. He would not disturb her sleep. He needed to rest also. Tomorrow he would tell his grandfather he wanted the human as a concubine. That would enable him to keep her close by, and no one would question her sleeping in his quarters.

  He felt a stirring in his blood. The thought of taking this human was not an unpleasant one. He would slake his hunger of her body and use her mind and experiences to his advantage. Then, when he knew as much about humans and how they thought and worked as possible, he would put her aside and get on with his life as the royal prince of the House of Meedrion.

  A slight smile touched his lips. Tomorrow he would begin schooling Teela in her duties as his concubine. Coincidentally, his schooling as a human would begin also. It would be a pleasant learning experience, he was sure.

  He turned from her slumbering form and crossed the room silently. She would need as much rest as possible before her new duties began. He vowed to himself to do all in his power to make it a pleasant experience for the slave, as well.

  He slipped into bed feeling pleased with himself. Just before sleep claimed him, he wondered briefly why the possibility of Teela’s pleasure would make him feel so good. But the thought flew away like a shadow in the noon sun as his mind drifted into the warm darkness of sleep.

  ~*~

  Feenix smiled and turned her face to the sun. Birds sang a captivating chorus in the trees overhead, and a light breeze whispered through the leaves, calming her fears and sending a pleasant faint smell of spring and flowers to her nose.

  She looked up into the boughs of the closest tree and watched the antics of a large bird as it danced along a thin branch, swaying to the music of the wind and birds. It was a SongBird, she realized, and was thrilled that the magical bird had come to her woods to sing for her.

  The bird exulted in the freedom of the music, and he became more and more vigorous in his graceful movements. He watched her closely, and she had the feeling that he danced just for her, consumed with trying to impress her with his lithe body and supple movements.

  Suddenly and without warning, an ancient old crow, feathers tipped in gray from age, swooped down and landed with a grunt on the branch her SongBird had been dancing on. The old crow poked the beautiful, younger bird cruelly with his beak, then opened its maw and screamed a dreadful cry.

  Feenix tried to hide as the sky darkene
d with unnumbered birds flying from every direction. The air filled with their raucous cries as they swooped and dove at the young bird. The old crow again pecked the SongBird, and its ancient beak dripped blood as her magical bird fell from the branch, lost for a moment from Feenix’s sight in the sea of black bird bodies.

  Then, she saw the handsome SongBird tumble through the crowd of feathered bodies, dropping towards the ground at a speed that would guarantee its total destruction upon impact.

  She ran through the woods, which had magically transformed into a long, cool meadow of green grass and light blue flowers. As she ran, she held her arms out, hoping to catch the SongBird to save it from death. She called out its name and in a flash of blinding light, the SongBird became L’Garn and the deadly plummet to his death slowed. He floated gracefully down in to her arms. His smile and eyes held gratitude and an emotion she had rarely seen directed at herself.

  Love.

  Feenix woke with a start and found her captor standing beside the bed with a puzzled look on his face. Her heart did a flip in her breast, her palms began to sweat and her breath caught in her throat. The effects of the dream lingered. She felt rested and whole and totally confused.

  “What do you want?”

  “It is time to awake, Teela.” His voice held a strange edge to it she couldn’t name. “Tonight you have much to do.”

  “Do all the slaves in Cragimore have the dubious honor of being awakened by a member of the royal House, or am I the only lucky one?” Feenix did not want to feel drawn to this Night Elf, and she fought the attraction with the only weapon she had, her sharp tongue.

  “You are a strange creature, human,” was the only answer she got. He turned from her and busied himself across the room.

  She threw the coverlet off her body and stood with a fluid movement, accompanied by the metal clanging of her chains. By Mac Lir’s blue eyes! Her back did not hurt, nor were her muscles sore! The Kestrel had done its job! The only way she could tell she had been beaten was in the tightness of her skin as it pulled across the recently healed scars.