Perseathea lifted a confident chin. "I would not make a concubine of me unless you plan to lose your most precious of jewels." She cocked an eyebrow.
Belgar’s eyes blackened. "You will learn your place here, whore." He backhanded her jaw, crashing her cheek against the cruel wood of the chair. Without delay, a whelping bruise swelled the side of her face and a few teeth drifted loose of her aching gums. The tang of hot blood swirled her mouth.
“You are not the first man to lay hands on me, Belgar,” she said, jaw tensed, “and you certainly do not stand out as the most mighty.”
"You will listen to me, woman!” Belgar leaned into her with a scarlet face. “Women know their place here. There is no Queen among the Gragorian."
Perseathea sat in her brutal confinement, breathing hard as blood trickled her lips to drip the side of her chin red.
“Beat me as you please, Belgar,” her voice bittered, “you and the rest of these pathetic men you call soldiers. Your hand is not heavy enough to loosen the words hidden in my mouth.”
“You are so determined.” Belgar said with a smirk, blistering her with another quick backhand, strewing blood across her face. “But I’ll break you… break you like a stubborn horse.” At the end of his words, he busted into her.
Perseathea heard the hard thuds of his fist repeating on and on in the blackness behind her eyes, her skull cracking under every blow. More teeth came loose in her mouth. Tingling. More blood tanging. With her fists tight, she endured, keeping silent. Refusing to please him with a whimper.
Belgar ceased his bludgeoning, his fleshy belly heaving in exhausted breaths. Staring down on her, sweat dribbled his dirty face, cutting milky streams through his whiskers.
“What do you have to say now?” Clamping his hands over her forearms like a vice, Belgar leaned in, his nose nearly tipping her own. The stink of rotting food and soured breath fumed, but Perseathea would not back away. She kept their stare without a blink. Moments passed under intense silence, a test of wills to determine who would crumble first. She could feel his hot breath on her face, reeking. Both stewed in the quite of it.
Finally splitting the silence, Perseathea spat in Belgar’s face. Bloody saliva and two teeth slid down his lips.
"Try that when I'm not strapped to this chair." She growled, blood dripping her swollen, purpling lip.
Belgar smeared the spit from his face with an angry hand, stepping away.
“Amazon whore!”
Perseathea looked calm on him, challenging. “You say women are the fairer sex?”
“I say nothing. It is the way of nature.” He plucked the teeth from his beard, flicking them to the dirt.
“Then let me out of this chair.”
Belgar stepped to her again. “If not for Gragore’s orders, you would be dead already."
“If you are as powerful of man as you claim, why are you the servant of another?”
“Gragore’s empire shall-”
“That’s not what I asked.” She cut him off. “You do not let me out of this chair because you fear a fair challenge. You know that I could snatch that sword from your belt and plunge it into your throat before you realized it was missing.” She leaned forward, the chains jangling at her movement. “You serve Gragore because he promises you coin, women, and power. Mostly power. But none of it is really yours, is it? You are just a fool he manipulates to make gain for himself.”
“You will not question me, woman!” Belgar shouted, banging his fists into the arms of her contraption.
“I do not fear you, Belgar. I will go to my grave spitting in your face." Perseathea sat dripping in blood, suppressing the scream of pain in her body as Belgar, shaking with anger, stared on her. Her sore lips creased into a mocking smile. “Go and tell Gragore you have failed.”
Suddenly, the same white light flashed back into the dim room, ushering in another cool breeze.
“The woman is right, Belgar. You have failed.” The smooth words came from a muscular silhouette standing in the doorway. “I have no more need for you or your soldier. Go.”
Belgar and the second soldier said not a word as they passed through the doorway, disappearing into the light of day. With another loud creak, the door slammed, dropping the chamber into darkness again. When Perseathea’s eyes focused, she found Gragore sauntering over.
"Perseathea,” he flashed a smoldering grin, “how long has it been?" Pulling a chair over, he straddled it, folding his arms lazily over the back.
"Not long enough, Gragore." Perseathea glared.
"That’s no way to talk to an old friend. Not after all we’ve been through.” He put a hand through his raven hair, now slicked with silver, smoothing it back. “You have to warm up to me again. If I decide to keep you alive, we will be spending a lot of time together.” His tongue smoothed over his plum lips as he put a hand on her thigh.
Feeling her stomach turn, she tensed against his touch. “I’ll die first.”
“Maybe.” Gragore slid his hand from her. “But if you die, you know what will happen, and I’m certain that’s a fate worse than death in your eyes.” He kept his gray gaze on her, speaking with a sweetness that sickened her.
“I’ll never tell you, Gragore.”
“I didn’t bring you here to tell me.”
“I don’t believe you.” Perseathea’s face grew hot as she tried desperately to trust her own words.
“Yes… yes you do. You just don’t want to.” The grin dropped from his lips, draining all the warmth from his face. “I will take any woman I must to father the Consecrated. You knew this day would come, Perseathea. You knew the day you ran from me that this was not finished.”
"I could still bare the chosen child!" Perseathea shouted. She felt herself loosing her calm, her control. And she had no power against his threats. He knew it. She knew it. And her desperation was beginning to spill out.
Gragore looked her over, smiling as he shook his head. "You had your chance, Perseathea. You ran, and look where it got you. Right back here. Back in this very cell. Back in my hands.”
“I will not let you-”
“Besides,” Gragore cupped her mouth with a cruel hand, “you are no longer fresh. She is untouched. And if she does not bring me forth the son, there is still but one other.”
“I won’t let it happen!" Perseathea’s muffled words squeezed out from under his hand. Gragore dropped his palm from her lips, instead bruising his fingers into her jaw.
“I will do more than touch, and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
Perseathea shook under his touch, but tried to hide it, tried to stifle the shivers that came back to her as if she were still a little girl under his watch. Still his youngest concubine. A growing heat pulsed her veins. Burning her. Enraging her.
“I will kill you!” She rocked violently, pulling loose of his grip, tipping at the chair. The shackles tore at her bruised skin, seeping blood from her torn and purpled skin. The bulky legs of the contraption thudded heavy against the dirt as Perseathea strained to pull free, her face strained, but the chains refused to dislodge. Out of breath… she gave up.
Gragore ambled up from his chair, pulling it back around. He sank a clean black boot into the seat, resting an elbow across his knee. Gazing at her as gentle as a dove, he taunted her with a nauseating sweetness.
“Greatest of Queens. Queen Perseathea of the invincible GarTaynia. An Amazon among Amazons. You are all these things, and yet, they get you nowhere. For it is too late.”
“I will die fighting you!” Perseathea’s words spat out in bloody defiance.
“You will die, but it will change nothing. The only questions are how long will I keep you alive and how often will I take you before you’re executed?”
“You will not be able to father the child, Gragore. It would make the prophecy meaningless!”
“Meaningless to your people, Perseathea.” Gragore lifted a strong chin. “Not to mine.”
“My people will never let you do t
his. GarTaynia will stop you. The Nation will stop you.”
“Don’t you understand, woman?” Gragore’s tone suggested shock. “You have been betrayed by one of your own. Your people brought you here and your people are bringing me the Amazon.”
The Queen’s breath sucked down in her chest. “You lie.”
The warlord shrugged. “Say that to comfort yourself. Maybe you will begin to believe it. But you know deep in your heart I find far too much pleasure in painful truths to keep them to myself.”
“Yours is the tongue of a warlord, a liar, and a thief. A murderer. I will believe nothing you say until I see it with my own eyes.”
“And so you will. And soon.” Gragore said. “Have no fear. I will make certain you see every single moment. Your Nation is about to fall ‘my Queen’. GarTaynia will divide itself. Your tribes will cripple without unity, and it will all happen because just one among you has a dark heart. One woman gave up the rest of you for the purpose of her own great greed. She gave you up, Perseathea, and she is about to give me the Amazon I search.”
“Name this traitor.” Perseathea grew impatient, waiting as Gragore paused. “You say you enjoy hurting me with your truths, so hurt me!”
“Some things are best left unspoken.” The warlord slid his boot from the chair and turned to the door. “I may have lied to you today….” His words trailed off as he tugged gently on the cell door. Looking back at her, a crack of light split the chamber. “I am an unpredictable man. I may very well kill you tomorrow.”
Chapter 17
A bitter breeze chilled Palius. She sat, desperately hugging her knees into her chest as if they were the only source of her warmth. The afternoon sun had disappeared and now, a misty gray covered the day. Cuddling her chin into folded arms, she watched the strange faces passing her. Hundreds of people walking in silence. They pressed through GarTaynia in droves, heading for the center of the village. Never noticing her. Never glancing her way as she sat there in the dust. Cold and alone. It was as if she were hidden from their glassy, grief stricken eyes.
Sorrow showed on them, weighing so heavy it plagued their faces like a disease. The cause of their anguish was a mystery, yet it sunk deep into the pit of Palius’ own gut. She felt it too. A strong, unending sorrow. Heavy. Suffocating. Even unaware of its reason, she suffered under the mass grief. Unexplained depression flew her heart like a winged demon and she stifled back tears she did not understand.
A cold drop fell from the dreary heavens, Palius watching as it soaked into the dust next to her bare feet. Alone, its life fleeting and futile. She looked back up. The heavens swirled dark. A storm was coming. Another drop dappled the dust. Then another. Lifting to her feet, Palius joined the congregation of nameless strangers.
Pushing her way through the thick of people, trepidation took her hand, leading her toward the mystery at center village. She had to know what waited there. What had brought all of these people. All of this sadness. The faired haired child stared through slivers of space, a tangle of arms and legs crushing in on her. Glimpses of marble came in and out. The alter steps.
She pushed through, the people towering over her, grunting past them till she found herself at the head of the multitude. And she stopped. A sudden breath surged her chest, but caught in her throat. A song long ancient and sacred to her people toppled into the first few notes. A woman’s voice, sad and low, carried up into the bitter breezes of the overcast day. Palius froze. She knew this song. She had heard it before, but could not bring her memories to reveal its’ name.
Cold and heavy raindrops began speckling the land, and at once, the heavens opened up like a bursting blossom. Torrent rains spilled down, cascading cold sheets over the crowd and down the marble steps. Cleansing them. No one spoke. All the people had stopped, waiting. The only sound came from the woman’s song, its’ tragic notes blurring in and out of the rain. The sea of people stood like stone sculptures, silent and still, as rain drenched GarTaynia. Palius searched the faces of these nameless. Why did she know not one of them? Who were they? Why had they come here? What haunted them… and her, with such grief?
And as if to answer her thoughts, the crowd split down the middle, opening a path. At the end of it stood a gathering of Amazons. These were the highest in power, and with them, they brought a body. The unknown dead carried on a pallet draped in spring pink blossoms and lush pelts. At the sight of her, sobbing filled the air. The sound of rain and grieving brimmed the day. Palius could not see the face of this mysterious dead, but her own heart suddenly bruised in ache. An orange glow took the top of the steps, lighting up this blackest of days with a massive flame that the driving rain itself could not quench. Lifted atop the shoulders of these greatest of the Amazons, the body approached. Palius stood on her toes, desperate to know the name of this dead Amazon.
Just as the dead reached her, a bewildering pain struck Palius. She clutched at her heart. Uncontrollable tears blurred her eyes, wetting her cheeks. A pain greater than any physical pain, woeful and excruciating, weighed her down. Dropping her to her knees in the gritty mud. And then it quickened to her… her spirit was dying. Unable to bear it a moment longer, Palius stumbled back to her feet, running toward the funeral procession. Drums began their slow pounding, and the dead and her league of Amazons carried up the first of the steps. Pink wild flowers hovered down on soaked breezes, drifting to Palius’ feet. The scorching flames heated her cheeks as she ran behind them, her legs as heavy as if she were treading water.
The great Amazons walked silent before her, slow in their steps and unaware of her chase. Slow step after another, they ascended the marble, the aching and familiar song escorting them. The departed neared her eternal flame.
Suddenly, a tug pulled Palius. Arms swooped her up from behind, cradling her. Palius burrowed into the mysterious embrace like an infant into her mother’s bosom. She hid her eyes, crying, desperate to devour comfort. She couldn’t bare the sadness any longer. The rain fell endless, chilling her as she snuggled into the embrace. She knew not the name of the lost Amazon, but the mere presence of this dead, for reasons she did not understand, wrenched her heart.
As she clinched her eyes shut, tears still seeping, the sounds began to fade. The rain ceased, her skin no longer wet, and a dry warmth took her. She peeked an eye open. The mysterious arms still held her. Curious and a bit alarmed, Palius pulled away, forcing her eyes to focus on the emerging flicker of candlelight. A tumble of quilts lay at her feet. A table with a wash bowl and garments. A cornhusk doll propped in a chair next to a toy sword widdled from cedar. The window at her left led out into a village covered by nightfall… but the village was not GarTaynia. It ushered in a gentle breeze, carrying with it the scent of lavender and a distant stream, but the room smelled of odd and unfamiliar spices.
Palius noticed someone sitting at her side, and flitting her eyes over, she found a strange woman. Tearing loose of the quilts, Palius perched on anxious toes at the end of the bed, fingernails digging into the bedpost.
“Who are you?”
"You’re alright!" The dark haired woman gave a sigh of relief. “You were flush with heat. Tossing and turning. I wasn’t certain you would come out of it.”
Unaffected by the words, Palius repeated. “Who are you?”
“Meesha. You are in the village of Saron.” The woman paused, her expression gentle and her words soft. “You were hurt, so your mother left you here with me so I could tend to your-”
"My mother?"
"Laidea. She left you in my care.”
“But I don’t know you.” Palius looked around the room again, the candlelight flickering over the table, wash bowl, and this bed she had never seen before. “I don’t know this place.”
“Neither did your mother, but she had no choice. She feared you would die if they took you.”
“She’s not my mother.” Palius hesitated. “Well-”
“She’s not? I simply assumed… well, no matter.” Meesha shrugged. “You’re here
now and-”
Palius jerked a palm to her forehead, stiff fingers bruising at the skin, interrupting Meesha’s words.
“Oh… I bet your head is pounding.” Meesha scooted toward Palius, offering the child a hand. “You should rest now. Come on.”
“Don‘t touch me.” Palius pulled closer into the bedpost, suddenly aware of the severe soreness bruising over her body.
Meesha lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.” She spoke slowly. “I just want to help.”
“Are you one of them?”
“One of who?”
“One of them.” Palius’ glanced out the window, searching for others as her voice tightened. “One of the sad strangers from my dream.”
“Your dream?”
Palius shook her head, feeling no need to explain. There wasn’t time for that. Smoothing a palm down her belly, she discovered the bed clothes she was wearing. A dull brown night dress. Hopping from the bed, she began searching the room for her own clothes.
“I have to leave.”
“You can’t go.” Meesha stood up, surprised. “You’re not well.”
“Don’t come near me!” Palius swung around to face Meesha. Backing away with slow steps, she realized the woman’s kind eyes and how she stood holding her hands in front of a blood stained apron. Blood, Palius recognized, that was most likely her own. Wiping her nose with a quick hand, she also noticed that the smell of unfamiliar spices was coming form her own skin. Likely some sort of remedy for her wounds. Palius relaxed a bit, feeling a bit guilty for her response. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, but I must leave.”
Meesha didn‘t move from her place at the bedside. “I promised Laidea I would care for you till they return.”
“I can’t chance it.”
“But it’s still dark out.” Meesha motioned to her window displaying an early morning Saron. “There’s at least half a candle mark before sunrise.”
“There‘s no time.” Palius slipped out of the night dress, tossing it to the floor. “I have to warn them.”
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