The Duty of Pain

by Viola Grace

  Taking pain from those in need cost her nothing until her freedom was ripped away and a life of adventure was offered in exchange.

  Alda-Xeri enjoyed her life in her small town, helping those who needed surcease from pain during surgery or the last moments of life. When she is taken to the court to attend the duke’s final days, her life is altered forever and her talent twists in a way she never could have imagined.

  The Sector Guard helps her leave her home for a life in the stars, helping more than the wealthy. She agrees to an assignment she cannot remember and soon finds herself in the clutches of Raiders, taking pain from victims of experimentation and wondering how she is going to find the freedom promised her when all hell breaks loose and she leads the charge.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Duty of Pain

  Copyright © 2012 Viola Grace

  ISBN: 978-1-77111-396-0

  Cover art by Martine Jardin

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Devine Destinies

  An imprint of eXtasy Books

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  The Duty of Pain

  Tales of the Citadel 13

  By

  Viola Grace

  Chapter One

  Alda-Xeri stared out the window and watched the people below going about their lives. Bright colours, chatting to loved ones and laughing and crying in equal measure. She envied them in every way. They had freedoms that they didn’t even know existed—freedom to live, love and enjoy companionship as they saw fit.

  She heard thunder in the distance and raised her head, staring at the incoming clouds. The moment she heard movement at the door, her back tensed.

  “Are you ready?” Inor-Thak, the high chancellor was in her doorway.

  She nodded and turned. The glittering chains on her wrists and ankles clashed. “I am ready.”

  She moved as gracefully as she could in the chains. It was a learned skill that she had never anticipated acquiring. Head high, stomach in and her makeup precisely in place, she walked as if she were equal to the courtiers and stellar visitors in the throne room.

  The balcony walk was heavily guarded for her daily stroll to the royal chambers. No one was going to lay hands on the Pain Taker if they valued their lives. The Duke of Olsted was lying on his deathbed, and he needed her to enable him to get through his day.

  She couldn’t ask how much longer he would take to die. He was degrading steadily, but her help was extending his life far beyond what he should have lived. Five months of taking his agony into her body was enabling him to make sweeping changes for his people, and for that, she respected him. The chains that the high chancellor insisted on turned her efforts from the gift one would give to a service that was taken.

  The doors to the royal chambers opened at her approach, she stepped inside, crossed the huge expanse of the room and sat next to her patient. “Good morning, Duke Ralen-Croth.”

  His eyes rolled as the agony of his body consuming itself twisted him into a foetal curl.

  Alda-Xeri reached out and touched his temples, finding the parts of his mind that were lit with agony and soothing them into normalcy. Once his brain was calm, she stroked his limbs, placing a block between his nerve endings and the pain he was in. The procedure took five minutes and was hampered by her chains, but when she was done, the duke lay there panting.

  “It will not be long now.” The duke took her hand and kissed it.

  “I know. I will be here as long as you need me.” She raised her cuffs. “I have no choice.”

  “I wish Inor-Thak was not forcing you into those chains, but when the pain takes me, he runs our world.”

  She nodded and folded her hands in her lap as the dressers and bathers streamed in to get him ready for his time on the throne. At the meal break, she would give him another treatment. Until that time, she had to remain on the upper balcony looking down and watching her patient.

  She hated the waiting time. She always thought of her family and the life lost to her during the waiting time.

  Alda watched as the duke’s movements eased until he seemed a healthy man of eighty-five again. His robes were elaborate and the makeup applied to him gave him the same blank expression as all his courtiers. Alda sat quietly while he was prepared and ate his meal, her face emotionless.

  It was the same every morning—they brought her to him, she took his pain and was not allowed to leave until the duke was on his throne and no onlookers were watching his rooms. Today was no exception.

  When the duke left, he paused at the door and gave her a sorrowful look and a small wave. She nodded her head respectfully, and when she managed to blink the tears from her eyes, he was gone.

  She held the pain in. The electrochemical response that told a body something was very wrong was something she could manipulate. It was what made her a Pain Taker. What no one seemed to realise was that she kept what she took. She knew the agony of the duke. She lived with it in the core of her very different mind.

  When the guard at the door gave her the nod, she got to her feet, straightened her skirts and her chains before gliding as smoothly as possible out the door and up to her viewing area. Six guards were stationed to keep her from getting away, so she was forced to stand and watch her patient hold court. It did give her a bit of a thrill to watch him upright and strong. It was such a change from the way she saw him every morning that her heart soared just a little every time he made a ruling or pounded his fist.

  Today, there were representatives from the Citadel who wanted permission to investigate the population for possible candidates.

  Duke Ralen-Croth lifted his gaze for a moment and met hers. He smiled and nodded to the four men and women in robes. “Please. There are many here with exceptional talents, and if the worlds need them, it would be a pity to keep them to ourselves.”

  “That is a very enlightened attitude, Duke Ralen-Croth.” The speaker for the Citadel bowed respectfully.

  “Thank you, it has been something I became aware of only when my illness began to run its course.”

  Alda’s eyes were wide. He never mentioned being ill in front of the court.

  The high chancellor leaned in and spoke to him in rapid, low tones.

  The duke didn’t lower his voice. “Shut up, Chancellor. I live each day knowing that tomorrow agonizing pain will grip me. She comes and takes it away, but I don’t want her to lose her life in service to the royal house. You should not have chained her, Inor. That was not well done of you.”

  The high chancellor looked up toward Alda’s hiding spot, and his expression was not pleasant.

  She kept her pose, and the heavy court makeup on her face made her into an anonymous statue. The makeup had been harder to get used to than the chains.

  Every morning, the attendants got her up and into the shower, brushed her hair and
fixed her nails. Once her hair was dry, fixed and in place, she had to sit while the makeup artist for the duke painted over her medium-brown skin, drew on pouting lips and highlighted her brows. The final effect was to dress her, roll back the long sleeves and treat her hands to the same colouration. When she was pale and unremarkable aside from the extravagant gown she wore, she waited for dawn. It was the same routine since the day she had been hauled into the duke’s chambers for the first time and his pain called to her.

  When the duke finished his morning court and retired for lunch, her guards shepherded her back to his rooms. He was starting to hunch, and she watched from the hidden hallway as he returned to lie down.

  Once the courtiers were out of the hall, the guards marched Alda into the duke’s rooms.

  “Your Grace, please sit down.” Alda rarely spoke to him directly, but this was one of those moments.

  Duke Ralen-Croth paced restlessly. “Do you know what Inor is planning for you?” The duke was angry.

  Alda blinked. “I am fairly sure I have a good idea. He will either sell me or pimp me out to diseased nobles. Now, sit down before you fall down.”

  He grinned and did as she said. “Few women bother bossing me around now.”

  She pressed her hands to his head and absorbed the agony of burning nerves and degrading muscle. “I think that has more to do with your foul temper than with the women themselves. You still cut a dashing figure.”

  He grimaced. “Under all this makeup, I feel like a damned clown. Do you know why we wear it?”

  She smiled. He had told her this story before. “No, your Grace.”

  He sighed as she started to work on his right arm. “When the planetary Duchy of Olsted was first settled, multiple races offered to send settlers to occupy the land. There was a confusion of governments and political intrigue ripping through the planet. The emperor appointed the duke and it was in his women’s quarters that he saw the answer. His concubines were dressed alike and wore the same makeup. He could hardly tell one from the other. In that moment, he chose the colour of the Yavish cliffs as the unifying colour, and everyone in the court had to be painted in order to speak to him or to make a treaty.”

  “I imagine it went over well.”

  “The men balked and the women were upset by the masking of their beauty, but the planet calmed. The practice of painting one’s body before political manoeuvring became standard. It is silly and effeminate, but it is the way we do things.” He smiled as she finished working on his limbs.

  “And the reason that I wear it?”

  “If anyone from the court sees you coming and going, they will believe you to be my concubine. No harm in boosting my ego in my old age.” He chortled and patted her arm.

  She shook her head. “Well, you are good for another six hours. Have your lunch and get back to work.” She grinned and curtseyed deeply. “Your Grace.”

  He smiled and then grew solemn. “I want you away from here before I die, Alda-Xeri. Will you go with the Citadel Reps if I order you to?”

  “I will always follow orders, your Grace, but you will wind to an end very rapidly if I go.”

  He nodded. “I have had more than enough time to get my affairs in order. My heir is on his way from the imperial court as I speak to you. He will be here within days. You need to go, Alda. For my sake as well as yours. I don’t want service to this sad old man to be the last good thing you are allowed to do on this world.”

  A tear formed in her eye. “Thank you for thinking of me, your Grace. I will act as you will. Now, get some food in that shrivelled husk before you blow away.”

  He cackled and bounded to his feet.

  With chains jingling, she left the duke’s quarters, and she was taken back to her watch post for her own cold fruit and water. Her dinner would be more substantial, but while she was dealing with pain and standing at attention, she could not consume a more robust meal.

  She waited silently for the duke to resume his seat, and she looked out to the representatives of the Citadel who were milling around. All four were wearing gloves and their features were masked, but one of them looked directly up at her and stared into her with eyes that were black and piercing.

  Alda didn’t know why he was staring, but she was lost in those eyes. They had seen things she could only dream of, and as she broke the lock of their gazes, a tear ran down her cheek. Dreams were something she could not entertain. They always left her wanting more.

  Chapter Two

  After the evening treatment, Alda got to her feet. The duke grabbed her arm. “Wait, Alda-Xeri.”

  “Yes, your Grace?”

  “You are joining me for dinner. The members of the Citadel will be there, and I believe they have an interest in you.” Duke Ralen-Croth was serious.

  “As you wish, your Grace. Shall I tell my guards?”

  “They have been informed. Will you do me the honour of joining me for dinner?” He stood and offered her his arm.

  “The honour is mine, your Grace.” She held his arm and watched his face tighten as her chains jingled.

  “I hate those chains, Alda.”

  “I am not too fond of them myself, your Grace.” She tightened her lips and quietly laid layer after layer of protection along his nerves. She usually was restricted to the five minutes she was allowed with him, unobserved.

  “Stop that, Alda. You will tire yourself out.”

  “You can feel that?”

  “I can. It is like a soothing blanket being wrapped around me. I have depended on it for far too long, but I couldn’t give it up. Forgive me for being selfish.”

  “I do. You had things to do, and I know you wanted to make sure that Olsted was ready for the change in rulers.” Alda didn’t add that his fear of death had been written all over his face the first time they met.

  Salugh syndrome struck one in two hundred thousand people on Olsted. It was a genetic disease that activated in the later stages of life. No cure was possible, and it was horrible for the sufferer and their family. The random combination of different species created a cocktail of acid in the blood that wore away at tissue and bone from the inside out.

  The private hallway led them to the private dining room, and the four representatives from the Citadel were waiting for them.

  The duke walked toward them, and he introduced her as if she was his granddaughter and not shackled in his service.

  “Terlio, this is Alda-Xeri. Alda, this is Terlio of Citadel Morganti.” The duke watched the Citadel Rep extend his hand, and he smiled when Alda extended her own.

  The chain jangled and the cuff gleamed in the light of the candelabra.

  “Why are you in chains?” Terlio turned her hand in his warm, dry grip, his dark eyes were the same ones she had met with her own gaze earlier.

  “Why are you pretending to be from the Citadel?” She raised a brow.

  The four men shifted.

  Terlio asked, “What do you mean?”

  “You may have been trained by the Citadel, but you all are currently in a military unit. I saw it in the way you moved in the court. You remained in formation from morning to night. No fidgeting, no twitching and no looking around except for the one of you who locked eyes with me.”

  The man with dark eyes blinked as the other three looked at him. “She is correct. I looked at her.”

  He made the introductions swiftly. “Alda-Xeri, meet Larsilk. Next to him is Bukel and next to him is Quuro.” The men’s eyes were icy green, blue on red and a charming yellow and purple mix, respectively.

  Alda inclined her head, but the duke was irritated. “You represented yourself as members of the Citadel who wanted to look for talents here on Olsted.”

  Terlio answered, “We came for her. We have a need for a talent who can give others clarity by removing pain.”

  Alda took her hand back. “I believe the duke wishes to know where you are from if it is not the Citadel.”

  Larsilk stepped forward. “We are stationed at Sector
Guard Base Udell, but technically, we are from Citadel Base Lowel.”

  Terlio threw his hands up. “Fine. Tell the truth. Why should I care?”

  Quuro cleared his throat. “Be calm, Terlio. If she is to join us, she needs the truth, don’t you think?”

  The duke wavered, and Alda held him up. “He should not be standing this long. To the table please, gentlemen.”

  She helped the duke to his seat and took the position on his left. The other four took seats close to them as the duke rang for service.

  Servants entered, filled goblets, laid platters of food on the table and left them.

  “The duke is never attended at meals unless he requests it.” She took the duke’s plate and put his favourites on in small measures.

  “Thank you, Alda.”

  “You are welcome, your Grace.” She served herself and gestured for the men to begin their own meal. “The duke prefers family style. Eat all you like, and if you need more, it will be brought to you.”

  She ate a few bites, but when she noted the stares at her wrists, she pulled her hands into her lap. Alda had grown so used to her chains that she hadn’t realised that it would cause a ripple of attention to someone who had not seen them before.

  Duke Ralen-Croth noticed her tension. “Don’t worry about it, child. They will stop staring soon enough.”

  She nodded and brought her hand up to grip the eating prong.

  Bukel grumbled, “We apologize. You do not seem to be a slave, but you are not free, and we don’t know what to do with that.”

  The duke sighed and sipped at his water before speaking. “When my illness struck, my high chancellor offered a reward to anyone who could extend my life. Through local officials in her hometown, Alda-Xeri was offered up as a Pain Taker. She did not come willingly. When she arrived here, the high chancellor put her in the chains to stop her from running on the off chance she could do some good, and now, it has been five months for her.”