Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  “At the Isha’s conclusion, he’ll escort you to the reception room upstairs if you’d like to socialize, or if you wish to leave, to the private street exit.” A genial smile accompanied Ilahn’s words. “I do hope you’ll take advantage of our hospitality.”

  Another bow from the trader, then he retreated along the landing. Arek wondered if he was off to greet another client or supervise some aspect of the evening’s event.

  “The Isha will begin in fifteen minutes, Na Kaal.” Freydan motioned them into the room and closed the door quietly behind them.

  Arek paced the length of the room, needing to work off some of his frustrated anger from the last hour. While small, the room reflected the luxurious decor he’d seen throughout the rest of the house: a padded recliner filled with cushions, a small table set with dishes and bowls of fruit and other appetizers to tempt the palate, jugs and flasks of a variety of liquid refreshments, even spigots and a basin with drying towels on the opposite wall.

  “No expense spared,” he murmured dryly, and tested each spigot. Hot and cold water ran into the basin.

  “The House of Ilahn caters to the specific needs of a select few and is paid handsomely for doing so.” Imhara took a seat on the recliner. “The family runs a legitimate trading business, but their true wealth comes from the darker side of commerce.”

  Aware of her scrutiny, he turned and walked the length of the room, taking in the widening walls that gave the room its unusual dimensions. The stone on the fourth wall only went to waist height, then a huge panel of glass stretched to the ceiling. It was curtained from the other side. Built into the center of the stone façade was a small wooden hatch.

  He smoothed a hand over the huge glass window. “What’s beyond the curtain?”

  “A small chamber where Ilahn presents the slaves. A bidding dish, similar to the one used yesterday at the slave auction, sits behind the hatch.”

  Arek frowned. “I thought Ilahn’s clients demanded privacy. If the curtains are opened, won’t we be able to see into other rooms?”

  “They only line this side of the chamber.”

  Walking the corridor, he’d counted the doors. “Ten buyers. Two dozen slaves. Will he sell them all?”

  Tension edged his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Imhara remained quiet for a few heartbeats, then drew in an audible breath.

  “Arek, you demanded I be honest with you. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “I need to know what’s coming. Give me the variables and I can plan my moves.”

  “This isn’t a training scenario, Arek.”

  “I understand that,” he retorted, and faced her square on. He ran a hand through his hair. “But I analyze information, I consider scenarios, I plot strategies. It’s what I know and how I’m going to get through this.”

  “All right,” she assented. “Most of Ilahn’s clients are male, so the females will sell. They’re all young, attractive, none over the age of twenty-five, and in excellent health. Those qualities are highly sought after in a bed-slave.” His gut still tightened as she listed their attributes so matter-of-factly. “Ilahn allows each slave two auctions to sell before he assigns them a room upstairs to earn off the cost of his purchase.”

  “This goes on in the reception area Ilahn mentioned?”

  “On the same floor.”

  “What happens in those rooms?”

  “Whatever’s demanded and paid for.” Her flat tone sent a shiver crawling along his spine. “If they earn him a tidy profit, he keeps them. If they don’t, he sells them to another pleasure house somewhere else, or a regular auction house.”

  “Ilahn offered you the chance to socialize later. Have you done that in the past?”

  “Of course. Na Kaal’s reputation has been built using such exposure.” Imhara rose and wandered to the table of refreshments. “I socialize but I’ve never engaged the services of any of Ilahn’s bed-slaves. I’ve always brought someone with me.”

  Someone like him. Although Imhara didn’t say it, her look inferred it.

  She poured two drinks and offered one to him. When he glanced to the door, she shook her head. “Don’t worry, the nature of the business conducted here ensures no one intrudes into any room without an invitation.”

  He took the goblet. Imhara retreated to the recliner, but instead of drinking, she stared into her cup, a frown pinching her brow, the first hint of anxiety she’d displayed since entering the house. When she took a sip, she did so with a grimace.

  “I can’t read your scent, but I’m pretty good with body language,” he commented. “Your discomfort has nothing to do with the quality of the wine.”

  “I was trying to imagine this place through your eyes, thinking back to the first time I set foot here.” Her gaze lifted to meet his as she leaned against the raised back of the seat. “Hiding how appalled I felt was . . . difficult, and I’ve been exposed to this all my life. Considering you’ve had only a few days, you’ve managed to mask your scent quite well.”

  “While it hasn’t been painless, I told you I could adapt.” He shook his head. “Watching you slip into your persona . . . You do it with such skill. . . .” She flinched. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism, Imhara.”

  “Neither is it something to be proud of or known for.” She took another sip of her drink, then offered him a wry smile. “You can’t live a double life without some of what you do staining your soul.”

  Her somber response made Arek wish he’d held his tongue. Before he could say anything though, the curtain over the window was jerked aside and light spilled into the room. One of Ilahn’s black uniformed helpers unlatched the wooden hatch, then moved out of sight.

  “Merciful Mother!” The tableau revealed made Arek step back from the window. Shock tingled through him.

  Chains hung from the ceiling throughout the chamber, all evenly spaced apart. The slaves, each stripped naked, dangled like seedpods on a cheva-bush, one to every anchor point. Their handlers lined the wall behind them.

  Imhara moved up beside him. “The Isha will start shortly.” Her shoulder brushed his. “You might not want to watch, Arek. The proceedings get rather . . . graphic.”

  “Graphic?” Even as he queried, the images of what he’d seen in the cells below played through his mind, and his innards grew colder. He glanced at her. “What happens?”

  Her eyes closed briefly, then her chin lifted and pointed at the scene. “Look at them. Their relaxed faces, unfocused gazes, the small tremors in their muscles and bodies.

  “Ilahn drugs them with another burn of haze before auction. It makes them more compliant, but given the right amount, it also heightens the senses.” The skin around her eyes tightened, the markings around her temples creased. “You saw earlier how easily they were aroused. Buyers like to know the slaves they’re purchasing are able to perform.”

  “Perform as in they molest them . . . until they peak?”

  “Some of Ilahn’s staff prefer to couple.”

  Rape.

  She was talking rape.

  Ice rushed through Arek’s veins. It thawed with a rush of anger. “You have to stop this!”

  Her jaw flexed. “How?”

  He stared out through the window at the twenty-four men and women. They were conscious yet helpless, stripped of all control.

  Mother of Light . . . to have your own body betray you, to be forced to endure an assault . . . Arek could imagine nothing more horrifying. . . . And to witness their humiliation . . .

  “No!” He shook his head. “You can’t stand by and do nothing!”

  “I’m not!” Fire filled her gaze. Her nostrils flared. “I did do something, I am doing something!”

  She snatched her leather pouch from her belt and shook it. The gems inside rattled together.

  “Weren’t you listening earlier when I tried to buy some of them from Ilahn before the auction? He refused to sell them.” Her fist clenched around the pouch. “Tonight, I’ll purchase as many of them as I
can, and when they’re delivered to our campsite, the healers will take over.” Her voice broke. “Lady forgive me, I do the best I can with what I have!”

  The furious agony twisting Imhara’s expression impacted his stomach like a fist. She pivoted on her heel, strode away from him, and slammed her goblet onto the small table. Liquid splashed over the metal rim and spread in a dark red stain across the polished wooden surface, eerily reminiscent of a pool of blood.

  Her shoulders hunched and the defensive posture struck another blow. Arek shoved his hands through his hair. Light, how many times had Yevni warned him about letting his anger control him?

  Imhara had attempted to purchase three slaves prior to the auction. One woman and two youths barely out of their teens. At the time he’d assumed it part of her act, an idiosyncrasy of Na Kaal.

  “Rest assured, Arek, if it makes you feel any better, the choices I’ve made, the actions I’ve taken, they all weigh on me.”

  He grimaced at the hoarseness in her voice. She straightened and turned, but her shoulders stayed rigid and tight.

  “But any judgment owed will come from the Lady, not you.” Her gaze remained shadowed as she returned to stand at the window, ignoring him to focus on the auction. “I’ve told you before, I do what I have to.”

  She had, several times.

  In his time spent living with the Kaal Clan, every significant memory involved actions she’d taken for her people. To save their lives. To protect them. To give them a future. The only time he’d seen her do something for herself—and even then it held a dual purpose—was the night he’d spent serving her as a slave.

  The Na’Reish on the other side of the glass deserved his anger, not her.

  From the corner of his vision, Ilahn’s first handler had already freed the female slave in his charge from her shackles, the woman Imhara had attempted to buy. The blur of jerky movements, the woman’s cries, a mixture of pain and pleasure, drifted through the small hatch and confirmed exactly what sort of activity the handler was engaged in with her.

  The perverted production might serve as proof for buyers of a slave’s potential, yet the darker implications weren’t lost on Arek. With every slave raped or molested, watching the prolonged display would build the carnal appetites of those who chose to stay and engage additional services, their hunger a vice Ilahn profited from.

  “Bidding will begin once she’s forced to peak,” Imhara said, her voice flat and expressionless.

  Nausea rolled in Arek’s gut, for the situation beyond the glass, and for the pain he’d caused Imhara. Deflecting others was a tactic he’d resorted to often enough in the months before he’d been captured.

  He grimaced. Neither of them could leave the room with this unresolved, not when their survival depended on them being a team.

  Taking a deep breath, Arek placed a hand on the small of her back, the need to slide his arms around her and comfort her stronger than he anticipated. She stiffened.

  Could she scent his intentions? Even if she did, her posture, the silence, the tension radiating off her stopped him from completing the move.

  Instead he found the leather pouch at her waist and tugged it free.

  “Which gem is appropriate for a bid?” Fumbling one-handed with the drawstring, he shook it open, spilling the gems onto the windowsill. Some were as large as his fingernail, others as little as a grain, and they came in all shades of mesmerizing colors. They sparkled in the light.

  “What are you doing?” Ice coated her question, thick enough to make him flinch.

  “Which gem, Imhara?” His heart beat hard as her silence drew out beyond what was comfortable. “Please.”

  “Any of the smaller blue or green ones.”

  He plucked a green one from the collection. “Tell me when to put it into the dish.”

  “Arek . . .”

  “When my temper rises, my reasoning weakens. I react and end up hurting others.” He spread his fingers wide on her back, a single, careful caress. “Letting my frustration speak for me was stupid. You didn’t deserve my anger.”

  “No, I didn’t.” The ice was still there. “You acted like a jamet’s ass, Arek.”

  He took her quiet censure without protest. “What you do here takes incredible fortitude. . . . Your strength shames me.” He swallowed against a dry mouth. “I’m sorry, Imhara.”

  Her rigid posture relaxed, just a fraction.

  “You truly mean that.” Her tone thawed a little, enough to ease some of his anxiety.

  “I do.”

  “If you ever treat me like that again, you will feel the brunt of my temper.” A thread of steel in her tone assured him she would follow through.

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” he murmured.

  Another long silence.

  “Then apology accepted.” She plucked the gem from his hand. “I’ll do this on my own.”

  “No, you won’t.” More tension bled from him, roughened his voice. “Watching this pains you as much as it does me. But if we do this together, it might make it more bearable.”

  Her fingers tightened around the gem, and she released an uneven breath. This time her silence proved more tolerable.

  “Hold out your hand.” Imhara placed the jewel on his palm, then closed his fingers around it. She brought them to her mouth, and her lips brushed his knuckles. “Don’t underestimate your own strength, Arek. Especially the sort you lend others.” She leaned into him, finally relaxing. “And you’re right, it does help to share the load.”

  Chapter 32

  FIVE lives.

  Four men and one woman for a pouch full of gems.

  Imhara pushed aside her disappointment—five was better than none—and signed the bottom of the parchment in front of her, then handed the stylus to Ilahn.

  The dark-haired trader bent over the desk and added his florid signature to the document. “You have an eye for fine flesh, Na Kaal.”

  He blew on the ink, then pressed his House seal to the softened wax in one corner. The stylized I surrounded by the interlocking rings made the transfer of ownership official. He handed the document to her with a bow.

  “So did a number of other buyers.” Imhara carefully folded the paper and tucked it into her pouch. “No doubt the impeccable quality of your slaves accounted for the intensity of the bidding.”

  Voices and soft laughter came from the other side of the privacy screen used to divide the reception area into two sections: this small foyer where Ilahn finalized all transactions and business arrangements, and the lavishly decorated main area where he entertained.

  Imhara cocked her head to one side and identified several Na’Reishi highborn voices, all regular clients to the House. The numerous odors circulating in the air indicated they hadn’t wasted any time taking advantage of Ilahn’s services.

  Beneath the lighter scent of food, it wasn’t hard to detect the rich-iron tang of blood and the heavier, spiced heat of arousal.

  “Na’Reishi Evec’s mate has already expressed disappointment on missing out on the slave of her choice. He was one of your purchases, Na Kaal. The strapping breeder taken from Tianda.” Ilahn’s smile widened. “She’s keen to track down his new owner and negotiate a new deal.”

  Imhara just bet Miana was. The highborn female’s bedroom reputation extended to feeding during sex, her appetite for both acts so insatiable that many of her slaves died.

  She shook her head. “I’m not interested in a private sale.”

  More laughter accompanied a feminine drawn-out groan of pain. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on, not with the scent of fresh blood saturating the air. Ilahn’s slave would be covered in bite marks by the time the group in the reception room finished with her. Imhara hoped the trader had an exceptional healer working for his House.

  “Now that our business is concluded, my hospitality is yours to enjoy, Na Kaal.” Ilahn rose from behind the table and one of the ever-present house staff took his place.

  “Imhara Kaal, I thou
ght I heard your voice! It’s so good to see you!”

  The sultry greeting tightened every muscle in Imhara’s body, and it took every ounce of self-control to hide her instant dislike.

  “Miana.” She pasted a polite smile on her face and turned.

  Tall, elegant, and beautiful, the Na’Reishi female’s long, black hair was tied back from her face by an intricate style of plaits interwoven with deep, bloodred gems. They matched the exact color she’d painted on her lips and fingernails. The formfitting dress had a plunging neckline that exposed her markings and accentuated her curves. The burgundy material was so rich and dark it looked almost black.

  The colors complemented her nature perfectly.

  “I didn’t expect to see you this Enclave, not with a mating to organize.” Her violet gaze flickered over her, taking in her appearance. “You can’t attract a male in breeches and a sword belt, Imhara. You might want to exchange them for a dress at some stage. Don’t underestimate the power of making yourself presentable for your mate.”

  “Presentable? I’m comfortable dressed as I am.” Imhara chuckled softly. “I’m afraid our opinions must differ, Miana.”

  Miana’s eyebrows arched and she gave a half shrug. “So it seems.” Her gaze drifted left and her lips curled in a too satisfied smirk as she spotted Arek. “Well now, who might this slave be?”

  Imhara resisted snorting out loud at the unsurprising change of subject.

  “Ilahn, please tell me this male belongs to your stable, and if so, then why wasn’t he presented to me earlier?” The Na’Reishi woman moved straight to Arek, her strides graceful, sensual, her expression predatory.

  And far too covetous.

  Imhara held perfectly still, keeping her expression quite neutral despite the rush of something hot and dark tearing through her veins. Instinct urged her to step between Arek and the advancing woman, not wanting her anywhere near him.

  She’d been afraid he’d attract this sort of attention. Yet while she believed he could control his reactions, she didn’t trust Evec’s mate.

  Miana circled behind Arek, deliberate in her invasion of his personal space, then reached up to stroke and tangle her fingers in his hair. Imhara’s gaze narrowed, the heated darkness inside her surged.