by JANRAE FRANK
"Put your legs around me," Troyes ordered and Merissa obeyed. "I will teach you the arts of the slut."
Merissa's crying worsened and he ignored it. Any man she lay with after this, any husband she might be given to, would wonder who had been first. A husband might even repudiate her on learning she was not virgin. Had she been a commoner, it would not have mattered, but there were different standards for the Chieftain's daughter.
It seemed as if he sawed at her forever, lasting long after her tissues had begun to dry and she was becoming sore. Merissa wondered if it was always like this, but there would be no one to ask without revealing what had been done to her. Finally, he seeded her and rolled off, to lie there gazing at her. Her underdress was wet with his fluids.
Troyes stroked her hair. "You are very beautiful, princess of farmers. You belong at the King's court, not doing a servant's work ... come to my bed tonight and let me show you how it could be."
Merissa sucked in a deep breath, her head reeling with confusion. "I – I don't..."
Troyes kissed her again with exquisite thoroughness, opened her bodice and took out one of her breasts. His tongue ran around the nipple teasing it to hardness. Merissa moaned low like an animal. His fangs came down and entered the blue vein above the nipple. She gasped sharply and then felt herself swept up as his power took the pain of his feeding from her. Troyes was very skillful. When, at last, he lifted his bloody mouth from her breast he asked again. "Come to my bed tonight?"
"Yes."
* * * *
Merissa dashed to her rooms when Troyes eventually finished with her and striped out of the bloodstained dress. She felt a wince at the hymenal blood, the darkness of it. It had been bright red before it dried. Merissa rolled it up carefully and shoved it in her hearth where she piled wood on top of it and burned it. A lycan would know from the smell of it what she had done. She poured cold water from an ewer into a basin and thoroughly cleaned her loins and inside herself of all vestiges of Troyes' seed and fluids. Then she called for a bath to be drawn. When she was finally alone in the hot, soothing water, tears came again. Troyes had created such a confusing mix of emotions, frightening and thrilling her. But also leaving her with a sense of shame. One half of her called it rape and another called it seduction. Out of nowhere, she suddenly found herself saying aloud, "Isranon, it should have been you."
* * * *
Isranon woke in the night after hours of restless stirring, threw on a robe and headed out into the corridor. He had no need of a candle to see with, as sa'necari possessed an innate ability to see in the dark. As he drew near to the stairs, he heard a door open and saw Merissa step into the hallway. Then he realized what room she had come out of: Troyes'. She saw him and flicked the collar of her sleeping dress up. Isranon did not like that and caught her hand, forcing it down.
"Don't," Merissa hissed.
Isranon saw the bruising around the tiny punctures. Troyes was very skilled and there would be no mark soon, even had Merissa not been lycan. It upset him badly to see this and that in turn angered him. The clan kept plenty of nibari as feeders for their guests; Troyes did not need to be drinking from Merissa. "Don't play nibble games with Troyes, Merissa," Isranon said. "He's dangerous."
"Why should you care what I do?" Merissa snarled back at him. "You've spoken barely two words with me since you returned."
"Merissa, please, I don't want to fight with you."
"Then don't."
She started to push past him and he caught her arm, pleading with his eyes and voice, "Please, Merissa. Troyes is a very powerful sa'necari. Not of the first rank, but very powerful."
"I know that. I'm not a child any longer, Isranon. I'm a woman now. I have needs. Did you think I was going to spend the rest of my life chasing you?"
"I never asked you to chase me in the first place," Isranon said wearily. "We're friends."
"Is that all?" Merissa smacked him hard, open-handed, and he let her go.
Isranon watched her disappear back to her rooms.
A soft chuckle made him look at the door again. Troyes leaned against the door facing, "Can't even get it up for a real woman, half-a-mon?"
"Stay away from Merissa," Isranon growled, stiffening. Dressed in a night robe, he did not have his blades. While the peace of the valley should have held, he did not trust Troyes and without his blades he felt naked, aware of his weakness before this creature. Yet he would not back down. That much was not in him.
"Or what?" Troyes stroked Isranon's cheek.
Isranon stepped away from him, his hands clenching into fists. "Don't touch me."
"Perhaps if you offered to come to my bed instead of her? You let my bastard brother Malthus put it up your ass often enough."
"Malthus?" Revulsion rose from Isranon's stomach into the back of his throat. He had had a brief affair with Malthus three years ago. The mon had found a way to deceive Isranon's arcane senses and pass for human. One night in the throes of passion, Malthus revealed the truth by biting Isranon. He would never forget trying to fight his way off the bed when he realized the truth, only to have the older, more powerful, and much more experienced Malthus overwhelm him with his arcane talents. The humiliation and pain of being raped at fifteen by Malthus had never left him. "Your brother?"
"One of my father's many bastards. He brags about your ass." Troyes leaned in and kissed Isranon lightly on the mouth.
Isranon shoved Troyes from him, and walked away, leaving Troyes laughing at his retreating back. Once in the common sitting room, he sat on the floor before the banked coals and shivered.
* * * *
"Troyes' belongings are still here," Claw observed coming down the stairs into the kitchens where Aisha and the servants had set out breakfast. "So I assume he'll be back in a few days."
Isranon looked up from his food to see that Claw was dressed for riding. Several of them would be riding fence that morning to check for breaks through which the cattle could escape. They kept the large livestock in the near pastures during the winter. Troyes had told them he was riding into the village two days ago and had not yet returned.
Isranon followed Claw out to the stables once breakfast was done and mounted up with the others who would be riding that day. Hammers, nails, and axes were among the requirements for this, along with some strong rope. They would mend them roughly and mark them for a more substantial work crew to come through later.
The day was bright with the snow reflecting the sunlight strongly enough to glare into Isranon's eyes as he rode. He found a rail down and dismounted, slinging his saddlebag over his shoulder as he moved to nail it back into place. The top rail had fallen over the far side. He tried to reach it, cautiously avoiding putting any of his weight against the other rails, and could not, so he put his hand on the post and jumped it. Holding the rail into position on one end, he carefully nailed it back, then went to the other end and began on that. The whack, whack, whack of the hammer on iron nails and the thud of driving it into the wood masked other sounds until the one who had been watching him stepped into view.
"Hello, Isranon." Troyes leaned against a tree, arms folded, sneering slightly. He exuded a predatory sensuality that disturbed Isranon, running his eyes over the younger mon's body. His tongue emerged from his mouth and ran along his lips teasingly.
Isranon watched him, the hammer shifting in his hand so that it was held as a weapon rather than a tool. "What do you want?"
"You know what I want. What I've always wanted since Dragonshead. You."
"Let me be!" Isranon snarled. He felt violated by Troyes' stalking, his unwanted attention, and bitterly resented that the one place where he should have been safe was being desecrated by this sa'necari's appetites. Wasn't it enough that he had taken Merissa? His stance widened to give him greater balance in fighting as Troyes sauntered up to him.
"I cannot understand why you let them make a servant of you. This is a way station, we're guests of the crown."
"I help because I wan
t to." Isranon's eyes narrowed. Troyes came within arms length of him. Every fiber of his being cried out to strike Troyes down. But it was a fight he would lose unless his first blow killed the larger male. He hesitated, bound up in his father's teachings of non-violence. He could almost hear his father's voice saying 'Be strong in the Teachings. Those who live by violence, die by it.' The teachings were like cords of steel around him for an instant. Father, those who do not live by violence also die by it. You and the others are dead.
Troyes moved to Isranon's side, nuzzled his neck and Isranon could feel the faint prick of his fangs. Then Nevin's teachings, which had always run counter to his father, flashed through him with the revulsion of Troyes' touch, and Isranon knocked the sa'necari aside with his shoulder under Troyes' chin. Isranon kicked Troyes hard in the chest, landing him in the snow, and raised the hammer.
"Touch me and die," Isranon growled.
"You will regret this," Troyes said, rising to his feet, black energy forming around his fingers. "My brother had you. I'll have you. Willing or not."
"You'll have to kill me first."
"That can be arranged."
In the heat of the moment, they had not heard another rider approach.
"What happens here?" Nevin dismounted.
Troyes laughed, drew back the magic, and walked off.
Isranon found that he could suddenly breathe easier, and had not realized that his breathing before had been anything but steady. "Nothing."
Nevin frowned deeply, which made his scarred face a hideous mask. He touched Isranon's neck, bringing away a few drops of blood. "Nothing?"
Isranon's head came up and his shoulders straightened to a proud angle. "I can handle it."
"Arrogant pup. What if you can't?"
"I can handle it!" Isranon winced away from him as Nevin tried to turn him about to see into his eyes.
"Sooner or later, pup, you're going to have to talk to me."
"When I'm ready." I am not going to endanger the clan by making this their business. If Troyes forces a confrontation with them, it will not be because of me. Merissa, what would they do if they knew you were sleeping with Troyes? He picked up the other end of the rail and went back to nailing it in place.
* * * *
Nevin watched Troyes closely. Granted, with winter still socking the valley in, there was little space in the Great House for Isranon to completely avoid the sa'necari, but Nevin suspected far more was going on there than either of them let on. He sat before the fire in the common sitting room, oiling his blades with a soft cloth.
The clan had never been fond of the sa'necari who ruled Waejontor and, when King Baaltrystan lost two-thirds of his kingdom to Shaurone in the aftermath of the war, they had hoped that meant they would no longer have to deal with them. However, that had not proven to be the case. Their valley had become one of the first way stations that Baaltrystan established in the occupied territories. The Waejontori had no intention of either allowing Shaurone to retain possession of those lands or to cease in their attempts to take Shaurone itself. They maintained an uneasy accommodation with Baaltrystan. They did not want the Waejontori to come raging through their valley from their citadels hidden deeper within the higher mountains, nor did they wish for the Sharani to find their valley, which nestled in the rocky warrens of the mountains. After all these years the Sharani were still exploring and mapping. They had become cautious where the Lionhawk had been bold, slamming through their lands with the fury of an autumn storm.
What fools they had been to exile that one. The Lionhawk would have found this farm and many others, Nevin thought.
Nevin watched Merissa exclaiming over a bracelet Troyes had purchased for her at the nearest village. Troyes smiled and his hand stole over hers. The sa'necari seemed to be courting Merissa, and Nevin might have believed it had he not seen the way that Troyes' eyes kept sliding across to Isranon. Everything about Troyes set Nevin's neck hairs to standing. Mephistis had told that male to move on, but he hadn't. Nevin was close to deciding to have a talk with Claw about it.
Isranon had a book open on his lap, but seemed to be paying very little attention to it. The youth was watching Merissa and Troyes over the edge of it. Nevin could see the way his eyes moved. Finally he snapped it shut and left. Nevin rose and followed him.
"Can I talk to you?" Nevin asked as Isranon started to close his sitting room door.
Isranon had an odd look in his eyes, almost pained. He swept his hand at the chairs around a small table. "Yes."
Nevin sat down and leaned forward on his elbows, studying the youth who took a chair opposite him. An unlit branch of candles and a bottle of red wine with a pair of glasses flanking it sat in the center of the table. Nevin wondered who had been here last to drink with the youth, deciding after a moment's consideration that he probably shared it with the nibari who sometimes spent the night with him. "May I?"
Isranon immediately poured them both a glass. "What did you want to discuss?"
Nevin rolled the wine around on his tongue. It was very good wine. Aisha had given Isranon a bottle of her best vintage. "What I keep seeing in your face."
"Why are there no gods for me?"
Nevin had expected to have that delayed talk about Troyes and the question caught him off guard. The boy had always stayed away from such subjects and Nevin suspected it came from his father's teachings. Isranon was an odd mix of experience and naiveté, of courage and vulnerability. Some things had changed about him, but not nearly as much as Nevin had expected. "Are you asking me as a lawgiver or as a friend?"
"Both."
Nevin heard the tiny catch in Isranon's voice. "Most lycans are neutrals, as you know. We worship and pray to the ancestors to intervene on our behalf. I have no personal knowledge of much that lies beyond this valley, but only such records as we have kept. It may well be that some of our folk have turned to the gods and it may be that they have not. That would be a private choice. There's a Willodarian priest, Tempest Anstey who has a shrine on the east side, and some of our people go to services there."
"I'm talking about me, Nevin. Did my family go to hell despite all of their kindness and gentleness?"
Nevin nodded, pulling at his split upper lip. "It is the belief of the lawgivers that all sa'necari born go either to the nethergod's hells of punishment or to those of the Hellgod himself who rewards his servants for what we would term their misdeeds. It is much a matter of how they died that determines which one trapped their souls."
"Then what was the use? What was the use for all that my family suffered for their belief?" Isranon's voice started to break, his eyes filled, and the last part of his statement came out in a croaking whisper. "Generation after generation hunted down and killed because they would not participate in the rites, their powers barely formed because of it. What was the use?"
Nevin rose and wrapped his arms around the youth, holding him tightly and listening to him sob. Nevin waited until the worse was over before speaking again. "I cannot believe that a truly just god, as they say the Gods of Light are, and even the nethergod is, would condemn a good mon on the basis of what he was born alone. Now what set this off?"
"Troyes. I want to kill him. Those feelings make me ashamed. And yet he will not stop touching me at every chance. My body fills me with such revulsion when he does that. I did not want to say anything."
"It's okay, pup. It's okay. I already knew." Nevin almost suggested nesting with him. The lycans were into non-sexual comfort nesting, especially among the bachelor males, and the comfort of bodies, of touch was important to him. But Nevin no longer trusted himself with Isranon, for holding him then, the scarred wolf realized that he had fallen in love with the youth that Isranon had become. And that was wrong. The mentor should not fall in love with the student.
* * * *
Merissa curled up on her bed, staring out the window. "Isranon," she sighed.
When she was away from Troyes, she wondered at what she was doing by spending nearly
every night in his bed, slipping in after the household slept and out again before it woke. He was always snide with her if she missed a night other than on her moons and he could Read her body to see if she was lying about them. Isranon had caught her a second time and the pain in his eyes had hurt her.
Troyes entered without bothering to knock and she looked up at him. He was dressed for riding. "Get your clothes on. I have something to tell you, but not here."
Merissa closed her curtains and dropped her nightgown, going to her closet and selecting a split skirt and blouse. Troyes ran his eyes over her hungrily and she flushed.
"Don't wear anything underneath," he told her.
Merissa nodded. When Troyes took her riding it was simply to find a safe place beyond the house where he could get inside her again. She wanted to weep. This was not at all what she had expected a love affair to be like. He gave her no choice in their coupling, and it always took him so long to spill his seed that he left her tender inside. Day after day until it felt as she could hardly bear to walk.
Troyes fingered her between the legs as she stepped into the skirt and then bit her on the nipple. "Dress quickly. The horses are already saddled."
Then he settled into a chair to watch her dress.
The myn were already out with the herds when Troyes and Merissa finally walked into the barn. He swung her up into the saddle, then mounted and rode out into the yard.
"Going riding again?"
Merissa started at her father's voice. She had thought him to be out with others. "Yes, father. I don't like riding alone, you know. Troyes was kind enough to offer to go with me."
Claw frowned deeply, his brushy black brows drawing together. "Used to be Isranon."
"Isranon has other things on his mind," Merissa said.
"Your daughter is safe with me," Troyes said, his lip curled into a sneer. "Safer than with that half-a-mon."
"That half-a-mon has honor. What do you have, sa'necari?"
Troyes dipped his shoulders. "Ethics."
"Then see that you observe them with my daughter." Claw turned away and stalked into the house.