The Captive

by Amanda Ashley

  The days passed quickly, too quickly. And soon the day of the wedding was upon her.

  Ashlynne looked at herself in the mirror, and grimaced. The dress Zahara had chosen was green. Puke green, she thought, with a short, matching veil and soft-soled slippers.

  A short time later, she stood beside Niklaus, fighting the urge to vomit as she spoke the words that made her his wife. It was like a nightmare, only worse. There would be no waking up from this one. Tomorrow and tomorrow she would still belong to Niklaus.

  It would have been the happiest day of her life if the man standing beside her had been Falkon.

  Falkon. Pain twisted through her heart whenever she thought of him. She had begged Niklaus to let her see him again, but he had adamantly refused. The last time she had asked, he had threatened to activate the controller if she bothered him about “that man” again.

  And now she was Mrs. Niklaus Hassrick. She stood in his arms, stiff and unyielding, he lifted her veil and claimed his first kiss as her lord and husband.

  “Smile.” He hissed the word at her as they left the church.

  She did as he told her, smiling and laughing like a robot as she accepted the congratulations of those who had been invited to the wedding.

  Later, she sat beside him at the lavish twelve course dinner that followed the ceremony, danced the first dance with him, the second with her new father-in-law. She accepted more congratulations and good wishes, and all the while she was dying inside.

  It was near dawn when the party ended. Exhausted and sick at heart, Ashlynne followed Niklaus up the stairs to his chambers, which occupied the third floor of the house.

  She stood in the middle of the sitting room. It was a masculine room, decorated in shades of dark brown and rust. There was a tele-screen on one wall, a shelf filled with old books and an antique clock. There was a large basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne on the marble topped table beside the sofa.

  “Sit down, my dear,” Niklaus said. He removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair.

  She sat on the edge of the luxurious leather couch, unable to still the trembling in her hands.

  Niklaus sat down across from her. Opening the wine, he poured a glass and handed it to her.

  She didn’t want it, but she drank it anyway, hoping it would calm her nerves.

  “Relax, my dear.” He leaned back, his legs stretched before him, one arm flung over the back of the chair. “You needn’t worry. I’ve no intention of bedding you.”

  Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he laughed softly. “I’m afraid I’ve no taste for another man’s leavings.”

  “Then why did you marry me?”

  “All in good time, my dear. You look tired. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  She didn’t question him, didn’t care at that moment why he had he had been so determined to marry her. All she wanted was to be alone. She put her glass on the table and stood up, then hesitated. “Where should I sleep?”

  “Never let it be said that my manners are lacking where my new bride is concerned. Please, take my bed. I’ll use the couch.”

  With a nod, she left the room.

  * * * * *

  Falkon paced the dark cell. Today was Ashlynne’s wedding day. Hassrick had visited him earlier to make sure he knew.

  He stared into the darkness, wondering if Hassrick intended to leave him down here in isolation until he went slowly insane.

  Weeks and weeks of darkness, relieved only when one of the servants brought his meals. Oppressive darkness, so heavy at times he felt like it was smothering him. Nothing to see. Nothing to do. He had lost track of time, didn’t know if it was day or night. Only the arrival of food broke the endless monotony, and even then he was left to eat in darkness.

  It was her wedding day. Was she alone with her new husband now? Sharing his bed? The thought burned through, eating at his soul like acid. She was his. His, dammit! She carried his child. What right did Hassrick have to marry her?

  He drove his fist into the wall again and again, a wordless cry of jealousy and rage rising in his throat, emptying into the darkness.

  The sound of his own scream jolted him back to sanity. Pain exploded through his hand, up his arm. He cradled his wounded hand, feeling the warmth of his blood fill his palm. Stupid, he thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  Filled with bitter despair, he sank down on the cot and closed his eyes. Ashlynne, forever lost to him.

  * * * * *

  Her hands were still trembling as she removed her wedding gown. In spite of Niklaus’ declaration that he didn’t want her, she had locked the door.

  Naked, she stood in front of the mirror, one hand splayed across her belly. Falkon’s child was in there. Falkon. She closed her eyes, wondering if she would ever see him again. Niklaus intended to use Falkon to keep her in line. She stared at her reflection, her eyes widening as a new thought occurred to her. She would do what Niklaus asked, but with one proviso. She would insist on seeing Falkon. She would tell Niklaus that she had to see Falkon so that she would know he was still alive. She would insist on seeing him once a week, just to make sure.

  The thought of seeing Falkon again made her smile. She had thought of him all day, wished it had been him standing beside her when she spoke her vows.

  Slipping on the pale blue nightgown Zahara had chosen for her bridal night, Ashlynne crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, and in her mind Falkon was there beside her, his arms warm around her, his eyes dark with desire…

  * * * * *

  She woke to find her bags packed and breakfast waiting.

  “You’ll have to hurry,” Hassrick said. “Our flight leaves in an hour.”

  She blinked up at him. He hadn’t made any mention of a honeymoon, nor did she want one. “Where are we going?”

  “Tierde.”

  “Today?”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  “Wait.” She sat up, holding the covers over her breasts. “What about Number Four?”

  “What about him?”

  “Is he going with us?”

  “No.”

  “I won’t go without him.”

  “You are my wife now,” he reminded her. “And you will do as I say.”

  “He belongs to me, and I won’t go without him.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully for several moments, and then nodded. “Perhaps it would be wise to bring him along. Hurry now.”

  * * * * *

  Falkon blinked against the morning light. For the first time in months, he was outside again. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of fresh air, of earth and grass. He didn’t know what Hassrick had planned for him, and at the moment, he didn’t care as long as it got him out of that dark hole.

  A shuttle waited in front of the house. Hassrick’s bodyguards stood nearby.

  One of them opened the back door and motioned Falkon inside.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Hassrick. “Where are we going?”

  “Get in.”

  “Where’s Ashlynne?” he asked, then reeled back as Hassrick struck him across the face, the heavy ring on his left hand slicing into his cheek.

  “You will not speak my wife’s name again,” Hassrick said. “Now, do as you were told.”

  Anger boiled up inside Falkon. There was little he could do with his hands shackled, yet he had an overpowering urge to try, and only the sight of Ashlynne coming down the stairs kept him from attacking. By Jupiter’s rings, she looked like an angel. She wore a dress of some clingy pink material that outlined every curve. Her hair was coiled atop her head and held in place by a jeweled clip; one long curl fell over her shoulder.

  She stopped near Hassrick. “What’s going on?” she asked, nodding in Falkon’s direction. “What happened to him?”

  “A little discipline is all,” Hassrick retorted. “Get in. We’re late.”

  One of the bodyguards shoved Falkon into the backseat and sat dow
n beside him. The second bodyguard took the other side. Hassrick activated the shackles on his feet.

  Moments later, they were speeding through the city toward the space dock.

  * * * * *

  Ashlynne settled herself in her seat. Pulling a palm-sized portareader from her pocket, she selected a book and pretended to read, but the words on the screen were a blur. She was going home, only her home was gone, her parents were gone, and she was as much a prisoner as Falkon. She had dared not protest when Hassrick locked him in the cargo hold. She could still see the angry cut on his cheek, the blood dripping from the wound, the barely restrained anger in his eyes. She had to be careful, for both of them.

  The Hassrick cruiser was sleek and fast. Hassrick rode up front, with the pilot, leaving her blessedly alone.

  Now that it was too late, it occurred to her that she might have made a serious mistake in insisting Falkon go with them to Tierde. In her anxiety to have Falkon with her, she had forgotten that Drade was waiting on Tierde.

  They arrived at Enjine Base Nine late that night. Hassrick had called ahead and made arrangements for a room. Ashlynne bit back her protest when Falkon was taken to the detention level, telling herself it would only be for one night.

  Their room was small, just a bedroom with bathing facilities adjoining, nothing like Commander Casman’s lavish quarters. She undressed in the bathroom, then slipped under the covers of one of the twin beds.

  She could hear Hassrick’s voice coming from the bathroom, though she couldn’t distinguish the words. She wondered who he was talking to so late, but she didn’t really care. Tomorrow they would be back at the mine. She didn’t want to see it again, didn’t want to be reminded of what had happened there, of all she had lost.

  With a sigh, she burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes, wondering if the nightmare would ever end.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The mine looked much as she remembered. The buildings which had been destroyed had been replaced. There was a new domicile for the mine manager; new cells for the slaves. For there were slaves. Almost a dozen of them.

  The slaves emerged from the bowels of the mine just as they arrived, eleven men fitted with the heavy collars that marked them as slaves, their faces and bodies covered with layers of fine black baneite dust.

  The prisoners came out of the mine one by one and made their way to the cells, looking neither right nor left. It bothered her, their complete lack of interest in what was going on around them.

  A guard trailed behind them, closing the cell doors, which locked automatically.

  She slid a glance at Falkon, who was standing beside her, his hands securely shackled. She could feel the tension radiating from him as he contemplated returning to the mine. She had pleaded with Niklaus to let Falkon work up at the house, but he had adamantly refused.

  “We have servants,” he had replied coldly. “We don’t need a dirty slave.”

  She heard Falkon swear softly, turned to follow his gaze.

  A tall man with cropped brown hair and pale brown eyes was striding toward them. He moved with the pride and arrogance that seemed to be characteristic of all military men, whatever their allegiance.

  She recognized him immediately as the man she had seen interviewed on the tele-screen. Drade. The man behind the attack on Falkon’s home.

  A smile broke over Drade’s face when he saw Falkon. “Niklaus!” he exclaimed. “You’ll get a fat reward for bringing him in.”

  Hassrick grinned as he shook the other man’s hand. “I’m counting on it.”

  Drade laughed good-naturedly. “You should have it by the end of the week. Not that you need it.”

  “Excuse me,” Ashlynne said, “but Number Four belongs to me.”

  Niklaus glared at her.

  Drade lifted one brow. “And who is this?”

  “My wife. Ashlynne, this is Drade. He’s been looking after the mine.”

  “Ah, Lady Hassrick, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Number Four belongs to my family.”

  Drade smiled expansively. “Be that as it may, he’s an escaped slave.”

  “How can that be,” she asked quietly, “seeing as how he is here?”

  Drade looked at Hassrick and grinned. “A good point.”

  “He was never an escaped slave,” Ashlynne said. “When we were attacked, he escorted me to safety. I would not be here today if it weren’t for his loyalty and devotion. I will not have him executed.”

  Niklaus took Drade aside. Ashlynne could not hear their words, but she had the feeling that Niklaus was telling Drade that it was necessary to keep Falkon alive.

  “Very well,” Drade said. “We’ll pretend he’s not here.” He clapped Niklaus on the back. “I’m afraid that means you can’t claim the reward.”

  Niklaus’ smile seemed to fade a little around the edge as he muttered, “As you said, I don’t need it.”

  “Indeed.”

  A look that could only be called conspiratorial passed between the two men.

  “Well,” Niklaus said, “we’ll leave him in your capable hands.”

  “Don’t worry about Number Four,” Drade replied. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  Was it her imagination, or was there a very real threat in those words? But she had no time to wonder. Taking her by the arm, Niklaus led her to a waiting shuttle and hurried her inside.

  She looked out the window, her gaze lingering on Falkon, wondering if she would ever see him again.

  * * * * *

  Ashlynne stared at the house, unable to believe her eyes. “How?” she asked. “When?”

  “Men working round the clock,” Hassrick replied.

  She shook her head. A new house stood where hers had been. A bigger house, three stories high, surrounded by a high wall.

  The windows were of Hodorian stained glass, very rare, very expensive. The grounds were landscaped with exotic plants and flowering shrubs. A large swimming pool had replaced the lake she had loved. She saw a new barn in the distance.

  “Well, shall we go in?”

  She nodded, amazed that he had built a house so quickly. He had hired a staff, too, a cook, a maid, a housekeeper, someone to tend the grounds, a groom to look after the three horses that had been sent ahead. She nodded as he introduced her to the staff. The cook was a grim-faced man named Ogger, the housekeeper looked like she had just graduated from school. She was young and pretty, with long red hair and slanted brown eyes. Ashlynne wondered, fleetingly, if Hana was there to do more than tidy up the place.

  Niklaus followed her as she went from room to room. It was a large spacious house, beautifully furnished, but she knew it would never be home. She remembered her parents’ house, the cozy fireplace, the sense of security she had known there. Her bedroom had been filled with the treasures of her youth. She felt old now, lost and alone.

  Her rooms were located on the south end of the second floor. His were at the other end of the house.

  “I’ll see you at dinner,” Niklaus said. “Drade will be joining us.”

  With a nod, she closed the door to her room. The tears came then, hot swift tears that did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.

  * * * * *

  Falkon stood at the door of his cell, staring out into the compound. The new cells were no better than the old ones. They were just as small, just as dark. The only improvement was that he now had a hard narrow cot to sleep on instead of a hard dirt floor. Of all the rotten luck, he thought bitterly. Not only was he back at the mine, but Drade was in charge, at least temporarily.

  Drade, who strutted around like some little tin god. Drade, who was sure to make his life a living hell. A living hell that started at dawn the following morning.

  Breakfast was the same as always: a hunk of dark bread, a bowl of gruel, and a cup of the hot bitter brew so dear to the heart of the Romarians.

  He was given a quarter of an hour to eat and relieve himself, and then the manacles on his wrists
were activated and he was ordered out of his cell. When all the slaves were assembled, they were herded into the mine.

  He kept his face carefully blank as he passed Drade and ducked into the shaft’s opening.

  The underground cavern was enormous, lit here and there by small lamps that offered only enough light to work by. The black crystals, so precious to the Confederation, did not come easy. The ground was broken with a pulse axe, and then the crystals were dug out of the earth by hand. It was dirty, back-breaking work. The crystals were large and heavy, yet for all that, they were amazingly fragile.

  The slaves toiled in the mine from dawn ‘til noon, at which time they were given a break for the mid-day meal, and then it was back to work until dark. Seven days a week. A world without sun, without warmth. Without her.

  During the next two days, he watched the comings and goings of the guards. There were fewer now than there had been before. As far as he could tell, there were only four guards on the premises; two who watched over the prisoners while they toiled in the mine, and two who patrolled the compound at night.

  He had been in the mine just over a week when one of the slaves went berserk. With an inhuman shriek, he hurled himself at one of the guards. The results were immediate, and fatal.

  The slave dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. A shrill scream erupted from his throat as pain shot through his body while the collar around his throat slowly strangled the life from his body.

  The guard pointed at Falkon. “You. Haul his carcass out of here.”

  Wordlessly, Falkon grasped the dead man by the ankles and dragged him out of the mine. Emerging from the bowels of the cavern, he paused a moment, basking in the warmth of the sun on his face.

  “What’s going on?”

  Squinting against the sunlight, Falkon saw Drade striding toward him.