by Jacinta Jade
Reorana. A warrioress. A Lady of Kaslon, a ruler, and one beloved by her people. She had lived during the Xarcon Wars, fighting for peace and justice throughout her lifetime.
Siray glanced down lovingly at the remarkable piece before looking up at Chezran again. ‘I cannot accept such a gift.’ She wasn’t being difficult. This necklace should be worn only by the very deserving, those who, like Reorana, had devoted their lives to a cause. Beside this necklace, Siray felt small and insignificant. Yet she also could not accept something like this, something that meant so much to her people, to those who fought for peace—from him.
The enemy.
‘I insist,’ Chezran said in a harder voice, his gaze darting past Siray and then back to her.
Siray bit her bottom lip. A subtle reminder of what she still had to lose if she did not accept this symbol of their new pact. Fine, she’d go along with this gesture, then wear the piece as little as possible.
She nodded once, tersely, and Chezran turned back to his soldier, offering him the box, the male obediently holding it as his lord removed the valuable piece. Chezran pivoted back around to face Siray, the metal of the necklace gleaming where the gold swirls caught the bright sunlight.
‘If you would,’ he said, nodding at her to turn.
Siray paused for an instant before complying but then reluctantly turned, reaching up with a hand to sweep aside her long braid, which had mostly come loose from her recent activities. She felt the air shift behind her as Chezran stepped closer, although his movements themselves were soundless.
As the lord’s arms came around her neck, Siray stiffened—both a reaction to being in such a vulnerable position before an enemy and due to the oddness of being in such an intimate position with someone who repulsed her.
Baindan was glaring over her shoulder at Chezran, his expression promising death to the lord for daring to touch her.
Meanwhile, Chezran was lowering the pendant into the hollow of Siray’s throat. ‘Together we will do great things,’ he murmured as the jewel made contact with her skin. The lord’s hands shifted as they brought the two ends of the necklace together at the back of her neck to do up the clasp. ‘Especially now that you’re one of us.’
Click.
Something surged through Siray’s body, and she looked up at Baindan in alarm, her gaze flicking first to his face and then to his wrist. Where the silver band that had stopped him from Changing was still clamped.
A band that perhaps had only a fraction of the power of the piece she now wore …
Siray’s first impulse was to whirl away from Chezran and rip the necklace from her neck, but a cold feeling was sweeping through her. Numbing her. And her body would not respond to her will.
‘Siray? What is it?’ Baindan called to her, struggling against the grips of his guards.
He had seen her face in that instant. Seen the panic.
She wanted to tell him—tell him that somehow the necklace was inhibiting her, restricting her own will with its freezing touch.
But she couldn’t. Mentally, she strained against this new power settling over her, flowing through her, but it was like trying to fight against one of your own limbs—she couldn’t identify which part was her and which part was not.
And the feeling was growing, like she was being suffocated inch by inch.
‘Do you like my gift?’ Chezran asked quietly, his breath warm against the back of her neck.
And despite her own wants and impulses, despite the battle now waging in her mind, like a spectator in her own body, Siray felt herself turn back to face Chezran.
Felt the edges of her own mouth curl up in a slow, sensuous smile, a smile that was entirely new.
Then, in a slightly different voice, one even smoother than Chezran’s, with its own velvety quality, she said, ‘It’s perfect.’
The necklace swept away the final remnants of the old Siray.
PART TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ADMIRING THE NECKLACE she now wore, new Siraay heard a soft voice exclaim from behind her, ‘I don’t understand, what’s happening?’
Turning her head to peer over one shoulder as she continued to stroke the jewel that now lay glistening against her throat, Siraay saw her former friends giving her stunned looks. Genlie, she remembered, was the name of the female who had just spoken. She quirked her lips at them once more, enjoying their confusion, before she twisted away, dismissing them. They were beneath her now.
‘Come, my lovely, we have much to discuss.’ Chezran stepped to the side and swept a hand outwards, indicating that she should proceed him.
This pleased Siraay, and she gave the lord another slow smile before beginning to walk across the sands, her chin lifting as the Faction soldiers gave way before her in deference.
‘No!’
A desperate shout came from behind Siraay, and she turned smoothly, interested in what the commotion could be.
Chezran’s guards were struggling to restrain one of the male captives, the one with brown hair and grey eyes, and more soldiers were running to help.
‘What have you done to her?’ the male roared at Chezran, lunging forwards, even as his arms were pinned behind him.
A step behind Siraay, Chezran had also turned and was smiling. ‘I’ve simply allowed the best parts of her personality to come to the surface. If you worry for her safety, you needn’t—she will be well taken care of.’
Siraay felt Chezran’s hand slip around her waist to touch her lightly on the small of her back, a gesture that the stormy-eyed male couldn’t miss, making him renew his efforts to break free of those holding him.
Chezran’s head tilted slightly as he again considered the male. ‘I see you refuse to believe me. If you continue to fight, then I will need to let the captain deal with you.’
Something deep within Siraay twisted a little, and she remembered the male’s name. Baindan. All their names were coming back to her, as well as interesting facts about each of them.
She also knew that her old self had had strong feelings for this male, feelings that were now little more than an echo, and which would fade completely with time.
Reaching out, Siraay casually ran her fingertips over the broad shoulder of her new lord. ‘Do not bother threatening him,’ she said sweetly to Chezran. ‘He will fight for this body, for her, regardless of the punishment. Besides, he is a valuable soldier. I have seen him fight on many occasions.’ She swept her hand around to include Zale, Genlie, and Kovi. ‘As a unit, they will be unstoppable. And their friends will only strengthen them.’ She nodded her head back in the direction of the rest of the captives who were looking on from a distance, the three who had pushed their way to the front of the group clearly identifiable through the rows of Xarcon soldiers.
And they were clearly shocked by what they were seeing.
Wexner, Tamot, and Kinna, Siraay recalled.
Chezran looked at her thoughtfully for a moment and, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, turned back to address his men. ‘The lady is right. These four, and those three’—he nodded in the direction Siraay had indicated—‘put them all together, and put the special bands on them immediately. I want their training intensified too.’
A soldier who was apparently in charge of the others nodded, and done with the matter, Chezran twisted away.
Siraay turned with him, eager to leave the sands of the arena that had been her home for so many days and see more of this city that the male beside her controlled.
But behind them, the same male began shouting again. ‘Fight it, Siray! I know you! Don’t forget yourself! Fight it!’
When she didn’t turn or acknowledge Baindan at all, bored with his antics, he began shouting again.
‘Chezran, don’t you touch her! I’ll come for you, by the Mother–’
A muffled thud came from behind, cutting the male’s words off abruptly.
Siraay tilted her chin just enough to peer across at Chezran, arching an eyebrow.
&n
bsp; The lord smiled evenly at her. ‘He won’t be seriously hurt—just taught to be obedient.’
Siraay nodded, satisfied, and kept walking towards the door in the arena wall. She hated to see good resources wasted.
As she passed the large group of captives to her right, she was pleased that Chezran’s men were already herding the three captives she had identified towards the other end of the arena to be placed with the others.
Turning her head slightly, Siraay saw that a large majority of those soldiers who had packed into the arena earlier were now trailing after her and Chezran closely, their eyes alert, ready to do whatever their lord asked of them.
Ahead, the door to the tunnel leading from the arena was opened for them, and Chezran ushered her through.
Then he took the lead. ‘This way, my beauty.’
Siraay followed him willingly, appreciating the endearment while being amused by his use of the word ‘my’, and she paused when Chezran stopped before a section of the tunnel wall about halfway along.
The lord held up a hand to the males and females escorting them, and the squad halted promptly, filling the tunnel with silence once more.
Siraay watched, intrigued, as Chezran placed one hand on the wall at a particular spot, and pushed.
The wall, which was not actually a wall, folded away. Silently. Smoothly.
‘Welcome,’ Chezran said to her, in that drawling voice of his, ‘to Xarcon Palace.’
Xarcon. The home of those who had once fought against the other three cities … And which had reportedly been abandoned.
The Resistance, and, indeed, the ruling pair and council, are certainly inept in their intelligence gathering, Siraay thought, but then she swept aside those reflections for later consideration, turning her attention to what now lay revealed before her.
Smooth, dark stone swept out from the entrance of the doorway, reflecting the warm flickering light from numerous hanging candelabras, making it seem as if tiny fires were burning deep within the black stone.
Walls just as dark stood like distant sentries, bare until shining black steps beckoned upwards to a new landing.
Marvelling at the grand decor, Siraay stepped through the hidden entrance, yet as soon as her feet came down on the first polished black tile, she paused, looking down in distaste at the bloody rags she was wearing. And her filthy boots.
Chezran noted the look. ‘I have had clothes appropriate to your new station placed in your room for you, but I wish to show you something first.’
Gently taking her elbow, he escorted her up those gleaming steps, his own boots similarly reflecting the flickering candlelight, and guided her around a corner into an even larger reception area. Here, huge painted landscapes adorned the walls, their brilliant colours and the quality of the works breathtaking.
Chezran guided her to a particularly large canvas in an ornate golden frame. ‘The Rise of Xarcon,’ he said, proudly naming it.
Depicted by what must have been no one less than a master artist was a massive army pouring down over a hill, an angry torrent advancing in both animal and Kaslonian forms, ready to sweep away anything in their path. Before them, other figures were fleeing, while in the background, smoke rose from a city outlined against a setting sun in the distance.
The painting filled Siraay with awe, the attacking figures so real and vibrant that her body seemed to thrum. She wanted to join them, taste the victory that would be theirs.
For this painting depicted a middle point in the war, when the Xarconians had successfully taken down one city, Opanau, and were preparing to move on to the next.
Right before their downfall under the towers of the city of Tunet.
‘It is my hope that we will see such might rise again soon and finish what the first Xarconian lord attempted to do so many cycles ago.’
Siraay nodded and gave the painting one final appreciative glance before she turned to consider Chezran. ‘I would be interested to hear more about this plan of yours and my proposed role in it,’ she said carefully. ‘Interested’ was putting it lightly. But now that she was free—unchained from the immature and limited views of her previous self—she had to play a much smarter game to get what she wanted from this male.
Chezran smiled, and Siraay glimpsed a hint of the male within—a merciless, powerful male who was already a master of the game she was just beginning to play.
‘Of course,’ he crooned. ‘But first, let’s get you settled.’
Siraay heard footsteps behind her and turned her head just a little. Two female soldiers had halted at the bottom of the steps, somehow summoned by their lord, and were patiently awaiting his orders.
‘Your escorts will show you to your room, where you will find everything you need. The palace is yours to wander through, though I do hope you will join me for dinner later?’ Chezran tilted his head at her, his dark eyes again seeming to look for something in hers.
Siraay gave him a small, slow smile. ‘I think so.’
‘Excellent.’ Chezran started to turn away but paused, looking back over his shoulder. ‘And don’t take off my gift, my beauty. Not for anything. It will help you stay strong for what we need to do in the turns ahead.’
Siraay nodded again, and Chezran smiled with satisfaction once more before continuing on down the corridor, his cape lifting slightly behind him.
Then she turned around to look at her escorts, who straightened just a touch more as their new lady’s eyes took them in. ‘Lead on,’ she commanded the pair.
***
As Siraay followed the two females down a corridor and away from the landing, she continued to observe the decor of the palace. The paintings on the walls in the corridor were not as grand as the ones on the wide landing, but they were still a pleasure to look upon as she passed, each depicting a different scene of battle, the city of Xarcon—this city, she now knew—and the wide, ranging cliffs that framed the countryside around the region.
There was a good reason, Siraay thought, as to why the Xarconians had always been considered the hardiest of peoples out of the four cities.
Until the war, and its end, when nearly all of them had been wiped out.
Upon reaching an even larger reception area, which also appeared to house the main doors of the palace, Siraay’s escorts led her up a grand staircase made of the same polished black stone, the handrails glittering gold metal, and then guided her towards the left branch of the dividing stairs.
Siraay couldn’t help but pause to look out one of the large windows set into the wall on that section of steps, and she set her hands down on the waist-high flat stone as she stared through the glass and admired the view.
She could see a lower part of the structure jutting out below, but otherwise the palace wall on this side was flat, almost aligned to the edge of the cliffs, which fell away further still. Waves crashed at the base of the bluffs, and Siraay could hear the faint cries of purple seagliders as they used the eddies of air to sail along the wall of the palace and dive along the sheer rock face, their taloned wings useful for slashing at prey hiding in the crags.
She brushed a dirty strand of red hair away from her face as she titled her head this way and that, to observe as much of the palace’s positioning as possible, silently approving its location.
This side would be impenetrable from nearly all attacks, and Siraay could see by the fierce movements of the water amongst the rocks below that any sea vessel that was foolish enough to attempt such an endeavour would find its own end swiftly enough.
If the Resistance would use technology against them, it might be different, of course. But they wouldn’t, because the sea was technically out of the city’s bounds, and thus the very idea would go against everything they stood for in trying to preserve the world outside of their cities.
Siraay smirked through the glass at the world beyond. From her history lessons, she knew the Xarconians held to the same culture as other Kaslonians, but they weren’t afraid to bend the rules a little in their fa
vour.
She looked down and touched the pendant lying against her chest, its purple brilliance mirroring the colour of the afternoon sky. Never had she felt so clearheaded, so sure of what needed to be done.
She dropped her hand and turned from the window, moving back to the left branch of the stairs, and starting climbing. Her escorts, both of sturdy builds, one with brown hair the other with black, waited silently near the top of the stairs, standing like pillars to either side of the top landing, awaiting their lady’s pleasure.
As Siraay approached the top of the staircase, noting that there was still yet another floor above this one, her escorts both turned silently and began to move once more ahead of her down another corridor, this one wide enough that four soldiers could have marched shoulder to shoulder along it without touching the sides.
Siraay’s dirt-encrusted boots made almost no noise against a lush carpet that ran the length of that hallway, its hue such a deep blue it was almost black, with sets of double and single doors positioned infrequently at intervals along the hall like mysterious sentinels.
Although tempted to stop and explore this unknown, but impressive, residence, Siraay’s distaste for her current attire overwhelmed the fleeting inclination, and with each passing moment, the longing to rip the soiled clothes from her body grew stronger.
How Chezran could have bared to touch her while she wore such filthy rags to place that stunning necklace about her neck, she didn’t know.
Siraay was trying to determine the sheer size of the palace when her escorts finally halted and positioned themselves to either side of a double door set into the wall at the far end of the corridor. One of them rapped on the door smartly with a knuckle before resuming a position of alertness.
The doors were quickly opened by a light-haired female, this one a young servant about Siraay’s age, who moved aside from the doorway to give a small dip of her head as she curtsied. ‘Welcome, my lady,’ she greeted, keeping her face down.
Siraay lifted her chin and strode into the room, walking several paces forwards until she stood in the centre of the elegant space. Towards one wall, three steps ran the length of the room, effectively dividing a third of the area off on a different landing, upon which was centred a beautiful round bed. Just looking at the velvety pillows and silky-smooth sheets piled with blankets made Siraay want to throw herself down upon it to feel that softness against her skin.