“Twotch.” Another slap. This one left her ears ringing and almost sent her to the ground. Her heart beat faster. Why?
He loomed over her. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. “How many men have spread your legs?”
She counted. “Three. Lance, Claudius and you. Though Lance didn’t rape me.”
Nir raised his hand again, but then stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Is this a trick? Do you want me to beat you so that you’ll miscarry and be free?”
“No,” Sara said.
Nir turned to Wettar. “Let me see this contract.”
Wettar handed him the sheaf of papers. Nir unrolled it, then waved his hand, dismissing them.
Weattar bowed deeply, took Sara’s arm and towed her away. Sara’s steps dragged. She was Nir’s slave. Shouldn’t she stay with him?
“Are you insane?” Wettar hissed once they’d left the stable. “Why did you bait him like that?”
Sara didn’t know what he meant so she ignored the question. Her stomach rumbled, and the baby moved, as if startled. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes, yes, you’ll have your breakfast. But first you listen to me.” Wettar put his face close to hers. “If you think your contract can protect you from Nir’s temper, consider this—paper makes a very flimsy shield.”
* * *
Lance wiped flecks of itchy sweat and grime from his forehead. Despite his pounding headache, satisfaction swelled his chest. The sword he’d forged was just a simple blade and a tang, but once the pommel was wrapped in leather it would make a sturdy weapon.
He stretched—his back ached from working over the anvil. This sword had used the last of their iron, and there were no raids planned for the next few days. He was fully justified in leaving camp for a while.
Lance smothered the tiny flicker of guilt he felt over Edvard. He would make a decision soon on the matter of rebreaking his legs, but Sara and the babe took precedence.
A full week had passed since he and Sara parted ways. He wondered what changes her pregnancy would have made to her body. Would he be able to feel the babe kick? Anticipation hummed in his bones at the thought of seeing her again.
Chapter Seventeen
Sara caught Nir watching her again. He sat atop his steed a little off the road, the plumes on his helmet making him appear even taller, his red cloak draped over his shoulders and his breastplate gleaming.
A Legion marching was like moving a whole town. Two-thirds of the cavalry rode out front, then the main column of infantry, then Governor Drencis’s carriage, the wagons, and slaves in the tail, followed by the rest of the cavalry. Sara paid no heed to the mounted centurions and messengers who moved constantly up and down the column. Nir’s brooding gaze, in contrast, felt like a heavy hand.
She waited, chest strangely tight, but after a moment, he urged his horse into a trot and moved off.
Sara started walking again. She was accustomed to travelling all day, but that was with Lance there to heal her. Today, each step caused its own symphony of pain, especially between her legs.
By the noon meal the sky had grown overcast and her aches had faded somewhat. Wettar handed her two dried figs and some stale bread. Throat dry, Sara sought out the trickle of water where several legionnaires had paused to let their horses drink.
The rising wind whipped her hair around her ears as she knelt and drank from her cupped hands. One of the horses, a brown gelding with good lines, flapped its lips in her direction, and she heard the rattle of a sword. Without looking, she knew Nir had found her again.
She calmly finished drinking, then straightened.
Nir stood very close. “Thinking about stealing a horse? Go ahead. I’ll even give you a head start before I chase you down.” His nostrils flared, his muscles coiled.
Sara had been thinking about riding the horse. She liked riding horses. But she shook her head, not the least bit tempted to try to escape. “I am your slave.”
Nir scowled and stalked away. When the Legion started out again, Nir put Cassia up in front of him on his saddle. He stared at Sara while groping the blonde’s breasts.
* * *
That evening Sara and Cassia served in the legate’s tent. Nir’s Legion had joined up with the Fourth Legion, and with Nir, Governor Drencis, the legate, ten centurions and four aides to scribble notes and figure on their abacuses, the large leather tent was quite crowded.
“The rebels have both Grasslander cavalry and Gotian archers,” a hook-nosed scribe reported. “Numbers are uncertain, but do not exceed one thousand men and even that is a very generous estimate.”
“If they’re such a small force why haven’t they been caught?” Nir asked bitingly. “They slaughtered the governor and his family on a villa not five miles from the Fourth Legion.” Nir stared at the Fourth Legion’s legate with cold eyes.
The heavy-set older man flushed. “The garrison at the governor’s villa failed to alert us. I urged Lord Garius to build a signal tower to burn if they were attacked, but he ignored my suggestion—” he glanced meaningfully at Lord Drencis, who was stuffing his jowls with the meat skewers Sara had offered.
“But you did receive some sign of the attack.” Nir toyed with his dagger. “A rider from the villa?”
The legate’s face stayed red. He blustered. “The man died before he could tell us anything. The biggest racha I’ve ever seen brought him down.”
“And this didn’t strike you as strange?” Nir asked, glancing up. “A racha from the deserts of Qi appearing in northern Gotia?”
They meant Rhiain, Sara realized. They didn’t know she was a shandy.
“Well, yes, of course, I found it strange. But there was nothing to connect the incident with the rebels!”
Nir grunted. “And the beast?”
“It escaped into the forest, wounded. I sent men after it, but Diwo didn’t smile on them.”
“A follower of Nir doesn’t rely on the Goddess of Luck’s fickle favour,” Nir said, voice hard.
Silence.
Sara held out her tray to a centurion, but he ignored her.
“Did you identify the dead rider?” Nir asked.
A hesitation. “Not for several hours.”
“But you knew what direction he came from. Why didn’t you investigate his backtrail?”
Silence. The legate was perspiring so hard, Sara could smell the rank scent of sweat.
“I thought it best to concentrate on the immediate threat of the beast,” he said.
“How many men did you send after the racha?”
“Seven.”
“Seven. Out of the five thousand you command,” Nir said. Another long silence, during which no one wanted a meat skewer.
“I erred.” The legate trembled. “I see that now.”
“Yes, you did. Which is why I am taking personal command. From now on, you will take your orders from me.”
The legate bowed.
Nir turned back to the hook-nosed scribe. “Continue with your report.”
Finally, all the meat skewers were distributed. As instructed by Wettar, Sara offered wine next. Cassia spilled some on Sara’s bare foot, narrowly missing the hem of the white shift Wettar had insisted Sara change into.
By the second refill, the men began to pinch them. To Sara’s puzzlement, this made Cassia giggle and jump. Where was the humor in a small pain? And after the first two times, how could Cassia be surprised?
“I’ve compiled a list of places the rebels have already attacked.” The scribe unrolled a paper. “Except for the second attac
k at the bog, they have not revisited a target—”
Wine carafe empty, Sara received a platter of cheeses from a sanguon standing just outside the open tent flap. Suddenly realizing she was hungry, Sara selected a wedge of cheddar and popped it in her mouth. It tasted better than usual, sharp and flavorful. The sanguon stared at her with his mouth open, then frantically shook his head.
Sara paused, but when he didn’t explain himself, she began to make the rounds with the tray.
“—by the process of elimination, the rebels are most likely to attack the following locations next...” the hook-nosed scribe droned on.
The first five men scorned the cheese, so Sara ate another piece. Then another.
One of the brawny centurions across the room raised his eyebrows at her and made a sound that was half laugh, half cough.
Nir stared at him. “Yes?”
“I just wondered why Tolium isn’t on the list,” the centurion said, smiling. He had bright blue eyes.
“The rebels don’t have the forces to take the city,” the scribe said, frowning.
“But we’ve already established the rebels like to raid,” the centurion pointed out pleasantly.
“Since the rebels are Gotians, I doubt they’ll attack a Gotian city,” the scribe said acidly.
The centurion lifted his dark brows. “And Grasslanders. I did hear you right, earlier? You said their cavalry was made up of Grasslander barbarians.”
The scribe scowled. “Yes, but their leader is a Gotian. He’s rumoured to frequent Temples of Wine in the city.” The scribe looked anxiously at Nir. “In my opinion Tolium is a very remote possibility.”
“Continue.” Nir gestured with his fingers.
Sara knelt and offered Nir the tray of cheese.
He ignored her. By the time the scribe finished, Sara’s arms ached from holding the tray aloft. Though Nir never once glanced at her, Sara sensed he was perfectly aware of her. Wettar had instructed her to always wait until the men noticed her and declined before moving on, and to never interrupt.
So Sara locked her elbows and waited, while the ache in her arms turned to discomfort and then to pain, until it seemed every nerve from shoulder to wrist was afire. Her muscles began to tremble. The tray rattled slightly.
Nir stopped speaking and glanced at her with hooded eyes.
“Would my lord care for some cheese?” Sara asked.
“In a moment.” He returned to discussing ambush plans with his centurions. “The target needs to be both tempting and appear to be unguarded. This Fitch may try for a diversion, which we should appear to fall for before circling back around to smash him...”
Sara was amazed at how such a simple thing as holding a tray aloft could produce such high levels of pain. Both arms were trembling now. Sooner or later her muscles would give way.
Cassia made the round of the tent with a platter of grapes, offering them up with a dimpled smile. Nir took a handful, then dismissed her. Cassia shot Sara a significant look, swinging her hips as she walked away. Nir ate the grapes one by one, chewing thoughtfully, while his centurions discussed and discarded targets.
The brawny blue-eyed centurion looked at Sara with something akin to sadness. Pity, perhaps?
In a flash, Sara understood. Nir had no intention of either eating the cheese or declining it. He wanted her to drop the tray.
Why? If she dropped the cheese, it would be too dirty to eat, but if Nir didn’t want cheese all he had to do was decline it. Did he want to deprive someone else in the room? There were still half a dozen men who hadn’t partaken. But he’d let them eat grapes and meat skewers.
Inescapably, Sara concluded Nir’s action was aimed at her. So...what would happen to her when she dropped the platter?
She would be punished by either Wettar or Nir.
Sara still didn’t understand. She was a slave. Nir could hurt her anytime he wanted to. Why the elaborate charade?
Agony in her shoulders, shaking arms...The tray was rattling noticeably now, all eyes on her. Sara became convinced her arms couldn’t hold the tray aloft for ten heartbeats longer. Curious, she began to count.
She reached twenty-six before her spasming muscles failed. Her left arm gave way first. The tray tipped, cheese sliding off, then dropped to the floor.
The brawny centurion winced, but said nothing. Silence.
Nir turned his pale gaze on her. His lip curled. “Clumsy twotch. Clean. That. Up. I will deal with you later.”
By the time Sara picked up the last of the dirty cheese—her hands and arms didn’t want to work, nerves still sending up messages of pain—the meeting had ended. Sara suspected the meeting could have ended long before.
The tent had barely cleared before Nir crossed over to her and ground his sandal onto the last piece of cheese. “Well, slave, what excuse do you offer for your clumsiness?”
“None,” Sara said after a moment’s thought. The accident wasn’t caused by clumsiness.
The anticipation on his face turned to anger. He kicked over the tray. “Clean it up. On your hands and knees.”
Sara obeyed.
He kicked it over again. “Clumsy slave.” He kicked her, but in the thigh not her swelling stomach.
Sara cleaned up the cheese a third time, then a fourth, garnering two more bruises in the process.
Nir loomed over her. “Have you learned your lesson yet, slave?” Spittle flew from his lips.
“Yes.”
“What have you learned?”
“That you seek excuses to beat me. You wish to convince me that it’s possible to avoid pain by altering my behavior. This is untrue. My behavior has nothing to do with your decision to hurt me.” Sara saw it quite clearly. Cassia and Wettar both strove to please him, but it couldn’t be done, because Nir didn’t want to be pleased.
From his scowl and harsh breathing, Sara deduced her answer hadn’t pleased him either.
* * *
The muscles in Nir’s throat corded, his head thrown back in a death’s head rictus that looked more like pain than pleasure as he finished rutting on her. Nor did he relax for more than a dozen heartbeats. Instead his eyes slitted open, and he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. “You’re hiding from me again. I warned you,” he rasped.
Although she was naked, Nir had kept his clothes on this time and only shoved his leathers up so his penis sprang free. His leather armor creased her skin, and his weight compressed her ribcage.
“I’m not hiding,” Sara denied.
His hand tightened in her hair. “All this time I thought it was your body I wanted, but I was wrong. I want your trembling fear and subjugation. You may think your precious contract protects you, but it doesn’t. I will have all of you, Sarathena.”
His eyes bored straight into hers, waking a strange urge to look away. Sara didn’t understand the impulse, so she didn’t give in, returning his stare.
“You’re a slave, my slave.” He bared his teeth. “I think you need a reminder.” He climbed off her aching body, strode to the doorflap of the tent and bellowed, “Wettar!”
“Yes, my lord?” Wettar couldn’t have been far away. He answered immediately, shaven head bowed.
Had he stayed close in case Nir tried to choke her again?
“I’ve been remiss.” Nir sneered. “My new slave hasn’t yet been branded. Heat the irons.”
Wettar bobbed his head and hurried off.
Nir turned back to Sara. “Dress yourse
lf, twotch.”
Silently, Sara donned the white shift. It now had a large rip down the back from when Nir had torn it off her and gaped open at the bosom.
Nir dragged her out of the tent, his grip crushing her wrist. She trotted to keep pace.
Full night had fallen, but the Legion’s campfires dotted the rows of tents. Wettar bent in front of the largest fire, holding a branding iron by its wooden handle. “A few moments more, my lord,” he said.
Eight legionnaires sat on logs or crouched by the fire. Cassia was also there, sitting on the brawny blue-eyed centurion’s lap. He pushed her off when Nir came into view.
Nir didn’t seem to notice. He hauled Sara closer to the fire. Sweat began to prickle on her skin.
“My newest slave needs her brand,” Nir said and ripped the white shift from her shoulders again.
Why hadn’t he just left her naked in the first place? The man made no sense.
The brawny centurion winced, but the rest stared at her breasts and pubis. Cassia laughed.
“It’s ready,” Wettar said quietly a few moments later. He handed the red-hot brand to Nir.
Nir waved the brand in Sara’s face as if trying to attract her attention. The fierce heat singed her, and its brightness made her eyes water.
Nir bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “Where shall I brand you? Here?” He held the heart brand within two inches of her forehead.
Sara didn’t move. Sweat formed on her forehead and dripped into her eyes. She wondered if her hair would catch fire or just crisp to ash.
“Or perhaps here?” Nir moved the brand down to her breast, again holding it so close her skin reddened from the heat. Soon it would blister and bubble.
“Or maybe here.” The brand hovered over her hip bone.
If he branded her there he might hurt the baby.
Before Sara could take action, he moved it again. Now the brand floated close to her cheek. Then her breast again and her eyes.
Sara had seen slaves that Nir had branded, Cassia and Rochelle. She knew he would brand her in a place that was both highly visible and wouldn’t mar her beauty.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 30