“But Fitch isn’t high priest of Nir.” Or even a priest.
“Not yet,” the redhead said smugly. “But his attraction to Jazor means the God of War favours him strongly. Much more so than—” she broke off, suddenly looking frightened.
More so than the current high priest. Which reminded Lance. “Since Fitch is occupied, perhaps you could take me to the woman in need of healing. I am a priest of Loma.”
Her long-lashed eyes widened. “I thought the Goddess had only priestesses.”
Another bizarre custom. “Not always.” Lance waited.
She bit her lip, somehow managing to make even a nervous mannerism look erotic. “Very well. This way.”
Lance followed her swaying backside deeper into the temple, right past the altar at the center. Vellum-thin screens had been placed around it, and lamps blazed inside, turning the man and woman on the altar into a giant shadow play.
The shadow woman arched and moaned as the shadow man licked her upthrust breasts and—Well. Lance turned quickly away, his cheeks heating.
The redhead paused to watch the shadow lovemaking, her breasts heaving again.
“Where’s the hurt woman?” Lance asked. Spying another door, he headed in that direction.
“Why will you not watch?” the redhead asked as she hurried to catch up. “It is a thing of beauty, a most holy ritual—”
“Is that what they tell you when they feed you jazoria and make you bed down with any stranger who has the coin?” Lance asked. “That it’s beautiful and holy?”
Her eyes widened with outrage. “Ignorant barbarian! They’re reenacting the union of the Goddess of Beauty with the God of War.”
“At its best that—” he pointed to the screens “—is lust, not love. At its worst, it’s degrading.”
It reminded him of Madam Lust. Of how his father had been forced to pleasure their slave owner to save Wenda.
Her lips pressed together in offended silence, and she whisked faster down the back halls.
From behind some of the doors came shouts of merriment or groans of passion. In one place, the crack of a whip. Lance slowed, but then he saw the guards stationed at various points in the hall, listening for signs of distress. So Jazor did take some precautions to ensure her acolytes’ safety. And was it really his place to lecture anyone? Perhaps the stories helped the redhead tolerate the unthinkable. “My apologies—” he started.
She turned on him, eyes flashing. “Other temples may be places without beauty, places where women submit to men or are so hazed with jazoria they’d bed an animal. But this temple is blessed in its priestess. Here, cruel men are refused, and no act is without desire on both sides.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she flung open the door to a storeroom full of odds and ends: a rolled up Qiph carpet, a carved wooden screen with peepholes, a chest bulging with brightly coloured dresses, and a huge four-poster bed that took up most of the room. Wigs decorated the bottom bedposts and chains dangled from the other two. Heavy red curtains swathed the window. A dim figure on the bed shifted restlessly under the linen sheet.
Lance sat down on the bed and gently took the slave’s hand. He tensed as the Goddess of Mercy entered him. Since finding out about the baby’s soul, he’d healed only twice and those small ills. He tried to suppress his sense of betrayal, but it sat in his gut like a rock. He could not bring himself to pray.
Loma laid Her infinitely compassionate hands over his without a word of rebuke.
As Lance took in the extent of the woman’s injuries, anger uncurled inside him. The brand was the worst he’d seen, scorched through layers of skin and crusted with pus, but that wasn’t all. Bruises ringed her throat, her torso and legs were similarly dotted, and she’d been raped.
Bastard. Lance wished he could be alone with Nir and beat him to a pulp.
Lance reined back his anger and kept his touch light as the Goddess soothed the slave’s fever and poured healing into her weakened body. He let the brand heal over, regretting that he dared not remove it. If she went back to her master, she’d only suffer the wound twice.
And Fitch wanted her to risk her life spying for the rebels? They should be rescuing the poor woman, not trying to use her for their own ends.
The slave woman stirred. “Lance?” She spoke his name—in Sara’s voice.
* * *
Sara sat up and swung her legs over the side of the high bed. She was wearing a clean, loose nightshift, and she felt much, much better, thanks to Lance. “How did you find me?” She tilted her head, studying the hodge-podge storeroom. “Where am I?”
Lance wrested open the red curtains, and bright sunlight flooded the room. White showed all the way around his irises. He ignored her questions. “Where have you been? That’s a slave brand on your neck. Fitch said you’re Nir’s personal slave.”
That was an accusation not a question, but she answered anyway. “Yes, I am.”
Lance yanked at his hair and tried to pace in the room’s cramped confines. “You told me once that Nir was obsessed with you. What happened? Did he kidnap you off the street? You were supposed to be safe.”
“Nir didn’t kidnap me. I sold myself into slavery.” Sara reconsidered her words when Lance’s jaw dropped open. “Or rather, Blorius and Esam sold me.”
“Esam did?” Lance swore creatively, ending with, “I’ll strangle him.”
Sara frowned in disapproval. “It doesn’t seem fair to kill Esam when he sold me at my request.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed. “At your request? Why?” He jabbed a finger at her. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything, Sara. Why did you leave the Temple of Mercy?”
So Sara laid out her reasoning. How it had occurred to her that the Qiph Way might provide Loma with the seed of magic needed to create a new soul, and how she had chosen the path of Slave because of the limited time until the baby’s birth. “Esam yelled at me, too, but he finally agreed to help me rather than let me sell myself to the first Republican that walked along.”
“Instead, you’re Nir’s slave. How, exactly, is that better?” More hair tearing.
“Because of the contract Esam wrote. I go free when my pregnancy ends, and Nir pays damages to the Temple of Justice if I’m permanently harmed,” Sara explained.
“You can’t tell me Nir’s honouring your contract. I just healed your body. You’ve been brutally raped, half-strangled, beaten and branded.” His voice grew louder.
“But I’m still pregnant. Besides, most of that happened before Nir read the contract,” Sara said. And the severity of the branding was her fault. She hadn’t realized how ill the burn would make her; she must have pressed it too deep.
“I don’t care.” Lance sat on the bed and took her hands. “Sara, I’m...awed by the lengths you’re willing to go to get the baby a new soul. I know you were trying to help, but your solution is too terrible. I love you. I’m sorry if I made it seem as if you were less important than the baby.” Moisture shone in his eyes.
Sara frowned. “But you do want the baby to have a soul and live?”
“Yes, of course.” He stood up again, agitated. “But I’m not willing to risk your life to gain it. You can’t go back to Nir. I’ll help you escape. I think Jazor will turn a blind eye, if Fitch asks it of her—”
“If I do what?” Fitch asked. He leaned against the door frame, one eyebrow quirked. “Where’s the slave? What’s your woman doing here?”
“It doesn’t matter.
We’ll be leaving now.” Lance’s hand clamped around Sara’s wrist.
Fitch blocked the doorway, eyes narrowed. “Why is there a brand on her neck?”
“I’m a slave,” Sara told him.
“Is that why I haven’t seen you around camp?” Fitch stared at Lance. “I never would’ve guessed you ruthless enough to send your own woman to spy on the enemy.”
“Spy?” Sara repeated.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance growled.
Fitch ignored him. “So—Sara, isn’t it?—tell me where Nir’s Legion is. What does he plan to do about the rebellion?”
Sara thought back to overheard snippets of conversation. “He plans to crush it.”
Fitch rolled his eyes. “Yes, but how?”
“He’s baiting a trap.” Sara repeated what Nir had said word-for-word. When she finished, Fitch’s mouth parted, showing his teeth. Was he happy or hungry?
“Well, then, I think I’ll arrange a little surprise for Nir,” he said. “My deepest thanks, Sara. You’ve shown great courage in obtaining this information.”
Lance stepped forward until he was nose to nose with Fitch. “She paid a terrible price for that information, and she’s not going back.”
Fitch smiled. “Isn’t that her choice? Sara, if you go back, you could be invaluable to the rebellion. You’ll be a heroine.”
“That’ll be a great comfort when she’s dead,” Lance said, his face red.
Fitch’s praise meant nothing to Sara. She turned to Lance. “I don’t understand why you want me to stop. You want the rebels to win and the baby to live. My enslavement gives both things their best chance for success.”
Lance glared at her. “Nir is a sadistic monster who beat and branded you. You and the babe would be in danger.”
“Nir wants to subjugate me, not kill me,” Sara disagreed. “And you know the pain he inflicts doesn’t matter to me as I am.”
Lance stared. “That’s it, isn’t it? You claim you’re doing this for me and the baby’s soul, but the truth is, it gives you an excuse to experience more pain, the pain you find so very ‘interesting.’ Especially since I can no longer give you pleasure.”
Fitch’s eyebrows shot up, and he crowed a laugh. “Oh, ho! Having trouble stiffening your rod, are you? No wonder you’re so ill-tempered. Sara, say the word, and I’ll be delighted to pleasure you.” His eyelids drooped to half mast.
“Touch me and I’ll disembowel you,” Sara said absently, her gaze fixed on Lance. Was he right? Was she looking for an excuse to return to Nir because he would give her pain?
Fitch whistled. “Does the rough stuff excite you?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Lance said, his skin flushing.
Sara considered Fitch’s question. “I don’t find pain arousing, only interesting.” When she’d provoked the bees to sting her, Lance had hypothesized that what she truly sought were the echoes of emotion pain brought her. Dislike, anxiety, fear.
And that, Sara suddenly realized, was part of the reason she intended to return to Nir. Because he drew her in much the same way that Lance did. Sara who-had-a-soul had loved Lance—and hated Nir.
Which meant that being raped by Nir might grow to be just as dangerous to the baby’s soul as making love with Lance was. Both threatened to snap the cord tethering the soul to the baby.
Perhaps Lance was right, and she should stay away from Nir.
But slavery was still her best chance to save the child. She had the dim suspicion that once she had a soul again, that would be important to her, too.
Decision made, she lifted her chin and spoke to Fitch. “I’ll be your spy.” At her signal, Fitch clouted Lance behind the ear.
Lance staggered and, while he was still dazed, Sara took one of the chains attached to the bedpost and clamped the manacle around his wrist.
“Use both chains,” Fitch urged. “He can still do a lot of damage.”
“Lance won’t hurt me,” Sara said with certainty. “Just stay out of his reach.”
Fitch lifted his hands. “As you wish. I’ll talk to Jazor about making arrangements to return you to Nir. Until you’re safely away, he stays chained.”
As soon as Fitch left, Lance began to pull on the chain. The bed screeched as he dragged it across the floor. Standing, he rocked the bed frame back and forth, banging the post against the wall in an attempt to break it.
“If you succeed, Fitch will knock you out,” Sara pointed out, but he didn’t listen.
Within moments, a red-haired acolyte appeared in the hall. “What’s he doing? Stop that! You’re disturbing the whole temple.”
“Want me to stop? Free me.” Lance rocked harder. The wood at the top of the post splintered under the repeated blows.
Sara climbed onto the bed, adding her weight to it so he couldn’t move it anymore.
“I’ll just make noise another way,” Lance threatened.
The redhead narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.” Reaching into her cleavage, she produced a small vial. “One drop of this, and it’s not freedom you’ll be begging for.” She showed her teeth. “Maybe if you’re very good, I’ll even give it to you.”
Lance’s face twisted. “Jazoria.” He retreated to the end of his chain, hands raised defensively.
The redhead laughed and sashayed forward, vial in hand.
Realization crashed into Sara, and she inhaled sharply. Jazoria was an aphrodisiac. The acolyte intended to arouse Lance and then fornicate with him.
Sara interposed her body between them, something hot and akin to anger—outrage?—burning in her chest. “No.”
The redhead rolled her eyes. “You’d rather Fitch hit him on the head?”
Her argument was specious; there were more than two choices. “No jazoria,” Sara repeated, then, more fiercely, “No one touches Lance but me.”
The redhead’s eyebrows climbed. “Oh, ho, like that is it? Fine, but you keep him quiet.”
“How?” Sara asked. Lance was much bigger than her.
“I suggest using your mouth.” The redhead sauntered out the door and left the two of them enclosed inside.
Lance didn’t immediately resume his noise-making activities. The redness and hardness of anger had drained out of his expression. “Sara, are you jealous?” he asked softly.
Sara considered the word. She didn’t want anything the acolyte had, but the thought of her touching Lance intimately made Sara want to stab her. “Yes, I am.”
A little smile curved his lips. He looked glad? Satisfied? Did he want her to feel jealous?
“Did you want her to touch you?” Sara asked, suddenly unsure.
“No. You’re the only one I desire,” he said huskily.
Looking at him she relaxed, seeing that he told the truth. His eyelids were slumberous, and his body had hardened. His reaction made her feel warm in turn, her breasts heavier.
She stepped closer, one hand raised to touch his chest—but he stepped away, chain rattling. “Enough. You know we can’t. Remember what happened last time?”
Sara remembered, but the solution seemed easy enough. “As long as I don’t climax, the babe should be safe.” Intent, she advanced on him and stripped off his vest. She tugged at his tunic, but he resisted, keeping his arms down.
“Making love will be very frustrating for you if you can’t finish.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When we were together in the treehouse, you didn’t climax.” It had
only bothered her a little at the time, but now it seemed unfair. “This time I’ll pleasure you.” Use your mouth, the redhead had advised. “I’ll kiss you, but you can’t kiss or touch me.” The idea was oddly stirring. The place between her legs grew damp as she wrestled off his tunic.
Lance cleared his throat. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s a very good idea,” Sara countered. She explored his pectoral muscles, enjoying the contrast between his warm skin and crisp chest hair. Leaning forward, she licked his left nipple.
Lance jumped. Swore. The chain rattled. “Sara, I—”
She licked his other nipple, then while he was distracted started to pull down his trousers. They snagged over his erection.
Lance grabbed at her hands, panting, but she just laughed, triumph flushing through her like liquid gold. “I’m going to win,” she told him. The chain would prevent him from backing away, and he would never use his strength against her for fear of hurting the babe.
Lance stilled. “You laughed.”
She tilted her head. “Yes.”
He closed his eyes, throat working with emotion. “You really want this?”
She nodded.
“Then I’m all yours.” He removed his trousers, then lay facedown, naked, on the bed.
She climbed onto the mattress next to him and shoved at his shoulder. “Turn over. I want to kiss your front.”
He loosed a dry chuckle. “There’s no way I’ll be able to keep my hands—and other bits—to myself if I’m face up. You’re far too tempting, Sara. I’d be inside you in no time, and we’d forget all the rules.”
Reluctantly, she admitted he could be right. She decided to leave his front for later. In the meantime, she had a lovely expanse of warm muscle to explore. Where to start?
She kissed his shoulder, then his neck, then ran her tongue down the indent of his spine. That one made him quiver. His buttocks clenched, and she tested the taut muscles with her fingers. “Sara...”
Straddling him, she began to massage his back. At the end of every stroke, she allowed her breasts to press against his back for a teasing instant. Her nipples peaked.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 32