Sara felt puzzled. In her experience newborn babies didn’t much resemble either their mothers or fathers.
“The child is yours,” Nir promised.
“No!” Sara tried to bleed the emotion from her voice, but her pulse beat so fast it was difficult. “The babe is not yours to give. The child will be freeborn. My slave contract states I go free on the day I’m no longer pregnant.”
“She’s lying,” Nir said. “Who ever heard of such a ridiculous contract, paying for a preganant slave girl who would go free in a few months?”
“There’s a copy filed with the Temple of Hana,” Sara said.
Neither man looked at her. “If a priest of Hana testified, I would, of course, have to honour such a contract,” Pallax said carefully.
“Of course,” Nir said smoothly. “But, I assure you, no contract was filed.”
Sara fell silent. Had Primus Pallax promised to help her? His words had sounded honourable, but Nir looked too pleased for that to be so. She was missing some nuance. Her stomach tightened with sudden anxiety. What if Pallax had just promised to ignore her slave contract in return for custody of his purported grandchild?
Why, that bastard!
She opened her mouth to demand that Pallax swear to help her, then closed it. Even if her suspicions were correct, she had two-and-a-half months to fix this. In the meantime Primus Pallax’s presence in camp might spare her a beating or worse. Be happy with what you can get.
She refocused on the two men and discovered their conversation had reverted to the rebellion.
“—conventional tactics aren’t working,” Primus Pallax said.
“Which is why I sacked Tolium,” Nir said quickly.
“I don’t want my Legions tied up here any longer,” Pallax said coldly. “I have other fish to fry.”
Nir snorted. “You just want revenge on the Slavelanders for defeating you. Gotia is much more important to the Republic, and you know it.”
“They didn’t defeat me,” Pallax said coldly. “We negotiated a brief peace while I seized the Primacy. But I do not deny I intend to break their mountain stronghold as soon as the year is up. Which means it’s time to end this.”
“I’ve been trying to do just that, but their chief refuses to close forces,” Nir growled.
“He will with me,” Pallax promised grimly. “I’ve sent out a dozen messengers to post a proclamation. Either he meets us on the field of battle within five days or the next time the wind rises, I burn his forest hidey-hole to the ground.”
* * *
Wettar woke Sara in the dark and hustled her toward Nir’s tent. “He’s calling for Cassia. You got rid of her, so you can tell him she’s gone.” Then, under his breath, “And if he kills you, good riddance.”
He shoved her through the tent flap. Sara stumbled, but recovered her balance before falling.
She’d expected Nir to be throwing things again, but he reclined, naked, on the bed. He held a flask to his lips, swallowing and swallowing until she thought he might drown himself. Wine trickled down his cheek, and she saw that his stubble had come in two shades whiter than his hair, ageing his appearance.
“Faithless God, why have you deserted me? And now,” he panted with rage, “Pallax has relegated me to the cavalry, while he takes personal command.” He threw the empty flask.
It landed at her feet with a sodden thump.
His eyes focused on her, malevolence shining in his gray eyes. “You.” Drunkenly, he climbed to his feet. “You tried to cozen Pallax into giving you his protection. You want to change masters. Faithless twotch.”
“I didn’t cozen him.” Perhaps she should have. Changing masters sounded like a very good idea just now, Qiph magic or not.
“Don’t make excuses.” Nir raised his hand to slap her.
And she moved to the side, dodging the blow.
She stepped aside, avoiding pain.
She’d acted without thinking, but now her heart thudded behind her breastbone. Loma’s mercy, what had she done?
She’d endangered herself and the baby—to avoid a slap. A slap was nothing compared to what Nir could, and would, do to break her.
Had he noticed the significance of her evasion, drunk as he was? Sara’s hope died when he threw back his head and laughed in triumph. “Well, well, look who’s come out of hiding and wants to play? Lady Sarathena Remillus.”
Bluff. It wasn’t too late yet. “I’m not hiding.” She stood straight and smoothed out her expression just as Aunt Evina had taught her all those years ago.
Nir leaned close and breathed hotly in her ear. “Oh, I think you are, Sarathena.”
She didn’t flinch. Control.
He tweaked her nipple, then viciously pinched it.
Sara kept her face blank, but the effort made sweat break out at her nape. Before, pain had meant nothing. A sensation like hot or cold, but now...it hurt. She groped blindly for a way to disconnect her body and the soul, trying to stand aside and analyze the pain. For a moment it worked, and relief blossomed inside her, but that very emotion tightened the cord again and the pain hit her like a fist. She wanted to scream, to pull away from the source, to make it stop.
Despair thickened her throat. Her plan to follow the Qiph Way of the Slave seemed foolish and doomed. Nir would never let her go, not alive.
No. Wildness rose in her, the urge to fight. If the plan had failed then there was nothing to be won in continuing to act like a slave. What would Sara-with-a-soul do?
She would fight with every fiber of her body. She would eliminate the threat to herself and her baby.
Nir wouldn’t rest until he broke her, body and soul. So she would just have to kill him first.
Once the decision was made, Sara regained some of her slipping control. She remained passive while Nir tore open her dress and scratched her tender flesh. She accepted the pain as necessary to lure him closer.
She would have to strike without warning; she could never hope to overpower him in a fair fight.
It had to be soon, before he pushed her down on the bed. She wouldn’t have any leverage under him. Her hand crept toward the belt-knife on her hip. Even wine-hazed, Nir would notice the instant she drew the blade. She would have to strike fast—
He grabbed her chin and gazed into her eyes. “That’s right,” he crooned, “show me your true self. Show me Lady Sarathena. Show me your hate.”
She stepped in close and stabbed upward.
* * *
Lance tried to be inconspicuous as he warmed his hands at the fire nearest the high priest’s tent. He’d seen Sara enter a short time ago, but he wasn’t close enough to hear what was going on inside. The uncertainty was driving him insane.
Had Nir noticed Sara’s healed jaw? Was he questioning her?
Or rutting on her body?
Why else call for a slave girl in the middle of the night?
Lance closed his eyes, repeated his litany. It’s not Sara in there, it’s Sara-without-a-soul. Pain doesn’t mean the same thing to her. She’s survived two months of being a slave already. You promised not to interfere with her plan to gain magic following the Qiph Way. Also, you may have noticed you’re in the middle of a Legion stockade. If you rush in there, you won’t save Sara, you’ll get yourself killed.
All sound, logical reasons, but, Goddess, he hated this. His teeth ached from clenching them. Every moment spent outside while
she was at the mercy of that monster was an eternity. He prided himself on his high pain tolerance, but this was unbearable.
What if the bastard beat her again? Kicked her in the stomach? He wouldn’t put anything past Nir. What if she was hemorrhaging right now?
A red haze rose in his mind, and Lance found himself on his feet.
He had to get closer and find out what was going on. If anyone challenged him, he’d make up some excuse. Tell him he had a message from Pallax, or Fitch for that matter. Something.
* * *
She missed his heart.
The knifepoint skipped off a rib bone and sliced a line across his upper chest.
Before she could try again, Nir hooked her knee out from under her. She fell backward, and he came down on top of her, heavy as a mountain on her pregnant belly. His hand gripped her wrist, while his hardened penis ground against her through the layer of her dress. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he was smiling at her, a glint of insanity in his eyes.
“Why, Lady Sarathena, have you forgotten your lessons?” he mocked her. Wine fumes assaulted her. “Where’s the best place to kill a man?”
“Up, under the ribs and into the heart,” she recited. She knew the answer from the endless dinners sitting next to him in Temborium when he’d been her father’s honoured guest and she the bait her father was dangling in front of him.
“Where else?”
“A quick slash across the neck.”
“And instead you cut my chest.” He tsked. “Does that mean you don’t want me dead, after all?” His free hand caressed her neck, then tightened to just shy of choking.
He was playing with her. Rage blasted through Sara. “Let go of my wrist, and I’ll show you how well I’ve learned my lessons,” she snarled.
He twisted her wrist, sending bright sparks of pain up her nerves, then released her hand. “Do it!”
Instead Sara smashed her forehead into his nose. While he reared back in pain, she aimed for another weak spot he’d taught her—his ear.
His arm blocked her. She scored his biceps before he wrestled the knife away and tossed it aside. Smiling, he began to force her thighs apart.
Sara’s heart thrashed like a wild thing. Even knowing it was useless, she kept fighting. Tears formed in her eyes as he effortlessly held her down.
He laughed. “I told you, you couldn’t hide from me forever,” he gloated.
And the fear, like a rampaging bull, snapped the slender thread that bound her baby’s soul.
The shared soul became hers alone. The full weight of her emotions hit her. Dread. Terror. Fury and sick hatred for Nir.
She felt a warm gush between her legs.
* * *
A scream ripped through the restless noises of the Legion at night. Sara.
Lance sprinted for Nir’s tent, almost colliding with a small boy running in the other direction. Lance sidestepped and burst through the tent flap.
In the yellow torchlight, he saw an older man grappling with Sara on the floor. He seized Nir by the shoulders, yanked him off Sara and threw him to the ground.
The older man didn’t stay down, rolling to his feet, naked. A trickle of blood ran from one nostil, but a feral smile shaped his lips.
Lance bared his own teeth. This was the man who’d raped and branded Sara. Hatred boiled in Lance like molten iron.
“You’re interfering in matters that do not concern you, dedicant,” Nir slurred. “Leave now and I may let you live.”
In answer, Lance plowed his fist into Nir’s jaw.
Nir flew back a foot, knocking over a corner brazier. Glowing coals scattered across the ground. Neither Lance nor Nir paid them any mind, too intent on one another.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw Sara climb cumbersomely to her feet and begin kicking dirt over the fires.
Nir rose, murder in his eyes. No doubt if he’d had his sword and armour, he would’ve made mincemeat out of Lance, but as it was...Lance absorbed a chest blow, then slugged Nir twice in the belly. Nir folded in half, his face an unhealthy gray.
Leisurely, consumed by cold rage, Lance moved in and administered a thorough beating. Black eye, kidneys, shot to the ribs, ear—he had no mercy in him, not for this man.
The old buzzard was tough; he reeled, but stayed on his feet. He tried to snatch up a spear, but Lance drove him back with a flurry of blows. Right uppercut to the jaw. Left to the abdomen. Repeat.
“Finish him,” Sara urged.
“Soon.” The raw need to punish Nir pounded in his blood. The rage and hate roiling inside him didn’t want to be put aside yet. He hammered his knee into Nir’s jaw, sending him sprawling.
“Lance, please.” Then she added in a small voice, “My water broke.”
His head whipped around. “What? But you’re only six months along.”
Their gazes met, and he saw despair cloud Sara’s blue eyes. He suddenly couldn’t breathe for the boulder pressing on his chest. The babe.
Nir lunged for the spear on hands and knees.
Lance stomped hard on Nir’s fingers. Lance tried to wrestle the spear away, but Nir clung to it with both hands, and Lance succeeded only in pulling Nir to his feet.
“She called you Lance.” Teeth bared. “You’re her lover.” He spit in Lance’s face.
Lance recoiled, and Nir used the spear shaft like a quarterstaff and clipped Lance in the jaw. His teeth clacked together, but he hung on grimly.
They were still jockeying for possession of the spear when a burly man suddenly pushed his way inside the tent. “What’s going on here?” he bellowed.
A quartet of red-cloaked legionnaires took up positions around the exit, two outside, two inside. Bodyguards.
Primus Pallax.
Cursing inwardly, Lance released his grip on the spear and stepped back, hands in the air to show the legionnaires he was unarmed.
“What’s going on?” Pallax repeated. “Sylvanus said you were killing Lady Sarathena.”
Focused on Kandrith’s mortal enemy, Lance didn’t notice Nir moving until the butt of the spear smashed into his throat. He collapsed to the ground, choking.
“Stand aside. I’m about to disfigure Sara’s lover,” Nir said, looming over Lance with the spear. His swelling eye and bloody nose and bruises only made him look more crazed.
“Stop him!” Sara cried.
“Vez’s Malice,” Pallax swore. “That’s—”
“Lance. Her lover.” Nir ground out. He raised the spear. Lance tensed, ready to roll.
“Hold,” Pallax ordered. “He may be her lover, but he’s also a spy. He’s the Queen of Slaves brother.” Pallax smiled, broadly. “A hostage. And dropped into my hand like a ripe fig, praise Nir.”
Wenda was not going to be pleased, but at least Pallax would keep Lance alive.
He started to sit up, but Nir jabbed the spear butt into his ribs. Gasping in silent agony, Lance writhed on the ground. Sara cried out in sympathy while the legionnaires smirked.
“I don’t care whose brother he is,” Nir snarled. “I’m going to whip the skin off his back, then carve out his liver. Slowly.”
“Please,” Sara appealed to Pallax, speaking quickly. “My labour has begun. The babe—who may be your grandson—is two months’ early. Without Lance, both the babe and I will probably die in childbirth. You’ve seen him heal before. You know what he can do.”
“She’s lying. She can’t be in labour,” Ni
r said.
In answer, Sara put Pallax’s hand on her belly as it hardened with a contraction.
Pallax swore. “Nir, your revenge will have to wait. I won’t risk my grandson’s life.”
“Fool! She’s not carrying your grandson!”
While the two men traded shouts and insults, Lance wondered if he dared creep closer to Sara and lay a hand on her ankle.
Of course, if her early labour stopped then Pallax would have no reason to keep them together. Lance subsided, breathing carefully. From the feel of them, he thought his ribs were merely bruised, not broken.
Pallax stood, hands on hips, glaring up at Nir. “I’m taking them both into my custody. Bluntly, I don’t trust you not to kill him—or her either. I have a use for both of them alive, and if I let you cripple him, his value as a hostage drops. Neither of them is going anywhere. Your revenge can wait.
“Furthermore, I’ve received a reply from Chief Fitch. We go to battle tomorrow. I need my high priest focussed. I need you to pray to Nir and petition Him for His favour, not play with your slave girl.”
A pulse throbbed in Nir’s temple, but Pallax won out. At his gesture, the quartet of stone-faced legionnaires yanked Lance to his feet. He gasped, his ribs protesting. They’re not broken, he repeated to himself. He couldn’t afford for them to be.
Pallax offered Sara the support of his arm. Her normal golden brown skin tones had paled to a sickly yellow.
Outside the tent, the small boy who’d helped Lance win his dedicant status was all but dancing from foot to foot with impatience. “Sara!” he cried, but Pallax shook his head, curtly.
The boy bowed his head, abashed.
Lance wondered how the boy knew Sara, but the question was quickly swallowed by the pain of walking with bruised ribs.
A dizzyingly short time later, Pallax had evicted a young officer from his tent and settled Lance and Sara inside. He provided them with a fire, a pot of water and clean blankets for the bed for Sara to give birth on.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 41