Ellega’s excited heart slowed. ‘Your Majesty?’ She had heard whispers of a mistress, yet for the King to speak of such matters openly confused Ellega more. Was he insulting her with this blatant admission of his bedchamber conquests, or inviting her to confidences, the better to win her as wife?
Mihale’s eyes drifted to her lips and Ellega felt herself swoon, yet the kiss she had dreamt of did not come. Instead, her Lord and King closed his eyes and proceeded to touch her unbound hair, her narrow face, and more strangely, her shoulders and neck. Then, before she could prepare herself for the shock, his hands fell to caressing her newly budded breasts, her waist and the curve of her hips. Blood pounded in her ears and again her mouth went dry. ‘Stand up,’ he commanded, and she obeyed, her limbs trembling with agitation. Again, with eyes closed as though pretending to be blind, he traced the curves and hollows of her body.
Ellega swallowed several times and was forced to press her lips tightly together to stop herself gasping at his intimate exploration.
At last his hands dropped and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze, his expression completely devoid of any emotion Ellega recognised. She felt fear as she looked upon him, and growing trepidation as his hands continued to shake. Was he drunk?
‘Speak,’ he said, yet Ellega did not know what to say. The liberties he had taken with her would be reviled if they became known. Yet Ellega could not find it in herself to voice harsh matters when love sang loud her heart.
‘I … know only that I am your humble servant, Majesty,’ she said, ‘and will do your bidding always.’
‘Yet you cannot remember my name.’ Mihale stood and looked at her as though she were an obstacle in his path.
Her lips tried to move. Mihale, she wanted to say, your name is Mihale, yet his expression had grown so distant she could find no courage to voice these words.
‘Bhoo was wrong,’ he said. ‘You are not the one.’ And with these dread words spoken he departed, the dull thump of the door closing behind him the most final sound Ellega had ever heard.
For a moment she simply stood mute, staring at the unyielding panel of wood he had touched last. Then she threw herself onto the bed and cried until she was sick.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Talis had been gone barely two hours when Djahr opened the door of Khatrene’s prison. She hadn’t heard him coming, and spun around to find him smiling at her.
‘Wife,’ he said.
She looked behind him to the stairwell. ‘Didn’t bring your lover this time?’ she asked, surprised at the calm tone of her voice. Her legs were like jelly.
‘I have one here,’ he said.
‘Not any more.’ Khatrene put her hands behind her back. She was trembling so much she had to lean against the windowsill for support. It had been days since she’d eaten properly, avoiding anything that smelt like the liquorice drink Ghett used to make, and now being alone with Djahr seemed suddenly more terrifying than having his Shadow Woman taunting her.
He locked the door and stood with his back to it. ‘Can you deny your enjoyment at our joinings? Your cries of pleasure —’
‘Are ancient history.’
She watched his gaze slide over her body, the same glance that had once driven her into a frenzy of desire. Now she had to fight bile rising in her throat.
‘Your mother and I were acquainted,’ he said, and Khatrene’s anger was overlaid by cold fingers of fear.
‘Of course you were. She was your Queen.’
‘Our relationship was not all ceremonial.’
Khatrene could see where this was leading. Her nausea roiled again. He can’t mean …
THEY WERE NOT LOVERS.
Khatrene repeated these words confidently to Djahr.
‘Alas, you are correct.’ He smiled, so small a smile that it was only the barest movement at the edges of his lips. ‘Danille never shared the pleasures of my bed —’
‘So she turned you down. Is that why we had to leave Ennae?’ The official story Talis had told her was that Djahr had seen a great disruption of The Balance coming and thought it might be their deaths so he had sent them into exile to protect them. Knowing Djahr as she did now, that must have been a lie.
He simply continued to gaze at her, but something in his expression set Khatrene’s radar off. The cold fear in her belly turned to ice. ‘Did you have something to do with her illness?’ Please, tell me he didn’t —
‘Poison,’ he said and smiled a crocodile smile. ‘Slow, painful poison. A suitable punishment for her lack of judgement.’
Khatrene shook her head. Over and over. It couldn’t be true. She’d married the man who had killed her mother. His child grew within her.
‘Do you fear me, Khatrene?’ he asked.
She could only stare at him.
REMEMBER, YOU ARE INTELLIGENT. RESOURCEFUL. FEARLESS.
He killed my mother.
SHE TRIED TO WARN YOU.
Before Khatrene could ask, she saw behind her eyes the memory of Djahr she’d carried with her all these years. The younger version walking towards her with desire in his eyes. His lips moved and she heard nothing, but now the word jumped into her mind. Danille. He was saying her mother’s name. The memory had been a warning and Khatrene had turned it into an erotic daydream. Sickness overwhelmed her.
Djahr merely repeated his question. ‘Do you fear me, Khatrene?’ His patience appeared infinite where mental torture was concerned.
Khatrene sucked in a steadying breath. He’s not going to win twice. ‘Should I?’ she replied coolly. ‘Or should you fear me?’
Djahr’s expression remained unchanged, but she was sure she saw hesitation in his glance.
‘All should fear the coming of The Light,’ she recited, pressing her perceived advantage.
‘You have no power —’
‘The child has power,’ she declared, laying a steady hand over her as-yet flat belly. ‘I can sense him inside me.’ She suspected the unknown would be scarier for Djahr than any threat she could offer. ‘He may be your son, but he will protect me.’
Djahr gazed at her a moment longer, then raised his chin. ‘You lie,’ he said and took a step towards her.
Her gasp stopped him. A moment later she was on her knees on the floor, both hands covering her abdomen.
‘Are you ill?’ Djahr demanded, his voice hard with suspicion.
‘The child …’ Khatrene knew it was far too soon to feel the baby move, yet deep within her there was a surging sensation. Not a physical movement. Something ethereal, like a warm wind swirling inside of her.
As abruptly as it had begun, the sensation ceased. Khatrene scrambled to her feet.
‘The child must not be harmed,’ Djahr said and approached her cautiously until he stood quite close.
‘Worry about yourself,’ she said, then gasped and covered her belly again as the swirling returned. This time she stayed on her feet. ‘Don’t think you can touch —’
Djahr gripped her arm and they stared at each other. The swirling settled, and after that there was only fear.
‘I will take my pleasure with you and none will stop me,’ he said.
Khatrene closed her eyes, held her body stiff with revulsion as he leant towards her. Warm wetness scraped her cheek and she couldn’t help shuddering, her lips pressed tightly together, knowing she would have to fight if he tried to kiss her.
‘Although …’ Djahr paused and she felt dizzying relief as he pulled back. ‘Anticipation would heighten the enjoyment of the act. For both of us. Imagine your long hours filled with thoughts of w
hen I will come. What I will do.’
He released her and stepped away but Khatrene kept her eyes tightly closed, her hands pressed against the front of her gown. She could smell the Shadow Woman in the room now and knew it had been her suggestion to torture Khatrene with waiting. How many other evil thoughts had she inspired in Djahr?
‘Farewell, wife,’ he said, and she heard the key turn and the rush of air coming in from the stairwell. ‘Until I return.’
A moment later the door closed but it took Khatrene a full minute of listening to the silent room before she could work up the courage to open her eyes, dreading that Djahr or his Shadow Woman would be standing inside the door waiting to pounce on her.
Mental torture wasn’t enough for him. Now he wanted to abuse her physically as well, and Khatrene couldn’t bear the thought of that.
Talis had told her to stay put, but she couldn’t. To survive Djahr she’d have to be capable of separating her mind from what was happening to her body. That was how rape victims stayed sane. But Khatrene knew herself well enough to know she couldn’t do that. The only other option was to run.
She turned to the window and looked down at the trails cut into the cliff-side far below. There were dots on them, like ants hurrying to a nest. Cliffdwellers. Lae had shown her those trails when she’d first come to Be’uccdha, and had mentioned that they led to caves under the castle. Might those tunnels also lead away from the castle towards the Plains? If she could get that far she might be able to link up with Talis. There were a lot of ‘ifs’, but at least she had somewhere to start.
The first problem would be leaving the room. She tucked her hair behind her ears and sat on the bed, going over the ideas she’d already thought up. All relied on the element of surprise as well as some forceful action against the guard who brought her food. But even if she overcame one of them, that wouldn’t help her with the other. She needed them both inside and incapacitated. It was a tricky problem.
Two hours later, her luncheon was delivered. Three dull knocks on the door, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Khatrene remained deathly still on the floor, her hand resting limp over her stomach.
A wash of warm air from the stairwell flooded into the room as the door swung open, then Khatrene heard a gasp. Exactly as she’d expected, the tray was slapped to the floor and footsteps approached. It was hard not to flinch when the shadow of the guard fell over her, but Khatrene kept her lips slightly parted and breathed shallowly.
‘The babe. The Light’s child,’ he cried, horror heavy in his voice. His boots scraped the floor beside Khatrene’s face but somehow she managed to hold herself immobile.
A second set of boots entered the room. ‘What have you done?’ the door guard asked.
‘I found her like this.’
A shadow crossed her face and Khatrene struggled to breathe evenly.
‘Do not touch her,’ the door guard snapped. ‘Fetch The Dark. I will watch over her.’
Boots scraped on the floor again and crossed the room, hurrying down the steps until they could be heard no more.
This was the hard part.
‘Uhhhhhh’ she moaned softly, and felt rather than saw him tense and back away. She moved her shoulders and pretended to struggle with opening her eyes. ‘Baby …’ she whispered. ‘Have to get up.’ She reached out a hand to him, her eyelids fluttering. The guard frowned, then sheathed the dagger he had in his hand and reached out to her. She took his hand limply and struggled to raise herself, the movement awkward. Then she deliberately fell back and he leant in to catch her. It was the moment she’d been waiting for.
Khatrene snatched his dagger and wrenched herself out of his grasp, turning the blade inwards at herself. ‘Come near me and the baby dies,’ she said. He took a step towards her and she clutched the knife harder, warned him, ‘You don’t want to be the man responsible for its death. The child to join the Four Worlds.’ She cut the front of her dress and pressed the blade tip against her bare belly. ‘I’m mad,’ she said, as though she were. ‘I’ll do it and you’ll get the blame.’ She sidled over to the bed, reached under it to snatch up her makeshift backpack, never taking her eyes off him for a second. ‘I won’t get far,’ she said opening her eyes wide like a crazy-woman. ‘I don’t know my way. He’ll have me back and no harm done … unless you try to stop me.’
Khatrene felt mad in that moment. Adrenalin pumped through her body and pounded in her brain. She was weak from lack of food but worse, terrified that the guard would try to grab her. Because if he did, that would be the end of her escape.
Incredibly he simply stood with his hands at his side, watching as she sidestepped to the door, felt around it and almost fainted with relief when she found the key still in it. ‘The child of The Light is more important than catching me,’ she reminded him, in case he was planning a last-minute tackle.
He surprised her by nodding. She backed out onto the steps and pulled the door closed, turning the key and then testing it. Locked. No noise came from inside the room and she guessed then that there wasn’t much he could do. He’d made his choice and would have to live with it. Or die, knowing Djahr.
Khatrene glanced at the shaft of light pouring in from outside the stairwell. It was exactly six hours until nightfall and by then she planned to be as far away from Djahr and his elegantly grim castle as was humanly possible.
With one hand on the wall for balance, she loped down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to listen, but not for long. The guard who had gone to tell Djahr might be back any minute. She had to run. But which way?
The dimly lit hallway in front of her offered no answers and Khatrene felt fear resurface, making her dizzy, hot. She’d just risked her life, and for what? To be recaptured at the bottom of the stairs? She had to go. Now. But where?
GO TO THE END OF THIS CORRIDOR THEN TAKE THE TURNING TO THE LEFT.
She hesitated only a second, then did as she was told, her feet slapping soundlessly on the rough stone floor, the skirt of her dress gathered up in one hand, the dagger in the other as she ran, listening for sounds of pursuit from behind her. To the end of the corridor and then left into another. Down dimly lit hallways and stairwells, dusty, dark places that frightened her. Places that smelt of fear and death. Then came the sound of many footsteps approaching. Boots. Guards.
She looked around frantically, saw a black opening ahead and ran into it, sliding along the wall of the unlit hallway into deep shadows, further and further until she was sure she wouldn’t be found. The cloth bundle on her back snagged on the wall and she wrenched it free.
The footsteps came nearer and Khatrene put her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob of fear that was working its way up her throat. The rectangle of light in front of her darkened as several guards passed by, then the footsteps receded and were gone. She stood listening for a full minute, hearing only the pounding of blood in her temples and the rasp of her own breathing.
Now what?
IF YOU WISH TO NAVIGATE THE CLIFFDWELLER TUNNELS YOU WILL NEED A GUIDE.
You’re a goddamn guide. You tell me where to go.
Silence.
Khatrene closed her eyes. Wanted to scream. To cry. To fall in a heap and give up. Then she thought about Djahr looking for her. Remembered his smug smile and his perfectly manicured hands.
I’m getting out of here with or without your help, she said, and pushed herself off the wall, sneaking back up to the lit hallway to cut a candle from one of the stands with her dagger. Hot wax dripped onto her hand before she thought to gather her skirt around it as a crude candle-holder. Then she padded back into the dark hallway and followed it along, pleased to find it spiralling downwards. With the candle clutched in her ski
rts before her she padded along at a brisk pace, splashing into gluggy puddles that appeared at the bottom of adjoining tunnels.
I don’t need you, she said, more to keep her spirits up than out of any real desire to have the last word. She was running on empty and knew she should stop before she dropped, but every so often she’d hear a noise behind her, and when she paused to listen the noise would stop. It was eerie, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself it was just an echo or the acoustics of the spiral path, the feeling of dread building inside her chest increased.
Am I being followed? she asked, and hated the voice all over again when it failed to answer. If they kill me I’ll never speak to you again.
It was no good. She couldn’t jolly herself out of it. Her nerves were ready to snap. When she glanced behind her she thought she saw shifting shadows in the blackness beyond the candlelight. When she looked ahead it was worse. Even the black walls at her sides seemed to be closing in on her. Her pace grew slower and slower until finally she was leaning against the wall, candle trembling in her hands, knowing she was at the end of the line.
I hate you. I just want you to know that, she said and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to catch her breath. The silence around her throbbed. Then came a crackling hiss from in front of her. The candle! She opened her eyes into pitch darkness. Tried to swallow and couldn’t.
YOUR SILENT PURSUER.
A hand touched her arm.
She screamed.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
‘You may joke, but I know you love me,’ Pagan said, sprawled on the visitor’s couch in Lae’s reception room.
She rolled her eyes to acknowledge the melancholy depths their banter had sunk to, yet within herself Lae recognised the thrill of excitement her battles with Pagan sparked — excitement she had sorely missed. Though she knew Talis cared for her, his solemn silences had begun to wear her patience.
‘I take my leave of you, whom I do not love,’ she declared and rose from her chair as though to depart, yet all the time knowing his retort would require her to stay. ‘Take your ease here alone if you wish,’ she added airily, ‘for I do not know anyone in the castle who would welcome your company’
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