by Kiersten Fay
Analia showered and dressed quickly, while Sebastian waited outside. She'd chosen a soft pair of pants and a simple T-shirt. The mirror reflected her fearful expression, and she took a moment to gather her courage. Sebastian couldn't possibly be more creative than Darius when it came to doling out punishment. Could he?
She recalled one of the many times she hung from the center of a room, arms tied above her, until she thought they would rip from the sockets. She'd survived that. Or the time he had locked her in a small box, which forced her in a fetal position, for days. A square opening the size of a fingernail was her only source of air and light. She'd survived that. No matter what, she would survive anything Sebastian had to throw at her.
Bring it on.
Sebastian hadn't moved. He was still sitting on the chair, pondering the pile of blankets left sitting in the corner. Slowly he rose, and advanced toward her.
Analia stopped breathing.
“This will do nicely,” he said, eyeing her clothing. Then he walked past her out the door, expecting her to follow.
Reluctantly, she did.
Silence hovered between them through the halls. Sebastian's body was stiff as he led her. It was obvious, by the energy rolling off him, that he wanted to howl at her. But he said nothing. She almost wished that he would. It would be better than the muted exchange that was happening between them.
She wanted to tell him she would use the bed, if only he would allow her to continue working in the galley with Marik. Instead, she decided to remain quiet.
Finally, they reached the recreation room. Analia scanned the exercise equipment, as well as the weapons on the walls. At the sight of them, she swallowed the thick lump that had been building in her throat.
What was he planning?
Through a side door, a large mat stretched across the floor and a lot more weapons were encased or draped on racks.
Calic stood waiting in the middle of the mat with his arms crossed leisurely, a dreary look painted his features. “It's about bloody time. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show,” he said, and then gestured with his thumb and forefinger. “Was this close to going about my business and saying to hell with you.”
“We were delayed,” Sebastian replied smoothly.
Delayed? She'd been ready in minutes. There’d been no delay on her part. Unless…how long had Sebastian watched her sleep?
Sebastian motioned to Calic with his head. “You start training today. You'll be training with Cale for a few hours each morning. After that, you'll serve in the galley, through lunch only. Then you'll head to The Demon’s Punchbowl. There, you'll spend some time working for Sonya. She'll teach you the ropes, among other things.”
Stunned, Analia took a moment to gather a reply. “Is this…Is this punishment?” She glanced at Cale, who winked at her.
Sebastian cocked his head. “No punishment. The training is for your benefit. Cale will teach you to defend yourself. While you're working for Sonya, she will pay you in touri, which is a common currency for most space cities, so you'll have something saved up by the time…” Sebastian trailed off. “I'll be back in two hours to make sure everything went alright.” With that he was gone, and she was alone with Cale.
She sensed that he wanted to be here about as much as she did.
Watching him, she waited for whatever was about to come. Cale looked smug on the mat as he crooked a finger at her. Stepping onto the mat, Analia felt her shoes sink in slightly. There were several weapons set deliberately at the edge.
Cale picked up two long, thin swords. “Here,” he said, tossing one to her. Instinctively, Analia jumped out of the way—it didn't matter that he’d tossed it hilt first. The sword landed with a thud.
He rolled his eyes. “Pick it up.”
Lifting the sword, Analia was surprised at the weight of it. With astonishment, she commented, “This is a real sword, and it looks sharp. I thought we would…shouldn't we practice first?” She shook her head in confusion. “I've never done this before.”
“We will use these for practice. It will help you to take this seriously. Try not to cut yourself. Now, hold the sword out. Like this.” Cale demonstrated with his arm and sword straight out, as if he and the sword were one appendage.
Analia followed his example. At least she thought she had. Circling her, Cale meticulously adjusted her. He adjusted her shoulders, her grip, how far apart her feet were, even the angle of her head.
“Focus on your body. Feel the grip of the sword. Feel how your body is balanced against the weight of the sword. Keep your head straight,” he scolded when she moved to look at him.
Facing her again, Cale mimicked her stance and swung the sword hard and fast, slashing at the air. The sharp sound of it made her flinch. “Watch me,” he said, as he slowed down the move. “Now you do it.”
Analia tried, and failed to recreate the motion.
For a moment, Cale was quiet, his expression turning dark. “I don't believe you are who you say you are.”
Analia's brows drew together.
“Tell me why you're here.” Cale angled his sword at her, forcing her to back away.
Shock and fear filled her at the change in mood. She looked around, for what she wasn't sure. The door was closed. She was trapped. “I'm s…sorry? I don't know what you mean.”
He moved forward, and she backed away.
She choked out, “I don't know how to prove myself to you.”
“Tell me who sent you here.” Cale held the sword to her throat, her heels dangled on the edge of the mat. All she could do was watch him as the tip of the sword bit into her skin, though not quite enough to draw blood. “The truth will be known. You can't hide who you are,” he growled.
Analia shook her head, but didn't respond.
“Know this. If you're here to hurt my ship, or my crew, I will make sure you truly do know suffering.”
Her whole body trembled. She might have already put fate into motion regarding the safety of the ship and crew. Her mere presence may have irrevocably marked them all for death.
Once more, Calic's mood changed. Still holding the weapon to her, he continued as if he hadn't just threatened her. “If someone has you in this position, what do you think your best move would be?”
Analia gaped at him. He didn't trust her. Thought she was someone else entirely, but he was still prepared to train her? To give her skills that, in his mind, might one day be used against them?
These demons were difficult to understand.
Her mind raced. “I could dive out of the way?” All she wanted to do was run.
“Not a bad idea, but I can strike faster than you could dodge. You would need to distract me, or catch me off guard. You could use that sword in your hand to knock mine away. Give it a try.”
She had forgotten about her sword. Tightening her grip on the hilt she hesitated, not sure how to accomplish the move without causing his sword to slash across her own throat. Her breath came fast, and her body tensed.
“Do it!” he ordered.
In a clumsy move, she bowed her back, clearing her neck from harm. Her sword swooshed up, dully clanging against his. Though his sword barely moved an inch, she lost her balance completely. Her butt met the hard floor, and her sword clattered to the ground beside her. She knew her cheeks were flaming when she looked back up at Cale.
He stood tall, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow. “That was really bad.”
Embarrassment turned to ire. “What did you expect? I've never even touched a sword before!”
“Get up. We'll start again.”
Analia pulled herself off the floor and reached for the sword.
“Leave it. We'll come back to the sword later.”
After gingerly setting it back down, she followed Cale to the middle of the mat. He'd gone quiet and kept glancing at her in an I'm-going-to-figure-you-out sort of way.
Ha! Good luck with that. She couldn't even figure herself out.
Suddenly, he move
d so quickly she didn't have time to comprehend a possible reaction. He grabbed her from behind and wrapped his arms around her torso, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
No, this wasn't punishment. This was torture.
All business, Cale said, “If you're caught like this, what's your next move?”
Analia wiggled and writhed against his hold. She hated feeling trapped and being held against her will. Panic raced like a toxin through her, clouding her mind. She let out a terror laced whimper.
“Calm down and take stock,” Cale said in a soft tone. Well, soft for him. “What parts of your body can you move?”
Through the haze of her anxiety, she replied, “My legs. I can move my legs.”
“And your head. If someone your own height were to grab you from behind, you could use your skull to bloody his nose. It would be painful and blind him for a moment. You could stomp your heel into his foot. Your forearms are also free in this hold, and you could do much damage to a man's lower regions. A decent hit will send him to his knees. Once his grip has been loosened enough to free your arms, use your elbow as hard as you can against his head, or wherever you can get a good strong hit.”
Analia nodded, picturing all the moves in her head. But picturing and doing were two different things.
Cale had her practice in slow motions for some time, before he said, “Good enough for now. Let's move on.”
She could already feel the soreness in her body, but was surprisingly eagerly for his next lesson.
Just as before, Cale moved swiftly into his next hold. His arm shot out like a whip, giving her no time to react. Powerful hands wrapped around her small throat, and he squeezed with a gentle pressure, enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to really hurt her.
He meant to prove a point, but Analia knew this hold well, had been on the receiving end of it many times. This was a hold that could easily render her unconscious. She kept steady, oddly feeling safe even though her pulse spiked wildly.
“How should you counter?” Cale asked.
“I could kick you in your bollocks.”
He smiled at her candor. “Aye, you could, but a man of any brains would expect a move like that in this position. A better move would be to raise your arm up and bring your elbow down across my arms. If you learn to do it right, you will break my hold, and will be able to get yourself in a more suitable position for a counterattack. Then you go for the bollocks.”
He had her practice this move for a long time. She must have rammed her arm into his a thousand times. It wasn't until she had accomplished a smooth, fluid action, breaking his hold and successfully scrambling away, that he moved on.
“Now pick up your sword.”
Oh no.
She looked at the heap of metal. “I…uh.”
With that, Cale gave her a look that said she had better do as he says. His fist was already clasping the hilt of his sword. She snatched hers from the ground and faced him with the sharp tip hanging at her side.
“I'm going to slash at you, and you're going to defend yourself. Ready?”
“What?”
He swung his sword upward, and she jumped back, just barely avoiding falling on her ass again.
“Defend! Use your sword to block mine. Don't worry, I will not hit you.” Cale swung again, and she tried to meet his metal with hers.
Clang!
She felt the vibration of it through her wrists.
“Hold it tight, like it's an extension of yourself.”
This time, when she swiped through the air, her whole arm lashed out. Both swords struck with force. The vibration snaked up her arm.
She winced, and he grated, “Better.”
He took a moment to show her specific moves, slow and calculating. He showed her the right angle to defend against certain attacks, and the proper counter moves for others. The practice drew on and on, until she thought her arms and legs would turn to putty. Then he said four little words that made her heart crash land in her stomach.
“Now you attack me.”
Gripping the hilt of her sword, she froze. “Shouldn't I practice on a dummy or something? I might…”
“If you can even touch me with the air from your swing, I'll eat my own hand. Now do it. Attack!”
Her first strike was limp, and he batted it away with the smallest flick of his wrist. She tried again, and this time was no better. The third was worse, and even she knew it lacked conviction.
“Pathetic. Try harder.”
She did, but only a little. Countless more swings of her sword and she was panting. Sweat gleamed on her skin.
Cale growled at her lack of progress. “What gets your blood boiling? What makes you angry? Who has wronged you?”
Darius.
“Close your eyes and think of someone else in my place. If you can, try to remember a time when you were full of rage, and hold on to it.”
She didn't have to think long. There were too many times to choose from, too many moments when she thought she would go mad from the anger festering inside her. It was still there, underneath the surface, clawing to get free. She'd spent so much time burying it she hardly recognized when a spike of fury flushed through her.
Darius, murdering her mother! Darius, locking her away! His breath on her neck as he would tell her she belonged to him. The memories of every time he abused her, or tried to break her, started to flood her mind.
When the sound of metal grating against metal filled the air, she opened her eyes. Her body had moved without her permission, and even Cale looked a little shocked.
“Very good!” His eyes flashed with something like approval. “Again!” he ordered.
Her rage hadn't left her. In fact, it was still growing. Maddening. Harder than before, she slashed at Cale, picturing only Darius.
Clang!
Without a pause, her sword carved through the air.
Clang!
Darius, ripping at her hair.
Clang!
Throwing her to the ground.
Clang!
Laughing at her pain.
Clang!
His eyes swimming with pleasure at what he was about to do to her.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
She went mindless with her rage, her horror, her fury. Only the sound of metal on metal satisfied her, wishing it was metal against flesh. At some point she'd begun to cry out with every swing, and was advancing on the mat. She no longer felt her body. A building energy buzzed through her, and guided her movements.
The image of her sword slashing through Darius swam in her mind, though his expression remained arrogant, always looking at her as though superior to her in every way. He reached out and grabbed her shoulders.
Analia screamed.
“Anya!” Two male voices yelled her name repeatedly.
The image of Darius vanished, and she felt warm tears streaking down her face.
Shaking, Analia sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Fuzzy images of the memories she'd called still misted through her mind. Warm arms gently came around her, and she smelled the musky scent of Bastian. How long had he been here?
Fisting his shirt in her hands Analia clung to him as she sobbed. “Don't let him hurt me anymore!” She couldn't stop the words from coming out. Sebastian tightened his grip on her. Analia felt his head snap to Cale, and could only blubber unintelligibly.
“She's not talking about me, mate!”
She thought she heard a hint of concern in Cale's voice, but decided she was mistaken.
* * *
——
* * *
Sebastian forced a soft tone. “Who are you talking about, sweets?”
Analia shook her head, her face still buried in the crook of his neck. Her grip was like a vice on his collar, as though she would never let go. Her only response was a gut-wrenching wail that cut him to the bone.
What had brought her to this? Once again, he turned his attention on Cale, who looked at Anya as though he didn't
know what to make of her. To anyone else, Cale would have seemed uncaring, but Sebastian saw the gleam of guilt in his eyes.
Anya's sobs slowed to a quiet weep, though her body was still shaking wildly. Sebastian petted her hair, hating himself because she was willingly in his arms, and he felt a twinge of satisfaction for it. He knew it was only because she was so distraught that she allowed the contact, but like the selfish bastard he was, Sebastian would take anything he could get.
“Shh…” he cooed. “You're safe. No one will hurt you here.” He didn't know if his words had any effect. Reveling in her warmth, he pulled her tighter against him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. A hitch in her breath was the only sound from her now.
He didn't know how long they sat like that, but when she began to pull away, he reluctantly let her go.
After rising to a stand, her red eyes darted between him and Cale. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “That won't happen again.”
“What is it, exactly, that happened?” Sebastian asked. When she didn't respond, he pointed to Cale. “Did he hurt you?” He knew Cale wouldn't have hurt her intentionally. He only asked to get her talking.
In a solemn voice, Anya replied, “No, Cale didn't hurt me.”
Sebastian scowled in frustration. “Tell me who did.”
She gave him a silent, withered look.
“I will find out.”
Anya only shrugged.
“Do you feel up to working in the galley today? I could take you back to your room.” Sebastian was hoping for the latter. Not only did she look tired, but her melancholy plagued him. And for reasons beyond his comprehension, he wanted her well rested and smiling again.
Plus, during the training he had replaced her couch. Not with the old one, but with one from his own room. It was soft, comfortable, and large. It would make a satisfactory bed for her.
When he'd seen her huddled on the floor this morning, Sebastian had realized she wouldn't back down and accepted defeat. He thought if she saw what he'd done for her, it might cheer her up, but to his disappointment Anya shook her head and said she'd like to see Marik.