Her Dark Soul

by Kim Knox

  Marek turned down the first of the trident roads leading away from the square and found a thick wall of people. All her thoughts scattered. A covered litter, hoisted up on poles and carried by twelve burly slaves, pushed through the sea of people pouring into the market. The linen covers flapped and Ash caught the narrowed gaze of an imperial matron.

  Ash blinked and averted her eyes. Too many people flowed around her—not close because Marek instilled a cold terror—but she had never been in the presence of so many strangers. Straggly-bearded men, ragamuffin children weaving through and around the adults, chattering women, branded slaves and every one of them seemed to belong to a different race within the empire of Bukhara.

  She breathed against the tight pain in her chest, denying the rise of panic. She chanted the familiar morning prayers under her breath, words that formed an easing rhythm, reminding her of the press of cool marble under her cheek and the gentle murmurs of the other wards.

  Marek turned again, breaking out of the fast flow of people headed into the square. The narrow alley lay thick with shadows, no natural light touching it that early in the morning. Oil lamps hung from iron bars bolted to the walls, casting a yellow light down over the cobbles. Shutters opened to the street and flattened against the plastered walls. Through the long windows, light sliced over the great gray curve of an oven, the baker already lifting baked bread from the bright embers.

  The scent of the warm bread forced a growl from her stomach. Yes, she’d not had anything to eat since she’d poked her supper around on its metal platter the night before. The decision that she was to leave the temple had robbed her of her appetite.

  Marek stopped. He released her hand and white, stinking light shrouded his fist. He pressed his knuckles against a set of heavy, blue-painted doors. There was a dull thunk and the doors swung inwards. The light died around his fingers and he took her arm. “Inside.”

  Her stomach knotted and not from the harsh bite of hunger. She stared along the corridor into the dimly lit atrium. This was her life now, in this house, with this stranger.

  “Don’t worry, Ashsara.”

  She had to ask. “Was my name on the scroll? Does the emperor know who I am?”

  “Yes.”

  Marek pushed her up onto the wide doorstep and then into the shadowy coolness of the hall. He pushed the door closed behind him. The heavy thud made her heart jump. Marek stood behind her, almost pressing his body into hers, and eased back the heavy hood of her cloak.

  Ash sucked in a sharp breath and all the memory of him, of his taste, of the curl of his fingers against her most intimate flesh, rushed her. His lips found her ear. Ash shivered and she fought down the quick, hot rise of need in her veins. She closed her eyes. Her wild attraction made no sense. Was it simply her time in the temple making her susceptible to the first hard male body she met? Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palm. Dwelling on Marek’s beauty? No, not a wise thought.

  “Sweet as you taste, I think I can resist you.” He paused and his breath heated her skin, the pulse low in her belly seeming to fill all her senses. “Well, almost.” He smiled against the shell of her ear and her heart squeezed. “I have need of you now.”

  Marek skimmed down her shoulder until he took her hand again, his warm, callused fingers pressing into her palm. He tugged her forward and she stumbled after him, her heart beating too hard.

  The walls of the corridor were a blur and Marek skirted the atrium pool, leading her into a small room. He pushed her back until her calves hit a low bunk. “Sit.”

  She obeyed him. The warm darkness pressed against her and she tried to stare through it, listen for movement, her body expecting Marek’s touch, fearing it, craving it. She gasped at the sudden arc of burning white light. It illuminated him as he stood beside an oil lamp hanging low on the smooth wall. Darkness swept around them again before another spark dipped into the glass bowl. Soft light filled the room, casting brown shadow into the corners.

  The first pull and stretch of the leather strap and buckle on his tunic knotted her hands in her lap. Another followed and another. It was the loudest sound in the room, rising above her pounding heart, short breaths and the crack and hiss of the wick in the lamp. Marek shrugged off the tunic and dropped it over a wooden chair tucked against the wall. He tugged at his loose, linen undershirt and pulled it over his head.

  Ash pressed her thighs together, but it did nothing to ease the hard pulse of her flesh. The golden light caressed his hard-muscled torso and her mouth dried. The need to run her mouth over him in quick kisses, to trace and tease her tongue along the silver scars criss-crossing his skin filled her, and her awakened imagination ran wild.

  Marek tilted his head and ran his fingers down his chest. “I can feel your need building.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s powerful, wild. Yes, I can see why the priests made you a ward for this box.”

  She wanted to look away from him, see where he’d placed the box he’d hugged to his body—and hers—since leaving the temple, but she couldn’t. She could only stare at his mouth, her own lips burning, eager to find him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Is that a part of your power? This ignorance?” He took a step closer and the need to snap at him for his insult died on her tongue. Marek stroked her jaw, his thumb pressing against her bottom lip. He traced its edge. He was a dark shadow looming over her and it quickened her pulse. “Then I must be careful with you.”

  “Marek…”

  She almost groaned his name and Ash didn’t know whether she was asking him to stop or for him to…what? Her imagination failed her. She knew nothing of men, had only caught brief glimpses of slaves, as the eunuchs kept a careful eye on all of their wards.

  Marek tilted her chin up and he bent, dipping his mouth down to hers. His lips hovered, the tiny distance he kept between them driving need and frustration in a wild rush through her body. “What would you like me to do, Ashsara?” His voice soft, deep and so very…male…fluttered her eyes shut. His hot breath teased her parched lips. “Kiss you? Or would you like my mouth on your body? On your breasts? Between your thighs?”

  A gasp escaped her at the thought of Marek’s hot mouth kissing her in such an intimate place.

  “Ah yes, that’s what you want.” His smiling words brushed his lips against hers. “I’d kiss you, let my tongue tease over your flesh, curl and bury itself deep inside you. Oh and then I’d fuck you so slowly. So thoroughly.”

  His words burned through her, stirring the hot beat of her blood. Already the powerful surge that he had brought to her in the atrium of the temple rode fast through her body. Her breathing came hard and she fought the wild wave that would burst out against him and leave her boneless and still aching.

  “Imagine me there.”

  She bit out a silent curse against him, because she could see him between her bare, parted thighs, the slow movement of his dark head, his callused hands gripping her pale skin.

  “Feel me there.” And both of his hands lifted the heavy material of her cloak. He skimmed his fingertips along her thin shift and then his palms rested hot against her legs. His thumbs pressed into soft skin and with a hard grin, he parted her thighs.

  Light and heat smashed out of her, surging around Marek in a voracious wave. His hands tightened against her legs, pinning her to the bunk as he arched against the assault. Marek’s low groan ebbed into her boneless body.

  “I may grow used to you,” he murmured, and he let out a heavy breath. His hands eased their hard hold on her thighs and he brushed a light, teasing kiss across her mouth.

  Her heart still hammered and she stared up at him. “Why…” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Why did you do that again?”

  “Jasha pulled power from me and wrenched my arm.” He rotated his left shoulder. “And your…sweetness…cured me.”

  Ash stared at him, hating him, because that was preferable to the sick feeling twisting her stomach. “You used me.”


  “The temple wants you protected. If I’m to defend what you are…” He shrugged. “It would take me days to renew my strength.”

  “So you thought you’d what, just play with me?” His smile was wicked and a freshened heat washed down through her flesh. Her mouth thinned. She hated that he could force such a reaction from her. “I’m certain that this isn’t what the priests consider defending me.”

  “The priests care about the box and its contents, Ashsara, not you. As long as you remain its ward I can do exactly what I like with you.” He dug his fingers into his shoulder, flexing the strong muscles in his arm. “And I will.”

  The solid clang of a bell echoed and Ash sucked in a quick breath. Marek frowned, grabbed his shirt and disappeared into the broken shadows of the corridor. He closed the door and the heavy clunk of a lock engaged.

  Ash fought down the swift surge of panic and crossed the short distance to the door. She pressed her ear to the crack where the door fitted into its frame and held her breath. Ash had no qualms about eavesdropping. The priests in the temple were secretive and well, she was nosy.

  The low groan of the front doors opening filled the silence.

  “Caught you at the wrong moment, Marek?” A man’s voice echoed down the corridor, quickly followed by his deep laughter. “I heard it from the baker that you had a woman with you.”

  “Donel…” Irritation lined Marek’s voice. “You have something for me?”

  “You’re not going to introduce me? You bring a woman to your lair and you’re half-stripped? That I lived to see the day.”

  Silence stretched and Ash could imagine the hard glare on Marek’s angled face.

  “Fine. Let’s go to your office—”

  “Here.”

  Another ripple of more disbelieving laughter escaped Donel. “She must have charms indeed. Where’s she from, Marek? If she can turn your head she must be luscious.”

  More silence.

  Donel gave a long sigh. “This is what I have.” The rub of leather against leather and the clank of metal followed his words. Ash pressed her ear tight against the crack and strained to identify what made the noises. “Pouches from Senator Artus, a matron from the Quirline hills, Mallena Roch and this from a knight, Errend Tova.” Donel paused. “Their individual down-payments.” More leather and sharper clinks. “I agreed to favorable terms.”

  “In your favor?”

  “You’re a custodian. Would I risk my hide for a few silver rupels?”

  “You’d sell your children for a brass para.” Boots scuffed on the floor tiles. “I’ll arrange the marks. Now, it’s time for you to leave.”

  “I will see her, Marek. You can’t hide her for—”

  The heavy wood of the doors thunked into place and Ash stepped back from her position by the room door. She straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid to let him know she’d been listening. The lock turned and clunked and the door swung inwards.

  “Old temple habit?” he asked. “Take the lamp.” He stood back and waved her out of the small room, whilst holding odd-shaped leather pouches and a cloth-wrapped golden statuette in the crook of his arm.

  Ash ignored his observation and gave him a question of her own. “You’re a collector? Is that what a custodian is?” She unhooked the oil lamp, careful of the hot glass bowl, and held it out in front of her. Light shifted and she shone the lamp down the corridor. Smooth stone pillars glinted and stood at the entranceway to a small room with closed shutters and a large table. To the left of the pillars was another set of double doors.

  “Something like that.” He retrieved the plain box from the top of the small cupboard and nodded for her to carry on down the narrow corridor. “Stop.” He elbowed open the doors to the left of the pillars. “Lead the way, Ashsara.”

  The glow of her lamp revealed stone-topped steps leading down into the earth. Her heart tightened. Was this where he stored his horde of treasures? She took the first step down and then another, the air growing thick and warm, the scent of the packed earth walls filling her senses.

  The steps ended in an open arch and beyond were wooden cabinets. Ash put her lamp on the square table sitting in the center of the room and Marek followed with the treasures he held. He moved away with the box from the temple and a moment later, there was the creak of an opening drawer.

  Ash watched him, but then a movement caught in the corner of her eye. The statuette’s cloth had slipped and revealed the sculpted perfection cast into the pale gold. It gleamed in the soft light. Ash traced her finger over its exquisite profile. In a strange way, he was as beautiful as Marek. Her finger curled away. She didn’t want to dwell on Marek’s handsome face…and what he planned to do with her.

  “So you store treasures for people?”

  “I’m a custodian. Some people have…treasures…that are too valuable to remain in their homes. I offer a service. I guard them.”

  How could she make the temple her past? It had followed her to this house in the form of a box.

  Ash blinked. The thieves had broken into the temple, hunting for something. Was that something the square wooden box? But then what was she? Marek had used her to heal himself, some form of power that smashed out of her under his words and caresses. Her gut knotted and she gripped the sharp edge of the table. It was another form of magic. She was another form of magic. As Marek supposedly protected her, she protected the box. “What did we bring from the temple? What did the thieves want?”

  Marek closed the drawer. “I guard. I don’t question.”

  “And they pay you for that too?”

  He picked up the leather bags and turned to another drawer. She ignored the close brush of his body. A dark smile pulled at his mouth and she knew that he deliberately taunted her, keeping her on edge. Keeping her ready for him. “Yes, they do.”

  “Am I payment?”

  He paused. “More of a bonus.” He closed the drawer on the leather pouches and returned to the table for the statuette. Picking it up, he turned it to the light and a frown creased his forehead. “Beautiful workmanship,” he murmured. “A knight owns this treasure?” He snorted softly. “No, he looted this from a northern prince.”

  He’d dismissed her so easily, seemed more concerned with the provenance of the statuette than the fact that he would taunt her for her…her magic whenever he pleased. “What am I, Marek?” Anger was a tight fist in her chest, fueled by her tired, hungry body. “What did the priests do to me?” Pain undercut the fury. Rani had to have known what they’d turned her into, known and never said. “And why?”

  “They didn’t pay me to answer your questions.” He moved away and opened another drawer. The statuette found its home.

  She snorted. “I’m paying you. I healed you. So tell me.”

  “Don’t waste your anger on me, Ashsara.” Marek picked up the lamp and shadows thickened across the cellar. “I heard your stomach. We both need breakfast.”

  He strode from the cellar, taking the light with him. As the darkness closed over her, Ash fought down her panic and followed him up the short flight of steps. “I could be here for a long time.” The words made her pause. How long would she be with this man? If the priests feared for the safety of their stupid box, would they ever let it—and her—return to their temple? Years. Her stomach turned over. It could be years before she left Marek’s house. “And you intend to ignore me?”

  “Ashsara…”

  Her temple name stung. She wasn’t that woman anymore, praying for the good fortune of the city from dawn until dusk. She was a slave to a plain little box and the man who guarded it. “Ash,” she muttered. “Ashsara was my holy name.”

  Marek stopped on the last stair and stared down at her. He wiped his hand over his jaw. “I hate working with priests.” He let out a slow breath. “We have to eat…Ash.” Marek pushed open the door and allowed her to precede him.

  Food and then at least some form of explanation. It was the best she could hope for right then.

 
Ash leaned against one of the small kitchen’s walls while Marek moved around the white-plastered room with quiet efficiency. The lamp brought light to the room, mixing with the shaft of weak light from the grille above the oven and the open arch that led back through the garden. It wafted the soft scent of fruit trees into the cramped space, not the soothing scents of chamomile and wild jasmine, but the hint of pears, of ripening apples eased the empty ache under her heart…and also reminded her of her hunger. She focused on something else. “You have no slaves?”

  “I have occasional use for them. Donel’s most trusted slave cleans here, but that’s all.” He lifted covered jars from the small, dark pantry and put them on the bench. “I prefer to source and prepare my own food.” He pointed to a stack of metal platters on a shelf to the left of the low fireplace. “Get two of those.”

  Ash wondered if he knew the word please, but she did as he ordered and set the plates on the scrubbed table. Marek spooned olives, raisins and honey onto both platters. A chunk of white cheese and bread joined them. He poured a little red wine into two beakers and filled it to the brim with water from a jug.

  “Sit,” he said, pointing to the low stool.

  Ash dropped her behind onto it, still staring at her full platter. Her breakfast, taken in the third hour, had always been a simple meal of cracker bread and water from the temple well. “You always eat like this?”

  “Ash.” He waved a chunk of bread at her before he dipped it into his wine. “Are you going to question everything?”

  “Yes.”

  A brief smile flickered across his mouth and she fought not to echo it. He kept catching her out, this Marek Savada. Hard, cruel…but then a hint of humor. Her ignored stomach growled again and she attacked the bread and cheese, happily mixing in olives. With her belly on the way to being full, tiredness crept into her bones, yet she still had to have some of her answers. She lifted her cup, hoping the aroma of wine clinging to the water would snap her awake. “So my answers?” She took a brief sip. “I have magic, yes? A ward means something other than having the temple as my guardian.”