by Lynn Best
This was Han’s mother? Oh, Lord. Charis shifted to peer into the dark room without being seen. Han and his mother were standing on some sort of circular platform. Strands of light trailed like thin ribbons from the ceiling, illuminating parts of their bodies while leaving others in shadow. The chamber was large, stone, and mostly empty. It reminded Charis of a medieval castle, dark and drippy, echoing with their voices.
His mother looked formidable and fearsome. She was nearly as tall as Han, with broad shoulders and long arms. Her garb was the same pulsing white as the ship and the clothes Han and Bram wore, but hers was ornately fashioned into sweeping lines that draped her figure. Her hair was a dirty blonde, like Han’s, but heavy and thick, pinned and styled like a beehive, giving her head a conical shape. Cold eyes and a stern face rounded her out. Charis shivered. She did not want to cross paths with Han’s mother. Maybe this was where he’d gotten his beastly manner from.
“Mother, I’m sorry,” Han started, but she cut him off.
“Penance. Now. Twice this time since you don’t seem to be getting the point.” She gestured at the ground.
Charis wasn’t sure what his mother meant. Did she want him to lay on the stone? Grovel? But when he picked up a giant whip tipped with barbs similar to a cat-o-nine-tails and offered it to his mother, Charis nearly gasped out loud.
His mother couldn’t mean…
She took the weapon, turning to hand it to a man who appeared seemingly out of thin air, but who must have been in the shadows all along. The man was stone faced and big, but not the least bit attractive. He, too, had a glowing band on his ankle, marking him a prisoner.
Han’s mother bit out, “Turn, now,” and Han did.
The other man lifted the whip high above his head, bringing it back down with brute force against Han’s back. The sound was horrible, like a mallet punching into meat. There was also a tearing sound as flesh gave way. Blood sprung to the surface, coating his now-ripped shirt and spreading across the white fabric.
Han moaned, dropping his head, sagging under the weight of the heavy blow.
His mother stared at the blood with no expression. “Again.”
The man once more brought it down cruelly against Han’s back. Han staggered against the force.
His shirt was in tatters. Blood was dripping down his pants, streaking them red. Charis could tell he was trying to keep his head up and shoulders straight, but he was failing.
God, how could she? His own mother. Charis felt like she was going to vomit. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch that nasty woman in her lady parts. But if she intervened, would that make it worse for Han? On Earth, she would call the cops, but there was nothing like that here. Nothing to do but watch as the man whistled the whip against Han’s back in punishing blows three more times.
By the time he was done, Han’s shirt fell to the floor in tatters. His back looked like raw meat. His head sagged, and he was barely standing.
The bloody cudgel was gripped tight in the prisoner’s hand, but his face showed not one ounce of expression. Hadn’t the whole time. He seemed to wait for further instructions.
The woman gave a sniff of distaste, and then turned to walk away from the scene.
Han lifted his head. “Mother?”
“Two more days, Han. Make it happen, or you can consider that an appetizer to a meal you won’t survive.” She strode out of the room, the prisoner following her.
Han limped toward the tunnel. Toward Charis.
Sick with what she’d just seen, Charis was slow in responding as Han shuffled in her direction. But he couldn’t see her spying on him. She bolted down the tunnel, praying he wouldn’t hear her.
When she got back to the apartment, she crunched in a dark corner, ducking so he wouldn’t be able to see her.
He appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, still bowed in pain. A trail of blood followed him across the stone.
On this side of the entrance, he placed his hand on the wall, and the tunnel began to disappear. Then he limped his way toward the pool, sinking in it, his face contorting as the water touched each of his dozens of wounds. The water around him turned pink.
Charis watched him float for a while, feeling such a mix of emotions. This explained why he moved slowly at times, why she caught him wincing. It also explained so much of his personality. If he’d been being abused for most of his life, he’d lash out in anger when he felt backed into a corner or disrespected. And how awful for a mother to do such a thing to her son. No wonder he was mad all the time.
But what did she mean by two days? What did Han have to do?
She watched him wade to the side of the pool, reaching out for what looked like a bar of soap and wincing as his arm pulled the skin taut across his back. Without really thinking about it, she left her place in the dark corner, and made her way to him. She bent, picked up the soap, and handed it to him.
His face was a mix of emotions. So handsome. So broken.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
He considered her for a long moment. Finally, he offered the soap back and turned his flayed back to her. “The substance in your hands will speed up the healing.”
Kneeling, she rubbed the soap between her hands, hovering over his wounds. Already, they looked better than when she’d seen them in the tunnel. But they were open wounds, and she had no experience as a nurse. Still, if this would help him…
Slowly, she smoothed the suds over the whip marks as gently as she could, marveling at how much better they appeared once she’d spread the salve on them. Han was tense in the water, hiding his pain. She fell into a rhythm of gently rubbing the soap between her palms, setting the bar down, grabbing his intact shoulder to get a better angle, and spreading the suds. It took her quite a while to feel the charge of electrical energy slowly building in her hand from where it touched him. The pleasure was dull, but there still the same, a tingling sort of joy in her veins. But she knew it upset him. Gently, she severed the connection.
“Done,” she said, still on her knees. Her clothes were wet and her hands sudsy, but she felt good about helping him. She stood. “Is there anything else I can do to help you?”
Han faced her. The horrible pain he’d been hiding seemed to have abated. He submerged up to his neck in the water, sighed, and then shook his head. “I require nothing else. Thank you for your assistance.”
It was so formal, the way he was dealing with her. Like she hadn’t just been there for the most terrible part of his life.
She knew she shouldn’t pry, but the social worker in her couldn’t help it. “Does she do that every day?”
His eyes flicked up.
“Your mother,” she added. “Does she force someone to whip you every day?”
He frowned. “You were watching.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to, but the damn tunnel was open. Stop changing the subject. Does your mother get someone to beat you to a bloody pulp every day?” Her pulse was up. She was angry. She wanted to find that woman and take the cudgel to her. Give her a taste of her own goddammed medicine.
“It’s none of your concern,” he said emotionlessly.
She could tell he was trying to hold in his anger, but she was angry, too. “Abuse is abuse, even if you are an adult. Whatever power she has over you, it’s not right—”
“You know nothing of my life, Charis. Please do not attempt to analyze it. There are things at play here that you don’t understand.”
“Like what?” She got closer to get a better look at him. “You’re the one who won’t talk to me, who won’t let me in.”
His brow furrowed. “Do you ever think that you help people just so you can live through their drama? That your life is so boring that you must needle your way in?”
“It isn’t going to work,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re trying to get me to leave you alone by being mean to me, but it isn’t going to work this time.”
“I don’t need it to work.” Turning
, he swam into the depths of the pool and disappeared.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charis sat in the dark for a long time thinking about Han. He never emerged from the pool’s dark cavern. She thought about going after him, but she wasn’t a great swimmer, and she worried about not being able to find her way back if she went in. Besides, he’d made it very clear she wasn’t wanted.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get him to talk. She had her ways. At her school, she was always sent in with the angry kids, the ones who’d been in fights or caught with drugs. She could almost always get them to talk to her if given enough time. Han was no different. It just took time. And she didn’t know how much she had.
As she was pondering everything, the outer wall opened again. Charis sat up, wondering who it could be now. There was a thrill of fear when she thought it might be Rahan, but instead, Brandy burst into the room, weeping.
“Charis, I’m so sorry.” Sweeping Charis into her arms, Brandy pressed her to her giant bosom. “If I had known what Rahan was up to… But I should’ve. I should’ve known. He’s been power hungry for as long as I’ve known him, and taking you would have been a power move for sure. I just didn’t know he would… Oh, God. Will you ever forgive me?” Brandy pulled Charis back, staring into her face. Makeup was smeared in raccoon circles around her beautiful eyes.
“It isn’t your fault,” Charis said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Brandy wiped at the smeared makeup, pulling it across her cheeks. “I did. I took you to the party. I knew it was going to be a wild one, but I thought you needed some fun instead of being trapped in here with Mr. Party Pooper.” She lowered her voice on the last part, looking around. “Where is he?”
“Swam off.” Charis gazed toward the dark cavern.
“Oh,” Brandy answered, pulling a tissue from between her breasts and blowing her nose very loudly. “Anyway, I’m here on business. Someone wants to see you.”
“Rahan?” Charis stiffened.
“No.” Brandy shook her head, sending her blonde hair cascading. “It’s actually Kahn’s mother.”
“Kahn’s mother?”
Brandy nodded. “And we can’t really say no since she’s royalty, though I can’t really figure out how the hierarchy here goes. I know Han’s mother is the queen matriarch or something, and Rahan and Kahn’s mothers are below her, but I don’t really know exactly how. Anyway, we have to go. Now.”
Charis resisted. “What about Han? He was hurt. I shouldn’t leave.”
“Hurt?” Brandy tilted her head.
“I can’t really explain,” Charis said. “Can you tell Mrs. … whomever I can’t come right now? Maybe later.”
Brandy shook her head adamantly. “Charis, I’m telling you, if you don’t come with me now, they will send those beast things. You know what I’m talking about.” Brandy raised her eyebrows.
Charis did. The thought of those scaly, horrible monsters made her skin crawl. She shivered involuntarily and stood. “Fine. We’ll go. I guess we have no choice.”
“Smart girl,” Brandy said, taking her hand like she was five or something. “Come on.”
They walked quickly through the halls. Charis’s heart was pounding again. She was worried Kahn’s mother might be like Han’s. That she would try to hurt Charis or beg her to tell where her son was. The good news was she didn’t know Kahn’s whereabouts. Only where he had been.
They stopped at another nondescript wall, and Brandy put her hand on it. When the surface dissolved, Charis saw a much different scene than she had at Han’s mother’s rooms.
This space exuded warmth and light. As they stepped in, Charis was bombarded by the smell of baked goods and a fuzzy white-and-black dog that bounced at their feet while yapping. The room looked like a British sitting room fit for the likes of Queen Elizabeth. Charis saw an English tea tray gilded in gold next to several tufted armchairs decorated with stylish fabrics. The chandeliers were gold and crystal. The fireplace was huge and ornately carved. Above the mantel was a hand-painted portrait of the woman sweeping into the room.
She was as small as Han’s mother was large. Maybe five-foot-two, she was plump, especially her backside. Round cheeks dimpled as she smiled, nearly losing her eyes in the folds of her face.
“Ladies, thank you so much for coming!” She swept them into a jolly hug. The woman smelled like flowery perfume and jiggled as she pinched their cheeks lightly. “My, you two are beauties. Very different, but very beautiful. Brandy, I know, but this must be Charis! Now I see what all the fuss is about.” She held Charis’s hand, and gazed into her face.
“H-hello…”
“Call me, Gora, dear. We don’t use titles like they do on Earth. But everyone around here knows who’s boss, am I right?” She winked merrily like they were all in on some secret that Charis was certainly not in on. Charis looked at Brandy to see if she knew, but Brandy’s face was almost unreadable behind her polite smile.
“Come in, come in. Sit down here.” She patted a plush sofa, covered in a rose print, while she sat in one of the expensive-looking tufted chairs.
Charis and Brandy sat stiffly down, hands in laps. A butler, looking like he was straight out of Downton Abbey, came in and began to serve the tea. This was all so strange.
“Gora, I’ve brought you Charis. Would you like me to stay?” Brandy asked.
Charis wanted to scream at her not to leave her alone, but sucked down hot tea instead.
Luckily, Gora batted the idea away with a plump hand. “Stay, stay. Have some tea. These cakes are to die for.” She picked up an iced dessert—a pink petit four with green leaves made of frosting—and shoved the whole thing in her mouth. Her eyes flared with delight. “The food is so good,” she said with her mouth half-full.
So odd. Charis got the impression Gora was someone playing at English royalty without really understanding it. Like a kid who’d gotten a playset and was acting out something she’d seen in a movie. Still, she seemed nice enough.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Charis began, “but I’m not really sure why you’ve summoned me. If it’s about your son, Kahn—”
“It is about my son Kahn!” she exclaimed like Charis was a mind reader.
“I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry. I did see him, but that was likely at least a day ago. More probably.” Charis shrugged apologetically.
“It’s not that, dear,” Gora went in for another petit four. Then she shoved the tray closer to Charis. “Eat. Eat. They’re so good.”
Charis reluctantly picked one and took a small bite. They were indeed delicious, but she just wanted to get the hell out of there. There was something off about Gora. “Thank you. I was just wondering what you needed?”
Gora chewed for a moment before turning to Brandy. “Could you excuse us, dear? I need to speak to Charis alone.”
Brandy stood to go. It was all Charis could do not to throw herself on Brandy to make her stay. She pleaded with her eyes, but Brandy just shrugged and mouthed Sorry, before disappearing behind the outer wall.
Charis turned nervously to Gora. “What was it you wanted to talk about, ma’am?”
Gora pushed from her chair and dropped beside Charis on the plush couch. Before she knew what was happening, Gora had Charis’s arm clutched in her meaty hands. “I know you are a sweet girl, a very kind girl,” she gushed. “And I know you like my Kahn. Why wouldn’t you? He’s so handsome. So kind. Not like his boorish brother, Han.”
Charis smiled tightly, wishing she could rip her arm away. There was a sour smell under Gora’s perfume, and a desperation in her eyes Charis didn’t like. “Kahn is very nice, yes.”
“Right, so if you were to mate with him, to choose him, that would be agreeable to you, correct?” Gora stared at her with giant eyes.
Charis stammered a response. “He’s… very sweet, but I don’t know about mating anyone.”
Gora’s smile fell like the structure holding it up had crumbled. “What do you mean? Isn’
t that what you’re here for?”
“I don’t really know what I’m here for. I was abducted, after all.” She knew her tone was flirting toward angry, and Gora definitely took notice.
“Haven’t you been given whatever you want, paraded in front of not one, but three handsome bachelors?”
“Three men have pursued me, yes. But, frankly, I just want to go home.”
“My dear, you are one of the lucky few humans ever to be invited on this ship. You have proven to have the right genetic makeup to bear children of the Cartharian race. Not many have this special gift, I tell you.” She smiled like she was very proud to be one of the few.
“Ma’am, that is all well and good, but I have no desire to bear children or whatever it is you suggest I do. I have a job. A life. I’m sorry.”
Kahn’s mother let go of Charis’s arm, straightening her shoulders. “You don’t care about my son at all. You don’t care if he rots in that jail.” Her tone rose higher. Veins began standing up in her neck.
“Miss… Gora, I didn’t mean that. I like Kahn. I just don’t want to mate—”
“Shut up!” Gora’s eyes were wild, accusatory. She stood, her body trembling. “You are a harlot. None of our princes deserve a woman of ill repute such as yourself.
“A woman of ill repute?”
“Silence!” Gora threw her teacup, shattering it against the coffee table leg.
Charis was afraid now. Brandy was gone, Gora was crazy, and she had no idea what to do. She jumped up, eyes searching for the place on the wall where they came in. Gora saw her and strode forward, gripping her arm again.
“Ow, you’re hurting me,” Charis said, trying to pry Gora’s fat little fingers away.
“Alfred!” Gora shrieked over her shoulder.
Sweet baby Jesus, she actually had a butler named Alfred. This woman was batshit crazy. “Let me go.” Charis struggled.
Alfred appeared just as Charis broke free from Gora’s grip. Setting down his tea tray, he spread his arms out like he was going to catch her.
Shit.
She took off running.