Ula shook her head, her ferocity replaced by fear once more. “Nae, lass. ’Tis best ye just let it be. Dinna try to escape.” She stood. “I’ll fetch ye a meal. When your stomach is ready, ye can eat.” She left the room, locking the door behind her.
Mairead stood and walked around. Melik, dead. Connor—who knows where. They brought me to Allyn’s house. Will Henry try to find me? Risk his alliance with the slavers? Alshada, show me how to escape.
Ula returned soon with a plate of bread and cheese and a goblet of water. She set it on the stool. “Eat, now. Master Allyn is coming to see ye soon.”
Mairead nodded. Ula left and locked the door again, and Mairead sat on the cot and stared at the food and water. She had no intention of being drugged or poisoned again. Rather than eat or drink, she knelt next to her bed and bowed her head. Alshada, help me. Give me wisdom. Help me confront evil with good. Help me serve you in all I do.
As the hours passed, Mairead paced and searched for a weapon. She found nothing. Fighting moves Connor had taught her ran through her head. She practiced a few, but every move brought weakness and pain. Her stomach clenched from hunger and thirst. She didn’t think she could fight anyone. If I’m to get free of this place, it will be with my wits.
At last, the lock turned. She stood in the center of the room and straightened her shoulders in a regal pose. A tall man with light red hair and a hard, weathered face entered the room. Two guards accompanied him, flanking him on either side. “Are you so afraid of me you need two guards?” she asked.
He folded his arms and appraised her. “Ye’re a brave one for such a slip of a thing.”
“Bravery is all I have at the moment.”
“And beauty.”
“I fear that’s more a curse than a blessing.”
He signaled to the two guards. They left the room, closing the door behind them. The man approached her. “So. Ye’re Connor Mac Niall’s whore.”
The words stung. “No. Connor was my guard and escort only. You are Master Allyn?”
He inclined his head. “None other. I’m glad to see my reputation precedes me.”
She lifted her chin. “You realize that you have captured a guest of Prince Henry, don’t you? I’m in his care. If he finds out—”
“Henry is busy over at Mac Mahon’s house. We gave him a few clues to lead him there. If I’m lucky, he and Mac Mahon will fight it out, and I’ll be the one left standing.”
“Then what do you plan to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided.” He stepped closer to her. “There’s a man who buys ladies for his lord, the Emperor of Tal’Amun. Ye’re the type he buys. I’d get a good price for ye. It would almost make up for the blood Mac Niall shed when he killed my son.”
Mairead forced her fear back. “Revenge and profit. Is there anything else that drives you?”
“One thing. But I won’t get as much for you if I take that.” He appraised her body. “The man Melik—he said ye’re a virgin. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Your idea or Mac Niall’s?”
“There was nothing between us. He didn’t want me.”
He put one hand on her neck. His hand spanned her throat and tightened in warning. It drifted down to her breasts. She refused to look away from his face. “Ye’d be a difficult woman to resist.”
She picked up his hand and removed it from her body. “Try.”
“I get enough ragged whores in the brothels and camps. Perhaps it’s time to train a woman to my personal service.” He gestured. “Take off your clothes. Let me see if ye’re worth keeping.”
The suggestion was so brazen that she laughed. “You think I fear you so much I’d obey an order like that without a fight?”
The back of his hand connected with her cheek. The blow knocked her to the ground. Light flashed around her head as blood filled her mouth. He pulled her up to her feet. Her head spun, but she saw the cold sneer that crossed his face. He stank of wine and sweat. “I was hoping ye’d fight.”
She gathered the blood in her mouth and spit in his face. “Beat me, rape me, kill me—I don’t care. Anything you want from me you’ll have to take.”
He grabbed her braid and twisted it around his hand, pulling her head back to expose her neck. She heard the whisper of steel from a sheath. Her pulse pounded against a blade on her skin. “One cut. ‘Tis all it takes.”
“Do it then. It’s better than having you between my legs.”
He hovered for a moment. The knife drifted down her body to her tunic. He sliced the tunic open down the middle and put his hand inside. She swallowed and fought the urge to scream as his hand kneaded her breast. He pushed up against her and put his mouth next to her ear. “Kirok bitches are all the same. Ye lift your chin and act the virgin, and all ye need is a good pounding between the legs.”
“You think you can give me one? I doubt you’re capable.”
He spun her around. The knife sliced a shallow cut on her belly. Blood ran down to her breeches. He pushed her up against the wall and pulled both hands behind her back. One hand held her wrists tight, and he leaned against her with a shoulder while he untied his breeches. His breath quickened. He pressed up against her and grew hard. “Does that feel soft and weak?”
“You’re no better . . . than your son . . . . He was . . . raping women . . .” Breath came only in gasps. Her belly stung against the wall. Connor, help me! Please, help me!
He pulled the tunic off her body and used it to tie her hands together behind her back. “Ye’ll find out where he learned to treat women like ye.” He spun her around again and dropped the knife. He put both hands on her breasts and pinched her until she screamed. “I don’t care if I can’t sell ye. I won’t be talked to that way by a woman.” He punched her in the stomach. The knife wound tore; she doubled over. He hit her on the other cheek, and she fell.
Connor, where are you? Help me! Trapped, hands behind her back, pain surging through her body, she couldn’t fight Allyn’s weight on her legs. He straddled her, untied her breeches, and pulled them down. She closed her eyes.
He slapped her again. “Open your eyes, bitch. Watch me fuck you.”
She squeezed her eyes tighter. He slapped her again. “No. I won’t.” He forced her legs apart. She felt him hard against her. Connor—help me!
Someone pounded on the door. “Damn it.” Allyn stopped. “I’m busy.”
“It’s Phinneas. He wants to see the girl.”
Allyn hesitated. He leaned over and put his mouth close to Mairead’s ear. “I suppose it’s your lucky day. But if he doesn’t promise me at least a thousand, I’ll take ye the minute he’s gone.” He bit her ear until she whimpered. She felt more blood trickle down her neck. He stood and kicked her once in the ribs. He opened the door. “Did ye come to see how a real man fucks a woman, eunuch?”
A smooth tenor voice gave sharp contrast to Allyn’s rough bass. “You’ve raped her? When you knew I was interested?”
“Ye caught me before I could finish. She’s still a virgin.”
Mairead closed her eyes and curled into a ball. Hope faded. Silence. The rustle of soft fabric tickled her ears. It made her think of the swish of her skirts when she’d tried to dance with Connor so many weeks before. A cool touch soothed her face. “You’ve beaten her badly.”
“Fine. Leave her. I’ll take what I can and put her in a brothel. She’ll earn her keep.”
“Do you know if she’s educated?”
“Claims she was raised in a sayada. She acts noble.”
Tense silence hovered as the man ran a hand over her head and back. “I will take her.” The man stood, and she heard the jingle of coins in a bag. “One thousand. Our standard payment for a girl like this.”
Allyn didn’t move or speak for some time. Mairead prayed, silently begging him to take the money—anything is better than this!—but she didn’t move or make a sound. She lay still, her eyes closed, rasping breaths struggling through her swollen, bloodied nose
and mouth. Connor, where are you?
“One thousand. Your best offer?”
“You could buy ten youthful girls for a thousand gold pieces. For a girl with education, beauty, and virginity, a thousand is a fair price.”
Allyn grunted. “All right. One thousand.” The money changed hands.
“I want her cleaned up,” the tenor voice said.
“She’s your problem now. Take her as she is.” Allyn walked away.
The rustle again. “Can you talk?” the tenor voice asked.
She forced herself to open her eyes and turn her head toward him. “Who are you?”
“You may call me Phinneas for now.” He untied the tunic around her arms and helped her pull it over herself again. He helped her to her feet. She pulled up her breeches and tied them. Dim candlelight gave her a good view of his round, smooth face and dark brown, tilted eyes. He wore bright robes and a headpiece that trailed silk from the back. A large emerald sparkled in the center of the headpiece. “I’ll attend your wounds when we’re away. Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she said. “Where are you taking me?”
“For now, to the camps. After I’ve treated your wounds and you can travel, to Tal’Amun.” He tied her tunic closed. “Put on your boots.”
She was too dazed to do anything but comply, and she could only think that she wanted to be gone from this house, whatever the cost. “So I’m to be a concubine for your emperor?”
“No. I have another plan for you. But I need to test you first.” Phinneas reached into his robes and pulled out a dagger. He gave it to her hilt first. “Before we go, you must kill Allyn.”
Chapter Thirty-One
She calls her warriors with the bloodbond,
The ravenmarked ones with her heart,
And she brings peace to the land with no rule.
— Third Book of the Wisdomkeepers, Year of Creation 5548 (approximate)
Connor, help me!
Connor stood with a start, his heart pounding. The Morrag struggled inside him, begging for release. He ached with the need to kill. Daggers in hand, he sniffed the air, listened, and was met by silent calm from every direction and every sense.
He’d left a bloody path for Allyn’s men from the time he left Galbragh. In every town, he picked fights with slavers, trying to draw Allyn toward him and away from Mairead. The Morrag continued her constant, restless fluttering. He knew the men he chose to confront had committed injustice after injustice, and yet the Morrag had not been quelled or stilled since he left Mairead.
Is someone finally after me? But there were no sounds, no smells, no sense of tension that anyone was following him. The woods were still, calm, and peaceful except for the crackle of his fire and the Morrag raging inside of him.
Connor, help me!
Mairead. All warmth drained from his body as panic set in. He heard her voice in his head as clearly as if he were standing next to her. Gods, I left her, and now—
He had to get to her. He had to save her. How? He’d been riding for a week. There was no way—
You have a way.
His mother’s voice came to him in memory from when he was a young man and she tried to teach him to travel with the air braids. He could never conjure strong enough braids to ride within the air like she could. He gave up.
What other choice do you have? You have to get to her. He stamped out his fire and stepped into the center of the clearing.
The Morrag still rose, begging for blood. He tried to quell it again, but it wouldn’t obey. I will not submit to you! He tried to concentrate. He focused on drawing the air toward him, focused on weaving it into the thin, strong braids that would wind themselves around him. A small breeze came up, but only enough to draw his scent away.
The Morrag teased him. You will be my first. My raven. Submit to me.
No! Desperation distracted him, and he couldn’t focus, couldn’t hold the air long enough to make the braids. Leave me alone!
You will be my first.
He fell to his knees and put his face in his hands. Gods, I can’t. I can’t. “You bitch. I’ve fought you for so long—for years—and this is what you do? Steal my will? Hold Mairead hostage to get me?”
It is as it will be.
He closed his eyes. The Morrag beckoned him, as tempting and seductive as any woman he’d ever known, as tempting as Mairead’s beauty and grace and charm. “And what will I become? You’ll take me to her, and then what? I save her, but at the cost of my sanity? My will? I can’t.”
You will be my first. It is as it will be.
He took a deep breath. If there is any hope for Taura and the west, I have to do this. I have to save her. She’s the most important thing. “If it will save her, I give in. Take me.”
Loosed finally, given the freedom of his will, the Morrag swelled with the sweet taste of vengeance. He surrendered to it, merging with the touch of death, the longing for life and balance, and the need for justice. If I had known— He had thought he would lose his will, but his will was heightened, sharper than ever. Choices were clearer; decisions were focused. His path was carved for him. There was no more fear, hesitation, worry, or anxiety—only the assurance that he had purpose and strength and the ability to do what had to be done. I understand, finally. The Morrag was death, justice, vengeance, but not evil. She didn’t desire death for death’s sake. She wanted only to rid the earth of impurity. Gods, now I see.
Mairead—Mairead. Take me to her. Take me on the air.
All around him, the air braided itself. The Morrag wove it, and Connor was the conduit. He held out his arms. The braids of air lashed around his hands, grew up his arms, meshed with his tattoos. They twined up his legs, around his torso, covered his head—bright, flaming violet braids that he could see, feel, taste, smell, even hear. All the sounds and odors of the forest melded in the breeze, and it lifted him off the ground.
He lost himself to the magic. For the first time in his life, it wasn’t a curse. Alshada, please. If I get to her in time, I will never leave her again.
The magic deposited him near the mountains outside of Galbragh. At least it didn’t drop me into a slaver’s camp. Braids of air slid down his arms, torso, and legs. He drew a dagger.
The Morrag’s voice guided him. She is in the house.
In the distance, behind rows of slave tents and animal pens, a rambling structure rose over the camp as a dark overlord. Connor stared at it. How do I get to it without someone seeing me? I don’t know how to hide in the air like—
Stone talent.
He suppressed a laugh. Do you even know me? I only have air talent.
You have all three.
No, only queens have all three.
You have all three. Summon it. The need is great enough. You will break the bonds that limit you.
He frowned. This isn’t possible. He picked up a clump of soil. If I have stone, then I should see the elements. I don’t see them.
You must try. You must focus. Break the bonds.
He wrinkled his forehead. She was right about submitting to her. He focused on the soil. Elements. Look for the smallest pieces. One by one, tiny sparking lights appeared in the soil, orange and red and yellow, and Connor shuddered. Warmth coursed through him, and elements surged through his veins in a rush, like water through a broken dam. He dropped the soil and shifted his focus to the ground. Orange braids crept up his body and enveloped him in the flavors and scents of earth. Metals and minerals and elements that formed the ground bound him and pulled him down into themselves, and he merged with the stones and focused on the house in the distance.
The braids and the Morrag let him go just outside the house. Damn. Wooden. Not even his mother could have managed to weave the stone, air, and water that made up wood.
Three guards stood at the door. In the distance, he heard the faint cries of slaves chained together in rows and huddled in pens. He sniffed the air again and wove faint braids that would bring scents to him. He tried to find
Mairead, but there was no hint of her scent. If she’s dead . . . Or if they’ve taken her away already . . .
For the first time, the Morrag’s voice spoke with a soothing caress. She is here. I would not have brought you if she weren’t.
I could kill the guards, but I’d still need to get through the house. He sheathed his daggers and tucked his pack into a shadow on the side of the house. When he stepped into the light, the three men straightened and put hands on swords. Connor held up his hands. “Did I startle you?”
The man in the center pointed with his chin. “Who’re ye?”
“A friend sent me. Said you have a girl in there I might like.”
The guard grunted. “There’re a few in there. Some of ’em been used pretty badly. Ye’d not want a taste of them. Master brought in one, though—pretty thing, dressed in breeches. Think he’s saving her for the eunuch.”
The Morrag swelled. It’s Mairead. “Saving her for a eunuch? Does your master know what a eunuch is?”
The men all laughed. “Nae, lad—saving her to sell to the eunuch. He takes ’em to Tal’Amun for his emperor. He’s in there now.” He gestured toward the door.
“Can you get me in to see her before they strike a bargain?”
The guard snorted. “Ye’d not have the money for a girl like that.”
“You might be surprised.”
The man evaluated him. Connor thought he might have to draw the three into a fight. With the ferocity of the magic swelling inside him, they’d be no match for him, but he didn’t want to leave a bloody trail until he was on his way out.
At last the guard nodded. “All right. I’ll take ye. Leave your weapons.”
Connor unbelted his sword, and the guard removed his daggers. He opened the door and gestured Connor through.
The house assaulted Connor’s heightened senses from every direction. The Morrag soothed him and kept him from retching. I’ll give you strength. Minimal candles cast small shadows over the sparse furnishings. Death and sweat, waste and fear permeated the house.
The guard led Connor through the house and up a long staircase. Footsteps approached, and Connor shifted his weight to be ready to fight. “Master Allyn,” the guard said. “This one wants a look at the pretty girl. Did ye sell her yet?”
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 47