Beilzen helped Denotra from the carriage, escorting her into the citadel. “Think of it no more. Had I the position and status, mayhaps my name would’ve been considered for your pledge. I’ve found you beautiful since we were children. Could be merely my jealous heart that causes me to find fault where there is none. We should focus on your honorable brother’s arrival. There’ll be much activity in the citadel this night.”
Denotra feigned a smile, glancing over at him. Beilzen was never attractive to her. He stood shorter than Denotra: barely reaching three and a half cubits. With his slight build and tight eyes, she would’ve never considered him even if he had a proper position. However, while scrutinizing him, she envisaged other things. She had a growing need that he might be able to satisfy.
“You speak true, Beilzen. With the lands at war, our focus should be on more important matters.” Denotra paused, addressing her guard. “I’ll have no further need of you. Await me near the dining hall,” she ordered, continuing down the corridor.
“I recall your admiration when we were younger, Beilzen. I never gave it or you much thought. As you’ve stated, neither your house nor your father holds much prominence or stature. Even so, you’ve always been willing to help me when I asked. Has that changed?”
Beilzen’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Whatever you’d have of me, my lady, I’ll do. Always.”
“Well said.” Denotra pushed open the door to a guest chamber, locking it behind them. “Are you good at games?” she asked, removing her cloak.
“Games? As well as anyone, I’d imagine. Of which games do you speak?”
Denotra smiled, lighting a lantern on the table. “A game of the most pleasurable kind. Pentanimir has awakened something within me. Out of honor, he’ll not see it satisfied. I need an experienced man who knows how to keep his mouth shut.” Her words were stern, but well received.
“Do you want me to pleasure you?” Beilzen’s heartbeat quickened, longing to hear her say the words.
“No,” she retorted, harshly. “I want Pentanimir to pleasure me. That’s the game. You’re good at following directions, right? Although your appearance is lacking in comparison to Pentanimir’s, it must do.” She paused, looking at him from toe to head. “I hope that your manhood is more sizable than the rest of you. This night, you are he, and will answer by his name, and you’ll call me Denotra. Do you think you’re capable of satisfying such a need?”
Beilzen forced back the sting of her rough rebuke. “As you say, Denotra,” Beilzen said, grabbing her arms, drawing her down for a kiss. When she jerked away, he clutched her arms tighter. If it’s a game you want, then you’ll have it. This night, I’ll be first, and Pentanimir will be second to me. But the game will be mine.
“Surely, you wouldn’t deny your pledged the pleasure of tasting your mouth,” he said, kissing her again while his hands searched her body. He suckled her tongue, and then glided his over her chin, tickling down her neck. Once he freed her breasts, he tasted them, causing her to moan Pentanimir’s name.
He clutched her arms again, spinning her around, and then pushed her down on the bed. When she attempted to rise, he held her in place, tossing the long skirts over her head.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Have you lost your wits? Stop.”
“I’m doing exactly what you commanded me to do,” he said, holding her with one hand while untying his laces with the other. “I’m pledged to you, Denotra. I’m the only man in which the word ‘stop’ holds no meaning.” He dropped to his knees, parting a way for his tongue.
The unexpected pleasure made her tremble. She buried her face in the soft cushions, muffling her uncontrollable shrieks. Not even Pentanimir had pleasured her so. The eruptions were continuous, growing almost painful.
After her third completion, Beilzen stood, joining with her easily.
“Is this the game you wanted?” he grunted. “You desired your pledged inside of you. Does the reach of my cock cause you to tremble?”
Beilzen moved away, flipping her over on her back.
“Pentanimir could never make your juices pour like I have,” he said, joining with her again. You think to command me as if some slave. Who seems the slave now? he thought, increasing his efforts.
He wanted her to feel the same agony that she’d forced upon him, but when he looked down at her, he couldn’t. That’s not who he was, or who he wanted to be.
Denotra moaned as his movements became more pleasurable. Lowering one hand, he stimulated her, both inside and out. She cried out at the peak of pleasure, clutching at his back. No, not his back, he realized as her fingernails dug into his skin. Pentanimir’s back.
After her satisfaction was known, he leaned down, kissing her passionately, while allowing his own completion. She returned his kiss with equal fervor, moaning as she did so.
“Is that what you’d have of your Chosen, Denotra?” he whispered, sliding away from her.
She didn’t answer, still writhing on the bed, enjoying the lingering waves of pleasure.
“I’ll ready myself for the evening meal,” he said, wiping himself clean and lacing his trousers. “Tell me: should I still pretend to be your pledged, or the man who had the pleasure of taking your maidenhead? My stature might not match Pentanimir’s, but I know how to please a woman. Mayhaps, even more so than him.”
He removed the bar from the door and then turned back around, meeting her wide eyes. “You must ask Arilian about the maiden’s tears. We certainly wouldn’t want our bastard to thwart your plans to marry the First Chosen,” he said, exiting the chamber.
Even though he had the pleasure of her maidenhead, he wasn’t pleased. At that moment, he realized what he’d felt had nothing to do with Denotra, and everything to do with his own feelings of inadequacy. He’d finally bested Pentanimir, but it wasn’t a victory, and his stomach soured at the thought.
Denotra’s face lost all coloring, staring at the door as if she expected something to emerge from it. When she considered what she’d actually done, she buried her face in her hands, weeping. Her tears increased, still feeling twinges of pleasure from Beilzen’s lovemaking.
“The maiden’s tears,” she said, straining to stand. She gathered the soiled blankets, wiping herself clean, and trying desperately to control her emotions. After stuffing the covers beneath the bed, she straightened her hair and retied her laces. What have I done? she thought. He’ll pay for this. I’ll… Denotra stopped, her eyes frantically scanning the room. “I can’t let anyone know. Gods help me.”
She wiped her face again, taking a deep and steadying breath. Once she peered into the corridor, she silently rushed to her room, collapsing on the divan.
“Milady? You all right?” Ceron asked.
“I’m fine. My—my blood, it’s early. Heat water for a bath and fetch Hushar immediately.”
“Yes, milady,” Ceron said.
When the door closed, Denotra removed her gown, tossing it into the hearth. Once she glimpsed her reflection, she gasped, staring at the dark bruises on her arms and thighs. As she grabbed up her robe, a soft tapping came from the door. She covered herself quickly, lying across the bed.
“Come.”
“Milady,” Hushar said, apprehensively. “You have need of me?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “I need the herbs, Hushar. No one else can know. The maiden’s tears, I need the maiden’s tears.”
Hushar nearly took a step back, her heartbeat quickening. “The—the tears? Yes—yes, milady. Do you need anything else?”
“Pain. My brother returns this night and he can’t know about any of this. Mix herbs for pain.”
“I’ll mix them immediately,” Hushar said, hurrying toward the door.
“Hushar. If anyone finds out about this, I’ll have your tongue ripped from your mouth, and watch while Symeon splits every one of your holes. Once I’ve had my fill, Oxilon will flay every speck of skin from your body,” Denotra said, reminding Hushar of th
e iniquitous woman she truly was.
“No one will know, milady.” Hushar closed the door, clenching her eyes shut. Denotra meant what she said, and she prayed that whoever she’d lain with would take that knowledge to their grave.
When Ceron and Leanta returned with the water, Denotra didn’t speak. She continued to stare at the steam rising from the water, thinking of her recent pleasure and the pain that could surely follow.
“Your bath is ‘bout ready,” Ceron said. “Would you like me to brush your hair?”
Denotra nodded, feeling the massage of the brush. She could only envisage Pentanimir then, and felt the ache of his absence. Had he been with her, this wouldn’t have happened. She couldn’t lose him…she wouldn’t.
“Your bath is ready,” Leanta said. “I put some oil in for you. Would you like refreshments?”
“No, leave me,” Denotra ordered. “I don’t want anything from you. Just send my guard to take their place and don’t return unless you’re summoned.”
Both women bowed to their mistress, relieved that they didn’t have to stay with her. The door had barely closed when she began crying again. Denotra cradled her bruised arm, wincing at the pain radiating from it. Never had anyone dared to place a hand upon her. Now, this, this she caused.
Denotra soaked in the hot water for nearly half a glass before Hushar returned. When she tried to push up in the tub, her arms weakened, and she fell back into the water.
“Gods!” Hushar rushed to her side, helping her from the tub. Wrapping her in a robe, she led Denotra over to her bed, fluffing the cushions behind her.
“Here, milady,” Hushar said, handing her the small, wooden cup. “Drink the tears while I tend your bruises.”
For a moment, Denotra only stared down into the cup. While swirling the liquid around, a look of bemusement crossed her face. “Such a small amount to achieve such a devastating end.”
“It’s the tears of all the young maids whose innocence was taken from them,” Hushar said, thinking of Zeta, Sarai, and Ceron in that moment. “Although their tears are endless, only a small amount falls into the cup and mixes with the herbs. Drink all of it, and have it done.”
Denotra drained the cup and handed it back to Hushar, lying across the bed. Hushar tossed it into the hearth, not turning until the flames consumed it.
“I need you to check between my legs, too,” Denotra said. “I’m still having pain.”
“Lie still, and I’ll see to it. Most women have a bit of pain at first, but the herbs and ointments will soothe you.”
Time seemed to stand still while she carefully tended her. When she was finished, Hushar wiped her hands, handing Denotra a small ewer.
“I mixed these for your pain, milady. The maiden’s tears needed time to settle before adding more to your stomach. You should only need it for a few suns, but sip from it often.”
Denotra managed a few swallows. After setting it on her side table, she thanked Hushar. She’d never expressed any gratitude toward the slaves, and Hushar pitied her then. Any woman, even the Zaxson’s daughter, was vulnerable.
“Would you like me to help you dress, milady? Evening meal was near ready when I came.”
“Yes. I’d like my jade and gold gown,” she said, standing and removing her robe.”
Once she’d dressed, Hushar began brushing her hair, and pinning it up out of her face. When the door opened, Denotra turned, her tears returning.
“Brother!” she said, rushing into his arms. “Thank the gods, you’re back! You’re back.”
“It’s good to see you so soon,” he said, returning the tight hug. “The battle wasn’t long, but it was tedious. I didn’t want to await the rest of the guard. I wanted you to know that I was all right.”
“I’ve missed you, Father, and Pentanimir. When will this end? When will Pentanimir be back with me?”
“We’ll speak about that and more, I promise. They were still battling in Kaleo and Cazaal stands nearly in ruin. I haven’t received a report from Pentanimir or Danimore.”
“But—”
“It’s too soon to worry. We have others who haven’t reported. It’ll take time. Pentanimir loves you, and he’ll be with you soon.”
Denotra nodded, accepting the kiss on her cheek.
“Hushar,” Daracus said. “There’re nearly seventy new slaves being transported to the cells. I need you and Micah to begin tending them immediately. Some of their injuries are severe, and I want them presentable before my father returns.”
“Yes, milord,” Hushar said, moving out the door. “Guardians help me.”
Tardison
Brahanu leaned against the tree, enjoying the warm breeze and scented air. Even with the conflicts in the lands and those still plaguing her heart, she focused on her blessings. At that thought, she gazed down at the babe suckling her breast, resting a hand on Eytan nestled at her side. Regardless of what they had yet to face, she wouldn’t lose sight of what was in front of her.
A soft yawn from Eytan caused her to giggle. He was so small compared to his brother, but it didn’t matter. The fact that he favored his father in every other aspect was heartening. She pictured him in Itai’s arms then, relishing that image in her mind. After learning about the difficulties during his birth, she loved Eytan all the more.
“You’re a blessed child,” she whispered. “And you are a most precious blessing.”
Looking at her other son, she repeated the same, leaning down for a kiss. His eyes fully opened and stared into hers.
“Tardison.”
She flinched, hearing the whisper in her ear as soft as fluttering butterfly wings. After glancing around, she shook her head, focusing on her sons again.
“Tardison.”
The sound was louder this time, accompanied by a chilling wind. Goose prickles raised on her arm and she cradled her son closer, lowering a hand back to Eytan.
“Tardison.”
Brahanu screamed as the misshapen shadow appeared, wrenching her son from her arms.
“No! No!” she yelled, unable to move from the tree. She lashed out wildly, trying to reclaim her son. “Help me! No!”
“Brahanu,” Julaybeim said, shaking her awake. “Brahanu, wake up, you’re having a dream-scare. Wake up.”
She continued to swing until the haze encompassing her mind cleared. Immediately, she looked down, ensuring that her sons were safe.
“Brahanu, are you all right?” Gali asked, dabbing at her face and neck.
“My sons…are my sons all right?”
“They’re fine,” Julaybeim said. “We’re concerned about you. What happened?”
“It was my sons,” Brahanu said, still flustered. “My sons.”
“What about them?” Danimore asked.
“Eytan was sleeping while I fed his brother. He—he opened his eyes and looked at me as surely as I was at him. I remember a cold, no, a chill and…and a shadow. A...a living shadow, whispering in my ear. It said a name, I think. ‘Tardison.’”
“Tardison?” Julaybeim and Danimore shared a look. “Are you certain about the name?”
“Yes, Brother. At first, I thought it was just a whisper of the wind, but when the shadow emerged, it spoke the name while stealing my son from my arms.”
“You’re still healing, Brahanu,” Gali said, handing her a cup. “This will help calm you.”
“Sister, this isn’t the first that we’ve heard this name. Considering it now, I doubt that it’s happenstance.”
Danimore nodded. “In Nazil, they speak of the Animus Wood as cursed by pythonesses, but your Elders believe otherwise. Either way, we must contend with whatever might dwell within these borders.”
“What happened?” Brahanu asked.
“We’re talking about the name,” Julaybeim said. “Danimore and I heard the same as you birthed him…when Gali cut him from you. We thought it was a whisper on the wind, too.”
“This makes no sense. My son’s name was chosen before he was born. How can the
wind speak that which has already been decided?”
“No, it wasn’t, Brahanu,” Gali said. “Only one name was chosen, yet you bore two babes: one of Nazil, and the other of Cazaal. Only your son with Itai has been named. Mayhaps the whispers you hear are for the son of Nazil. Didn’t you say that these Elders spoke of him before you even knew you were pregnant?”
“They did, but he didn’t mention Eytan, only Pentanimir’s son. What does this mean?”
“It could mean nothing or everything,” Danimore said. “We’ve heard the name and not taken heed of it. Could this be some sort of message from the Elder’s visions?”
“Hushar used to talk about the woods, too,” Zeta said. “She believes there’re creatures here, blessed creatures with extraordinary power. Guardians, she called them. She said that they’re divine beings who protect the wood.”
“I don’t know much about Guardians, but the name is certain. Twice now, we’ve heard it, and I don’t believe in coincidence,” Danimore said.
“Tardison,” Brahanu said aloud, testing the sound of it. “It’s a handsome name, but how am I to know if it would be a blessing or a curse?”
“Sister, the choice is yours alone. It’s a fine name and suits him well.”
She picked up her son, studying his face. “You’re said to be of great importance. Even the wood comes alive in your presence. If such a force has watch over you, how can I ignore what they’ve spoken? This day, you’ll be called Tardison. Tardison Manifir Benoist, first of your name.” As she leaned down to kiss him, his eyes opened, staring into hers.
“Tardison Manifir Benoist,” Danimore repeated. “You honor our father, Brahanu. It’s a fine and honorable name. Pentanimir will be pleased.”
“He will,” Gali said. “It’s getting late, and we need to be ready to leave with the sun’s rise. I’ll finish the stew and pack what we don’t need.”
“I’ll help you,” Julaybeim said. “We’ll bring you back something to eat, Brahanu.”
Danimore slid closer to Brahanu, stroking Tardison’s balled fist. “Pentanimir wanted us to continue west. I hope that he’ll come soon, but we’ll need to leave on the morrow either way.”
The Rise of Nazil Page 62