“Promise me that I’ll be your wife. I don’t care if you’re in Nazil, I want only you.”
“I promise, Brahanu,” he moaned, sliding into the warmth of her body. “I’m yours alone.”
Reckoning
Lymbach and Reaglen jumped as the Chosen pushed through the temple’s doors. They paused, glancing around the sanctuary, scrutinizing the atoners. When Yannick motioned to his men, approaching another door, the Cha immediately blocked their path.
“Good morrow, Sir Merrimont, may we be of assistance?” Reaglen asked.
Yannick didn’t respond, pushing past and continuing down the corridor.
Lymbach and Reaglen exchanged uneasy glances, trailing behind them.
“Only those authorized are allowed beyond the temple sanctuary, Second Chosen. May I ask your business?” Lymbach said.
“My business is my own, Cha. I’m on an errand for the Zaxson.”
“Of—of course, Sir Merrimont,” Reaglen stammered. “We don’t mean to hinder you. If you could tell us of your duty, mayhaps we can assist and bring it to an end.”
“Where’s Beilzen.”
“Beilzen? He returned recently and in great haste. Wasn’t he with you at the citadel?”
“I didn’t ask from where he came, old man, I asked where he is.”
“Yes, yes, Beilzen is in his chamber.” Reaglen pointed. “The third door on the left.”
Yannick gestured to his men, moving forward. When they reached the door, he kicked it open.
Beilzen screamed, stumbling against the wall as the items he held crashed to the floor with a resonating clamor. Yannick glared at him, sweeping his eyes over the room until noticing a haversack on the bed, stuffed with clothing and personal items. There was a second one on the floor, only partially filled.
Beilzen’s face lost all coloring as Yannick stepped toward him. He picked up the bag, riffling through the hastily packed items. As he pulled each piece from inside, he flashed Beilzen an icy glare.
Beads of sweat dotted Beilzen’s brow, looking at the guards towering over him. His heart raced, fearing why they’d come, and cursing himself for returning to the temple. Glancing around the small room again, Beilzen silently prayed, looking for any means of escape.
“Were you planning a trip, son of Perrin?” Yannick asked with his deep and intimidating voice.
“A—a trip? No, I mean, yes—yes. I was only traveling to Yarah. We—we have family there, and I thought to pay a visit.”
“With the lands in such turmoil and our Zaxson’s death, you’re planning a holiday?” Yannick asked, still removing items from the bag.
Beilzen could barely breathe, searching the recesses of his mind for a response. “It—I would only be away for three suns. Most of my family is—is in Yarah, and I wanted to ensure that they were safe and unharmed. With—with the recent hostilities, my father and I are concerned about them.”
At that, Yannick paused. He dropped the empty bag on the floor, turning to regard the quivering man. “Unharmed? It’s interesting that you’d choose that particular word, caitiff.”
When Yannick reached for him, Beilzen lunged for the door, only to feel the agony of one of the guard’s knees. He screamed, thudding to the floor and grasping his chest.
“He sounds like a woman,” a guard laughed.
“He’ll know what it feels like to be one before I’ve finished with him,” Yannick said.
“No!” Beilzen shouted, scrambling to his feet. His eyes darted back and forth, wildly swinging his fist, trying to fight his way to the door.
Immediate laughter followed as the guards took turns slapping him. When one guard landed a hard punch, Beilzen cried out, slamming against the wall before crumpling on the ground.
“Enough,” Yannick said. “The Zaxson wants him conscious. You’ll have ample opportunity to make this one squeal.”
“Please, no, wait, please,” Beilzen pleaded. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Please! It wasn’t me!”
“Save it, caitiff. The Zaxson wants your words, I only await your blood.” Yannick motioned to his men, and they snatched Beilzen from the floor. The Cha watched in horrified disbelief as they dragged him kicking and screaming toward the postern door.
“Father! No! Father, help me, please!” Beilzen continued to scream, causing Perrin to rush out into the corridor.
“Beilzen?” Perrin asked. He ran after the men dragging his bleeding son down the hall. “What do you think you’re doing? Unhand my son,” Perrin yelled. When the Cha clutched his arms, he struggled against their tight hold. “Let me go! Beilzen? Unhand my son!”
“We didn’t come for you, Perrin,” Yannick said. “But know this: if you interfere with the Zaxson’s orders, you’ll hang beside your son in the dark chamber.”
“No, Beilzen, no. Please, gods, no,” Perrin screamed, falling on his knees.
When they exited the temple, the guards threw Beilzen in the back of the concealed cart, making their way back to the citadel. Beilzen cried and begged as they forced him through the slave entrance toward the cells. Many times, he’d escorted new slaves and prisoners through the tiny entrance. Now, the time was his.
His heart pounded in his chest, seeing the dark hood coming toward him. “No, no,” he yelled, struggling against the guards, biting, kicking, anything to break free.
Yannick raised his cudgel, jabbing him hard in the stomach.
“Shite!” he shouted as Beilzen retched on his boots. “You’ll pay for that,” Yannick sneered, delivering several devastating blows.
Beilzen’s shrieks seemed unending, resonating off the bare walls.
“Take him to the dark chamber,” he said, shaking the vomit from his boots. “See to that craven while I inform the Zaxson that he’s here.”
Daracus nervously ran his fingers through his hair, pacing outside Jahno’s chamber. He yearned to see his lover, and dreaded it all at once. He couldn’t express how deeply he loved him, and prayed that Jahno would forgive him. What do I say to him? Again, I’ve broken my promise. He fumbled with the packages beneath his arm, gazing down the empty corridor. He’d ordered the guards from this floor before his visit. After taking a deep and steadying breath, he knocked on the door, exhaling as he stepped inside.
“Zaxson.” Hushar’s eyes widened, releasing Jahno’s hand. After proffering a bow, she took a step back, lowering her gaze. Now, you’ve come to apologize for the unforgivable. Leave him be or I’ll do to you what I’ve done to your sister.
Daracus inclined his head, looking at Jahno with empathy. No matter how much he wiped his palms on his trews, he couldn’t keep the moisture from them. As he walked forward, forcing a smile, Jahno turned away.
“How are his wounds, Hushar?”
“They’ll heal in time, milord. Some are more severe than the last time I tended him. It’ll be a bit before he’s able to tend his duties.”
“I don’t give a damn about his duties. I want him well and back at my side,” he said. “Jahno? Jahno, please look at me.”
Jahno’s jaw clenched, not wanting to face him, but he was merely a slave, and couldn’t choose for himself. Gradually, he turned, facing his master.
Daracus winced, consumed with grief and regret. He couldn’t stifle his emotion, leaning down to kiss Jahno’s forehead and lips. Jahno’s eyes widened, his body tensing when Daracus wrapped his arms around him. Daracus kissed him again, sitting beside him while stroking his thick, raven hair.
“Jahno, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know that. It wasn’t you. It’s never you, my love...” He paused. “…I—I’m sorry. It’s the anger within me. Sometimes I—I can’t control it, but it’s not your fault. It’s me, and I promise to do better. You know that I’d never hurt you. Never. You’re my love, Jahno, and I’ll never have another.” Daracus laid his head on his bare chest, embracing him. When his tears began, Jahno peered over at Hushar with hatred and disgust covering his visage.
Hushar’s eyes saddened as she sh
ook her head, gesturing toward Daracus, weeping on Jahno’s chest. She mouthed some words Jahno didn’t want to accept, but couldn’t ignore. Regardless of what happened, he had no other choice. Denying that truth would only lead to more pain, not only for him, but also for Hushar.
His face darkened, closing his eyes as he draped an arm around Daracus, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head.
“Have you forgiven me, Jahno?” Daracus said, rising up to face him. “Will you allow me another chance to prove how much I love you?”
Jahno met his pale eyes and nodded, never changing his expression. There’s no forgiveness left within me. I loathe you, Daracus, and I’ll see you dead at my feet. Only the gods and Guardians will keep me from it.
“I do love you, Jahno, only you,” Daracus said, leaning down to kiss him. When Jahno grimaced, turning away, Daracus’ face reddened.
“What’s the matter with him?” Daracus demanded. “Why won’t he talk to me or return my kiss?”
“He can’t, milord.” Hushar pointed. “He needed a few stitches at the corners of his mouth. He can’t open it well, and feeds through a tube.”
Daracus was horrified, noticing the sutures beneath the purple and black bruises. “I—I did this?” he asked, not needing the answer. “What other wounds, Hushar?”
You’re asking as if you’re not the one who did it. “There are many, milord. His throat is badly swollen and red. He’s stopped coughing blood, but it still pains him to swallow. The welts on his back, neck, and arse are swollen, but I stopped the bleeding. I’ve got some herbed cloth on them now, but the scars will remain. And…well…”
“What! I’ve given you everything you need to tend him. What is it?”
She flinched. “You—you have, milord, but the body heals in its own time. Some of his wounds, well, I left the tube in place, but his arse is badly damaged. I don’t know how it’ll heal, but I pray that it does soon.”
“Gods,” Daracus said. His heart ached, gazing down at Jahno with a look of contrition and despondency. “Is that all?”
“No, Sir. I’ve never seen such injuries. His—his member is bruised and swollen. The sac beneath is much the same. I’m not knowing if he’ll have proper use of it again. Even making water causes him pain. If he didn’t need the herbs to heal, I’d give him some dream wine until some of the swelling goes down.”
“His member?” Daracus said, as the memories flooded his mind. The pang in his chest intensified, and he couldn’t meet Jahno’s eyes. Slowly, he rose up, grasping the blanket. He didn’t want to see, but he forced himself to slide the cover away. Daracus’ eyes immediately widened.
“Jah—Jahno, I’m—I’m,” he said, turning away from him. “You’re to stay here with him, Hushar. I don’t care what you need, make him well. Do you understand? I want him well.”
“Yes, milord.” I hope you retch, you evil bastard.
“I’ve left some gifts on the bed,” Daracus said, rushing to the door. “The chocolates are from Noraa. I know they’re your favorites.”
As Daracus exited the chamber, he collapsed against the door, riffling through his pouch for a pellet. It was empty. “No. I must have them,” he said, panicking. “I—I need them.”
“My lord.”
Daracus’ breathing was erratic as he spun around to face him.
“My lord, we have Beilzen in the dark chamber,” Yannick said.
“Beilzen? Yes, Beilzen.”
“Are you all right, my lord?”
“Yes, Sir Merrimont, I’m fine,” Daracus lied, straightening his hair and trying to control his breathing. “What’s that beneath your arm?”
“When you mentioned the guest chamber, I had my men search them for any evidence of an attack. They found this beneath one of the beds. It’s stained with blood.”
Daracus took the cover, seeing traces of Denotra’s blood. “He’ll choke on this! Take me to him.”
Time for Training
Wosen’s eyes blinked open, feeling the hand sliding down his abdomen. His mind was muddled, fighting against the tendrils of sleep blurring his vision. When he reached for the hand, Hibret’s soft moans halted him, and she caressed him again, nestling in closer.
No, he thought, shutting his eyes, forcing memories of Nazil from it. You have no place in my life. I’ve defeated you, all of you.
Her continuing caress caused his excitement to grow, and he carefully slid from beneath her. Once she was fully on her back, he went beneath the covers, kissing as he went. Wosen’s fingers began to work, enjoying how quickly she responded to his touch.
“Wosen?” she exhaled in a moan.
He didn’t respond verbally. Wosen drew her in closer, increasing his efforts until she called out to him, clutching his shoulders as her body shuddered with satisfaction. He rose up then, sliding into the warmth. The feel of her was intoxicating, and he couldn’t control the release anymore now than he could before.
“Gods, Hibret, gods,” he breathed. “Do—do you want me to continue?”
“Yes,” she said, covering his lips and bringing him in closer. When he thrust forward again, a loud knock interrupted them.
“Hells! It’s our bond day.” He ignored the knocks, attempting more thrusts, but his body wasn’t as responsive as his mind. He slipped from his wife, unable to continue.
“It’s all right, Wosen, we’ll try again once you’ve rested. No one would disturb us if it wasn’t important. Mayhaps you should see who it is,” she said, sliding from beneath him.
Wosen sighed, frustrated more with his inability to satisfy her than the interruption. Hastily pulling on his robe, he stomped to the door, snatching it open.
“Fa—father,” he said, wiping the perceived wetness from his face and mouth. “Pardons, I didn’t know you were visiting.”
“No, forgive the intrusion.” Hosdaq smiled. “I know that the morning after the bond can be just as pleasurable as the night.”
Wosen’s face flushed, smiling sheepishly. “Would you like to come in? I could make some tea.”
“Thank you, no. I’ve come to inform you about a meeting. After morning meal, we’re meeting at the clearing near the falls.”
“Why?”
“Pentanimir has mentioned a need for training, and I agree. If you’re going to Nazil, you’ll need to be prepared for it.”
“Training?”
“Yes, you’ve always wanted more sword training, and it’s past time that you had it. Our time is short, but I’ll teach you all that’s within me, Wosen.”
“But the Protectors will be with us. Surely, no one can defeat them.”
“You speak true, but the Protectors won’t always be at your side. Pentanimir and I have discussed strategy and the best way to take the citadel. It’ll be heavily defended, Wosen, and not easily breached. Both Pentanimir and I have served with the Chosen Guard, and there are many skills you must learn before we take the city.”
Wosen’s eyes lowered. “Father, I don’t have your Xtabyren. Draizeyn took it and your armor as a trophy.”
“They’ll be ours again,” Hosdaq said, clasping his shoulder. “If they are in the citadel, we’ll reclaim them. It’s time for me to instruct you as I should’ve long ago. We’re not only reclaiming my Xtabyren, we’re reclaiming our lives.”
“I promise to serve with honor and make you proud.”
“Wosen, you’ve always been honorable, and I’ve been proud of you since first I held you in my arms. I couldn’t make you understand that being a Chosen wasn’t the way to gain honor. True honor lies within, and you’ve always possessed it.”
“You are honorable, Father. I’m sorry that it took my capture for me to realize. It’s not the title. It’s the man.”
Hosdaq hugged him quickly. “We’re meeting after the morning meal. Don’t delay: there’s little time left to prepare.”
When Wosen closed the door, Hibret came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Was it important, Wosen? I
thought I heard your father’s voice.”
“It was. There’s a meeting after the morning meal. I’ll need to attend.”
“Are you leaving now?” Hibret asked, turning him toward her.
“No, I’d rather continue what we started earlier.” He glanced at the chamber door, cupping a breast in his hand.
“As do I, but I’d better rest for a while. A warm bath and some mulled wine will ease the discomfort.”
“Was it our lovemaking? Did I hurt you?”
“It’s merely discomfort, Wosen, it’ll pass. However, I’d like to soak in some herbed water for a while. If you could fill the tub, I’ll be ready for more of you when you return.”
He accepted her tender kiss, and then fetched water for the caldron. As he prepared the tub, he thought about the citadel and what he could recall of its layout. Wosen tried desperately to remember everything that Jahno and Hushar had told him. He hoped that they and other slaves would aid them in the battle. I’ll see you free, old mum. You and Jahno.
As Wosen approached the hall, he paused, hearing the laughter and voices of his family. Not since his return had he truly felt it. After being with Hibret, and speaking with his father, everything calmed. He was home. The gods and Guardians were good, and he was home.
“Wosen?” Julaybeim said, clapping him on the back. “Are you going to the falls?”
“The falls?” he asked, rejoining the moment. Wosen could barely meet his eyes. Although both he and Brahanu had accepted his apologies, Wosen was still repentant for what his actions had caused.
“For training. Pentanimir asked me to assist. My father trains the sentries in Cazaal, and I’m quite proficient with the sword and bow.”
“Oh, yes, I—I’m going to join them. I haven’t practiced in a long time, but it’ll feel good to hold a sword again,” he said, feeling anxious about his lack of skill.
“No worries. Once you’ve wielded a sword, time doesn’t affect your instincts. When you hold it in your hand, it becomes part of you, just like a woman’s body. Once you learn all of its curves and hidden places, you no longer need your eyes. That memory is burned deep into your soul, guiding every part of you.” Julaybeim winked, moving his hands in the figure of a woman.
The Rise of Nazil Page 75