You Are Mine

by Janeal Falor

  “Blood of thine.” He thrusts the knife toward me, slicing my neck. The wound doesn't hurt. I won't be afraid as I wait for it to lunge at me again. I won't.

  He raises the dagger. It angles toward his own arm and makes a small cut. Why did he cut himself? I can't figure it out, but relief that I'm still alive fills me.

  He sets the blade on my breast bone and holds his hand out. A midnight blue spell slinks to my neck and coaxes my blood into the air. It reminds me of getting tested. The light forms a sphere above me, tugging and jerking deep inside. It hurts, the pain growing and gnawing in me. I want to cry out. A stream slips from the orb and flows to the Envadi's cut.

  “Becomes mine.”

  The tugging stops. The orb shrinks as the last of my blood he must have wanted flows into him. I'm woozy seeing my life's blood go to him. The metallic smell makes it worse. But I can't do anything about it. The nick on my neck stings.

  He grabs the dagger and sheathes it. With the aid of a spell, he floats up until he's standing on the altar next to my waist. A mass of colors and sparks fly from him, dashing around the room. The crowd murmurs. Blues, greens, silvers, yellows, all invade my sight. One slips to my neck and the sting eases.

  Sparks pop faster among the colors. The colors sparkle, glitter, and dance. All at once, they're gone. The Envadi stretches out his hands, then yanks them higher. I spring upward until the chains are tight. My pulse is erratic as I hover in the air, still on my back. My waist brushes against the Envadi, my arms and legs aching against the chains.

  He blasts a dark spell over me. “You are mine.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I kneel in front of the altar. The stone chills my legs. Something is bound around my neck. The Envadi holds a leash. I choke back a cry. Or maybe a shriek. But the tea still has me under its power.

  I've been collared like an animal. The Envadi glares at me. His lips tighten and he looks away. He's more barbaric than I thought.

  The gathered crowd shuffles. I realize all women in attendance are being leashed like me. The Envadi yanks on the leash and strides down the aisle. I scramble after him still detached from myself. If I could control my body, I would fight against him. Or at least I think I would. Maybe I wouldn't. The fight is in me, I'm just so tired.

  As we pass the crowd, they fall in behind us. Women with their heads down and men leading them along. We move through the room and into a long passage. The stones are cold beneath my feet. As we walk, the world comes closer again, more in focus. Still not normal, though. I can't quite reach myself.

  The smell of buttery rolls and roast venison wafts to me and grows stronger. We walk into a banquet hall. A feast awaits.

  I'm led to the middle of the main table, a long rectangle, with a throne-like chair where the Envadi takes a seat. When he says and does nothing further, I hover behind him, grateful I'm more in control of my actions, but still not fully connected. Like some part of me is forgotten. The Envadi hasn't forgotten me though. His grip tightens around the handle of my leash.

  Father sits on the left. The woman on his leash is not my mother, but a tarnished scantily clad in red. I stare at her hoping for some clue why a red tarnished has taken mother's place, but she doesn't glance my way. The Grand Chancellor takes the chair on the right. The woman on his leash isn't tarnished, but has a stark black star on her neck, elaborate swirls around it. His wife? She kneels on the ground before him. The others sit and some kneel or lay on the floor. Only one other woman stands behind a man's chair. Once everyone is seated, the Grand Chancellor gestures at the Envadi.

  He jerks the chain. I fly toward the table. “Get me food, wench.”

  I stare at him, willing my gaze to make him disappear. Instead, his jaw clenches. His thumb rubs my leash. Not wanting to make him throw me around more, I face the table.

  There are so many choices, I don't know what to grab. What will he do if I pick the wrong thing? My hand shakes as I lift a fork to a whole boar, with onions and carrots surrounding it. Its sides are carved into slices. I dish several onto the plate. A pheasant is nearby so I add that, as well.

  The dish is nearly full from the meat I've put on it. More than I thought. Not much of a meal. I grab a hunk of bread and spoon on some peaches. The food trembles as I carry it back. A peach slice falls to the floor. I freeze, staring at the offending piece.

  The plate is yanked from my hands. “A drink, woman.”

  No complaints or punishments for the dropped food. I release the air from my lungs. The drinks have to be on the table. Certainly there's enough food, it can't matter if a little is on the floor. I grab a goblet and inspect the jugs. Wine, ale, or water. Two of the three choices are acceptable to a man, yet I still have to deal with the Envadi tonight, so I grab the unacceptable choice. With a goblet of water, I return to him. It can't be what he wants but if he'll accept it without backlash, it'll be worth the risk.

  He takes it from me and drains it. The men cheer. He casts a powder-blue spell. The cup glides through the air to me. It's warm against my palms.

  The other women in the room move to the serving table. I refill the goblet, grateful water appears to be an acceptable choice and return it. The Envadi looks me in the eye, a blaze still burning in him. He points at the floor. Despite his power, I don't want to lower myself to him anymore. But my body is so tired. It's hard to keep it up. I sit, curling my legs under me. It's what is expected of me.

  The men talk and laugh. Women walk back and forth between the food and the men, but the Envadi never asks for anything more. Rather than demanding things, he ignores me. He laughs and talks with Father and the Grand Chancellor. Though I know he's a barbarian, he sounds just like the other warlocks.

  Other men come by with their leashed women. They send their women for drinks and food for him. Some of the women ignore me. Others gaze at me with sympathy. A few glare at me. One walks up to me, but instead of stopping, kicks my legs before falling to make it look like she tripped over me. I ignore them all.

  Vaguely, I'm aware that I should be hungry. I ate so little for breakfast, and my body is exhausted. But none of the food appeals to me. If anything, I feel nauseous. My dress clings to my skin. Sweat beads on my forehead. I lean against the throne. It's cool against my side and face. My eyelids give a heavy blink and close.

  Without warning, I'm wrenched to my feet. The Envadi wraps his arm around me, half carrying, half hauling me along. I try to clear my mind as we move past whooping men. The women keep their eyes to the ground, some frowning, some smiling, and some expressionless.

  I stumble as he stops to open a door. Frigid air blasts, bringing me fully conscious. My gown does little to protect me from the coming storm. A carriage waits at the end of a pebbled walkway. A footman opens the door. I half jump, am half pushed inside. As I collapse on the seat, the door closes. I pant in the dark.

  The carriage moves. My stomach twists. I fumble for the pot kept beneath the seat. There's nothing in my stomach to loose, but my body tries anyway. Over and over again. The ride is infinitely longer than this morning. Rain patters on the roof. The horse's hooves clop on the road. The carriage dips and bounces. I heave again.

  When the carriage finally stops, I stay slumped against the seat. The cold darkness bears down on me. The door opens. I flinch at the torch light carried by the footman, but don't move from my seat. After a moment, the footman peers in. With a groan, I sit up. I rub the back of my hand across my mouth. The fresh, rain-scented air eases my stomach. I drag myself from the carriage, quickly becoming soaked by the downpour. Thankfully, the Envadi is nowhere in sight. But Phyllis is.

  “Come. I've prepared your room.”

  Not wanting to think what that means, I let her guide me into the house, and through halls and upstairs, dripping on everything. In front of Cynthia's door, I pause. Phyllis snaps at me. With a groan, I climb the stairs after her to my room and head straight for the bed, not worried about drying off.

  “Not yet. I'm under orders to prep
are you for the Chancellor.”

  I shiver. The branding. I almost forgot about it. I want to forget about it and have everyone else do the same. The bed sits there. I want to collapse on it. How much longer will this day be? I wipe a tear before she can see it. My little table has bowls, ink, and a needle on it. I avert my gaze from the tools to the vanity. It has a tea set on it. I sit in front of it. She grabs a brush and works on my tresses.

  “You'd better drink your tea.”

  I pick up the cup and smell it. The earthy smell from the morning invades. I slam it down, some sloshing out.

  She stops brushing to top off the cup. “Your Father said I'm to inform you that you may be out of his house, but your sisters are not.”

  I grasp the table. There's no way to direct the attention onto me if I'm here. I swig the drink. She refills it and hands it to me. She frowns with concern, and for a moment I think she's going to apologize, but it deepens to a scowl.

  “Drink up.”

  I close my eyes and down the second cup. When she fills it a third time I say, “No more. One was fine for the ceremony. Two is more than enough.”

  “I suppose it will do.” With a shrug, she resumes brushing my tresses.

  I avoid looking at her in the mirror. I want to throw the teapot across the room. And maybe cry, but not while she's here. Oh how I wish there were no warlocks controlling my life.

  “Do you need help with anything else?”

  “You've helped enough.”

  “Very well. I'll leave the tea in case you change your mind. Ring if you need me.” Before departing, she points to the cord by my bed that lets the servants know I need something.

  Once she's gone I grab the pot and hurl it against the wall. It shatters to the floor in pieces. I fling the cup after it. I slump in my chair, with my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. Tears sting my eyes. I breathe deeply and close my eyes until they leave. The earthy smell fills the room. I should have thrown the pot out the window.

  My head grows dizzy. My body harder to control. It's easier to recognize now that I've already been through it. The detachment is almost a relief, but I still wish I could have avoided drinking the tea. While I still have control, I walk to my window seat and curl up on it, tucking my dress around me. The pouring rain soothes me.

  Sometime later, a knock echoes in my room. I try to yell 'go away', but nothing comes out. The knock sounds again and the door opens. The Envadi is in my room. The dagger responsible for cutting into me rests in his sheathe. I blink at him. As soon as our eyes meet, he lowers his gaze.

  “You can't talk about the ceremony. The spell cast at the end will turn you mute forever if you even try. You must not.” He moves closer. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” My mouth responds without my telling it to. I try to ask him to explain, but nothing comes out.

  “I would like to—No, finish the tattoo first, then we'll talk.”

  He proceeds toward me. I try and try to tell my body to stand. To back away. To do something. At least take whatever is coming standing up. It refuses to move.

  My pulse increases. He stops and kneels until his face is even with mine. Faintly, there is the sound of metal sliding against metal. He hovers there.

  “Your brand. Would you tilt your head back?”

  I try to force it not to move, but my efforts don't make a difference. It tilts back. The ceiling is rather a bad distraction. A blank canvas of cream paint. My neck grows sore after several minutes, but I can't do or say anything. He moves away and returns. I wish I could at least look at him. What's he doing? Why's it taking so long?

  “This isn't working. I can't...” He grunts and stands. “Come here.”

  Against my will, I crush myself against him, resting my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around him. I feel his heart beat increase through his shirt. I shriek at myself to get away from him. I beg and plead. But I remain plastered against him.

  He pats my shoulder and takes a step back. I move with him. He backs up again and I follow. He maneuvers us to the table and chairs. His hands grasp my waist. I want to beat my fists against him. Mother's warning was right. I shouldn't have worn the dress. He's going to take my virtue because of it, and I'll be forced to become a tarnished. The memory of Thomas groping at me surfaces. I struggle to move myself from his grasp, but my body still won't respond.

  He grips my waist tighter and sets me on the chair. My insides shake with relief that he doesn't seem interested in me. Once he sits in his own chair, I stop trying to move. Without being under my own control, this may be the best I can hope for. He twists a ring on his right hand.

  “Are you all right?”

  Not even close, but my body refuses to say that. “I'm well, Master.”

  “Are you sure?” He cocks his head to the side. “You seem a little...different than usual.”

  “I'm sure.”

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and frowns. My mouth mimics his frown. “I know this situation hasn't been ideal, but I'd like it if we could get to know one another better before I have to...” He glances at the equipment on the table. “I know about your parents and Cynthia. What about the rest of your family?”

  I don't want to say a word about my sisters. “There's me then Cynthia, then Bethany, Preshea, Julia, Grace, Ada, Emma, Sally, Beatrice, Phoebe, Ruthie, Stella, and little Molly.”

  “Wow. That's a lot to remember.”

  “Don't worry, you won't have to remember.” Egh. They're more worth remembering than he is. Stupid tea.

  “Uh—” He sits back in his chair. “That's a big family and all girls. I only have one sister.” Only one? Must be because they already have a him. “Do you miss your sisters?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracks.

  He moves to kneels by me. “Hey, it's all right. You can be sad about it. Even if you need to cry about it, it's fine.”

  Tears gush from me like a spring river.

  Zade holds a handkerchief out to me. “I didn't mean you had to cry if you don't want to.”

  My tears stop. Thankfully.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  So, so much. “What is wrong with me?”

  He casts an aqua spell. It traces over me. “You're not spelled. Are you sure you're all right?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “No. You should be doing more,” he waves his hand about, “normal things.”

  “What do you want me to do?” My voice doesn't sound like my own. Too breathy.

  He clears his throat and looks around the room. “I just wanted to—” His gaze stops on the broken teapot. He stands, his forehead wrinkling. “What happened?”

  “I broke it.” My body giggles. Blast it.

  He strides to the tea pot and picks it up. He holds a broken piece to his nose and sniffs. His eyes tighten. With a wave of his hand, he casts a muddy spell over it. After a moment, the spell stops. He stiffens. With his hand clamped around the piece, he strides toward me. He thrusts the broken piece toward me.

  “Did you drink this?”

  “Two whole cups.”

  His nose flares. “You're trying to get rid of my ownership of you so they'll have grounds to make me lose the Chancellor's position. Who put you up to this?” He throws the already broken piece at the wall. “Who was it?”

  My eyes tear. At least he's getting to the information I want him to know. “Phyllis.”

  “The servant your Father sent?” He paces the room, clenching and unclenching his hand. “I should have sent her away the day she got here. I just didn't think you'd go along with their plans. I should have never agreed to marry you. Stupid wench.”

  He stops in front of me, leans down, and puts a hand on each of the arm rests. Punishment is coming. Some good will come of my detachment. I'll finally know what his punishments are like.

  “Why did you go along with this?” His voice is menacing.

  I cringe. For a moment I'm grateful my body is finally responding to wha
t I want it to do, but then it speaks without my telling it to. “So my sisters wouldn't get hurt.”

  His face relaxes and he stands. I jump up and put my head against his chest again. Tears stream down my face. Stop crying. Stop it right now! He's going to punish me, don't let him see what it's doing to me. But of course I continue crying. The Envadi doesn't move.

  “I didn't mean to get upset.” His voice is calmer now, like that I'd use with one of my youngest sisters. “It's all right. Why were your sisters threatened?”

  I sniff. “When I wouldn't drink the tea, Phyllis said Father had ordered that if I didn't, they would be punished.”

  One of his hands rubs my back. I snuggle closer to him instead of running like I want. He jumps from me and moves to the other side of the room.

  “I don't have the antidote. Sit. Don't touch me or come any closer to me.”

  My body freezes. This isn't as good as being in control, but less troublesome than before.

  He flicks his dagger on the table next to the branding items and paces before coming back to me. “Give me your hand.”

  I hold out my hand. He pricks my finger and sheathes the blade. He holds my finger over the bowl. There's already some clear liquid in it, but I can't tell if it's just water or something else. The fluid turns pink and darkens as my blood flows into it. Once the liquid is a shade lighter than blood, he heals my finger.

  “Sit back and don't touch me.”

  I sit back in my chair and watch every move he makes. He grabs the dish of ink and dumps it in. Using a small spoon, he stirs the mixture. After a minute, he says, “Look at the ceiling while resting your head on the back of the chair.”

  I don't want to take my eyes from him, but I can't help but comply.

  “This will hurt.”

  A moment later, he puts a hand on my shoulder and something pinches my neck, just above my collar bone. And pricks again and again and again. My branding. I try to wonder what it will be like instead of thinking of the pain. How will it be seeing it every time I look in the mirror? I start to enjoy the distance the tea forced on me and fall more deeply into it. I close my eyes. At some point the pricks stop and the pain eases. I'm being lifted to some place warm and comfortable. Everything fades.