Battles of Salt and Sighs by Val Saintcrowe

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CASSUS BLINKED AGAINSTthe light of the torch, which shone bright in his eyes. He had been asleep. He slept much of the time since he’d been locked up in this dungeon. It was a mercy, he thought, that he could sleep, because sleep was escape, sleep was a place where he could dream of Dominissa Cyria Magdalia, of her laugh and beauty and even her disdain.

He craved that disdain now, and his terror was that it would be robbed from her, that somehow, these fae would take from her that assurance she had of her superiority to nearly everything on earth, and that she would be listless and dull and cowed, and if that happened to her, Cassus would not be able to bear it.

He didn’t like to think of such things, of course.

But that was the one problem with dreams. They could easily become nightmares.

He wasn’t asleep now, however.

“Here he is, centurion,” said a voice, but Cassus couldn’t make out a figure behind the brightness of the torch. There was rarely any light in this cell. What little light there was came in through the small barred window on the door, and that only came from torches on the wall—torches which were always snuffed out by drafts in the dungeon and rarely relit.

“Excellent,” came another voice.

“I’ll leave you to your interrogation.”

“No, my apologies, perhaps I wasn’t clear. I am taking the prisoner away to interrogate him,” said the other voice, who must be the centurion. Cassus thought it was bitterly amusing that these fae used the imperial ranks in their own armed insurrection.

“Away, centurion? Away where?”

“Into the woods. I think the cold will be helpful in loosening his tongue,” said the centurion. “But you have no call to question me, militus.”

“Oh, no, of course not. Apologies. I can accompany you to assist with the prisoner?”

“Won’t be necessary.”

Cassus thought it was all very odd that anyone might think he was a spy. As if the imperial legions needed to spy on the fae rebels. A ludicrous thought, far beneath them.

However, he had to admit that the resistance had been more successful than anyone had ever dreamed they would be, even the resistance members themselves. He knew that his brother seemed to regard the new state of the capital with a bit of awed bewilderment. He had cast his lot where he had, his brother, so there was little he could do, but Cassus knew that when his brother saw the Croith riding through the streets of the capital, he was alarmed.

It was one thing to say that slavery should be abolished.

It was another thing entirely for a one-handed fae to be sleeping in the csaer’s bed and drinking from the csaer’s cups.

Cassus fully believed that his brother would relinquish his resistance sympathies if he thought it was safe for him to do so. As it was, however, any declaration to the contrary of his revolutionary views would be detrimental to his safety.

Other humans, businessmen and aristocracy alike, had been stripped of their riches and possessions, sent scrambling away, running for their lives, which would be easily taken. The fae were not shy about killing humans.

As Cassus was led out of his cell, he realized that might be what was happening to him now.

He’d been questioned already, and the fae had used some force. They had used some of their magic on him, but nothing too deadly, only to make him tired and thirsty. He’d had nothing to tell them, though, and they’d seemed to recognize this and to then give up.

Whatever this centurion intended to do with him, it would likely be worse, and he might not survive it.

If he died, he didn’t know who would rescue Magdalia, but then, he was no use to her rotting away in this dungeon, anyway.

He didn’t resist when his hands were lashed behind his back, and he walked along with the centurion as they went through the halls of the dungeon. The centurion led him outside, through the gates of the wall, and into the woods.

He was not dressed for it. They had taken his cloak and his gloves and his outer warm layer of clothes.

The centurion said nothing.

They walked and walked, deeper and deeper into the surrounding woods.

Finally, for no reason that Cassus could discern, the centurion stopped. He let go of Cassus’s arm and then went around behind him. Cassus heard the sound of a dagger being unsheathed.

“You haven’t even asked me any questions!” he protested.

The centurion chuckled.

Cassus felt him take hold of the ropes that bound him and then they were cut free. He moved away from the centurion, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t understand.”

“I made a bargain with Domina Prantia Onivia,” said the centurion. “I keep my word.”

“But what are you doing to me?”

“Setting you free, dolt.” The centurion gave him a withering look. “Go.” He motioned for Cassus to leave.

“But won’t… the other fae will suspect you.”

“You’re concerned for me? How polite of you.” The centurion laughed again. “I’ll tell them I accidentally killed you and didn’t feel the need to drag your body back with me, so I left you for the carrion animals.” He smiled a nasty smile. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go.”

Cassus hesitated. “Why are you making bargains with Onivia?”

“Go.”

Cassus realized he was being very stupid. He nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank Onivia. Tell her I’m going to help Magdalia?”

“I didn’t agree to be a messenger. Just go.” The centurion waved him off.

And Cassus turned his back on the other man and ran, then, as fast as he could, off into the cold, night air.

ONIVIA WOKE THEnext morning sore in places that had never been sore. She wasn’t sure how the muscles in her stomach had been used the night before in Akiel’s quarters. By all rights, she shouldn’t have been moving any muscles. She should have simply been lying there and taking it.

That was how she remembered it, anyway.

Oh, is it?spoke up a knowing voice deep in her head.

She shushed that voice and pushed it all the way down inside, burying it even deeper.

I didn’t like it.

Of course she didn’t like it.

Like silk.

Her stomach turned over.

She didn’t like it. It had been a horrible, demeaning experience that had likely scarred her for the rest of her life. She would never be the same, and she never wanted to do it again. It was all awful.

But, well, when she’d closed her eyes and pretended, she couldn’t deny that it had been physically pleasurable, deeply so.

Even now, she remembered what it had been like to have him inside her, and when she did, it made her want to sigh and squirm and bask in how good it had been.

It was killing her, truly, how it could have been such a horrible, disgusting thing and yet felt so good.

She knew Larent had done that for her. He’d been under no obligation to figure out how to touch her body and to give her pleasure. And there was no reason for him to have found some way to stroke her as he drove himself in and out of her body.

But he had, and it had made it bearable in some way.

Confusing, yes, and there was something horrible in having enjoyed it, but… well… if it had been painful and invasive like that first time, if she’d been dry and frightened and sober, she…

Maybe that would have broken her.

As it was, she didn’t feel broken at all.

The cracks were still there, but she wasn’t worried about shattering, not anymore.

That didn’t mean she wanted to see Larent in the morning, however, because she didn’t. She wasn’t sure what she felt towards him—some odd mix of gratitude and arousal and connection and hatred. Deep, deep hatred. That was never going away when it came to Larent, no matter what he did.

So, she got up and left the room, telling the guard in the hallway that she was going down to the kitchens early. He allowed this.

As she went by the doors to the outside, she peered out into the cold and wondered again about escape, wondered what was wrong with her.

Why hadn’t she even attempted to escape?

Not since that first night, when she’d tried to leave Larent’s tent, had she truly physically tried to go somewhere. But it was impossible. Looking outside, she could see the tents that filled the courtyard, all the fires burning to keep the militem warm. There were so many men out there. She’d never get past them all.

She didn’t attempt to escape because she could not.

She had made a deal with Larent.

He was honorable. He would see it through.

And besides, he wants me.

Oh, she needed to make that voice quiet. She attempted to bury it again, before it said something else, something horrid, like that she wanted him as well, because she did not.

The sound of chanting filtered into her ears, and she turned to her head, to see that there was a vast bonfire on the far end of the courtyard, and that fae were gathered about it. Now, she also heard the distant sound of drums.

The sound almost immediately transported her back to her childhood, where the sound of fae drums would emanate from their huts on the villa. They would drum and chant in the evenings, sometimes, back when she was young, back when no one was afraid of them, when it was all fine for the fae to amuse themselves.

At some point, the drumming and the chanting had come to signify fae magic. When she was a child, it was thought that piercings in their ears and their noses kept the magic at bay, but as time had passed, no one could be sure what the fae could do, and no humans were taking any chances.

The drums were smashed and burned—they had been handmade anyway, made of whatever discarded parts the fae could fine—and any gatherings were broken up, the ringleaders whipped.

The sound was at once soothingly reminiscent of a simpler, happier time in her life and also alarming.

What were they doing?

The fae were drumming and they were dancing around a huge fire, its flames dancing in the early morning light. Above the fire, she could see that the sky was churning overhead, a concentration of ashy whiteness ominous behind the criss cross of bare tree branches.

She had never seen anything like that before, no real manifestation of fae magic.

“Girl,” said a voice.

She looked up.

A guard, gripping a rifle across his chest, his long crimson hair curling around his pointed ears, sneered at her. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“Th-the kitchens,” she said.

“Best get there, then.” The fae raised his red eyebrows.

She ducked her head and scurried away, leaving the chanting and the drumming behind her as she descended to the lower levels of the house.

The kitchens were empty when she arrived, but soon enough, other women appeared, Marta among them.

“You’re all right?” Marta was concerned. “Did Akiel do anything to you?”

“He wanted to, I think, but Larent wouldn’t let him,” she said. She wanted to tell Marta all of it, but she had concealed so much from Marta thus far, and she couldn’t come out and explain it now.

“You seem…” Marta scrutinized her. “Different. But not in the way I might have expected.”

“I feel stronger,” she said, and she did. It was as if she had gone into the den of horrors and come out the other side, forged in flames.

Marta gave her a nod, as if she understood this.

“And Larent…” Onivia furrowed her brow. “Does it ever, um, feel good with some of them? Feel physically pleasurable, I mean? With Dandren, for instance? You mentioned that things with him are…”

Marta let out a long, low sigh. “We are both doomed, Onivia. You are falling for him, just as I am.”

“I’m not,” said Onivia, shaking her head. She gave Marta a sympathetic look. “Are you truly?”

“I recognize the signs,” said Marta, shrugging. “And I haven’t been following my own advice. I’ve been doing what I can to keep myself from getting with child, because I don’t want him to send me away.” She gave Onivia a sad smile.

With child.

It went through Onivia coldly.

Well, of course Larent had to do it.

Did he? Couldn’t he have pretended? He’d spent inside her body. Akiel would never have known.

I washed it out of me.

Yes, it was odd that she hadn’t thought of it when she’d been doing that, hadn’t thought of children or Larent’s seed taking hold in her, but she supposed she’d been…

In shock.

She raised her eyebrows wryly.

One could not constantly live in a state of being in shock, could one? Well, she probably couldn’t have washed it all out, but she had washed enough of it out that it had stopped seeping out of her, anyway, so perhaps… maybe…

“What’s wrong?” said Marta. “Are you with child?”

“No,” said Onivia. “No, he is… usually careful about that.” This was not precisely a lie. “He has no wish to create more half-bloods like himself, I don’t think. But… with Akiel, he…”

“Yes, Akiel would look at that as weakness, perhaps?” Marta shrugged. “Although, considering how much Akiel despises half-bloods, maybe that makes no sense.”

It really didn’t.

Somehow, Onivia suspected that Akiel would have been more entertained by seeing her bare skin splattered with Larent’s ejaculate. Larent didn’t have to do it, not at all, but he’d spent inside her anyway.

She felt ill.

“It’s all right,” said Marta, touching her arm. “If he gets you with child, it is a good thing. It will go well for you.”

“What will happen to the baby, though?” she whispered. “What kind of life would a child like that have? I’ll be doubly helpless if…” She would never be able to help her sister.

Marta hugged her. “We will survive this. We must survive this.” She whispered it in her ear.

Onivia clung to her friend.

But then the fae women noticed them embracing, and they both let go, each wiping surreptitiously at their eyes.

What would become of Marta when Onivia left in the spring to go to the capital to Magdalia? Would Onivia ever see her again? Was there anything she could do for her friend?

Whywas she so helpless?

At breakfast, Akiel took Larent to task for killing some human prisoner, and Onivia was horrified until she realized it was Cassus, and that Larent had freed him as he’d promised.

Her heart surged. Cassus was gone, freed.

“I was in a bit of a mood to hurt things last night for some reason,” Larent said mildly. “I guess I got carried away.”

“You didn’t ask my permission to take the prisoner,” said Akiel.

“What’s going on in the courtyard?” said Larent. “You’re summoning a storm? I thought we spoke last night of what we might do against the approaching legions.”

“You think I need you, your steel and your guns,” sneered Akiel. “Well, we are fae, and we have magic, and when we summon the ice and snow to bury and freeze the human army, you’ll see just how useless you half-bloods truly are.”

“Useless?” said Larent. Then he laughed.

“Shut your mouth, centurion,” snapped Akiel.

Larent’s laughter died off slowly.

The two men glared at each other across the table.

All the other officers seemed tense, exchanging glances with each other.

The air seemed charged.

“Name one victory this cohort can claim in which my centuria wasn’t key to the outcome,” said Larent in an even voice. “Name one.”

“You’re dismissed,” growled Akiel.

Larent let out another laugh, this one in disbelief. But he got up from the table, pushing out his chair noisily. He looked around until he saw Onivia, and then he beckoned her.

She didn’t know what to do, so she started for him.

“Leave your girl,” said Akiel. “She likes fae cock so much, she might prefer to be around some full-blooded fae.”

Onivia’s eyes widened, and she was shot full of fear. No. She hurried over to Larent, begging him with her eyes not to leave her here.

But she needn’t have worried. Larent barely seemed to notice her, since he was furiously glaring at Akiel. “She’s mine. You’re the one who made the rules about officers’ girls, and once a girl has been claimed—”

“I did make the rules, and maybe I’ll change them,” said Akiel.

Larent turned to the gathered officers. “You see? You see what he is? This is the man we serve? This is the man we put our lives on the line for?”

“Dismissed,” roared Akiel.

Larent took Onivia by the arm and dragged her with him.

“Let go of her,” said Akiel.

Larent didn’t. He propelled her out of the room ahead of himself and slammed the door in his wake.

“Larent!” came the barely muffled sound of Akiel’s voice from within.

Larent muttered several oaths to the fae ancestors under his breath, but he didn’t stop, and he didn’t let go of Onivia.

“You can’t give me to him,” Onivia said, and she felt embarrassed at the way she was begging him, but she felt desperate fear more.

“Oh, I will never give you to him,” said Larent.

She sagged into him in relief.

He put his arm around her again, like he had in the hallway when they’d walked back the night before.

“Because I’m yours,” she whispered.

“You are,” he agreed. “Mine.”