Battles of Salt and Sighs by Val Saintcrowe

CHAPTER SEVEN

ONIVIA AND THEother women like her were not put to use in the kitchens, and this was not because the fae wished to save them from the labor, but because the human women were terrible at cooking. It was fae who were still at work in the kitchens, then, the slaves who had once worked in the villa before the fae had taken over there.

Onivia found it curious, because these slaves had supposedly been “freed” when the revolt had occurred here, but near as she could tell, not much had changed for them. They still lived in the same place they had lived and did the same work. She knew that slaves were supposed to be paid under the dictates of the fae’s demands, but any money that the resistance had went directly into funding the army—paying for weapons and for outfitting the militem and for food—so she didn’t think these newly freed slaves were being paid in anything other than room and board.

This was the female slaves, of course. The male slaves, once employed in the fields or in the stables, had mostly been subsumed into the army. In some ways, they might feel as though their lot had improved over the female slaves, who must still labor as they had labored. However, at least the female slaves knew their lives would not be forfeit. How many of these newly turned militus fae would be fodder in the resistance gristmill?

Onivia tried to voice these thoughts to Marta, but Marta only laughed and said she was thinking too much.

“But it is no different for them,” said Onivia. “They have not improved their lot in life at all. Do you think they think of this?”

Marta shrugged. “The women in the kitchen are never going to be consulted about shifts in the fabric of the way the world works. Well, in general, women are never going to be consulted. This is the way things are. One can lament it, or one can accept it and adapt.”

“Ah, yes, by perfecting cocksucking as a skill,” muttered Onivia.

“You look down on me, but if you have not been called upon to do it for Larent, you will.”

“I will bite it off if he tries,” said Onivia.

Marta snorted. “I don’t think human teeth can bite clean through a—”

“I could damage him, anyway,” said Onivia.

“You could,” said Marta. “And that would be a wonderful way to get your head removed from your shoulders.” Now, she was deadly serious.

Onivia didn’t say anything. She and Marta were engaged in ladling out soup into bowls. They were not required to do the cooking but were considered capable of serving, so they were remanded to the kitchen for an hour before meals began.

This was Onivia’s second day at it. The day before, she’d managed to smile at Larent, but she hadn’t touched him, and he hadn’t touched her either. The previous night, however, he’d warned her that for their deal to work, this could not be the case between them. He’d said he was through with being timid, and that he didn’t care whether it caused her discomfort, that she had best steel herself for it, and perform as they had discussed.

But while saying all this, he hadn’t seemed to be able to meet her eyes.

She wasn’t sure what to make of all of that, but she supposed she must be grateful that Larent took no pleasure in causing her discomfort. He was a fae, and he was a violent warrior, but he had some sort of honor that extended to his dealings with her.

In this, she was lucky, she supposed.

She could bluster the way she did with Marta, claiming to be so very defiant, but the truth was that she would likely not be thus if she’d been taken again and again, night after night. Instead, she had been untouched, sleeping on the couch in his chambers. Why, she had a room to herself.

He had, of course, installed a lock on the outside of the door so that she couldn’t leave, even over her protests of their bargain and how he could trust her word.

He’d only snorted. I’m not stupid, domina.

It was interesting to her that he continued to call her by that title. She could tell that he employed it as a fellow human of equal status might employ it, not the way that a slave would. It was respect, but it was not an admission of her superiority. It made things feel civilized and it soothed her.

He was smart that way, Larent was. She could see that his fame as a military strategist was earned, and that he seemed good at applying his manipulations to her. She resented it.

But she’d also witnessed Larent sending the message she’d dictated to Magdalia with a fae messenger. He’d written it down. Unlike other slaves, he could read and write. She had thought of asking him how that had occurred, but then she didn’t, because she didn’t want to seem too curious about him.

She didn’t care about the particulars of Larent’s past. He was her captor, and she only cooperated with him because it served her. She could not afford to feel too grateful to him, no matter what he did. After all, this was a transaction between them. He was giving her something and she was giving him something in return. There was nothing there to inspire gratefulness.

The sound of a palm against flesh caused both Marta and Onivia to start.

Well, there was one difference between the lots of the fae kitchen slaves now and their lots before, and that was that they were permitted to slap the human whores whenever they deemed the women needed “discipline.”

She and Marta turned to see that it was Loretia who had been struck. The thin, listless woman stood on the other side of the room next to an overturned bag of flour, which had spilled all over the counter top. Slowly, belatedly, Loretia brought a hand to her cheek.

“Clumsy slut,” muttered the fae woman, hands on her hips. Her purple hair was growing out now. Even the fae women had been required to keep it short as slaves. Perhaps that was different too. Now, they could grow their hair. Was it enough? Apparently, it was, because there didn’t seem to be any sense of discomfort amongst the “free” slaves.

Loretia hung her head.

“Clean it up, then.” The fae shoved a wet rag into Loretia’s chest.

Loretia only barely brought her hands up in time to stop the rag from falling to the floor.

“What’s wrong with you?” demanded the fae. “You’re worse every day.”

Onivia had yet to hear Loretia speak. She had a sort of shuffling gait, as if she was in a trance, and yesterday, she’d spilled wine all over Akiel, who hadn’t been pleased.

Loretia was Akiel’s current girl, the one who Marta had spoken of that first day.

“We should help her,” murmured Onivia, watching as Loretia only stared dumbly at the wet rag against her chest.

“We need to keep our heads down and not call attention to ourselves,” said Marta.

“But… something’s wrong with her,” said Onivia.

“It’s just Akiel,” said Marta.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I hear he’s got particularly cruel tastes is all,” said Marta. “He enjoys humiliating his girls. He forces them to do demeaning things like lick dirt off his feet.”

“No,” said Onivia.

“He’s been known to urinate on them.”

Onivia couldn’t even speak at the thought of that.

“And he’s fond of the back passage,” said Marta.

“You don’t mean…?” Onivia had never heard of such a thing. “With his…?”

Marta made a sympathetic face at her. “I forget how innocent you are sometimes.”

“That sounds painful.”

“Quite,” said Marta in a voice that indicated she knew firsthand.

Onivia went still, not quite able to process the fresh horror that was flooding her. She stood there for several moments, neither speaking nor moving.

Then, deliberately, she set down the soup ladle and went across the room to take the wet rag from Loretia. “Here,” she said softly. “Let me do that for you.”

Loretia blinked at her with wide eyes.

Briskly, Onivia began to use the rag to push the spilled flour into a pile in the middle of the counter. She’d never really cleaned anything herself, but she’d observed slaves cleaning numerous times, and she mimicked the technique now.

Loretia only watched, not speaking.

Onivia brushed the flour into a waste bin and then set the rag on the counter. She put a hand on Loretia’s shoulder, trying to think of something to say to the girl, but she didn’t want to assure her that everything would be all right, because it wouldn’t, and she couldn’t think of anything comforting about this entire situation.

She wanted to cry.

Forcing herself to swallow her tears, she only squeezed Loretia’s shoulder and then went back to the soup.

Marta shook her head at her.

Onivia shrugged. “She was only going to get herself slapped again if someone didn’t help.”

“Perhaps,” Marta allowed.

They didn’t speak again but worked in silence.

Soon enough, the sounds of men’s voices echoed out from the dining room, indicating that the officers had come in and were waiting to be fed.

Onivia and Marta brought out the soup they’d ladled out and then took their places against the wall behind the men who they were there to serve.

Other women had filled the goblets with wine before the men sat down, had brought wooden spoons and forks and napkins and other such things, but if any of the men needed something specific, it would be up to their girls to wait upon them.

Onivia was there to serve Larent.

After only a brief time, he gestured for her to refill his wine glass.

She moved forward, stepping next to him, reaching for the carafe of wine that sat on the table.

Larent’s arm wound around her waist and he pulled her down onto his lap before she could even get to the carafe.

She was stunned and stiff, but when her gaze met his—their faces were close, too close—his expression warned her of her promise. She forced herself to press into him, and she let out a very high giggle. It sounded forced, but Larent gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

She was in his lap. She could feel his hard chest pressing against her. She could smell him again. He didn’t smell like blood, but like a man—a fae—a mixture of sweat and flesh and some hint of something wild—it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, and this realization horrified her.

He reached up and snatched her by the chin, gaze boring into hers.

No, he wasn’t going to—

He kissed her, full on the mouth, and he tasted like wine, and his mouth was warm, and his lips were pliant, and that wasn’t entirely unpleasant either.

She thought shamefully of the only other time she’d ever been kissed and how this wasn’t so different—why wasn’t it different? It felt like such a betrayal of Albus, not that she hadn’t betrayed him already, not that she hadn’t—

No reason to think of Albus ever again, even if he’d likely put this thought in her head when he’d said that thing to her about thinking of him when she got married and her husband kissed her.

The legatus was off to the north, battling Emmessia—

Why hadn’t they called the troops home to put down the fae uprisings? Why wasn’t the senate taking this seriously? This was serious.

Larent put two big hands on her waist and set her on her feet. He nodded at the carafe. One of his hands fell away, the other curved possessively and casually over her hip, as if he was used to touching her because her body belonged to him.

She had to force herself not to react to that thought, to the feelings that shot through her at Larent’s touch. Instead, she pretended as if she didn’t mind. She even gave him something that might be termed a smile as she poured the wine for him.

He watched her with a lazy sort of expression, as if her movement pleased him, lording all of it over her.

She could still taste him on her mouth.

She felt…

Well, she didn’t really know what the word was for it, but she wished she didn’t feel it.

She handed him his wine. “Will there be anything else…” She licked her lips. “Dominus?” When she said it, it hurt, because she didn’t wish to afford him the same respect he afforded her. Even if she tried to think of it as addressing him the way she’d address any landowning human man, it still smarted, because he was fae, he was a slave, and she should never have to address him like that.

His lips curved at the word out of her mouth, though, and he seemed to enjoy it. They were pretending, both of them, but there was something in his expression that hinted that his pleasure was genuine.

Something lurched inside her.

“Not now, ancilla,” he said.

Slave girl. He just called me slave girl.She retreated, stifling any reaction to the word. She took her place along the wall, behind his chair, and she stared forward. Her hands shook, and she thrust them behind her back so that no one could see.

MAGDALIA WAS TAKENto lavish chambers in the palace. She did not know, because she had never been to this part of the palace before, but she strongly suspected these were the chambers of the csaerina, because they were so very vast and because the bed had a canopy and gold-stitched coverlets and an ornate headboard carved from fine, polished wood.

She was left there and her meals were brought to her. Fae came to help her dress (in beautiful, fine dresses made of silks and velvets), but they didn’t speak to her, and they didn’t follow her orders.

Two days passed.

On the third day, she was summoned to a courtyard behind the palace. There was a chill in the air and the sky overhead was overcast. She had a cloak that she wrapped around her body.

Ten fae were standing in the courtyard, all of them bound hand and foot. She recognized some of them. One was the fae who’d taken her from the wedding. One was the fae who’d brought her food on the ship. The others looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps they had been on the ship as well. She could not be sure.

Eventually, Duranth appeared. He was also wearing a cloak, a long black one with black fur trimming the edges and the hood, which fell behind his long midnight-blue hair. He came and stood next to her and he was silent as he looked back and forth between her and the men. When his gaze fell on her face, he seemed to be searching for something there.

She schooled herself to look only annoyed, and when he wouldn’t speak, she finally burst out with, “I was quite comfortable in my chambers. I’d like to go back there.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want to be in this courtyard with these men, of course,” she said. “I would think that would be obvious after what they did to me.” She was insistent on sticking to this story she’d made up and she didn’t know why. Even if she had been molested in that way, it would not make any difference to her current situation or to Duranth’s treatment of her. She couldn’t think of one good reason to stick to the charade.

“Which of these men?” Duranth’s voice was low and even, and he looked at her while he gestured at the men.

She shrugged. “All of them.”

He snorted. “Some of these men were not even on the ship.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “It went on for some time, so I closed my eyes and pretended it wasn’t happening.”

“You’re lying,” he said.

“I’m not.” She gave him a nasty smile.

“Well, which of them started it, then?” said Duranth, raising his eyebrows.

She turned her gaze on the man who’d pulled her out of Onivia’s arms. “Him.”

Duranth turned to look at the man.

“Your Majesty,” sputtered the man, “you know that I am loyal and that there is no force on the earth or in the sky that could compel me to disregard your orders. She was not harmed in any way.”

Duranth squared his shoulders. “Well, there’s some reason she singles you out.”

“Because I captured her. Any man who did that would displease—” The man crumpled to the ground.

It was so shocking to Magdalia that it took her some moments to piece together what had happened. Duranth had stepped forward and touched the man, and then the man had stopped speaking and he’d fallen.

He was dead.

She could see that from the way his skin had gone grey, how his eyes had gone still.

She’d seen Duranth kill that way before.

She let out a tiny, tiny little noise in the back of her throat.

Duranth rounded on her.

She forced herself to laugh. “You idiot. You kill your own men and expect me to feel some guilt for it? Of course I will accuse them. I will accuse them all if you will kill them, because how does it not serve me for the fae to be dead?”

“So you were lying?” said Duranth. “The truth now, little Magda, has anyone touched those round, firm breasts of yours or will I be the first?”

“You will never touch me!” she cried out.

He smiled, looking satisfied.

“I… all of them.” She pointed. “They all—” She stopped on the man who’d brought her the bucket, who had refused to feed her until she cleaned her mess. “Him. He was abominable to me.”

Duranth’s smile widened and he went over, snatched the man by the neck, and then that man fell to the ground too, dead.

Magdalia sucked in a breath, and she wasn’t sure what this feeling was, surging through her, but she couldn’t say it was entirely displeasing. It was power. He had just done that at her command, taken a man’s life, a man that might be useful to him.

It spoke of the depths of his evilness, of course, but it also spoke of…

He did it for me.

Now Duranth wasn’t looking at her. He was moving amongst the other men, cutting their bonds, and he spoke gently to them. “Understand this, then, and make sure you tell the rest of the fae. She is important to me. She is not to be treated poorly. Don’t hurt her. Don’t make her angry. Let everyone know what I will do for her.” He let loose the last man. “Even if she lies, I will believe her over others.”

The men were all terrified, and Magdalia could see that in their expressions and the way they held themselves up. That was pleasurable as well, somehow, that power.

“Go,” said Duranth, gesturing to the entrance to the courtyard. “You’re all free to go now.”

They hesitated for a minute, and then they rushed away, leaving Duranth there, and now Magdalia was alone with him and the two dead bodies.

Duranth gazed at her.

She found herself feeling too warm in his gaze. She let her cloak hang open, wanting some of the chill air to touch her skin, to cool her heated face.

“Understand that if I thought you were serious I would have done this immediately and that they would have suffered,” he said.

“I was serious,” she said.

He closed the distance between them. “It’s adorable that you’re trying to make me jealous. It’s also unnecessary. Do you want me to say that I want you? I do. Always have.”

“Always?”

“Well, not always, I suppose,” he amended. “Not when you were very small. But even before, when there was nothing sexual about it, it was always romantic, don’t you think? You felt it, too, Magda. You feel it now, and you don’t want to say it out loud, because it’s shameful for you to want a fae. It’s beneath you.” He was close enough to touch her and he reached out and found her hand.

She tried to pull away.

He wouldn’t let her. He lifted her hand and placed it against his ear. He forced her finger over the pointed tip of it.

She shuddered.

He shuddered, closing his eyes as if her touch affected him, even though he was making her do it.

She tried to pull away again. This time he let her.

She clutched her hand against her chest. Her fingers felt branded with the feel of his skin.

“Fae,” he said. “Slave. Beneath you. And you’ve always wanted it. You want my hands, my mouth, and my fae cock, and it’ll go easier if you just admit it to yourself.”

She gaped at him, horrified.

He only smiled.

“You say you want me, and maybe you do, but you don’t like me,” she said, and her voice was quavering.

“Sure I do,” he said, his voice soothing.

“Not really,” she said. “You see me the way everyone sees me, as stupid and silly and flighty. You don’t respect me.”

“Well, you don’t respect me either,” he said with a smile. “And anyway, you are stupid and silly and flighty.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckled. “Such a filthy word coming out of your little mouth, Magda. I can think of lots of other filthy things for us to do. Should we do that first, or should we work on our magic first? I have to admit I can’t decide how best to proceed. Perhaps if you were… were close to me, it would be easier to convince you to help me. On the other hand, I suppose, what I really need is your magic, not your, er, closeness, and I probably only pursue that for selfish reasons.”

“I’ll never let you touch me, and I’ll never help you with anything.” Rage was overtaking her now, making her limbs tremble. She clenched both of her hands into fists, and his refusal to take her emotions seriously—indeed to take any part of her seriously—was making her furious.

“I thought we had a discussion about how I could take whatever I wanted?”

Before, this had frightened her, but now she was too angry for fear. “Just try it.”

“Was that an invitation?” He raised his eyebrows. “We both know you want me, so it might as well have been.”

“Simply because you say things like that, it doesn’t make them true.” She sneered at him. “I’ve never wanted you. How could I want something inferior to me?”

“Inferior?” His eyes flashed.

“Not used to people insulting you? Well, it’s likely because they’re all afraid you’re going to kill them with your touch,” she said. “But we both know that won’t work on me.” She knew no such thing, actually, and she wasn’t sure why she even said it. She had practically challenged him to try to kill her, and that was surely folly.

But no, maybe that was the only course left to her. If she stayed alive here, she was going to end up raped and tortured or… or worse, she would give in—

No.

He reached out and brushed his fingers over her cheekbone.

She felt his magic surging into her. But she could also feel that it wasn’t all of his magic. He wasn’t trying to kill her, but he was curious as to what would happen if he attempted it.

It traveled through her, and she felt that feeling she’d felt all those years ago for the first time when they had made the circle between him and her and Csaer. They were a closed circuit, and he was warmth and safety. Together, they made something complete and balanced.

She let out a gasp at the sensation.

He poured more magic into her. It flowed out of his fingers and into her jaw and neck, where his fingers touched her. From there, it flowed like ink through her body, curling out and settling into all her nooks and crevices, possessing her.

Now, his magic belonged to her. She felt her own magic rising up, mingling with his, melding with it. A new magic now rose in her like an ocean wave. It crested and she put both of her hands on his chest and pushed.

He staggered backwards, uttering a grunt. Recovering, he lifted his gaze to hers, surprise all over him.

“You were saying about forcing me?” She glared at him.

“I also said I don’t want to,” he breathed. He studied her, and that furrow in his forehead was back. “You’re proving difficult, Magdalia, I have to admit that. I hadn’t expected you to be so difficult.”

She sneered again.

He shook his head. “I’ll escort you back to your chambers. How are you liking them, by the way?”

“Far too small,” she said in a nasty voice.

He smirked. “Yes, you’re as difficult to please as ever, I see.” He leaned close. “I actually find I like that about you.”

She jerked away.

He only laughed.