City of Blaze (The Fireblade Array) (15 page)

“Undress me,” he demanded. Suhla obeyed immediately and delicately began undoing the buckles on his coat. Tara remained where she was for a moment, her expression bitter. The king made sure to show his displeasure in his features. “You know what the punishment is for disobeying me.”

She bit her lip, moved over to him and helped Suhla lift his coat off. It gave the king tremendous satisfaction to see her tamed, to see her obey. Still pouting, Tara pulled his shirt out from behind his belt, uncrossed it and tugged it from his shoulders while Suhla got to work on his trouser belt. She was doing it much too slowly for Acher’s patience. He pushed her away, which sent her reeling to the floor, and undid the fastening himself. But Tara was going to learn her lesson first. The king nodded at her to get onto the bed. She obliged, again with a grim look upon her pretty face, and lay face-down on the sheets.

The king kicked off the last of his trousers, along with his heavy boots, and walked steadily to the prostrate woman. Her face was buried so that her expression was hidden, which was a very good thing. At the very least he could enjoy her fine backside and the curve of her spine. He leaned forward so that he could place a fist either side of her shoulders and his knees between her thighs. She remained perfectly still.
Good girl
. Suhla approached to perform her duties as the second woman, making sure that he was suitably aroused. Of course this engagement would benefit Tara too, as any pleasure he felt, she would get to share in. He often wondered why women were not more grateful for that. The king lifted his right hand and ran it down to her bottom, pulling one firm cheek away from its companion. The skin felt wonderfully soft amongst his fingers.

Just then, Tara thrust herself upward faster than the king could react, thumping his face squarely with her back. He fell backwards from the bed and landed awkwardly on the rug below as an aghast Suhla watched with hands that covered her mouth.

Tara had leapt to her feet and was running to the opposite edge of the bed. She slipped, fell onto a pile of clothes and then re-adjusted herself, grabbing at a robe once she had found her feet again. She made a break for the doors, and pushed over a crowd of glass vases as she pulled on the gown. Each vase shattered into thousands of shards as they hit the hard, marble floor. Burn her!

King Acher rolled onto his side and clambered onto all fours. He yelled after her as he rose to his feet, then running to catch her before she escaped. He launched into the air with arms outstretched and caught her around the legs. They both fell to the cold, polished floor with considerable force, a loud snap emanating from Acher’s left elbow. He gripped her ankle firmly with his good arm as she tried to escape. “Suhla! Fix me so I can deal with her!”

His grip was too strong for Tara’s squirming, but he did not know how long that would last. Suhla approached the pair tentatively and knelt before them.

“Take the hand and hold it tightly,” he instructed. He could feel that one of the bones in his lower arm had rotated out of the socket and was now caught or snapped in an outwards manner; he knew what would be necessary.

Suhla gripped his hand and he heaved his weight against it, still clutching a writhing Tara in his other hand. He gave his left arm a sharp, inward twist, and the resulting pop made Suhla jump back in surprise, but the king knew it had worked. The pain immediately subsided as he felt the bones knit back together again. He turned to Tara. She would pay very dearly for injuring the king, very dearly!

He grabbed her other ankle and dragged her back into his bedchamber. She was kicking and screaming at him now, yelling something about his being vile or wretched or some other insult. The king gritted his teeth and hauled her into the broken glass, revelling in her screams as he did so. He roughly flipped her body over, seating her back deeply into the crushed shards so that they would penetrate the robe. Her front was speckled with glittering lumps of glass and drops of blood. A few of the larger cuts were already sealing themselves closed, extruding pieces of vase like eyes squeezing out their tears.

Tara was weeping freely. Her body could undergo far more injury before it lost its ability to self-heal quickly. She knew that he could make her suffer, that he
would
make her suffer. “Do what you will,
King
Acher,” she spat at him, “I will be your whore no longer. I’d rather die than share your foetid, barren bed again!” The king braced her against the floor using one knee and wrapped her hair around his fist. He began to pull her up by it. She kicked out in reflex and the boniest part of her knee made rapid contact with his crotch. He buckled instantly, eyes shutting hard against the light. He could do nothing to prevent his hand from releasing her hair, and she was free. Tara sprinted past an agape Suhla to the apartment doors, and threw her weight against them. They parted lethargically at first, but then they began to slide more rapidly upon their bearings. She glanced behind herself, observing King Acher was not close, and ran through.

King Acher lay on the floor amidst the sparkling pieces of vase for a moment as he considered his own anger at her foolish decision. At least Suhla had remained;
loyal little Suhla
. She was trying to soothe him, though he found it rather irritating and unnecessary. In a few more seconds he would be recovered and able to resume his planned activity with her. Just a few more seconds of agony. When the pain was gone he would call the guards and have them track down Tara. It wouldn’t take them very long to find her. Then, he thought, it would be time to make an example of her.

Chapter 5

Fold upon fold of blue cotton fabric descended from her broad hips to the grey marble floor, swaying as she moved around the bed. A simple tune purred along her lips in time with her movements. She was too plain to be beautiful, and too wide for Morghiad’s taste, but her dark yellow curls were rather glossy and fluid. Caala arranged the bed sheets with her usual forceful vigour. The woman reminded him of stories of Queen Garhel of Orta, an indestructible woman of robust proportions who fought off twelve invasions in a single century. The kahr suppressed a grin and closed his book, standing. He paced over to the nearest window and examined the heavy clouds outside. “I’ve asked another servant girl to assume your duties. Her name is Artemi, has she mentioned this to you?”

The broad woman jumped as soon as he spoke; it was not often that more than a nod passed between them during her visits. Morghiad kept his position, hands clasped at his back while she turned slowly and inclined her head. Her face was plump and a little pink from her exertion, and Morghiad could see from her eyes that she was old, though quite how old he could not have guessed.

She cleared her throat. “I have spoken to her about it. Unfortunately she has a backlog of cleaning to do from the blood- er, the feast day. She will be along when she has completed it, my lord.”

That really wasn’t good enough. Artemi needed to learn as much as possible about her power in a very short time. It was far more important than scrubbing ball dresses! He would have to go and speak to her directly. “Where can I find her at this hour?”

Caala’s eyes bulged, which could have meant Morghiad’s inquisition was giving her entirely the wrong impression. “Er, my lord? Does my work not please you?” Immediately she realised the impudent manner of her question and bowed awkwardly, reddening further. “You may find her in the servants’ cellars at this time of day, I believe. If not, she may still be in the linen rooms.”

Morghiad nodded and glanced back at the clouds. He had never been down to the cellars before, though it was a trip many of his men had made. “I have no problem with your work.”

He heard her sniff in response, though he ignored it. The sky appeared to be darkening by the minute. “I hear the cellars are something of a maze. Will you help me find her?” The kahr had little time to waste wandering around those caverns. Perhaps he could ask Artemi about Silar; it was his business, in a way. He had to keep everyone safe from her and he had to protect that flaming hair woman, too.

“Of course, my lord.” Caala curtseyed with surprising elegance. “Will you allow me to complete my duties here before we depart?”

Morghiad grunted in agreement and collected his sword, drawing it partially from its scabbard and examining the engravings at the top of the blade. It was a deceptively simple weapon: heavy but perfectly balanced. Artemi might have had the skill to use it in her past lives, but she would need something better-suited to her height and hands while she learned. Having a woman’s sword made would be a difficult secret to keep, though it would be a conundrum for sometime in the future. For now she could train with a cadet’s wooden practice sword.

He slid the blade back into its casing and hooked it onto his belt. Caala was still hurrying around the fog of pure, white sheeting when he strode into his bathing room and thrust his face into a bowl of water. It could probably do with a wash.

After a minute or two, Caala presented herself at the doorway and announced that she was ready to leave. The kahr roughly scrubbed the water from his features with a towel and proceeded from his rooms with her.

The pair wondered down the wide galleries, hallways and, eventually, tunnels of the castle without urgency, the taller man eating the ground with easy strides and the shorter woman swaying at her measured rate. Caala maintained her silence until she reached the entrance to the cellar steps, where she rounded on him like a mother would do to an errant child. “Excuse me, my lord, but... I’d always thought you were a better man than this. Better than the rest of them.” Her shoulders remained stiff. “Artemi’s a good girl, my lord, but her looks can get her into trouble. She doesn’t deserve-”

Morghiad felt his eyebrows demand that they should rise about three inches up his forehead and immediately set about arresting them. “I am not here for that.” He compressed his lips a little. “Could we please continue?”

Caala harrumphed but said nothing more, turned and continued down the steps.

The chill of the underground caverns worked deeper into his clothes with each yard he descended; the tunnel seemed to become more enclosed. Some of the lamps had either been extinguished to save fuel or had been left to burn out altogether, leaving the steps perilously dark in places. This would have to be fixed. The gritty treads wound round another full circle before the light from the main cellars filtered in, and Morghiad was glad for his cloak as he observed his breath misting in the biting air.

The servants’ vaults were quiet presently, and the only noise was the low chatter of some distant inhabitants. Odd. He was sure he had been told by one of the sergeants that they were a noisy place to visit. Two blue-clad, male servants squatted to the side of the main chamber, eyeing him closely as he walked past. It was highly unlikely his father came to this place very often, meaning that royalty must have been something of a rare occurrence down here.

Caala rolled ahead of the kahr, leading him through a curved arch in the sculpted mud walls. He found he had to stoop considerably to avoid hitting his head; the place appeared to have been made by a species of incredibly short people. Conditions inside the chambers curtailed his idle thoughts, however. Every fireplace sat empty or full of dust, many of the floors were damp, few candles illuminated the darkness and scant, tatty belongings lay in each tiny room. At least the people in the poor quarter of the city had some privacy. There was none of that here. He couldn’t help but feel as if his heart had sunk even deeper into the earth.

Morghiad kept his silence and his eyes to the ground as he followed the large woman, twisting through the rooms of sleeping maids. Finally, Caala slowed her pace and motioned for the kahr to wait. His tarrying place seemed to be someone else’s chamber, which was a little awkward. He overheard Artemi’s voice and the rustling of skirts from the proximate room as Caala made her introductions.

The broad serving woman moved aside, allowing Morghiad a view of the room beyond. For some reason he had expected it to be different from the others, but it was the same: cramped, cold and bare. Artemi stood before a rumpled red blanket and curtseyed gracefully. The soft glow of the chamber’s two candles illuminated the young woman’s features enough to demonstrate that she was attractive, or at least enough to make him swallow hard. He hoped neither of the women had noticed his reaction and stepped forward, nodding to Caala as she made her departure, and he moved to take a seat on the floor of the hollow. Artemi hovered uncomfortably for a moment, unsure if she should join him on the floor. Morghiad motioned for her to do so.

“I was not aware that the servants lived like this,” Morghiad said, examining the compacted floor and the two battered books that lay upon it. A wilted rose lay just beyond.

“I’m sorry I could not provide you with a more impressive reception, my lord.”

Morghiad was unable to fathom if she was being humorous or simply lambasting his ignorance. He suppressed his confusion as much as possible. I hardly mattered. He met her eyes; deep, dark-brown eyes. “There is no need for this ‘my lord’ business. ‘Captain’ is the rank I work for, if you really must use a title. Ranking officers in the army call each other by their first names. Perhaps you will be a part of that one day.”