Dark Warriors: A Dark Lands Anthology (Darklands) (9 page)

“So it’s going to be easy to go home?” she challenged him, unable to let him just stand there and tell her what she thought, what she felt.

He leaned in close, ignoring her question. “Will you ever forget him if you leave? Do you not think he would be inside you, a ghost in your heart?”

Vana couldn’t answer.

He nodded and walked away, leaving her alone in the echoing gym.

Vana took a fast shower under the multiple showerheads in her private bathroom and donned the bright yellow and black patterned square that served as alien nightwear. It had a fringe and was knotted at the shoulder, leaving one shoulder bare. The abbreviated sari remained open at one side, revealing flashes of skin as she moved, yet covering the essentials. Soft and thin enough to feel weightless under the covers, it did not bunch or drag at her as she tossed in her bed, and was more secure that sleeping naked.

As she stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come, Ser’s words played in her mind. Now that he’d rubbed her nose in it, she realized that yes, the woman who married Dagon would become queen. One plus one equals royalty. If anything, it only made him seem more forbidding in her mind. Who wanted to be a queen? And in spite of her unique position, she neither wanted the job nor considered herself in the running for it. If Dagon was losing sleep over her, it was because of the problems she caused him. Had she been the type to indulge in wishful thinking, she’d have hoped that he’d be inspired to send her troublesome self home. The realist in her knew better. If she got home, it would be because she was smart enough to get the job done.

It might involve using people. She hated that part. She would do her best to avoid it, but if it came down to a choice between staying here and getting home…

She rolled over and pounded her pillow, trying not to think about the luxuries of not paying rent or doing her own laundry. Chores were good. They meant she was making her own choices, living her own life. Maybe that life had been a bit empty, but…

Groaning in frustration, she buried her head under the pillow and tried to sleep.

The Beast was big, black and crawling up her bed. Vana stared in horror as the scene played out in slow motion. He wanted her. Though he had yet to touch her, he pinned her in place with the force of his will alone. He was all about claiming. Possession. Passion. And he terrified her like nothing she’d felt in her life.

She woke with a muffled scream, flailing about in the tangled covers. It took long moments to clear her head, but when it did…

Rolling over, she pulled the covers over her head. She had to get out of here!

The boys were in the kitchens, doing their pagely duties. She’d been surprised that morning when she’d learned that even young princes were expected to work their way up the ranks like everybody else. When she spotted Devin doing his hour of vegetable scrubbing, though, she had to wonder at the wisdom of starting so young. The kid was soaked with water and seemed to be doing his best to annoy the older lad in charge of watching him.

Easily six foot, the white haired boy scowled at Devin as he rewashed the occasional vegetable and chopped it with the skill of a television chef. He was handsome, in a grumpy sort of way. Too bad he was too young to be allowed to choose a wife. Some of the younger girls would have drooled over him for sure.

“Hey!” Devin shouted as the older boy tossed a still-dirty tuber back in his sink, splashing him. “You didn’t have to do that, Roac!”

“Clean it and I won’t,” Roac retorted, then went back hacking hapless roots.

“Need a hand?” Vana offered. The boys turned and stared at her as if she’d sprouted fangs and tentacles. It was a look she’d gotten often and almost universally since she’d stepped foot in the kitchen. Obviously, she’d found another taboo to flaunt.

How marvelous.

“Women don’t work in the kitchen,” Roac said as if she’d proposed to rob the place.

She raised a brow. “I’m an excellent cook, thank you very much. And I was under the impression that women did pretty much whatever they wanted to do here.” All except for the captives, that was, but she didn’t point that out. No use in mucking with conditioning that might benefit her. “Are you going to be the one to throw me out?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed, then he turned around and went back to work.

Ah, hah! I’m getting the hang of this, she thought smugly. She contemplated Devin, who blinked at her as if she’d just done something miraculous. “I really do like to cook, especially desserts, but I hardly know anything about your ingredients. I really want to know about adoc. Since you’re my son, would you like to teach me?”

He puffed up and glanced around to make certain that the rest of the crowded kitchen had heard her. “Yes, mother. I’ll teach you all about it.” Devin wiped his hands on his apron importantly and started to walk away from the sink.

“Where are you going?” Vana asked chidingly.

“To get you some adoc,” he said, confused.

“Are you done with your chores?”

He looked at the sink reluctantly. “No.”

“I can wait.”

Roac almost looked impressed.

Vana considered his pile of diced veggies. “That’s impressive. Do you train with a knife outside of the kitchen, too? With the men?”

He went back to work, giving her his back. “Everyone trains.”

“Then you know how to use a sword?”

He shrugged.

“Would you teach me?”

He nearly cut off his thumb. “Women don’t train!”

It was her turn to shrug. “I do. Every night. Dagon doesn’t care.”

Roac eyed her, slicing his victims more slowly. Clearly he needed more incentive.

She had just the thing. “Where I come from, we barter. Tell me, who are your parents?”

A murderous light shown in his eyes. “I have none. I am unclaimed.”

Vana winced. She’d been hoping to trade some of the items she’d been given to wear (some of the collars had real gems) for some lessons in Beast weaponry. Under the circumstances she’d worry about the legality of it later. Getting an idea of how well off the kid was and what his parents would allow had been her goal. Hurting the boy was the last thing she’d wanted. “Okay. I can identify with that. My father didn’t want me, either.”

Disbelief was written all over his face.

She leaned a hip against his counter and picked up a diced veggie, eyeing it contemplatively as she tried to sound casual. “In my case we were better off. My old man used to beat mama. One day he came home drunk and wrecked the house. He beat her black and blue and walked out with that month’s rent money. We never saw him again.” She smiled without humor, as if that memory didn’t bite. “So you see, I had a good reason to practice martial arts. I’m willing to pay you to expand my knowledge. Are you interested?”

“You think the Tzar will give you to an old man who will beat you?” Roac said the words slowly, as if they made no sense. “You are too valuable, lady.”

“Look, are you interested or not?” she said impatiently. No matter what the locals thought, she knew that Dagon didn’t walk on water. This kid was a target of opportunity, maybe someone young enough to be flexible, yet old enough to have useful information.

And yes, in her heart she feared what Dagon would do.

Carefully, as if afraid that she would ask the impossible, he said slowly, “What did you want to know?”

So Vana learned about the cultivation, preparation, and especially the consumption of, adoc. Devin even offered to show her the gardens where it was grown, and she agreed to plan a picnic with all of her sons. Although she invited Roac, he refused. She had the feeling that such invitations were rare in his life, and that maybe he needed persuading. In spite of himself, she liked him. It might be fun to convince him to cooperate.

To her surprise, her lessons started in the kitchen yard. Roac handed her a sword, corrected her grip and set her before a big round fruit on a piece of firewood.

“That’s a man’s head. Split it.” He crossed his arms and stared at her skeptically. The crowd of men and boys included her sons, who’d somehow gotten wind of the action. They’d shirked their chores to watch the fun. The kitchen help stood around, torn between watching her respectfully and smirking. Nobody thought she could do it.

So she raised the sword and brought it down as hard as she could, pretending it was an oversize cleaver. It bounced off the smooth green hull as if it had hit a stone.

Hands stinging, she ignored the chuckles and picked up the fruit. It made a rock-like thunking sound against the wood. She’d bet even Dagon’s skull couldn’t be this hard. “Is this a trick?” she demanded of Roac.

In answer, he took the sword, moved her back, and raised it high in a two-fisted grip. The melon split as if made of butter. He looked at her. “There’s a huge pile of these for you to practice on. We make juice for the evening meal.” He nodded at the pile of pale green cannonballs. He was right. It was huge.

Vana sighed and accepted the sword back. “Okay. Show me again how to hold this.” Beasts didn’t use the sword in real battle, but they trained in their ancient martial arts for the same reason that her gun-infested world chose to keep them alive. Besides, many of the moves translated well to makeshift weapons, like sticks. She’d always wanted to learn the sword, but by the time she’d demolished the pile of fruit, she was starting to rue that wish. Even Viej had long since deserted her for other amusements, and it was nearing sunset. It was all she could do to sit on the stump and use her sword as a prop for her arms. Everything hurt.

“Why do you bother?”

She looked up. Dagon had replaced her ever-present guard and was watching her in the growing gloom of the side-yard. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of one trembling hand, she said hoarsely, “I like to finish what I start.” She accepted the cool drink he handed her gratefully. To her surprise, she recognized the taste of the fruit she’d labored so hard to split.

“I thought you deserved a taste of your efforts.”

“Um.” She didn’t have a lot of energy left for conversation.

He studied her in the growing darkness. “You think I will give you to an old man who will beat you.”

Vana grunted softly, too tired to be annoyed. “Devin.”

“That will not happen.”

Silence.

“It might surprise you to know that there is a death penalty here for beating women.”

“You marry sixteen year old girls to men ten years or more their senior.”

“Twenty-six is hardly an old man. Neither would a man in his thirties be too advanced for you.”

She stared at the ground and chose to let that dangerous comment lie.

Softly, he asked, “Are you that afraid of intimacy with a man?”

Her head shot up. “Not if it were my choice! Being forced like this…no woman wants that.”

A few smooth steps brought him to her side. Gently, he cupped her cheek and raised her head. “Let me show you something, adajah,” he whispered. His kiss was soft, barely there. Lips met lips in a slow, gentle slide. Long moments passed, as he tasted her slightly parted mouth, in no hurry to demand more.

It rocked her. No one had ever been so patient, which was why she was still so unskilled at kissing. But Dagon…he kissed her as if he were the teacher, content to pleasure her all day as he learned the shape of her mouth, the softness of the pink skin. His hand under her hair warmed her as his gentle stroking sent tingles skipping down her neck.

He caressed her cheek with the edge of his lips, sighing against her skin. His mouth brushed the edge of hers, and he withdrew with a soft sigh. “You taste like heaven, adajah mene.”

She rested within his arms, trembling a little. Her first lesson in Beast sensuality had completely shattered her composure. If they all made love like this…but she didn’t care what any other man did. It had been Dagon who had showed her, and it was Dagon who held her. She wanted no one else.

Perhaps that was what truly scared her.

He drew back and took her hands, pulling her gently to her feet. “Come. Let me wash your hair. There will be a banquet tonight, and you won’t want to miss it.”

In a sensual daze, she nodded dumbly and followed where he led.

Once inside, he had her kneel in a corner of the warm kitchen. While she braced her forearms on a short stool and leaned over, he poured warm water over her head, catching the runoff in a basin. Then he rubbed cleanser between his palms and worked it into her long hair, massaging her scalp with his fingers. Heaven was feeling his hands on her. Less pleasing was the number of cooks and kitchen boys pretending to ignore them. By now she knew the rules: Dagon would not risk being alone with her. A traitorous part of her was starting to regret that.

The cleanser must have been his, for it had a musky, woodsy, masculine scent that she’d always associated with him. It curled around her like smoke, marking her in a subtle, yet definite way. Even the careful way he dried her hair felt good to her sensitized nerves.

“I have no brush. We’ll have to go get one,” he said when he was finished, looking pleased by the idea. “Come.” He didn’t touch her, but escorted her to her room, in no particular hurry. “Bathe and dress, then come to me,” he told her at her door, ignoring her bodyguards. “Your sons and I will brush your hair for the banquet.”