The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (55 page)

“Why?” she asked, madness gripping her.

“Your monarch saved you all. I get to leave the city unscathed, and you get to keep your miserable lives.” He pointed with his greasy hand. One of the Kataji warriors came close and draped a blanket round her arms. “Noble captives are always useful. You should eat. I promised you’d all be healthy. And I keep my promises.”

Sonya pulled on the quilt, and it chafed against her skin. But soon enough, a fuzzy breath of warmth spread through her chest, and she almost wept. In a way, she felt disappointed. She had never really managed to break him. Pacmad had turned out to be too sly, too intelligent, even for her. The realization irritated her.

Now, of all things, he would just leave, granted safe passage for sparing the lives of his captives. It was infuriating. After all the evil he had done, he would go home to his clan as a man who had killed the Eracian monarch and held its capital for so long. Somar was now in ruins, and thousands had died trying to free it. Pacmad would surely be sung a hero by his tribesmen. That was simply not fair.

Sonya wished she had fury in her heart, she wished she could just lash out at him, until her voice turned hoarse, but all she felt was a cold, numb emptiness, a sense of defeat.

Another form stepped into the hall. A woman, young, beautiful, dressed in an expensive gown, and with a mantle of white fur round her shoulders. Aileen.

What was she doing there?

“Hello, Sonya,” she greeted cheerfully. Her delicate hand reached and touched Pacmad’s neck, playing with his filthy locks.

Sonya swallowed bile. What was happening?

Pacmad looked over his shoulder and grunted appreciatively. He swallowed the last of the oatmeal and belched, then wiped his cheeks clean. “Don’t mind her.”

Sonya wasn’t sure who the last sentence was meant for, her or the whore. Aileen was smiling as if there was nothing wrong in the world, blissfully ignoring the crowd of terrified women in front of her, not seeing the carnage and destruction outside the sooty windowpanes.

“When are we leaving, honey?” Aileen purred.

“Very soon,” the chieftain responded, cupping her chin with his greasy hand.

“Where are you going?” Sonya blurted.

Pacmad grinned wickedly, his eyes shining. “She is coming with me, back to my clan. She will be my new wife. Maybe my first wife.”

What?
Sonya thought. What! This little bitch? Sonya remembered how she used to drivel when Pacmad raped her, remembered all the crying and whining and fear. Now, she acted as if she had won herself the most dashing prince in all of the realms. Impossible. She would not let herself be one-upped by the likes of Aileen. Never.

“Take me with you,” she whispered. She would show Pacmad that she could be just as beautiful and irresistible as Aileen if only he gave her a chance. She would edge the little bitch out until she was despised by everyone in the clan and not even the donkey keepers would fuck her. She would show them both
that she was the most talented, most desirable woman in the world if she put her heart and mind to it. No more games.

“Please, take me with you,” she repeated, and her voice sounded whiny. She could not be crying. That couldn’t be happening. And what was she doing on her knees?

The general stared down at her for a moment as if she was mad. “No.”

Sonya gripped his leg, holding tightly. “Please.”

He kicked, and she fell. “Get off me, you crazy woman.”

Aileen giggled behind her hand. “So pitiful.”

Pacmad sneered. “Yes, she is. Don’t worry. I don’t want her.”

Sonya wiped the tears in her eyes away. “Why? Why?”

He leaned over her, and fresh fear poured over her. She had not felt his wrath for a very long time, and it sobered her. “You can’t bear any children. You’re useless! Aileen will birth many sons for me. Now, eat your fucking food.” With that, he left the hall, the young whore trailing at his heels. His bodyguards fell in line, and the hall went back to its business.

Sonya slumped. There it was. The one battle she could never win.

She rose to her feet, pretending not to see and hear the derision and hushed gossip around her, and went to eat her oatmeal.

Some time later, Eracians entered the orphanage and greeted the women with brittle voices full of emotion. She was recognized and led away from the others. Sonya watched in a trance as the soldiers led her to back to the palace, through streets choked with rubbish, debris, and decomposing, bloated bodies. She wasn’t really sure she was in Somar still. When she
stumbled, too weak to walk, the soldiers carried her, keeping her warm and shielded from the rain.

At the palace, a host of servants awaited her, and they took care of her. She was given good food and wine and was bathed twice. A freckled girl spent time brushing her hair and clipping her nails. Then she was robed in a silk dress. Finally, they led her back to the throne hall and asked her to wait there. No one else was in the large chamber within.

With her belly full, and her skin cleansed of filth and her soul of some of the humiliation, her mind started racing once again. She began to wonder what would happen next. But after all she had lived through during her captivity, what could possibly be worse?

She did not have to wait for long. Soon enough, a man stepped into the hall. Feet clacking against the red-veined marble, he walked forward, between the slender columns. There were no furnishings, no coats of armor, flags, paintings, or statues of past monarchs, but at least her countrymen had cleared the nomad refuse away. Sonya remembered copulating with Leopold in the private chambers behind the dais. The thought caught in her throat when she realized who the man approaching her was.

Bart, her brave, loving husband.

He had come to her.

Then she saw another figure near the entrance. An older woman holding a bundle in her arms. She stayed back, though, allowing Sonya to soak in the visage of her savior in full.

He had changed. He looked pretty much the same, except for his beard, which made him look older and wiser, but he carried with newfound pride she had never seen before. His gait was sure, his shoulders pulled back, his back straight. In the past, he would always seem troubled, preoccupied, weighted
with the responsibility of his position at court, always worrying, an unbecoming, an unfashionable burden for someone like her. No more.

He was watching her carefully. But he did not smile or say anything.

“I missed you,” she said. She was being honest. She really was.

Bart just pursed his lips. “I have been nominated the new monarch of Eracia. From this day on, the royal bloodline will be Barrin. You are the queen of our nation. Congratulations, Sonya, you’ve got even more power than you ever wanted. The highest title in the realms.”

Sonya tried her best to keep her composure. “You…did that?”

Bart smiled. “Yes, I did.” He turned around. The woman holding the bundle moved forward. “And there’s more.”

Sonya watched with expectation as the woman shuffled closer, and then her elation at being the queen coalesced into terror. The woman was dressed like a midwife, and she was carrying a baby in her arms. Without a word, she handed the child over.

“Take him,” Bart goaded. “Careful.”

“No,” Sonya whispered.

“You must. This is
your
son,” Bart insisted.

Her knees almost buckled. What was happening? She had almost fainted. Bart was holding her upper arm, pinching hard.

“Listen to me, Sonya. Listen to me. This is Adam. He is
our
son.
Your
son. You gave birth to him in the city sometime after I left for Athesia. I have sworn witnesses who will testify that you are his mother.”

“But I—” she moaned.

“I have spoken to your mother. It’s all right. He is your child.”

“He is my child?” she repeated stupidly.

“Take him, please.”

Sonya extended her arms. The boy looked curious and was trying to figure out her face. Bart’s hands hovered nearby to make sure she had a steady grip on the child. Once the midwife relinquished Adam, she bowed and left without a backward glance.

She stared at the thing in her arms. The one thing she could never produce. The one thing she had never desired really. But now, if she dared, she could be a mother. Did it matter who gave birth to this boy? Bart said he belonged to her, and she would not argue with her husband. Never again.

“But the ladies of the court—”

“They will make sure to bring back some forgotten memories, or else,” Bart explained with such brutal calmness, she fell in love with him. She never had before, not the day they were married, not since. But now, there was joy and warmth in her heart. She was happy. What could a woman possibly want more?

“From this day on, Adam is the heir to the throne,” Bart continued. “You will raise him to be a strong son, and you will love him more than your own soul. From this day on, if you ever cheat on me with another man, or do anything that would besmirch my honor or jeopardize that boy, you will find yourself wishing the Kataji still held you captive. Do you understand me, Sonya?”

“I will do as you say,” she promised. She meant it. Why would she not? She loved her husband.

Bart softened a little. He stepped close and laid a gentle hand on her cheek. She thought it trembled, but that could not be. “In time, I will forgive you all these past years. I think it will be all right.”

She started crying, unable to dam her feelings. “Yes, it will. I love you, Bart.”

He grinned. “Excellent. I must admit I missed you, darling.”

Sonya let out a little sob of joy at hearing him call her that. Oh, how she craved his flattery, his approval. It would be all right, indeed. She would make sure he loved her back. She would fight for his attention and forgiveness. She would pay him back for the eleven years of misery she had given him. And she would raise his son to be the proudest prince the realm had ever seen.

“That is settled then. You must have been through a lot. But you must stand at my side at the liberation ceremony tomorrow. Do you think you will be able to do that?”

For you, my love, anything
. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He waited a few moments, fighting some inner conflict. “Were you mistreated in your captivity?”

Sonya would not tell him all she had been through. He should not know that. “Some. But I’m fine. Did you really let the Kataji go?”

“I just wanted to make sure you would not be harmed.” Only Bart would be man enough to sacrifice the sweetness of victory to ensure her own safety. That was how much he loved her and cared for her. “But that’s a mere act. Soon enough, our forces will march northwest and conquer all of the nomad lands. This time, though, there will be no mercy. I will slaughter them to the last soul.”

Aileen, don’t forget to kill that one, too
, she thought, but kept her mouth shut.

“There’s a threat of another war looming. I will need all the political help I can get. The nation is in ruins, and rebuilding Somar will take years. I think you would be best suited to
lead that effort so I can focus on military affairs. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. For you, anything.”

He believed her this time. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Just like a younger couple.” He chuckled.

She was feeling rather aroused, she realized. Later that night, she would fuck her husband with all the ferocity of eleven years of miserable marriage. It would be like their wedding night, only with true love and excitement. For a moment, she felt like a silly maid, about to lose her virginity. The sensation was exquisite.

Soon, she was laughing, loudly, freely, basking in the strength of her loving husband.

Even little Adam joined in with tiny, gooey noises. For Sonya, it was the best moment of her life.

CHAPTER 39

I
t was the longest retreat in the history of mankind, Calemore mused.

For the past several weeks, the enemy had been steadily marching south, with the Naum army nipping at their heels. After just a few short days of intense battle, they had fled Ecol, and now, the surviving god and his mongrel pack of Caytoreans, Athesians, and Parusites were nearing Gasua. Once the town fell, the road would be open to the holy places in the Territories.

Such a temptation.

The rains had slowed down everything. Cold torrents had washed over the land day and night, making streams overflow, flooding villages and uprooting trees. The earth had become a brown soup, and even men could hardly walk through the knee-deep muck, let alone draft animals pulling carts. His supply train—what was left of it—was bogged down maybe a hundred miles up the road.

The people of the Old Land had an advantage over him. They counted fewer numbers, so they could move faster. They were also more accustomed to wet weather. The Naum folk had no experience with rain, only ice and snow, and they struggled with all this water. Soon, very soon, the favor would swing
back. The incessant downpour had given the enemy a few days of respite. But no matter. Nothing could stop the Naum force.