Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
“ D oes Corrik know you’re out here all by yourself, young Warlord?” Diekin says, amusement leaking through his words. He won’t stop calling me that and I’ve grown tired of arguing with him over it, so I let it go.
We’ve been at sea a full day and we are into another night. The sky is dark and the stars twinkling. I wonder what my family is doing on this night as I ride across the open ocean. I decided to take a walk while Corrik met with some of his guard, I see he’s sent Diekin to check up on me.
“Obviously. You’re here.”
“Very good. You’re catching on.”
“Is he worried I’ll fall off the side of the ship?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s those dangers I spoke of lurking about.”
“Okay, spill it Diekin. What’s following us?”
“I cannot tell you,” he says with mock sincerity. “Corrik will tan my pretty little hide.”
“You’ll deserve it—you shouldn’t have teased me about it.”
“All right, but only because I could use a good hiding—by the time I see my mate again it will have been sixteen weeks,” he says and the large Elf smiles. “Not to mention, you’ll owe me one.”
“Fine—out with it.”
“Other Elves; Rogue Elves.”
“Rogue Elves?”
“Yes, Rogue Elves,” he repeats as we walk further toward the bow. “Elves that were once of Mortouge but were banished long ago. Over time their numbers have grown—they have become a problem.”
“Is that who was discovered following us several weeks back?”
“Yes, but it’s a bigger problem than that—they shouldn’t have been able to follow us, Kathir. We’ve got protective magic weaved around us; we should be invisible to these Elves. That we are not means either that our protection magic has failed, or they have found a magic source stronger than ours.”
“So naturally, Corrik has become overprotective.”
“Aren’t you a sharp one?”
“ Diekin .”
“Hey, I can make fun all I want—I’m going to be the one with the sore arse for telling you.”
“You want to be spanked.”
“No one ever wants to be spanked—not exactly anyway. We desire the resolution the spanking brings. To be spanked, well, I wish that part wasn’t necessary—except for in fun and when I’m a good boy.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
“Why is it necessary?”
“That’s a tough one to explain and every time I try, words don’t seem to be enough. It’s a thing inside, the way I am wired. Ditira expects me to behave but understands that sometimes I need her help. Spanking seems to connect to that place inside of me and bring instant calm.”
“Corrik seems to think it’s better experienced.”
“It is hard to put words, I guess. For those of us who need it, we understand that we do. It always existed for us and in Mortouge we honor this part of us, this need, rather than analyze it too closely. Like how some people enjoy the sky without worrying about where its beauty comes from. If you insist, I put words to it…” He thinks a moment. “It is a few things. It is repentance you can qualify when you feel you’ve done something that needs forgiving, and it is freedom. Oddly, it feels easier to surrender and let go when there are boundaries versus when there are not.”
The words alone relax me, and I can’t deny that I relate.
“Everyone lives within boundaries of some kind—what if Markaytia had no rules?”
“There would be utter chaos,” I say.
“Exactly. There must be rules—even for adults. People like you and I like prefer people like Corrik to make rules for us so we can relax into the freedom of following the rules. You must trust him to know your chaos and steer you from it.”
“How can I trust him when I don’t know him?”
“That will be the challenge—the journey you two will travel together. It is the same journey any couple travels together. There will be mistakes along the way; the two must find the path through. When it is you who makes the mistake, you will seek physical means to absolve the guilt of it—that is the way of a submissive. When a Dom or a Top makes a mistake, they make it up in different ways, but you can be certain they will never make that same mistake again.”
“You sound as if you enjoy being submissive.”
“I do. Every second. I love my mate; she is strong.” He loves Corrik’s sister, I don’t love Corrik. “Submission is beautiful. It is a gift we give. Care from our Top is the gift we receive. Care means they will feel responsible for us. ”
I remember what I did out on the dance floor on our wedding night—oh Gods. Corrik, the arrogant bastard, must have thought that I was only minutes away from falling in love with him. That must have been a grand, submissive-like gesture.
I remember another thing. “What about when there is no guilt? I’m sure you saw what happened in Umbria.”
“Yes. I was there. ”
“Corrik spanked me for that.” I blush. “I didn’t allow him, and I didn’t feel guilty.”
“First, you agreed to obey him when you married him.”
Not that I had a choice in marrying him—that was decided for me by my uncle. But I get what he means.
“Part of our kind of submission is obeying directives. When you disobey, you could be punished. There will be times you will realize your error at some point during the chastisement and other times you won’t—either way disobedience must be dealt with, or it throws a pair into disarray.”
“Right. Well, it sounds like the dominant gets all the fun.”
He shakes his head. “Never. It is far more fun to be sub or brat,” he says. “We get to goof off and have fun while they make all the rules and have to be responsible.”
“Yeah, and pay for that fun later.”
“How did you feel after? Do you harbor resentment?”
“I complained a little but other than sore and embarrassed, I was fine. And, much as I hate to admit it, I was content . ” I tried to feel resentment, but it just wasn’t there.
“Ah, you, see? You did benefit, even if you didn’t consciously understand.”
“This talk has been helpful, Diekin. I’ll try to keep you out of trouble as long as I can.”
He smirks. “What fun would that be? I am glad to help. As I said, it’s hard to put words to something like this and even with the best words, it will only register with those who seek to understand. Those who don’t, never will. You’ve experienced what I say so you know firsthand what I’m talking about.”
That’s a lot to think about, but since the conversation’s going so well, I consider asking him what Corrik suggested, about marking. Diekin has spiked my curiosity.
“Diekin,” I begin as I look up to him, but I don’t get to finish because something is here with us. Diekin is staring off to the night sky, so he doesn’t notice. I look to the bow of the ship where silent movement catches my eye. I tap Diekin and point. He can see better than me and probably would’ve caught the movement before me if he were looking down instead of up.
“Kathir—go back to your chambers!” he yells as an Elf jumps from the shadows.
Diekin takes a defensive stance in front of me and in an instant, the quick Elf is on him. They begin to circle each other, to look for openings and conserve energy. Despite the blackness of the night, I can see the fire in Diekin’s eyes.
The other Elf, who I assume is a Rogue Elf, looks similar to Diekin, only he’s lither, less bulky and his skin is a deeper, tan shade. He’s fucking agile. When he finally takes a first slice, I can see the precision in his movements. It’s only Diekin’s own formidable skill that moves him out of the way with enough time.
I don’t leave like Diekin ordered; he might need my help. I’m unarmed though; I need a weapon. The deck is suspiciously quiet, other than the clash of steel from the swords of the two fighting warriors. W here is everyone?
I hesitate to use the weapon I know I have on me. Concealed in the belt pack at my hip, is one of my secret items: my dagger. I’ll use it if I must. For now, I move to grab the broom I spied earlier. I can’t help but survey rooms for weapons or weapon-like things. I’ve done this all my life but more often since Corrik forbade me my sword.
When I turn back, Diekin looks over to realize I’m still here and it gives the Rogue Elf the time he needs to break through Diekin’s keen defenses. All of this happens in an instant of course—Diekin is already looking back at the Elf when the Elf pierces him, straight through his right lung.
Diekin gasps like he’s drowning and falls to the ground. The Elf doesn’t bother to waste another moment on him; he turns his attention to me and when he pounces, I realize how helpless I’m against the strength of an Elf. I’m trapped and no amount of struggling throws him off me. I’m not used to this; only my fathers could defeat me in any kind of fight, but this fight is going to be over before it starts, unless .
No choice now, I’ve got to use my dagger. If I can reach it, I might be able to inflict some damage; at least get him off me, maybe buy some time. I pretend to submit, and the Rogue Elf smiles as if to say, that was easy lifting his sword. Meanwhile, I’m moving my hand down my thigh, fingers like an inchworm, toward my small pack—the pack that has now become instrumental in saving my life. My hand hits the opening, I can feel the cold, leather handle—still, there are scant seconds of seconds left, I know it, I can feel it. He will strike before I get the chance.
Doesn’t mean I won’t die trying.
I don’t particularly want to die now, but this is my preferred way to go, in battle, even if I’ve barely got the chance to battle this time. I’ve known my whole life that I want to go out in battle, not dying old in bed, but what I don’t expect, my last thoughts are of Corrik—violet eyes that read me, strong shoulders that can hold me in place; the laugh I’ve fallen in love with. I even think about the firm hand that disciplines me.
I gain enough purchase on the handle to swipe the blade upward, but not enough to do the damage I need to. It is, however, enough. I feel the sword sink into me, but not where he would have liked it to. It pierces my shoulder—the pain explodes and my world narrows to it, my vision turns to shadows and all I can see is an outline as he pulls the sword viciously from me and readies to strike again. I hear the clatter as my dagger drops from my hand after being pierced; all I can do is try to struggle as I prepare for his sword to stab me again. This time it will be lethal. I’m about to die, but I won’t die a coward. I keep my eyes focused on his and dare him to strike me again.
His sword never comes. The Elf falls to his knees, injured, not dead and Corrik is there behind him. I hear the sickening suction of a sword being pulled out of flesh. The Elf falls onto my thighs. I can barely make Corrik out due to my pain-induced, shadowy vision, but I can feel the thunderous rage peeling off him. He shouts orders in Elvish and rushes to my side.
“ Tahsen .”
“Diekin—!"
“He will be all right.”
“But I saw him die.”
“He will be fine, D’orhai.”
I make to rise, but he puts a hand to my chest and slides an arm under my legs and shoulders. I decide not to make an issue of him carrying me or report the list of injuries I’ve sustained in my short life that are worse than this one, nor do I demand to walk because my Elf has gone silent. That never means anything good with Corrik.
He carries me to our bed, and I don’t want to get blood all over. He shushes me. “Sleep, D’orhai. Everything is taken care of. I will fix you.” He says nothing about blood on the sheets; it’s all I’m worried about. What a thing to worry about as I bleed to death.
I struggle a bit, trying to fight him. How can I sleep at a time like this? Seeing I’m in no state to obey his will, he forces his hand by gently stroking my hair and laces it with his Elven magic. It washes over me. My eyes get heavy and darkness falls.
“ T ristan?” he says, when he notices me waking. I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but it feels like days.
“I’m okay, Corrik.” I’m better than, I discover as I test the shoulder that should in the least feel some discomfort, but there’s nothing to prove it was stabbed at all.
“I was worried.” I’ve not yet seen fear in the great war Elf’s eyes. It’s there now.
“I’m not dead, I really am fine,” I assure him again. “Is Diekin okay?” I saw him fatally stabbed, but Corrik promised me he was going to be fine.
“He is alive and well, but he is Elf, you are human. Both of you were healed with Elven magic, but you will take longer to recover than he did.”
I want to thank him for reminding me of my weaknesses, but now is not a good time to tease him.
“Diekin waits to kill the man responsible. We are going to question him, but I made him wait a few days. I wanted to make sure you were okay first. I knew I wouldn’t have all my wits about me if not.”
“I’m coming with you,” I say and try to rise.
“I don’t think so.” He pushes me down. “ You are going to rest. This is not a matter for you to deal with.”
“I have dealt with matters like this before.”
“No. You stay here, and I had better not catch you out of bed, Kathir.” His face hardens, but this time I can detect the fear beneath his anger. None of it matters. I’m done being a doll. I felt alive for the first time this journey when that Elf jumped me; it forced my body to remember what it was like on the battlefield.
I push against his hand, knowing he will be gentle with me for the moment. “I’m coming with you, Corrik. Let that be an end to it,” I say using Papa’s words. I’ve heard him say that to my father and in those times, my father would quietly acquiesce anything Papa demanded. Will it work on Corrik?
Maybe in time; not today.
“By Ylor! I don’t know what’s got into you—must have hit your head when you fell—you know better than to talk to me like that.” It’s true. I know what my disobedience does to him. He stands, the room fills with his restraint, and he positions his face inches from mine. “You will not leave this room,” he hisses then makes to leave.
“If you do this without me, I shall never speak to you again—you have my word as a Markaytian on that,” I say. He knows my dragon blood has spoken and if he wants to fight with a dragon, he can and he will lose.
He’s mad—mad enough to light this ship on fire, inches away from violence. “Get dressed, I will return to retrieve you,” he says between grit teeth and storms from the room almost tearing the door off its hinges as he exits.
After what seems like decades later, he returns. He’s still angry with me. He thrusts something out at me; I recognize it immediately.
“Explain this.”
“That’s my dagger.” I reach to take it from him, he yanks it from my reach.
“I can see that,” he says gesturing to the Markaytian Crest on the handle. “What is your dagger doing aboard this ship?”
“I brought it with me,” I say, defiantly. He slaps me hard across the face and tears sting my eyes as the pain radiates from my cheek to my head.
“That will be quite enough impertinence out of you. Explain properly.”
“I visited my room before we left,” I admit. “I took a couple choice items I didn’t think would mean anything to anyone.”
“You did this in secret. You were told not to take anything. Where is the other item?”
I actually have two more and I don’t want to give either to him, but my lie ensures I can keep one. Furious, I storm over to my pack and unzip it. I know he’ll go crazy over the battle garment, but he might understand the ring, so I fish that out. “Here,” I say as I thrust the ring toward him.
He accepts it taking reconnaissance of the illegal item. “And there are no other items in that pouch? Are you sure? Do I have to check?”
Yes, I’m lying again, but why I ever thought I could get along with the cantankerous Elf is beyond me. I feel no remorse in it. “No,” I say, trying to look offended. After my threat earlier, I doubt he’ll test me further than that.
“You’d better not be. If I find out otherwise, you will be one sorry Markaytian.”
Wanting to change the subject, I look to the ring in his hand. “May I keep it? ”
“What is it?”
“My papa’s family ring—see there’s an inscription inside.” I direct him where to look and he does, “Submit to the heart ,” I read to him, “and the emeralds represent the Sterling family’s eyes.”
When he’s satisfied with my explanation of the ring, he closes his fingers over it. “You will earn it back.”
My jaw drops open. “But Corrik—"
“—feel lucky that I’m not throwing it off the side of the ship.”
I am, but I don’t think it’s fair I should have to earn it back—it’s mine.
He pockets the ring. At least the battle garment is still in my possession, which only leads me to the second less heartening realization: he’s still aiming to trust me even though he shouldn’t.
“And the dagger?”
“Will stay in my possession.”
“May I earn that back too? ” I can’t hide my sarcasm.
“No weapons for you—you’ve no need—"
“—it saved my life.”
“I saved your life.”
I’m uncertain if I can argue with that. Could he have still saved my life if the sword had pierced my heart? How reliable is Elven magic? I don’t know.
“Come,” he says, holding out his hand for me and ending this horrid conversation.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?”
My eyes light with mirth because finally, I get something I want. We’re going to question a Rogue Elf.