Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
I f I were to collect a gold coin for the number of times I’ve been naked on this venture, I would have more gold coins than the Markaytian king, I’m sure of it. And it’s ironic you know because I’ve never actually had to collect gold coins. Of course, there was the time Lucca and I fashioned ‘gold coins’ out of hunks of bread. We wasted five loaves of fresh baked bread, chopping them up into pieces and painting them gold. Father nearly had me hung for it. He said there were people in the village that starved, while I used food as a toy; I never felt so terrible. He made me bake bread with the chef for five weeks—a week for every loaf—and hand it out at the end of every day to those who needed it.
What I’m trying to say is, I’m naked yet again and tied to what feels like a chair. I can’t tell. Everything’s still a bit foggy as I struggle to come to. The first thing I see is the mirth-filled face of that arrogant prig, Prince Andothair.
I couldn’t see him before in the dark, but I see him now. Like all elves, he looks too beautiful to be real. He is large but not large like my Corrik. Muscular, but lithe like he’s meant to sprite amongst the trees. His skin is a dark copper, more like mine, and I know he must be from someplace hot. His hair is black with strands of white and grey, but he’s not an old Elf—he’s quite young, possibly younger than Corrik. He’s got wise black eyes, ones that have had to make many difficult decisions in his short Elven life—but he’ll never let onto that.
“Where am I?” I groan. My head is pounding, but he comes into focus as he slowly lifts whatever enchantment he’s had me under.
“You are safe, for now.”
I’m in a tent. We are on land. “How long have I been out?”
“Four weeks. It was more difficult than I suspected, getting you off that ship—Cyredanthem fought gallantly as always—but get you off I did. We traveled four weeks after that and now you are here.”
“Obviously. Where is here, Andothair?”
“We are camped just outside of one of the smaller of our villages—Hemkilli, the one closest to Port. With the size of our army, there isn’t enough room at the inns.”
“And a Prince would stay in a tent when he could be put up at the inn?”
“This may surprise you, but not all nobles are so supercilious. I prefer to stay with my warriors.”
“How honorable of you. As honorable as abducting a prince of Mortouge, I wager.”
“Don’t be silly. You were no more than a concubine to the prince,” he says. “Tell me, did Corrik keep you at the foot of his bed?”
I ignore his taunts. “What have you done with Corrik? The royal family?” I can’t bear to ask about Diekin because I know the truth: he’s dead.
“That is not your concern—I am all that should concern you now.”
“I won’t be here long, Corrik will come.” I want to keep him talking and hope it will taunt him into telling me something of what has become of my party. Otherwise, I’d never say such a thing; I would never depend on someone else to save me.
“He won’t be coming.”
“He will. ”
“Think what you like but mark my words: you are mine now, Tristan Kanes. I have plans for you. You are to be a gift for my brother. I wish you to be his servant.”
“ Never .”
He grabs my long hair and tips my head up so my eyes meet his dark ones. “Allow me to make this clear for you. Our kind hate humans. To us, you are little more than a fruit fly to be drowned in a bucket of old wine. You live because you have value to me. I happen to like the look of you, and I think you shall make an excellent present for my brother. Any other Elf would have slit you belly to throat; do not displease me or perhaps I will find another means of getting what I wish.”
What does he wish? I look at him incredulously. “What happened to your promises of fulfilling my heart’s desires? More lies I suppose. You lose more honor by the second.”
“I will fulfill your heart’s desires. You wish to fight, do you not?”
He would have been right a week ago—all I wanted was to fight—now all I care about is getting back to Corrik.
“How can I manage being your brother’s servant and being a warrior at the same time?” I scoff from my chair. I’m getting tired of being naked before him, even though it’s hot in here and sweat is beginning to condensate from my muscles. Hot as I am, I'd still prefer some clothes.
“I shall allow you plenty of time in the training fields. You will train with our warriors, fight with them.”
“Fight with them? Aren’t you afraid I’ll escape?”
“Let me see, how shall I put this delicately without hurting your pathetic, Markaytian pride? No.”
“No? I took down eight of your Elves.”
“It was three actually, and it was with a magical sword, which I might add, you no longer possess.”
“I could do it,” I say. “Without that sword.”
“We shall see, Warlord. But for now, there is something we must take care of,” he says as he grabs my hair by the nape. I hear the ring of steel as he draws his sword.
“I thought it wasn’t your wish to kill me?”
The tip of his sword is at my neck, and he laughs. “No, Warlord. I shan’t kill you, not today anyway, but you can thank me for every day you live. I only mean to take this.”
In one, clean, slice, he shears off my beloved hair and my head snaps out of his grasp when the hair he holds is no longer attached to my skull. I want to cry like a child when I look at it hanging there from his hand, still shimmering in all its glory.
But I’m not a child, even if I can be a fucking brat sometimes. Instead, I begin to plot my revenge. I struggle in my bonds.
“Will you let me go, now?” My head feels much lighter.
“Aren’t you wondering why I did that?”
“What difference does it make?”
“All the difference. It is the mark of your new station. Only royals may have hair as long as you once possessed. Now it will be kept no longer than mid-neck, and no shorter either. You are a royal concubine after all.”
So now manservant means also acting as concubine? Figures. Bloody, horny Elves. “I am not your concubine. I belong to Corrik.”
His eyes light up and glow like the blue at the center of a flame. “Corrik is no more—and no, you are not my concubine, you belong to my brother. You will be his concubine now.”
I swallow, but I won’t be frightened, and I won’t put any stock into what he’s suggesting. I look away from him. He laughs without mirth.
“No matter, Warlord. It is time for your first lesson.”
“Lesson?”
“Yes. It is time for you to learn that you are defenseless. Moreover, you will do as you are told, willingly.”
“Is that so?”
He motions wordlessly to one of his guards.
Andothair’s warriors are not dressed like the warriors of Mortouge. They’ve less clothing. I didn’t think one could be dressed any less than the warriors of Mortouge, but they are. They wear thick black skirts made from the hides of some kind of animal I don’t recognize with leather belts that criss-cross in an “X” over their torsos. I doubt they wear anything underneath. The women’s breasts are in plain sight, with the leather of their straps cut to accommodate the weight of them and fashioned to hold them fastidiously in place. Other than that, and their fine weapons, these Elves are naked.
I stop admiring their beautiful warriors when I see who they’re dragging by his arms, my heart stops—I can scarcely believe what I’m seeing.
“ Diekin .” He looks terrible and barely alive. He’s pale—even for a Mortougian Elf, struggling to breathe, and only just this side of conscious.
“What is it you want, Andothair?”
“I have told you all I am going to for now. The only part you need be interested in, is the part where you are to be my brother’s servant. If not, I will kill your friend. However, if you agree to be my brother’s and obey him in all things, I shall ensure he lives and that you are taken care of.”
“You can still save him, after four weeks of him being in this state?” Diekin is surely between worlds right now, between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
“It is I that has been keeping him alive until this point—an act of good faith. All I have to do is withdraw my power from him and his life force will be extinguished like a flame.”
“I want more than your power holding him conscious if I’m to become your brother’s slave,” I say calling it like it is, instead of using another one of Andothair’s euphemisms like “manservant.”
“You will heal him to full health and keep him that way.”
He doesn’t even have to think it over. “Bargain, struck, Warlord.”