Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
H e wasn't one of Andrei’s; the High Lord had introduced me to each of his guards over the last several days and made me memorize faces and names, voices and the cadence of their individual gaits.
He’d begun to work with me on how to recognize them by scent, touch, and breath in case there was ever a situation in which they had to alert me to their presence without noise.
I’d thought it was a little paranoid, but Lords were like that.
I knew I must look startled, but tried to morph it into confusion without giving away alarm.
“You have the wrong person.”
Andrei, I think I’m in trouble.
His smile didn't change. “That's unfortunate. Because that would make you a thief as well as a skin changer.” His gaze skimmed my face and dress to make his point.
Where are you? he asked. Emotionless.
What should I do? I couldn’t think of any reason why a strange Cassanian would walk up to me—and how had he known where I was, and why?—and recognize me by name and face. No good reason.
I couldn’t outrun him. The moment I moved, if he was up to no good, he’d be on me.
Stall. And lie.
Sahakian Arts.
“I’m sorry, but if there’s nothing I can help you with then we can go inside. My boyfriend is grabbing my bag, he’ll be out soon and I’m sure he can help? And if not, his friends are with us too.”
He shook his head, raising an arm.
Time was up.
I blasted everything I knew through the fragile bond I didn’t understand except to know it was real.
What do I do?
The man touched my cheek and my body froze, my mind blanking.
Hasannah!
I tried to form the words in my mind, but it was as if a white filmy layer separated me from the physical world and my mind as well.
I didn’t black out. My knees collapsed and my kidnapper scooped me up, walking with an unhurried stride to the coach where I listened as we entered, and it rolled into motion. He settled me onto a bench, saying nothing as he secured me.
I couldn't move. I couldn't see beyond the white blur, my ears stuffed with cotton wool.
He’d imprisoned me in a cage of my own blood and bones.
I generated emotion, and I formed mental images. Those feelings and images filled my mind, but I couldn't ensure transmission to Andrei. I didn't know how the bond worked, or what affinity the abductor had used to incapacitate me.
I tried to pay attention to turns and distances and unique sounds, but that stuff only worked in the movies. There was no practical purpose in panicking, but that emotion rose and began to choke off my breath.
The man sighed. “I suppose we should begin.”
He sounded so bored that I had no warning before the pain began.
Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t arch my back or claw at my arms. Couldn’t do anything but endure and even that I couldn’t do because though I was a friend of physical pain, never like this. Nothing like this.
“The geas should allow enough through that your pain will alert your Lord and ensure his cooperation when we contact him. And again.”
I lost track of how many times he wracked me with pain. Bloodless pain, because he never touched me.
“You’re doing very well. Still conscious, which makes matters cleaner. And again.”
“And again.”
A chorus of agains.
“You probably want to know why,” he said, still in the offhand, conversational tone. “They always do, and closure is important. You have done nothing wrong. Your pain is undeserved. Unfortunately, your Lord is making inquiries into matters he shouldn’t, disrupting distribution. We want him to stop. I offer this information as a courtesy, as well as allowing you to know that it is unlikely you will survive. Take time to make your peace with this. It's the only kindness I can offer you.”
Andrei’s voice in my mind, a string of broken Cassanian words then his attempt to gather himself, offer comfort. But nothing on my end reached him, except for the agony.
“Breathe,” the abductor advised. “If you hyperventilate you could pass out. The geas renders you immobile and dampens your senses, but it doesn't affect your breathing or your heart rate. If you’re useless to us, that lowers your chances of a clean death.”
His voice was calm, almost indifferent. I wasn't certain if I should allow that to reassure me. Maybe if this was a political kidnapping, they wouldn’t rape or maim me. At least this touchless torture left no injury. My legs and feet would be okay. I would still be able to dance if Andrei rescued me.
But not knowing if he would be in time caused more panic.
“And—”
The coach lurched to a stop, and I heard the click of heeled boots, some dress shoes, and the Cassanian version of athletic shoes against the cobbled streets as well as voices in quiet, sharp conversation.
The coach door jerked opened, and someone spoke in a language I didn't recognize, the vowels lyrical but interspersed with guttural consonants. A sharp crack as if someone had been slapped across the face, and a grunt then a dull thud.
The muscles in my body weren’t under my control, or every single one would have seized.
Someone lifted my limp body; the new scent almost herbal, and a meditative pattern of breathing.
“The geas laid on you will fade in a few moments, Lady Hasannah,” a liquid masculine voice said, the accent not Cassanian. It reminded me almost of Cora when she was irritated. “I have notified Lord Andreien of your location and he will retrieve you soon.”
We traveled, stopped, and from the sounds I'd been taken inside a dwelling and into a room where I was carefully laid on a bed of cushions.
“I apologize for my people,” he said. “There have been some upheavals in my District, and I fear some may have chosen to take unwise advantage of perceived opportunities to increase their influence. They'll pay with their lives, of course, and I’m annoyed enough to take my time, though I have little of it.”
He'd added the last almost thoughtfully, a soft rustle of clothing and the sound of his voice more level with my prone body.
“Ah, I'm remiss. I am Lord Ashlyun, of the High Court, and master of your late District of residence. I am not an enemy of your Lord, and you are safe here with me until he arrives. The sensory dampening spell should be wearing off now.”
As he spoke, feeling flowed to my fingers and I began to tense and stretch each of my muscles, waiting with forced patience until my vision and hearing were normal and I could access my nervous system, commanding my body to sit up.
It took another moment to control my harsh breathing and blink back tears of panic. Dignity and poise. If there wasn’t much else I could offer Andrei, at least I could keep from embarrassing us in public by crying like a schoolgirl.
I turned towards Lord Ashlyun and stared. He was beautiful, with single lidded dark eyes and sharp features, his skin pale except for rosy lips, his long hair black. But all Fae men were beautiful.
Focusing on that. . .helped. His face blurred for a moment, then snapped back into focus. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, hands resting on the table between us.
It took me two tries to speak. My voice worked fine. The abductor had taken away my ability to scream.
“I’m sorry, I'm not trained in the etiquette for a situation like this. I'm Hasannah.”
He gave me a kind, neutral smile, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. Still, he seemed friendly enough, finally moving to pour tea and press a cup into hands I curled around it to conceal the shaking.
“In the circumstances,” he said, “and considering your youth and humanity, there's no need for formality. You are quite shaken.” He gestured. “Please drink. It is a simple restorative tea, one of my own blends.”
I debated the wisdom of drinking an unknown beverage versus the wisdom of offending a Lord by refusing his hospitality.
I picked up the teacup, sloshing a little of it, and sipped. “It’s very good.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say so.” He sipped, an echo of my movement, and I wondered if the mirroring was his attempt to put me at ease. An old psychological trick.
I rallied a bit more. Small talk. I could do banal, inoffensive small talk. “What do you use to sweeten it? I’m sensitive to the nuances of sweeteners but I don’t recognize the flavor. ”
“Ah. You wouldn’t, I think. It’s from a honey cultivated just outside Ninephe.”
“I’ll have to make inquiries. It might suit my cold brew better than what I brought from my home.”
Ashlyun smiled again, and this time a little of it reached his eyes. “In the meantime, allow me to make a gift of a small jar.”
“I’d be pleased, my Lord. My gratitude.”
We fell into companionable silence, if that was possible. Maybe he was happy with my manners. Something about his expression seemed less like the smoothness of alabaster stone, and more like the quiet of contemplation.
Hasannah? Andrei’s voice in my mind. Calm, but with an undercurrent I shied from. I was in so much trouble.
I’m with Lord Ashlyun. I don’t seem to be a prisoner.
I’m coming for you.
Ashlyun regarded me, his dark eyes impassive. “You have excellent control for a human. That bodes well for your future, Lady Hasannah.” He poured a second cup and drank it down like it was wine after a long day, in anticipation of a longer night. “I'm curious, however, and perhaps you'll do me the courtesy of answering a small question. How were you taken? Were there any deaths?”
I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. The brief respite offered by small talk was over.
So much trouble.
“I was alone, Lord Ashlyun. There were no. . .” a polite word for the possible murder of my theoretical guards “. . .deaths.”
“Excellent.”
He lifted a grape off the platter, examining it, then began to carefully strip away the skin. I watched, almost mesmerized at the delicacy of his motions. He turned peeling that grape into a small dance.
“That saves me a feud with your Lord or at the very least bloodgilt. Unfortunate for you since he will assuredly not be pleased.” The peeling paused, heavy disapproval cooling his voice. “Lady Hasannah, you should not be out in the city without guard. I cannot believe he failed to assign you protection.”
This seemed to be the theme for the evening. Apparently for a good reason. I couldn’t stop all the shaking, or how my body tensed in sudden reaction, my teeth grinding with the effort to keep my voice modulated. I’d been tortured. Tortured.
“The stupidity is all mine, I assure you, Lord.”
Ashlyun inclined his head. “Drink some more, child. It will help prevent shock and I would prefer your Lord not find you collapsed in my presence. He is unlikely to behave reasonably, and it is better for everyone if we maintain acceptable manners.”
I obeyed.
“You appear capable of learning from your mistake. And in that case, perhaps this was a fortuitous lesson. The evening could have been so much worse for you.” The High Lord gentled his tone, but I’d stopped paying full attention. When men liked to talk, I let them.
Tortured.
“You understand that, yes? Had I not been monitoring my people, they would have attempted the execution of some shoddily conceived plan and when it went poorly, in their panic they would have killed you—and not cleanly, perhaps.”
He quieted, and I realized he was actually waiting for a response. I rallied. “I was told my survival was unlikely.”
“Ah. The Heir will be in my debt, of course.” He chose another grape. “I will not make it onerous for him. He's young, and he must learn these little lessons himself as well. The young ones always think controlling a woman is as simple as snapping their fingers and growling orders.”
Ashlyun focused his gaze beyond my shoulder. “Your Lord has arrived. Remain silent, Lady, and listen. You may learn something useful.”
He rose. “Remain here.”