Chapter 1 #2
Arrek manages to knock Talarin down, slamming his fist into his face twice before ducking beneath a sweeping blow from Mero. His blade darts forwards and catches Mero across the stomach.
The blue-black energy disappears before it touches him.
If it hadn’t, Mero would have been disemboweled.
Mero reaches down and offers Talarin his hand. Talarin takes it, and Mero pulls him back to his feet. Arrek watches them with a dark grimace of victory upon his face, then takes the center again, allowed to keep the position because he won.
The sun continues to sink. Red light flashes upon the pool and shines over their moving bodies, catching on the sweat gathering across their marble skin.
When Mero takes the center again, Arrek charges too quickly. Mero lashes out with his blade.
Arrek roars.
He turns, and I see that his white toga has been cut asunder. He was moving so quickly that the blue-black energy did not disappear in time. A long streak of blood runs across his stomach, trickling down the hard lines of his abdomen.
I hold my breath, waiting to see how badly he’s hurt.
Arrek tears away the ruined toga.
Mero deactivates his blade and returns the hilt to his waist. Then he bows his head in an almost ritualistic request for forgiveness.
Arrek bows his head in the exact same movement.
Mero steps away, and Arrek takes the center again, bare-chested, sweating and bleeding.
They resume.
During the next fight, Arrek strikes Talarin across the shoulder so hard that a sharp crack reaches me through the evening air. Talarin staggers, and when he straightens, one shoulder hangs lower than the other.
His collarbone is broken.
I expect them to stop. Arrek is bleeding, Talarin has a broken bone and all three are covered in red welts and bruises.
They keep fighting.
They look impossibly brutal, as though nothing in the universe could harm them other than each other. Their movements become almost hypnotic, those enormous bodies striking, turning and flowing around one another while blue-black energy flashes beneath the red sun.
Then I remember what Talarin said about the World-Eaters.
Teeth roughly forty feet long. About the height of the birch with the lightning scar.
The birch with the lightning scar.
The tree I am sitting in.
I look upwards through its bloody-red leaves, trying to imagine a single tooth stretching from the roots below me to the highest branches above. Then I try to imagine a mouth filled with them, opening wide enough to swallow all three men.
My hands tighten around the wood.
It doesn’t matter if they could defeat a hundred triads alone. Against something like that, none of their strength or brutality would be enough.
I climb down from the tree and start walking towards the residence.
The jagged shriek of Orb-Blade meeting Orb-Blade follows me through the inner gate and across the courtyard, punctuated by the deep grunts of the three men. It dulls when I pass beneath the front archway.
I climb onto the long bench at the end of the table nearest my cage and settle upon the broad black cushion. Even with its added height, my feet do not reach the floor. My boots swing beneath me as I pull off Arrek’s gloves and arrange them carefully upon the table.
Heavy bootsteps enter through the front archway.
Mero appears first, his pure-white battle robe clinging to his body with sweat.
Red welts and darkening bruises cross the exposed half of his chest and arms. His brow is furrowed, his hard face lined with tension.
He looks me over, then continues past the table and through the other archway into the windowless passage leading deeper into the estate.
Talarin comes next. One shoulder hangs lower than the other, the line of his broken collarbone sharp beneath his marble skin. His robes cling to him, but his face is completely blank. He does not grimace or make a sound as he walks. He gives me a single nod, then follows Mero towards the Med-Bay.
Arrek enters last. He tore away his battle robe during the fight and now holds the ruined fabric against the cut across his abdomen. Blood has soaked through it. His Orb-Blade remains secured at his waist, but otherwise he is naked, his huge, heavy cock hanging between his legs.
He stops across the table from me and plants his free hand upon its surface. His gaze drops to the gloves, rises to my face, then falls to my hands.
I open them for him, spreading my fingers to show him the smooth, unbroken skin of my palms.
His nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent.
I force myself blank, trying to keep the guilt and everything I am hiding out of it. But he is not searching for secrets. He is searching for any tendril of lust, any answering heat.
There is only cold unease.
His eyes remain upon me for another second. Then he lifts his hand from the table and follows his battle-brothers into the passage.
Not one of them says a word.
When they rushed out this morning, none of them stopped for coffee. It is a small thing, but maybe it is the only thing I can do. Something other than sitting here and waiting for the storm of them.
I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten today. I have barely drunk any water.
I get up. The low wooden crate is still beside the counter, exactly where I left it. I climb onto it and reach for the hand grinder. There are still enough beans inside for all three of them.
The steady grinding gives my hands something to do. I focus upon each turn of the handle, then fill the lower chamber of the moka pot, add the grounds and place it upon the stovetop. When the coffee rises, I divide it carefully between three enormous white mugs.
Heavy footsteps enter the dining room, and I turn.
Talarin stands beneath the archway in a fresh, pure-white toga. His skin is clean, every trace of sweat washed away, and both shoulders are level once more. His slate-gray eyes move from the three mugs to me.
“I wasn’t sure if you guys got coffee before you left, so I thought I’d make it.”
“Thank you. It is well appreciated.” He inclines his head towards the mugs. “Why don’t you bring two of those cups with me to the study?”
“Oh. I don’t need any. I made those for Mero and Arrek.”
“What did you eat today?”
The question catches me off guard.
“I didn’t really have anything today. I’ve been eating so much that I guess I wasn’t hungry.”
Talarin considers me for a moment.
“Why don’t you take those two cups to the study? I’ll be there soon.”
Heavy bootsteps sound from down the passage. I take one mug in each hand and look towards the archway as Mero appears.
He has changed into a fresh white robe. The sweat, bruises and red welts are gone, leaving his marble skin flawless once more.
Arrek follows him, equally clean, the cut across his abdomen erased and another white toga wrapped around his enormous body.
Neither man looks as though he was bleeding or striking his battle-brothers hard enough to break bones only minutes ago.
Their eyes follow me as I carry the coffee towards the study.
I set both mugs upon the low table and lower myself into the same immense leather chair I used while reading the contract. It nearly swallows me again, the broad arms rising on either side of my body.
Nothing inside the study has changed. Books fill the dark shelves. Hand-drawn military maps cover the writing desk, and the pale globe still turns above them. The room remains warm and quiet, filled with leather, old cigar smoke and the lingering scents of the three men.
Somewhere beneath my feet, the underground room waits in darkness.
The enormous bed. The single human-sized pillow surrounded by three places. The restraints built into its frame.
The maternity dress.
Talarin enters carrying a small plate in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other.
Thin slices of pear, soft cheese and a piece of buttered bread have been arranged across the plate.
He closes the study door behind him, places everything upon the table and lowers himself into the chair opposite mine.
“Eat.”
I take a slice of pear. The first bite awakens the hunger I claimed not to feel, and I reach for another while Talarin takes a slow drink of coffee.
“The Med-Bay keeps a record of every treatment.”
My hand stops halfway towards the plate.
“I was the first to use it after we returned,” he continues. “Your treatment was the last one recorded. Don’t worry. I erased the record. It’s between us.”
“Why keep it from the others?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Arrek would use it as another contractual reason to punish you. He has the right. Hiding wounds is not allowed. Tell me what happened.”
So he’s not going to do anything to me...
For that.
What if he finds out I went into his secret room?
“The knife slipped while I was carving. I cut my thumb. It’s a lot sharper than the one I was used to using.”
“Why did you conceal it?”
“I thought you might take the knife away. Or decide I couldn’t be trusted with it.”
“The knife was given to you because of one of our failings. We won’t take that from you. I don’t want you to feel like you cannot use the Med-Bay. I’m impressed you managed to command it in High Aurelian. You have a good ear.”
“You and Arrek... you both said almost the same phrase.”
“Good. But in the future, promise me that if you use it, you’ll tell us immediately. I don’t want you hiding wounds from us.”
“I promise,” I say.
He sighs. “I know the last few days have been very intense for you. You told me yesterday that you barely recognize yourself.”
My thoughts return to the underground room.
The heavy stone doors closing. The smoked mirrors surrounding the enormous bed. The restraints built into its frame.
The maternity dress.
“I know you must be feeling vulnerable,” Talarin continues. “Maybe frightened.”
My fingers tighten around the slice of pear. He has no idea what I saw beneath the residence. No idea what I know they have planned for me.
Or perhaps he knows exactly why I am frightened.