Chapter 38 #2
Altansarnai didn't notice.
Her hand closed around something cold and sharp that had dislodged from her hair—her hairpin, the same one she had used to stay conscious, to mark her own skin, and to fight.
She gathered herself and waited for him to lean closer, let his guard drop, let his mouth find her throat—
Altansarnai stopped.
His eyes, wine-glazed but still sharp, caught the glint of metal between her fingers. The candlelight flickered across the hairpin's pointed end, and something in his expression shifted.
"What's this?" He reached down and plucked the pin from her unresisting fingers.
The drug still held her; she could not fight the theft.
He turned it over in his palm, studying the delicate craftsmanship and the sharpened tip.
"A woman who comes to a general's bed prepared for war.
" His grin widened. "I like you more and more. "
Azul's jaw tightened. The drug was fading, but slowly—too slowly. She could move her fingers now, barely. Her toes. Not enough.
Altansarnai settled back against the cushions, still holding her hairpin, apparently in no hurry. He looked at her with the lazy interest of a cat watching a mouse that had briefly amused him.
"Do you miss him? Your dear Igwe? The man who gave you to me like a plate of roasted meat?"
Azul grimaced; 'plate of roasted meat' felt like the crudest set of words she'd ever heard.
"Somadina?" She spat the name like poison. "I wish him dead. I wish him rotting in the ground with worms in his eyes and maggots in his mouth. I wish his ancestors spit on his memory and his name forgotten by every tongue that ever spoke it."
Altansarnai's eyebrows rose. He laughed, tickled by her vitriol.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, suddenly more interested in conversation than conquest. The hairpin continued its slow rotation in his fingers.
"Your wish," he said, "is about to come true."
From beyond the room a sound began to build. Screaming. Fighting. The clash of metal and the pleas of palace servants.
Azul's heart thumped.
"You're taking the city," she whispered. "What do you plan to do with me?"
Altansarnai considered her. His gaze travelled the length of her body.
"You're pretty," he said. "Come with me to the Steppes. Your kingdom is gone. Your Igwe is about to die. Your people will be scattered or enslaved. You don't have to be distributed to lesser men; you can be my slave instead."
Azul stared at him. Unsure if she should spit at his face or try and slap him.
"Provided," he added, "you prove your loyalty." He tossed the hairpin onto the bed beside her. It landed point-up, quivering.
His hand reached for her again, and this time—this time the drug had faded enough.
She jerked back, kicking and screaming, her voice joining the chaos outside in a raw shriek of fury and fear.
Her heel connected with his wrist; he grunted but didn't release her.
She clawed at his face; he grabbed her arms, holding them still.
A pounding on the door disrupted his assault.
Altansarnai spun, one hand still gripping her ankle.
"What?!"
The door burst open. A soldier stood there, armour bloodied and face pale.
"General—the Valthorne—they're here!"
Altansarnai went still.
"What?"
"The Valthorne army are at the gates. Thousands of them! They're cutting through our rear lines. We need to—"
Altansarnai released Azul's ankle. He was already moving, strapping on the sword belt he'd discarded, becoming the general instead of the drunkard.
"Has the Borjigin Oracle been told?"
The soldier nodded. "Messengers went to her quarters as soon as we saw their banners."
"Good. They don't have their Khan; they will be easy pickings." Altansarnai glanced back at Azul, and for a moment, something akin to excitement flickered in his eyes. "Tie her up. She comes with us when we withdraw."
The soldier moved forward as Altansarnai strode out, pausing at the door.
"I'll come back for you," he said. "Don't go anywhere."
Then he was gone.
The soldier hastily bound her wrists with rough cord and then he too was gone, racing after his general into the chaos.
Azul lay in the stillness, panting, shaking, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The screaming continued outside. She closed her eyes, a headache emerging.
Fuck, I hate these men. She truly wished to drown Somadina in a bucket of his own faeces.
Slowly, she worked at the cords. The soldier's carelessness was her advantage; the knots gave, loosened, slipped, and her hands were free.
She sat up, swaying, the drug still whispering in her blood. The room spun around her, then steadied.
Host.
The snake's voice was calm in her mind. Unafraid, as if it trusted she would survive this ordeal.
"You're still here," she sighed.
I am always here.
Azul's lips settled into a small smile.
"I'm going to feed you well," she said.
Obiageli had fucked up.
She is... nutritious?
"She has the most spiritual energy in this city." Azul stood, finding her balance. "She's probably really delicious." Using the pseudonym of 'Viper' was smart and kept her hidden behind Azul and Chidinma, but why did she think she was the only one who could scheme?
If she could write to Orda Naiman, what was stopping her —Azul— from writing to the same man and adjusting her plans?
If not for her darling sister, she wouldn't have considered opening the gates to force Somadina to bring in Orda Naiman's men under the guise of an 'alliance'. If Altansarnai never came, it would be too easy for him to escape. This way, behind the palace walls, he would die by her husband's hand.
I am hungry, it admitted.
Azul moved toward the door, towards the fire, the blood and the chaos of a palace tearing itself apart. "Let's go hunting."