Godblind Page 11

  She turned back to the table and watched Dom out of the corner of her eye. His gaze was turned inward, his mouth tense. Sarilla will be here in a few days, then. Crippled, angry, hating Sarilla. She gulped and drank ale, trying not to think about it.

  ‘Does your hand hurt? You keep rubbing it,’ she asked. The malty warmth of the ale lined her tongue.

  ‘Hmm?’ Dom looked up from his hands, his right eyelid flickering. He pressed delicate fingers against it. ‘No, just a headache.’

  ‘In your hand?’ Rillirin smiled, feeling foolish.

  Dom frowned. ‘Are you drunk? On two cups of ale?’

  ‘I’ve never had ale before. It’s nice. Fuzzy.’

  ‘Fuzzy? Shitting hell, you are drunk.’ Dom drained his cup and signalled for a refill. ‘I’ve got some catching up to do then, haven’t I? I mean, who knows what sort of monster you’ll turn into on two cups of ale? Best if we skip straight past the two-cup beast and discover the third.’ He waved and the tavern girl appeared again with a sly grin. She bent down and whispered in Dom’s ear and he chuckled, patting her arse affectionately. Rillirin’s cup was topped up a third time, Dom’s a fourth. Or was it a fifth? This time the woman left the pitcher on their table.

  ‘I can’t pay for any of this,’ Rillirin hissed as Dom raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

  Dom winked. ‘That’s all right, we’ll find some way for you to make it up to me.’

  She felt the blood drain from her face, her head suddenly light. Fuck. It was so obvious, so fucking obvious that she hadn’t even considered it. She was in his debt now and she had nothing to pay with. He’d been so slick she hadn’t spotted what he was doing.

  ‘I – I think you should have this cup as well,’ she said and pushed it across the table. Dom’s brows rose. ‘I owe you for two loaves and two cups of ale. I don’t want to increase the debt any more.’

  ‘Don’t forget the honey,’ he said, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  The ale churned in her gut, sour in her mouth. Had she forgotten every lesson slavery had taught her in the scant handful of days since she’d escaped it? Now he would think she was trying to cheat him. ‘Of course. Forgive me. The honey too.’ She swallowed and looked at the faces blurring through the room. ‘When will you take payment?’ she managed, but despite everything her voice cracked on the last word and she saw, from the corner of her eye, his frown.

  ‘Payment? What are you talking about?’ He rubbed his right palm against the edge of the table.

  ‘You have bought me,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. The alcohol roiled in her stomach and washed into her head with every beat of her speeding heart. He might not be cruel. Please, gods, don’t let him be cruel.

  Dom coughed ale across the table and stared at her. Then he wiped his chin and leant forward. She squirmed back, her body a flinch. ‘We do not buy and sell human lives in Rilpor. Yes, there are women who sell their bodies for money and yes, even Wolves take advantage of it. I didn’t think you a whore.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she snarled before she could bite back the words. ‘A whore at least is willing. But payment is payment, and I have nothing else to give.’

  ‘You’d give yourself to me for a loaf of bread?’ Dom’s eyes were wide and his voice low. ‘That’s what you think you’re worth?’

  Rillirin’s face was hot with shame but she managed a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve been worth far less.’

  ‘It’s a gift, Rillirin, no payment is due, I swear by the Dancer. A gift,’ Dom repeated. He coughed again and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘We need to get drunk. Really drunk. And then pretend that conversation never happened.’

  He was revolted and she didn’t blame him. ‘I have to go,’ Rillirin said, lurching up and banging into the table.

  ‘Don’t go, Rillirin. Please. I’m sorry.’ Dom reached for her hand and she snatched it away. She looked towards the door.

  Go where? They’ll kill me if I leave his side; they know what I am. But he can’t even look at me. Misery swamped her and she couldn’t bear to see the disgust in Dom’s face. She stared at the table and tears dripped from her nose on to the wood.

  He stood and put both hands on her shoulders, warm and strong. ‘Sit and drink with me. Please. Please,’ he said again when she hesitated, ‘and forgive me for the name-calling. Please sit. It would be my honour to buy you as much ale as you can stomach.’

  Rillirin let him push her gently back into her chair. ‘But the price,’ she protested, grasping on to the only thing she could understand. Everything has a price.

  Dom flicked his fingers, dismissing the comment and then flexing both hands. ‘Not much call for spending coin in the forests. I can afford it. And it’s a gift, Rillirin, do you understand? I expect nothing from you except the pleasure of your company as we drink. Not that sort of company, either,’ he added in a rush and a faint blush stained his cheeks.

  ‘You’re a free woman, Rillirin Fisher of Rilpor,’ he continued, pushing her cup gently back across the table, ‘and free women can accept drinks from free men without it requiring payment of any sort.’

  Rillirin found she was staring into his eyes, so brown they were almost black and earnest, and honest.

  ‘You’re a free woman, Rillirin,’ he repeated, the words sending a delicate shiver through her. ‘Will you drink with me?’

  Her head was spinning. Free. ‘Your will, honour— Yes, Dom,’ she managed, even finding a crooked smile to go with it.

  Dom banged his fist on the table. ‘Yes. That’s my girl,’ he said and grinned. ‘Right, do you know any Mireces drinking games?’

  ‘I do, actually,’ she said and paused. ‘But they usually end with vomiting.’

  Dom banged his fist again and laughed, and the sick tension in Rillirin’s chest loosened, loosened and fell away.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly the level of drunkenness we’re aiming for. Teach me.’

  GALTAS

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  West Rank headquarters, Cattle Lands, Rilporian border

  ‘Your Highnesses, may I present my staff? Colonels Abbas, Dorcas and Bors of the sub-forts. Majors Costas, Caspar, Shepherd and Potter. And the most promising captain from each of the forts: Pike, Salter, Wainwright and Carter.’

  ‘That one’s a woman,’ Rivil pointed out.

  ‘Captain Tara Carter, yes, Your Highness. As I said, one of our most promising captains and my adjutant.’

  ‘Well, that is … unusual. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of a woman Ranker. Parents bought your commission, did they?’ Rivil enquired with a smile.

  Tara looked to Mace; he nodded. ‘Worked my way up through the ranks, Your Highness,’ she said. ‘Joined up at seventeen, but only General Koridam was prepared to give me a place in his Rank.’ She bowed, then blushed and made an awkward attempt at a curtsey, which looked ridiculous in trousers.

  Galtas was bored of the lengthy welcome already, but a female soldier might provide an interesting interlude. And aside from the cooks and washerwomen she was the only woman here. And not completely unattractive, though he didn’t like the short hair one bit. Still, looks like she’s got a decent pair of tits under that uniform.

  He drummed his fingers on his sword hilt as the audience dragged on, yawning ostentatiously when the subject shifted to the fort, the Mireces, the supply lines, as though none of it interested him. He noted Colonel Abbas’s grimace of distaste, and Janis’s narrow-eyed stare.

  Galtas glanced sideways at his honour guard. The Palace Rank uniforms were smarter than the shabby West’s, he was pleased to note, but other than that a soldier was a soldier. Unless she was also a woman.

  He looked back at Carter, waited until she glanced at him and gave her a rakish smile even as his ears sucked in the information Mace let slip so easily. Carter didn’t react. Still, they’d be here a few days, more than enough time to talk her round despite his other duties. She probabl
y couldn’t fuck the soldiers without getting into trouble. She was probably hornier than the Fox God Himself.

  The audience over, the Rank came to attention, saluted and separated to form two columns. The soldiers stationed in Forts Two, Three and Four marched past the royal party and out through the gates.

  ‘… care for a tour of the armouries?’ Mace was saying and Galtas pricked up his ears.

  ‘Of course,’ Janis said with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm. Rivil echoed the sentiment and then requested Crys accompany them while the rest of the men headed for the barracks. Galtas sucked his teeth. Seemed Rivil couldn’t go anywhere without that obsequious little shit these days.

  ‘Ooh, look, swords,’ Galtas enthused as they entered the armoury. ‘And over there, those are spears. And shields too. Why, anyone would think this was an armoury. What fun. Where’s the wine?’

  ‘Enough,’ Janis hissed and Galtas smirked. It really was too easy. He slid forward until he was standing at Carter’s elbow. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Lord Galtas Morellis, adviser to Prince Rivil. We haven’t been properly introduced, which is a terrible shame.’

  ‘Captain Carter, West Rank,’ she said, not at all impressed by his nobility, it seemed.

  ‘I’d love a tour of the fort, Captain,’ he tried.

  She looked at him for a brief moment, and then away again. ‘That’s what this is, my lord,’ she said, ‘a tour. Excuse me,’ she added and walked after the general.

  Crys made a noise that might have been a smothered laugh and Galtas glared at him. ‘Captains,’ he muttered. ‘Thick-as-shit jumped-up cunts, every one of them.’

  ‘As you say, milord,’ Crys said blandly, his blue eye shining in the gloom, the brown one invisible. ‘And not susceptible to your charms, either,’ he added with a touch of malice.

  Galtas bit back a retort and shoulder-barged Crys out of his way as he caught up with the others. He had more important things to do than bandy words with that little prick.

  CRYS

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  West Rank headquarters, Cattle Lands, Rilporian border

  Crys decided he liked Tara. Then again, he’d like a scabby bear as long as it had an aversion to Galtas godsdamned Morellis.

  ‘The tunnels that connect the forts begin here, I see,’ Rivil was saying. ‘It really is ingenious, General.’

  They stood by a small iron-banded door at the back of the armoury. It looked exactly the same as the ones Crys had seen in the North and East Ranks. He’d run those tunnels in full armour in the pitch black during drills in the North Rank. He shivered at the memory.

  ‘Thank you, sire,’ Mace said, ‘though the credit goes to the designers of the forts. The tunnel allows us to reinforce a sub-fort in danger of falling, or evacuate one that cannot be saved, all without sending men over the walls. You could get from here to Fort Four a mile away without coming above ground if you needed to.’ He bowed and gestured, letting Janis precede him back out of the armoury.

  Crys glanced at Rivil and got the nod to carry on. He followed Mace and Janis, ears straining behind him. Probably shouldn’t have stirred Galtas up, he thought, but couldn’t quite bring himself to regret the comment.

  ‘Not sure I believe the “West is best” hype,’ Galtas said, ‘not when they’ve got a woman commanding men. How well d’you reckon a bunch of pussy-whipped soldiers’d fight?’

  ‘She says she worked her way up through the ranks,’ Rivil replied. ‘She’d have earned their respect.’

  Galtas snorted. ‘Worked her way through them, more like. Slept her way to an officer’s rank, you can bet on it. “General Koridam was the only one to give me a place,”’ he squeaked. ‘Course he did. In his bed.’

  Crys shook his head slightly. Galtas’s reputation as a fighter was well known and well earned, from everything Crys had heard, yet he dismissed Tara without thought. Crys studied her as she strode at Mace’s side. Sword familiar and easy on her hip, eyes on the roam looking for danger, thighs that’d probably crack Galtas in half if she wrapped them around him. Mace didn’t suffer fools. If Tara was a captain, she deserved the rank and could hold her own in a scrap.

  ‘Everything I’ve heard says Mace Koridam is as honourable and unbending as his father,’ Rivil said.

  ‘The only reason Durdil can’t bend is arthritis. The man’s a relic. No, this Tara shagged her way to her captaincy. Tailorson probably did the same,’ Galtas added, and Rivil heaved an impatient sigh. Crys smiled without humour. Eavesdroppers rarely hear compliments, his mother had always told him.

  ‘Oh come on, Sire,’ Galtas insisted. ‘One minute he’s caught cheating at cards, the next you’re buying him drinks and making him head of your honour guard. You think that’s all a coincidence? You’re trusting your life to a known gambler and thief.’

  Crys glanced back at that, but the pair had stopped and weren’t paying him any attention. He faded into the shadows to listen.

  ‘I tire of this rivalry, Galtas,’ Rivil said, his voice as cold as the snow. ‘I believe Crys is destined to be one of my advisers. Make your peace with him.’

  One of his advisers? Crys blinked. Well, that’s unexpected. He jumped as Janis strode back past him.

  ‘Rivil, Galtas, hurry up. What are you gossiping about back here?’

  ‘Nothing, brother,’ Rivil said. ‘Galtas and I were merely having a difference of opinion.’

  Janis stared at Galtas. ‘My brother has, for reasons unknown to me, befriended you despite your background and despite your many shortcomings. While my father allowed him to give you land and title out of his own inherited estates, I would remind you that when I am king, I may not be so lenient. You owe everything you are to my brother and, while it would pain him, I will send you back where you came from should your loyalty prove wanting. Sheep farm in the Grazing Lands, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Potter’s shop in Shingle, Sire,’ Galtas grated and Crys could hear barely contained fury in his voice. His mouth popped open. He’s a fucking commoner! Lord Galtas Morellis is a potter and a peasant. Crys put his hand over his mouth to stop the laughter bubbling out.

  ‘That’s right. Galtas Potterson,’ Janis said. ‘Well, it’s a trade you can always fall back on should your luck run out.’ He crooked a finger and Rivil trailed him out of the armoury.

  Crys watched them go; then he looked back at Galtas and froze, the smile sliding from his face. Galtas’s one eye blazed with naked hatred as he glared at the princes standing in the open space between the armoury and the granary. ‘I may not be noble,’ he muttered, ‘but you’ll never be king.’

  A chill settled in Crys’s bones. If you plan treachery, what better way to insinuate yourself into the heir’s inner circle than to befriend his younger brother? Has Rivil’s blindness allowed a threat into the very heart of power? Sweat prickled across Crys’s brow as Galtas smoothed out his expression and stalked past him. Are you a traitor, Galtas Potterson?

  GILDA

  Twelfth moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

  Dancer’s temple, Watchtown, Western Plain

  Gilda had spent years bringing the gods’ Light to her people. Midwife, priestess, counsellor, she’d seen much and done more in her long life on the plain and in the hills.

  She’d never met anyone as broken as Rillirin Fisher.

  With Dom’s help she held Rillirin under the water, pale against the blackness of the godpool’s basin, and Gilda could feel her terror. Dom had told her what the Mireces had done to her, but a cleansing was a cleansing and there was only one way to do it. She could see Rillirin watching her through the veil of water and smiled, nodding.

  ‘Holy Dancer, Lady clothed in sunlight, this child comes to you with open heart and begs for cleansing. Fox God, Lord of wit and ingenuity, great Trickster, this child comes to you with open mind and begs for wisdom. She has been befouled, tainted by the Mireces and their bloody gods. Cleanse her, that she may be whole.’r />
  Gilda felt the fight building in Rillirin’s body as her lungs began to burn, felt her tensing to thrash. She met Dom’s eyes and he nodded, ready. ‘Sweet Dancer, Lady of Light. Fox God, bringer of truth and justice, free her soul and clear her mind. Rillirin Fisher is a true child of the Light; welcome her.’

  Rillirin gave a single great convulsion and then Gilda and Dom were pulling her up out of the water, holding her steady as she dragged in lungfuls of air. Dom wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and lifted her over the lip of the pool, swinging her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘Welcome back to the Light, Rillirin Fisher. I give you my hearth and home, my food and roof. I welcome you as family and will always protect you.’

  Rillirin was shuddering with cold but she turned huge grey eyes on Dom, astonished. ‘What?’ she whispered.

  He smiled. ‘As Gilda and Cam welcomed me as theirs when I came to the temple as a boy, so I welcome you. You will always find in me a friend.’

  The gods were doing more than cleansing the girl, Gilda thought as she wrapped another blanket around Rillirin. With luck they were cleansing Dom and bringing him some much-needed peace. Her fingers brushed Dom’s arm and she could feel its tension. ‘You are cleansed,’ she murmured to Rillirin, ‘and you are safe in the Light of the gods. There is no more to fear for you here.’

  ‘Cleansed before Yule, so you can start the year in peace and freedom,’ Dom added.

  Rillirin looked up from the circle of his arms. ‘I’m clean?’ she asked and Gilda nodded, taking her hand. Rillirin’s face was slack with wonder. ‘Not … damned? Truly?’

  ‘No, my sweet, not damned, not dirty, and not bad,’ Gilda said and nodded again when Rillirin began to cry, great heaving sobs that confirmed all Gilda’s suspicions. She reached out and Dom passed her into Gilda’s embrace; then he shook the water from his hands and arms, grimacing.