Kaavl Conspiracy, page 40
Anger surged at his condescending tone. She violently wriggled and twisted, trying to free herself.
Kitran seemed satisfied with Mentàll’s explanation. “The agreement is for the best, Methusal. Let Mentàll explain it to you, and you’ll see.”
“Right. Come along, Methusal.” Her name was a chill rasp in her ear. Desperately, she bit down and caught a pinch of skin on his palm. His hand jerked away.
“But he plans…” Her cry was stifled when Mentàll’s large hand clapped across her face again, painfully gripping it.
“I will have her straightened out in no time, Kitran. Goodnight.”
The night was so inky that Methusal knew Kitran couldn’t see her desperate, lunging attempts to free herself from Mentàll’s rib squeezing embrace. One arm crushed her chest, holding her feet inches above the ground, while the other held her jaw painfully immobile.
He carried her, kicking and squirming, across the square. She thought she had a chance when he released her mouth to open the door to his cabin, but she had let out no more than a strangled cry when he thrust her hard inside, sending her sprawling across the wooden floor.
She’d only gained her knees when she was propelled upright and shoved into a chair. A kaavl strip quickly lashed her wrists together behind her.
“Now,” Mentàll stared down at her, and a thin, humorless smile curved his hard lips. A ball of leather was clenched in his right hand. “Do I need to use this? Or will you keep quiet on your own? No one will come, you know. A Chief can do what he likes.”
“This isn’t Dehre!” she spat. “The Tarst aren’t animals!” Terror whirled inside her. He could kill her now.
“Perhaps not, but no one will dare question me.” The pale eyes glittered.
You’re a monstrous beast! But she clamped her mouth shut, glaring instead of speaking. Any fight or fear she showed now would only goad him on.
Mentàll abruptly knelt before her, and hard fingers gripped her chin. She tried not to flinch back, but his face was so close to her own that she could see the little streaks of red in the whites of his pale blue eyes. His familiar, nauseating breath filled her nostrils.
He murmured, “What am I going to do with you?”
Instinctive revulsion made her shrink back.
A faint smile curved his lips, and hard satisfaction glinted. Clearly, he had just obtained his goal. In one swift movement, he rose to his feet. “You fear me. Good. That is as it should be.”
She hated that she had revealed weakness to him. Now he knew how to intimidate her. “That’s because you’ve tied me up!” she snapped. “And you’re threatening me.”
“You expect me to set you free?”
“I expect only the worst from you. You are an abominable whip!”
“Watch your tongue.” Threat chilled the low tone.
Methusal shuddered, but managed to keep her chin up.
“You should learn respect for authority.”
“I have no respect for you, slug monster!” she managed to spit.
With predatory purposefulness, he stalked closer, which forced her to crane her neck back in order to meet his gaze. Swelling fear made her heart pound in response to his calculated intimidation.
A handbreadth from her, he hissed, “What other names would you like to call me?”
She swallowed. “None.”
“So your tongue can be tamed. Respect, in its basest form.”
“I was wrong before. You’re not a whip. You’re a wild beast. Completely uncivilized and vulgar.”
“I warned you.” When he went down on one knee beside her, terror galloped through Methusal. Why couldn’t she control her mouth?
When his thumb brushed her lower lip, she closed her eyes in horror. What would he do to her now? She was a fool!
Her voice trembled. “You’re threatening me in the basest possible way.”
“Perhaps I am attracted to you.”
A disbelieving laugh choked out. “You despise me.”
“Yes. But you are beautiful. And a challenge. I never turn away from a challenge.”
“Don’t…don’t touch me anymore,” she gulped out. It hurt to capitulate; to allow him to win this battle of their wills.
When he stood, she gasped softly with relief.
“Then what good are you to me?” Anger edged that harsh tone. “You are a liability.”
“Let me go!”
He gave a rusty laugh. “I cannot, Methusal. You will cry warnings to your friends, and my plan will fail.”
“Then what will you do to me?” She hated the tremor in her voice.
“What would you do in my place?”
“Keep me tied up,” she said promptly. “Run immediately to do your plan. Preferably now, so the wild beasts can eat you up on your way to Rolban.”
He gave another harsh laugh. “The wild beasts do not frighten me, Methusal.” His long legs passed by as he slowly paced the small room. What was he plotting now? What would he do to her?
Terror rose again, and her eyes darted about the plushly decorated cabin, seeking a way to escape. There was none. She was alone and helpless.
He noticed her desperate, agitated movements, and gave a grim, cold chuckle. “Go ahead and look. You cannot escape. You will have to accept my attentions for a little longer.”
Methusal turned her head so he could not see the tears filling her eyes. She refused to let him know how terrified she was. Her earlier, foolish words had been a show of bravado. Now in the lengthening, awful silence, her overactive imagination conjured up scene after scene of the despicable things he could do to her. And she had a sickening fear that she would never escape him afterward—if he let her live. He was powerful and could get away with what he pleased, now that the second treaty was signed. He certainly wouldn’t let a mere girl foil his ambitious plans. She squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling over.
What would he do to her? Kill her? Violate her? Violate and kill her?
Hysteria rose in her throat as the silence lengthened, until finally his footsteps approached her chair.
“I have decided… Look at me, Methusal!” That harsh voice whipped, and fear made her eyes pop open. She glared at him through her tears, hating him with an overwhelming hatred.
“Aah, Methusal.” His smile looked vicious. “You despise me. So be it. I have made my decision, and you should thank me for it, although I doubt you will.”
Vainly, she tugged at the cord binding her wrists as Mentàll turned and paced toward the door. “I have decided you will become my wife. You will stay here tonight with me, and Pan will marry us in the morning. By then, you will not be fit for another man. Then you will travel with me to Rolban, where you will do everything I say, or I will destroy your family, your friends, and everything you hold dear.” He approached her again. “You have no other choice—besides death, of course.”
Death….Or a lifetime of bondage to Mentàll. Which would be worse? A hysterical gurgle welled in her throat. Surely this was a dream. A nightmare, except he’d caught her…too soon, wasn’t it? The events in her dream hadn’t happened yet. If only she could wake up…
Unthinking, panicked words flew from her mouth. “Why marry me? Surely I’m not worthy of the great Mentàll.”
“But your name is.”
“My name?”
“Maahr.” He watched her carefully. “You are a direct descendent from the Old Kaavl Master, Mahre.”
“Yes.” Little point in denying the truth. “So what? Why would that make you want to marry me?”
“I do not want to marry you,” he snarled. “But I would, for that fact alone. Or you may choose death, if you prefer.” Mentàll stepped away and pulled a long, sharp blade from a narrow leather pocket sewn into the thigh of his breeches. The metal glinted in the light, and she stared at it, transfixed. An illegal sword. Would he truly kill her?
Silly question.
“I am waiting.” His voice and eyes were cold, and she gasped out the first words that flew to mind.
“Remember what the Prophet said to you?”
His eyes narrowed.
“He said, ‘All who draw the sword will die by the sword.’”
“So, your spying goes deeper than I suspected.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“I will not need to pull my sword. The work is done.”
“You’ve pulled it on me now. If you draw blood, you will pay.”
“Who will make me pay? Your Prophet? His God?”
“Everyone’s God. Yours, too.”
“The One abandoned me when I was five. He will not step in now.” Fury flashed through those cold eyes. And pain. Methusal had seen feral pain too many times in wounded animals not to recognize it now. Instead of accepting help, the dangerous ones lashed out, ready to kill. What had happened to the Dehrien when he was such a small boy? What had turned him into the man he was today? A man with no love, and no mercy.
“Decide, Methusal! I have run out of patience.”
She grasped for another straw. “Everyone will know you killed me!”
“No, Methusal. They will not.” He knelt before her again and pressed the cool, smooth side of the blade against her neck. She could barely think. The only bizarre thing that ran through her mind was that Hendra was wrong. Her cousin was not worthy of her respect or trust. He wasn’t the man she believed him to be. He was a monster.
Mentàll’s voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “You do not give me enough credit. Of course your body will be found—torn to pieces by the wild beasts. A foolish girl wandered alone from camp. Look.” He fingered the strap of her pack. “How fortunate you’re already packed to go. And I’m not the only one who has seen you wearing this tonight.”
She stared, stricken, into the Dehrien Chief’s eyes. He had her. It was true. He could have her dead body carted into the low mountains, and the wild beasts would devour her by morning. No one would ever know that Mentàll had killed her.
But would he truly kill her? That illogical question surprisingly flitted through her mind.
Only Hendra’s steadfast hero worship of her cousin allowed the tiny glimmer of doubt. That, and the fact that if he’d wanted her dead, surely she would be dead by now. He’d have killed her, like Renn’s murderer wanted, rather than repeatedly threatening her. She stared into his eyes, trying to read the truth behind the frozen ice.
Unthinkingly, she whispered, “Would you truly kill me?”
Cold, assessing surprise flashed, and for a split second she saw something that made her wonder. But his expression swiftly hardened, concealing his true motivation. He drew still closer, and she struggled not to shrink away.
His voice sounded like hissing, popping ice. “You doubt me?”
Methusal didn’t respond. She was scared to death.
“No? Wise of you.” He tapped the blade against her neck. “What is your decision?”
Death? Or life—a living, tortuous hell? Somehow, the decision wasn’t as easy as it should have been. A slow minute ticked by. She felt frozen, unable to move or think.
The Dehrien Chief grasped a heavy handful of her dark hair and pulled her face near his own. His pale eyes were narrowed, and teeth bared. “My patience is running out, Methusal. Live or die. Decide now, or I will decide for you. Much as I could desire you, I do not need an unwilling wife.”
Methusal desperately moved her lips, but no sounds emerged.
The blade turned, edge imperceptibly stinging into her neck. It was razor sharp. One quick move and he could slit her throat. The blade pressed harder. Terror seized her.
“Live!” The word gasped out, and instantly the pressure on her neck eased.
“Good.” He drew back, releasing her hair, and inserted the blade again into its almost invisible pocket. He gave her a thin smile, although he did not look particularly pleased. “I am glad we understand each other.” His hard gaze impersonally ran down her body, making her shiver. “Obey my first order to you, as my wife to be. Disrobe and wait for me beneath that fur.” She followed his gaze, through an archway to another room which contained a wide pallet, pushed flush against the far wall. “I will wait outside while you do that… As I am a gentleman, despite what you might think to the contrary.”
Mentàll quickly untied her wrists and stepped toward the door. “You have two minutes. If you try to escape, you will die.” His words were horrifyingly conversational. He closed the door behind him.
Shaking, Methusal leaped to her feet, and dashed for the large window at the back of the cabin. Locked! Her fingers fumbled with the lock, but it would not open. Was it rusted shut? She sprinted to a smaller window across the room. That one had no latch. Tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks, and she clenched her trembling hands together, trying to calm herself. Surely, there must be a way out.
She gulped back a heaving sob and flew to the back window again. It had to open! Violently, she rattled the unyielding lock. It did not budge.
Chapter Thirty-One
HENDRA’S EYES FLUTTERED OPEN. Cold air and total blackness enveloped her. In a flood, the memory of Ludst’s attack returned. Panic slammed through her heart, making it race. But she was alone. He was gone.
Slowly, she sat up. She must have fainted. That had never happened before. Dirt crunched beneath her fingers and when she looked heavenward, stars spangled across the sky. A large structure loomed nearby. Pan’s house?
Gathering those few bearings, she realized it was late now. All of the lights were out, except for the ones in Mentàll’s cabin.
Quickly, she staggered to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves from her clothes and hair.
Had her cousin already given his last orders to his men? Had her weak, hysterical fainting spell cost her the opportunity to discover his true goal?
Hendra ran toward her cousin’s cabin and discovered that her right knee hurt. Maybe she’d fallen on a rock. It didn’t matter. She had to find out what Mentàll was doing. Maybe he was still speaking to his men.
Hendra crept closer to the large cabin, but discovered that the front window had been shuttered. She’d spotted another window at the back, though. Trying to ignore the now sharp, stabbing pain in her knee, she hurried to the other window. It was high, because the house was built on a platform, but she was tall enough to see straight in and through to the very front of the house.
She gasped. Methusal sat in a chair with her wrists bound behind her back. Mentàll knelt before her with a sword pressed against her neck.
Mentàll suddenly stood, resheathed the sword, and smiled down at Methusal. It wasn’t a nice smile. In fact, it made her blood run cold.
What fate had he chosen for the poor Rolbani girl?
Terror engulfed her. She wouldn’t let him hurt Methusal. Even if it meant sacrificing her own life, she would not let him commit a despicable act that would irreparably damn his soul.
To stop him, though, she’d need reinforcements. She darted around the corner of the house, but before she’d gone a step, a hand seized her arm.
Hendra cried out, and the man clapped a hand across her mouth. “Shhh,” he hissed in her ear. “It’s Behran.” He released her.
Heart pounding in panicked thumps, she spun to face him. The faint, rising green light of Ryon made his features clear. It was Behran. So why did she still feel so afraid? She hated feeling terrified every time a man touched her.
“What…what are you doing here?” she gasped.
“I’m spying, same as you are,” he said dryly.
Hendra took a deep breath, trying to calm her jumping nerves. “I was just about to get you. Mentàll…”
“I know,” Behran said grimly.
They both heard the sharp click of the front door closing.
“What’s that?” Hendra whispered.
“I’ll check.” With quick stealth, Behran crept to the front corner of the house and peered around. A moment later he was back. “Mentàll’s outside.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But now’s our chance to rescue Thusa.”
A rattle came from the back window, and they rushed to the back of the house. Methusal struggled with the lock, her eyes wide and terrified. She whipped a glance over her shoulder and banged on the window with her fists.
“Shhh!” Behran’s sharp whisper cut through the night. Methusal froze, obviously listening.
“Look for the pin in the bottom ledge of the window,” Behran hissed. “Pull it out, quick!”
Methusal snatched out the rounded knob that held the window locked shut. She shoved the window up.
“Hurry!” Hendra urged.
Methusal threw her pack onto the ground. Then Behran steadied Methusal as she wriggled out the window, and helped her safely jump the three quarter length drop to the ground.
Behran wrapped her in a tight hug. “Thank goodness,” he murmured. “I saw Mentàll pulled a sword on you. Are you all right?”
“He…he ordered me to take off my clothes and wait…” Methusal’s voice broke into a sob. “I was afraid. I was so afraid, Behran!”
Her words felt like punches to Hendra’s heart. She felt like vomiting.
“Thusa!” Behran held her tighter.
Reluctantly, it seemed, Methusal pulled free. “We have to leave now, Behran. We have to warn Rolban. I know what he’s planning.”
“We’d better move fast, then. He’ll hunt for you the minute he knows you’re gone.”
“I’ll slow him down,” Hendra blurted. “I’ll take your place, Methusal.” She trembled at the very thought of what she was offering. If Ludst had terrified her earlier, how much more petrifying would it be to face her cousin when he was furious beyond all reason? Not only that, but he would realize that she had betrayed him. He would cut her from his life and he’d banish her from Dehre forever, too; the punishment for treason. But none of those things was the reprisal she feared most.
“No!” Methusal exclaimed, visibly horrified. “What if he…” Her face looked pale in the faint green light of the rising moon, and remnants of terror lingered in her wide eyes.
“He won’t hurt me.” Hendra didn’t know that for sure, but she had to do the right thing. She had waited far too long to take a stand.
