Was her madness already starting? Her father had suffered from blackouts. Unsettled at her unusual weakness, she watched Sami’s squat form fold with difficulty as he crouched beside her.

  "Take this," he ordered, and pushed a dagger into her hand. "They don’t know who you are. If you must, end your life before they touch you."

  She gazed around, realizing that she and the two members of her guard occupied a cage filled with the bloated corpses of a half dozen other men, what was left of her guard.

  Coldness shot through her.

  "You don’t know what they do to women," Sami continued grimly.

  He took a second dagger and jammed it into the lock of her fetters, twisting with a meaty hand. The fetters broke open. The blade of the dagger snapped in two. Sami pulled her hands free and tossed both dagger and bonds, doing the same with the bonds around her ankles.

  He looked at her expectantly, as if awaiting encouragement from his leader that all would end well. Her mouth was too dry to respond. The dim light of hope in his eyes faded into grim acceptance. He rose and drew her up with him. He unfastened the belt around her waist and flung it into the darkness.

  "You remember what Sirian taught you? How to kill a man?" he asked. "Throat, if not throat, stomach. If not there, his eyes, his groin. Understand?"

  She nodded.

  "If…" He gazed down at her and placed a dagger against his chest. "If you must take your life, place your dagger as such and fall upon it. It will strike your heart. There will be no pain."

  Panic stirred within her at his words. The beast stirred as well. Its coldness stretched outward from her chest, testing her resolve to keep it contained. She grabbed his arm as he turned.

  "Sami, I don’t understand what’s happening!"

  "We were caught."

  One of the guards at the mouth of the cage strode in with a torch, illuminating the dead bodies surrounding her. She looked down once but snapped her head up, unwilling to lose control. With his sword, the guard motioned for Sami to proceed.

  Sami held her gaze with a long look, and she knew he was bidding her farewell. He turned and exited the cage, toward the torch-lit area beyond the wooden rows packed with people on either side of the arena. She followed as far as she dared, until she drew the wary looks of the remaining guards. She hid the dagger in a pocket and watched.

  Sami was led into the center of the tiny arena, and the guards moved away. He stretched his neck and upper body and then drew his remaining dagger. The first three arrows streaked across the arena and implanted themselves in his back.

  She gasped in dismay. Sami grimaced, as if annoyed rather than in pain, but otherwise ignored the arrows jutting from his back. He lowered himself into a fighting stance. Five hefty men, each well-armed and carrying weapons ranging from swords to maces, surrounded Sami. The crowd began to cheer.

  Her heart slowed, the realization she may not live through the night settling into her with cold clarity.

  She winced as another bevy of arrows pierced Sami’s back. He stumbled forward at the impact but showed no other sign of faltering. She watched as the twisted battle began and progressed, unable to turn away despite her horror. The five barbarians toyed with Sami and inflicted him with wounds meant to disable and bleed him, to prolong the match without killing him. Her eyes were riveted to the scene. Her chest clenched until it was difficult to breathe. She braced herself against the door of the cage. Ribbons of Sami’s blood soon slicked the wooden floor of the crude arena. His moves slowed, faltered, and failed.

  "My queen." Her remaining guard took her arms and turned her away from the scene.

  Her breathing was ragged, tears on her face. She swiped at them and focused on him. It was her remaining guard, Ledden, whose watchful gaze had rarely left the enemy's men outside the door.

  "Sami does this for Tiyan. A warrior wants to die in battle for his Warlord and kin. Hear me?"

  She sought to steady her breathing. Panic and fear made her hands shake once more. The crowd roared. She knew without looking the death blow had been dealt. Ledden’s gaze drifted over her head. He expressed no emotion, simply dropped his eyes to hers once more.

  "Do as Sami said," he told her. "These people were mine once long ago, before I sought refuge in Tiyan. Your father showed me mercy and you showed me kindness. I don't believe what they say of the curse - -Tiyan is stronger with you as a Warlord. But I know what these people will do to you. It’s better you end it before it begins!"

  Rissa drew a deep breath with difficulty and forced her mind to focus. She faced death on a daily basis. She would fight, and she would die by her own hand if it came to it, as bravely as any member of her guard died for her.

  Yet, no dream ever hinted that this was her end. She saw her death at the hands of Taran, not in the hands of the barbarians!

  We do not die here.

  The beast itself told her thus. For once, its words soothed her.

  "Tell my mate and child I died with bravery."

  Ledden patted her arm and moved past her. She could not bear to look as he took his place in the center of the ring. She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing herself to recall the name and face of the men of her guard. She drew strength from their courage and sacrifice, recognizing they fought for the same reason she did: to protect Tiyan.

  Samin, mate of Lela, father of twins Allin and Kellin.

  Leonan, widower.

  Henryn, mate of Maryn, father of Patin and Ellabe, grandfather of Ton.

  Connorn, newly mated to Sierra.

  Ledden, mate of Dorsa, father of Kelly.

  Panic spun through her again, but she suppressed it with the same determination she suppressed the beast. Even on the verge of her death, she would not let loose the creature within her. It knew only death and pain, while she lived - -and would die! - -for hope and life! In this, she would be different than her father and predecessor. In this, she would always remain a better person than the twisted, abusive man who had controlled her so absolutely before she killed him.

  With my help, the beast reminded her.

  The twisted, abusive man who had fallen prey to the same curse in his blood that she carried in hers.

  Maybe it was better she died today, before she became like him!

  We do not die here, the demon repeated.

  She breathed deeply despite the scent of death. The crowd’s sudden roar made her flinch. Whatever happened, she could not, would not, die this day. Her dreams, however mad, were never wrong. Taran would kill her, and Taran was not present.

  Resolved, she noticed her hands still shook as a guard grabbed her and pulled her toward the entrance of the cage. She did not fight but focused on the night sky far above. It would be dawn soon. They had not traveled far. Desperation spun through her. Maybe Sirian would send a party to save her. He was too wise to risk losing her before he learned her secrets. He would do anything to protect her until that time, for only armed with that knowledge could he hope to rule.

  Her hand closed around the hilt of a dagger as she reached the center of the arena. The wood stage beneath her was slick with dark blood, the scent of which made her nauseous. Rissa forced herself to breathe steadily.

  She was unable to identify which clan it was that captured her. The people were as bedraggled as any of the barbaric clans around Tiyan. There were several hundred men and women in the makeshift arena, with the king’s party of advisors and servants sitting within the ring against one wall. There was one exit at the far end of the arena opposite the warlord’s party marked by torches, with no guards she could see.

  She didn't recognize any of the men in the small group. She had met once with her immediate neighbor, the king of Palmis, but this clan that had snatched her plainly did not know who she was, or they would not seek to kill a queen in such a way. Nay, her death at their hands would be worse if they knew her identity!

  Her shoulders hunched as she awaited the flurry of arrows that struck Sami. None came. Instead, the five attackers closed in, weapons sheathed. The crowd jeered more loudly at their approach. They leered, and one made an obscene gesture.

  Abruptly she understood the warning from Sami and Ledden. She had heard stories whispered of what barbarians did to women, but she never put much faith in the outrageous tales. What kind of men did such to a woman of any clan, even an enemy clan?

  She was left for last, not to be killed, though she knew that would be the ultimate outcome. She had been left for the men to brutalize, to tear apart from the inside out! Her mouth went dry and her heart skipped several beats. Adrenaline made her shake harder, and she prepared herself to fight, understanding the warnings of her dead guards.

  The first man grabbed her from behind. She tore away, lashing out with the dagger. She missed but succeeded in scaring him back a step. She sensed the others creeping forward and ducked, escaping a second hand. Awareness filled and overwhelmed her senses, blinding her to all but instinct and the sound of her breathing.

  Let me fight them!

  The words were familiar, the same she'd heard the night she killed her father.

  She stopped fighting the demon and felt its power flood through her, taking control. Colors, shapes, and sounds blurred around her as she allowed the demon to command her body. She spent an eternity in her mind, watching four of the men fall dead to the wooden floor at the hands of the demon. The world appeared in slow motion around her, the demon's magic making her move with speed she never imagined possible.

  At long last, she saw her chance: the men had withdrawn and the path to the arena’s entrance was clear. With effort that almost drove her to her knees, she reined in the demon, alarmed how much harder it was this time than when she'd killed the madman who was her father.

  She ran as she had so many times before. She heard the remaining men give chase, sensed the outstretched arms groping for her. She darted and danced away, focused on nothing but the two torches marking her chance at freedom. She didn't see the guard until it was too late.

  She smashed into him and fell back. Her senses caught up with her, jarring her out of her mind. The crowd was screaming, the torches blinding. Her breathing was labored, her chest burning and muscles shaking from the demon's abuse of her body. Her eyes flew up to the guard as she sought to orient herself once again.

  Taran towered over her.

  She froze, horror replacing exhaustion. The attackers reached her as she sat in stunned stillness at Taran's feet. The first blow from her attackers made her head ring and eyes blur. A second knocked the wind from her. She gasped, pain ripping through her as a kick landed in her stomach. She squeezed her eyes closed, bracing herself.

  No other blow fell. Angry voices wove in and out of the crowd’s jeering and the ringing of her ears. She was hauled off the ground and slung over someone’s shoulder. She sought to right her reeling senses, registering Taran’s scent.

  The beast inside her was subdued, waiting. By the time they crossed the arena, her numbed mind began to accept the possibility of death at his hands. If he killed her quickly, she would not fight. She had enough strength to control the demon; maybe she could prevent it from escaping to a new host.

  We don't want to die, the demon said.

  Her eyes watered, and she knew she'd never accept her death without fighting to live, even at his hands! Tormented, exhausted, she concentrated on reining in her emotions.

  Taran dumped her before the king’s party, and she pushed herself up. The only man seated before her wore chains of gold and carried a sword with a ruby in its hilt. His advisors and mates dressed in well-made clothing edged with silver, denoting their rank among the shouting crowd in rags. She glanced toward the lingering attackers hovering like vultures. Shuddering, she looked toward Taran, the sense of betrayal raw.

  The warrior stood above her, his powerful body poised. His rugged features were unshaven, giving him the same barbaric appearance as those around him. She barely recognized the feral look on his face, and despair slid through her.

  He was among his own kind. She had forgotten he was a barbarian like the others after all he'd done to save her.

  "Memon will be pleased with you," Taran was saying. "There are many more women in Tiyan, enough to appease all your men twice over."

  The king he addressed appeared less than convinced. The men in his party were restless, considering. The women were hungry, and she saw them watch Taran with a familiar light in their eyes.

  "You choose to honor a member of his guard," Taran added.

  She wisely chose not to meet the challenging gaze of a restlessly shifting man among the king’s company but focused on Taran's leg. She listened to his words with cold comprehension.

  "My men are bored. Show them what they miss, or let them play with her before you take her to your warlord," the warlord stated.

  She felt the uneasy truce between the two parties in the ensuing silence, understood their hospitality toward Taran was dangerously tepid. He knew enough of what she was that he would never turn her over to any but his own. He would betray her, and he would kill her, but she suspected even he was not brave enough to cross the king of Landis, whose cruelty was known far and wide. No, he would hand her over to Memon, not these barbarians!

  If she ever escaped, she would seal him in the blackest hole she could find!

  She forced her face to remain emotionless, her form still enough not to draw attention, like a wounded animal trying not to distract the hungry predators fighting over it.

  "If it will keep you out of my mates' beds, keep her," a new voice said.

  She raised her head enough to look past Taran’s leg. The man speaking wore the signs of wealth: gold chains, silk sashes, and well-made weapons. His gaze was a familiar bright green, his hair curly and black. Her breath caught.

  Taran bowed his head in deference to his master.

  "This is the first favor my best scout has ever asked of me. I will grant it," Memon responded with a bow of his own. "And so will you, Ingr."

  The seated king eyed Taran as Memon approached Rissa. Taran stepped aside, and Rissa tensed further as the man squatted before her. He took her chin and looked at her square in the face. She recognized the inky blackness swimming in his green eyes and felt her gut twist.

  Her father had looked similar in his last days, when the demon within him finally wrenched away control of his body.

  How could there be two demons? How had Memon come upon the creature?

  "Tonight she’s yours, slave. Tomorrow, she’s mine," Memon ordered, and rose.

  She resisted the urge to scrub his cold touch from her chin.

  "Yes, master," Taran responded.

  "Finish it with my blessing."

  Taran grabbed her wrist and dragged her a short distance away from the party. She stumbled, fury and fear bubbling within her. She refused to look at him when he stopped. The flash of metal drew her attention, and she raised her eyes as he trailed the dagger down his forearm. An angry line of blood bubbled in the blade’s wake.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded.

  "Saving you. I told them you were my mate. They captured you by mistake," he snapped. He gripped her wrist, twisting it to expose the soft flesh of her forearm.

  His intention - -to complete the mating ceremony - -exploded into her thoughts. She snatched his wrist.

  "Taran, no!"

  He shook her off without meeting her gaze, his hard face cold and calm. She pulled at her captured wrist, and his eyes flashed with anger. He grabbed her roughly and shook her, his fingers digging into her arms.

  "I have one chance to save you, Rissa. Do not - -"

  "You cannot mix my blood!" she whispered frantically, struggling to pull away.

  "Listen!" He forced her close, lips brushing her ear and making her shiver. "I know the warlord of Tiyan wants nothing to do with a slave, but it will not take them long to learn who you are. You’ll be dead if you refuse me. As my mate, you are at least guaranteed to see dawn, and we'll escape together!"

  He released her and clenched her wrist once more, pushing back her sleeve. Rissa strained to control her wild desperation. His words spun through her head, but the thought of what would happen if her blood joined with his made her sick.

  Do it! the demon roared.

  "Taran, if my blood is joined, my people will die! It must remain pure, it must - -" She spoke fast but faltered as he raised the dagger to her forearm. "I swear to you, Taran, I will do anything! Spare me this, and I swear, whatever it is you ask, I will grant you! I swear by my blood!"

  He paused, his jaw clenching and his grip on her wrist tight enough to hurt. Her chest heaved, and her eyes stung with gathering tears.

  "By your blood," he repeated, meeting her gaze. His golden eyes were more intense than the midday sun. She nodded, throat too tight to speak.

  He forced her closer and drew her arm between them, so none but the two of them could see. Rather than cut her, he bound their arms with a long strip of leather as was tradition.

  Rissa met his gaze, sucking in a deep breath. He finished and reached forward to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes.

  "Master, it is done," he announced as he turned to display their bound forearms.

  "Go, then." Memon did not spare him a glance but continued his conversation with the seated king. "My slaves occupy an inn marked with the symbol of a rearing horse. Take a room there."

  They were booed and jeered as he led her quickly out of the arena. Relieved, horrified, she focused on subduing the demon, whose angry pacing in her chest made her want to double over in pain.

  She'd survived another time, but she couldn't count on fate favoring her much longer, not when madness had begun to take its hold of her. Her eyes went to Taran, and she couldn't help but feel both grateful and surprised.

  The slave had honor.

  ***

  He always believed there to be nothing more frightening than being sealed underground, until he saw the small woman battling for her life. He had never felt such a blinding combination of fury and terror as he did in those few moments before she ran. Her claim of her blood’s purity repeated through his thoughts. He doubted it to be true - -a queen intent on mating with her equal would say what she needed to in order to convince a slave not to wed her.

 

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