Page 63 of Pawn of the Cruel Princess
Ducayne is already halfway to the steps of the palace, running for the healer.
I stand helpless in the surf, watching Lombard jerk and foam at the mouth. Countess Jilleen has crumpled onto the sand, screaming, while Lady Imrissa stands stiffly beside her, patting her shoulder.
The healer arrives at a run, her face looking more gaunt than usual. She crouches beside Anvel and nods to Sherad. When Sherad removes his hands, blood spurts out of Anvel’s torn throat, soaking the sand; but the healer’s fingers emit a gush of golden spiraling light, sealing up the wound.
“I’ll have to replenish his blood supply,” she says. “What’s wrong with that one?”
When no one replies, I wade forward, the cool water clinging around my ankles. “Ward’s compound,” I say. “Lombard tookcinnarcut with something else.”
“I took almost the same thing,” Jilleen says. “It couldn’t be the drug that did this.”
“Bodies are unique,” I reply. “Two people of different composition may react differently to the same stimuli.”
Jilleen and Imrissa both stare at me as if I’ve gone mad, so I shrug and close my mouth.
“Maybe the thrall’s gone feral,” says Umari. She’s sitting in the shade of a half-tent, looking highly disgruntled. She hasn’t sold her thralls yet; one is lying on the blanket while she sits on him, and the other leans back-to-back with her. The two brothers form a sort of living chair for her.
“I’ve heard of thralls going feral.” Cowen drags his medallion along its gold chain, back and forth, back and forth. The grating sound sets my teeth on edge. “What if they all go feral? What if they tear out our throats while we’re sleeping? Or worse—what if they bite off our dicks?” He cups himself through his robe.
“The idea of thralls going feral is a myth,” Khal says calmly. He’s sharing the shade of Umari’s tent. Yenna lies naked across his lap, belly-down, while he smooths her back, her rear, and her legs, over and over. His strokes look delightfully soothing, and Yenna seems utterly relaxed despite the unfolding horror.
Maybe I should have Ducayne do that to me later. He’s standing beside me, sweating and panting from his run to the palace and back.
“A thrall will not go feral,” Khal repeats over the chatter of the other nobles. “Though they can go mad, like anyone else, if they are mistreated.”
“Mistreated?” My sister rises from her richly appointed tent, bare-breasted, her wrap skirt trailing behind her. “Khal, I hold you in the highest respect, but as you know, we differ on this matter. It is impossible to mistreat a thrall, because there is no ‘right’ way to treat them. They are playthings and pets to be used as their owners see fit. Bazra agrees, don’t you, Bazra?”
Bazra reclines in my sister’s tent, with his sandy feet propped on Nonni’s prostrate body. “You speak wisely, my Queen.”
Vienne smirks and kisses her hand to him—and icy horror strikes my heart.
What if Vienne is courting Bazra as her potential royal consort?
He is so wicked. As royal consort, he will make her worse than she already is. With the two of them in charge, the palace, the court—the entire kingdom—will be like living in Arawn’s furnace of souls. It will be a nightmare.
The healer rises from repairing Anvel. The knees of her trousers are soaked with his blood. She approaches Lombard, who lies motionless on the sand, foam still bubbling from his lips.
She turns his head aside, checks the inside of his mouth, and presses her ear to his chest.
After a moment she sits back and stares at him.
“Well?” snaps Vienne.
“Gone.” The healer’s voice is hollow.
Jilleen begins to wail.
Anvel sits up, staring around, cupping his neck where the wound was. He asks a question in a foreign tongue, but no one replies.
Vienne snaps her fingers to the servants nearby. “Clean that up,” she orders, pointing to Lombard’s body. “Take it away, bury it somewhere. And tell Ward to be more careful with his concoctions. Cheer up, now, Jilleen darling—you can borrow one of my thralls for the rest of Summerglee. If we keep losing them at this rate, I’ll have a string of new ones trotted up from the nearest market and we can all select a few to share. How does that sound? We won’t let this spoil our fun—no, we won’t, will we, Bazra?”
“Of course not, love. Plenty of fun to be had. Speaking of fun, here comes the water-wielder!” He rises, kicking Nonni out of his way as he walks forward and points to a figure approaching from the palace. “He has come to give us a show, and some bigger waves to enjoy!”
“See there, Jilleen,” Imrissa says soothingly. “A water show will take your mind off things. And you can try out one of the Crown Princess’s thralls tonight! What an honor!”
I turn away from them and walk straight into the sea.
Ducayne sloshes along behind me, a silent presence.
