Page 48 of Tristan
“That will be the challenge—the journey you two will travel together. It is the same journey any couple travels together. There will be mistakes along the way; the two must find the path through. When it is you who makes the mistake, you will seek physical means to absolve the guilt of it—that is the way of a submissive. When a Dom or a Top makes a mistake, they make it up in different ways, but you can be certain they willnevermake that same mistake again.”
“You sound as if you enjoy being submissive.”
“I do. Every second. I love my mate; she is strong.” He loves Corrik’s sister, I don’t love Corrik. “Submission is beautiful. It is a gift we give. Care from our Top is the gift we receive. Care means they will feel responsible for us. ”
I remember what I did out on the dance floor on our wedding night—oh Gods. Corrik, the arrogant bastard, must have thought that I was only minutes away from falling in love with him. That must have been a grand, submissive-like gesture.
I remember another thing. “What about when there is no guilt? I’m sure you saw what happened in Umbria.”
“Yes. I was there.”
“Corrik spanked me for that.” I blush. “I didn’t allow him, and I didn’t feel guilty.”
“First, you agreed to obey him when you married him.”
Not that I had a choice in marrying him—that was decided for me by my uncle. But I get what he means.
“Part of our kind of submission is obeying directives. When you disobey, you could be punished. There will be times you will realize your error at some point during the chastisement and other times you won’t—either way disobedience must be dealt with, or it throws a pair into disarray.”
“Right. Well, it sounds like the dominant gets all the fun.”
He shakes his head. “Never. It is far more fun to be sub or brat,” he says. “We get to goof off and have fun while they make all the rules and have to be responsible.”
“Yeah, and pay for that fun later.”
“How did you feel after? Do you harbor resentment?”
“I complained a little but other than sore and embarrassed, I was fine. And, much as I hate to admit it, I was content.” I tried to feel resentment, but it just wasn’t there.
“Ah, you, see? You did benefit, even if you didn’t consciously understand.”
“This talk has been helpful, Diekin. I’ll try to keep you out of trouble as long as I can.”
He smirks. “What fun would that be? I am glad to help. As I said, it’s hard to put words to something like this and even with the best words, it will only register with those who seek to understand. Those who don’t, never will. You’ve experienced what I say so you know firsthand what I’m talking about.”
That’s a lot to think about, but since the conversation’s going so well, I consider asking him what Corrik suggested, about marking. Diekin has spiked my curiosity.
“Diekin,” I begin as I look up to him, but I don’t get to finish because something is here with us. Diekin is staring off to the night sky, so he doesn’t notice. I look to the bow of the ship where silentmovement catches my eye. I tap Diekin and point. He can see better than me and probably would’ve caught the movement before me if he were looking down instead of up.
“Kathir—go back to your chambers!” he yells as an Elf jumps from the shadows.
Diekin takes a defensive stance in front of me and in an instant, the quick Elf is on him. They begin to circle each other, to look for openings and conserve energy. Despite the blackness of the night, I can see the fire in Diekin’s eyes.
The other Elf, who I assume is a Rogue Elf, looks similar to Diekin, only he’s lither, less bulky and his skin is a deeper, tan shade. He’s fucking agile. When he finally takes a first slice, I can see the precision in his movements. It’s only Diekin’s own formidable skill that moves him out of the way with enough time.
I don’t leave like Diekin ordered; he might need my help. I’m unarmed though; I need a weapon. The deck is suspiciously quiet, other than the clash of steel from the swords of the two fighting warriors. Where is everyone?
I hesitate to use the weapon I know I have on me. Concealed in the belt pack at my hip, is one of my secret items: my dagger. I’ll use it if I must. For now, I move to grab the broom I spied earlier. I can’t help but survey rooms for weapons or weapon-like things. I’ve done this all my life but more often since Corrik forbade me my sword.
When I turn back, Diekin looks over to realize I’m still here and it gives the Rogue Elf the time he needs to break through Diekin’s keen defenses. All of this happens in an instant of course—Diekin is already looking back at the Elf when the Elf pierces him, straight through his right lung.
Diekin gasps like he’s drowning and falls to the ground. The Elf doesn’t bother to waste another moment on him; he turns his attention to me and when he pounces, I realize how helpless I’m against the strength of an Elf. I’m trapped and no amount of struggling throws him off me. I’m not used to this; only my fathers could defeatme in any kind of fight, but this fight is going to be over before it starts,unless.
No choice now, I’ve got to use my dagger. If I can reach it, I might be able to inflict some damage; at least get him off me, maybe buy some time. I pretend to submit, and the Rogue Elf smiles as if to say,that was easylifting his sword. Meanwhile, I’m moving my hand down my thigh, fingers like an inchworm, toward my small pack—the pack that has now become instrumental in saving my life. My hand hits the opening, I can feel the cold, leather handle—still, there are scant seconds of seconds left, I know it, I can feel it. He will strike before I get the chance.
Doesn’t mean I won’t die trying.
I don’t particularly want to die now, but this is my preferred way to go, in battle, even if I’ve barely got the chancetobattle this time. I’ve known my whole life that I want to go out in battle, not dying old in bed, but what I don’t expect, my last thoughts are of Corrik—violet eyes that read me, strong shoulders that can hold me in place; the laugh I’ve fallen in love with. I even think about the firm hand that disciplines me.
