A Thread in the Tangle (54 page)

The hearth was cold and the oil lamps had been replaced with warded orbs of everlight, illuminating the pedestal in a room free from distraction.
 
Isiilde shuddered, and would have bolted if not for Oenghus’ bulk blocking the doorway.

Two people were waiting for the nymph; a balance of dread and reassurance.
 
Her master was the latter, resplendent in crimson robes.
 
When she entered, he did not turn to greet her, but kept his eyes fixed upon a distant spot in the garden.
 
The presence of dread was one who she despised: Caitlyn Whitehand stood in the window’s light, putting as much distance as she could from the impassive Seer.

“You are looking well, nymph,” the healer remarked with brisk indifference.
 
Caitlyn Whitehand looked exactly the same as she had for the past twelve years.
 
Her blonde hair was severely pulled back in its customary chignon and she wore an austere green dress with a crisp white apron.

“There is a robe for you.
 
I’ll inspect you shortly.”
 
She indicated a small room off to the side.

“You just inspected me six months ago,” Isiilde bristled.
 
“I’m not of age yet.”
 
The blatant lie was the most convincing one she had ever uttered, because she wanted to believe it with all her heart.

“All that concerns your buyers is that your innocence is intact.
 
Your protestations will only prolong your unease, nymph.
 
If need be I’ll have my assistants hold you down.”

Isiilde glanced at Marsais, but he refused to look at her—shoulders slumped and eyes distant.
 
Oenghus stood as solid and unwavering as a crag in the doorway, glaring at the healer with baleful eyes, fists clenched, struggling to remain controlled.
 
Isiilde’s green eyes blazed with fury that mirrored the Nuthaanian’s, but as she had learned over the years, it was best to just get the inspection over with, so she stomped into the next room.

The waiting robe was different from all the other years.
 
It was made from nearly sheer Kilnish silk, and slid pleasingly over her skin.
 
Caitlyn entered shortly, wasting no time.
 
The healer’s inspection was as humiliating as always.
 
And all Isiilde wanted to do afterwards was runaway and curl up on Marsais’ rug.
 
She stood to redress, untying the robe with trembling fingers.

“That won’t be necessary,” Caitlyn said waspishly.
 
“Leave the robe on and come with me.”

Isiilde chewed nervously on her lip and peeked out the door.
 
Oenghus and Marsais where still waiting, heads bent together in quiet conversation.
 
She hoped that they had some scheme in mind.
 
When she rejoined them, Oenghus looked over at her, eyes narrowing.

“Get your clothes on, Sprite,” Oenghus ordered, and Isiilde eagerly started to obey, but Caitlyn blocked her progress, closing the door.

“The robe is perfectly suitable.
 
You may both leave now,” Caitlyn said, nodding curtly to the men, but instead of leaving, Oenghus took two threatening steps towards the healer.
 
If Caitlyn were a man, then the Berserker would have had her around the neck, but Nuthaanians were ever respectful of womankind.

“What are you getting at?” he growled.

In reply, Caitlyn produced a sealed scroll.
 
Oenghus snatched the scroll and ripped the seal apart.
 
Marsais moved over to his side, brows arching ever higher as he read the missive in Oenghus’ hands.

While the men were occupied, Caitlyn began brushing Isiilde’s hair, fussing over her bruised ear and the gash on her forehead.
 
Isiilde watched Marsais and Oenghus with pleading eyes.
 
Her rising trepidation reached a crescendo when she saw the giant’s hands clutch the parchment convulsively.

“I will not stand for this!” Oenghus roared.

“Then accept the consequences of treason, Oenghus Saevaldr.
 
What did you expect would happen?
 
Would you buy a horse without examining it?
 
O, don’t start crying, nymph, you’ll look a wreck.”

“Isiilde is not a horse,” Oenghus growled dangerously, taking a step forward.

“You’re correct, she’s a nymph,” Caitlyn replied, as if that were all the explanation needed.

“Oenghus,” Marsais warned, placing a hand on his friend’s arm.
 
“I will stay with her.”

“Both of you must leave,” Caitlyn said, firmly.
 
“I’ll not suffer any distractions.
 
The potential buyers have paid fifty-thousand crowns for the privilege of viewing her.”
 
Isiilde’s eyes widened, but the exorbitant price was far from flattering, instead, the cold knot in her chest tightened and began to spread to her limbs.

“I am Archlord of this Isle,” Marsais said, stepping forward.
 
“You are a guest in my house, and I will have the final say.”

“Then I will take her back to Kambe,” Caitlyn threatened.
 
“The Emperor’s orders were explicit in this matter.”

“Hmm.”
 
Marsais stroked his goatee, eyes flickering to Isiilde for the first time.
 
“One does wonder why she wasn’t taken to Whitemount.
 
Perhaps the seas are a bit more turbulent than the Emperor would currently like.”
 
His voice was soft and suggestive.
 
“No one is safe with the Bastard Prince roaming the seas, especially a treasure such as she.”
 
Caitlyn’s mouth clicked shut.

“Very well, as Archlord, you may stay,” she surrendered with a respectful nod.
 
A shuddering exhalation swept past Isiilde’s lips.

“How magnanimous of you,” Marsais muttered, dryly.

“I’ll be right outside, Sprite.”
 
Oenghus squeezed her shoulder and leant forward to whisper in her ear, “Don’t be afraid.”
 
The Nuthaanian ducked beneath the doorway, but not before he pinned Marsais with a baleful glare.

“Stand on the pedestal.”
 
Caitlyn placed a supporting hand on her elbow, but Isiilde shook it off with a defiant glare, stepping on top of the cushioned pedestal unassisted.
 
Isiilde felt like a vase on display as Caitlyn stepped back to appraise her.

Ignoring the healer, she glanced at Marsais.
 
The Archlord was impassive, however, she knew him too well, and his twitching fingers betrayed his turmoil.

“You will not speak, nymph, unless I tell you to do so.
 
Keep still and do not meet their eyes, look straight ahead, or down at the floor if you must, otherwise the Kilnish officials will see it as a lack of respect.”

“May I sit?
 
My legs are shaking.”
 
She barely recognized her own tremulous voice.

“You must stand and do as you’re told.
 
This won’t take long.”
 
Caitlyn paused to primp the nymph one last time, tilting her chin just so, and fluffing her robe before striding out.

“Marsais,” she pleaded, but her master said nothing, looking as pale as his white hair.
 
He gave her a slight shake of his head, stirring the coins on his goatee with a soft chime.

The door opened and her body went numb as six men, dressed in the finery of their respective kingdoms, entered the room.
 
If she had tried to run she doubted her legs would obey, let alone support her.

First came the Kilnish lord; dark as obsidian, broad-shouldered, and firm-jawed.
 
His chest was bare, muscles rippling with power.
 
Chin raised proudly; pale eyes appraising.
 
An assistant followed closely on his heels, his position apparent by his lighter skin and the ring piercing his nose like a bull’s snout.
 
He carried a ledger and a quill in hand.

The Xaionian officials were garbed in bizarre trappings of leather and buckles with silver piercings linked by thin chains.
 
They appraised the nymph with the cool disinterest of merchants, effecting a bored stance that convinced no one.

The Mearcentian lords entered last.
 
They were dressed in high collared robes of embroidered fabric that resembled a gleaming sea.
 
Trinkets and charms were woven into their long black hair.
 
They paused to bow respectfully to the Archlord before turning their gazes to the nymph.
 
The room felt small, the eyes close, and the men moved slowly around their desired prize.

“Her name is Isiilde Jaal’Yasine, and her blood is pure, a daughter of Emperor Soataen Jaal III.”
 
Caitlyn began without offering introductions.
 
The men did not appear to mind, their eyes were fixed upon her—studying, assessing, greedy with possession.
 
She did not like their stares.
 
The nymph cast about for Marsais, who stood silently off to the side, watching the men.

After a single circuit, the Xaionian officials stopped directly in front of her and one gestured languidly towards her robe.
 
“Let us see what this creature has to offer.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, reaching for the sparse robe.
 
Isiilde clutched at the front of the garment as it began to slide from her shoulders.

“I will not!” she squeaked.
 
The Xaionian merchants gave a sickening smile.

“She will need to learn obedience,” the Kilnish lord told his scribe who made a note in his ledger.

Marsais stepped next to the Xaionian, ignoring the man to look into her eyes.
 
Standing on the pedestal as she was, they were nearly of the same height.

“My dear,” his gentle voice soothed her heart.
 
“I want you to look at me, and focus as you would on your fire.”

“But Marsais, please—”
 
A tear broke free, shimmering down her cheek.

“Look into my eyes,” he whispered for her alone, standing tall and proud in her line of sight.
 
“I am the only man here.”

Caitlyn tugged the robe free, and it slid from her shoulders.
 
Cold air whispered against her bare flesh as the silk pooled at her feet.
 
An involuntary gasp rose from the throats of her buyers.
 
The air was thick with lasciviousness as they circled her nakedness like vultures, however, she paid them no mind as she was drawn into a calm pool of grey.

“I have seen boys more shapely than this nymph,” remarked the Kilnish lord.

“Some clients find that appealing,” the Xaionian mused.

“Does she not eat?” the Mearcentian asked with concern.

“She is so frail,” his companion agreed.

“Too willful.”
 
Their voices droned on and she cared not what they said, because they were ever so far away, distant flutters of blustery air and nothing more.
 
Marsais’ lips twitched in the slightest of smiles as the light of his eyes drew her from the crux of the hourglass, where the sands of both past and future mingled.

“She will need a proper diet.”

“How old is she?”

“Her breasts are too small—”

“My assistant will check her claim to innocence.”

“You will not touch her!” Marsais snapped, breaking the spell.
 
Isiilde jerked from the uncharacteristic harshness in his tone.
 
The connection was broken, and it left her cold and rigid with a heart that thundered like a waterfall in her ears.
 
The emissaries took a hasty step away from the Archlord, eyeing him warily.

“I have already established her innocence,” Caitlyn smoothly interjected into the tense silence.

“You represent the interests of Kambe,” the Xaionian pointed out, seizing an opportunity to return to the familiar topic of commerce.
 
“We wouldn’t know she had been sullied until after payment was received.
 
It is in your best interest to make that claim.”

Marsais stepped directly in front of Isiilde, blocking her body with his own as he turned to face the emissaries.
 
His long hair brushed her bare skin and she could feel the heat of his body beneath his robes.

“I will vouch personally for the nymph.
 
I give you my word as Archlord that no man has ever touched her.”
 
The Kilnish lord started to object, but Marsais silenced him with a sharp gesture.
 
“Every healer knows there are ways to mask a loss of virginity.
 
A far more accurate test for a nymph is her mark.
 
If she bears none, than she has never bonded with a man,” he reasoned firmly before adding with a distasteful twist of his lips, “You have seen more than enough of her to confirm this.”

“You must hear the nymph sing,” Caitlyn said, brightly, trying to diffuse the tense standoff, which resembled a herd of stallions preparing to fight for a single mare.
 
“Isiilde, sing for them,” she commanded.