Allegiance Sworn (28 page)

“Full combat?”

He nodded. “Real weapons. No holds barred.”

The idea appealed. With preparations for the Enclave manic over the last few weeks, she’d been restricted to shorter, less intense sessions with Rassan. But his reason for sparring was hardly exercise related.

“You have a devious mind, Second.”

His grin widened. “No harm in reminding everyone just how good you are with a blade.”

She chuckled and nodded. “All right.”

“Good.”

“
Na
Kaal!” The hail came from behind them. A young
Na’Reishu
male pushed his way through the edges of the auction crowd toward them. “A moment of your time, please!”

Dressed in the tailored garb of a trader, the youth wore a cloak pin on his collar. One etched with an emblem she recognized.

Imhara shared a look with her Second and stopped in the shade of the nearest building. Arek took his customary place two paces behind her.

“
Na
Kaal, thank you for waiting.” The youth gave a nervous tug of his tunic and bowed from the waist. “Trader Ilahn extends his warmest greetings.” He pulled a folded parchment from his vest pocket. “He hopes you’ll find the time to honor his House with a visit this Gathering.”

Imhara took the missive, cracked the wax seal, and scanned the sheet. “Tell Trader Ilahn I accept, and that I look forward to his hospitality.”

“Yes,
Na
Kaal.” The youth bowed again, this time with a relieved grin. “I shall!”

Tucking the parchment into her vest pocket, she watched him disappear into the crowd.

“The House of Ilahn sends an
Isha
invitation?” Rassan inquired.

She nodded. “Set for tomorrow evening.”

“Isn’t that when you’re expected for your second betrothal meeting?”

“Really? Would you mind going in my stead, then?”

His snort made her grin. “I doubt I’m your intended’s type.” His tone grew more serious. “You do realize that missing it could incur Savyr’s censure?”

“I’m counting on it, Rassan,” she murmured. “I’m tired of waiting. It’s time to force his hand and end this once and for all.”

Chapter 31

A
REK
tried to clear his lungs with deep breaths of fresh air. The sickly, sweet odor of
haze
still lingered in his shirt, and he could taste it in the back of his throat. He already felt light-headed, and a fine sheen of sweat coated him, both side effects of inhaling the smoke.

While he’d kept his breathing shallow during the hour-long tour with Trader Ilahn, a personalized service offered to his guests by the middle-aged
Na’Reishu
, it’d been thickest in the slave quarters in the underground levels of the pleasure house.

Escorted from one small room to the next, Imhara took her time as she questioned Ilahn about each slave—where they’d come from, their age, the slaver who’d transported them, any training they’d already received; she even made an offer for three, each one politely declined. It was the perfect performance of carnal interest with the controlled demeanor of a seasoned buyer.

Arek struggled to control his anger and shock as the handlers stripped, then sexually aroused the slaves. Chained to the wall hand and foot, the
haze
heightened their sensitivity and left them unable to control their responses.

Although he’d seen plenty of atrocities in his time on patrol, their blatant abuse and disregard for human dignity sickened him, and by the time the pleasure house owner escorted them to the buying floor, his jaw ached.

Had he not recalled Yrenna’s healing face and reminded himself of the potential disaster of interfering, he might never have made it through the tour. He envied Imhara’s flawless portrayal of her persona, yet it offered insight into the depths of her fortitude.

The dark-haired trader stopped in front of a closed door, the last in a long corridor. A young
Na’Reisha
boy stood nearby. Just like all the staff within the pleasure house, he dressed in black, the emblem of the House sewn into the collar of his shirt.

“Freydan will be stationed just outside your stall,
Na
Kaal.” Ilahn pushed open the door. “As you know, for the duration of the
Isha
, I request that you remain within to safeguard your privacy but also my other clients. Freydan will take care of any requests or arrange for any service you require during the proceedings.”

The boy bowed low. “It’s an honor to serve you,
Na
Kaal.”

Imhara acknowledged the young
Na’Reisha
with a nod.

“At the
Isha’s
conclusion, he’ll escort you to the reception room upstairs if you’d like to socialize, or if you wish to leave, to the private street exit.” A genial smile accompanied Ilahn’s words. “I do hope you’ll take advantage of our hospitality.”

Another bow from the trader, then he retreated along the landing. Arek wondered if he was off to greet another client or supervise some aspect of the evening’s event.

“The
Isha
will begin in fifteen minutes,
Na
Kaal.” Freydan motioned them into the room and closed the door quietly behind them.

Arek paced the length of the room, needing to work off some of his frustrated anger from the last hour. While small, the room reflected the luxurious decor he’d seen throughout the rest of the house: a padded recliner filled with cushions, a small table set with dishes and bowls of fruit and other appetizers to tempt the palate, jugs and flasks of a variety of liquid refreshments, even spigots and a basin with drying towels on the opposite wall.

“No expense spared,” he murmured dryly, and tested each spigot. Hot and cold water ran into the basin.

“The House of Ilahn caters to the specific needs of a select few and is paid handsomely for doing so.” Imhara took a seat on the recliner. “The family runs a legitimate trading business, but their true wealth comes from the darker side of commerce.”

Aware of her scrutiny, he turned and walked the length of the room, taking in the widening walls that gave the room its unusual dimensions. The stone on the fourth wall only went to waist height, then a huge panel of glass stretched to the ceiling. It was curtained from the other side. Built into the center of the stone façade was a small wooden hatch.

He smoothed a hand over the huge glass window. “What’s beyond the curtain?”

“A small chamber where Ilahn presents the slaves. A bidding dish, similar to the one used yesterday at the slave auction, sits behind the hatch.”

Arek frowned. “I thought Ilahn’s clients demanded privacy. If the curtains are opened, won’t we be able to see into other rooms?”

“They only line this side of the chamber.”

Walking the corridor, he’d counted the doors. “Ten buyers. Two dozen slaves. Will he sell them all?”

Tension edged his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Imhara remained quiet for a few heartbeats, then drew in an audible breath.

“Arek, you demanded I be honest with you. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“I need to know what’s coming. Give me the variables and I can plan my moves.”

“This isn’t a training scenario, Arek.”

“I understand that,” he retorted, and faced her square on. He ran a hand through his hair. “But I analyze information, I consider scenarios, I plot strategies. It’s what I know and how I’m going to get through this.”

“All right,” she assented. “Most of Ilahn’s clients are male, so the females will sell. They’re all young, attractive, none over the age of twenty-five, and in excellent health. Those qualities are highly sought after in a bed-slave.” His gut still tightened as she listed their attributes so matter-of-factly. “Ilahn allows each slave two auctions to sell before he assigns them a room upstairs to earn off the cost of his purchase.”

“This goes on in the reception area Ilahn mentioned?”

“On the same floor.”

“What happens in those rooms?”

“Whatever’s demanded and paid for.” Her flat tone sent a shiver crawling along his spine. “If they earn him a tidy profit, he keeps them. If they don’t, he sells them to another pleasure house somewhere else, or a regular auction house.”

“Ilahn offered you the chance to socialize later. Have you done that in the past?”

“Of course.
Na
Kaal’s reputation has been built using such exposure.” Imhara rose and wandered to the table of refreshments. “I socialize but I’ve never engaged the services of any of Ilahn’s bed-slaves. I’ve always brought someone with me.”

Someone like him. Although Imhara didn’t say it, her look inferred it.

She poured two drinks and offered one to him. When he glanced to the door, she shook her head. “Don’t worry, the nature of the business conducted here ensures no one intrudes into any room without an invitation.”

He took the goblet. Imhara retreated to the recliner, but instead of drinking, she stared into her cup, a frown pinching her brow, the first hint of anxiety she’d displayed since entering the house. When she took a sip, she did so with a grimace.

“I can’t read your scent, but I’m pretty good with body language,” he commented. “Your discomfort has nothing to do with the quality of the wine.”

“I was trying to imagine this place through your eyes, thinking back to the first time I set foot here.” Her gaze lifted to meet his as she leaned against the raised back of the seat. “Hiding how appalled I felt was . . . difficult, and I’ve been exposed to this all my life. Considering you’ve had only a few days, you’ve managed to mask your scent quite well.”

“While it hasn’t been painless, I told you I could adapt.” He shook his head. “Watching you slip into your persona . . . You do it with such skill. . . .” She flinched. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism, Imhara.”

“Neither is it something to be proud of or known for.” She took another sip of her drink, then offered him a wry smile. “You can’t live a double life without some of what you do staining your soul.”

Her somber response made Arek wish he’d held his tongue. Before he could say anything though, the curtain over the window was jerked aside and light spilled into the room. One of Ilahn’s black uniformed helpers unlatched the wooden hatch, then moved out of sight.

“Merciful Mother!”
The tableau revealed made Arek step back from the window. Shock tingled through him.

Chains hung from the ceiling throughout the chamber, all evenly spaced apart. The slaves, each stripped naked, dangled like seedpods on a
cheva
-bush, one to every anchor point. Their handlers lined the wall behind them.

Imhara moved up beside him. “The
Isha
will start shortly.” Her shoulder brushed his. “You might not want to watch, Arek. The proceedings get rather . . . graphic.”

“Graphic?” Even as he queried, the images of what he’d seen in the cells below played through his mind, and his innards grew colder. He glanced at her. “What happens?”

Her eyes closed briefly, then her chin lifted and pointed at the scene. “Look at them. Their relaxed faces, unfocused gazes, the small tremors in their muscles and bodies.

“Ilahn drugs them with another burn of
haze
before auction. It makes them more compliant, but given the right amount, it also heightens the senses.” The skin around her eyes tightened, the markings around her temples creased. “You saw earlier how easily they were aroused. Buyers like to know the slaves they’re purchasing are able to perform.”

“Perform as in they molest them . . . until they peak?”

“Some of Ilahn’s staff prefer to couple.”

Rape.

She was talking rape.

Ice rushed through Arek’s veins. It thawed with a rush of anger. “You have to stop this!”

Her jaw flexed. “How?”

He stared out through the window at the twenty-four men and women. They were conscious yet helpless, stripped of all control.

Mother of Light . . .
to have your own body betray you, to be forced to endure an assault . . . Arek could imagine nothing more horrifying. . . . And to witness their humiliation . . .

“No!” He shook his head. “You can’t stand by and do nothing!”

“I’m not!” Fire filled her gaze. Her nostrils flared. “I did do something, I am doing something!”

She snatched her leather pouch from her belt and shook it. The gems inside rattled together.

“Weren’t you listening earlier when I tried to buy some of them from Ilahn before the auction? He refused to sell them.” Her fist clenched around the pouch. “Tonight, I’ll purchase as many of them as I can, and when they’re delivered to our campsite, the healers will take over.” Her voice broke. “
Lady
forgive me, I do the best I can with what I have!”

The furious agony twisting Imhara’s expression impacted his stomach like a fist. She pivoted on her heel, strode away from him, and slammed her goblet onto the small table. Liquid splashed over the metal rim and spread in a dark red stain across the polished wooden surface, eerily reminiscent of a pool of blood.

Her shoulders hunched and the defensive posture struck another blow. Arek shoved his hands through his hair.
Light
, how many times had Yevni warned him about letting his anger control him?

Imhara had attempted to purchase three slaves prior to the auction. One woman and two youths barely out of their teens. At the time he’d assumed it part of her act, an idiosyncrasy of
Na
Kaal.

“Rest assured, Arek, if it makes you feel any better, the choices I’ve made, the actions I’ve taken, they all weigh on me.”

He grimaced at the hoarseness in her voice. She straightened and turned, but her shoulders stayed rigid and tight.

“But any judgment owed will come from the
Lady
, not you.” Her gaze remained shadowed as she returned to stand at the window, ignoring him to focus on the auction. “I’ve told you before, I do what I have to.”

She had, several times.

In his time spent living with the Kaal Clan, every significant memory involved actions she’d taken for her people. To save their lives. To protect them. To give them a future. The only time he’d seen her do something for herself—and even then it held a dual purpose—was the night he’d spent serving her as a slave.

The
Na’Reish
on the other side of the glass deserved his anger, not her.

From the corner of his vision, Ilahn’s first handler had already freed the female slave in his charge from her shackles, the woman Imhara had attempted to buy. The blur of jerky movements, the woman’s cries, a mixture of pain and pleasure, drifted through the small hatch and confirmed exactly what sort of activity the handler was engaged in with her.

The perverted production might serve as proof for buyers of a slave’s potential, yet the darker implications weren’t lost on Arek. With every slave raped or molested, watching the prolonged display would build the carnal appetites of those who chose to stay and engage additional services, their hunger a vice Ilahn profited from.

“Bidding will begin once she’s forced to peak,” Imhara said, her voice flat and expressionless.

Nausea rolled in Arek’s gut, for the situation beyond the glass, and for the pain he’d caused Imhara. Deflecting others was a tactic he’d resorted to often enough in the months before he’d been captured.