Daughter of the Moon (The Moon People, Book Two) (63 page)

She felt the words fall from her numb lips, but she did not truly hear them.

"Once more." The alpha fixed his hungry gaze upon her. "And then again. Until I believe you."

—43—

Clouded Skies

The heavens closed above Miral's camp, bringing the wet season upon them in earnest as the sun and moon became rare visitors, replaced with shades of white and grey upon the skies.

Netya remained mostly unmolested by Miral's followers, but they kept her at arm's length and made little effort to hide their distaste at having a sun wolf in their midst. The small group of women who shared Netya's tent sat apart from her, treating their new companion to little more than vile looks as they came and went. She was happy for them to leave her alone. It made it easier to escape into the blank void of her thoughts, where she could focus only on the crackle of the fire or the draft of wind blowing in through the walls of the patchy tent. She tried to spend her days focusing on thoughts of her daughter, reliving her visions over and over and attempting to recapture the sense of wonder they used to evoke in her. The white wolf that had once guided her through the world of dreams appeared less and less often, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he was gone completely. Her connection to her spirit guardian had been severed, and knowing that his presence was slowly slipping away only made the loneliness of her dreams worse.

The day after Miral had summoned her to his tent, the warriors arrived back from their hunt, carrying with them the carcasses of several deer bound by the hooves to sturdy carrying poles. Netya watched from just inside her tent as one of the men stepped forward, slit the throat of the largest deer, and drank of its cooling blood as Miral raised the man's hand high and bellowed out a roar of congratulation that was soon picked up by the rest.

The hunter's prize. Seeing the elation on the faces of the men made them seem no different from the hunters who had celebrated the same ritual in Khelt's pack. Netya recalled seeing it performed several times at the great gathering, but it was a tradition that had not carried over to Adel's group after they set out on their own. Hunting had been a necessity of survival, not a sport to waste time glorifying. She wondered whether her surviving pack members would have enough food to go around that winter, now that they had fewer mouths to feed. Surely Adel would ensure they stayed safe. She had to.

Thinking of the warm fire outside the central cave, the happy laughter of Fern and Wren, the boasts of Kin and his brothers as they tried to work their way into the furs of whichever female they sought to bed down with that evening, she regretted not savouring her time in that happy place more. One day she had hoped to have Caspian show her more of his wood burnings, so that she could make pretty ornaments like the pendant he had crafted for her. She had wanted to hear more of his tales about him and Khelt in their youth. Few could recount the words of a story like Caspian.

She tried not to weep when she thought of him, for she doubted it did her any good in the eyes of her captors, but it was often a futile effort. It was best to save her tears for when she was alone in her furs, when she could pretend he was still there with her, adding his warmth to their shared embrace. It was something she had enjoyed for only a few brief seasons of her young life, but now that she was without it the world seemed even more lonely than it had been in the days before she had ever known a lover's touch.

Even when she was up and about, there was little she could do to make herself feel useful or distract her thoughts from the dark places they now inhabited. The seers would not allow her near their cave, despite what Miral had said, and the craftspeople did not trust her with tools. Some of the warriors made a sport of mocking her one morning, forcing her to take the shape of her wolf as they penned her within a circle of their snarling jaws, barking and snapping at her as those on two legs laughed at the weakness of her sun-born wolf.

She had caught sight of the alpha watching from a distance with a smile on his face, and to her relief he did not summon her to his tent that day, seemingly content with having gotten enough sport out of his captive already. The cruel game eventually ended when Nekare broke it up, goading the warriors into seeking challenges from each other rather than a timid sun wolf. He offered her no words of consolation after the men lost interest, but she sent him a look of silent thanks regardless before creeping quietly back to her tent.

Though Miral chose not to call upon her that particular day, he made a routine of it every other afternoon. The alpha's leg was still healing, much to his apparent annoyance, and he was forced to find ways to occupy himself within the confines of his tent when the seers insisted he rest. If there was any vindication Netya could take from Miral's condition, it was that his healers only seemed to be making it worse with their methods. They drew blood from his broken leg every day, cutting the flesh just below the knee to siphon away the power of the wound that they believed kept it from mending. Netya did not know whether there was any wisdom in their methods, but Adel had always taught her that drawing blood only made people weaker, not stronger.

She was often summoned to the alpha's tent after the seers had finished, and twice he had her dress the cuts they had made, seeming to savour that one of his enemies was now on her knees tending the very wound she had been partially responsible for inflicting.

The taste of the air inside Miral's tent began to nauseate her every time she entered, only adding to the sense of dread she felt at returning. On the occasions when his mood seemed most vile, she was almost convinced that he would kill her if she said so much as a word to displease him, and her panic built with every passing moment as he made her repeat the same words he had put into her mouth the first time he called on her.

Adel was wrong. I understand my place now.

Perhaps there were some things about which Adel
had
been wrong, if her decisions had led Netya to this place. She said the phrase so many times to Miral that she lost count. Sometimes the words were spoken with dull acceptance as she knelt opposite him, other times in shrill panic as he held her face inches above the scorching coals of the fire, a rough handful of hair twisted about his fist as he forced her so close to the embers that she smelt her loose black locks burning. Every day she feared worse from the alpha, that he would beat her or force himself upon her for his own twisted enjoyment, but it seemed that Miral derived little pleasure from violence itself. He would strike or manhandle her to emphasise a point, or to punish her if she displeased him, but it was the foreboding implication of what he was capable of that Miral seemed to delight in the most. If he hurt her, then she would be able to prepare herself for the next time it happened. The fact that he did not kept her in a constant state of fear for when that first time might come.

After a few days she learned that it was better to always do exactly as he said. She worried that her obedience might tire him, but if anything the alpha seemed pleased that she was behaving in a manner more befitting of a female.

"I will have Diye give you some of the meat he brought back tonight," Miral said one afternoon after Netya had spent what felt like an eternity dressing his leg and repeating the phrase that had been burned into the front of her mind. "A reward, for an obedient woman. You see? Even a sun wolf can win an alpha's favour if she tries hard enough." He lifted a lock of her dark hair between his fingers, rubbing it back and forth roughly. "Your kind do not hunt many animals, do they? The chase is too hard for their slow bodies. They raise the beasts like children until they learn obedience, then kill them once they are mature." The alpha smiled, leaning down so that his lips were close to her ear. "As those animals are to the Sun People, perhaps the Sun People are to my kind, mm?"

"Yes, Alpha," she said.

"I think so too. Run away now, Sun Wolf, and perhaps if you are an obedient pup tomorrow you will have another good meal waiting for you."

To Netya's dismay, she felt a glimmer of thankfulness. It had been many days since she tasted meat, subsiding only on the seeds and vegetables the seers brought for her. Even a small blessing was a blessing nonetheless.

That whole evening her stomach rumbled, the prospect of roasted meat keeping her awake lest she missed the opportunity. It would not have surprised her for Miral to withdraw his small kindness if she was asleep when it arrived. But the hours passed, and still no one came to her tent. The other women ate, two of them left to bed with their men elsewhere, and the other lay down to sleep with her back to Netya.

Just when she believed that Miral had made the promise for no reason other than to torment her, a man ducked into the tent with a bowl in hand and set it down before her.

"The alpha said you'd enjoy what was left over," he said, before slipping out again.

When she gazed down into the bowl she saw it held only a few small scraps of hide and gristle: the leavings of whoever had enjoyed the piece of succulent meat to which they had once been attached.

Burying her face in her hands as a fresh wave of despair washed over her, Netya fought the urge to cry out and curse the alpha for his cruelty. But the anger died before it could take hold, and, cupping the bowl in her hands, she curled up in her sleeping furs and tried her best to chew what little nourishment she could manage from the unappetizing handful of scraps. Anger did not matter. Her pride did not matter. She needed to eat to keep her child strong. That was more important now than her own sorry existence.

Perhaps,
she wondered,
if I try harder to please Miral, then he will give me a proper meal next time.
She shuddered in revulsion at the path her own thoughts were taking.

Pride does not matter,
she reminded herself.
Only my daughter.

She already spent her days grovelling at the feet of the man who had killed her love. How long until she was begging his favours? How long until that glimmer of gratitude she had felt earlier became more than just a glimmer?

As she curled up to sleep that night she turned her thoughts away from the horrible present, looking instead to the future, as she often did before she slept, hoping to coax the vision of her daughter into her dreams. What kind of a woman would the girl grow up to be? Would she be wise and brave like Caspian? Or would she be like Adel, with the will to become a leader of her people?

What was it that the spirits believed she would accomplish in her lifetime that was so important? Perhaps she would bring all the packs together, or win the heart of a great alpha and turn his hand to deeds of great goodness.

Or great evil,
Netya wondered. Did dark spirits not grant visions also? She was a witch, after all. What if it had been the work of demons drawing her down this path all along?

No, she did not believe that. The image of Syr in her dreams was strong and beautiful and soothing. No demon would appear in the guise of the moon spirit. She could not even consider it, for what hope would she have left if it proved to be true?

The comforting image of her daughter's face mingled with Netya's worries about the girl's future, leaving her equal parts reassured and anxious. But at least a half-reassurance was better than none at all. A child born to Miral's pack would be well protected, at the very least. As much as it nauseated Netya to imagine her daughter growing up under the watch of the man who had killed her father, perhaps it was a better place for a girl of the Moon People to be raised than most. No rival clans would harm her, and there would always be food and shelter whenever she needed it. But how would she learn the ways of the spirits from Miral's inept seers? How would she learn any skills of note, for that matter, under an alpha who seemed to hold women in such low regard?

Perhaps that was to be her great trial. The journey that would test her, and temper her into a woman capable of the things Netya had glimpsed in her vision.

Is this my trial, too?

She had to think so. There must be a purpose to it. Some reward, or at least some relief, had to await her if she endured this captivity. Even if that relief was merely the chance for her spirit to be reunited with Caspian's again in the afterlife.

The next morning was not a comfortable one. Netya awoke hungry after the unpleasant meal of scraps she had forced down the night before, and as soon as the seer in the otter pelt headdress arrived with a bowl of dried fruit she devoured the food without realising that her sickness was steadily creeping up on her again. No sooner had she filled her stomach than she expelled its contents back into the bowl, drawing a groan of disgust from the other woman who shared her tent and a look of concern from the seer.

"You told me you were not sick," the seer said.

"I am not." Netya sniffed, wiping her mouth and nose with a corner of her ragged waist wrap.

"Then why can you not keep your food down? This is not the first time. I saw you two days ago behind the tents."

Netya's pulse quickened, suddenly afraid of what Miral's seers might do if they suspected she was with child. Did they know the same dark magic Adel did? Her thoughts raced, searching for an answer that would divert the woman's suspicions away from the truth.

"It happens to my kind often," she replied. "Every wet season and winter especially."