Mercenaries (22 page)

Marcelle spun, her face twisted with the wild rage Zaria had always found so terrifying. “Oh, you're going to pay for that!”

“I don't think so.” She brought up her sword, the point inches from her sister's chest.

That got the little bitch's attention. “What do you think you're doing?” The Domina backpedaled, her gaze flicking down to the menacing blade.

Before Zaria could reply, Marcelle whirled and lunged, sweeping up her own scabbarded sword, left lying in a chair. Jerking the weapon out of the scabbard, she threw the sheath aside and fell into guard. “I repeat,” she hissed, “you're going to pay.”

A prick of fear pierced Zaria's righteous rage. Her sister was taller and heavier than she was, with a longer reach and a stronger build.

Her gaze flicked to Sebastian. He'd freed Arnoux of his chains, and now he supported the smaller man with an arm around his chest to spare his bloody back. He looked from Zaria to Marcelle, and his mouth tightened as he started to lower the Domince to the floor. He intended to intervene.

“No!” Zaria ordered fiercely. “Get the Domince out of here!”

Then she lunged for Marcelle.

BEFORE Sebastian could step in to put Bitch Sister down for the count, a male voice bellowed from down the hall. “Ten Hells, what's this? Guards! The Domina has been attacked!” Running footsteps sounded, pounding in their direction.

“Shit!” The men he'd knocked cold had been discovered. Urgently he looked at Ferrau's haggard face as he let the man's feet take his weight. “Can you stand?”

The man's dazed, swollen eyes met his. “I can . . . run to . . . get out of here!”

Sebastian doubted it. Judging by the Domince's pallor, he wasn't even sure how much longer Ferrau could remain on his feet.

But before he could say anything more, two guards plunged through the door. Releasing Ferrau, Sebastian whirled to intercept them. In one nanotech-enhanced move, he slammed his fist into the first's jaw and grabbed the sword out of his hand as he toppled.

Metal flashed toward his head. He brought his own blade up and around barely in time to block the vicious sword stroke. Bat-ting his opponent's weapon aside with sheer muscle, he drove an elbow into the guard's head.

Unfortunately, three more guards thundered in, with more on the way as shouts of warning went up.

It was a damned good thing the doorway formed a natural bottleneck. Sebastian went to work defending it with a combination of nanotech-enhanced sword work and gutter fighting. Blades thrust at him, only to be knocked away as he ran their owners through. But for every guard he put down, another appeared.

And none of this was getting the Domince out of the palace.

At the same time he was intensely aware of Zaria's furious battle with her sister. His sensors told him that though she was fighting hard, she was tiring as Marcelle's greater strength and longer reach began to tell. It was past time to call for reinforcements.

If only they'd arrive in time . . .

“FOOL!” Marcelle hissed as they circled one another, looking for an opening. “You've finally given me the excuse I've needed to kill you! Not even Mother will question it, when she sees you fell in an act of treason!”

“The treason,” Zaria gasped, “is plunging . . . our people into war!”

“A war we'll win!” Marcelle brought her sword down in a two-handed blow intended to cleave her head in two.

Desperately Zaria brought up her weapon. She felt the jarring impact all the way to her shoulders, and her sweating hands slipped on the sword hilt. Somehow she held on to it and forced the blade away.

Unfortunately, she knew too well her strength was failing. Sooner or later Marcelle would overpower her and take her down. And then the bitch would cut her to pieces like the sadist she was.

Over her sister's shoulder, Zaria spotted a flash of motion: Sebastian, his big body dripping with sweat and blood, golden hair flying as he fought savagely to keep the guards from the room. Another glance found Arnoux, lying in a heap on the floor. His eyes met hers before they slid closed. Silently she prayed to all Ten Gods to spare him.

“Surrender, Zaria. I'll make it quick!” Marcelle panted. Her mouth curled into an ugly smirk. “Besides, you know you want to. You've always had a taste for submission!”

Staring into that smug gaze, Zaria realized her sister had no doubt at all she'd win. She really did think it was Zaria's nature to surrender.

At that realization, welcome fury surged into her blood, hot and strengthening. “Not to you, bitch!” She brought her sword up and around in a savage swing.

Her sister blocked it, but she felt the satisfying ring of the blow all the way to her bones. For an instant she saw surprise in Marcelle's eyes.

And then Zaria went after her with everything she had. She pounded her sword against Marcelle's in a frenzy of rage as years of remembered torment boiled up from her soul. All the times her sister had belittled, shamed, insulted, and beaten her. The times her mother had turned a blind eye. The day the Dominess and Marcelle had driven her brother Brys away.

Most of all, she remembered all the good men Marcelle had flogged half to death out of her lust for the suffering of others.

Dimly she realized her sister was in full retreat, barely parrying the blows Zaria rained on her in her fury.

Then Marcelle took one more step—and her foot slipped in a pool of blood on the floor where she'd beaten Ferrau so mercilessly. With a cry of shocked fear, she fell to one knee.

Zaria pounced, sweeping her sword down and around to hook her sister's blade with her own. She jerked upward. The weapon flew from Marcelle's hand and hit the opposite wall with a clatter that rang loud even over the howls of the men fighting in the doorway.

A savage grin stretched Zaria's mouth as she brought her blade around again to hover over her sister's bare head. “Now . . .” she breathed as hot victory stormed through her blood.

Marcelle stared up at her with terror in her eyes. “No! Sister, you can't!”

“Oh, don't you dare beg, when we both know you'd have killed me without a second thought!” She set her feet apart in preparation for the blow.

“Zaria, don't! Mercy!” Marcelle threw her hands up, cringing back. “I beg quarter!”

For one searing moment their eyes met. Temptation and blood lust sang in Zaria's heart. It would be so easy. . . .

Zaria reversed her swing to slam the hilt into her sister's head with both hands. Marcelle slumped into unconsciousness.

Panting as sweat streamed down face, Zaria eyed her slumped form with satisfaction. “On second thought I've decided I want you to live. A long, long time.” She wiped the sweat from her face and spat at her sister's feet. “And every day that goes by, I hope you remember what it was like to beg me for your life.”

Then she turned to stride toward the doorway. “Enough! Stand down!”

Startled faces turned toward her. The fighting paused. Taking advantage of the opening, Zaria shouldered in front of Sebastian, raising her blade with a roar. “I gave you an order! Stand down!”

Searle, at the head of the pack, lowered his blade. Blood dripped from a cut down one cheek. “It's the Domina!”

A confused mutter rose as the guards quickly dropped their weapons and stepped back, frowning at the cuts that scored her body in a half-dozen places. “Domina, are you hurt?” Searle asked, concerned.

“I'm fine.” They had to move fast before the Dominess arrived to countermand her orders. Over her shoulder Zaria snapped, “Sebastian, get Ferrau.”

He nodded, went to the Domince, and hauled him across his shoulder. Ferrau's head hung limp.

“Ten Gods,” Zaria muttered, wincing at the sight of his savaged back, “let him live!”

B
EHIND her, she heard one of the guardsmen say, “Look! She actually beat Marcelle!”

“Good,” another guard replied, his tone grimly pleased.

Zaria smiled at the lack of respect for her sister as she turned to them and gave them a bold gesture of dismissal. “Back to your quarters.”

“But, Domina,” Searle protested, “you can't just take Domince Arnoux! Her Dominance—”

“Will appreciate our taking him for treatment before he dies of his injuries,” Zaria said firmly. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to stand in my way?”

Searle looked at her a long moment. “No, Domina.” He stepped back, clearing the way for her. She strode out into the corridor, Sebastian at her heels.

“Is Arnoux all right?” Zaria asked him softly.

Sebastian looked grim. “No, but I think he'll make it if we can get him some decent medical attention.”

“Then that's what we'll do.” She turned back toward her men. “Searle, prepare a wagon—”

“That won't be necessary,” Sebastian interrupted. “My crewmates are on the way. They'll transport him.”

Zaria lifted her brows. “How did you manage to alert them?” He shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“Zaria!”

Oh, Ten Hells.

The Dominess stood in the corridor, staring in shock at the guardsmen as they started gathering up their injured comrades. Ila's gaze flicked to Sebastian and the limp, bloody body slung across his shoulder. “What in the name of the Ten Gods is going on here?” she demanded.

“At the moment I'm rescuing your prisoner,” Zaria told her coolly.

“What?” Ila gaped. “That's Arnoux?” Fear widened her eyes as it dawned on her what the Domince's condition might mean. Then she drew herself to her full height. “Return him to my quarters.”

Weary anger rose in Zaria again. “Mother, look at him!” She gestured at Arnoux's flayed back. “Marcelle cut him to ribbons. What were you thinking, giving him to her?”

Ila's face went slightly green as she looked—really looked—at her captive. “Marcelle did that?”

“Yes, and it's not the first time.” Zaria shook her head. “You've got to face the truth, Mother. The Dominor was right. Something's twisted inside Marcelle. If you're half the Dominess you should be, you'll name my brother as your new heir. Brys would make a far better ruler than any of us.”
Including you.
But she didn't say that last. Instead, she turned and followed Sebastian as he strode off with his burden.

“Brys?” her mother called. “But what about you?”

“I have no interest in the throne,” Zaria said, without looking around. “I'm going to save you from this war, and then I'm done with you.”

“Permanently?” Ila's voice went shrill in alarm. “But . . .”

“Dominess,” someone called. “Domina Marcelle has been hurt!”

“What? Marcelle!”

Zaria didn't even turn as her mother hurried off to tend her sister.