Sapient Salvation 1: The Selection (Sapient Salvation Series) (7 page)

“We stopped at a pub for a bite, and then we danced the rest of the night.”

“Really,” she said, a statement rather than a question. A sly smile formed on her lips and spread to her eyes. “You
just
danced?”

“Just danced.”

She giggled. “I could have sworn you intended more than that.”

“Shh.” I swatted her wrist with the back of my hand and cast a glance toward Mother’s closed bedroom door. “We just danced. Nothing more.”

“Maybe you
should
have done something more.” She snorted a good-natured laugh. “Better Rand than Court, that lying dog.”

“Speaking of Court, we ran into him at the pub. With Farrah.”

Lana’s mouth dropped open and she sucked in some air. “What did you do?”

I recounted the whole conversation, word for word or as close as I could remember, and Lana nodded approvingly when I got to the end.

“Lana,” I said, my tone turning serious. “I asked Rand if he would help with your quotas, and he said he would.”

“That is more than I would ever expect of someone,” she whispered. “Thank you for taking care of me. I don’t know how I could ever repay him for something like this.”

We were silent for a few seconds, and then Lana shifted. “Did you at least kiss him?”

“Of course, I’m not a total prude.”

“And how did he stack up to Court?”

“I give Rand the edge. I didn’t expect it, but he has more passion than you’d guess.” I couldn’t reveal what he’d said about wanting to marry me. It felt too painful, somehow. “I bet he’s more than acceptable in bed.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth, and we both tried to stifle our childish giggles. It felt so warm and wonderful, laughing with my twin late into the night just as we’d done countless times since we were small.

Then Lana’s hands dropped to her lap and her face turned grave. “Maya, I’m scared about what Lord Toric will do to you. The rumors . . .”

I decided not to remind her that Lord Toric’s sexual appetites would only be my problem if I survived the competition and won a place in his harem. The fact was, none of us knew the particulars of what he did with his harem. The rumors ranged from unspeakable humiliating acts to bloody rituals to forced orgies . . . every rumor I’d ever heard, every scenario I’d ever imagined, tried to crowd into my mind at once and I sagged against the backrest of the sofa.

The only thing we really knew for certain was that the female Obligates would enter a series of competitions of charm, wit, physical strength and stamina, and of course, sensuality. The women were competing for a place in Lord Toric’s harem. The male Obligates were competing to become one of his many personal servants. Some stages of the competition were deadly, so all of us would be competing for our lives.

My stomach knotted as I reached over to grasp Lana’s forearm. “Don’t worry, I will charm Lord Toric so thoroughly he will want to be
my
slave.”

Her lips twitched as if she thought to try to smile, but then her face pinched and her mouth trembled. “I hate them, Maya. I
hate
the overlords for taking you away from me.”

A sickening mix of anger, sadness, and fear poured through me in a dark flood. I hated them, too. For stealing my life, my future. For taking me from the only people I cared about. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way—we survived on Earthenfell only at the mercy of the overlords’ protection. But I couldn’t help my anger.

She placed her hand over mine, and for once I was glad she couldn’t see my face. I was glad she couldn’t see how truly afraid I was.

5

Toric

ON SELECTION DAY I always woke with a raw feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if the soft spot just behind my sternum had been roughly scraped out while I slept. For the people under the shield on Earthenfell, the day of the Selection was a day of ceremony and revelry into the night. For me, it was a reminder of helplessness and terror. A dark anniversary of the day I was taken from my home when I was just a boy. I also thought of it as the anniversary of the death of that boy, for the young man who was returned home four years later was someone different entirely.

The Selection was a fitting way to mark my personal anniversary, in some grim way. Young men and women forced from their homes and families, taken to a strange land and molded into different people. “Molded” was much too kind a word to describe what I endured, but the analogy still held.

I’d awoken early, and the woman in my bed was still asleep. Sytoria lay sprawled beside me, her frame willowy by Earthenfell standards, but petite compared to the average woman of Calisto. She won entry into my harem four years—eight Selection cycles—back. She was clever and manipulative, and worked her way into my bed more nights than any of the others. I saw through her games, but had no interest in calling her out on them. I told myself it was because I didn’t care if it was Sytoria or one of the many others who joined me each evening. But that wasn’t exactly the truth. From the beginning, Sytoria had sensed what I needed.

I could wake her, of course. I was the Lord of Calisto and she was there to serve me. But I decided to wait until the first morning toll. Not out of any particular generosity or kindness on my part, but to prove to myself that I
could
wait.

It was a charade, though. I could never wait for long.

As if sensing the morning toll would chime soon, Sytoria rolled to her side, facing me. Her hair, a golden shade between dark blonde and light brown, fell in a wave across her cheek, one strand clinging to the lower lip of her full ruby mouth.

The familiar tightness gathered in my chest and the ache of desire welled in my lower abdomen.

Sytoria’s eyes opened and her hand snaked under the covers to wrap around me. She squeezed, painfully hard, but still my arousal grew, which brought a look of satisfaction to her face.

She rose from the bed and walked naked to the large wardrobe, opened the doors, and selected two short whips, one for each of her slender hands. Turning to me, she flashed a wicked, knowing smile.

She knew exactly what I wanted, and I hated her for knowing it. I hated that I wanted what she so willingly gave.

As always, my mind slipped far away as my arousal grew. And as always, my body stayed behind to absorb both the pleasure and the punishment.

*

Later after Sytoria had left, I sat cross-legged in front of the altar that occupied one of the small chambers in my quarters. I didn’t always pray in the nude, but considering my fate, it felt right. The welts across my back throbbed in time with my pulse, and somehow that felt right, too—another apt marker of the anniversary of my abduction.

The two urns in front of me—one containing soil from Earthenfell and the other containing ashes from the burnt wood of seven varieties of Earthen trees—were among the plainest things in my chambers and probably in the entire palace. But they seemed to call to my very cells, inviting me to reunite with the sacred land of our ancestors.

We would return to Earthenfell, to our ancestral home, but not until our enemies had been destroyed so that we could live there in peace.

It never failed to strike me how ironic it was that our slaves were allowed to live and work on the sacred soil of our homeland, but we, their overlords, were forbidden to touch the ground. It was our punishment for abandoning Earth so long ago, for leaving our home behind to range far out into the galaxy. And hundreds of years ago, it became our motivation—we battled for the right to let the shield fall and reclaim our sacred homeland for ourselves.

I clasped my hands and bowed my head. After several breaths to allow my mind to silence, I quietly recited prayers to Mother Earth. I asked for forgiveness for our ancestors’ abandonment of Earth. Forgiveness for their hubris in thinking that there was a better home somewhere out there, so many generations ago. I asked for strength for our military commanders and our soldiers fighting for our homeland. And I asked for relief from the demons of my past.

“Toric!” a rough voice jarred me from my meditation.

Every muscle in my body strung tight at the sound of my brother’s voice and tighter when he barged noisily into my prayer room.

“Did Sytoria manage to quench your desire this morning?” The corner of my brother’s mouth lifted ever so slightly in the subtlest of sneers. His eyes grazed my back, and I suddenly wished I’d gotten dressed. He smirked openly. “I see she gave it her best effort.”

His loathing toward me was nothing more than a replay of countless similar scenes between us. But it was still gratingly unpleasant.

When I’d disappeared all those years ago, Jeric had been named my father’s heir. The palace, the harem, the servants, and the title of Guardian Lord of Calisto and Earth all would have passed to my brother if I hadn’t returned home. He hated me for surviving and resented me for returning to Calisto to claim the title, and he never let me forget it.

All Calistans learned in childhood to mask their energy signatures, and it became as natural as breathing. If I could sense Jeric’s, I had no doubt I would feel hot, rolling waves of hate-filled envy.

I rose, facing him with my hands on my hips. Despite the anger flaring through me, I regarded him with cool detachment. “What is so important that you’d interrupt my worship?”

Jeric snorted. Nothing in his expression or stance held a shred of apology for the interruption. He didn’t put much credence in worship, though he always went through the motions for the sake of appearance.

“Mother is insisting the council move their daily forum up an hour to accommodate the arrival of the Earthen Offered this afternoon.” Jeric lifted a shoulder as if the subject bored him. But I knew better. He coveted Earthenfell women. But they were not for him, and it drove him nearly mad with a jealously that blazed up like a solar flare at the time of each Selection.

I brushed past him and went into my bed chamber. “Fine,” I said, hoping a brief, ambivalent response would give him the hint to go.

Of course, it didn’t. He followed, sat on the edge of my bed, and then flopped back, mussing the silken cover that one of the servants had straightened while I’d been in prayer.

He stared up at the ceiling. “How many screws have you had in this bed since father passed?” he asked in a mild, musing tone. I knew that voice. It wasn’t nearly as harmless as it sounded.

“Not the sort of thing I would track,” I said.

I went to the small dressing chamber that was just outside my bathing room, where one of my servants had laid out underclothes, loose-fitting pants, and a shirt made of natural-dyed cotton. Another perk of my station: I was the only Calistan allowed—required, in fact—to wear clothing made only of Earthenfell-grown fibers.

“The notches across your back might help with a rough count.” Jeric’s voice was still mild, but his words were cutting and meant to provoke me. He knew that any lashes on my body were mended and erased each day.

I emerged from my dressing chamber fully clothed, my patience used up. “Tell Mother I’ll be on time. Get out—now.”

“Ouch, you’re so touchy.” He sat up and winced with mock pain, curling his shoulder inward as if I’d made a move to strike him. “Sytoria should have worked you over a little longer.”

I stood with my fists at my sides and glared while he took his time standing up and slinking to the door.

I turned away and inhaled deeply as violence tried to rush up through me. The Guardian Lord of Calisto and Earth was supposed to be grounded and noble. My father had embodied those characteristics with ease, it had always seemed to me. But my father hadn’t endured what I had—four years of torture at the hands of our enemies.

I forced my thoughts away from my brother and the Offered who would be coming. Perhaps among them would be a woman who could cure me of my dependence on Sytoria. I should have included
that
in my morning prayers.

6

Maya

THE DAY AFTER the Selection was always a highly anticipated day of feasting, but I found that I could not eat. The delicious smells of cooking meats, arrays of colorful fruits and vegetables, and a variety of crusty breads and rolls were enticing, but my stomach had been clenched into a hard knot since I’d awakened on the sofa.

Lana had stayed on the sofa with me all night and comforted me when I burst into tears as soon as I awoke. For some reason, the realization that I’d spent my last night on Earthenfell on the sofa instead of in the bedroom Lana and I had shared since birth made me desperately sad. I couldn’t explain it to her, but she seemed to understand all the same.

I’d composed myself by the time Mother was up. She kissed my forehead and patted my cheek, and if not for the haunted look in her eyes, it might have been any other Saturday. I drank a bit of the coffee she made, trying to avoid the awful realization that I’d never experience another Saturday morning at home, but of course unable to think of anything else.

When a knock came at the door, my heart clenched and then my pulse took flight on the wings of the irrational hope that someone was coming to tell me there’d been a mistake, that Obligate Belinda was alive and well and ready to go to Calisto.

Mother answered the door, and though I could see from my position near the fireplace that she tried hard to stay composed, a tiny gasp slipped out before she pressed her fingers to her mouth.

I went to her side to find a boy—the same one who’d come to tell Mr. Arsen that Belinda was dead—holding up an old sack on a hanger. Except it wasn’t a sack, I realized as I looked down and saw a swath of black fabric peeking out from the lower edge. It was the dress I would wear to Calisto.

I reached for it, vaguely wondering if we were supposed to tip the boy and then deciding it wasn’t important.

Mother closed the door while I turned to take the dress to my bedroom, walking carefully and holding it away from me as if it were a dead rat that might suddenly reanimate and snap at me.