Slavemaster's Woman, The (37 page)

Tarken turned to watch with amazement.

Cushla shifted completely, the mere force of
her expanding size, shredding her clothing and causing her slave
band to pop free from her skull. It flew through the air, spinning
and then hit the floor with a clank.

It bounced and bounced again before rolling
like a ring along the stone and coming to a stop before Tarken, his
boot stopping its forward progress. It remained in its upright
position, then briefly teetered, and with another clank, fell to
its side, part of it landing on the tip of Tarken’s toes.

A sardonic snort came from Cushla as if
mocking the band’s once imprisoning hold.

Everyone who remained in the room froze,
staring in awe. The only sound cutting the tension filled silence
was the bird’s hostile breathing, which seemed to cause the very
walls in the chamber to expand and contract with every breast
swelling breath.

Reaching down, Tarken picked up the slave
band and examined it. Blood streaked the prongs that had been
embedded in Cushla’s temple, and he was both astounded and grateful
that the force that dislodged it hadn’t killed her as it would have
a normal person. Looking up, he stared at the creature seeing the
blood soaked feathers on the side of her skull.

She spread her immense wings, which Tarken
estimated to have a span of well over four of his body lengths, and
shook them out further. Flapping them twice, they created a gust so
powerful the heavy drapes behind the throne flew up and caused all
who were still standing to brace themselves against the flurry of
air.

Everyone gasped and ducked, save Tarken. He
remained steadfast and watched her with both awe and admiration as
she settled her massive wings and tucked them against her sides.
She then went very still. Her quiet stance afforded Tarken time to
study the creature she’d morphed into. She was impressively large
to say the least, but in a stately way, or at least that’s the way
Tarken perceived her.

Long flowing feathers draped her back and
swept downward like a luxurious cloak to rest on the floor. They
were the purest white he’d ever seen, the same color as her silky
hair he so loved to touch. Atop her head was a fanning crest of
delicate golden feathers that stood proudly like an elegant crown,
a replacement for the slave band she once wore—a slave no more.

For as much as she stood before them proud
and noble, as the mystical Libertas, Cushla was also equally
formidable. Her feet had become talons, and they were honed enough
to pierce a body clean through, the evidence of their razor
sharpness could be seen in the scraping notches they created in the
marble floor as she dug into it. Her beak looked likewise as
dangerous. It was long and narrow and strong enough to snap a man
in two. Slowly, it parted while she continued to hover menacingly
over the frightened king. She stared down at him as if
contemplating whether or not to devour him, but apparently decided
against it. Instead, she stretched her long neck and snapped at
him.

Mecor yelped and scurried backward.

Cushla who was now the Libertas then shook
her head and snapped her beak shut.

“Now you’ve gone and done it Mecor,” Bazil
rasped out. “I think she’s pissed.”

“I know she’s pissed.” Tarken stared almost
mesmerized by the exquisite creature before him.

The instant he spoke, the mighty creature
swung its head around, her eyes locking directly on his. Standing
glorious and powerful, she towered over him, her head reaching to
just below the vaulted ceiling, and her eyes—her eyes were the only
thing that reminded him she was still his beloved Cushla.

Although larger, her eyes had shifted from
the whirl of colors and returned to the stunning crystal shimmer
that he’d always found so intriguingly beautiful.

Ah yes, it was Cushla.

He would recognize those intense, clear eyes
anywhere. Even with the anger that filled them, he adored those
eyes—even in this curious form she’d assumed, he adored her, maybe
even more so now that he was witnessing what he’d suspected she
truly was. Where others might be terrified, fear evaded Tarken, and
all he could do was smile. She was
his
Cushla in her true
and natural form—the spirit bird.

“Shoot it! Shoot it now!” The sound of
Mecor’s squeaky, less than masculine, cowardly voice echoed through
the Royal Chamber.

The callous order broke Tarken’s state of
enchantment when he realized the king ordered him to use the
stunner he was holding. He looked down at the weapon and
frowned.

The Libertas again, swung her head around
and cawed so forcefully that the king lost his crown, the jeweled
headdress toppling from his head and clattering as it hit the
marbled floor.

Terrified, Mecor hunched and draped his arms
over his head, his entire body shuddering.

Perhaps a king no more?
Tarken lifted
a brow at the irony of it, his thumb skimming Cushla’s slave
band.

“Do something!” Juliada screeched as she
peeked out from behind the throne. She released a shrilling scream
as the Libertas stretched its long exquisite neck, snatched up the
throne chair as if it were a toy and tossed it through the air
causing all in the room to duck once more. It hit the ceiling,
splintered into pieces and then rained down. The Libertas returned
her attention to Juliada and just as she’d done with the king,
snapped her beak at the frightened royal.

Juliada promptly fainted.

“Control that beast, Bazil. You’re her
father!” Mecor barked. “Before she destroys my castle.”

“There’s nothing I can do your Majesty,”
Bazil answered. “He who possesses her holds her power.”

Mecor straightened, his head pivoting toward
him. “Say what?” His brows drew together curiously at Cushla’s
father.

“You possess her, Anzer,” Scoac reminded
him. “You bought her!”

“Yes, yes!” The king’s expression changed
and a scheming grin spread across his lips.

His chin rose pompously, his meager chest
puffing. “The legend.”

The Libertas released another room-quaking
caw and took two steps in the king’s direction.

Again, Mecor’s head pivoted and his eyes
widened at her approach. He staggered backward. “Halt!” he
commanded. “You are mine. I own you. I hold the power over
you!”

The Libertas raised her head and screeched
so loudly that everyone in the room clapped their hands over their
ears to spare their eardrums. Cracks appeared along the walls and
the large solar windows lining the top of the chamber shattered
outward, causing everyone to recoil against the shards of glass
raining down luckily without spearing anyone. She snapped at the
king once again, her beak coming so close she nipped at his
waistcoat, snipping a button from the garment. It bounced across
the floor.

With a whimper, Mecor fell back several
steps before landing on his ass on the floor, the color draining
rapidly from his face. “I—I— com—command you…?” he stammered out
weakly.

Cushla again, ruffled her feathers.

Tarken chuckled. He couldn’t help himself,
the whole situation, seeing Mecor in such a menial position was
quite amusing. In fact, Tarken had never seen him looking so small
and so weak.

Cushla however was anything but amused. At
the sound of Tarken’s voice she turned on him, opened her beak
widely and screeched.

Tarken’s hair whipped back at the force of
it and he winced slightly as it reverberated in his already
tormented ears, but he was otherwise undaunted. All he could do in
reaction was stare down her throat and inhale the sweet scent of
the heavy breath she blew all over him—the sweetest scent he’d ever
smelled.

“That’s it birdie, eat him!” Mecor ordered,
appearing a bit braver now that the Libertas had aimed her
attention elsewhere. He rose from the floor and dusted himself off,
then stared up at her first in confusion and then in anger. He
shook a fist at her. “You will listen to me!” He glanced around the
room with a baffled but fearful expression. “Why does she not
listen to me?”

On the other side of the chamber, Scoac
began scrambling on hands and knees, attempting to take refuge
somewhere—anywhere, finally taking refuge behind a grand statue
that Mecor had had commissioned of himself.

It was a fatal mistake.

The Libertas whipped her head in his
direction and with a mighty sweep of her wing, she toppled the
hefty statue. It crashed on top of Scoac, crushing him.

“Oh spirits!” Juliada, who was recovering
from her faint, screamed and then began weeping. Still dazed, she
struggled to her feet and began staggering to and fro.

Mecor seized her, and being the bastard he
was, jerked her to the front of him, hiding behind her. “I’m your
master now—bir…er—Cushla, my dear.” Mecor thrust Juliada forward.
“Eat this one.”

“You sick excuse for a man!” Juliada bawled,
her wail becoming amplified when the

Libertas snatched the front of her gown,
bunching the material in the tip of her beak.

“Cushla stop!” Bazil yelled.

“No, no,” Juliada pleaded with the spirit
bird. “I was helping the slavemaster get the main controller from
the king’s chamber and nothing more. I didn’t screw him in there I
swear. I was helping the cause!”

“Eat her!” The king ordered.

Cushla’s angry eyes bore into her, and she
tugged Juliada forward and of course, Mecor released her, promptly
delivering her to the bird’s mercy.

“It’s the truth Cushla,” Tarken spoke,
keeping his voice even and low.

“I said kill her!” Mecor demanded. His
expression grew even angrier when she failed to oblige. “Why do you
disobey me, Libertas? I own you!”

“She doesn’t deserve to be hurt, Cushla,”
Tarken defended.

Cushla’s eyes briefly flicked in his
direction. She expelled a disgusted snort through the two openings
in her beak and released Juliada.

The royal ran screaming toward the throne
room doors. They flew open before she reached them, and Durnin
stomped into the room. He was nearly plowed into by the hysterical
Juliada as she dashed by him.

Behind him, two guards dragged in a very
battered Shre Vialin. They dropped her to the floor.

“What the fuck is that!” Durnin’s eyes
widened when he saw the Libertas. He and the newly arriving guards
drew theirs stunners.

“
That…she—
is my daughter,” Bazil
returned.

“Who is this?” Mecor crossed the room, his
voice hard and demanding as he gave Shre a disdainful once
over.

“One of the rebel leaders.”

Crouching down, the king grasped her matted
hair and lifted her head. He stared at her dirty, bloodied
face.

Behind him, Cushla was growling low.

“Really?” Mecor released her carelessly.

Shre grunted when her head hit hard against
the floor. Her body shifted and she coughed.

“This one was plotting with that bitch Ayia
and that feeble old slave called Kleb,” Durnin told the king,
though his eyes remained apprehensively on Cushla.

“Kleb!” Mecor bellowed. He spun toward
Bazil. “Your father? I thought that worthless geezer was killed
when I took the throne!”

“You’d be surprised at what a worthless old
man can hide,” Bazil sputtered, clearly having trouble breathing.
“That and a few well placed rumors that he’d died. You should’ve
taken greater heed of the slaves you kept imprisoned within the
castle walls.”

The king shot a feral look at Durnin. “How
could you be unaware of this?!” he roared.

Durnin’s eyes rounded, his brows lifting
with obvious surprise. “I didn’t know who he was. How was I
supposed to know? I was a child when you took the throne.”

“Bring him to me this instant,” Mecor
snarled through gritted teeth. “I will have his head!”

“I might be able to bring you his head,”
Durnin answered. “Since I’m told he’s already dead.”

“Father…” Bazil gasped his head
dropping.

At the same time a woeful murmur emerged
from Cushla’s throat.

Mecor with only a slight hesitation
beforehand smiled wickedly. “Delightful!” The king laughed. He
glared at Bazil. “Do you see what happens when you fail to obey
me?”

Bending her head, Cushla opened her beak and
screeched, her feral eyes filled with rage.

Undaunted, Mecor turned to scrutinized her.
“Shut up you little bitch. How dare you!” Mecor spun to glare at
Bazil. “Your friends are dead. Your father is dead. You will
convert the stones or everyone you know and love will rue the
consequences!”

In response to Mecor’s continued tirade,
Cushla screeched louder and her wings began flapping in frenzied
sweeps, the motion of them whipping the air causing a wild
breeze.

“This is my kingdom, my planet…!” He paced
wildly, ranting like a madman drunk with power. “I rule many
planets, and I will rule more—I will rule the entire Adar Rhiannon
Galaxy—in the universe!

Tarken’s grip tightened on the stunner he
held. He glanced briefly at Rube who parted his overcoat to
partially reveal that he too possessed a weapon, and then noted the
four guards remaining along with Durnin, and the tempestuous crazed
king. Tarken returned the nod preparing to take them down.

“I own you!” Mecor raised an arm and pointed
at Cushla.

She snapped her beak shut and calmed her
wings, but Tarken could see the storm in her eyes as her breast
heaved with turbulent breathing.

“I own all of you!” He outstretched his arms
and whirled in a circle. Dropping his arms, the king balled his
hands into fists and boldly stomped toward Cushla. “And I’ll prove
it!” He leered at her. He then lowered his voice to a menacing
level, ignoring the angry gurgle emerging from Cushla’s throat.
“I’m going to fuck you wench, fuck you like I fucked your whore of
a mother—right before I slit her throat.” Mecor then began to
laugh.