THE CHOOSING Read online

  “We should move her into the slave quarters, highness.”

  “No. You will tend to her here.”

  “Highness, there will be much blood. I can not keep your bed from becoming soiled. It is not fitting that such a one be here in your rooms like this. Let me have a couple of slaves remove her before we begin the healing process.”

  He knew the old woman was concerned about his dignity, and shocked at his command not to move the human. A half-dead slave in his quarters was unthinkable. He could see the old slave wondering how the king would take the news. It did not matter; he would not give up this chance to observe a human so closely.

  “No. Go on with what you are doing. The slave needs to be attended to immediately. Proceed.”

  Lala hesitated but a moment more. “I will need to get some supplies from my room, highness. Hot water, salves and new clothing for her.”

  “Do so.”

  Lala hurried from the room, closing the door softly as she left. The only sound to be heard was the wounded slave’s shallow and rapid breathing.

  L’Garn moved to the bed and stood looking down on the woman. Red lines, oozing thick blood, left the gray gown in tatters across her back.

  “Now what?”

  The woman’s voice, raw and husky from the pain, startled him. Though she had been beaten near to death, her spirit was unbroken.

  “Rest. Lala will return soon to tend your wounds.”

  The woman picked her head up to look at him, and a sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips.

  “Help me up.”

  “Do not be more foolish than you can help,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder to hold her down. He was surprised at how little force was needed. Her voice had made him think she was stronger than she was. “You must have your back treated before a fever sets in.”

  “Get your filthy hand off me, scum!” The movement of her arm to fend him off made her groan. He watched her squeeze her eyes tight against the pain.

  “I have to kill that demon scum, Holdert, and then get back to my camp. They will be waiting for me.”

  “They must needs be disappointed, then,” he said.

  He did not release her, but instead forced her head back down into the softness of the bed’s pallet. She moaned softly, but did not try to rise again.

  “Would you like some water?”

  He took her deep grunt to be an affirmative. L’Garn moved to a small table that held a stone pitcher and crystal glass, and filled the goblet with water.

  “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Drink, but slowly.”

  She lifted her head and stared into his eyes before parting her lips in acceptance of the gift he offered. Without blinking or taking her gaze from his, she sucked down three large gulps before turning her head away. He watched as she licked her ravaged lips before laying her head back down.

  “Why me?”

  He could barely hear the whispered words.

  “Why did you take me?”

  He returned the glass to the table, taking the time to place it exactly where it had been, even wiping the side of the crystal of a lone drop of moisture. It would not do to mar the precious gloss of the wood’s satin finish.

  “Because I could.”

  She sucked in her breath and tried to rise from the bed. The effort tore a painful groan from her throat. He was amazed at her strength of will.

  “By the god’s left ear, the only reason you captured me, elf-man, is because I was without my weapons. Otherwise, your puny magic would never have worked.”

  The husky voice held little strength, but the determination and pride behind the words was easy to hear. He moved to the bed and reached out to stop her from sitting up.

  “Don’t touch me,” she grunted between clenched teeth.

  “You are in no position to give me orders. Lie back down. Lala will be here to dress your wounds.”

  Pushing his hand away, she growled, “I would rather take twenty more stripes of the whip than have one of you disgusting elfin types touch me.”

  But the effort to swing her legs around was too much. L’Garn watched the pain wash over her face in undisguised agony, and all color drained from her cheeks. He caught her as she fainted and almost slipped off the bed.

  Holding her in his arms, an awareness of her as a female jolted through his soul. Her hair smelled of sea water and cinnamon—a combination he would have never thought would be pleasant. Her body was soft yet firm, and she weighed next to nothing, a fact he already knew from carrying her into Cragimore. The urge to bury his face in her neck to inhale a deeper taste of her scent was almost unbearable.

  Forcing his muscles to respond to his commands, he laid her down gently just as someone knocked on the door. When Lala entered, the human woman was prone on her stomach, and L’Garn was on the other side of the room as if nothing had transpired during the old woman’s absence.

  “She has fainted from the pain, highness,” Lala said, as she carefully examined her patient. “It is well that she has. This will be a painful job.”

  “Just get on with it, Lala.”

  The old slave took a pair of shears from the pocket of her dress and lifted the woman’s hair, pulling it together into a bunch that she could hold in her hand. As she moved the scissors towards the mass of hair, L’Garn stepped to her side.

  “Hold! What are you doing?”

  The old slave cast a startled glance at him.

  “I am going to cut this hair away. It will hamper my efforts to cleanse her back. It is unseemly that a slave has such long hair. It would have to be cut anyway.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He could see the slave was surprised and curious, but she lowered the shears. He saw the questions she dared not ask in her eyes, and he scarce knew the answers himself.

  “No. Leave the hair. It pleases me to have a house slave with such hair. The princess will be amused with such an unusual slave for her birthnight gift.”

  “As you wish, highness.”

  In silence, he watched Lala cut the rag from the back of the human, watched as she sponged the oozing blood from the wounds and then applied ointment to each sore. The entire process was finished in less time than he would have thought. But of course, as a prince, L’Garn had never observed such a thing, and he had no real conception of what was involved.

  Lala’s surprise and unease that he was watching was a palpable thing. He could feel her disapproval echo in the silence of the room. He could see it in the stiff movements she made and the way she held her straight back. It should not matter to him that a slave disapproved of his actions; her only purpose in life was to serve and obey. His grandfather’s words should have been ingrained into his soul.

  “A slave is not a being; a slave is merely a tool, a convenience, for one’s comfort and survival. A slave has no thoughts except those we care to allow him or her. Once a slave begins to think itself of value, mastery over him is lost and his usefulness is at an end. It is time to find another tool.”

  By his grandfather’s reasoning, the human was too flawed, too damaged to be of much use, and therefore should be eliminated. The time spent repairing her ravaged back was wasted and could be better spent in other pursuits. But something inside L’Garn would not allow him to simply let her die. She knew things that he had to know. She was the key he needed to unlock the mysteries he had wondered about for so long. She would answer his questions and put his soul to rest, so that he could concentrate on becoming the prince and leader his king expected.

  Yes. He knew that once this human had assuaged his thirst for answers about his human heritage, he would be free to put that contaminated part of himself aside and concentrate completely on his true self.

  The human must live long enough for him to study her. Then, when her usefulness was done, he would get on with his life.

  “It is done, highness.”

  Lala had finished putting her remedies away and stood beside the bed, waiting for his
pleasure. Here was a slave who knew her duty, he thought. Even though she had questions and concerns, she did not voice them, but did her work quietly and competently. She was the perfect teacher for the human.

  As the head slave, Lala had certain privileges that the others did not. She had proven herself loyal and willing to please, and so had been awarded a certain position of freedom and trust. But even old Lala knew her position depended on the whim and favor of her masters.

  He doubted this new slave, if she lived, would ever learn that lesson.

  But, oh! How interesting life will be while he attempted to school her!

  “I shall require a cot and bedding. Have it prepared while I am in the baths.”

  “Highness, would it not be more convenient if we removed her into the slave quarters where she can be tended without disturbing you?”

  “No, Lala. It would not be convenient. She will remain here until she is well enough to take up her duties.”

  The old slave bowed in submission to his words. “Shall I have a female assigned to care for this one while she heals?”

  “I prefer that you and I be the only ones this new slave comes in contact with until she is completely healed. How long do you expect that to take?”

  She cast a quick assessing gaze over the woman’s back. “Without magic, she should be able to learn her duties in four or five nights. She will still be very sore and stiff, but she will be able to manage. That is, of course, unless the fever sets in.”

  “You will make sure the fever does not set in, Lala. You will attend to her.”

  Lala looked up with a startled expression. “You require me to sleep here?”

  He walked to the bed, and looked down at the human. She was still unconscious, but her breathing seemed even.

  “No. You will show me how to treat her when you are not here. You will, of course, take care of her more personal needs.”

  Lala shifted her feet and looked unhappy. “Highness, it is not fitting...”

  “Silence.” He cut off her protests with a glare. “You may go. I expect the cot to be set up when I get back. It has been a long night, and I require some sleep.”

  “Yes, highness,” she said as she bowed and left the room.

  L’Garn stood at the human’s side for a moment. Her skin was very tan. The urge to touch her to see if she was as smooth and soft as she looked was nearly unbearable. Instead, he pulled a light blanket up and covered her with it.

  Sleep called, but first, a bath.

  ~*~

  “Feenix, can you hear me?”

  Her back was on fire and every muscle in her body felt like she’d been on a four-day run in complete battle armor, full pack and no rations. When was the last time she had eaten?

  “Feenix, pay attention! Focus!”

  Where in Mac Lir’s blue ocean was that voice coming from? And what was that god-awful stink? It smelled like some drunken demon’s breath. Had she passed out after a night of drinking and dicing? It wouldn’t be the first time. The stench was probably coming from whatever unknown lover she happened to drag home after the night of excess.

  She opened an eye cautiously, not sure if even that tiny movement would cause pain. The room was dark and dim, with only a slight bit of light coming from somewhere near the floor. The bed was on the wrong side of the door, and, now that she thought about it, the door didn’t look like the one to her sleeping quarters. By the god’s eye balls, she wasn’t in the barracks. Nor was she in her airy room on Sasheena. Where in the Seven Cella Worlds was she?

  A groan of pain tore past her lips, the noise surprising her as much as the agony of her back. Then she remembered. She was a prisoner, by the god’s left toenail, and the filthy night elf demon scum had whipped her. She dropped her head back down on the bed, too exhausted and hurting to explore her prison more closely.

  “Feenix, can you hear me?”

  “Where are you?” she asked, barely able to get the words past her dried and cracked lips.

  A movement to her right caught her attention. She tensed, not knowing what would come.

  “You are awake.”

  She recognized the voice at once.

  “Get away from me, elf-man,” she said, not bothering to turn her head to look at him. “You’ve done enough damage. Leave me alone.”

  “You will eat. Lala has brought some soup for you.”

  “How nice,” she sneered, looking at him at last. She must still be half out of her mind with pain, else why would he look so appealing to her? He wasn’t that much taller than she, maybe five or six centimeters, but his chest was wide and deep, with a flat stomach and narrow waist that tapered to sturdy hips. His legs were long and shapely, with strong thighs. The rounded but firm backside she had admired during her journey into the caverns.

  “You will eat to regain your strength.”

  She watched his mouth as he spoke. His lips were full and beautifully shaped. It was a mouth made for kissing.

  “Focus, Feenix! I know you are alive. We must speak.”

  There it was again! Where was that voice coming from? It was not the voice of the prince, and it seemed to be coming from inside her head. Strange. She didn’t remember being hit on the head during the course of events.

  “Did you hear that?”

  L’Garn moved closer, tilting his head to the side. She was rewarded with a clear view of his silvan tipped ears and the way his trim beard hugged a firm jaw. “What did it sound like?”

  “Feenix, you must tell me where you are!”

  “There! Did you hear that voice?”

  L’Garn moved to the door and pressed his ear to the wood. “I hear no one.” He walked back to the bed and looked down on her. “You have been very ill. You must eat to regain your strength.”

  He moved a stool over by the bed and placed a stone bowl and round spoon on it. “You will eat it all.”

  “Keep your filthy slop, elf-man. I’m not hungry.”

  Feenix’s stomach growled loudly, and L’Garn didn’t bother to suppress his quick grin.

  “Perhaps not, but you have been fighting a fever for three nights, and your body needs nourishment. You will eat as I order you.”

  “Three days,” she yelled and struggled to sit up. Her head felt as though all the blood suddenly drained from it, replaced by a wad of down feathers. “By the god’s beard, I’m late! They’ll be looking for me!”

  “Feenix, where are you? Speak to me. I can not hear you.”

  “They will not find you. Your life as you knew it is gone. You are now a slave of Cragimore. Eat and regain your strength.”

  She was totally confused. Feenix didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the fever, or lack of food, but her head felt strange and the voice’s whispered words seemed fainter than before. Without conscious thought, she picked up the bowl of fragrant soup and took a bite. The broth was flavored with some sort of spice, but the taste was pleasant enough. Certainly her belly welcomed the warm nourishment.

  “I will try again...”

  The voice in her head floated away, and she was again alone inside herself. Now, why did that idea spring into her mind?

  The half-elf watched her eat, but she ignored him. What ever was in the blasted soup, it made her feel stronger and warm inside. There was no doubt about it, she had needed to eat.

  “Tomorrow you will begin to learn your duties.”

  “When trolls sing,” she said around a mouthful of soup. “Tomorrow I will be taking my leave of your fine company, elf-man.”

  “You seem to forget that you are my captive. I have allowed you to live, and you will reward my generosity by serving me and my mother as a member of our household staff.”

  Feenix put the empty bowl down and glared.

  “If you will not obey, you will be whipped. Again.”

  As much as she would love to force those words back down his throat, Feenix knew she was too weak to do so. She sat in stony silence, willing her body to heal quickly.

>   After assuring himself that she was not going to refute his words, L’Garn continued, “I have decided to name you Teela...”

  “My name is Feenix,” she said in a low growl. “Captain Feenix of Port Marcus.”

  “Captain?” He looked surprised as his gaze flickered over her body. The limp gray gown she wore didn’t give much protection from his sharp elfin sight. It was as if she were naked under his gaze. “Do humans give their females a warrior’s title for sport?”

  “I earned that title, you sorry excuse for an elf.” She watched his pale blue eyes deepen into an aqua green. “It was just your good fortune that you found me without my weapons, or you would be dead right now, and I would be home drinking wine and eating something more appealing that this slop!”

  She had to admire his forbearance. If their places had been reversed, he’d be picking himself up off the floor right now.

  “Your previous life is over. You will be named Teela. Now you will lie down so that I may dress your wounds.”

  “You?” She was surprised and a little bit wary. “Why would a prince stoop to dress the wounds of a slave? If you are in truth a prince,” she added, questioning his title as he questioned hers.

  He turned from her and walked to the far side of the room. For the first time, she noticed a small cot, a table and a chest. She assumed that was where her guard slept while she had been so sick. Why this elf-man was here instead of a servant, she had no idea.

  “I am Prince L’Garn of the House of Meedrion. You are now my property. I take excellent care of my possessions.” With his back to her, he continued, “Lala is sleeping, and your wounds can not wait for her. I will do it.”

  “No need to dirty your hands, prince. You’ll probably do more damage than good.”

  A strange look was in his eyes as he walked back to her bed with a small stone jar in his hand.

  “You will address me as highness, or master. Lie down.”

  “I will address you however I damn well please! And I will not lie down!” Even Feenix could hear the childish tone of her voice. She wanted to smash the laughter from his eyes.