Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(103)

At the east wall, the greasy-lipped guard was speaking to a tall, wiry man dressed in simple robes. The marshal, perhaps, who would relay the guard’s news to Barin. Smug anticipation lit the guard’s face as she spoke, and her gaze upon Mala was that of a child’s tattling to an elder and hoping to watch the inevitable punishment.

Mala didn’t fear it. She strode past the columns. The sound of a sharp breath to her left made her glance in that direction. A dozen people sat naked and leashed, each one wearing a thick leather collar.

Hot fury exploded through the icy dread, but she forced herself to continue on. She didn’t know what purpose or punishment those people served. But she would find out.

Silence fell over the hall. His pale gaze upon her, Barin had raised his hand for quiet. For a long moment, there was only the light sound of her footsteps, the rustle of cloth as the courtiers shifted to better see her, and the faint crackle of the torches. The marshal bent his head to Barin’s ear.

She reached the dais. After a nod from Barin, the marshal straightened. His deep voice sounded through the hall. “Our glorious liege welcomes the High Daughter of Krimathe to Blackmoor!”

Mala hadn’t told them who she was, yet she wasn’t surprised that he knew. Rumors traveled the roads even faster than Shim did. “You were expecting me, my lord?”

He leaned forward slightly, his glacial eyes arrested on her face. His angular features were handsome, almost beautiful, yet she preferred the fanged grin of the roasted snake near his elbow to the small smile upon his lips. “It is said that a red-cloaked daughter of Krimathe has journeyed across the mountains on a quest, and that as she travels, she has been renewing alliances that have long lain fallow. When I heard of you, I hoped that your quest would lead you through Blackmoor. Do you intend to form an alliance with me, as well?”

Not in a thousand years, not as long as this man ruled this country. Alliances had only foundered because the Destroyer had corrupted so many royal houses, or killed them and replaced their heads with his own men—and because it had taken a full generation for Krimathe to gain the strength to look outside of its own borders again.

But Mala only said, “It is true that your predecessor, Karn of Blackmoor, was once a strong ally, and I hope that we might once again renew ties with your people. But I have also come for another purpose.”

“Your quest? And what is it?” His brows arched with amusement. “To kill more of my guards?”

“If necessary.”

“You must believe it is.” Indolently he leaned back in his chair. His golden robe fell open, revealing a smoothly muscled chest. More runes had been tattooed down his throat and across his pectorals, but Mala recognized none of the symbols. “As a daughter of Krimathe, you must be especially sensitive to such punishments.”

Because after the Destroyer had killed every man and boy that he hadn’t already enslaved for his armies, he had set his soldiers upon every remaining woman. But although Barin’s careless reference to the most horrific assault her people had ever endured steamed Mala’s blood, she would not be baited.

“I administer Vela’s justice,” she said. “And before we ever speak of an alliance, I must first know if I must administer it again.”

“Upon me?” Barin’s grin seemed to crawl up her spine and was answered by a few uneasy titters from the listening courtiers. “For what offense?”

Probably more than the one she was about to name. “You have men and women leashed in this chamber.”

“And you wonder if they are enslaved? Let me set your avenging mind at ease, Krimathean. To pay their debts, they have chosen to serve me in this manner.” He rapped upon the table. “Come up, Gepali. Your deliverer has arrived to rescue you from your labors.”

Oh, she would not draw her sword. She would not draw her sword. No matter how she wanted to.

Unlike the other tables, Barin’s had been covered by a long blue cloth that concealed everything beneath. Mala had thought the man sitting two seats to the warlord’s left had been drunk—his eyes were glazed and his skin flushed, and he’d only seemed to be half listening while she spoke to Barin. But when a collared woman emerged from beneath the cloth, her mouth red and her lined face a portrait of humiliation and misery, Mala could only imagine taking her blade to every single courtier in this chamber.

Gripping her leash, Barin tugged the woman closer. “Tell us, Gepali—tell all who are here—is it by choice that you serve me and my court?”

The old woman had to draw two long, shuddering breaths before the answer came. “Yes, my lord.”

“And do you enjoy performing with my guests?”

Her tortured gaze flicked up to meet Mala’s. “It is my honor to please them and to repay his lordship’s generosity to my family.”

Generosity. Mala wondered what threat Barin had made toward her family that this woman—that all of these leashed people—had chosen this, instead. If he’d threatened their lives, there would be no difference between choice and force.

But merely asking this woman whether that was true might endanger her family, too. And remembering Kavik’s warning that any kindness might earn Barin’s retaliation, she dared not offer Gepali encouraging words, either. Mala would have vowed to her that she wouldn’t leave this land without seeing Lord Barin dead.