The TwiceBorn

Advocatus Diaboli

  "Clever as the devil and twice as pretty."--Holly Black

  “If it were love, he had an odd way of showing it.” She added, almost as an afterthought. 

“How do you mean?” 

Alora didn’t know why she was asking.  The desire to know rose in her to a feverish intensity even though she could imagine what the answer was going to be.  Men like Behrin didn’t pen sonnets or gather bouquets.  Nor were they tongue-tied and blushing in the presence of women. 

They took.  It’s all they knew how to do.  They took and took and took until they dipped their hand in and it came back empty.  The only regret they ever had was they couldn’t dip out just a little bit more.  But somewhere along that long line of finding and taking, Islinn had done just a bit of taking herself though Alora didn’t think the girl truly realized to what extent and to how much.

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Islinn was silent.  She’d never spoken about what all had happened between her and Behrin.  And strangely enough, when she thought back over everything, the embarrassment had been the worst part of it all.  She simply hadn’t known.  And when she looked back on it …that not knowing caused her face to burn to the point of where she wanted to close her eyes and bury her head in her arms until the feeling went away.

On some level, she supposed, she knew what men and women “did” with each other but it was something hazy and far away, something strangers did, and so alien and far beyond her grasp, not much thought was given over to it. 

Plowing and farm chores were a reality, along with her growing awareness of her place in Brede’s world so she’d buckled down when it came to such things and the few times she had gone into town with her Daddy and heard the comments of “that un is just as ripe as a summer peach” and “I’d sure like to be belly to belly with that” had only earned the speaker a confused smile.

Behrin had taught her what all the comments meant and then some.  The first time one of the other slaves at the settlement had brought her a bucket of water and a damp cloth to clean the blood and seed dried to her thighs, Islinn had seen that the other woman already knew what had happened to her. Probably knew every detail.  And when she’d gone out to walk around the encampment with Behrin or the other slaves, she could tell from their looks that they knew what had happened to her, and what would continue to happen, and it was all so very commonplace, ho-hum. 

It was as if a huge part of herself was readily known and available to everyone and she was horrified when she thought back over all the looks and comments that had been made to her before and after Behrin.   She had honestly not known. 

And when she was forced to know…it horrified her that something so brutal and overwhelming was a part of life that everyone knew about but her. And now it was commonplace.  The pain of whatever it was wasn’t as sharp and sudden anymore.  But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, this newfound knowledge.  Only now it sawed instead of hacked cleanly through.  Which wasn’t much of a difference, in her opinion.

“How do I mean?”  Islinn finally responded, her voice dull.  “He fucked me.  A lot.  He liked it when I cried.  And he hated it when I didn’t.  And he punished me for it.  That’s how he loved me.”

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Alora was taken aback by Islinn’s words.  She was quiet.  But what had she honestly expected the girl to say?  She raked one quick hand through her hair and shot a quick glance at Islinn but the girl continued to stare into the fire, her face blank.  To say she was sorry was nothing but a haphazard bandage applied to something Alora sensed was far more than a surface wound.  But she needed to say something because she felt if she didn’t, Islinn would feel as though she’d been dismissed in some way.