Kingdom of Monsters - Empire of Sand Series

Chapter 4.4

Her belly clenched.

He caressed the knife tip. "Wouldn't you like that?"

Air echoed in her throat. Inhale, exhale.

"Answer."

She coughed. "I do not know."

His cheek twitched. "I'll inscribe my mark on you. They will know better than to touch you then."

The knife glinted like a serpent's fangs in the firelight.

The riverman's voice as he'd begged for his life echoed on the wind.

She reached for Maskrel, the small and hardy wood god, to wooden her insides, to deaden the evil fire that burned in his. This was a man too dangerous to please.

"My protection will hurt," he said. "Your most painful place. Do you know where that is? Come now. Show it to me. Show me where I'll brand you."

Her hand flexed. "I don't understand."

"Don't be dull." But his eyes began to water. He read her confusion as resistance. "Show me the place men mark their women."

Would that Piscal-Annan carried her off to shadeless red cliffs to face eternal punishment for her lies. But fear had roiled through her for so long it wore her insides into river stones and weighed her down to the dead furs.

This cold man warmed to suffering, and once pleased, his hunger for pleasure increased. Now she must displease him so that she survived.

She stood, untied her waistband, and dropped her leggings. Her dress fringes brushed her exposed thighs.

He seemed disappointed. "You have no companda."

A shaft of fear pierced her. Had he intended to hurt her companda? But Asnul was far away, safe.

Then, he lifted his blade. Hopeful. "Turn around."

She faced away from him. The tent curved inward, shelling her like the interior of an egg.

"Place your arms on the chest and lift your skirt."

She obeyed, baring the bits leered at by most men in the camp to him, and balanced her forearms on a large wooden chest. Seals carved deep into the soft wood, warding all from breaching the interior.

Please let it not hurt.

She had collected the blood-stopping moss yesterday, she would steep it in a tea movement behind her and drink it as the color turned to copper, then spread the sediment on the wounds it would hurt, her sister said it hurt and that would stop the blood long enough to close the wounds with pitch, she had seen pitch dripping warm male stench behind her from the pitch trees he had a knife and please don't let it hurt along the road—

His palm touched her thigh.

She twitched.

His breath caught.

She gripped the chest, willing their wards onto her body. The prayer centered her. I am Maskrel the small and hardy, I feel nothing and survive in barren crevices where mightier trees die, nothing hurts me, I feel nothing.

"It will hurt." The twisted smile finally reached his flat voice. "Quite a lot, actually."

A soldier's muffled hail penetrated the tent. "Your excellence, sir!" The tent flap ruffled and the soldier's voice cleared to a smart cadence. "You're requested by Herr Ravot."

The under-general shifted with irritation. "Tell Herr Ravot I will be along once he stops wasting my ears. Until he has discovered what god these animals pray to, that we may destroy their power at its source, I will not come."