Carol Berg [Rai Kirah 01] Transformation (retail) (epub)

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.Durgan’s account of the afternoon’s events was somewhat muffled by the carpet under his mouth.Complete prostration was perhaps a bit overdramatic in such a private setting, but the slave master was fighting for his life.When the tale was done, the Prince released his grip and shoved me aside.I knelt down and crossed my hands on my breast as would be expected, encouraging my stomach to return to its proper venue.Ezzarian Seers teach that in nature’s pause before disaster strikes, a discerning listener will hear the clicking of the victim’s bones.On this occasion a stone could have heard them.When the Prince gave the order summoning Lord Vanye, the bone rattling was as noisy as an earthquake.I was sent outside the palace gates to await the young lord.The night was freezing, and I had no cloak or shoes.But neither the gate guard’s bonfire nor the blazing torches on the wall could have warmed the chill inside me.Perhaps the Prince thought it would unsettle his chinless friend to see me, though as I led the gray-faced young man through the gates, I doubted my presence had anything to do with his terror.He knew he was done for.The Prince met us in the front courtyard of the palace.He wore his white fur cloak and gave his hand to Lord Vanye as the trembling man dismounted.“You see I sent this slave outside to greet you.freely, with no concern that he might run away.You’ve done me quite a service, Vanye.” The young lordling gaped stupidly at the Prince, who laughed, took the young man’s arm, and strolled toward the kitchen courtyards and workshops.“Come, I want to thank you for it.”Though he laughed uncertainly—more of a squeak than a laugh—Lord Vanye could not have been easy.In addition to two torchbearers and two attendants, there were four liveried soldiers following him and the cheerfully chattering Prince.The soldiers shoved me after them.I wrapped my arms about myself, silently cursing winter and royalty and my life.Dread and surety gnawed at my gut as we stepped inside the smithy, the heat of the thundering flames searing my cheek anew until the very air quivered with the burning outlines of the falcon and the lion that I would wear to my grave.The smith stood ready.Vanye tried to pull away as they strapped him to the post, but he was not half strong enough.Then he began to beg, his pockmarked face a pasty gray.“Aleksander.Your Highness.You must understand.My father.the disgrace.handling slaves.” When the smith pulled the largest of his glowing irons from the fire, the gibbering turned to a low wailing.I would not watch it.I had been very close to howling two short hours earlier, and the smith had been careful with me.I closed my eyes.so I was not at all prepared when the burly smith crammed a heavy iron handle into my hand.“Do it,” commanded the Prince, who smiled and folded his arms, waiting.“Vanye is not content to be a slave handler.He thinks he can fall no lower.Prove to him how wrong he is.”“My lord, please.” I could scarcely speak for my revulsion.Everything I still held sacred, everything I prayed was still tucked away inside me.The hot amber gaze shifted to me.I wanted to look away, knowing that no good could come from anything I might do or say.But there are deeds that are impossible, no matter what the consequence of leaving them undone.“I’ll hear no womanish Ezzarian scruples.I’m giving you the chance for revenge.Surely a slave craves revenge.”I held my tongue, but did not look away.I could not let him mistake my intent.While staring straight into his blazing fury, I raised the vile implement to toss it back into the fire.But before I could loose it, the Prince roared, curled his powerful hand about my own, and forced the red-hot iron onto Vanye’s face.I heard Vanye’s screams and smelled his burning flesh long into that night, long after I was locked in a cell beneath the slave house in the frigid darkness.I pulled the filthy straw over my nakedness and fought to retrieve some semblance of the peace and acceptance I had striven to build over sixteen years.But all I could think was how much I detested Prince Aleksander.I could not judge Lord Vanye or whether he was truly worthy or unworthy of Aleksander’s scorn, but how could I not despise a prince who would mutilate one man and trample the pitiful scraps of another to remedy his own foolish mistake?Chapter 2It was three or four days before Prince Aleksander had need of someone who could read.Not just anyone.Someone that he trusted.Palace scribes were notorious for spying and intrigues, being privy to private information as they were.Of course, it wasn’t so much that he trusted me, as that he could remove my tongue should I repeat a word I read.I understood that.Misplaced trust is an extremely painful lesson [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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