Betrayals Read online

  "Mind damage," Rion echoed, a faint chill actually touching him. "My talent.. .ruined? What are you say­ing?"

  "Oh, my darling, don't you remember?" the vile woman said with what he used to consider full concern. "Being forced out of that Blending hurt you, and I've decided against allowing you to make any effort to repair the harm. Your talent encouraged you to disobey me, so now it must be forfeit. There will be no discussion on that particular point, but your mind is another matter. In order to keep it as it is, you must give me your solemn oath that you'll do as I wish. If not..."

  She let the words trail off suggestively again, increasing the chill that refused to let Rion banish it. If he didn't obey her, he would be left in a state that was worse than death. But his talent, his ability! That she meant to take, and how could he face life without it?

  "My poor darling, I can see how terribly confused you are," she said as she rose from her chair and came close to pat his cheek. "I'll let you think about your answer for a short while, but only for a short while. I've been thinking about it as well, and I'm nearly to the point of deciding that I might actually prefer you ... altered. You'd be much more like the way you once were, and I really do miss that. I sincerely hope that your decision comes before I make my own, and now I must see to some business. We'll speak again later, darling."

  She smoothed his hair before heading out of the room, leaving Rion to sit numbly in silent shock. What she'd said ... He now knew that he would not only have to give his word to obey her, but that she would also require him to beg for the opportunity to do so. He would be forced to abase himself completely, and then might even be refused! And in any event, she'd already made up her mind to maim him...

  Some part deep inside Rion wanted to weep like a bro­kenhearted child, but the rest of him had passed beyond the comfort and release of tears. His Blendingmates would be made to suffer, and he sat helpless and unable to help them. It was even beyond him to help himself, which brought self-hatred and even rage. The only blessing was that Naran couldn't see him now, and that she, at least, was safe....

  But what of the others? And in the name of the Highest Aspect—what was he to do?

  "Oh, yes ...! That's marvelous ... ! Why didn't I ever try this before ... ?"

  Valiant became aware of the woman's voice first, and then, after a long moment, he realized what she was in the midst of. His first thought after that was of Tamrissa, and he smiled to think how far she'd come. But then he opened his eyes, and shock tried to touch him when he saw Eltrina Razas instead of the woman he loved.

  "Don't be a fool, dear bey," the woman laughed as her body tightened around him. "We're through when I say we're through, and that time hasn't come yet. Who would have believed that a sedative used at less than full strength would produce results like this? It has something to do with lowering inhibitions, I'm told, as if I care why it works. All I care about is that it does, and that it isn't going to stop anytime soon."

  Valiant had been trying to move himself out from beneath her, but she'd put her hands to his shoulders to hold him still. The effort should have been a joke, but his strength had apparently disappeared somewhere completely out of reach. He hated what was being done to him, but there didn't seem to be a way to stop it.

  "You'd better start showing me something in the way of enthusiastic technique," the female noble panted as she con­tinued to move up and down on him. "If you don't, I have a cozy little crate to put you in until the next time I use you. Do you really want to be put into a tiny, airless crate?"

  Panic flared in Valiant, a panic intensified by the sudden memory that he'd already been put into something like that. He'd choked and tried to scream, but the drug holding him had been much stronger than it was now. He'd quickly passed out, but the next time he would be fully awake and aware ...

  "That's only a little better," the woman said, still sound­ing dissatisfied. "If you can't do better than that, I'll prob­ably leave you in the crate for good."

  "I—don't understand," Valiant hedged, fighting to sound confused rather than terrified. "What am I supposed to be doin'?"

  "You're supposed to be giving me pleasure" she replied slowly and clearly, as though she spoke to an imbecile. "You do understand what pleasure is, don't you?"

  "I can't seem to remember anythin'," Valiant responded, now striving for an air of bewilderment. ' 'Who are you, and what are we doin' here?"

  "Oh, that's marvelous," the woman snarled, her expres­sion vengefully spiteful. "He said you would probably be damaged, but he didn't say you would be stupid! What good is my getting what I want, if you don't know I'm getting it?"

  "Am I supposed to know you?" Valiant tried, sticking to the pretense of mindlessness. "What you're doin' feels wonderful, so just keep on doin' it. But... shouldn't I be doin' somethin', too?"

  "Oh, this is impossible!" Eltrina snapped, suddenly mov­ing herself off him. "Not only isn't he suffering, now he's giving me orders to keep pleasing him! For your informa­tion, peasant, I give the orders, I don't take them. And I hope your frustration level rises really high, because you're under orders not to give yourself any relief. I'll be back later—after I speak to that fool in charge of your sedation!"

  With that she stormed away, and a moment later Valiant heard a door slam. By then he had managed to turn to the side, and now braced himself somewhat erect with his right elbow and arm. Moving like that had been a battle, as what he most wanted to do was lie unmoving.

  Lie unmoving in a rather small bed, he couldn't keep from noticing. In point of fact the entire room was small, and there didn't seem to be any windows. Valiant's heart began to beat faster, but the panic trying to flood him had to fight its way through whatever they'd drugged him with. The idea of being put in a tiny crate might bring him terror, but the drug allowed him to think of the room as "just" being small.

  Only a few drops of sweat dotted his forehead as he lay back, no longer interested in examining his surroundings. The room appeared to be something on the order of ser­vant's quarters, and except for a plain wooden chest and the bed he lay on, it was completely unfurnished. Aside from the lock on the door, which he'd heard being thrown after Eltrina slammed out....

  Despite the drug, Valiant had to fight for a time to keep the terror from taking him over completely. Locked in, drugged into helplessness... it was a wonder his mind hadn't already snapped. His bare body had gone rigid as he struggled to free himself enough to move, enough to crawl to the door, at least, and try to break it down. Anything to get free, to reach the outer air where he could breathe ...

  But moving proved to be impossible, and after a time his straining body was forced to admit it. Then he remembered what he'd been in the middle of before this insanity began, and he groaned aloud. He and the others had been taken somehow, cut down just as they were about to win the final competition. Jovvi, and Lorand, and Rion—and Tamrissa. He had no idea what had been done with the others, but that noble who had wanted Tamrissa ... At this very moment he might be savaging her, and he could do nothing but lie un-moving in a bed!

  That thought set Valiant to struggling even harder, but it was still no use. The sweat now poured down his face and covered his body, but the drug continued to resist being bested. He was trapped and helpless—and had nothing to look forward to but Eltrina's return and more humiliation. But despite all that he had to stay sane ... and he didn't know if he could manage it....

  FOUR

  "You seem to be adjusting quite nicely," the older woman said as she gave my gown a critical examination. "You look lovely, and Lord Lanir will be very pleased."

  "Has he returned yet?" I asked as casually as possible, keeping my gaze on the mirror and my reflection. "He stopped by before he left, to say that he would be late get­ting back."

  "It so happens he's dressing," she replied alter some­thing of a hesitation. "I realize that with tonight's dinner being rather special you have reason to ask, but in future such curiosity will not be received at all
well. Lord Lanir is not here for your convenience, you are here for his."

  "How good of you to explain things to me so clearly," I responded in a murmur, struggling to hold my temper. "You can be sure I won't ask that same question again."

  "It's pleasant to see a young girl showing proper man­ners," the woman replied in her stiff, formal way, obviously missing the dryness I hadn't been able to keep out of my tone. "Be sure not to muss yourself while waiting to be called to dinner. Best, I think, would be to stand in the middle of the room."

  She added a nod to that bit of advice as though to un­derscore it, and then turned and left. The maid who had helped me dress went with her, so I was finally able to turn away from the mirror. I'd needed the help of my reflection to keep my expression properly neutral, especially after see­ing the gown which had been chosen for me. All pink-and-white lace with flounces, a costume obviously designed for a very young girl. I looked like a child in it, a helpless, innocent child.

  Anger growled high inside me again, but the worry I'd been fencing with for hours had no trouble overwhelming it. As soon as my relief at being able to touch the power again faded just a little, I'd remembered I wasn't able to release that touch if I cared to. That meant I could be found out at any time by someone with Fire magic, even though that someone would also have to be touching the power. Surely there were any number of people who made a prac­tice of touching the power on a regular basis ...

  As I sat down in a chair, I remembered ruefully how long I'd spent that afternoon, waiting to be found out. My usual self-confidence while touching the power had been badly shaken, and it only reasserted itself after time had passed and no one had come bursting in to shout and point a finger. It became clear that either no one in the house with Fire magic was touching the power, or, more likely, those touch­ing it were Low talents and too far away to detect me.

  I reached for the teacup I'd left standing on the small table next to the chair, sipping the cold tea without making any effort to rewarm it. It had occurred to me that my touching the power might be overlooked by Low talents, but ac­tually using my ability would certainly make it another story. Drinking cold tea was a much more pleasant option— at least until Lanir came to get me. He was the Seated High in Fire magic; surely he would be able to tell that I touched the power....

  I finished the tea in a gulp and replaced the cup, having already made up my mind about what I would do if Lanir did find out. I'd have to forget about questioning him, of course, but I couldn't afford to let him interfere with my escape. He would have the chance to give up all claim to me and to find something to convince me that he spoke the truth, or he would find himself facing me in challenge. If he were at all like the Seated High in Earth magic, he would probably stand no chance against me. I believed that, I really did, but the wait and the uncertainty about what would hap­pen had been combining to fray my nerves to shreds.

  Time began to drag again the way it had done that after­noon, but I refused to let myself get up and pace. Nervous energy had been flowing into me as the hilsom powder lost more and more of its hold, and I'd expended quite a bit of that energy in pacing. Now, though, when I might soon need every scrap of strength I could find ... Pacing was no longer a good idea, so I simply sat and fretted.

  When the sound of the door being unlocked came, it was something of a surprise. I'd spent so long getting myself used to the idea of waiting ... When the time for the need was abruptly over, I found myself on my feet without re­membering the process of standing. If this was Lanir, things could start happening at any moment. The door opened and it was the noble, and—

  "My dear child, how very lovely you look," he said, taking only a single step into the room, his gaze moving slowly over me. "I will be the envy of all my friends, though only a few of them are invited to dine with us to­night. Those few will have their own lovely companions with them rather than their wives, of course, to round out the company in a proper way. My own lady wife is currently at one of our country houses, so you need have no fear of being forced to endure an embarrassing confrontation. Come, let us repair to the dining room."

  He held out his hand to me, and if I'd never seen stark desire in a man's eyes before, I was certainly seeing it now. For my own part I felt weak with relief, as the man was completely closed to the power. Just the way all those peo­ple at the palace had been, including the Fire magic member of the Seated Blending. Was this ... ignoring of one's talent something all nobles did for a particular reason? I spent only an instant wondering, and then I began to walk toward my ... host.

  By the time we reached the dining room, I'd regained control of myself. The house Lanir led me through was enormous, at least three times the size of mine by the look of all the rooms we passed. Lanir chatted on and on, happily telling me what a wonderful life I would have with him. I would be required to remain in that house at all times, of course, but would not be disturbed by anyone—even the children I bore. The infants would be given over into the care of wet nurses, and would be housed elsewhere.

  "And the children will certainly have no rivals for my attention," he continued as we walked down a rather long hall on the ground floor. "After years of marriage my wife has proven barren, and my few companions were unable to produce offspring of more than Middle talent. None of the women was a High herself, of course, which certainly made the difference."

  "What if the difference was you rather than them?" I asked in my most innocent tone, paying more attention to the artwork on the walls than to the man whose arm my hand rested on. "We both know I'm a High, but from the little I've seen, there's no such guarantee about you."

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw him part his lips, probably to remind me what his position was. A flash of anger had caused the urge, but both anger and urge died together when he realized I might be right. He hadn't earned his marvelous position, and denying that particular truth would be useless.

  "We'll be taking our meal in the small dining room," he said after a moment instead, obviously trying to maintain his good mood. "Afterward we'll socialize a short while just to be polite, but then we'll send our guests home and retire to your bedchamber. I'm quite looking forward to be­ginning the first of our ... association."

  He touched my hand briefly with that, the expression in his eyes matching the words, but this time I held my tongue. Only after I'd baited him had it come to me that his anger might have made him reach for the power, which meant I'd been a fool to say what I had. I really did need to learn to watch my words, at least while in the position of being surrounded by enemies.

  A short way down the hall there were double doors stand­ing open, and as we approached I could hear music being played and voices in conversation rising slightly above the music. When we turned into the room, I learned Lanir's definition of a "small" dining room: a table to the right, large enough to seat twelve people comfortably; a beauti­fully decorated sitting area to the left, with enough couches and chairs to accommodate more than twelve; and a dais at the back of the room, holding a six-piece orchestra. When we appeared, the people standing about talking—five men and five ... girls rather than women—all turned from their conversation to us.

  "Well, it's about time," one of the men announced with a sly smile, his greasy gaze moving over me. "I can sec what kept you, Lanir, but canapes are no substitute for an actual meal."

  "You could do with an interest beyond eating, Fasher," Lanir replied with a smug expression, pointing to the man's protruding belly. "If you keep putting things down your throat, you'll soon be unable to get close enough to a table to reach the food."

  Everyone including the man Fasher laughed at that, all but one young girl who stared at me wide-eyed instead. She was a pretty little thing, but more importantly she was some­one with a Low talent in Fire magic—who also happened to be touching the power. Her hand reached out tentatively to the man she stood beside, probably to tell him about what she could feel of my strength, so I quickly locked eyes with her
and shook my head slightly. Her hand immediately re­turned to her side as she obeyed my silent command to say nothing, but that incident added itself to my list of worries. She'd agreed to be silent, but how long would that agree­ment last?

  "I'm told that it was business rather than your lovely little toy which kept you," another of the men said to Lanir as the man beside me began to lead the group toward the beau­tifully set table. "Everyone seems to be in a dither about something, but no one is willing to discuss details."

  "At the moment there's only one topic causing a dither, and you should know perfectly well what it is," Lanir re­plied, his good mood fading again. "Everything was ar­ranged for Adriari's group to take over, and now we're faced with those five. Debate and argument are raging like runaway forest fires, with no one able to bring Water magic to bear to quiet any of it."

  "What could there possibly be to argue about?" a third man asked as we reached the table and Lanir began to seat me to his left. "If they won the competitions—and they did—then they have to be Seated."

  "You've never met Advisor Zolind, have you, Wirn?" Lanir replied as he moved a step to the chair at the head of the table and sat. "The man has more power than any other ten people you might name, and the rumor is that he abso­lutely opposes Seating this particular new Five. I say it's a rumor, because a full Advisory meeting has been called for tomorrow. It would have been held sooner, but two of the Advisors are away and won't be able to return until then. Zolind means to voice his opinions at that meeting, and then we'll have fact rather than rumor."

  "How often has Advisor Zolind's opinion failed to find support with the others?'' the fat Lord Fasher asked, his own amusement having disappeared. "It would be most annoying to have to wait through another round of competitions."

  "If the rumors are true, that's probably what we have ahead of us," Lanir replied, reaching for the wineglass a servant had just filled. "I'm told that Zolind's wishes haven't been argued with in fifteen years, so he's unlikely to be refused this time. That, of course, is the basis for all the argument. Those who had made ... accommodations with Adriari's group want the chance to do the same with another picked group, while those, like you, who dislike the interruption in business or the cost of another round of com­petitions, want the annoyance at an end."