‘She’s taking your seed-’
‘I know.’
‘And when she’s got it, she’ll toss you aside.’
‘She won’t.’
‘She has to. To keep you from claiming that child years from now. To keep you from stealing it once it comes of age, or once you decide it’s time.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. I’ll live with her-’
‘Your father can’t allow that.’
‘Why not? What does it matter to him? I’m a bastard son and he’s throwing me away!’
‘Stop shouting, Arathan. I tried making you see. I tried using words of reason, but you’re not ready for that, not yet old enough for it. Fine. See if you understand this: if you two keep it up, your father will kill her.’
‘Then I will kill him.’
‘Right, you’ll want to, and he doesn’t want that between you. So that’s why it’s got to end here and now. You’re not to be given to a Bordersword woman just because you want it, and that’s not because she ain’t good enough for you or anything. It’s because she only wants one thing from you and once she gets it, she’ll hurt you bad.’
‘Why do you keep saying that? You don’t know anything about her!’
‘I know more than you, Arathan. She’s had a child and lost it — that’s what I know. It ain’t just a guess, either; there’s something about her. And now, how she’s taken you in. It’s not right, none of it.’
‘Is my father killing her right now?’ Arathan stepped past the sergeant.
Raskan grasped him by the arm and pulled him round. ‘No, he isn’t. It’s not what he wants, and I guarantee you, Feren’s not acting as hot-blooded as you are at this moment. She’s listening; she’s hearing what he’s saying. Your nights with her are done with and that will be the proof to my words.’
Arathan pulled free and set off back to the camp.
After a moment, Raskan followed. ‘It’s all right,’ he said to the boy striding ahead, ‘I knew it wouldn’t be easy.’
The moment she saw the sergeant lead Arathan away, Feren knew what was coming. When Draconus gestured, she straightened. To her brother she said, ‘Don’t burn the stew — it’s already sticking.’
He grunted his understanding — of everything.
The Lord led her past the ruins, round to the base of the mound on which the houses had been built.
Feren was not interested in getting an earful. ‘I have done as you asked of me, Lord.’
‘Shed your iron.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your dagger. Your sword, and the belt.’
She made no move. ‘You would disarm me, Lord Draconus? I would know: to what end?’
An instant later and she was lying on the ground, her bones aching from the impact. She was not sure what had happened — had he struck her? She felt no imprint from a fist or hand. Stunned, too weak to move, she felt him fumbling at her waist, then heard the rasp as he stripped the belt from her. Metal clanged some distance away. The dagger followed.
She fumbled at his hands, trying to push them away, and sought to draw her legs up to protect herself.
He gave an irritated grunt, and then she felt him grasp her left ankle. She was twisted on to her stomach, and then he was dragging her through the grasses. She wanted to cry out — to summon her brother — but then more blood would flow. Crimes would tear through them all — too many to countenance.
If Draconus was intent on raping her, she would permit it. Vengeance could lie in wait a long time.
He dragged her down into a channel lined with boulders, and in the grainy gloom she saw the stacked stones of a squat, wide doorway pass to either side, and all at once the night sky vanished into deeper darkness.
She was still weak, still helpless in his grasp. Was this sorcery? Was this the power from his lover, Mother Dark? To reach so far, to be so easily abused by this man, this Consort — no, it did not make sense.
In the low confines of the barrow, as the floor sloped sharply downward, Feren smelled death. Old, withered, dried out.
He dragged her alongside a stone sarcophagus.
Sudden fear ripped through Feren. ‘Lord,’ she gasped. ‘I yield. There is no need-’
‘Be quiet,’ he hissed. ‘We take a terrible risk here.’
He released her leg, used one foot to turn her on to her back, pushing her roughly up alongside the cold stone. ‘Be still.’
She saw him lean over her, reaching into the sarcophagus — there was, it seemed, no lid — and then there was the sound of rustling, creaks and faint pops, followed by a sifting, as of sand.
