A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2) (12 page)

She spat at him.

The glob hit Leresy's forehead
and dripped down his face.

"And I know you, Leresy
Cadigus," the girl said. "You tell your thugs to untie me,
or by the stars, next thing that hits your face is my boot."

Leresy cleared his throat.
Stiffly, he lifted the hem of his cloak and cleaned her spit off his
face.

"You know, I do love a wild
woman," he said, reached out to caress her cheek, and pulled his
hand back when she snapped her teeth. "I bet you're a wild one
in bed."

"I thought you only bed
sheep," she said and raised her chin, still held in the guards'
grips.

He sighed. "Your name is
Erry. I remember. Periva Erry Docker, the daughter of a whore from
Cadport. You served me in Castra Luna. By the Abyss, I'm pretty
sure I paid good copper for your mother a few years back." He
tilted his head. "How much do you charge now? I bet you bed
men for bread crusts."

"I bet you bed them for
gold, Leresy," she said. "Oh yes, you're a pricey one."

He stared at her top to bottom,
considering. The girl was too scrawny. She stood barely taller than
a child, she had no teats to speak of—at least, none that he could
see under her tunic—and her hips were narrow like a boy's. Leresy
liked his women rounded enough to grab on to. This one was filthy
besides, all caked in mud and sweat. And yet… she was still the
only woman he'd seen in days. If he closed his eyes when bedding her
and thought of Nairi instead, she would serve.

He turned his attention to the
guards holding her. "Let her go. This runt used to be my
soldier. She will serve me here too."

The guards hesitated. "My
lord?" one said. "She bit my arm back in the forest. She
kicked Joran in the shin. She might be a runt, but she's wild."

"I like them wild,"
Leresy said. "I will tame her. Leave her arms bound, but let
her stand. She's cranky because she's hungry and thirsty. We'll let
her eat and drink." He looked at her. "Share our meat and
ale, Erry Docker. You were my soldier. I'll look after you."
He touched her cheek. "Be a good girl now."

The guards released her. Erry
landed on her feet, hissed, and whipped her head from side to side.
She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists but could not free
herself. Panting, she stared around the camp, letting her gaze fall
upon the men, the campfires, the roasting boars, and the copious
amounts of ale. Her eyes narrowed.

"Bloody shite, Leresy,"
she said. "You look like a pack of outlaws. Burn me!"

Leresy
cleared his throat. "Well, we
are
outlaws now, in a sense." He shrugged. "I got weary of
life in the court. All fancy dress and pomp and fake flattery. I
told my father to go shag a dog, took my men south, and here we are.
Behold!" He waved his mug around. "My new domain and my
new band of merry men. Meet Leresy's Lechers!"

Erry snorted. "Leresy's
Lechers? Did you invent that name?" She tossed back her head
and laughed. "Merciful stars, it's not very intimidating, is
it? Why not… Leresy's Lepers, or… Leresy's Bastards or
something? If you're outlaws, you need to sound tough and scary, not
just lustful."

"Well, the first one's
disgusting," Leresy said, "and the second one don't rhyme."

"Leresy's Lechers don't
rhyme either," Erry retorted, chin raised. "You're
thinking of alliteration, not rhyming."

He snorted. "Big words for
a dock rat." He grabbed her shoulder. "Watch your tongue,
little one, lest I cut it from your mou—"

He had not finished his sentence
when a shadow leaped.

Wild barking rose.

A black dog came running into
the camp, a beast nearly as large as a wolf. The hound snarled and
came racing toward Leresy.

"Scrags, no!" Erry
shouted.

The guards cursed and one
kicked, hitting the dog in the belly. The beast fell, mewled, and
leaped back up.

"Scraggles, down!"
Erry cried. She leaped toward the dog and leaned over it, whispering
into its ear. It growled beneath her and stared at Leresy, seemingly
unsure whether to huddle with Erry or resume the attack.

"Bloody stars!" Leresy
cursed. "Men, kill that flea-bitten thing."

"No!" Erry shouted,
and tears brimmed in her eyes. "Please, my lord! Don't hurt
him. He's my dog. Well, he's a friend's dog. But I'm looking after
him now." Wrists still tied behind her back, she huddled over
the mutt. "Don't hurt him. I'll do anything, but don't hurt
the dog."

Well
well,
Leresy thought. The little urchin who screamed, cursed, and kicked
had a soft spot. That was good. The dog would help tame this one.
He licked his lips.
And
she said she'd do anything…

"Men!"
he said. "Do not harm this hound. Give him water. Feed him.
Treat him as if he came from my royal kennels." He reached down
and touched Erry's hair. "Stand up, child. Your dog will be
safe. I'll protect him, and I'll protect you."

She stood up and glared at him.
"Child? I'm nineteen years old, Leresy, same age as you."

Yet her voice had lost its fire,
and her eyes were still damp.

"Very well, you're a big
girl now," he said and gave her a mocking smile. "And I'll
feed you too, Erry, and I'll treat you well—as well as I treat my
dogs. Come with me into my tent. We'll eat and drink there, and
we'll be warm." He looked at the mutt. "The dog stays
here."

They stepped into his tent,
leaving the songs and cheer outside.

It was a small tent, no larger
than the room he'd frequent in the Bad Cats brothel. He had a cot
with an old blanket, a chest of clothes, and a table laden with jugs.
It was enough for Leresy. His days of pomp and grandeur seemed but
a distant memory; he had lost the desire for pomp when the resistors
slew his wife upon the forest.

"Stars, Leresy," Erry
said softly. "I've been to your chamber at Castra Luna. You
had tapestries. A stained-glass window. A bed larger than any I've
ever seen. You had fine cloaks with fur and embroidery." She
looked around the tent and smiled crookedly. "You live like a
common soldier now."

He snorted, walked to a table,
and poured a mug of wine.

"What were you doing in my
chambers in Castra Luna?"

She shrugged. "Rifling
through your chest of undergarments, of course. Stars, Leresy, you
own more corsets than I do."

"Funny," he said.
"Funny girl. That chamber, Docker… that chamber was nothing
but a fisherman's hut compared to the grandeur of the capital."
He stared at the tent wall, lost in memory. "Have you ever seen
them? The walls and towers of Nova Vita?"

She shook her head. "I've
seen the boardwalk at Cadport and I've seen forts. I've never seen
grandeur, my lord."

He closed his eyes. "The
walls rise so tall there, Docker. Taller than you can imagine. The
towers rise above them, and ten thousand banners fly. The streets
are so wide twenty soldiers march abreast. And the palace! The
palace scratches the sky itself, and—" He stopped himself. He
clenched his jaw. "But I will build myself a new kingdom, a
better kingdom, a realm of wonder in the south, far beyond my
father's reach." He turned toward her. "I will take you
there with me. You are mine now, Erry Docker, and I will look after
you. You are safe with me. All conquerors have concubines; you will
be mine."

She gave him a crooked smile.
"Will you untie me first?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why
would I do that?"

She slunk forward, pressed
herself against him, and looked up into his eyes, her chin against
his chest.

"Because I'm asking you
nicely?"

He snorted. "I prefer you
tied up."

She rolled her eyes, turned her
back toward him, and bent her knees. Fast as a weasel, she reached
out her tied hands, grabbed his dagger from his boot, and leaped
away.

"Thief!" he shouted
and gasped.

She spun back toward him, dagger
clutched behind her, and flashed a grin.

"It's how I survived in
Cadport." She twisted her lips, then brought her hands forward.
The rope that had bound her fell severed at her feet. "How
would you like your dagger back? In your neck or in your chest?"

"How about," he said,
"you hand it over hilt first, and you may eat our boar, drink
our wine, and share my bed. Surely those pleasures eclipse the
pleasure of stabbing me."

She twisted her lips. "How
fatty is the boar?"

"Very."

"We shall see. Let's eat
first; I'll keep the dagger in the meanwhile."

He shouted for his men, and one
brought in a plate piled high with steaming roast meat. When the man
left, Leresy held out one of his two chairs.

"Sit," he said to
Erry, "and we'll dine."

He had never seen a woman eat so
fast.

Erry was perhaps as small as a
child, but she attacked the roast boar like a starving jackal. She
stuffed the meat into her mouth until her cheeks bulged, gulped
noisily, and drank wine directly from the jug. After every bite, she
wiped her lips with the back of her hand, then reached for more.

"Have you ever heard of
chewing?" Leresy asked her, nibbling his own serving.

She glared at him over her
plate. "Chewing is for fine, fancy-pants princelings like you."
She stuffed more meat into her mouth. "But I'm from the docks
and mgfdfffgg…"

He shook his head sadly.
"You're eating your own weight in food. How do you stay so
small?"

She grabbed the jug of wine,
held it up with both hands, and guzzled. When she slammed it down,
wine dribbled down her chin.

"I'm like a snake,"
she said. "I eat a lot when I can find it. It usually has to
last a while."

When the plate was empty—Erry
had eaten most of the meal—she licked it clean. With a sigh, she
leaned back, kicked off her boots, and slammed her feet onto the
table.

"I don't want to see your
smelly feet," Leresy said, staring at them in distaste.

She wriggled her toes and raised
an eyebrow. "They're not smelly. I'm not one of your filthy
men. I'm a petite, lovely young maiden."

"I wouldn't know by the way
you eat," he said. "You could eat and drink my men under
the table."

She closed her eyes, and an
impish smile spread across her face. After a moment, she nodded and
rose to her feet.

"Very well," she said.
"I'm ready now."

She walked to the bed, turned
toward him, and began to undress.

Leresy stared in disbelief, one
eyebrow firmly raised. Erry did not undress seductively like Dawn
and Dusk and the other girls at the Bad Cats. She made it seem as
casual as a girl getting ready to bathe. When all her clothes were
gone, she stood before him, staring at him curiously.

"Well?" she said.
"Are you just going to sit there?"

Leresy stared at her.

Bloody
stars,
he thought.
I
was right. Barely any teats on this one.

And yet his loins stirred, and
he found himself marveling at how smooth her skin was and how lithe
her limbs.

"Do you always undress in
strange men's tents?" he asked, still seated at the table.

"You're not a stranger, my
lord," she said. "In Castra Luna, I dreamed of this.
Whenever I sneaked into your chambers—and I did several times—I
dreamed of this. But I was always afraid, unsure if you wanted me.
You fancied Tilla then, I knew it." Her eyes hardened. "But
Tilla is gone from you now. And I'm here. You said that I'm yours
now, Leresy. So make me yours."

She climbed onto his bed, lay
down upon her belly, and closed her eyes.

Leresy
stood up, walked toward the bed, and stared down at her.
Flaming
Abyss,
he thought. He had never known a woman to give herself to him so
easily—at least, not one he wasn't buying. Without her muddy
clothes, and despite her boyish hair and boyish frame, she seemed
oddly intoxicating to him. He sucked in his breath, and he took her.

He took her roughly. He
conquered her. He had never taken a woman so roughly, not in all his
days of conquering them. He hurt her. He was sure he hurt her, yet
she made not a sound. She had let many men hurt her, he realized.
She had let many men claim her like this, lying down with her eyes
closed, offering her body to get what she needed—if not money then
food or protection or shelter. Leresy did not care. From this day
she would be his alone.

When he was done with her, he
wanted to toss her out of his tent. He hated women sleeping in his
bed; he always had. He slept alone; he always did. He going to grab
her, to toss her out, but he found himself holding her desperately
and stroking her hair, and tears filled his eyes.

"I love you, Nairi,"
he whispered. "I love you."

They lay in his bed as his
candles guttered. He kept stroking her hair, short hair like a
boy's, and holding her so close, and his eyes stung. He had never
let a woman sleep in his bed. Tonight he slept with Erry Docker in
his arms.

 
 
KAELYN

She walked through Lynport, her
cloak wrapped around her and fear gripping her heart.

Soldiers lined the streets,
standing vigil at every corner, their helms hiding their faces. An
imperial dragon patrolled the sky, clad in black armor bearing red
spirals, his flames crackling in a wake. Kaelyn tightened her cloak
around her, struggling to calm her trembling fingers. She felt bare
without her sword and bow, as fragile as a mouse treading among cats.

I've
walked here before in disguise,
she told herself. She had visited Lynport—Cadport to her father,
but always Lynport to her—dressed as a priestess twice before.
I
will live today too.