Property of Kimra Lelanst, do not duplicate without consent.
Rieishel stumbled into the room ungracefully, cursing her swollen ankle and trying to gain orientation. It was a small room, enough space for a single bed and an equally sized table, a small cupboard and oddly enough a fireplace. A soft natural light lit the room, surprising her, they had not travelled upwards since passing the guard at the door. She supposed somewhere along the lines she may have lost orientation, especially since they had continued to wander through poorly lit tunnels for some time after that, but she doubted it.
Foreitiket pushed her into the room another few steps and latched the door behind them. She spun, alert and weary only to have him walk past her, ignoring her unease as he flopped onto the small bed with a sigh. The chain at her throat tugged as he landed, and unexpectedly she was pulled after it.
She landed flat across his chest, too shocked to respond immediately to the situation so she felt the rumbling laughter beneath her head before she had jumped back to her feet as far as the chain would allow.
“Must take getting used to, I guess.” Was all he said before the golden line slithered through his fingers to the ground. She watched it pool at her feet, her eyes jumping to the door with a quick calculation. “Now chain yourself up like a good slave will you?” His mild voice asked, a yawn breaking through the last two words. And before a reply had come to her befuddled mind he had rolled onto his side, back to her, and began to snore lightly.
Rieishel looked at the dragon threaded around her fingers and the gold chain, dangling before her, still clasped to her throat, then to the door. And remembering the tunnels and corridors travelled, the turns they had passed and corners taken, Rieishel dropped all pretence of escape. Her body sagged into the near lounge chair, her eyes sliding closed and the chain still unfastened.
* * * * *
A stinging slap woke Rieishel from empty dreams, purple eyes like mirror reflections above her. She mumbled something incoherent and the sting of her right check returned a hand settling against her throat. To tired to think she pushed the hand away from her, and when it tried to fall once more against her face blocked it with tired limbs. Again she mumbled, eyes drifting closed.
The next contact against her check brought her alert with it’s ferocity. Her body jerked with the thick pump of adrenaline, hindered in it’s movements by the heavy weight settled above it. Her eye’s once more met the purple one’s above her laying form. Her chest constricted.
“Can you read?” Foreitiket’s baritone demanded. An elbow was pushed into her shoulder, the hand attached, below his chin holding his head at level with her’s. She tried to think of her answer, the concept of ‘read’ foreign but so too everything else seemed to be.
His hand raised to strike again and to prevent the damage of the blow she shook her head fiercely.
Those purple eyes rolled and the weight above her moved as he shifted and stood. Air rushed to her lungs with a sharp breath, eyes following the stranger as he slouched over a desk, quill in hand and moving furiously. Her breaths where harsh, her mind slow to wake, and when he turned to face her, a thunderstorm in his expression she was not yet prepared.
He did not strike, nor yell, nor did he sooth of placate. Instead he stepped the three steps to her and held out a yellow tinged parchment. With trembling fingers, her eyes on his to detect when she erred she drew the leaf from his hand and held it before her eyes. A jumble of lines and swirls sat before her in patterns foreign and unintelligible.
The scraping of wood as he drew the desk chair to her side before straddling the back resounded through the room. The end of the feather quill pointed to the first square of lines.
“This here say’s ‘Fore’.” He pointed to the next symbol, far less complex. “That there’s an ‘i’ and the next is ‘tiket’.” He circled the three letters. “And there you have my name.” He moved to the symbols beside them. “The first is ‘guild’, the second ‘property’, and this pretty little one here?” He pointed to the last, which seemed more flourished then the rest. “That’s this guilds sign.”
She blinked at the symbols, silently admitting that they still looked like a mass of swirls and lines but unwilling to voice that thought. Instead her fingers curled around the edges of the parchment eyes returning to his purple ones.
“And this concerns me how?” Her voice was soft, despite the demand in her tone, sleep still nibbling at the edges of her awareness.
He gave a vague shrug before snatching the text from her. “Just thought you’d like to know what we’re writing on you.”
At the word ‘we’re’ her eyes jumped past him to the rest of the room before they found a frail looking man watching her from the small doorway. His intense brown eyes where focused on her, one brow half raised, if in curiosity of scorn she could not tell. In his right hand he held two rolled up pieces of oiled leather, one slightly darker then the other. His dirty blonde hair was in disarray, his face smudged with soot and ink.
“Writing?” She repeated with a tint of fear in her body and perhaps in her voice. The blonde winked at her.
“We wont be damaging your pretty little skin, so don’t you worry.”
“Jaryn!” Foreitiket turned and snapped fiercely. The new stranger looked chastised, until Foreitiket had turned his attention back to her and a look of playful teasing slipped to his eyes. She looked away from him, uncertain and found herself looking to Foreitiket once more. “Take your shirt off and roll over.” Was the order that came form him, his eyes looking calmly into her own.
“What?” She gasped, her hands automatically raising to wrap around her chest, an action and insecurity she didn’t fathom. There was a cough of a laugh from the tiny man in the doorway.
Foreitiket stiffened, his eyes still on hers darkened immediately. And he roared a reprimand that made her jump as high as the stranger. “What did I say?”
Silence met his demand. Rieishel to scared by the intensity of anger in his voice to even breath the man at the door looking equally as effected. It took the blonde a few moments to gain control again and his expression became blank.
“I forgot Fore.” He sounded mildly apologetic. The man drew in a tight breath, fingers tightening around the leather rolls. His voice became harsher. “You want this done or not?”
The tension in the air was not unnoticed as Rieishel tried to regain control of her racing heart and tense muscles. Her arms where still wrapped about her body protectively, knowing the command would be issued again soon and wondering if she had the courage to ague with her captor or if she would accept any order.
“Yes.” Foreitiket growled, the anger unabated. “I want this done.” His eyes swivelled from the blonde to her and the anger she saw there made her limbs begin to shake. He blinked, and his expression became as blank as the other mans. His voice when it came, was as blank as his expression. “Take your shirt off.” It was still a command, but her arms did little more then tighten about her body, tears beginning to build in her eyes. An exasperated sigh came from him, and she flinched back against the wall. “Oh for pity’s sake!” He shouted, his eye’s no longer blank. “We’re not going to rape you. Just take the blasted shirt off and lie face down on the bed.”
She hated the anger in his voice, as if the thought of someone raping her was foolish and unfounded. And in retaliation, stupid as it was, she stripped the shirt from her body and threw it at him, wanting to prove perhaps that the fear did not control her. He caught the shirt lightly, his expression unchanging fingers running over the material, eyes running over her. She refused to flinch, though her body still shock, and she refused to cover herself. She would be damned if she showed them any more weakness then she already had.
A frown flicked across his features and his eyes moved from her to the shirt in his left hand. Curiosity fuelled a fire in his eyes and she was amazed by the deep purple they shifted to as he stared. A tongue leapt out and wet his lips the frown still pulling against his expression then carefully he set the shirt aside.
“Lie down.” He ordered, a strangled tone in his voice, eyes not moving up to her still caught on the shirt. She obeyed quickly, hiding her chest beneath her body, baring her back to the man. “Jaryn.” Foreitiket’s baritone called.
Her surprised eyes jumped to the blonde man whom she had forgotten about. But her attention on the man was momentary as Foreitiket once more gained her focus. He stood from the wooden chair he had been occupying and gave her a weary look.
Then without explanation or warning he slipped his leg over her and settled his weight against her bared back Jaryn taking the wooden chair. Rieishel tried to calm herself, tried to reason that he had already said he had no interest in raping her, but her heart and body refused to believe her rationality.
Her eyes unable to see Foreitiket’s expression to determine his thoughts instead jumped to Jaryn’s, and he looked amused.
“Calm down.” He chided, unwrapping one of the leather rolls to reveal a set of silver blades and objects. “He just needs the angle.”
Her breathing became harsher as she stared at the blades, her mind trying to fathom what there presence meant. She couldn’t think straight, all she could do was feel the ruff material of the lounge scratching her chest; the weight of Foreitiket straddling her back pushing her deeper into the lounge; the feel of cut’s and bruises she had had no chance to tend to. And all she knew was that she had no control and no understanding of what was happening.
A calloused hand settled against her back and her body jerked at the new contact. “Calm down. It will hurt more if your tense.”
“What will?” She managed to choke out, fighting back the water in her eyes.
Jaryn made a noise, ignoring her and she felt rough fingers trace her shoulder blade then withdraw. “She’s not marked.”
“She doesn’t need to be with this.” The hand still resting on her back drifted up to her throat, and brushed at the collar she wore.
One of them whistled. “That’s going to be a problem.” Jaryn muttered.
“It’s not a problem yet.” Foreitiket replied sternly and the fingers tracing the collar moved up and captured her chin. “Now Rieishel, I need you to face the wall.” He shifted her head carefully so she was looking away from the room, then twisted her hair up above her head. “And I need you to stay as still as you can, because this is going to hurt and it’ll hurt more if you move.”
She didn’t have time to ask what it was that was happening before searing pain penetrated her shoulder and all she could do was heed his words and bite down on the cry that wanted to escape.
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Property of Kimra Lelanst, do not duplicate without consent. |
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