A/N: Welcome all to the dreadful or brilliant ramblings of my depressed mind. THis story is about an enslaved Rikash Salmalín who is fighting for his escape and is aided by someone undisclosed at this time.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the Maren king, what Rikash looks like and acts like, and my mystery woman! maniacal laughter The rest belongs to the brilliant Tamora Pierce.
Chapter 1: Slave
"Are you willing to die for that belief?"
The words rung in the ears of Rikash Salmalín as he lay on the icy floor of the Marenite palace. Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself back to his feet to stare at the king of Maren, loathing in his storm-grey eyes. He slowly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, flinging it down to mar the polished floor. "I am willing." His reply was made with every ounce of stubbornness that he had inherited from his parents.
King Orlad met his gaze, causing Rikash to wince. The king's eyes were crazed and filled with anger, something Rikash should have known better to provoke. The snap of fingers echoed in the frigid air and then the whistle of a whip. Pain flared once more across Rikash's back and stars danced in his eyes. He winced as he sat up, his back one solid, burning ache.
"You are worth no more than your Tortallian blood," The king hissed, snapping his fingers again. This time, the slave collar on Rikash's neck burned his skin and the stench of burning flesh filled the chamber. "Then I am worth more than you," Rikash declared, wiping sweat-soaked smoke-black hair out of his eyes. He then spat at the king's feet, knowing what the punishment was. If he had not been a Shape-Shifter, Orlad would have killed him long ago.
"Get him out of my presence!" As Orlad commanded, guards came forward to drag Rikash back to his grubby slave quarters. With a snarl, he shook them off and stalked out of the hall, head held high. "Oh, by the way, your sister is dead." Rikash froze, spinning slowly on the spot to lock eyes with the mad king.
"What did you say?" Despite the fact that Rikash was a slave and he was addressing the king, his tone was threatening. His eyes were narrowed, pupils slit-like. "I said, your sister is dead. We killed her as she tried to enter the country….Funny, she thought she could rescue you."
Something snapped inside him and his form shifted into that of a lion. With a roar, he lunged at the king, sharp teeth aimed for Orlad's throat. The collar suddenly tightened, burning into his mane and cutting off his air. He fell, mid-leap, losing control on his form and gasping for air. There was one thing he was grateful for: unlike his mother, Rikash kept his clothes when he shape shifted, something that had saved a lot of embarrassment.
The collar gave one more painful squeeze, making his throat burn, and then loosened. Blood trickled from underneath the collar, a warm snake that flowed down his chest. "You should know better, Rikash. I own you now. If you kill me, the spell that binds your life force to mine will kill you." Orlad laughed, clapped his hands, and watched Rikash be dragged out of the throne hall.
In the corner of the hall, a servant dusted some paintings. Her long black hair was tucked into a bun while her pale skin seemed to radiate in the mage lights. She paused, watching the guards pull Rikash out of the hall, her green eyes glinting with rage. On the inside of her wrist, a small tattoo of a snarling tiger graced the pale skin. The servant pulled the covering over a portrait and disappeared, following the path that the guards and Rikash had taken. A dark green light graced the tips of her fingers as she slipped down a side corridor, whispering urgently to the tiny ball of flames that sat in the palm of her hand.
A/N: Go on, flame or exalt. Just press the little button!
