Satin Hostage – Chapter Fourteen

Darien stood at the Nor's quarterdeck, looking out over the sleeping town early the next morning. Much as he hated to admit it, Serena's prediction as to Zoicite Maeyen's reaction did make disturbing sense. He hadn't thought much about the possibility of Maeyen refusing to part with even one slave for his fiancée's life. His consideration had centered more around his course of action if Joshan hadn't survived the Ibereth mine collapse.

He watched the port slowly come to life as the mists hung over the waters. Most of the ships docked were pirate and a few he recognized as thinly disguised slave transports. It was a safe port for questionable traders like himself, where the felonies of one criminal blurred and paled against the rampant corruption.

But it wasn't the magnitude of the city's decadence that played on Darien's mind. Earlier that morning he had dispatched Lucas and two other men by horse to scout out the Maeyen mines near Lusson. Zoicite's mention of the mine could be a false ploy altogether, but Darien wanted to know if Joshan was there. Zoicite Maeyen would buy the boy with his own life if he refused to bargain for Serena. Surely the mine overseer could not deny an offer to ransom his master's life.

If Serena was correct in her analysis about Maeyen, he also knew, there may be an attempt to take her from the Nor while they were docked at Cold Rock. An unpleasant smile crossed his face at the thought. He would welcome such a confrontation, knowing it would result in Zoicite's demise.

He scowled suddenly. But that was not his ambition. He only wanted Joshan back.

Which was partly why he was disappointed in himself for succumbing to those cobalt eyes that drew him close last night. Too close.

"You're slipping, Montaro," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he watched the city across the dock. Her soft form within his arms had haunted his dreams last night, the slight tremble of her lips when he'd first kissed her, the hesitation that disappeared when her hand clutched his shirt.

"Not again," he cautioned himself. Nothing to interfere with his goal. He sighed. That might not be so simple; Serena presented quite the enticement, even if brief.

The day passed leisurely without sign or word from Zoicite. The bustle of the town activity rose and fell as the day wore on, oblivious to the two figures waiting on the Eliana Nor. Serena observed the business of the docks, watching for a familiar form that would confront Darien and, hopefully, take her home. She had little faith, however, in such an encounter. She believed Zoicite would come without Joshan, and Darien would refuse any negotiation or payment.

It wasn't loyalty or love that made her wince at the thought of Zoicite's death. She wasn't anxious to see him take the full punishment for a crime initiated before his birth. Zoicite wasn't innocent, Serena rationalized from her perch on the upholstered bench at the window; he was only continuing an illegal family practice.

But most of her turmoil came from visions of going home to Izramuth. She couldn't tell her father of the Maeyen family secret. She must return as the unfortunate bride whose future no longer held a bridegroom. It had to be that way, she told herself.

She could never prove Zoicite as a slaver to her father, not without months of constant doubt. There was no proof, only Darien's word - if he even consented to vouch for her as witness first-hand to the Maeyen slave practice - and that would only be taken for what it was; a pirate's honor. She looked to the bedroom doorway as he appeared there.

"Get your wrap. We're going to find some supper."

Serena took his arm without hesitation as they walked down the long pier and into town, feeling a security with his nearness. The thoroughfare still swarmed late in the day with a variety of criminals, prostitutes, and a scatter of legitimate shop owners. Again Darien was approached by a slaver to part with Serena, and his answer was the same, but this man was more persistent. He was a tall, tightly built man, and his eyes went over her in a way that made her feel invaded without being touched.

Darien shook his head adamantly and spoke briefly in a dialect she didn't understand. He ushered her down the cobble street quickly. "Put your wrap up."

She complied, pulling the shawl over her head like a himation.

"You really look Izmaruthen now."

She adjusted the draped hood as its edge swept the street. "Is that good or bad?"

He shrugged, feeling her hand tighten on his sleeve. "Good, I guess. If you like Izmaruthen women. Which I do," he added. His tone grew stern. "Did you know him?"

"Who? The man who - back there?" She frowned, stepping carefully over a patch of uneven stones. "Of course not. How would I know him?"
"Maeyen may send someone to try buying you."

She considered this and dismissed it hastily. "He would come himself."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." The answer sounded flat and unconvincing, even to her.

"Have you changed your mind since last night?" Darien moved the shawl to see her face clearer, grinning as her eyes rose to his. "You still hold allegiance to a man you don't believe will trade one slave for you?"

"I told you, it's a bigger issue than that," she said stiffly.

"I see it as a small price for a lovely bride."

She made an effort to return her attention to the street ahead of them.

"But you may be right," he admitted with a sigh as he stopped and glanced up at a food house sign. "This one will do."

Serena was quiet through the meal and Darien didn't demand her conversation. He contented himself to admiring the determined set of her lips, and the blush that bloomed when she caught his stare. She said nothing, but the thick lashes dropped, hiding her not-altogether hostile eyes.

He watched her knife saw at the coarse meat on the dish, noting she ate little. The crystal beaded shawl lay on her shoulders beneath waves of golden hair and he recalled its silken touch last night. There hadn't been the familiar sent of jasmine to her, but a bolder, intoxicating scent that seemed headier after the first touch of a kiss.

Her response to his caress had been an unexpected welcome, even if too short and he knew it wasn't out of practiced accomplishment, but of neglected longing. This realization galvanized his thoughts, his attentions focusing on Serena's fuming features across the table as she tried to read his mind.

He sat back. "Ready to go?"

They reentered the bustling streets as the sun surrendered toward the watery horizon and the concerned townsfolk hurried home. Serena made no pretense at bravery, but pulled the shawl over her head and stayed close to Darien's arm. As they rounded the first turn of the wide street, a man stepped before them.

"Captain?"

Darien appraised the man swiftly. "You have business with me?"

"Possibly." The thin man looked to Serena, committing a slight bow. "My pardon, dear lady," he said with an accent she didn't recognize. He turned back to Darien. "My companions and I seek passage to Jorz Baed. No cargo. We would be pleased to leave tomorrow."

Serena looked away as the men spoke, watching the stars wink on overhead in the red-violet sky. She heard Darien refusing the fare and referring the man to solicit at another tavern.

The thin man asked for directions, but she didn't hear the answer. A hand covered her mouth from behind before she could cry out and a thick arm came around her with stifling force. The shawl was slung over her head as she was pulled clumsily backward. The hand at her mouth moved and she was heaved off her feet and over the back of her attacker.

Serena wasn't sure screaming would have any affect in the dark streets filled with mercenaries and thieves, but she did it anyway. Her arms swung wildly, clawing, and one elbow made contact with her abductor's face. She pummeled him, kicking and pulling at the shawl as he ran through the streets and alleys. He dropped her suddenly and she hit the ground of the uncobbled alley. She flung the shawl from her face and scrambled to her feet as the man reached for her. In the dim light of the alley she recognized the man who had tried to buy her earlier.

"Now, set down, pretty," he said in his crude version of Embrosse. From his belt he took a short sword. "No fight, no hurt. Okay, pretty? Just a sample of you. See how best to sell you later."

Serena took a stunted look behind her at the dark alley blocked by cages of roosting chickens and then back at the stocky man. He waved in an unappealing beckon, closing the short distance between them quickly.

She bolted, but again he caught her, his thick build belying smooth reflexes. A smothering, unwashed odor overwhelmed her as he pushed her against the block wall. The sword point was at her throat, checking her further struggles. His eyes went over her slowly, stopping momentarily at the emerald necklace and resting again on the fitted bodice and white chemise.

When his hand went to her breast, Serena struck him as hard as she could, feeling the sword tip etch into her skin. His dark eyes narrowed to knots and he back-handed her, sending her to her knees against the wall. She folded from the blow, but was only conscious of her dress starting to rip and the chill night air on her bosom. She covered herself and turned her face to the wall as his boot aligned to her head.

But the kick was never completed. She chanced a look up to see the burly man had turned, the sword brandished as Darien launched at him with his own gauche. The man growled something Serena didn't understand, and Darien beat him back to the roosting cages.

The clash of metals rang through the alley as the man threw Darien back a few feet, his blade slicing open his shirt sleeve.

Darien brought the sword across the man's chest, opening the shirt through to the skin, and then another swipe that half cut his throat. Serena held her breath as the man looked with shock at Darien as they circled each other for a long moment, until her view of Darien was blocked by her attacker.

Suddenly his back hunched as the end of the sword thrust through it. The gauche blade retracted as the man made a guttural, choking sound and the sword point suddenly protruded up from his shoulder blade from inside. Darien let the man drop, the long knife still embedded in the stocky man's abdomen. He stepped past the fallen man and kneeled at Serena's side.

"Are you all right?" His face hardened as she sat up straighter and held her dress tighter. "Are you hurt, Serena?"

She shook her head, eyes still on the man's dying form. "I didn't run away," she said shakily as Darien's hands closed around her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"I know you didn't." He touched the small slit on her neck with his thumb, cursing at the filthy handprints on her torn dress. "Did he do anything to you?"

She shook her head. He leaned her against the wall and found the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, feeling a trembling seize her body. He gently settled his arms around her shoulders, holding her closer, loosely, sensing a restraint in her poise.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked when she looked up at him, her body still tensing from him.

"Yes." Her fingers clutched the shawl shakily as he took her hair out from the collar.

"All right then," he said as she looked back to the dead man. "Let's go."

Darien hurried her through the shadowy streets to the docks and his ship, his emotions conflicted as she alternately clung to his arm and kept the few inches of space between them. In the cabin bedchamber he made her face him, and turned her chin to examine the slight cut at her neck, but she insisted on changing clothes first.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, filling her washbasin pitcher with fresh water from a bucket near the hearth.

"Thank you."

He nodded and left her alone in the room.

Serena went behind the folding screen and hastily removed the vest, velvet skirt and ripped chemise, tossing them over the divider as the repugnant stench of the man came back to her memory. The mauve flannel gown settled on her in a comforting embrace and she sighed, feeling strangely protected, as if the soft fabric would quell her chills. With new assurance, she poured water into the washbasin and scrubbed her face and washed her neck, arms and shoulders, shaking a scented oil into the water.

Darien returned as she finished and she accepted the pewter goblet he offered. She took only a small sip of the strong liquor tinged with cinnamon and anise.

"It stopped bleeding already," she said as he touched the nick at her neck still stinging from the perfumed water.

"Doesn't look like it will scar," he decided. He dumped the basin water out the window and poured in fresh. She flinched when he soaked a cloth and held the cold, wet surface to her swelling lip. "It's not cut bad, but it'll still bruise a little. He hit you the one time?"

She nodded, her thick lip uncooperative.

"Any teeth loose?"

She shook her head and took the cloth from him.

"Open."

She frowned. "I will not. My teeth are fine, Darien."

"Keep the cloth on it for a while," he said with a grin, sorting through her armoire. He found the flannel cote and held it as she slipped into it. "You didn't know him?"

Her pout was hampered by the puffing lip. "Of course not. Zoicite wouldn't send someone to assault me. I'll do it," she said as he began to tie the cote laces at her collar into a large knot. "By Tow, you could raise a mast with this."

"Not quite." He took out the knot he was fixing and led her to the fireplace. "Drink that and you'll feel a little better."

She sat in the cushioned chair, the cloth at her lip and the drink in her hand. The coldness kept the swelling to a minimum, but she didn't like the thickness when she spoke. Her bare feet rested on the hearth as the flames leaped higher into the chimney.

Darien took another main gauche from the case and brought it and the polishing compound and sat by the fire. He turned the twisted brass handle, inspecting the blade's straight edge, eyes flicking to the slender ankles in view below the flannel gown at the hearth. He looked up at Serena's bemused expression, softened further by the low firelight, and chose his words carefully.

"It shouldn't have happened, your attack," he admitted with unaffected frankness after several long moments. "Charades like that are common in slave ports. I should've recognized it." His hands stilled on the gauche and he said gently: "Serena, I'm sorry."

A short smile touched her mouth, hidden by the cloth, as she assessed the sincerity in his tone. The words surprised her, a little. "I know it wasn't your doing," she said as a slow blush heated her face. She didn't know if it was from the brandy, the fire or his genuine concern, but she blamed it on the drink.

For a while she watched him bring a gleam to the knife's long blade. As she did, the trauma of her assault dissipated to be replaced by another concern. She wasn't confident in her ability to sway Darien's determination, but she was aware she had persuaded him to subtly alter his plans before. She put her tongue to her lip, judging that the swelling had shrunken.

"If you kill Zoicite, you'll never get your brother back, Darien," she said, anticipating his retort.

His eyes fastened on hers with a weary restraint. "I told you my decision, and it's not open to debate."

"But it's true," she urged, the lip making her words sluggish.

"Perhaps." He ran a cloth down the clean blade, catching the fire's light. "Perhaps your husband will be more serviceable alive than dead. He may even be worth enough to exchange for Joshan."

Serena forgot her injured lip. "You would hold him for ransom?"

"Why not?" His voice hardened despite the appeal in her face. "You're convinced he won't trade a slave for you. Maybe he'll value his own skin more."

She watched him add more compound to the blade. "But you don't," she said almost inaudibly, her eyes dropping to the fire.

"Should I? I only guaranteed your life; Not his."

She heard him, but didn't say anything. Zoicite was doomed if he did not bring Joshan. Darien was resolute this time. She knew it by his posture, and how he didn't look at her; she'd learned that much about him. She folded the warm cloth and absently held the coolest side to her lip. It may not come to such extremes, she thought with fading consolation. Darien had come for his brother and wouldn't be compensated by any other settlement.

She sighed, staring past the fire, absorbed in thoughts of disillusion. Perhaps there would be another time to plead with Darien for Zoicite's life before the confrontation, a meeting which could turn deadly for Zoicite if Joshan wasn't to be delivered. There was still time for Darien to reconsider, but not much.

She refused to acknowledge the small whisper echoing in her head that demanded to know why she would plead Zoicite's refusal to Darien if he wouldn't render the boy for her life. Was it only because she'd listened to the half truths of the Maeyen family history for six years in the Valley? There was much truth in what she'd been told for all those years, but never had anyone hinted at the dark reality of slavery.

No, she thought, focusing on the flames in the hearth. If Zoicite doesn't bring Joshan for me, his life would be out of my hands. She sighed, watching Darien glance briefly to her. Fragments of a plan she'd begun to form tried to surface in her mind, but Serena pushed them away.

Even then she'd have to marry Zoicite.

For four days the Eliana Nor lay still in the Cold Rock harbor. The time passed slowly for Serena, whose thoughts volleyed between an unexplainable loyalty to her espoused husband and hatred for his amoral practices. Zoicite was late, there was no question, but Darien's promise for her future had been kept. He hadn't taken measures against her, or even made new threats, and it resulted in an endearing trust in him. She idled the days sitting at the window bench with hopeful anticipation, her eyes moving along the dock traffic wehn she was allowed - escorted - onto the deck, and attempting to find interest in the books from the cabin office.

Darien himself didn't take the wait well, either, but he spent most of his time on deck, also waiting for Zoicite Maeyen. He was wary, too, for any sign of military or other mercenary force that would try to interfere with his plans. He doubted action of the former effort, believing that Maeyen would prefer quiet, unspectacular attention for his business rather than deal with the ramifications on legal authorities. The threat of hired mercenaries was possible, and the Maeyen finances could well afford top swordsmen.

On the fifth night, Serena awoke to the bedroom door closing softly. She lay still, at first only aware of the fire snapping, and then distinguished low voices from the office. She looked to the unstrung hammock and silently got out of bed and slipped into the dressing cote. From beside the fireplace she heard Darien's low voice, followed by Lucas'.

"... or anyone," she heard the mate say midsentence. "But it's been occupied recently, within the week, and by a lot of people. Young too. Most were small footprints. All bare."

"What about the mine itself?" Darien asked from the office.

"Boarded up tight, and quick. The tar hadn't yet set."

Serena sat crouched at the flickering hearthside, Lucas' words making her fingers tighten on her flannel gown. She waited to hear Darien's response to the news.

"Were you watched?"

"I don't think so. There were four low barns with chains and ring posts and two ox stables, but no animals. Everything was cleared out."

"Where did they go? Which direction?"

Serena heard Lucas sigh. "A couple different ways. Single file, so I couldn't tell how many went each way. Traffic was heaviest south, though, and the animals and wagons went that way. Toward the valley."

"Maeyen wouldn't keep a slave force in the valley," Darien disagreed. "My guess is he's spreading them out. Maybe even hide the most in Ibereth for a while. Those shafts could easily swallow an army, even collapsed."

Serena took a deep breath as the men's conversation lagged. So that was where Lucas had been. She'd noticed his absence, but it didn't occur to her the mate had gone to the Lusson mine. She heard the sound of a bottle scrape the desk edge.

"He never even considered meeting me here."

Serena's breath caught as Darien's words lay suspended in the air, then their weight sank into her.

"He won't just abandon her," Lucas said.

"Looks like he has."

Serena felt a chill creep up her spine despite the fire's proximity, eyes opening wider.

"A girl's been around here looking for you," Darien said suddenly. "Brunette. Half Dembian, I think."

Lucas laughed. "Risa."

"You owe her money? She was awful anxious to see you."

Serena heard Lucas' low chuckle. "It ain't money she wants. There's another girl there, at the house Risa keeps at. Hair like the sun, eyes blue as sapphire."

"How poetic, Lucas."

The first mate belched. "She speaks Randalian too. You'd like to hear that for a change. She'd take your mind off Maeyen."

"I'm not finished with him yet," Darien said. "If Joshan is still alive, I'll find him."

"I wasn't talking about Zoicite Maeyen," Lucas emphasized.

Darien allowed a short laugh. "You've still got time before we sail. Better get to Risa's bed before she finds someone else."

Lucas sighed. "Yeah. She fills it fast."

Serena heard a chair move on the floor and she hurried noiselessly to the bed, tossing her cote on the bench as she went. A low mumble of voices continued for a moment, followed by the outside door opening and closing. She lay curled in the bed, scarcely breathing, her face tucked so she could only see the low fire beyond the tall bed posts. She waited for the bedchamber door to open, but it remained shut. She heard the creak of the office chair, and she relaxed, confident Darien didn't suspect her of eavesdropping.

When the door opened several long moments later, she laid still, her face half hidden in the pillow. She closed her eyes, making herself breath rhythmically. The smell of ashes grew strong as Darien added wood to the fire and the floorboards squeaked under his step. The footsteps grew closer and forced her breathing to remain steady when he pulled the comforter higher over her. His hand paused, touching her cheek lightly where the bruise had nearly faded, and then she heard him step away.

Serena tried to calm her racing pulse as sounds of the hammock being retied reached her ears. Her eyes opened halfway, the shadows hiding her face. She watched him lay there in the hammock, knowing he didn't see the ceiling at which he stared.

Zoicite was not coming for her. Darien had said it; even Lucas couldn't believe it, and now Serena had to accept it. Lucas had given unknown testimony that she couldn't ignore. Zoicite didn't count her life worth a possible accusation of slavery. Easier for her to be lost among the slave traders in ruthless Cataduke than risk the Maeyen future. She was expendable; his position on King Thulgarde's court and the collapse of his family fortune were not.

There would be other chances to marry. When news of her death hit the inner courts - and she was sure he would report her dead - every unwed daughter would be put on parade. She was a sacrifice he could accept.

Serena forgot her pretense at sleep in the quiet night and rolled over. She could see both moons out the window cracked open, each small and only a luminous sliver in the clear skies. It should have been a beautiful sight, the hanging arcs of opal, but she didn't see it as so. Instead she saw the fading orbs being slowly eclipsed, suffocating in the dark night. In a few nights there would be no moons at all, as if they were being squeezed out of the sky.

She buried her face in the quilts, her tears falling silently as her hands knotted in bitterness in the comforter at being forsaken.

Did her life mean so little? Was it so convenient to let her go? Serena tried to checks her sobs, but they had taken hold. When she felt a hand on her hair she knew it was Darien, but she only turned deeper into the pillow as he sat beside her.

He pulled her up and closer, taking the comforter from her clenched hands, arms settling warmly around her. She dared not look at his face, content only that she was within his arms, that she wasn't completely deserted for the moment, at least. She didn't even care that her cheek rested beside her uncle's mark of slavery on his bare arm.

Darien let her weep for a long while, until her tears subsided, resting his chin gently on her head, resisting the impulse to kiss the top of her hair, even in consolation, believing he wouldn't stop himself there. Her hair was smooth and lush, its shine like copper in the firelight as he gently brushed it with his hand. Even when her body stilled its trembling, she remained close, unwilling to move away.

"You were listening," he stated more than asked. Her hair bobbed against his shoulder.

She let her hand follow his arm, halting at his elbow that curved around her. He felt her posture stiffen, but not pull from him. She wiped her eyes, her thoughts in disarray, and finally looked up at him.

"When are we sailing?"

He sighed, overly conscious of her delicate spine beneath his hand. "Tomorrow."

"To the valley?"

He nodded and put a finger to her lips when she began to speak again. "But that's all you need know, Serena. No more questions."

A distinct tenseness came to her body now. "But what -"

"That's all," Darien repeated, not wanting to release her as she pulled slowly from him.

She wrapped her arms around her bent knees, still studying his face intently, teary eyes still shining. "Do you really think Joshan is alive?" she asked, her tone void of insult.

"I don't know." His eyes dropped over her features with an appreciation not completely veiled. Her fingers tightened on her arms, but she didn't rebuke his attention. He wondered if this was an attempt at a new unreservedness or sheer contempt for Zoicite's memory. "You still don't want to go home? To Izramuth?"

She shook her head, sighing. "My father would -"

"All right. All right," he said with a tired defeat. He stood up, muttering something she didn't completely hear. "I won't make you go back, but there are to be no more questions. Your future is safe, as far as I am concerned, Serena. Content yourself with that for now. Understand?"

The words were not stern, but quiet and reassuring, as a father would speak to a scared child. She nodded, her inquisitiveness pacified for the moment. "I understand."

"Good. Sleep well, firefly."

"Good night."