A/N: Sorry. I'm behind I know. I was working on other fics. Hopefully this will tide you guys over. Enjoy.
Chapter 32
White Foxes
Part 2
Tunnel Vision
There were still vast areas of the palace that had been either unexplored or forbidden to the former servant, and as she followed Black through the winding descending corridors and dark-stoned passageways, Norah was absolutely certain she was in uncharted territory. Even escorted by the Kahn's guard, and despite being a former employee of the Kahn's palace, she felt more akin to an unwelcome vagabond exploring through someone's grandiose home.
The ex-maid looked towards her tattered sleeves, the strings hardly discernible in the flickering torch-light hanging from the walls, as their footsteps echoed off the black and rust colored marbled stone staircase. She had never seen the type of building block used to construct the passageways but didn't need to. She could already identify what it was.
Bloodstone.
The word sent trepidation through her, despite she was in equally dangerous company; she was safe, but still not at all at ease. Unfortunately, she still felt fear for the stone more— a habit more than anything.
Bao had told her in her first few weeks of coming to the palace to be wary of the color— that she needed to pay close attention to the stone passageways she was in. It was a secret, and useful passed-along trick between servants and it had saved many of them from being beheaded.
Tan colored stone was devoid of danger. They were free to all and as harmless as the sand beneath their feet in the desert; anyone could walk on it.
Norah touched the spot where her uniform necklace used to hang while she worked as a cupbearer…
Faded turquoise stones were safe if you were permissioned first to wear the color. Her necklace had served as an easily identifiable pass to the guards that she could walk by its walls.
Her green eyes stared warily along the charcoal-colored walls; each crimson glimpse of subtle swirling color sending a minimal spark of trepidation through her.
Bloodstone, however….
The corner of her mouth tugged bitterly to the side. The brick that surrounded them caused dread to sink its talons into her; making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
She was grateful that the hardened mercenary had his back to her; she didn't want to display weakness to him over something he would consider so inconsequential.
Unfortunately, the type of stone she was adjacent to wasn't as frivolous to her.
Bao had simplified it and made it hauntingly easy to remember: "They say it was just obsidian rock at one point, but received its red color from the blood of servants, slaves and trespassers caught where they were not supposed to be."
She was not naïve— it was a ghost story. A warning told in a poetic riddle and nothing more. Norah also knew, as well as many Outworlders did, to pay heed to allegories. In Outworld, there was always a deadly lesson associated with any macabre tale in the realm; someone always paid the price, and their story was a warning for any future troublemakers.
For a moment, she envied the Kahn's guard's indifference.
Black didn't have to pay heed to anything irrelevant due to his heightened station. He could do whatever he pleased in the palace with seemingly no repercussions.
She had no such luxury, even as his cupbearer.
The baker frowned at the thought of her former occupation— one that she wasn't even sure she had anymore due to her unforeseen, and unwelcome marriage. Not that she enjoyed her time being a cupbearer. She had nothing but bad memories and a brand stamped on her flesh forever to serve as evidence of her time as one. The only thing that came out of it that was any benefit, was her kinship with Ferra/ Torr… and what had happened in the Vaults…
The baker sucked in a shaky breath, trying to push down the memory of the prison that unfortunately, ended up being traded for a somewhat similar and equally disgusting memory of a revelation to surface in its place.
Norah had found out the purpose of why Tama had wanted her in such a position after she had asked Abigail. It had been nothing but good fortune that the old woman even knew the answer; she hadn't expected her to know at all. She had remembered them sitting together in their shared room at Guang's house, and she had thrown out the question like a fisherman's line; not expecting to gain anything from her attempt but had to try regardless.
But the older Earthrealm woman had known and had wrote it down for her, and what she had written had made Norah sick. Even thinking of the words now made bile creep up in her throat as she continued to walk behind Erron.
It was nothing but a trick to get you to the Kahn's Day Feast. You would have had to attend, instead of baking bread in the back. And Tama's buyer's would have been in the crowd, bidding over you while you weren't even aware you were on an auctioneer's block. It is not the first time she has tried with other girls, but you were the only one that made it through Hulin.
It disgusted her, and frankly, after discovering Tama's true intentions, she was thankful that she was no longer required to serve as a cupbearer…
She let out a heated scoff, the curt sound echoing off the wall.
However, she had a feeling she no longer had her position, was because she was married now.
The former servant wasn't even sure what her position in the palace was anymore, now that she was the unhappy spouse to a highly respectable palace employee. What was she to the walls? A trespasser? Or an authorized entity simply because she was Hulin's wife? Or… was she just Erron Black and Ferra/Torr's guest?
The woman bit the inside of her cheek in thought and looked to the walls again, staring at them with less uneasiness and more subtle befuddlement.
He must have sensed her doubt, because he turned to her suddenly, and it was only then did she notice that their distance had grown; the space created when her steps had slowed due to her encompassing thoughts.
"What is it?" he asked.
The baker twisted her hands together in front of her; green eyes cast warily along the dark stone and then back to him, before she explained: "I am not usually supposed to be in this part of the palace."
"It's fine," he avowed plainly.
She gave a diffident shrug of her shoulder at him. "For you, perhaps. I might be beheaded if caught down here."
"You don't need to worry about it," he promised, his eyes blinking languidly as if the conversation bored him.
Her lips pressed tight together, regarding him with a skeptical expression before she looked about the stone corridors. Still not entirely convinced.
"You act as if I'm snakeoiling you," he observed. His eyes studied her, before he raised a dubious eyebrow. "You've never done any wanderin' about?"
Norah shook her head. "I went to work and then to bed. Nothing more."
"Exciting," the gunslinger drolled; his tone conveying the complete opposite of the word. "Figure you'd be up late, digging an escape hole with a spoon."
The baker let out a small bark of laughter, one that surprised her hearing it as it did him. She looked at the wall, biting her lip as she replied: "I thought about it, but I never did find a spoon suitable."
He smirked at her joke as she met his eyes, blinking plainly as their shared amusement quickly faded, before explaining indifferently: "Not all of us are privy to doing anything as luxurious as walking about freely. It's why I hated being a servant so much. You were never free to do anything. I was given no choice but to be anything but obedient coming here. Otherwise, I was dead. You and Tama just made everything worse."
He sighed through his nose strongly, as if thinking she meant to insult him; he had dragged her to the palace.
Norah quickly rose a hand, waving it at him to assure him she meant it indirectly.
He seemed to let it slide, assessing her after a moment as seeing she didn't mean to, and clarified: "Regardless of why you hated me, almost all of it was of Tama. She paid you. Manipulated you just like me to get me here. Otherwise, we both would not be here."
The bounty hunter said nothing, but she saw him grimace, and in turn she did the same. The truth was, he had made things worse when she came to the palace, but the only difference was that she was keener to forgive him given the chance than if it was Tama. To her, the woman would be nothing more than a monster, and there had been more than one occasion the gunslinger expressed remorse.
"She was good about making me know and feel my station. So… it is hard to be in these walls, and not just regarding the bloodstone…" she placed a palm on the wall, letting its cold and smooth surface rub against her skin as she slowly trailed it down. Her thoughts to her tumultuous past. "I feel like a servant again... being here, even though… I'm nothing now."
Her gaze cast downward. She wasn't sure why she had told him any of what was on her mind. Frankly, she didn't think he even cared. The baker could feel his eyes on her, judging her confession with stoic silence, and it made her want to sink into the floor. He probably just saw weakness looking at her, and perhaps it would have been better to keep her solemn thoughts bottled with the lid screwed tight and never to be opened. But… she had opened it. And she hadn't the slightest clue why.
She heard him approach, closing the distance as his bootsteps echoed off the dimly lit corridor, before he came to stand in front of her. His chest came into view, the dark undershirt he wore the only thing she saw, before she lifted her eyes to meet his.
They took note of each other with impassiveness at first, but it dissipated after an uncomfortable moment. The woman gazing up at him with patience as she saw guilt fog over in his eyes, making them darker in the flickering light; the same ones slanting in a thought he clearly detested.
He looked at her again, as if assessing if he could confide with her what was on his mind. Norah simply nodded her head at him, the motion almost undetectable, but it was enough for the reserved mercenary to get courage to speak.
"Never sat well with me… bringing you here," he told her, clearing his throat awkwardly after the words left his tight-pressed mouth.
Norah's eyebrows lifted at him, genuinely surprised by his admission. In a way, she had always known, but it wasn't something that she had ever come to expect him to utter out-loud. There was an apology hidden inside his disclosure, one buried beneath the surface but as evident as a grave marker protruding from the ground. She could tell it pained him even to admit it, as if he was also regretting displaying a sliver of weakness to her.
The woman tucked her hair behind her ear, clearing her own throat. "I know you did not like it. You wanted nothing to do with me as I with you. Thank you for telling me that, though..."
He also replied with his own small nod, the ex-cupbearer looking down at her palms as he scratched his stubble with his fingernails. Uneasy tension once again filled the air between them, and she cleared her throat at him, the corner of her lip tugging at the side.
"I am sorry for biting your arm… when you were... escorting me that first time. That was a bit… childish," she confessed, even if it didn't sound entirely candid. It had been self-defense, and she stood by it still, but she needed to say something to alleviate the mood.
He gave a breathy chuckle at her. "It ain't the first time anyone's bitten me while I dragged them in."
"I'm sure. I doubt any of them comply willingly," she said in, her voice lilting at his small jest.
His blue eyes shifted to the side, sucking at his teeth, before he turned on his heels; his back to her as they proceeded.
The marksman took her further down into the depths of the bloodstone corridors, and once again, the air grew stuffy between them; impermeable, but only half of it had to do with their conversation.
Norah breathed deeply in through her nose, finding it nearly impossible — the stone not the only thing making the woman uncomfortable.
Her eyes fixed to the back of her escort's head, the man's dark blonde colored hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. She caught the faintest glimpse of his neck, and stared at the translucent bead of sweat that rolled from the side of his face; passing along the front of his ear and then trailing down the side of his throat.
Sweat also rolled into her own eyes, causing her to lift a hand to rub it away. She breathed out an exhale, her lungs working more than usual to push out the weighted bit of air from her lips on the sweltering humidity.
She swallowed for air, working to create saliva to wet her throat — hoping for anything to alleviate the choking, hot air she sucked in with every breath. Norah wasn't alone; she noticed when he raised the back of his hand to wipe at his forehead, a disgruntled sigh escaping from his lips as his pace quickened.
By the Gods it was hot.
The corridors Black took her through, the deeper they proceeded, felt as if she was baking inside of one of her own stone ovens. Was he taking her to the center of a volcano? The grim somber lighting of the bleak corridors gave the impression that they were. But, unfortunately, the heat and the darkness reminded her of something else… a memory she longed the most to forget...
Eventually, the unique pair came to a large wooden door; the carvings on the outside ornate and crafted masterfully. Etched on the wood, nearly life-size, were two detailed whittled images— one of a man and one of a woman facing each other, both draped in flowing linens and holding pitchers of water. It was an intricate, breathtaking design—something that looked more like it was painted by oils than chiseled by hand. It was too beautiful just to be a door.
However, seeing it, knowing she should feel awe at its spectacle, felt herself blink rapidly; giving the door the same trepidation as the bloodstone it was set into.
She knew where she was now…
Norah took a step back.
And she would have much rather he had taken her to a volcano.
He took her to a bathhouse.
While the palace servants did have their own bathhouses, she never visited them— knowing all too well of the lascivious activities that occurred there beyond the guise of the innocent visage of it being a 'place for social gathering'. It was much more than just for bathing the sweat of the day off. It was an asylum to partake in lewd indulgences that servants needed to get out; using the release as a temporary balm before returning back to their unsavory, humdrum life.
While most activities were consensual —why else would you go there if not to find a partner— there was no doubt things that occurred violently between unwilling parties. And that was the aristocratic bathhouses.
The servant bathhouses were nothing like the highborn ones: where there was endless food, wine and clean accommodations. The servants' bathhouses were seedier, repugnant, and dangerous. It should have been labeled a brothel with water, and thus, why she never cared to know its location.
Norah sensed his eyes on her, staring over her guarded posture with an unreadable, but seemingly understandable regard—especially after taking note she seemed unwilling to take another step towards the door.
She frowned at him, the flop of greasy hair weighing down her scalp and the unfortunate aroma wafting in her nose from her own body odor, still not motivation enough to walk through the door. The baker wanted to flash him with indignation; to let him know that she had been offended he would even think to bring her here. Surely, he knew what her reaction would be?
It was well known palace gossip that aristocrats often took their servants to bathhouses to further subjugate and fornicate with them— when the bedroom was no longer interesting. Norah knew it was not his intention— far from it, but she still could not feel anything but hesitant embarrassment about why he would bring her to one.
She much preferred her bucket and rag after each day. At least she had her privacy, and after what had occurred days prior in the bowels of the Iron Vaults, she didn't want any more stranger's eyes gazing upon her naked flesh without her consent.
Norah wondered if she had bothered to recant to the gunslinger about her entire experience in the Iron Vaults, moments before she had been summoned to appear before the court, if he would have chosen another spot.
Everything so far was unfortunately reminiscent of the Vaults: from the heat, the darkness, and finally her uneasiness. Being a bathhouse, a place she would have to strip naked in front of others, also sent another foul memory of the prison racing back to her. She didn't want to admit it — not until she was ready to tell him— but being associated with him actually saved her hide twice that day.
The departure from Guang's house after Hulin and the Tribunal guards had found her had been a blur. Even now, she couldn't recall the trek to the People's Court or being processed at the prison. The baker had been too distracted by what had happened moments before arriving at the Iron Vaults…
The next thing she recalled, she was in a cell, which had been nothing but a dark, secluded room with stone, sand and an iron door with a small shutter that could be closed and opened by whoever was outside. It was nothing like the palace dungeons where she had spent her time with Tanya. Norah was always shrouded in overheated darkness; trapped in her own inky boiling void with nothing to do but feel around her cell. There wasn't anything of note, the cell bare besides a bucket to relieve herself in she had discovered while shambling around in the dark.
She knew she wasn't alone though; every so often she would feel a rat or bug scurry over her as she tried to sleep on the sand floor, and it wasn't until she blindly explored her room further, and sunk her hands into something bony and slimy —also overbearingly foul to smell — did she come across the body of another cellmate long since dead but still decomposing. The bugs and the rats prying whatever meal they could from the body.
The smell was also something that would be burned into her memory for as long as she lived; the stench of fecal matter, urine and blood outside her cell door barely overlapped the smell of rotting flesh inside her room, leaving her to speculate if some of her other neighbors were even alive at all; or simply forgotten like the prisoner left in her cell as well. As far as seeing other prisoners, she never saw anyone but the guards who would distribute a single meal; consisting usually of a stale piece of bread or flavorless broth, her room had been pitch dark and light only spilled in when they opened the door to give her food.
Though, she did hear her other cellmates… their voices had always been present.
The Iron Vaults were… macabre. Like being entombed with woeful spirits inside a desolate mausoleum. Norah recalled the ever-present somber melody of sorrowful crying, maddening screams and pleas for mercy. She had been thankful for its constant noise because she also needed to mourn in her cell. For a day or so, she had been nothing but another member of the melancholy chorus.
Norah wasn't sure how long she had been in her cell, time at a torturous standstill in the dark with nothing but her routine meal to serve as evidence that another day had passed, before the door had opened.
There were three guards: burly, thin and tall Outworld men and while different in physical characteristics, all considered her with the same apathetic regard; as if they were statues constructed from three different artists' interpretation of 'indifferent'. And not one of them had a bowl or piece of bread for her that day.
She had never been so instantly struck with fear seeing them looming in the doorway; coming to an easy to reach and horrifying reason for them to be there. They said nothing to her, only discussing briefly amongst themselves as she stared up them from the ground — asleep before, but now fully awake the minute they had opened the door.
"You sure?" the burly one had questioned, his eyes trailing over her. "Pity."
"Yes, I saw one on her the other day bringing her food," the tall one had said. "She'll be good. He doesn't care usually— as long as they got a brand."
The thin one had disagreed, the man nothing more than a collection of stick-like appendages and features molded together to construct a man. "She's an Earthrealmer, he won't take her," he argued, his rodent-like eyes looking over her with mild disappointment. "They're deformed and ugly. One look at her and he won't' pay up."
Disgust and anger interchanged with her anxiety, and she recalled them laughing at her as she scowled at their insult from the ground of her cell.
"I think you embarrassed her— and they're not as ugly once you get them out of their clothes"— the dark eyes of the burly Outworlder turned to her—"Ain't that right, sweetheart?" he had taunted, his handsome and strong masculine features hideous to her as soon as she heard the malignant cynical tone littered in his chiding words.
"Burn in Hell," she spat at them.
His unpleasant character revealed itself to her as he stared at her more intently then she wanted, the other two guards snickering at her. But it was the burly one out of the three she saw and heard—apprehensive towards him more than the others simply because of his increasingly lewd demeanor towards her.
He sneered at her, her heated remark nothing to him, as his brown eyes— now black— landed on her chest. "Here, I'll show you."
Before she could even balk out a complaint, or scream for help, he came in and grabbed her, hauling her to her feet by gripping her by her arms. As soon as he had her standing in front of him was when she screamed, shrieking furiously, and fighting tooth and nail with him. But his grip on her had been devastatingly stronger than her efforts to get free, and her thrashing had only aggravated him.
He had punched her in the face with enough force to throw her hard into the cell wall and make her head bounce against the stone, making her let out a pained yelp and daze her. She barely recalled his outline, white stars bouncing across her vision, when he had pulled at the material at the front of her dress, revealing her chest to him and the others, and it was then she recovered—instantly struck with horror at what he had done. She had covered her breasts with her palms, shrinking as they laughed at her embarrassment, but also carried on the conversation as if she was nothing to them.
"See? No deformities," the burly one said, gripping her face between his fingers and squishing her face mockingly. "The only deformity is that she's an Earthrealmer."
The tall one shrugged. "If you say so. We need to go. Leave the door open. It needs to look like she escaped."
And then the other two stepped in the cell. There were some good blows on her part, slaps and claw marks, but they had managed to subdue her quickly— after a few brutal punches in return from them. Besides just trying to keep her at bay, the only other damage had been done to her skirt— causing a rip to travel up the length when one of them stepped on it while trying to simultaneously haul her with them. The only thing good that had occurred, was they let her keep her hands over her chest; the tall and thin guards dragging her by her upper arms.
It had been one of the most petrifying silences of her life: they had said nothing to her as if she wasn't even there; merely talking conversationally amongst themselves on topics she couldn't remember in her paralyzing fear. They ignored her for the most part, even as she shrieked under the hand that covered her mouth from the burly guard from behind and thrashed in their hold as they carried her to another location in the prison. The outside of her cell was a mirror image of the inside of it; sandy, dark and disquiet with no one around to help her.
They carried her off through a series of stone hallways and staircases until they finally came to their destination: a room that was nothing but a small sand-floored area with sunlight streaking in from a nearby window and a few sporadic torches lining the walls, did she realize she wasn't the only person plucked from her cell.
There had been twelve other women and men, all of them of varying demographics but all of them had one thing in common: they were attractive and young, but random from what she could assess, and just like her, were all terrified and unsure of what was going on.
There were other guards as well, and had lined them all up, making them stand shoulder to shoulder — Norah the 6th one down from the door—with a guard behind them. The burly one that had escorted her from her cell was the one that stood behind her as they waited; his body a wall she didn't want to place her back against. He did anyway, his unwanted proximity encroaching on her space as he breathed into her ear from behind and felt his eyes rake down her. It was enough to freeze her with fear and make anger ignite in her veins…
And then the Naknada entered through the door and answered the question on all of their minds.
Why had they been kidnapped from their cells?
For the Flesh Trade.
They were nothing but cattle to be sold by the guards in a clandestine operation going under the Barrister's noses. At first, she couldn't understand how they were able to get away with such a precarious business transaction, until the six-armed buyer went down the line.
The frightened dispositions of the prisoners —herself included — had been instantly contagious upon seeing the teal skinned goblin. All of them knew exactly what was to happen next. She remembered the woman beside her, a timid slip of a woman, instantly burst into tears while others either lamented with horror or downright refused to believe their bad luck; their expressions one of disbelieving fury at their circumstances. Norah had been one of the many few that conveyed it; the others in line simply cowered.
The first of them under assessment was an Outworld male, younger than she was in appearance, and willowy. She felt sympathy for him… he was barely in adulthood.
"This one's crime?" asked the Naknada to the guard.
"Thief," another guard behind the man answered, grabbing the young man's arm and raising it up to eyelevel to reveal a branded wrist — freshly stamped on his skin. "Stole valuable property and the aristocrat wanted him to rot in the cell for the rest of his days. He won't be missed."
"Excellent. Let me see him before I purchase."
He was stripped naked for all of them, two of the guards assisting when he didn't make a move to freely do so, while the Naknada assessed the man's flesh from head to toe for any deformities. When he saw none, and was satisfied, he exchanged coins with the guard and was dragged out of the room... Norah could still hear his screams even after the door closed.
He had continued down the line, the guards disrobing the ones that caught the Naknada's eye, while Norah waited for her own turn with her hands over her chest.
It wasn't until the 4th person did she finally understand that they weren't as random as she had thought they were. All of them had some sort of brand on their wrist, similar to hers, but not at all like the one she bared.
Some were fresher than others and varied in crime, but the one comparison they shared was their sentence. They were all destined to rot in the prison for the remainder of their lives — a sentence carried out by third-parties that negotiated the terms with the Barristers; possibly paid in coin under the table to do so. The prosecuting party didn't want a swift execution — they wanted the person that wronged them suffering away in a dark cell for eternity. Completely ignorant that the person was then being sold under their noses to what most would agree was a sentence worse than spending the rest of their days in a locked cage. Suddenly, the cryptid phrase from her captor earlier made sense…
'Leave the door open. Make it look like she escaped.'
Norah knew she didn't fit amongst them before the Naknada got to her, his breath washing over her as he surveyed her up and down with a malignant gleam. She could still smell his breath, sickeningly sweet yet rancid like old fruit.
She couldn't find the words to say anything to the six-armed buyer; both stricken with fear but full of ire at the sight of him as he approached her. All she could do was glare at him with disgust while she trembled like a crystal glass in an earthquake. She had wanted to protest to save her own skin, realizing the guard's folly. The others… their sentences were already carried out. They had already gone to trial and the brand on her wrist was mistaken for someone that already had.
"Ah an Earthrealmer," his tone had been both ridiculing and full of elation. "You will breed quick-growing slaves."
But the words turned into sand in her mouth and she couldn't find her voice, but the expression on her face had turned livid at him. He had ignored it, the top of his lip curling at her before smiling at her hands over her nearly naked chest.
"Let me see you…"
Norah spat at him, and her lip had cut open instantly when he grumbled with anger and had backhanded her with one of his hands (she didn't know which one) after she had refused to voluntarily partake in his assessment of her.
She had crumpled to the ground, falling to her knees with a pained whimper from the brutal strength of his strike before she picked herself back to her feet. Still keeping her hands over her chest.
"No, you will not see me," she fumed at him, finally finding her voice. It trembled, but no longer with fear, but with rage. She maneuvered one of her arms to lay flat against her chest keeping herself covered, as she brought her branded wrist up to him. "Because I have not been to trial yet."
She thought it would be her death sentence for a moment, boldly saying the words to him, but to her astonishment, it had worked.
He took a step back, his interest in procuring her instantly fleeting. For a moment, as his already ugly features twisted into a scowl, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of fear in his glowing crimson eyes, before he barked indignantly at the guards that had brought her in. "Get this one out of my sight! She is already property you brainless oafs!"
The burly guard that had ripped off her clothes clamped his hands on her upper arms, but not before one of the Naknada's hands came up to grasp under her chin; his talon-like nails sinking into the soft flesh of her skin.
"Who do you serve as a cupbearer to, Earthrealm slave?" he had snarled at her, his eyes slanted and burning at her like enraged amber coals.
Norah knew she wasn't supposed to say, knowing that she was to keep the fine details of her previous occupation secret, but feeling humiliated and furious towards the repugnant creature, she growled back at him through her teeth: "Erron Black and Ferra/Torr, you vile imp."
His red eyes narrowed more at her seething insult towards him; causing the nails to pierce her skin. "Tell either of them of what happened, and I will find and gut you!"
Despite her displayed bravado, it had been nothing more than a mask to bury her fear out of sight —she did believe the Naknada. Even now, standing with Black, she believed he would if she dared utter a word to either Black or Ferra/Torr; as if the thought of it would cause the many-armed goblin to spring forth from the walls and rip her insides out like promised. She didn't want to speak of it anyway, even if she thought she should. There was injustice being done, despite it being done to the unjust. Norah knew she would have to say something eventually —and she would — but it was too fresh of an encounter to relate just yet. Even if there was an opportunity to bring it up to use as a justifiable excuse to deter him from convincing her to proceed through the door.
And unfortunately, her torment hadn't ended with the Naknada…
The burly guard, the one that had escorted her back to her cell, had done nothing at first… until he brought her back to the door of her cell and stood with her inside the frame.
One of his hands had left her arm to spiral into her hair, pulling her back against his chest from behind and forcing her to crane her neck towards the ceiling. But she couldn't fight him— her hands still covering her chest, but had wiggled furiously in his hold, snarling out a curse at him through her teeth.
His mouth had come to her ear, and she had whipped her head to the side to get away from him, as he whispered: "Hopefully I'll be seeing you after your trial."
He had licked a stripe across her face with his tongue, burning and wetting her skin as he ran it from her neck, over her jaw and stopped it at her hairline; moaning purposely at her as she recoiled and growled disgust…
She managed to whirl around and slap him hard, enough to cause his skin to redden instantly from her palm…
"Do not touch me—"
He had punched her solidly into the jaw, causing her to let out a pained shout as she fell backwards into the floor of her cell.
Unbeknownst to her, Jan Fai had seen the entire thing, however his strides hadn't been quick enough to stop him from hitting her. Norah hadn't heard the entire exchange between them, simply riding out the pulsating twinges of agony in her jaw, before she felt Jan Fai approach her.
His face had been the most welcome sight since her entire stay in the Vaults. But she realized, he had been there to collect her for the trial, and sensing her troubles were far from over, she couldn't help but bury her face into his chest; her tears soaking into his tunic as he held and hushed her. He had let her, simply holding her, and only leaving momentarily to grab what he could find to cover her with; the best he could find being an old green blanket and plain rope.
He had asked what had happened, his hand smoothing over the back of her hair as he helped her dress, and in her cowardice, hearing the voice of the Naknada in her head from just moments ago, told him only about the guards.
The Naknada were feared by the poor folk of Outworld for a reason...
Her attention fixed back to the present, and even with the silence, nothing happening between them besides awkward body language and glances, Erron detected the source of her discomfort easily enough, causing his blue eyes to gaze at the door before back to her finally.
"It's not the same," he clarified, rubbing his thumbnail against his chin.
The baker said nothing at first; noting that his tone didn't ring with as much confidence as it should have. As if he knew what he had uttered had been nothing but a half-truth.
She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, questioning the reason for his obvious con. "They are all the same from what I have heard from palace gossip."
It was the gunslinger's turn to raise his own disbelieving eyebrow towards her, those his expressed more sarcasm which mirrored his tone. "Don't believe everything you hear. It is a bathhouse, but it ain't like of the ones you've heard about."
The woman crossed her arms over her chest, "I hear nothing else about them. They are nothing but bordellos, and I have no interest in stepping foot in one. You are more than welcome to divulge. I do not care what you do."
He gave an annoyed, flippant scoff. "I didn't take you to a whorehouse, woman," the gunslinger narrowed his eyes with impatience. "You wanna stay stinkin' to high heaven or do you want a bath?"
Norah's brows squinted together, regarding him dubiously. "That is the third time you have had to make an argument in its stead," she pointed out. Her eyes shifted to the door, and then back to him. "I am surprised the door is not red with all things considering."
Black rolled his eyes with exasperation. "There's private rooms. Communal ones with the hot springs if you want, but I figured you want your privacy. Otherwise, I would have saved myself the money and taken you to one of the other ones you clearly hate instead."
"You have to pay to take a bath? I thought Kahn's guards were not warranted to? she asked him, genuinely curious, though her stringent tone never faltered.
"I'm payin' your way since you ain't got a coin to your name they can charge," Erron informed, his brow furrowed stoically.
The corner of her mouth tugged to the side, her shoulders shrugging, as she thought of an alternative. "I do not want to be a burden to your coin purse. I can make due with a bucket and rag. I can use your washroom or even Ferra/Torr's courtyard for privacy."
"There aren't enough buckets for you," Black asserted, grimacing as he traced over her dirty form. "It's worth the coins. You smell and look like a corpse."
She bit back a sarcastic remark, blinking as his words inadvertently caused her to recall her cellmate. The baker gave him a pointed look, her tone dry: "I am sure the bathhouses are nice for you, but I cannot take the risk for myself."
"I told you: it is not the same," his tone firm but slightly impatient. The bounty hunter's eyes slanted at her; her ironclad stubbornness battling against his dwindiling patience. "I didn't think you'd be so uptight towards it. Especially with how much you need it."
She sighed, catching the whiff of her own body odor. "I do want a bath."
He shot a firm look at her. "Then enough with your griping. I ain't trying to hoodwink you into prancing around naked for the whole palace to see. There's private accommodations — like I said — and they cost a good penny to rent. So, I suggest you get over being shy and enjoy what's comin' out of my pocket."
Her eyes narrowed instantly at his blunt words. By the Gods, how she aggravatingly wanted to tell him the reason for her shyness, but even in the midst of a heated disagreement with him, she couldn't admit it— even to let it slip out on accident. She wanted to tell him, just so he would understand her reluctance.
She couldn't do this and he needed to know why... but she couldn't tell him... not yet...
"I am not griping, Erron. You are just not understanding me."
"And you're not trusting a word I'm saying to you," Black countered back. "Just walk through the door and have a good time. There isn't anything wrong with where I brought ya."
"Have a good time…?" she parroted back with indignation, her anger boiling to the surface. She shook her head at him, her frustration towards his ignorance at its limit.
"Like I had a good time in the Vaults?" she scowled back, growing short. "Why should I trust you that I'll have a good time in a place that is nothing more than an excuse to have sex? Nothing you have said has convinced me it's safe. I don't care how many coins you say you are sparing from your purse; it won't stop anyone else from trying to have a good time with me."
Erron took a step towards her, bristling impatiently: "No one is going to fuck you. You think I'd go through the trouble to make sure you're cozy if I hadn't gotten my back whipped! So quit making shit up in your head that everything I do is to spit in your eye!"
Norah stiffened, swallowing her words back down her throat as soon as she felt guilt hit her in the gut. She had no retort for his remark, which had been both brusque and candid. The baker let out an exhale, taking a step back from him as her arms crossed over her chest and tightened around her torso.
He sighed in return, shaking his head, and seemingly remorseful for raising his voice despite his discomfiture towards her unwillingness to trust his word.
But… it wasn't that she didn't believe him — after what he had done with the whipping, she doubted he would purposely throw her into harm's way. However, she wasn't adamant in concluding that he wouldn't do it unintentionally. But, she knew he wasn't that ignorant.
He knew her well enough to perceive she wouldn't want to come to a bathhouse. If she was aware of what occurred in the bathhouses, there was no doubt he was as well. For all she knew, he probably visited them regularly, but it was different for him—he was a trained mercenary with a feared reputation and she was a faceless nobody who lost almost every fight she became involved in.
She had every right to be wary of what was on the other side of the door, no matter how nice and safe he proposed it to be (perhaps it truly was).
Norah wanted to trust him… but she just couldn't. Not because she felt he was using poor judgment, but because of what had happened in the Vaults and what she still refused to recant to anyone out loud in detail. But… at least she could still offer him a vague insight to help him comprehend her reason.
Her eyes went to the ground, her stance shuffling from one foot to the other. "I… I am not trying to appear ungrateful. I just… I have never been to one for a reason… and my… my cell"— she wiped away a tear that fell without her permission— "my cell at the Vaults was private too… and they still… they still saw me. I don't want… I don't want that again..."
An awkward pause stayed in the air, heavy between them as she decided to remain quiet, while her implication sunk in. He knew some of her ordeal; she had briefly exposed some specifics of what had occurred with the guards while she had tended to his back at the Coliseum; spilling the same tale she had relayed to Jan Fai when he had found her. However, neither of them were aware of the entire story.
"Tell either of them of what happened and I will find and gut you!"
To her surprise, she felt his hands on her shoulders; laid gently but solidly enough for her to understand he wanted her attention.
She looked at him, his eyes more urbane and considerate than they had been just a moment ago. He gave a resolute nod towards her, his voice obstinate yet mollifying.
"It's safe."
It was only two words spoken from his mouth, but the stone-like empathetic tone he spoke with implored for her acceptance; his eyes also asking the same as they looked at each other in silence.
Norah was taken back by his softer, rare demeanor. Erron Black asking her for anything kindly still uncomfortably alien; she'd known only callousness from him. He seemed uncomfortable with it as well, and she thought it as the closest to beseeching her for permission than he felt comfortable voicing considering his reserved nature.
To an uneducated bystander, it would have simply looked like him waving off the danger; doing nothing but make a brief statement. However, the baker understood what was being conveyed from him, the message between the two words clear: You won't be bothered because of me.
But, there was also more to it, yet another message that was mutely expressed just with his eyes.
He was asking for her trust as well.
She swallowed, the hot air making it feel as if nothing entered her lungs, as she looked at his shoes.
His hands left her shoulders, and the baker caught the slight grimace that pulled across his features as he lowered his hands back to his sides; the motion causing some uncomfortable twinge to flare as the skin of his back torso stretched. It instantly caused regret to bubble up.
To her, watching his discomfort was worse than him offering an amiable gesture towards her, and felt more benignancy watching him hide his pain that she had caused.
He was correct about one thing he had said to her: he wouldn't do so much for her if he hadn't already; every new overbearing act of kindness was a pittance in comparison to his good deed in the Coliseum for her. To go back on it, would have been a waste on his part. He had to keep putting forth good deeds… as well as her.
It was such a melancholy paradox; the one-sided guilt that he had felt before taking the whip and the bugs had left to latch on to her instead. Now it was her turn to feel liability and make amends for the turmoil she had caused him. Before, it had been her that was owed. Now, it was him. And despite how suspicious she was of the bathhouse he had taken her to was, knew she had no choice.
Stepping in the door was a step towards them being on even-footing.
"Alright…" she croaked out, biting her bottom lip nervously. The words departed her with more solemn resonance than she had wanted him to hear. She could feel his eyes gazing at her skeptically, knowing her concession wasn't entirely genuine. Her brow furrowed with determination. She had to convince him, despite how much her stomach twisted with fear at the thought of walking into the bathhouse.
Norah looked at him, nodding, though her throat felt bone dry as the words scraped against her throat on their exit. "I will trust you."
A dolesome pause lingered in the air between them, the already humid air growing denser as the silence carried on. They did nothing but simply study each other for their reactions.
At first, she felt as if maybe she had spoken too much, even if what she had uttered had been so minimal. It confused her. Wasn't that what he wanted to hear? The marksman, in turn, looked as if he was debating with himself whether to ignore her lingering hesitation, or pay more heed to it. She could have been mistaken, but he seemed… unsure himself? As if he had coaxed too much from her and did not revel in any satisfaction to her consent.
The former cupbearer tried to prompt another mood, feeling anxious, and cracked a timid, but jesting smile at him. "After all… I do not want to waste your coins," she allowed a true, albeit awkward, smile to pull across her face. "They are so precious to you; you would never forgive me if I did."
Black cracked a quick smile, nearly undetectable with how quick it had appeared and disappeared from him, before his expression turned more phlegmatic. "It's all I'm asking..."
The gunslinger turned his back to her, and her shoulders sunk from behind him; the woman mulling over if she should have kept her listless joke to herself. But, to her surprise, he looked over his shoulder when his hand gripped the handle. A miniscule smirk pulled at her: "... Cause I hate wasting money."
A breathy chuckle fell softly from her, the woman rolling her eyes at him, as he pushed the door open.
A surprised look set on her face, the former servant taken aback by the grandiose ivory reception area that greeted them, as soon as it was revealed.
Now the door, the same one she had marveled at for its beauty, was nothing but a banal piece of wood in comparison to what it had been hiding.
Despite the small presence of bloodstone on the walls, marble and gold accents helped bring welcoming warmth into the room, providing a visual remedy to her previous fears.
White and gold encompassed much of the room, as if she was standing in a warm sunbeam. The desk itself, presented in the middle of the room, was just as ornate as the door.
A grand painting was carved on the dark wood, depicting an open amphitheater with flowing pools of water, pillars of stone and wooden patricians sitting by the poolside with beautiful handmaidens and male servants carrying plates of food and pitchers of wine. There were two separated corridors on either side of the desk, veering off into different hallways, but she noticed the plaques above each entryway. It provided her with a small sense of relief. The left was for woman, indicated by the wood carving of the woman, and the right corridor was for men. They were separated according to gender.
Norah didn't get long to gaze at the plaques, when the woman behind the desk, beamed at them both. She was beautiful—one of the most striking Outworld women she had ever seen… and it made the grime covered, dirty ex-servant feel like nothing but a repulsive muck-covered bug as she stood in her sight; feeling as she was unworthy to be even be looked on by the woman. At the same time, she was envious of every perfect aspect of her: from her flowing dark hair, brushed straight down her back, to her angled features that seemed to be made as perfectly as the wooden vessels in the wood.
Everything about her was as regal and enchanting as the room, her eyes the color of tiger-stone as she surveyed them with nothing but benevolence. Her kind reverie warmed her, made her feel welcome, but Norah could still do nothing but feel anxious simply being in her presence. Even her lavender dress, as beautifully feminine and hanging like silk over her limbs, did nothing but make her feel like a vagabond in the presence of an Elder God.
Her eyes shifted to the Kahn's guard; her smile demure. "Your friend is shy, Minister Black."
Norah wanted to refute the woman's statement, to say something rude, but her melodious voice regarded her with no insult. Simply observation. It would be wrong of her to protest.
Erron approached her, stopping once he reached the desk as his hands dug in his pockets for gold coins that he placed on the desk. "Its her first time to one of these," he told the receptionist. Black paused before continuing, his tone light but authoritative. "Make her feel welcome."
"Of course," was the woman's response.
Black paused before he questioned: "Is Mera around?"
Norah couldn't help but furrow her eyebrows, catching the auspicious tone of his voice in the question. It was someone he knew...
The woman frowned, "I apologize. She is currently with someone now—"
The bounty hunter placed more gold coins on the desk.
The Outworld woman smiled lightly. "I am sure she can see you after you have both settled into your private rooms."
Black titled his head towards the baker's direction. "Her first."
The receptionist said nothing before bending down to grab a midnight blue robe and a white cotton towel. Norah gulped, sweat rolling down in beads down her neck. She gazed at Erron, looking for a last-minute reassurance, but his form was blocked when the woman came to her side; a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder as she guided her towards the left corridor.
"My name is Ramina," the Outworld woman greeted tenderly to her as she walked her. "And yours?"
The baker looked to her timidly. "Norah."
"Anything you want it is yours, Norah. Please do not feel frightened to ask or let me know if there is something to your displeasure," she assured kindly. "All you need to do is let me or the other attendants know."
The cupbearer stiffened. "Other attendants?"
Ramina nodded, seeming to understand her reticence. "Female attendants. You will see no men on this side."
The baker shrugged her shoulders, a sigh of relief escaping from behind her lips as the woman quelled her previous concern.
"What would you like first?"
Norah shrugged, feeling both inelegant and unsure. "I… I just want a bath...?"
Ramina gave a small chuckle at her, "Of course, Norah. We will treat you well here."
Norah looked over her shoulder, back to Erron who still stood inside the reception area awaiting to be attended to. His eyes caught her, seeing her hesitance and lowered his chin downwards towards her with a reassuring gesture. The former servant could make out the silent remark towards her spoken from his slight body language.
"It's safe."
Norah turned back, allowing Ramina to lead her to a corner where they turned out of the sight from the gunslinger.
Hoping her trust hadn't been misplaced…
A/N: Well, I wrote something back in the day with the Vaults and had to roll with it. The Naknada (not Kollector btw) was additional and not planned back then, but thought fine enough to fit in here. I was going to write about the bathhouses/ spa this chapter — SaphiraRyuuka gets credit for putting the idea of them visiting hot springs/a spa in my head, so, kudos to them — but if I didn't stop it here, it would be a mega chapter and I just want to get something out at this point since I'm behind on updating this on my usual schedule.
Hopefully you liked it. Thanks for reading, leave a comment and as always see you next chapter.