Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

No, she thought bitterly. He is one man, with just a few small magics. He could not stand against several dozen.

There was no one who could help. Except Brenn and Volker. And they wanted a fair trade.

So make the trade, a part of her whispered. It’s only your body, lent for a few moments, a half hour. Then you can walk away free.

Over and over, from one side and the opposite, she argued with herself, all the while aware that Brenn and Volker had not moved far away. As if they knew she was desperate. As if they knew she had no choice. She wrenched away from the rope and twisted her wrists, only to have the rope bite deeper into her skin. With a curse, she collapsed onto the wet ground and bit her lips to stop the sobs from breaking free of her throat.

Stay and let Brandt sell her back to her father. Go, make the trade, and walk free.

She closed her eyes, felt her heart thumping against her chest. So hard and fast, as though she were running a race. Perhaps I am, she thought. She drew a long breath. “Brenn?” she whispered softly. “Volker?”

Volker knelt beside her in a moment. “Changed your mind?”

Her throat had closed, she could not speak. She nodded.

He whispered something to his brother, who whispered back. A moment later, Volker crawled underneath the wagon and beckoned to Therez. Awkwardly, she crawled to his side and lay down. Brenn sat with his back to them, shielding them from view.

Volker unbuttoned Therez’s shirt and untied her bandeau. The cloth fell away, and he laid a hand over her breast with an ah of pleasure. The night breeze brought goose bumps to Therez’s bare skin, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind anything now, she told herself.

“Roll over,” Volker whispered. “Quick. Before Alarik walks by.”

Yes. Get it over with. Therez lay on her back. Volker unbuttoned his trousers and knelt between her legs. He shoved her skirt high around her waist. Her underlinens thwarted him only for a moment. He cut through them with his knife and tossed the pieces to one side. All the while he told her what to do, but Therez found it difficult to attend, and so she was unprepared for the sharp stab when he made his first thrust. She bit her lips as Volker pushed harder, grunting with the effort. Something broke, finally, and he slid fully inside her.

She lost track of things then. It was hard to breathe, hard to keep from crying out against the insistent pain. Volker was panting in her ear—little grunts and moans of pleasure. Finally, when she thought she could bear no more, Volker collapsed on top of her, laughing softly. “Oh, that was good. Now it’s your turn, Brenn.”

The cold night air washed over her a moment, then Brenn took his brother’s place. “Not how I wanted it,” he muttered. “But it’ll do.”

Brenn was bigger and heavier, and the pain went on much longer. Volker took up the pan of stew and lay next to them, eating and watching. Therez met his gaze once. He was grinning.

With a hard jerk, Brenn finished and rolled off Therez. She lay there, numb and aching and sick. A sweetish smell filled the air, underneath it the distinct scent of blood.

“Ilse?” Brenn touched her hair.

She recoiled from his touch. Awkwardly, he pulled her skirt down and buttoned her shirt, but she refused to move. Volker had already left—she heard his voice from a distance, excited and merry. Finally Brenn muttered a farewell and crawled out from under the wagon to rejoin his brother. She was alone, just as she wanted.

* * *

MUCH LATER, NIKO came by and tossed a blanket to Therez. Brandt circled the camp a few times, talking with various members of his crew, but did not speak to her again. Slowly the camp settled into quiet. Ulf banked his campfire and sent his boys to their tents. Guards took their places along the perimeter for the first watch. A few passed the wagon on their way to the latrine ditches, but no one glanced in her direction. Then, just when Therez thought the boys had forgotten her, Brenn slowly came past. He, too, visited the latrines. On his way back, he knelt and fiddled with his bootstrap. When he stood, Therez saw a flash of metal from the newly risen moon.

My knife.

She waited until there was no one in sight. Her hand closed over a wooden handle, still warm from Brenn’s touch. It was a short paring knife from Ulf’s stores.

Footsteps brought her pulse leaping. She went still, the knife held close to her chest. It was Brandt and another man. They were talking about the crew’s mood—which was sullen from boredom—and how the stopover in Mundlau had only worsened it.

“We’ll take a longer break at Donuth,” Brandt said. “That runner said we could find Zhalina’s agent there.”

“Won’t the old man make trouble?” the other man said. “About hiding the girl?”

“But I didn’t,” Brandt said. “The girl showed up later, on foot. Maybe she rode with another caravan. Maybe she ran off with a boy, and the boy abandoned her. Besides, what matters is that Zhalina promised us gold for any word of his daughter. We did better and found the daughter herself. That should be worth something.”

A grunt and a laugh. “So she’s not a thief.”

“Oh, she is, or I’d have to give back the money. Right?”

The pair moved on. Therez waited until the camp fell silent once more. With her pulse thrumming in her ears, she braced the knife between her knees and began sawing at the ropes at her wrists. It was painfully slow. Twice she cut herself on the blade. But at last she sliced through the last strand.

With a few strong slashes, she cut the rope tying her to the axle, then pulled on her boots and tucked the knife into one. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and emerged from under the wagon.