Raised to Kill (Kindred Tales)

“That’s your wedding ceremony?” He looked upset for some reason. “You just buy a wife and sing about how you own her?”

“I thought you were going to sing me your song of ownership during the, er, reception,” Allara said, having to think a moment to find the right name. “I was very surprised when your song was not about owning me at all.”

“Because I don’t own you, Allara,” he rumbled, frowning. “Or rather, we own each other now. Which is completely different from me claiming you as a piece of property.”

Allara wasn’t sure what to say to this. How could they be married if he did not own her?

“I would still like to hear your Song someday, if you’d like to sing it to me,” Brand said softly. “We don’t need a Song House for me to listen to you sing, baby. I bet you have a beautiful singing voice—a beautiful Song.”

Allara bit her lip at his words complimenting her Song. Women did sing at the Song House and some of their songs were elevated above all others, when they were good enough. Allara had never had such an honor herself, though several of her Song Leaders had recommended her. Her aunt had not wished her to get above herself and forget her mission.

My mission, she told herself sternly. I must not forget my mission!

“Husband,” she said, trying to calm herself. “May I please be alone in the room of necessity for a short time?”

“Oh, sorry—of course.” He nodded quickly. “If you need any help, just call me. I’ll be in the living area setting something up.”

“Thank you.” She nodded as he left, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Allara went to the strange mirror he had called a 3-D viewer and checked her appearance. The mirror showed her to herself from all angles so she was able to ascertain that her dress still looked good and her hair was still a rippling indigo waterfall down her back.

She fingered the elaborately jeweled scabbard of the skora around her neck. Should she take it out of its sheath and test it to make sure the folded blade opened smoothly?

There was a jewel—a blood stone about as big as her fingernail—which had been sharpened to a point at the top of the scabbard. The only way to get the blade to emerge was to prick herself on its point and let the thirsty stone drink of her blood.

Allara ran the pad of her thumb thoughtfully over the blood jewel, feeling its sharpened point. If she exerted just a little pressure, it would pierce her flesh and drink her blood to release the blade.

But no—what if the big Kindred asked why she was bleeding? There would be time enough to draw the skora from its sheath and stab it into his heart after he’d had his way with her and filled her with his seed—a thought which still made her shudder.

It is a frightening thing I am about to do, but necessary. I must not show that I am afraid, she thought.

Taking her hand from the jeweled scabbard, she looked closely at herself in the 3-D viewer again. Despite her earlier anger and her thoughts of what was to come, her face was reasonably calm.

She thought of the way she had spoken to the big Kindred—accusing him in a way no wife should accuse her husband. It was shocking, really, the way she had acted. If he had been Q’ess, he would have struck her across the face for her belligerence, leaving a mark for all to see and know that she had misbehaved.

But I would not have behaved so with a Q’ess husband—I am sure I would not, she thought. It was the way he spoke to me that made me react. The things he said that made me angry.

Why had she allowed the Kindred’s words to get her so worked up, Allara wondered? Why did the evil one stir her emotions so?

And why are you wasting time looking at yourself in this strange mirror instead of fulfilling your mission? her aunt’s voice whispered in her head.

Allara squeezed her hands together guiltily. She wished that she could take off her wedding dress and go to him now. Her aunt had assured her that once she was naked, her husband would not be able to stop himself from taking her at once. It made her blush to think of trying such blatant seduction but how else was she to get on with this process?

Unfortunately, by Q’ess tradition, only her husband could take the wedding gown off of her. So until he decided to do that and then take her, as a man takes a woman, she could not get on with her mission.

I must entice him to take off my dress somehow, she thought.