Raised to Kill

One

“You will be going among the giants—you must be brave.”

“I will be—I do not fear them.” Allara Ke’ta’nu lifted her chin proudly as her aunt continued dressing her long, indigo hair for the upcoming wedding.

The mirror before her showed a girl with large, dark eyes, the same color as her hair, delicate features, and creamy skin the color of the toasted sugar cakes one offered to the Gods on Holy Days.

The silver sheathe of her wedding gown emphasized her full figure with wide hips that promised to bear many children and an hourglass shape that drew the eyes of every male who saw her. Her breasts were likewise full and firm and her bearing spoke of her birthright as a daughter of one of the Seven Great Houses of Q’ess.

Allara was a beauty, and she knew it—not that it would do her any good.

Had she been going to the Bride Auction with the other girls who came of age this month, she would have fetched a pretty price for her bloodline as well as her beauty. But that was not to be her fate. From birth, another destiny had been decreed for her.

“They are as tall as sen’ya trees, these Kindred,” her aunt continued. “And as cruel as a wild fen’ror blooding their kill.”

“All this, I know.” Allara tried to keep the impatience from her voice—it was not seemly or correct to express irritation with the older generation. But she had heard these words—these warnings—since childhood. They had long been drummed into her head—she did not need to hear them again now, when the hour was almost upon her.

“Listen to me!” Her aunt turned her suddenly, taking her by the chin and forcing Allara’s eyes up to meet her own. “This is not to be taken lightly! The honor of our family—of our entire people—depends upon you, girl! It was in our house that the Blood Feud started, three and thirty generations ago. And with our house must it end—by your hand!”

“And well I know it!” Allara flared, forgetting for once to be dutiful to her elders. “For have you and my father not told me since my earliest memories? I will marry the evil Kindred and kill him, thereby restoring the honor of the Seven Great Houses of Q’ess and satisfying the Blood Feud that started so many generations before, when they took my ancestress captive.”

All this she said rapidly, almost without thought. Her destiny was set—it had been set since birth. Because of this, fear had no meaning to her. All her life she had waited for this day—it was the day she would fulfill her purpose…and then die.

For how could the Kindred—their ancient enemies—allow her to assassinate one of their own without retaliating?

If she had time, she would take the poison pill sewn into the hem of her wedding gown and sing her lament—the death song she had been working on for years. But if not, her future surely involved torture and a slow, agonizing death at the hands of the giant Kindred, who were twice as tall and big as her own people.

Allara knew all this but she did not dread her fate. For how can one fight against destiny?

“I do not fear them,” she said again, holding her aunt’s eyes fiercely. “No matter how big my new husband is, I will plunge my skora into his heart the first chance I get.”

She fingered the sacrificial dagger in its jeweled sheath hanging around her neck on a golden chain. It was deceptively short, having an oiled blade that unfolded in order to be long enough to pierce a broad, Kindred chest.

She would probably wait for the moment when she and her new husband were alone—it would give her more time to get to the poison pill and sing her lament once he died at her feet. Though Allara was prepared to be tortured, she had to admit she would prefer to have a quick death. Then she could meet her ancestress in the Heavens and explain that she had avenged her abduction by the Kindred so many generations ago…

But her aunt was signing and shaking her head. What had she said that was wrong?

“What is it, Aunt?” she asked, frowning. “What have I said to distress you?”

“You do not understand, girl, you cannot kill the evil one right away,” her aunt told her. “There is something which must happen first.”

“What?” Allara felt the beginnings of alarm and tried to tamp the cowardly emotion down. All her life she had been prepared for this moment and now there was a new detail in the plan? “What must happen first?” she demanded. “And why was I not told earlier?”

“I could not tell you before the eve of your wedding—it would not be proper,” her aunt said primly. “But as you are to be married today to the evil one, now I may explain.” She leaned forward, looking Allara in the eyes. “Before you can plunge your skora into the Kindred’s heart, he must first plunge his between your legs.”