Raised to Kill

This particular Song Mistress seemed to have taken an especial dislike to Allara. Maybe because Allara’s Aunt had told the Mistress that she had failed in her mission and brought dishonor upon the entire Q’ess people.

“She must be sold off-planet at once!” her aunt had hissed, as she dragged Allara roughly by the arm before the Song Mistress. “She has besmirched the good name of the Seventh Great House and lost all the status of our family by failing to satisfy the Blood Feud with the Kindred which was created three and thirty generations ago.”

The Song Mistress had sucked in her breath, her bulging eyes going wide.

“What you speak of is a shocking and disgusting display of evil! She shall be sold to the far corners of the universe in our blind auction this very day!” she had declared.

“Good—for neither I nor her father ever wishes to see her again,” her aunt said bitterly. “The honor of our house is in ruins and we have been cast down to the lowest levels—all because of her!”

“Aunt, I’m sorry!” Allara had cried and could not help adding, “But tell me please, did the Kindred truly say that Brand still lived when they called you to come and get me?”

“Listen to her! She fails her mission and all she cares about is if the evil one she was meant to kill survives!”

Her aunt slapped Allara across the face so hard her head rocked to one side and she tasted blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Foolish, evil, stupid girl!” she shouted in Allara’s face. “You cannot be sold fast enough for me. I will never see you again and your name shall be stricken from the family roles! All traces of your existence shall be wiped away.”

“But, Aunt…” Allara felt as though her heart was breaking. She had lost Brand and now she had lost the only woman who had ever been even remotely like a mother to her.

Her aunt was not listening. She turned to the Song Mistress and pointed a shaking finger at Allara.

“Sell her to the biggest, most menacing-looking male you can find! I do not care about the money—I only wish for her to pay for her sins against our family and our people. I want to imagine her being beaten until she bleeds by her new husband every night for the rest of her miserable—hopefully short—life.”

“It shall be done—I swear it on my Song,” the Song Mistress said gravely. “You may go now if the sight of her gives you such distress. I promise to take care of her punishment personally.”

“You are very kind,” her aunt said, nodding gratefully. “I believe that I will take my leave for I must say that the very sight of her makes me ill.”

And she had swept away in a rustle of starched skirts, leaving Allara with silent tears running down her cheeks.

Everyone…I have lost everyone I ever loved, or who I thought loved me, she thought miserably.

She wished that she had taken the black poison pill sewn into the hem of her silver wedding gown when she’d had the chance. Then at least she would be dead and she wouldn’t have to endure this misery.

Her one comfort was the fact that—as far as she knew—Brand had survived her assassination attempt. “Attempted murder” were the words she’d heard Commander Sylvan use when he called and informed the Q’ess authorities that he was folding space and he expected them to come at once and pick up Allara. Also, her Aunt had said over and over that she had failed her mission. So that must mean that Brand was still alive, right?

Unless he died shortly after you left, whispered a depressing little voice in her head. Which is entirely possible. You did stab him right in the heart, Allara.

It didn’t matter if he was dead or alive, though—she would never see her Kindred husband ever again. She was about to be married off to another man—most probably an alien, since the Space Port was the only place where a non-Q’ess man could buy himself a Q’ess bride.

Even if you weren’t being auctioned off and Brand made a complete recovery, he’d still never want to see you again, whispered the voice in her head. You tried to kill him, remember? He’ll hate you forever for what you tried to do—just as Aunt and Father will hate you forever for trying and failing.

“I said—stand at the ready!” shouted the Song Mistress, right in Allara’s ear, drawing her roughly back to the present.

Allara jumped to her feet, leaving the rough wooden bench where she had been sitting with half a dozen other bedraggled, miserable looking girls. Allara wondered what they had done and if it was as bad as her own crime. It was common knowledge that being sold at the Space Port Bride Auction was a punishment of the severest kind. Only the most recalcitrant, wayward girls were sold here.