Raised to Kill

The threat in the deep, growling voice made Allara shiver. And it apparently worked on the Uvian too because he was silent.

“Here now, here now,” the Song Mistress brayed. “We don’t allow any threats at our auctions, no we don’t! Now, I’ve heard five thousand from the Havoc gentleman in black. Does the Uvian gentleman wish to up the bid?”

“Too rich for my blood,” the Uvian’s croaking voice muttered sullenly. “Guess I’ll wait for another auction to fill my pot.”

“A pity,” the Song Mistress remarked. “For this girl’s aunt asked that she come to a bad end and I promised to see to it personally. Ending up in a stewpot seems fairly bad to me. Still, maybe the Havoc gentleman will do his best to fulfill the aunt’s wishes?”

“Give her to me,” the deep voice growled. “I’ll pay your price. After that, whatever I choose to do with the girl is my own business.”

“So it is, so it is.” The Song Mistress didn’t sound perturbed at all. “Very well then, if no one wants to up the bid past five thousand?”

Apparently, no one did for there was complete silence. Allara imagined the owner of the deep, growling voice to be staring around at the assembled bidders, glaring fiercely. If he could intimidate a Uvian, he must be either extremely large or extremely well-armed.

Or both, she thought, her stomach fluttering as she wondered what her new husband looked like.

“Sold! To the Havoc gentleman in black for five thousand credits,” the Song Mistress shouted. “Come on, you!” And she shoved Allara ruthlessly off the auction block, causing her to stumble and nearly fall.

Someone caught her and set her on her feet again.

“Her hands,” the growling voice of her new husband said. “Untie them!”

“Untie ‘em yourself. I’ve the next auction to conduct,” the Song Mistress snapped. “Now listen, you’ve paid but you can’t take her until you go to the Song House and do a short ceremony. Go on—it’s just over there, ‘round the corner. Don’t worry about the details, the Song Leader in the doorway will explain. Now go on—I’ve no more time for you.”

Big hands picked Allara up and carried her a little distance from the crowd, then set her back down on the ground on her feet. Then the growling voice spoke.

“Hold still, girl, while I untie you.”

Allara stood there, shivering and trembling, as the rough rope around her wrists was quickly untied. Shortly after that, the black blindfold was stripped from around her eyes.

Blinking in the dull gray light of the hazy afternoon she looked up…and up and up at her new husband.

Gods of All Creation, he’s even bigger than Brand was! was Allara’s first, terrified thought. Her new husband was massive—well over seven feet tall. He was dressed all in black with a mirrored helmet that covered his entire face, rendering his visage menacingly blank. In it, she could see her own cowering figure, wearing nothing but the blood-stained nightdress and a look of terror on her face.

“Well, girl?” the growling voice asked. “Why were you being sold at the Space Port Bride Auction? I know it’s a punishment for your kind.”

“I…” Allara licked her lips uncertainly. What should she say?

“Don’t lie to me,” her new husband warned threateningly. “Always tell me the absolute truth and we’ll get along a lot better.”

“I…I failed to complete a mission,” Allara said softly. “A mission I was born and raised to complete. And so my aunt brought me here. At least, I hope I failed it,” she added.

“Why would you hope that you failed?” her new husband asked, sounding as though he was frowning.

“Because the mission…” Should she tell him? Why not? whispered a little voice in her head. You’ve got nothing left to lose—you already lost it all when you stabbed Brand in the heart.

“Well?” her new husband growled.

“I hope I failed because…” Allara lifted her chin and stared at his mirrored helmet fearlessly. “Because my mission was to kill my husband. I didn’t want to, but that was my mission.”

“I would have paid more if I’d known I was buying a trained assassin,” her new husband growled.

“I wasn’t trained—not really,” Allara protested. “I was put under oath. That’s all.”

“Seems to have been enough,” her new husband remarked. “Is that his blood I see on your nightdress, wife?”

“It…it is…” Suddenly her spurt of courage left her and Allara felt as though her heart was going to break. “I stabbed him,” she whispered, as tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t want to, but the voice in my head told me I had to. And…and I couldn’t stop myself. And now he’s probably dead and I’ll never see him again!”

She put her hands over her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to give in to the sobs that choked her. The Song Mistress was still watching them from the corner of her eye, even as she conducted the next auction. Who knew what she might do to Allara if she caught her crying in public—which was against the rules of Q’ess decorum?