Raised to Kill

The other voice was Allara’s own internal voice—or it sounded like it, anyway. It shouted at her that she was a horrible person—a horrible wife. Brand had been nothing but sweet and kind to her and she had repaid him with a dagger in the chest.

Both voices constantly castigated and blamed her. And both urged suicide.

But Brand had made that impossible. For some reason, even though she had tried to kill him, he wanted to keep her alive. He had removed, hidden, or replaced anything and everything Allara could have used to end herself, making it impossible to do what the voices demanded.

Why? Allara wondered. Why does he stop me when I so richly deserve death? Why does he want to keep me near him after what I did?

Forgiveness for a fault was a foreign notion to her. The Q’ess did not forgive a grievance—ever. Hence the Blood Feud which had been started three and thirty generations before. Once you had sinned or disgraced yourself in some way in Q’ess society, you were never allowed to forget it and you were certainly never forgiven for it. So the idea that Brand could forgive her for something as huge as attempting to murder him, was beyond Allara’s understanding.

He shouldn’t forgive me, she thought, looking down at her hands. He shouldn’t even want to. I don’t deserve to be forgiven. I only deserve death. I—

“There you are, sweetheart. Did you have a good nap?”

It was Brand, standing in the bedroom doorway. His handsome face was haggard and there was a look of deep anxiety in his golden eyes.

Allara looked down at her hands.

“I am well, Brand,” she said dully, though it wasn’t true. “Thank you for asking.”

“Baby, why don’t you call me ‘husband’ anymore?” He came to sit beside her on the bed. He tried to put an arm around her but Allara shrugged it off and moved away. She didn’t deserve comfort.

Nor did she deserve to call him ‘husband’ anymore.

When she didn’t answer after a moment, Brand tried again.

“We’re going to get out of the suite tonight, for a little while,” he told her. “Take a walk down to the Sacred Grove. You know—the place we were married? Well, married the first time, anyway. If you count the Song House, I guess we’ve been married twice.”

“Yes, Brand,” Allara murmured tonelessly, still looking down at her hands. She didn’t know if getting out of the suite would help her or not. She only knew she didn’t deserve anything good or nice ever again. And the idea of seeing where they were first married—when she had been planning to kill him even then—wasn’t particularly pleasant.

“I wish you’d call me ‘husband’ again.” He sighed. “Anyway, we’ll be going in a few hours. Why don’t you take a nice long shower and get changed? You’ll feel better if you do.”

Allara thought about asking if she could take a swim in the bathing pool instead, but she knew he probably wouldn’t let her. He’d enabled the child-safety locks on the pool—which formed a hard, impenetrable surface over the water and refused to allow her in—after he’d caught her trying to get the poison pill out of her wedding gown.

“Why do you care if I feel better?” she asked, looking up at him. “Why should you ever care about me again?”

“Because I love you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Gods, Allara, I love you so damn much! And I don’t blame you for what happened—how many times do I have to tell you that? You were brainwashed as a child.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “Baby, you were abused.”

“I was never abused,” Allara protested. “My aunt slapped me sometimes when I was impertinent, but only when I deserved it.”

“I studied the Ceremony of the Unbreakable Oath, you know,” Brand said in a low voice. “I know how it’s done. I know they stripped you naked and covered you in blood and broke down the layers of your mind’s defenses to implant a suggestion you couldn’t fight against. If that’s not abuse, I don’t know what is.”

“Don’t talk about it!” Allara clapped her hands over her ears, her mind filled with visions of the Song Leaders in their hooded black robes chanting and chanting over and over as they flicked the sacrificial blood on her bare skin.

Never shall your Song be free…Never shall your Song be free…

“I’m sorry. Allara, I’m sorry!” Brand moved her hands gently away from her ears and looked at her earnestly. “I’m just trying to tell you it’s not your fault. Your aunt and your father tried to force you to do something awful just to gain your family status. They used you to advance themselves. But they’re not here now, baby—I’m here and I love you.”

Allara felt like crying.

“I…I wish I could say I love you too,” she whispered as hot tears stung her eyelids. “But I don’t deserve to.”