Page 19 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)

Urim

T he sky outside the wagon is lightening when a halt is finally called again. Adara tenses next to me, her fingers stalling in her lock-picking practice.

“Better put away your picks,” I whisper to her. “They’ll be coming to get me soon.”

Adara nods, taking her bits of wire and rebraiding them into her hair. Her nimble fingers weave the strands together gracefully. I can’t help but appreciate her delicate hands as they work. Truthfully, everything now attracts me to Adara, from her fingers to her thick hair, to the slight creases between her brows as she concentrates on her task. My Mating Instinct growls for me to touch my mate, to feel the softness of her skin with my fingers, but, of course, I do not.

It is merely that we are in close proximity to each other all the time that is making these feelings grow, I tell myself. The feelings will fade after we’ve severed the soultie.

My Mating Instinct does not like that thought, but I ignore its howling and snarling, turning away from Adara to look at the back of the wagon. Any moment, a guard will come to get me and bring me to the magistrate's next feeding. Will he be satisfied with the repeat performance of yesterday morning, or will he escalate? It is impossible to tell.

I center myself mentally, finding my calm again. Whatever happens, I will keep my emotions calm, I will not let any sign of distress make its way through the mate bond to alarm Adara. I have trained for this, through my time with the warrior monks. Calm reason is my shield and I will not let it falter.

Sure enough, after some sounds of a camp being erected, a guard shows up at the back of the wagon, this time the Guard Leon from Stormfury Landing.

“I drew the short straw,” he says, taking out a key and unlocking the chain keeping us in place at our ankles. “Come on, orc. You know what is coming.”

Silently, I climb out of the wagon, but not before making eye contact with the mage. Her eyes are wide and worried, her emotions in the bond jumbled. She still feels guilty about rebranding me, worried that I might not survive this morning’s feeding, angry that we are in this situation. I send her a heavy dose of calm through the bond, to which she sends back a wave of irritation. She does not want to feel calm right now. I almost smile at her reaction, but I keep my face stoic, knowing that smiling will only provoke the vampires if they see it.

Guard Leon grabs my arm, his hand not quite big enough to wrap around my bicep, but uses that to steer me toward the magistrate’s opulent tent. When we reach the entrance he calls out, “Bloodslave for you, magistrate.”

“Come in,” comes the soft reply.

This is all similar to yesterday and when we enter I again see the brazier lit with brands in its coals. It seems that the magistrate is not a creative vampire.

“Vargan,” he greets. “Get on your knees for me.”

There’s no use in resisting his order. Instead, I slowly sink to my knees, and keep my head down, as if in subservience.

“What a pretty picture you make like this,” the magistrate remarks. “All low and serving me. But I’ve been thinking about our last encounter and it occurred to me that you never let out one little whimper. One peep to show me the pain that I was inflicting on you. And it wounds my pride, Vargan, that after all my efforts you would not react.”

“I’m sorry for my lack of reaction, master,” I say, even though I know that words won’t do any good. But if there's a slight chance that feeding his ego will keep him from killing me, I must swallow my pride and do it.

“Unfortunately, I cannot forgive you for such a slight,” the vampire says, a sadistic smirk on his lips. “But no matter. I have considered what to do, how to fix this situation, and had the thought that another brand might be warranted. If one pain brand doesn’t achieve the desired result, then surely two will do?”

He smiles cruelly. “I have never given a blood slave two brands at once. This will be quite educational.”

I don’t know what to do. I am convinced that I can handle two brands by retreating to my sanctuary, but if I go there again I won’t be able to react to his actions sufficiently and he’ll merely escalate further. But if I don’t go into my sanctuary and allow myself to feel the pain he is inflicting, the torment will travel along the bond and affect Adara. That is unacceptable.

Zadicus regards me for a moment, searching my face, but I give him nothing to read on my placid features. Then he sighs. “You are a strong orc, Vargan. Stronger than I gave you credit for. But I will have my sounds of pain or you will not last long. Consider that before you try to remain brave again.”

He takes the familiar brand out of the coals, walking up to me.

“Shall we see what happens?”

???

I wake to humming, a haunting tune both lovely and soothing. Soft fingers trace through my hair and dance down over my neck and shoulders. My head is elevated, laying on something both soft and bony. I hurt all over, a twin throbbing on my chest where two brands now lay and my ribs feel like they might be cracked or broken. Breathing is difficult.

My eyes open slowly and I see concerned brown eyes meet mine. Adara.

She is . . . caring for me?

“What happened?” I croak out.

“I should ask that myself,” Adara says, raising a brow at me. “What happened to the magistrate not branding you again?”

“He was displeased that I hadn’t reacted more when he fed on me. He wanted sounds of pain and thought that a second brand would push me over the edge. The last thing I remember is him coming over toward me with the brand.”

“Hmm, that lines up with what I know,” the mage remarks.

“What do you know?” I ask, my voice still scratchy.

“Not much,” Adara says. “Everything was calm in the bond at first, like usual, then there was a spike of something? Physical distress maybe? Then not long after that, the bond went dark. I thought . . . I thought you were dead. But it seems that you lost consciousness. Maybe two brands was too many. The magistrate was irate about it, apparently. I think he kicked you, trying to wake you up, since your ribs are extremely bruised, but nothing worked. He sent you back to the wagon and you’ve been unconscious for three days.”

“Three days?” I rasp, my voice still rough from disuse and dehydration.

“Yes,” Adara replies. “We’re halfway to Evernight.”

“Did anyone hurt you while I was out?” I ask, needing to know.

Adara shakes her head, making me feel relieved. “I’m still not to be touched by anyone but Grazrath. They’ve been feeding me and checking you occasionally. They said to tell them when you woke, but I think that we can wait on that for a bit.”

I try to swallow to say something, but my mouth is too dry, like a parched desert. “Water?” I ask, barely croaking now.

“Here,” she says, producing a cup. “Drink it slowly.”

Adara helps me sit up somewhat, though my ribs groan in agony at the movement, and brings the water cup to my lips. I force myself to drink it in sips, even though my body is desperate for water.

When I’ve finished the cup, I lay back in her lap again. Being near her, surrounded by her cinnamon smoke scent is soothing to me. It has been a long time since I have been in this much pain. Probably not since those beatings I took as an orcling begging on the streets.

Then a thought strikes me. “If they were only bringing rations for you, where did you get that water?”

The mage shrugs. “I’ve been saving my water ration each day, in case you woke up. If you hadn’t woken by the next time they brought rations, I would drink my water and then have them refill it.”

I feel humbled by what she is telling me. She sacrificed what meager comfort she had for me, took care of me while I was knocked out. For three full days.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I am your partner. I should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

Adara waves off my words. “There’s no need to apologize. Though this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just given the magistrate what he wanted. How hard is it to give a whimper or scream?”

“I cannot control what my body does while I’m in my sanctuary,” I tell her. “And if I do not go into my sanctuary, then you’ll be able to feel my pain and distress through the bond. I can’t do that to you.”

Adara rolls her eyes at that. “I’m not so weak that I can’t handle feeling a ghost of your pain through the bond. And going forward you should give Zadicus what he wants, or he might kill you with his next escalation. If you don’t want to end up a dead blood slave, play the part.”

I smile faintly at that. “Mere weeks ago you would have been happy to see me killed.”

“Funny how things can change in such a short space of time,” remarks Adara. “But I suppose you’ve shown that you aren’t a complete asshole.”

“Glowing praise,” I return wryly, before coughing and agony races across my senses. My torso spasms and my ribs definitely feel broken. The magistrate must have kicked me hard indeed to break orc bones.

Adara strokes her hands across my shoulders, soothing away my pain.

“You probably shouldn’t speak for a while,” she says. “You don’t want to trigger another coughing fit while your ribs are healing. Might want to see if you can sleep for a bit. Now that you’re awake you’ll probably be expected to feed the magistrate again and you’ll need your strength.”

Her words are wise, but I’m loath to sleep again after being unconscious for days on end.

“Don’t worry,” she says as if sensing my reluctance. “I’ll keep watch.”

Her hands keep stroking soothingly over my shoulders, her touch doing wonders to calm the pain that I’m feeling. Finally, I nod, realizing that I’m sleepier than I thought. I’m probably still weak after taking the second brand. I close my eyes and Adara starts humming again, the haunting tune I heard when I woke. Then I fall into slumber, my dreams full of the mage that is slowly stealing my heart.