10

  Hami Sawa

  Nidair strode along behind the High Bride, her spirit soaring with the elation of being handpicked for the great journey to come. She maintained a respectful distance of four paces, her hands folded demurely in front of herself. A small, smug, smile played on her lips. The quiet sobbing of the human girl trailing behind them meant nothing to her, for she had at last begun to shed some of the shame of her association. Bringing up the tail of the procession were another few initiates who alternated between keeping their eyes politely downturned and staring jealously at Nidair’s position of favour.

  “How much shall we suffer of this girl’s hysterics?” Nidair asked of the High Bride, her tone critical and disdainful.

  “We must stoop to certain levels when enacting certain plans,” the High Bride replied over her shoulder. “This girl only arrived this morning. A certain … emotional tenderness … is to be expected.”

  With a fawning adoration, Nidair thought she could hear a gentle smile on her mentor’s lips.

  “She is perfect for her role, and will accompany us on our journey to the home of your family. Your brother left on his mission in such a hurry that we were not able to give him his ascension ceremony or his slave.”

  “You are extraordinarily generous to hold the ascension so far from Raashim’s City,” Nidair said with great admiration. “He must have proved himself to you many times over.”

  “That he did,” the High Bride smiled. “I had never seen anything quite like him and his comrade. I would endure much to ensure their safety and continued … service. This girl shall test his endurance and faith sorely. He will be better for it.”

  “And now, High Bride,” Nidair piped up, something else occurring to her. “We walk with …purpose. Where do we go?”

  The High Bride chuckled.

  “We go to present you with your own human, of course,” she chided, as if Nidair should have already guessed it. “He will enter your possession today, although he will not be turned fully over into your company until you are assigned your own lodgings.”

  “Oh!” Nidair exclaimed, her mind faltering with both surprise and hesitation. She wanted to ask what the human would be like, but she felt as if such questions should be beneath an attendant of the High Bride. So, she held her peace and found herself fretting instead about a great many things that made no sense to her and were also out of her control.

  They exited the torch-lit hallways of the temple and strode out onto the sands of the courtyard, a perfect crescent moon smiling down on them as it hung there just above the distant hills. Nidair immediately recognised that they were making their way for the same cell block that she had shown the man to only the day before.

  Imagine the chances, she scoffed to herself. They will not be assigning him so soon though, surely! She pondered briefly if she was irritated or relieved by that rationale.

  The High Bride barely looked at the gate and it swung open smoothly in front of her. Where the man had looked both wary and impressed, Nidair saw that the girl did not even notice, such was the state of her nerves. They passed through then, and the High Bride brought them all to a stop there. With surprisingly little ceremony, she pointed to the cell on the very end of the row.

  “You will enter that cell and attempt to couple with the man within,” the High Bride said flatly. Without any other elaboration, she turned to the other two initiates and gave them similar orders, but pointed to different cells. “Take as long as you wish. I will wait here with this one.”

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  Nidair could almost feel her heart as if it thundered between her ears, and she was sure she must be going an utterly shameful shade of red at the High Bride’s thoroughly base talk. Was this another test? How should she …

  Move! Move! Do not hesitate! Obey!

  Nidair flinched into action and strode numbly across the sands towards the door she had been allocated. The other two initiates were already at their own doors, neither of them above turning an ugly leer at her, as if they fully understood how at odds she was with this command. Nidair’s fingers fumbled to remember the charm required to release the door from its frame, and by the time it swung gently open, the other two were already within their allotted cells.

  Remain calm! Aoshinama said nothing of a time limit. Be calm. Focus on what you must do … Nidair found herself hesitating once again as the door stood open before her. What I must do … this is unthinkable! I cannot do this thing! Disgraced I may be, but I am still the daughter of one of the most well-known families of the Realm! Would I not only disgrace myself further, but my family as well?

  Her body took a step back on its own, her mind, spirit, and heart all trying to flee the circumstances that she found herself in. Something else dug its claws into her soul and brought her to a painful halt.

  Stop, she groaned internally. Stop. Obey. Your family is nothing. They are not your family anymore. Raashim and his servants are your family now. What is your body but a tool for the service of Raashim? This is that tool’s first use. Prove your dedication. Go. GO! You must! Or everything up until now was for nothing!

  Nidair walked slowly, reluctantly, into the dark cell. She heard the rustling of the straw as the prisoner shifted, and then she saw the man slowly roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed. He had not been so soundly asleep as to remain so when she entered. She halted, unsure how to proceed, and he rose to his feet and stood, waiting for a command.

  “I am … I must … give you comfort,” she said, her voice low and slightly rushed as she tried to remember the man’s words under pressure. What was the best way to seduce a human? Should she assume he was barely awaiting an excuse to leap upon her? Or would he be as wary of her motives as she was of his brutish appearance?

  He said nothing. Did nothing.

  “Do you … want … comfort?” she asked. “Speak.”

  “You honour me,” was his rough reply, and Nidair immediately suspected that he was in the midst of some inner turmoil. “No, thank you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  What should I do? Language will only hamper me. Must I … become physical?

  Nidair closed the distance slowly, a desperation to please her master overriding her previous humiliation and making her bolder as she tried to find some method that would work on this man.

  “I can help you sleep,” she coaxed, although she was sure that she sounded like a foolish child trying to seduce her infatuation with no prior experience. “My touch is gentle. My voice is soft. Speak.”

  A ragged sigh came from the man’s mouth, and Nidair moved forward again, trying to discern whom she had come upon. The darkness still shrouded most of him, as he stood far enough back in his cell that the moon’s limited light did not reach his face.

  “This must be a test,” he decided. “Please. I don’t want this. I just want to rest. I’m sure I have a hard day ahead of me tomorrow.”

  With one last step, Nidair arrived at the man, and she bit her lip as she stood with her toes against his, her body lightly pressed against his core as she looked up at him from her awkwardly close position. She rested her chin on his chest, thinking to herself that he was taller than she had thought from a distance.

  He is very well proportioned. Nothing that seems too long or too short. His chest is almost as hard as shikyo …

  She paused then, and with all the entitlement of her brother’s great cat, she reached up and took hold of the man’s chin in one of her hands. It was strong and wide, tapering into a block-ish chin that could have almost been the cornerstone for her uncle’s keep.

  It is him!

  “Sit,” she commanded, her breath catching as a dark desire awoke within her. “I will make you forget her.”

  What horror am I saying? she wondered, mortified at the dark intentions in her words. How could I ever say such a thing? This is not who I am! No! Obey! Don’t throw this chance away!

  “I will not sit,” rasped the man. “I will not do this.”

  “Do not be foolish,” Nidair pressed, her inner conflict making her irritable and pushy. “I can help you …” Her hand drifted down his chest, and she felt him tense beneath her touch.

  “I don’t want this help!” he cried hoarsely, and shoved his way past her, fleeing the cell.

  “Stop!” she cried, both a command and a plea on her lips.

  It was too late. The disobedience had been noted.

  Hami sawa: translates into “doom’s dance”.