AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He sat up.
He was in Suscon. There was no denying. Even though his bare feet had yet to touch the floor, he could feel the grit of the sandstone and sanded marble from here. He could smell the salt of the ocean.
He’d been placed in his old room.
He looked around the room, eyes falling over the sun-bleached furniture and tropical tree shadows that swayed about the wall, and it was like he was seeing it all for the first time. It was funny. The great length of time he had spent here had carved this room into the stone of his memory, and yet now, it was like he was seeing it for the first time, or perhaps through a new lens.
What a pretty cage it was.
Salas moved to stand, though something jangled about his ankles, making his movements awkward. His stomach dropped upon immediately noting what had been attached to both his upper and lower appendages: thin, golden shackles had been placed onto his wrists and ankles, chaining him.
For a moment, he wanted to cry, yet a cold sort of acceptance sat deep within him, disallowing him the emotion of despair. The acceptance said that he had come here for a job, and it would protect the people he loved. Everything else that happened to him was a non-issue, as long as he completed his great task.
Killing the traitor Jovack.
He wasn’t sure how it would be done, or what would happen directly after as a consequence, yet he knew that it must be done, if there was any chance at all of finding a way forward again. His body had already made a decision that there was no other way, and with Jovack’s request, being here was the only way to keep the Diagorains away.
And safe.
Most importantly, safe.
Aside from the chains, he’d also been redressed in his sleep, in clothes more fitting of a Susconian bird. It even glittered like festival ware. He’d been put in silken, gold wrap-skirt embroidered with pearls at the waist, and no top, though his torso had been dusted down with crushed-shell glitter.
There was no knock on the door when it swung open and, abruptly, intruders stepped inside.
Salas couldn’t determine their corresponding regional allegiances by looking at the four men who entered. They could have been Malthenian, Susconian, or even from a number of other nations that would have come to see the fallen kingdom and parade upon its grave. Emperor Eldron had had a lot of enemies.
But there was one man he recognized. The same Malthenian who brought him here.
Without having to guess or wait, Salas knew why these men had come to his room, had sought him out. As a Susconinan bird, he’d had a purpose, and he could see that purpose reflected within the bleak, fervor-warm gazes as they stared down at him.
He knew what was going to happen, as well as that he couldn’t avoid it, so he felt himself slipping. Because it was easier, and because to hold up a defense from it would exhaust all fight he had within him to complete his final task, he instead pulled out the mask that Eldron had helped him create. It was the one he used when faced with men like this; a fake version of himself that would deal with the people he faced who all wanted the same thing, and his false self would make them happy, so that he didn’t have to. Why attempt to endure what they had come to do, when he could simply pull out a puppet in his place, and slip into the background?
So when he spoke, it was as though it came from somewhere else, that second version of himself that wasn’t quite him, while he managed to dissociate.
“I thought Jovack would have come to see me by now. I’m a little disappointed that it’s just a few foot soldiers who’ve come to give me my grand welcome.” He didn’t comment on the dainty shackles on his ankles. It would have been pointless and would only serve to allow them to watch him squirm.
“The King of the South hasn’t arrived yet,” came the husky answer of the Malthenian, as he stepped forward.
“Of course he hasn’t,” Salas whispered, nearly to himself. Jovack hadn’t arrived, so instead Salas had to deal with this.
“He’s coming in from Malthens. He’ll be here soon, don’t you worry, princess,” the Malthenian assured, as though to ease Salas’ false drive to see the absent ‘king.’ “In the meantime, the boys and I will take good care of you.” He wet his crusted lips and stepped forward again. “Want to know one of the reasons Malthens immediately wanted to denounce Diagor, after the invasion?”
Because you’re all a bunch of double-crossing bastards?Instead, he asked, “Why?”
“Because Diagor…Well, you see, they took all the birds.” With a boyish grin that looked cruel and crooked on his ruggish face, he used a finger to trace the skin on Salas’ leg where the chain met it. “It was a bit uncharitable for them not to share, don’t you think?”
At the mention of the other birds Salas felt a swell of fierce protectiveness within him. They would not,couldnot, ever fall to the hands of such uncaring men like these again. Something so precious was never meant to be beheld by a party so uncaring. Even when Suscon had been at its peak with Eldron as its leader, the titillating, salacious act of courting a bird had been a game won by gentle coaxing, alluring the prey, and allowing seduction. It was a blessed task done in reverence.
These men only wanted totakewith no preamble. If the bird system the Susconians had made could be called ‘art,’ then the art was dead. What was left was primordial savagery.
Salas swallowed, provoking every bit of power he had over himself to not pull away from the man’s touch. “If you want time with me, the others must leave.” He smiled a sweet, honey smile that felt like a miracle to perform. “I don’t like sharing.”
The man barked out a laugh. “You wouldn’t have to share with anyone, sweetheart.You’dbe the one we’d all share.”
Salas blinked, his eyes widening in mock astonishment, as though the Malthenian surprised him. “Really?” he wondered dubiously, an ignorant pitch to his tone. He raked his eyes up and down the Malthenian in obvious suggestion. “Well, you could have fooled me, sir. You have a lovely, lean figure. I thought it might be the other way around.”
At this, the other men crowed with shocked, mirthful laughter as the Malthenian’s man face turned a vibrant shade of red. A red of mortification, a red of fury, and, undoubtedly, a red of lust.
