The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (40 page)

The girl was almost groveling now. “Please, please, my lady. I was only a needlewoman before.”

The countess stepped closer. “Before?” She let the girl squirm under her withering gaze for a few more moments. Then she softened her expression instantly, turning all soft and smiley and reassuring. “No matter. Come sit here by my side.” She lowered herself onto the side of the bed, mindful of the corset digging into her ribs. “Tell me something.”

“Yes, my lady?” the maid sobbed hopefully.

“You are allowed access to other women in the palace, too, aren’t you? What’s your name anyway?”

“Janice, my lady,” the girl said. “Yes, my lady. General Pacmad has me attend to several other ladies.”

Sonya patted the girl’s rough, needle-scarred hand. “Who are they? What are they like? How do they take their captivity? I want to know everything. Tell me, or I will be angry, and then I will have to speak to General Pacmad about how you ruined my nails.”

Janice opened her mouth, trying to say something, probably some stupid protest, but then she thought better of it. Carefully, she worked her peasant tongue to speak. “Ladies Linnette and Fidelma, Viscountess Verina, and Baroness Richelle.”

Sonya rolled the names through her head, placing them on her ever-changing cobweb of power like little flies, fluttering, caught, waiting for the spider to come and snatch them.

In recent weeks, Pacmad had given her more and more freedom, more responsibility, a wider access to amenities. She had a fairly decent wardrobe now. She could bathe and be pampered whenever she pleased. She had creams for her skin, jewels for her neck and fingers.

But one thing the chieftain absolutely made sure not to give her was free access to his other concubines and prisoners, not unless he wanted her there for some reason. He still suspected her, still mistrusted her around her former countrywomen. He believed she would spin a plot against his rule the moment he left her alone with the other women. The assumption could not be further from the truth. She wanted to make sure her competition did not get in her way.

Oh, he knew she was trying to be his best mistress, as she kept telling him now and then, only he did not quite believe her. Her story did not move him. Or her motives. Perhaps they stayed his hand now and then, or even made him chuckle, but his trust was a dark, black, oily, elusive thing. Whenever she tried to dig her nails into it, it slipped away and left her with a scraping of frustration.

Well, she should not be disappointment or dismayed. Every day, she won a small victory by staying alive, by getting what she wanted, each time a little more than the last. Pacmad had even let her enjoy the help of this oaf Janice. She could walk the palace corridors, go into the gardens, venture into the city streets. No other woman in captivity could claim that.

Regardless, her journey was long, and she had only started. She might no longer get beaten as often as before, but Pacmad still treated her like a whore most of the time. He was wary of her ideas and suggestions, as if they hid a barb of poison among their words.

Perhaps the general knew the moment he let her talk to the other women that she would utterly corrupt them, making them useless. He would then be forced to get rid of them, and she would hold all the power, all the sway, in her hands and between her thighs.

Sonya was planning well ahead. Once she gained full control of Somar, she would have to make sure Pacmad’s wives did not interfere with her plans. She had to somehow sideline them and make Pacmad depend on her. She had to make him believe in her abilities, all of them.

Janice was speaking. “Lady Fidelma had a miscarriage last week, and Pacmad got so angry, he broke her arm. The baroness is with a child, too. She will bear him a son, he says.”

Sonya frowned.
Not good
. She could not allow some slut to steal Pacmad’s attention with her womb’s unholy products. That was one thing Sonya could not really contest with the other women. She needed Pacmad to forget about siring his bastards upon the Eracian prisoners and work on establishing his authority and broadening his power so she could enjoy it through him. His meaningless vengeance was distracting.

“And the others?”

Janice folded her arms in her lap. “I think Lady Linnette is bad in her head. She talks to herself quite often, my lady. Viscountess Verina is bearing well. Never cries.”

Sonya weighed the chances of her two major opponents. Both were noble, both of a lesser class than she was, so not a threat in that perspective. Richelle was really a pond feeder, from a poor family, but she had a baby growing in her uterus. However, in the longer run, Verina was probably more dangerous. On the other hand…

“Anything else?”

Janice shook her head, gaze lowered.

She smiled at Janice. “You will keep telling me everything you hear.”

The maid wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “Yes, my lady.”

Sonya stood up. “Good. Keep doing it, and I may even reward you. Now go.” She made a shooing motion. Janice
quickly collected her things and rushed out of the chamber. Sonya was left alone, and she gravitated toward the mirror, admiring her chest, her stomach, her legs.

The countess turned toward the door. Pacmad ought to visit her soon. Sometimes she saw him during the day, when he asked her for help with the numbers and accounts and letters. Running the city was a complex task, and his tribesmen were not faring too well.

She hoped he would come today. She had to have him here, because otherwise, that meant he would be fucking some other Eracian. She could not allow them to taint his mind with their evil schemes and sad stories. Every day he spent in another woman’s bedroom was a chance missed for Sonya to upgrade her status, gain more favor, anchor her security and survival in Pacmad’s ruthless world.

Sonya walked over to her small fireplace. A few embers glowed red, radiating pleasant heat. The sheet of leaden rain falling for the past week had cooled the air enough that your breath would mist in the early morning. She picked up another broken log and placed it on the gray pile.

Time stretched. She got bored. She tried to read a book salvaged from the ruins of Leopold’s collection, but it was too dark to strain her eyes under candlelight now, so she tossed it back onto her bed. She slurped a glass of wine, but her stomach felt queasy, empty. Only she did not want to eat, because she had to lose more weight so she was even more alluring for her master.

Another hour passed, and the world turned dark. A flash of panic gripped her, a momentary one, a heartbeat of weakness, nothing more. What if Pacmad did not want to come to her tonight? Maybe he was busy with that Aileen whore. Sonya thought she may have made a mistake in letting her like him,
because she could pose serious competition if she got round the terror of Pacmad’s visits.

Sonya was busy running her finger idly over the fabric of her dress when the Father of the Bear entered. She did her best to look nonchalant, but a whole flurry of emotions gripped her. She hated admitting it, but she had almost gotten used to seeing him in her chamber. The early ritual of rape and senseless beating and intimidation had been replaced with something akin to mild interest and maybe a trace of respect. Perhaps he did not care for her as a person, but he found value in her courage and knowledge. That was good enough for her, for now. A victory, a small one.

Pacmad was carrying something in his arms, a bundle of papers. He tossed them onto her small writing desk. “Some reports from the guilds. Their monthly yield, they say. You will tell me if they lie, and if they do, I will hand those women over to my men.”

Sonya touched the side of the food table nervously, then recovered and folded her hands in front of her demurely, hiding the botched nail work that bitch Janice did. “How do I look, Master?”

He looked her up and down like she was a bag of grains at a market stall. “Like an expensive whore,” he said unceremoniously.

She grimaced. Not the kind of answer she had expected. It was all Janice’s fault. She would have that maid punished. She flashed a brave smile for him, ignoring his remark. Her hand wanted to flutter away, to play with something just to keep the tremor away, but she steadied herself.

“You look pensive.”

The Kataji inclined his head. “Your city is not cooperating with me,” he growled.

Sonya stepped closer. “Do you want something to eat?” On the table, there was a platter of smoked meat, rye bread, and pears. It was her dinner, but he might like it if she fed him. Usually, he did not object to her grooming him, whether it was to massage his back or his calves or his scalp or to feed him morsels. Sometimes, he would hit her, just to remind her he held the upper hand, but most of the time, his backswings carried little to no enthusiasm, like it was a chore.

He sniffed the air. “All right. You can feed me.” He plopped onto her sofa. The fabric would smell of his leathers, she knew, but it was a small price to pay. Carefully, Sonya knelt at his feet, making sure she did not appear too eager.

Sonya cut a thin slice of bread and heaped it with the salted strips of beef, then placed a single slice of pear on the top and reached forward. He bit into it. She waited. She did not want to press him with questions, but she craved information. She had to know what had happened in Somar that day; otherwise, she might make a bad call and anger him, or misjudge the situation and worsen her condition. Pacmad expected her to give him impeccable, honest, and useful advice on how to run the city. He expected her to help him convince everyone to cooperate with his whims and orders. And he expected her to negotiate peace and war in his name. That part had not yet happened, and she was glad for it, because she still wasn’t sure how to make herself appear loyal to both her master and the Eracians. Not an easy task, but then, she had never feared dire challenges.

He swallowed. “You painted your nails? Looks like blood.”

Almost reluctantly, she showed him her hand. “You like it?”

Pacmad swatted it away. “I don’t care. As long as that hand stays where I can see it.” He looked down at her. She ever so
slightly perked her breasts up. He made a sour face. “Your belly is still flat. You won’t give me any children.”

There was nothing she could say to that. “What happened today?” she hazarded.

He dug a thick finger into his ear. “Your women are lying to me. They think I’m some stupid, illiterate tribesman they can swindle with their soft voices and long words. Like they didn’t get their lesson, they want me to raze this city to the ground.”

Sonya did not know the full extent of Pacmad’s rampage through Somar. It had been quite extensive, although his troops had mostly focused on killing men. Even in their fury and lust for revenge, they had destroyed and killed and raped in a very deliberate fashion, knowing they would stay and rule whoever survived the first few days of the battle. Sonya remembered watching the fall of Somar. Like everyone else, she had mistaken the trail of slaughter and fires as wanton destruction. Once again, her blue-eyed master had proven everyone wrong. Underestimation was the most lethal of mistakes, she thought.

“You will go to them, and you will talk to them,” he mumbled, his mouth full. “And you will convince them. They will learn how to operate those forges and tanneries. If Kataji women can do it, then so can they. I want Somar producing food and weapons. Or there will be no city.”

Sonya wondered if she could maneuver as easily and smoothly in some tent camp deep inside nomad lands. Perhaps she could, but it was best if she remained here, in known territory. She could at least account for her friends and foes and rivals. She knew what to expect from the Eracian resistance in the north and south. It would be best if Somar did not burn.

One of the candles guttered and hissed dead. The room turned that much darker. Pacmad’s eyes shone with intelligence.

“And I will be sending my peace envoys tomorrow. You will prepare the letters so that your countrymen are convinced my intentions are serious.”

Just as she thought Pacmad may have let the matter drop. Well, another challenge. Only she would have to think fast.

“I am not sure who holds the north of the realm now. Most of Leopold’s council were sent to Athesia last year, and they are probably still held there. They might have the authority to negotiate peace. Or maybe the army.” She thought of another pressing subject. “I was thinking. Should any of the other captive women bear you children, they will be considered the lineage of their noble families, not yours.” That was probably a muddy lie, but in the confusion of war, no nobleman would want to lose his claim on the land over such a trivial issue like parenthood.

Pacmad spat a pip in his hand and smeared it on the table. “You seem to be hearing things. Maybe you have too much freedom around the palace. So what are you telling me, that I should gut the bitches and their little whelps?”

Sonya shrugged, trying to make it look as if his decision did not really matter to her.

“And what if I get you pregnant? You have a husband, too? He’s a count, right?”

No chance of that happening
, she wanted to tell him, but she managed to look concerned, even if she only imagined him carving her open and wrestling an unborn bloody mess from her belly. “I am married, but that does not matter anymore.”

He smiled. “Really?”

Sonya grimaced. “My husband is a weakling. A clerk. Nothing more.” She had no idea what Bart might be doing in Athesia, and she did not really care. For all she was concerned, he could die. The Barrin family did not have heirs who could
usurp her right to his assets, so she did not need him any longer. Since Leopold was dead, and there was a war blistering across the realms, Bart’s stupid mission of making peace with Empress Amalia had become meaningless.

Sonya wished she knew more about what was happening in Paroth, with the Southern and Northern Armies, what the likes of her husband were doing in Roalas, how many of them still lived or held any power. What was the situation in the besieged city? What was King Sergei planning? What was that impostor James doing? But Pacmad knew that information was power, so he gave her so little of it, only what he thought she needed.