Rite of the Omega Page 3

  As Otaso held her in his lap, rubbing his rough hand across her agonized flesh and murmuring soothing words that did nothing to cease her sobs, things changed. His touch became different. Seeking something. Otaso became angry when she didn’t give him anything but her tears and sniveling cries, too wrapped up in the pain that still pulsed through her body, red hot and bone deep. That dissatisfaction lingered. Grew stronger by the day, long after the incident, well past the next time she’d been brave and dared to incite his wrath.

  Now it was a constant. Always searching her features, her eyes, for something that he never found. His frustration mounting as the years passed, and she saw her eighteenth spring, becoming more woman than child. Now he would take it, whether or not Aida agreed.

  “Stand.”

  Immari’s biting command shot through Aida’s meandering thoughts, jarring her into the here and now. Shuffling up the side of the tub, she did as she was told.

  Downy softness of a towel wrapped around her body, Immari helped her from the tub to stand before the mirror that never steamed over. Aida refused to meet her gaze in the reflection, the creeping certainty that another’s eyes peered back keeping her on edge whenever she stood before the glossy surface. Waiting with arms out for Immari to rub more of the oil into her skin, she instead looked at the parts of her body not concealed. Sun starved skin a sandy beige with a chaotic jumble of freckles, it wasn’t anything near the frigid paleness of the people of Logoria or anywhere else in Aeslomor. Not that she knew over much about them, but of the few she’d seen during her clandestine excursions and in the few books Otaso allowed her, they were cut from the same cloth. Pale skin, inky hair, all of them tall.

  It couldn’t be more clear Aida’s parents, whoever they might have been, had not been of Otaso’s people. He’d had no reason to take her in that night, no responsibility as a ruler to even find her another home.

  “You would do well to remember how much your guardian has done for you. Raised you to be a fine lady. Given you everything,” Immari muttered as if she knew Aida’s thoughts, brisk strokes of her palms smearing the thick oil over Aida’s skin.

  Noncommittal hum going unnoticed, Aida gazed at her reflection, lost in her musing. It could be worse for her, no matter she felt stifled, imprisoned, the pretty bird singing her song in the dankness of a dungeon. Shiver prickling the backs of her arms and legs, Aida took a slow breath through her nose to banish the thought. Still her heart raced at the nightmarish memories of those dank and dark chambers.

  Following Immari into the bedroom, Aida sat before the delicate vanity on a rounded stool, avoiding yet another mirror. The extensive process of applying the paints and dressing her hair that became mandatory for Otaso’s pleasure began.

  She should be grateful. An orphan, all alone, she’d never have survived the world and all its dangers. Not from what little she gleaned from Otaso. His tales of war and violence were enough to terrify, leaving her to toss and turn through the night with horrible dreams. As much as she chafed under his constricting rules, his stern protection kept her safe.

  There were other reasons to be afraid, ones Otaso hinted at. Things that made her special, desirable, craved by the very worst of men. It sang in her blood and was what made her eyes the deepest black pricked by pale blue points, the pupils hard to discern in anything but the brightest light. It was why he’d kept her.

  Jerking her head away with a hiss when Immari’s fingers pulled a tangled knot free, Aida grit her teeth as she received a sharp slap to her back. The intricate braids hid away the curl of her hair, the soft sable intertwined with rich russet darkened to an austere black with yet more oils and concoctions to keep the strands smooth.

  She owed him everything. Knew she should throw herself at his feet, eager to please him. Aida wished with all her soul she could make herself feel the things he wanted her to, because at least then it would make what would happen bearable.

  Yet she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried to find his wicked smile appealing, the stiff bristles on his jaw charming, none of it would beguile her.

  Not in the way a single sniff of the guard at her door had. That was the response he desired, the one she couldn’t give to him. Aida knew the pattern of Otaso’s scent as well as her own or Immari’s, the virile darkness of it permeating her room most days. Saturating her skin with his eagerness to touch and caress, no matter how she shied away from his hand.

  With the sun traversing the sky, lengthening the shadows within Aida’s bed chamber, Immari made her into something different. Any vestiges of the known lines of her face erased with every stroke of the brushes Immari used. Black kohl lined her eyes, the ripe redness of waxy paint shading her lips into a delicate pout. Lashes stiff, brows combed and dusted with powder, she had a vague look of surprise affixed to her features. The thick cream Immari applied to the whole of her face and far down her chest made her look ill, but Immari’s satisfied hums and the curve of her lips said all was as it should be.

  “Come now, child. It’s time you dressed,” Immari murmured, hands almost gentle as they guided Aida from the stool to stand by the heavy wardrobe where the dress hung.

  Except it wasn’t the dress Immari reached for. Instead, she opened another wooden case. Smaller, the red hued blackness of the wood gleamed in the scarlet golds of the setting sun as Immari pulled foreign items from the black velvet interior. Some contraption resembling a gown’s bodice, with heavy cord and ruffles of lace. Line appearing between her darkened brows despite the itching pull of the paints, Aida stared hard at the other items. She recognized stockings, but the fabric was sheer so that Aida could see the breadth of Immari’s palm through it. Thin black ribbons of satin dangled in Immari’s fingers, but the momentary relief at recognizing such a simple item of her wardrobe vanished as a much abbreviated shift appeared from the box.

  “I can see through that!” Aida took an unconscious step back. Shaking her head in denial of the indecent transparency that would no doubt show the curve of her breasts with the low neck of the gown he expected her to wear. It would skim her thighs, providing no protection below the skirts that now seemed of little substance.

  “Come back here,” Immari snapped, grabbing Aida’s elbow and dragging her back into position. “You will wear what he has chosen for you.”

  “Immari, look at it! I… This… No!”

  “Enough of this. Arms up.”

  Immari didn’t wait, the loose neck of the diaphanous shift pulled over Aida’s head. Somehow she avoided the powders and paints, not disturbing a single pin in Aida’s hair as she tugged the gauzy material into place. The silken cord moaned in dismay as Immari pulled it taut, the line of fabric hovering above the dusty pink points of Aida’s breasts.

  “Immari, please,” Aida began, cut off as Immari slapped the strange device to Aida’s stomach, pushing her hand to hold it in place.

  Moving behind Aida, Immari threaded the cord through eyelets, her huffing breaths scalding the back of Aida’s neck. The hiss of the cord when Immari pulled it preceded the uncomfortable sensation of being pinched.

  “Breathe out, girl.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  “Immari, what is this—” Aida broke off on a wheeze, the stiffened silk and boney channels collapsing her lungs while Immari pulled the thing even tighter. Tied off, unable to draw a proper breath, Aida fumbled for a grip on the vanity before she fell over. Thoughts swirling as fast as the room spun, she saw herself in the mirror. A shriek of dismay spilled over her lips as she saw what the contraption did to her body. Molding it into something lush and perverse, mounding her breasts high and cinching her waist to accentuate the breadth of her hips.

  “You’ll get used to the corset. Now step in,” Immari said, gruff to the point of a command as she held the gown open.

  Strained breaths shaky, Aida lifted a trembling leg. Stepping into the gown with a low moan matched only by the quaver of her lips and the wave of tears that threatened to
tumble over her lashes.

  “Don’t you dare start that sniveling, Aida Vertia. If you ruin all of the hard work I’ve put into readying you, we will have to begin again, and he will be most displeased if you are late.”

  “How can you be so cruel, Immari? You know what he’s making me—”

  “That is enough.” Brows pinched, she refused to meet Aida’s eyes as she eased the snug sleeves of black lace that bared much of Aida’s arms in place. Asserting a stern air, she bustled behind her charge to begin the lengthy process of working the tiny black pearl closures.

  Adrift in a sea of despair as she caught one glimpse after the other of the creature in the mirror that she couldn’t recognize as herself, Aida kept her silence. Refusing to be chastised like a child for fearing what Otaso planned, hating that she couldn’t stop the trembling that wracked her body as Immari finished dressing her. Leaving her endless moments to turn the horrors of what might come tonight over in her head until she vibrated with the tension of it. He’d parade her in front of the very people he hid her away from. The men he warned would hurt her in unimaginable ways, that only he could keep her safe from.

  Night approached. The fireplace and candles roared to life, startling Aida into a thin scream. It was some magic of Otaso’s, happening every evening as the shadows grew dark in her rooms, yet the reminder of his power only set her further on edge.

  The knock on her door stopped her heart, the delicate muscle refusing to continue its plaintive rhythm in her chest.

  “There’s my lovely little doe,” Otaso said, the rough timbre of his voice thick and dark.

  Chapter 2

  Aida

  The daily ritual of it had her performing the deep curtsey, so much more difficult now with the uncomfortable pressure of her new undergarment. The wide wedge at the front of the corset kept her from bending forward to show her obeisance, lowering her chin all that she could do. It took every ounce of her willpower not to whine at the fullness of her breasts bared above the dark sweep of the gown.

  “Perfection,” Otaso rumbled, fingers under Aida’s chin drawing her to stand before him. Keeping her face up towards the warm glow of the many candles, his thin lips curved into something resembling a smile. Hand traveling a steady path down her neck and bare shoulder, his fingers wrapped around Aida’s upper arm. A sharp tug pulled her into his body, her waist and hand enfolded in his grip.

  Aida stifled her gasp, hiding her grimace behind a tight smile as an electric charge shot down her spine. The intense crackle of Otaso’s magic arced between them, a static jolt multiplied by thousands until she tried to arch her back to ease the painful prickle from her spine. No use as the corset kept her straight, his arm at her back pulling her closer.

  “Come, my little jewel. It is nearly time.” Otaso’s lips broadened into a vicious slash, the gleam of his teeth making more promises for this night.

  “W-We’re to dine… down there,” Aida asked as he led her towards the outer door. The soft slippers she wore refused to find purchase on the smooth wood, gliding across the planks as it brought her forward as if by an inexorable force.

  “We are.”

  “Sir, I don’t mean to—”

  “Do you like your new dress?”

  Aida snapped her mouth shut, glancing down at the river of bloody hues dancing around her mincing steps as he guided her towards the staircase that ran a circular path from her tower to the main wing of the castle.

  “It’s… very lovely, sir.”

  “You dislike it?”

  “It’s not that I don’t like it, sir,” Aida whispered, fumbling through the words as her tongue grew thick and unwieldy, the taint of acrid fear blooming beneath the heavy scent of roses. “It was… unexpected. I of course appreciate your endless generosity, but it is quite—”

  “You would do well to remember how generous I have been, Aida,” Otaso said through a growl, the shuddering resonance echoing through the oppressive space.

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  Falling into silence as they descended, Aida felt the walls closing in. Charcoal black stone soaked up the light dancing in the sconces, yet the space remained illuminated to a drowsy golden hue. Bright enough she could pick her way out beside him, it left far too many shadows. Each one reaching, grasping for her hem. By the time the first window appeared, signaling their journey not even half done, Aida was molding herself to Otaso’s side. Hiding away from the imagined terrors even as he took her towards a whole wealth of them. Cowering in his shadow to keep her safe as foreign scents and sounds drifted up the stairs towards them.

  By the time the raucous din of male voices became a wordless roar, the clang and rattle of metal and wood shivering through her bones, Aida was near to tears. Arms wrapped tight around Otaso’s, he corrected every attempt she made to dissuade his course. Maintaining the long strides that kept her scurrying along, his arm firm at the small of her back, hand firm on her hip.

  “S-Sir, please, I… I’m frightened,” Aida whimpered when the glow from the main hall extended its spindly fingers up the stairs. She would have tucked her face against his chest, begged him with sobbing entreaties if she didn’t think he would grow angry with her at mussing her hair and paint.

  “Do you think so little of me, that I’d have my sweet doe dine among the crass filth of my army?”

  His sudden stop left Aida lurching, his hand at her shoulder shoving her into the bitter stone wall driving the breath from her lungs on a caustic rush of panic. Jaw caught in a cruel grip, he jerked Aida’s face up, lengthening the line of her throat to leave it bare and vulnerable as he brought his face close.

  “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know!” The words came out on an airy sob. Her hands fluttered in anxious sweeps, reaching for him only to wheel away. Rushing on in a pained whisper, she hoped to appease. “Sir, you said only that I would dine with you. A testament to your power! I do not know what that means.”

  Aida held what little breath she could drag in around the churning knot lodged in her throat, watching, waiting for him to explode in a rage. This close to his men, they would come running. Abyss take her, she didn’t want to know what would happen to her then. Surprise squeezed her chest all the tighter as Otaso’s jaw softened, one corner of his mouth tipping up as he came ever closer. Mellowing as his breath mingled with her shallow pants, he rubbed his nose along hers and made a sound she did not understand at all. She did not enjoy it, felt no easing in her panicked dismay, but at least he wasn’t yelling.

  “No, you wouldn’t, would you, my sweet little jewel. So innocent and pure.”

  Otaso gathered her closer, angling her body away from the wall. One hand cupping her hip, the other at her back, he lifted Aida to his chest to bury his nose against her neck. Dragged in a noisy breath and let it out in a growling thunder before the wet heat of his mouth closed over the patch of flesh where the line of her neck swept to her shoulder. A smacking, open-mouthed kiss laid there, his hand rustling the heavy layers of her skirts to grip high on her backside.

  “S-Sir?” Joints locked in jagged ice, she remained stiff and frozen as Otaso pawed at her. His hands strayed no lower, skimming over the rounded edge of her curves before grabbing at some other part to keep her aloft. His sounds becoming darker, deeper, pressed against her chest with a violent intensity she didn’t understand.

  “Yes,” Otaso breathed against the delicate skin behind her ear, groaning as he let Aida slide down the length of his body. Clutching her close, his hips rocking once, twice. “Yes, soon you will see exactly what I mean, my dear.”

  Aida’s hands slapped against the icy stone at her back to stop from shoving him away when she felt the thickness pushing against her. Thankful for the first moment of the heavy silk encasing her ribs and stomach that she didn’t feel more than the pressure of it as Otaso ground against her with another slow sway.

  It was a long moment before he came back to himself, stopping the nuzzling of her hair, quieting his wretc
hed sounds. Drawing back, he gave Aida another one-sided smile, tucking her tight against his side and wrapping a massive arm around her, leaving her to scurry on tiptoe as he started them on their journey again.

  To Aida’s surprise, the huge doors leading into the great hall were shut tight, the great racket of his men still loud through the iron bound planks as Otaso led her down a path towards a series of chambers, every room they passed showing a closed door. He left nothing to chance, not even a single guard making rounds through this section of the castle as he showed Aida into an expansive room with a long, glossy table and sturdy chairs.

  Everything about it was utilitarian, austere in its simplicity. Even the thick drapes blocking the cloudy panes of the windows were nothing more than what was necessary. Seated in the uncomfortable chair to the right of the head of the table nearest the windows, Aida watched her guardian move with the firm, decisive actions of a man more accustomed to decreeing commands than arranging his bulky frame on the chair at her side in preparation for a meal.

  “Sir? Will it just be us?” Hope sprang to life in her chest, a flickering candle in the darkest hour of night as Otaso took his time to respond. She even dared to smile when he took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles in an act that felt far more intimate than it should have.

  “Molaro and Varazi will join us, my doe. A few others only.” Dark arches of his brows snapping together, he glanced down the line of the table, gripping her fingers to the point of pain. “You have nothing to fear from them. They will meet a slow end if they dare anything.”

  Any thought of protesting fled her thoughts as the door opened and several others drifted in with a rustle of robes and the creak of leather. Keeping her wide eyes trained upon the smooth surface of the table, she clenched her free hand in her skirts to keep from jumping with each scraping rasp of a chair, the murmured obeisant greetings of the many males.