Rite of the Omega Page 4

  Their musky power filled the room to bursting, clogging the back of her throat so she wanted to sputter and cough. Wished she could rake her nails over the flat of her tongue to scrape away the taste of sooty darkness and dusty ash.

  Counting the small, shallow breaths the corset afforded her, she slid her gaze to where Otaso still held her hand. No longer crushed, her fingers now rested placid across his large palm. She wondered if anyone else could see the fine tremble there, would note the stink of fear under the heavy perfume. Not just her own, either. She could scent their anxiety as clear as hers, but whether it was for this performance or Otaso himself remained to be seen.

  Aida squeaked as a hand appeared at her left, the feminine turn of a wrist depositing a porcelain plate before her. Unthinking, her black gaze swung up to take in this new wonder. The young woman flushed a brilliant red, tears bursting into dark eyes as she avoided meeting Aida’s. Scurrying away, the female rushed to perform the same act for everyone at the table.

  Noticing Otaso’s dark gaze following the woman’s progress, a surge of guilt and concern swam through Aida’s stomach. A flash of memory of the man he’d killed over a simple touch. Tightening her fingers over his hand, she offered a shy smile, hoping to distract him from any misstep, whether real or imagined.

  It worked well enough. Again and again, as some new person coming in and out of the room with food and drink startled her. Arms full, the women laid out tray after tray. None of the foods Aida liked, many she despised, but Otaso kept glancing at her. Forcing her to eat one morsel after the next though she hid the fact she wasn’t eating much at all behind another false smile. The indistinct murmur of the other males that she didn’t dare even peek at a background to Otaso’s ringing commands, his voice cutting through it all to pierce into the person he spoke to. He wielded his words and tone with as much skill as his sword, sawing into one man and stabbing into the next, derided them in turns. Only Varazi received a grudging compliment, some business Aida couldn’t pretend to understand.

  It was the theme of the evening. There was little sense she could make of the conversation, names and places she had never heard of. Otaso limited her books, seeing only that she could read and write. Dusty history books, tomes on his conquests and victories were the basis of her learning. Aida knew nothing of these lands and people with such strange sounding names.

  It didn’t help that Otaso gave her wine. Something he allowed her only on the most special of days, he refilled her glass as soon as she sipped the rich red liquid. Aida had no idea how much she’d drunk. She’d lost count hours ago and now admired the sparkling twinkle of the cut crystal.

  Lashes fluttering, Aida tried to blink away the fatigue making her feel languid. The room seemed too bright and, she realized, far too quiet. Without a single thought, she turned her head to see all but the General and Vizier gone from the table. The rest of the men gone, slipping from the room without her notice. Still cocooned in the sticky, fluffy clouds of weariness, she met the general’s deep-set brown eyes, noted their widening as if from afar. At least, she assumed it was him, by the thick leather armor he wore even now, the rich red cape pinned at his shoulders with heavy brooches of blackened metal stamped with Otaso’s crest. Older than she would have thought, deep wrinkles lined his face and feathered around the fast building alarm in his gaze. On a slow breath that turned to a gasp, she realized what she’d done.

  Turning away as fast as the sludgy limpness of her muscles would allow, Aida dropped her focus to the table once again. Finding Otaso’s hand reaching for hers where it trembled atop the dark wood to take delicate fingers in his. Squeezing her hand, the small bones ground together, groaning as he jerked her arm closer.

  “It must be tonight, Imperial Majesty,” the dusty robed male said into the tense silence resonating with the red limned buzz of Otaso’s power. “They grow closer by the day.”

  “I am aware, Molaro.”

  “The time is near, Imperial Majesty. We cannot delay this,” Molaro continued, rising with measured care from his seat to approach a large chest set upon a narrow side table that held the bountiful trays of food not so long ago.

  “I know,” Otaso snapped, dragging Aida from her chair by his hold on her hand.

  Crashing into his side, Aida stifled a shriek as she fell to her knees beside him. Gripped under her arms, Otaso yanked her into his lap, leaving the room to swirl and dance. What little food she’d consumed threatened to revolt as the stark colors of the room smudged and feathered, drifting through the room on eddies of heat and cold that rushed through her face in turns.

  “Sir, what’s happening?” Tongue thick and sticky with the remnants of sweet wine, the words smeared past her lips to stumble over Otaso’s collar when he cradled her against the broad expanse of his chest. Something he hadn’t done since she was small, when she’d fall asleep in the broad chair kept by the fireplace for his use, hoping to see a face other than Immari’s.

  Given no response, Aida’s head lolled. Falling back on the limp arch of her neck to watch the far away ceiling soar past. Jostled with every purposeful stride, Aida’s hand pressed against the ache of her stomach, the corset digging into delicate insides that resented such treatment. She wanted it gone.

  “Soon, my little fawn. Do not distract me so,” Otaso rasped against her cheek, tearing Aida’s hands away from their fumbling at the front of her gown.

  Aida whined as liquid flames surged through her on a roar of thunder. A jagged pain crackling through her spine, making her writhe and arch. It crawled beneath her skin, a prickling sting that came in waves. Every move to ease the growing agony denied, she found herself locked tight in Otaso’s arms. Kicking feet sending her skirts flailing into the air, a banner of denial that snapped with the next rush of crimson blotting out her vision.

  Hearing the scream from a long way off, echoing its devastation to pound through her eardrums and into her bones, Aida’s clutching hands slid limp from her guardian’s robes as he settled her undulating body upon the wide dais. Digging palms slid in squealing stutters across the glossy black surface, her shriek adding to the tempest warring within as the taut line of her heel connected with the rough edge.

  “Be still!”

  Otaso’s command failed to calm, the grating bellow of it twisting down her spine. Wrenching it upwards until Aida feared she’d snap in two. Bloody smears clouded the edges of her vision, tunneling to the dimmed sight of a great dome. Sweeping arches sparked and exploded in bursts of red. Crimson, scarlet, amaranthine, cardinal, all of them swirling together to dance wild across the ashen brick before crashing together. A storm without to match the one within.

  Otaso’s wide shoulders blocked out the sight, shadow icy cold as it seeped over her skin. Hands caught, he snarled something, but whether to her or someone else, Aida would never know. Lost in the wracking sensations ripping her apart bit by bit, she hoped only the raw ruin of her throat continued to scream as another layer of pain added itself to the fray.

  Thrashing contained, her arms became locked to the stone. Pressed into the unforgiving darkness at wrist and elbow though she continued to writhe. Shoulders threatening to tear free until more pressure came. Bands of iron locking her joints to the icy stone, Aida’s eyes flew wide as a gust of chill air made itself known in the torrents of heat melting her bones.

  A single moment of clarity, a breath dragged into aching lungs that burned with a different type of fire. This one from the frigid depths, the coldest winter wind searing delicate tissue. Somehow she saw him there at her feet, pushing at her thighs. Otaso’s face twisted with something hideous, robes in tattered shreds around arms that glowed brilliant, red as an apple and as bright as the sun. Shearing from his flesh into hers where he gripped the quivering muscle. Molaro and Vasari crowded around the dais, mouths moving though she did not hear their words.

  A voice strained to be heard, a murmuring cadence somehow not drowned in all the frenzy continuing around her. Soft and sweet, it grew louder, yet still indiscernible in the violent turmoil.

  Another breath froze her lungs, those iron bands loose and yielding. The stone she lay upon felt soft and thick, malleable as warm dough. Melting into the implacable sturdiness, she drew another breath to fill her lungs to bursting. Otaso spread her wide, shuffling between the pale length of her legs with teeth bared in a victorious snarl.

  He’d given her everything, never left her wanting for anything except the small, useless pleasures of the sun on her face and the warm dust on her skin. She only had to succumb to him. He would have what he wanted, craved for so very long.

  A tear fell from the brittle sweep of her lashes, smearing through kohl and powder. Scoring her cheek with the effervescent chill of it. The oddness of it momentary, the vague memory of her misery always hot and salty, never hurting this much, dashed away as another slipped free.

  Aida didn’t want this, whatever it was or would become. She could not lie idle under him as he stole away even the flicker of hope.

  Scream shrill, it ricocheted through the room.

  Stone splintered, the crack of it shuddering through the dome before great chunks plummeted to the floor in thunderous hammers. Wood and glass fell before their weight, their sounds of destruction added to the melee. Otaso bellowed, eyes alight with his power and rage as he wrenched Aida closer. Skin peeled from the backs of her legs as they scraped over the rough edge of stone, she screamed again.

  Blackness took her with a booming thunder, launching her into the swirling eddies of the starlit night to land in a crumpled heap upon the ruined floor. No sense of time came to her as Aida pushed up on weak arms to look around her. The quiet was eerie, the only sound the clatter of small stones tumbling to scatter across the ruin of the room. A low groan c
aught Aida’s attention. Shoving to her feet, using the jagged edge of a large rock to haul her upright, she searched the carnage.

  “You… little bitch,” Otaso snarled as he shoved Vasari’s limp body from him.

  Aida gasped, hand to her throat until the old general groaned and slapped a hand to the deep gash spilling blood down his face. Too late she saw Otaso coming towards her. Scurrying back, she held out a shaking hand to stop him. A worthless gesture as he stalked his prey while she sought to put the drifts of rubble between them.

  “Years I have invested in you. Years! All for this moment,” he shouted, face twisted and shading to an unhealthy purple. “Coddling and pampering you, and for what? Look what you have done!”

  “S-Sir, please, I… I don’t…” Aida screamed as he vaulted a table torn asunder, snatching at her arm. The hiss of ripping cloth loud in her ears, she tried to twist away. Caught in his cruel hold, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “The moment is gone forever, and you have ruined everything.” In an unexpected move, he let her go. Letting Aida stumble over the wreckage only to grab her by the throat. “Not even worth being a wet hole. You sicken me.”

  Aida blanched from the coarse growl, understanding his meaning if not the words themselves. Knew it as a lie, as that darkness that had haunted her all these years shone bright in the depths of his murky eyes. Holding his wrist, she didn’t dare to claw at his arm as her breaths became further strained. Bit her tongue hard enough to taste the coppery tang of blood to keep her pleas silent.

  Otaso threw her to the floor with a bellow that brought down more rubble. The arches groaned their distress as the sounds of his fury collided with cracked rock. Cowering before the man who held her life in his palm, Aida scrunched her eyes closed and awaited his commands. She did not understand what had happened. Whatever force had created such chaos and destruction was not Otaso’s, but she didn’t know where it came from. Impossible to imagine her racing thoughts of freedom, the horror at being his in every way he could claim her could wreak such violence.

  Aida screamed when Otaso grabbed her arm and began dragging her. Remaining slipper unable to find purchase, her sounds of pain rushed in their wake as he hauled her through the rubble, uncaring of the tears in her gown or the rough marks cutting into her skin. He didn’t even pause when he burst through what remained of the door where dozens of his army congregated with wide eyes and pale faces. Otaso let them see her as she writhed at the end of her arm, screaming her mangled pleas at his stiff back.

  He heard not a word of it. Ignoring Aida even when she grabbed hold of his torn robe, clinging to it. Sobbing as she implored him to stop. It was at the steep, dark stairs leading downwards that her confusion turned to horror. Stark terror raking cruel fingers down her back, she launched herself backwards. Ignored the tearing sensation in her shoulder as she grabbed hold of the smooth stone, her lacquered nails ripping to the quick as they scrambled for any purchase.

  “I’m sorry, sir, please. Please, not this!” Aida shrieked in a mixture of pain and fear as Otaso grabbed the tangled knots of her hair, jerking at the braids hard enough that strands pulled free to drift through the darkling shadows.

  Otaso said nothing. Fist clenched in her hair, his other arm slammed into her stomach. Doubling her over with a guttural moan, the corset stabbing into her flesh. Carrying her down the steep flight, he acted as if she weighed nothing at all. Her struggles meant nothing, a bare twitch to the solid muscle pinning her against his side.

  The further they descended, the darker it became. Malicious shadows swirled through the weak glow of Otaso’s magic. A scarlet ball that sputtered and dimmed until only a small sphere illuminated the next step for the heavy tread of his boots. Hungry darkness grabbing at Aida’s flailing limbs as her tearful screams became a cacophony of misery.

  Dank air sucking at her skin, the pervading chill seeped into the marrow of her bones as Otaso’s sure strides carried them deeper into the belly of the castle. The very pit of the Abyss opening wide to accept them as he came to the line of crusted locks and slimy bars.

  The iron gate’s stuttering wail sluiced through the tangled darkness as Otaso forced it open, the dingy sphere above his head dipping and swaying, a drunken fire bug as he shoved the bars wide enough to admit his bulk. One great heave sent Aida through the air.

  Body landing against the wall with a heavy thud, she collapsed the floor in a broken heap. Mouth working to pull in a breath, she clawed at the vulgar bricks. Dragging herself towards the rippling waves of fury that slammed around her skull. Beating her senseless though he stood back with his chin high. Staring down his nose at the wretched creature struggling to voice her entreaties.

  “You’ll remain here until I decide what to do with you.” Swinging the barred door shut with another scream of metal, a surge of crimson washed over his hands. Locking the gate fast to all but his hand. The swell of power dimmed his orb further, the murky russet limning his harsh brow in a ruddy glow. “I suggest you consider your plight, girl. Think long and hard about what you have scorned so thoroughly and what shall become of you now.”

  “Please, sir,” Aida yelled after his retreating back, arms outstretched through the jagged bars. Hoping against hope he would turn, that he wouldn’t abandon her in the empty pitch of this place. Tears and panic twisting through her, choking her on acrid bile, she attempted to give him pause. “Please, Otaso, I beg you—”

  “You will beg me, Aida,” Otaso’s fading voice said, sliding through the deepening shadows. “In time, you will learn to beg very well.”

  Falling to the floor once again, Aida huddled around herself. Clinging to the torn edges of her gown, she tried to shield herself from the cold that assaulted her inside and out to no avail. Now her tears burned hot and bitter, scalding her wan cheeks as the blackness became absolute.

  Screaming as the first chill brush of nothingness scraped her nape, she scuttled towards the hope of a corner. Grew hoarse as unseen things grabbed and clawed, tugging and pulling at her hair and skirts. Curled into the tightest ball she could manage as the vicious dark tormented her, Aida cried out for Otaso again and again. Begged for his leniency, careless with her promises if he would just let her out.

  He never came.

  Chapter 3

  Er’it

  Years had gone into planning this exact moment and nothing would rush him. Not when he could taste the victory sweet on his tongue, no matter what happened once they descended upon the castle shrouded in night and darkness.

  “I don’t like it,” General Ath'asho murmured at his side, the groaning weight of armor shifting as the warrior moved back from the ledge.

  “You don’t have to like it. If that show two days ago was any indication, it’s in our favor.”

  At least Er’it hoped it was. He had faith in the Hat'or but should the vision from the Goddesses that saw his victory fail, he had the army at his back. A more glorious force there had never been and perhaps never would be seen again. Years it took him to gather them all, traveling the whole of the arid nations to find the displaced, the vengeful, and the disparaged. A child king with no court, gathering his armies before he’d even bedded a woman. Revenge was all he’d ever known. For the life and title stripped away from him, the mother ground into the dirt when they cast her out. The woman who begged her son as she lay wretched and dying in filth to take back what was always his.

  Dozens of kingdoms had fallen to his sword and magic, and still dissatisfaction plagued him. The visions from the Hat’or promised him greatness beyond all measure. Yet there was little victory in how easy the others succumbed. This one, the Black Mage who had collected his power from the blood of thousands over the years, he promised to be a challenge. One Er’it looked forward to with a crazed anticipation.

  “My king,” Endi whispered, small fingers skimming over Er’it’s arm as she drew close enough her soft blue robe swirled around his legs. “Take care and listen to your General. We cannot lose you now.”

  “Have you no faith in me?” Er’it offered her a lopsided smirk, rubbing the backs of gloved fingers across the golden-brown smoothness of her cheek. An instant of dismay that he couldn’t feel the silken texture of her skin banished as he drew his thoughts where they needed to be.