Page 9 of Dhampira

Fiery pain seared my abdomen. I thrashed, trying to escape the agony.

Another flash of silver. More links fell over my thighs. A sizzling sound reached me, followed by the sickly stench of burned flesh. My nightgown had ridden up, and one of the links touched my bare skin.

Weakness spread through me, and my vision darkened at the edges. Too much silver. I couldn’t pass out.

Cyprio crouched next to me, his bald head haloed by the moon. He pulled down my nightgown, his touch almost solicitous as he tucked the fabric between my skin and the silver chain. That done, he met my gaze.

“Wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise,” he said with a wink.

I glared, helpless to resist as impotent rage seared a hot path through my chest.

“As I told you when we met, Miss Trevil, I like money. And you’re going to fetch me quite a lot of it.” He pulled a third length of chain from somewhere and draped it over my hips.

Pain sank its claws in deep. My mouth stretched in a silent scream.

When oblivion came for me, I rushed into its arms.

3

Iopened my eyes with a groan. The crude weave of burlap filled my vision, and the earthy scent of potatoes wreathed my head.

My heart skipped beats as I took stock of my situation. Light streamed through the sack, but the gaps in the burlap were too tiny for me to see anything. Still clad in my nightgown and robe, I sat propped against a wall, my legs stretched before me against hard, unforgiving stone. Flagstones, I thought, shifting my bare heel enough to feel the grooves in the pavers. My ankles were unbound, but my hands were fastened tightly behind my back. Recalling Cyprio’s gap-toothed smile, I squeezed my thighs together, then released a shaky breath at the absence of pain.

But another kind of pain plagued me. The dull, persistent ache of silver started in my wrists and spread up my arms. Fortunately, the smell of burning flesh didn’t accompany the pain. Cyprio must have padded my restraints to stop the metal from searing my skin. A small favor. Or as he’d said, a way to protect his “merchandise.”

“Fucker,” I said, my hoarse voice amplified and mildly shocking inside the potato sack. Other sounds intruded. The low hum of indistinct voices. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves and the rhythmic pattern of wooden wheels over a road. Not dirt. Cobblestone.

My heart beat faster as I turned my head, straining for more sounds. Distantly a bell clanged, its notes deep and evenly spaced as it tolled the hour. Clang…clang…clang. Three o’clock. Not nighttime, surely. The bustle outside was far too heavy for that. Which meant I’d been unconscious for around twelve hours. Plenty of time for Cyprio to have carted me to Sausberg.

Panic clawed at the edges of my mind. I shoved it away, dragging deep breaths of potato-scented air into my lungs to slow my runaway heart. The silver put me at a disadvantage, sapping my strength and blunting my instincts. If I had any chance of escaping whatever fate Cyprio had planned, I needed my wits about me. I needed to prepare. It was what my mother would do.

My stomach knotted. By now she was awake and searching for me. But it took hours to reach Sausberg. Worse, the city was huge, its center divided by the Kingsway, which was so broad and deep that merchants sometimes smashed their vessels against the banks. By bridge or boat, every trip across was costly. Even if my mother found someone willing to take her to Sausberg, she didn’t have enough coin to pay for more than a handful of crossings, let alone assistance searching the city.

Footsteps rang out. I held myself rigid as the scuffle of hard-soled boots on stone grew louder and then stopped. A jangle of keys, then metal scraped metal.

“I know you’re awake,” Cyprio said. Metal groaned, followed by more scuffling footsteps. A second later, the sack disappeared and sunlight blinded me.

I blinked rapidly as my surroundings slid into focus. Sunlight beamed through a barred window high on the wall. Stacks of wooden crates formed small pillars around a sizable room. Here and there, large burlap sacks were arranged in tidy piles. A small tear in one of the sacks had spilled rice onto the ground. Wooden barrels stamped with King Hubert’s seal clustered near a set of bars that ran from the ceiling to the floor, the wall of steel unbroken except for the small door Cyprio had left standing open.

He went to a corner of what was obviously a storeroom and fetched a bucket. Water sloshed as he carried it over and deposited it at my feet. A washing sponge with a wooden handle thrust from the water.

My stomach did a sickening flip. I drew my legs up. If he got close enough, I could kick at his manhood. Or his gut. My mother had taught me all the best places to aim to injure a man. The key was to strike hard the first time. No hesitation.

Cyprio ran an assessing gaze down my body. He wore the king’s livery again. The round, golden amulet gleamed against his red tunic. The emerald studs shone in his ears. He appeared well rested, his face and clothing free of the sweat and grime of the road he’d worn the last time I saw him.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fuck you,” I said.

His thick eyebrows rose. “An interesting response coming from someone in your position. You seemed smarter when we spoke on the road.”

Damn him, he was right. Taunting him was stupid. I drew a deep breath and released it. “I feel fine, thank you.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.” He nodded toward my arms. “I lined the manacles with leather and rabbit fur. My own design. I’m sure the silver is uncomfortable, but it’s necessary. You understand.”

“I thought you were a peddler.”

“Oh, I am.” He bustled to a stack of crates. After a moment of rummaging, he turned back and held a frying pan aloft. “I trade in all sorts of goods.” He strolled toward me, flipping the pan up and catching it. “Travel all over Ghedda, visiting big cities and tiny pisswaters alike.” Another flip and catch. “Interestingly, the money’s better in the pisswaters. People lust for a bit of flash and finery, you see.” He stopped at my feet, and the pan’s handle smacked against his palm as he caught it. “And sometimes, people in the pisswaters tell me where I can find a dhampir.”