T Southwell - Prophecy

The slaves' murmur hushed, and an eerie silence fell on the crowd as the people in front of Rayne glanced around. They fell to their knees with a great sigh, and she stood rooted to the spot, unable to look around at her approaching doom. An insane urge to run for the shuttle made her want to giggle as hysteria swelled inside her like a giant bubble.

A soft, beautiful, and all too familiar voice spoke beside her. "Going somewhere?"

She swung to face him, her brows knotting as she was forced to look up at the ugly mask. "Trying to."

"Well done. You got quite far. But surely you didn't think you'd escape this easily. Who helped you?"

"No one." She couldn't bring herself to betray the girl.

The Shrike took hold of her arm and led her towards the distant door through which she had entered. The slaves watched him pass, their expressions adoring, or perhaps merely terrified, she mused. Why would slaves adore a slaver? In the next hangar, he released her, apparently once again secure in the knowledge that she would walk meekly beside him. His arrogant assurance made her seethe with futile fury, wishing she could prove him wrong. He stopped before the sleek black ship and gestured to it.

"What do you think of my ship?"

"It's a bit small," she said, hiding her admiration.

"It's meant to be. Size isn't everything. I have huge battle cruisers too, of course, some even larger than Atlan's finest, but they require big crews, and I prefer solitude."

"You like to brag, too, don't you?"

He took her arm again, his touch impersonal, and steered her away from the ship. "You're in a bad mood today, aren't you?"

Rayne longed to jerk free, for his touch made her shiver. "So would you be, if you'd almost managed to get free of a damned slaver, then been caught."

"Well, almost isn't good enough, is it? Anyway, it was a pretty dumb plan in the first place. Whose was it?"

"The – mine. And it wasn't so dumb. The captain of that ship would have jumped at a huge reward from Atlan for my return."

He shook his head. "No he wouldn't. My crews are all loyal to me. He would have brought you back."

Rayne fumed as he escorted her back towards the office where she had seen him earlier. The short, stocky man to whom he had been speaking, an Atlantean with pudgy features, narrow brown eyes and high class two-tone hair of ash blond and dark brown, came at his signal and bowed. The Shrike stopped and released her arm, facing his subordinate.

"Find Layalia and bring her to my quarters."

The man nodded and left.

Rayne looked at the Shrike. "Who's Layalia?"

"The one who helped you, I'm sure."

She shivered as he took her arm again and led her towards the corridor. "Please don't punish her."

He glanced at her, and she sensed a rare unguarded emotion from him. Surprise. "Why not?"

"She was only trying to help me. She seems to think…"

"What?"

"That she's not a slave."

"Ah." He shook his head. "But she was wrong to do that."

"She thought those slaves were being freed. She thought I could leave too. She didn't know she was helping me escape."

"Layalia was trying to get rid of you, and her actions might have jeopardised my plans."

She cast him a baleful glance. "What will you do to her?"

"That remains to be seen."

"You don't even know if she's the one who helped me."

"She's the only one who would have a reason to, strange though it is. She's the girl who served us lunch, the one who disliked my attention to you. Don't bother denying it."

Rayne jerked her arm from his grip as they arrived outside her door. "If you want to punish someone, punish me. I'm the one who persuaded her to do it. She's a poor deluded creature, living in a fantasy world. Please, Tarke."

"Very well." The door opened, and he followed her inside. "So she told you my name. Stupid girl."

Rayne turned to face him in the middle of the lounge. "What will you do to me?"

"Do to you? Oh, punishment, right." He went to the bar and poured a drink, which he sipped, then chuckled. "You know, right now she's probably disporting herself naked on my bed, hoping my summoning of her is for that reason. Unfortunately for her, it's not, and her wish will be unfulfilled. That, along with a few choice words of chastisement, will doubtless send her weeping to her room, and will be her punishment. How do you plan to partake in that?"

"That's all? I suppose it's cruel enough, in its way, considering the fantasy she lives in. I thought slave collars were used for punishment."

He turned to face her, and she sensed a faint flash of pure pain from him. "They are. They inflict exquisite torture. But this is far too slight an infraction for such drastic measures, don't you think?"

"I think the whole thing is barbaric."

"Of course you do." He put down his glass and picked up a dress that was draped across the back of a chair. Its delivery was doubtless how he had discovered her escape. He held it up, displaying a shimmering fall of silver-shot white silk-like material, the thin shoulder straps glittering with gold thread, its uneven hem a marvel of silver filigree lace. Rayne stared at it, entranced by its beauty and repelled by its purpose.

"I want you to wear this for the auction." His words made her stomach clench.

"No."

"Come on, it's not as bad as the one Drevina made you wear. This isn't revealing and crass, just beautiful."

"I won't wear it."

He lowered the dress. "Don't be difficult, Rayne." She shook her head, and he added, "I don't want to have to get the guards to put it on you, do you?"

"I'll rip it to shreds."

"And be sold in the nude. You certainly will be tempting like that." He put down the dress and stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him. "Do this for me."

The full force of his devastating charisma made her spine turn to jelly and her knees quiver. She fought it, hating the raw power he exuded, a blatant charm so strong he did not even need a face to wield it. The urge to do as he asked was almost too strong to deny. She was aware that some of the power she sensed was mental; a telepathic coercion mixed with his animal magnetism, but the combination was almost irresistible.

She swallowed hard and stepped back. "All right, on one condition."

"What?"

"You take off the mask."

"No. No deal, I'm afraid. Just wear the dress. It's not much to ask. It's a beautiful gown. I'd like to see you in it."

Once more the full force of his charm came to bear, and this time he reinforced it by reaching out to stroke her cheek with a gloved hand. The caress was feather light, but her skin tingled and her stomach tried to turn over. With an act of will, she swung away and strode across the room, putting as much distance between them as possible before facing him again.

"No."

"You're a strong one. Or are you…?" He walked closer, and she forced herself to stand her ground, refusing to let him chase her all over the room. This time she sensed only his natural charm. He stopped and studied her, the mask a blank barrier that she longed to tear off. A slight tingle within her skull warned her, and she gasped, trying to throw up the mental shields she never remembered to keep in place. The tingle of his intrusion stopped, and he turned away.

"So, no wonder that didn't work."

"What did you try to do? Why didn't it work?"

"I want you to put on the dress, and I really don't want to use force."

"Take off the mask."

"No."

She folded her arms. "Then you'll have to use force."

He sighed and sank onto the sofa. "Why this preoccupation with the mask? Why does it matter to you what I look like, unless you want to tell the Atlanteans?"

"Why would the Atlanteans care?"

"Because whenever they've come close to capturing me, one of my people has donned a copy of my mask and taken my place to save me. So far the Atlanteans have tried and executed six Shrikes. I don't like it, but my forbidding them to take my place means nothing to them, they do it anyway."