Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

There stood a tall, hideous figure in black robes, singing the excruciating song. Its tongue was clicking with an insectoid buzz in the back of its throat, the noise issuing forth past the lips that were struggling not to smile. Its thin, gloved right hand rose slowly and stopped rigidly in front of him, palm up. The loosening of the bonds to his human body, which he had been metaphysically untying, as he had so many other times, stopped immediately.

The creature’s left hand, similarly gloved, came up next to its side and extended out, its fingers pulsing in rhythm to the beating of his demon-human heart. Each jerking flick of the digits caused him horrific pain. Then the hand began to revolve, wrapping its metaphysical moorings around its palm like a kite string. The creature tugged, drawing the four winds into a strangling net around him, choking him with all the force the physical and metaphysical worlds could muster.

The benison screamed, unable to move, unable to flee. He was trapped.

“Let me guess; you’ve heard o’ Dhracians but you never met one before; right?”

Lanacan Orlando’s eyes, the only part of his body still able to move, darted to his other side. Standing there, casting a shadow that covered the altar completely, was an enormous monster in mail, hilts, and polearms jutting from behind him. It was the queen’s honor guard, the gigantic monster that had swept the Patriarch out of his way, preventing him from searching further for the missing Ring that held the dying man’s office.

In two steps the great Bolg was upon him, twisting his human arms behind his back and locking him into an even more immobile position. The giant wrenched him off the ground, causing pain to roar through the host body that was now as ensnared as his demonic soul was.

“Ya know, in my not-so-limited experience, Dhracians think o’ demon-scum like you as appetizers,” said the Bolg cheerfully. “But for me you’ll be dessert.”

Fury raged through the benison’s heart. The street urchin known as Jo, for a time in his thrall, had told the Rakshas about the giant and the king, but only that they were both Firbolg. Obviously she had never known of the existence of the Dhracian race, let alone been able to identify one, particularly one of mixed blood. There was something vaguely familiar about this particular Dhracian as well, a power that was beyond defiance.

To struggle was useless, Lanacan knew. His mind began rapidly scanning the situation, seeking a vulnerable area, a way to turn the tables. He looked down from the sanctuary at the small woman who was now approaching, coming down the aisle silently. Inwardly the benison smiled.

It was time to play the trump card.

“All right, now, miss,” his physical captor said to the Lirin queen as she came nearer to the square central sanctuary. “Rip ’is ’eart out. Oi’m starvin’.”

Rhapsody untied the hood of her cloak. The tiny stars of the crown of the Lirin, hidden within the fabric of the hood, caught an updraft of the now-clean wind blowing down the bell tower all around her and whirled into place over her head. Even as far as she was from the benison, now tangled securely in Grunthor’s crushing grip, she could see the light of the blazing diamond shards glitter in his eyes. F’dor feared diamonds, she knew, though somehow she could not convince herself that the gleam she saw in those eyes was terror. It looked more like excitement to her.

She walked slowly toward the apse, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure all three of the men could hear it.

The benison stared down at her from the sanctuary. His hand had been caught raised before him, frozen in midair, when the Thrall ritual began, doubtless with the intent of calling down black fire on her, an intention that would never come to pass.

The demon gestured slightly at her with one of his fingers.

“ Virack urg caz ,” he said in a warm, sweet voice that made no audible sound. “Conceive.”

Deep within her abdomen Rhapsody felt a twitch, then a twinge of pain. The muscles of her belly contracted, and between her legs she felt a hideous burning sensation.

“ Merlus ,” he whispered. His lips did not move. “Grow.”

She lurched forward from the cramp that erupted within her abdomen. Then her muscles relaxed and she felt a cold motion begin to seep through her, moving outward from her middle, spreading throughout the inner cavity. Rhapsody shook off the sensation and crossed to the altar steps.

“You only think you’re angry at me, you know, my dear,” said the voice in her mind. “It’s really Gwydion you should despise. In a way it is he that handed you over to me, and you don’t even know it yet.”

Rhapsody shoved the hateful words out of her mind as she continued in her path to the steps. She concentrated on Ashe, the warm twinkle of his dragonesque eyes, the gentleness of his smile. She tried not to think of the depths of his suffering at the benison’s hands, because her fury would return, burning behind her eyes and blinding her to the higher cause of her mission. She set her foot on the first step.

“You think of him as my victim, don’t you? You couldn’t be more wrong. His soul was a willing captive. It really wasn’t difficult to sway him at all, you know. Your lover is a very creative and ingenious man, although I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. Much of the Rakshas’s proclivity for rape and ritual torture came from the inspiration of the soul it carried; did you know that? Being a celibate cleric, you certainly don’t think I could have taught it that level of sexual knowledge, do you? No, that was all Gwydion.”

The eyes of the old man in Grunthor’s grip sparkled wickedly.

“And such pleasure the twisted nature of his soul gave to my toy when it was alive. The Rakshas particularly enjoyed violating your sister. She was such a willing victim. She lay right down on the heath and opened her legs, you know; she certainly didn’t act like any of the others. She wanted him, my dear. At least that should bring you comfort as you mourn her untimely death. She relished her own rape.

“Of course, I don’t even think you can accurately call it rape when the woman pulls the one who is ravaging her inside herself and rides him, now, do you? Obviously I’m no expert, but I would venture to say an unwilling woman doesn’t rock her molester with her body, thrusting her hips and moaning his name, becoming frustrated when he slows down.

“I have to admit I became aroused myself listening to him talk about how he pleasured her with his tongue, drinking the juice of her excitement. You do know why she was aroused, don’t you? It wasn’t just his hands between her legs, his mouth on her breasts, Rhapsody. It was you ! It was the belief that she was rutting with your lover! Who would have guessed that someone so close to you could hate you so much that she would give herself over to your paramour, let him seduce her willingly to get back at you, even at the expense of her own life?”

Hatred coursed through Rhapsody, flushing her face and making her blood run hot, but at the edge of her mind she felt a pang of doubt. She remembered the hard expression on Jo’s face, the direct look in her eyes as she told her tale.

I’m not seeing anyone. Actually, you’re seeing him.

Jo, what are you talking about?

It was Ashe. I had sex with Ashe. The night of the meeting, when I ran out of the council room, and. he came after me—he found, me on the heath. He didn’t tell you, did he? I thought not. He probably told you he couldn’t find me, didn’t he? Scum. I tried to make him leave, but he wouldn’t. And, well, we did it. Actually, although I enjoyed it a little at the time, it was pretty grisly overall .