David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“It’s hollow,” Moira said. The iciness in her voice made Matthew shiver. He had met her sister Avila on a couple of occasions- Karak’s bitch as many called her. Right then Moira sounded very much like her.

“It is,” said Matthew.

“What’s behind it?”

“A staircase.”

“ Who is behind it?”

“I’d rather not say. You should go back to bed.”

She glared at him, her dyed hair hanging in front of her blue eyes.

“Open it.”

Bren tried to protest, but Matthew simply shook his head and stepped forward. The secret was out, and there was nothing the two of them could do about it. He went to the side of the bookcase and wrapped his fingers around the back ridge. Finding the catch, he slid it down. A loud clank sounded, and then he pressed his shoulder into the massive wooden obstruction and shoved. It slid along the wall before coming to an abrupt halt, revealing a three-foot-wide black portal. The screams from down below heightened twofold.

Moira went to shove past him, but he gathered enough courage to stop her, placing a palm firmly against her chest. “I go first,” he said.

She stared at him blankly, making no response. He turned away and descended the dark stairwell.

The estate refuge had been built by his father, Elbert, thirty-eight years ago in the aftermath of Karak’s departure from Neldar, when corruption and thievery were on the rise. The refuge had been intended as a safe haven for his family should the rambling packs of wrongdoers band together and attempt to use violence and murder to purloin the family’s wealth, a possibility which had thankfully never been realized. It was a single large room, as wide as the estate itself, with a hatch beneath it leading to an underground stream that dumped directly into the ocean. In theory, those who were holed up inside could use the stream as a last resort to flee from danger, but in practice it had been used for the opposite purpose. Over the years Matthew had used the underground stream as a way to have young maidens snuck in , so he could enjoy their carnal pleasures in private. He thought about how the screams from the refuge could be heard throughout the estate’s first floor and cringed. Had Catherine been able to hear his trysts?

Fuck me sideways, he thought, leading Moira farther down the stairs.

The refuge’s current resident had been snuck in three months ago. She had lived down there in relative luxury, while the rest of the world went on above her as if she didn’t exist. How Matthew wished that that were still the case.

He came to the bottom of the stairwell, where a pair of torches bordered a thick oak door, and rapped five times. He felt Moira lingering behind him, her breath on his neck. It would have been easy for her to plunge a knife into his back if she had one on her. The screams came once more, bouncing off the narrow stone walls on either side of him, and he jumped.

A series of scratching sounds came from the other side of the door, like rats scurrying in the walls. In reply Matthew knocked twice more, then ran his fingernails across the wood, ending with two more knocks. The heavy clunk of a bolt being undone came next, and then the door to the refuge swung open.

He walked into an expansive and elegantly furnished space, well lit by a great many torches and candelabras. The floor was adorned with brightly colored rugs. To the left, there were a table and chairs, a washbasin, and a series of shelves displaying stylish glassware and plates. To the right, concealed by a curtain, was the privy, which dumped into the stream below. On the far side of the room, opposite the door, was a hearth with a lit fire, its smoke disappearing into the estate’s main flue. In front of it was a line of five beds, a huge four-poster one in the center. There, atop the bed, lay the source of the incessant screaming.

Matthew heard Moira gasp behind him, but the three individuals surrounding the wailing woman did not turn toward the sound. They were too intent on the task at hand.

He took a few steps closer, studying the naked, sweating body of Rachida Gemcroft. Her breasts were huge and her midsection even more so. Rachida’s eyes were closed, her face awash in agony. The young man propping her up brushed back the sodden clumps of her curly black hair, while the two in front of her, an older gray-haired woman and a girl who looked no older than fifteen, each braced one of her knees on her shoulder. The older woman was Gertrude Shrine, but Matthew knew the other two only by their first names: the young man was Raxler and the young woman, Shimmea. He had brought them in to care for Rachida months ago, and they’d lived in this refuge with her ever since.

“The baby is crowning, my dear,” said Gertrude. She pressed harder against Rachida’s leg, stretching her nethers as she forced it back. Rachida hollered in pain.

“You’re hurting her!” cried a desperate voice.

Matthew didn’t have time to turn around before something slammed him from behind, nearly knocking him to the floor. Moira darted past him, rushing to Rachida’s side. She grabbed Shimmea by the hair and yanked her back, then drove Gertrude away with an open palm to the chest. Next she turned on Raxler, fist drawn back as taut as a bowstring.

“My love,” Rachida said through clenched teeth. “Stop, now.” If she was surprised to see Moira, she didn’t show it.

“But-”

“But nothing, my love. It’s coming. Our baby is coming. It’s comiiiiing !” She threw back her head and screamed.

Gertrude shoved Moira out of the way, taking her place once more.

“Dear, we know what we’re doing. Please stand aside.”

She was joined by Shimmea, who hesitantly returned to her position.

“It will be soon, milady,” Gertrude said. “Breathe deliberately, in and out, in and out, and wait for the next one to come.” Rachida did as she was told, while the two women pushed against her legs. Soon the contraction came, and Rachida screamed louder than before, her every muscle tensing. Her face flushed red, the muscles in her neck and jaws so tight that Matthew feared she might somehow injure herself. When she calmed down, her eyes opened, and her gaze immediately found Moira. She reached out the hand that was not busy squeezing Raxler’s fingers. When Moira cautiously approached, Rachida took her hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it before another spasm began. Leaning against the bed, Moira fell to her knees, her expression one of surprised alarm.

“Disgusting,” Bren said, staring with wide eyes at Rachida’s crotch.

“Then don’t watch,” Matthew told him. “I never did for my five, and for good reason.”

Bren grunted. “Just look at that bed,” he said. “Blood all over it. Looks like the mattress will need replacing.”

“Now you’re disgusted by a bit of blood, eh, Bren? To think I hired you for your skill at spilling blood.”

Bren waved him off.

“This is different and you know it. I’m going upstairs for a drink. Come get me when it’s over.”

An hour later, the room was filled with the gurgling of an infant. A baby boy with a thatch of curly red hair emerged into the world, screaming just as his mother had been. The birthing chord was cut, the afterbirth expelled, and afterward Gretchen, Raxler, and Shimmea set about cleaning the mess, dropping soiled blankets into a canvas bag, and mopping up the afterbirth. Rachida and Moira reclined together on the red-streaked bed while the new mother fed the infant from her swollen nipple. As he watched the scene unfold, in a moment of ill-timed humor Matthew thought the child might be the luckiest male in all of Neldar.

Matthew sat at the table, fidgeting. Feeling like an invader, he tried not to watch. The two women were so enamored with the babe, he thought he could leave without either noticing him.