Jim Butcher - Furies of Calderon

Isana suppressed the sickness in her stomach, long enough to say, "Why do you say that?" Anything to take her mind from what was happening.

"She's calculated. There, see how she fights? Just enough to get a man worked up. Then goes all liquid and helpless once he's on her. She knows every man wants to think he's got that kind of power over a woman. She makes them think what she wants to-and she's barely been roughed up at all."

Isana shuddered and said nothing.

"It's tough to break someone like that. Hardened."

"She's a woman, Kord. A person. She's not an animal to be broken."

His voice carried something in it of an ugly smile. "Has she been a slave before?"

"I don't know," Isana said. "I barely know her."

"She saved your life, you know," Kord said. "When we found you by the river. I made her do it."

Isana looked back at him and tried to keep the venom from her voice. "Why, Kord?"

"Don't get me wrong, Isana. It isn't that I don't enjoy the thought of you dead. I could be happy with that." His eyes didn't waver from the scene before them, glittering with something dark, angry, alien. "But my son is dead because of you. And that mandates something more substantial."

"Dead?" Isana said. She blinked slowly. "Kord. You have got to understand. This isn't about you. It isn't about the hearing or Warner's daughter-"

"The crows it isn't," Kord said. "Because of you we had to go to Bernardholt. Because of you, we had to run out into the storm. Because of you, we had to watch and make sure no one went running to Gram for help-and sure enough, that little freak of yours did. Because of you, Bittan died." He looked down at her, showing his teeth. "Well now I'm the strong one. Now I'm the one making the rules. And I'm going to show you, Isana, how low a woman can be brought. Before I finish what the river started."

Isana turned to him. "Kord, don't you understand? We could all be in danger. Bernard saw-"

He struck her with a closed fist. The blow drove her back and to the floor, her body helplessly loose and unresponsive. After a disorienting moment, the pain started, rippling up from her mouth, her cheek. She tasted blood on her tongue, where she'd cut herself on her own teeth.

Kord leaned down and seized her hair, jerking her face up to his. "Don't speak to me like you're some kind of person. You aren't any more. You're just meat now." He gave her head a vicious little shake. "You understand that?"

"I understand," Isana grated, "that you're a little man, Kord." She dragged in a breath, enough to make the words cut. "You can't look past yourself. Not even when something is coming to crush you. You're small. No matter what you do to me, you'll still be small. A coward who hurts slaves because he's afraid to challenge anyone stronger." She met his eyes and whispered, "You've got me because you found me helpless. You'd never be able to do anything to me if you hadn't. Because you're nothing."

Kord's eyes flashed. He snarled, a mindlessly animal sound, and hit her again, harder. Stars flew across her vision, and the dusty floor rose up to meet her.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there, pain and thirst blinding her, making her unaware of anything else. But when she came to her senses again and sat up, only Kord and his son, Aric, remained. Odiana lay in a heap on the

floor, not far away, curled onto her side, her legs drawn up, her hair hiding her face.

Kord tossed a flask down beside Isana. It made a soft, slight gurgling sound, as though it held only a tiny bit of water. "Go ahead," he told her. "Nothing in that one. I want you to see what happens."

Isana took up the flask, throat burning. She didn't believe that Kord had told her the truth, but she felt faint, weak, and her throat felt as though it had been coated with salt. She pulled the cap from it and drank, almost before she realized what she was doing. Water, warm, but untainted, flowed into her mouth. Half a cup, perhaps-certainly no more. It was gone before it had done much to help her thirst, but at least it had eased the maddening ache of it. She lowered the flask, looking up at Kord.

"Aric," Kord said. "Bring me the box."

Aric turned toward the door, but hesitated. "Pa. Maybe she's right. I mean, with what Tavi said at the river and all-"

"Boy," Kord snarled, cutting him off. "You bring me that box. And keep your mouth shut. You hear?"

Aric went pale and swallowed. "Yes, Pa." He turned and vanished from the smokehouse.

Kord turned back to her. "The thing about all of this, Isana, is that you're too naive to be as afraid as you should be. I want to help you with that. I want you to know what's going to happen."

"This is useless, Kord," Isana said. "You might as well kill me."

"When I'm ready." Kord walked over to Odiana, then reached down and seized her casually by the hair. The woman whimpered and twisted her shoulders, struggling feebly to get away from him. Kord gathered her hair up, lock by lock, until he held the length of it in his fist. "See, this one here. She's a hard case. Knows what she's doing. Knows the game. How to survive it." He shook her hair, eliciting a whimper. "All the right sounds to make. Right, girl?"

With Odiana's face bowed, facing away from Kord, Isana could see her expression now. The water witch's eyes were hard, her expression cold, distant. But she kept her voice weak, shaking. "P-please," Odiana whispered. "Master. Don't hurt me. Please. I'll do anything you want."

"That's right," Kord rumbled, smiling down at the woman. "You will."

Aric opened the door and entered, carrying a long, flat box of smooth, polished wood.

"Open it," Kord told him. "Let her see."

Aric swallowed. Then he paced around, in front of where Kord held Odiana by the hair, and opened the box.

Isana saw the contents: a strip of metal, a band perhaps an inch wide, lay on the cloth within the box, dully throwing back the light of the fires.

Odiana's expression changed. The hardness vanished from her eyes, and her mouth dropped open in an expression of something close to horror. She recoiled from the box, but was brought up short by Kord's grip on her. Isana heard her let out a whimper of pain and, unmistakably, of fear. "No," she said, at once, her voice suddenly harsher, high, panicky. "No, I don't need that. You won't need it. No, don't, I promise, you won't need it, just tell me what you want."

"It's called a discipline collar," Kord said to Isana, in a conversational voice. "Furycrafted. They're uncommon this far north. But useful, sometimes. She knows what it is, I think."

"You don't need it," Odiana said, her voice high and desperate. "Please, oh furies, please, master, you don't need that, I don't need it, no, no, no, no-"

"Aric, put it on her." Kord jerked Odiana up, holding her weight up off the floor by her hair, forcing her chin up, the slender strength of her throat to be exposed.

Odiana's eyes, still fastened on the collar, widened, white surrounding them. She screamed. It was a horrible sound, one that welled deep in her throat and rose up through her mouth without regard for meaning, for shape, horrible and feral. She turned and struggled, even as she screamed, her hands reaching toward Kord's face with desperate speed. Her nails left bloody weals down one of his cheeks, and even as she got her feet underneath her, she kicked one bare foot at the inside of his knee.

Still holding her hair in one hand, Kord dragged her to one side, off of her feet, and with the other clutched her throat. Then, with a casual surge of power, doubtless drawn from his fury, he lifted her clear of the ground by her throat, so that her feet dangled and kicked below her torn skirts.

She fought him, even so, struggling wildly against him. She raked at his arm with her nails when she couldn't reach his face, but he held her, expression never changing. She kicked at his thigh, his ribs, but without any leverage the blows did nothing to deter the big Steadholder. She struggled, grunting, gasping, making low, animal sounds of fear.