Deadhouse Gates
The crab meat began taking its toll. Waves of desperate thirst assailed Felisin, followed by sharp cramps as her stomach rebelled at being full.
Heboric disappeared inside his tent, clearly suffering the same symptoms.
Felisin did little over the next twenty minutes, simply clawing through the pain and watching Baudin, willing on him the same affliction. If he was similarly assailed he showed no sign. Her fear of him deepened.
The cramps faded, although the thirst remained. The clouds over the straits retreated, the sun's heat rose.
Baudin dumped a last pile of seaweed on the fire, then made ready to retire to the tent.
'Take mine,' Felisin said.
His head jerked around, his eyes narrowing.
'I'll join you in a moment.'
He still stared.
He flinched almost imperceptibly.
Felisin went on, '- sworn to some sex-hating Ascendant. Who would that be? Hood? Wouldn't that be a surprise! But there's always a little death in lovemaking—'
'That what you call it?' Baudin muttered. 'Lovemaking?'
She shrugged.
'I'm sworn to no god.'
'So you've said before. Yet you've never made use of me, Baudin. Do you prefer men? Boys? Throw me on my stomach and you won't know the difference.'
He straightened, still staring, his expression unreadable. Then he walked to the tent. Felisin's tent.
As soon as he was inside her, his restraint fell away. He became something other than human, reduced to an animal. He was rough, but not as rough as Beneth had been, nor a good number of Beneth's followers.
He was quickly done, settling his considerable weight on her, his breath harsh and heavy in her ear. She did not move him; her every sense was attuned to his breathing, to the twitching of muscles as sleep stole up on him. She had not expected him to surrender so easily, she had not anticipated his helplessness.
Felisin's hand stole into the sands beside the pallet and probed until it found the grip of the dagger. She willed calm into her own breathing, though she could do nothing to slow her hammering heart. He was asleep. He did not stir.
She slipped the blade free, shifting her grasp to angle the point inward. She drew a deep breath, held it.
His hand caught her wrist the instant she began her thrust. He rose fluidly, wrenching her arm around and twisting her until she rolled onto her stomach beneath him. His weight pinned her down.
Baudin squeezed her wrist until the dagger fell free. 'You think I don't check my gear, lass?' he whispered. 'You think you're a mystery to me? Who else would steal one of my throat-stickers?'
'You left Beneth to die.' She couldn't see his face, and was almost glad for that when he replied.
'No, lass. I killed the bastard myself. Snapped his neck like a reed. He deserved more pain, something slower, but there wasn't any time for that. He didn't deserve the mercy, but he got it.'
'Never done a man or a boy. But I'll pretend. I'm good at pretending.'
'I'll scream—'
'Heboric's sleep isn't the kind you can shake him out of. He dreams. He thrashes about. I've slapped him and he didn't stir. So scream away. What are screams anyway? Voicing your outrage – didn't think you were capable of outrage any more, Felisin.'
She felt the hopelessness flood through her body. It's just more of the same. I can survive it, I can even enjoy it. If I try.
Baudin rose from her. She writhed onto her back, stared at him. He'd collected the dagger and had backed to the entrance. He smiled. 'Sorry if I disappointed you, but I wasn't in the mood.'
'Then why—'
'To see if you're still what you were.' He did not need to voice his conclusion. 'Get some sleep, lass.'
Alone, Felisin curled up on the pallet, numbness filling her. To see if you're still ... yes, you still are. Baudin knew that already. He just wanted to show you to yourself, girl. You thought you were using him hut he was using you. He knew what you planned. Think on that. Think on it long and hard.