*
It’d all been a horrible nightmare. No, it hadn’t. The pain between her legs told her that it hadn’t. The dull ache in her face and the grit between her teeth told her that it hadn’t. But she preferred to think of it as a nightmare so that perhaps on the fringes of sleep she could pretend it wasn’t real. It didn’t work.
She hated silts, deep and true. It was a loathing. But where did the hatred come from?
Seteal opened her eyes to find El-i-miir watching her from her place atop a straight-backed chair at the bedside. She tried to stop it, but couldn’t. She didn’t even know where it’d come from. The sob tore free of her chest. The sound was foreign. It wasn’t a sound Seteal was accustomed to hearing escape her throat, a deep, guttural moan.
In a wave of motion, El-i-miir was on the bed and wrapping Seteal in her arms, holding her tight. Her strange white pupils bore into Seteal’s soul and piece began to worm its way into existence.
‘Don’t,’ she sobbed. ‘Let me feel it. Let me know what I’ve become.’
Without a word the sorrow returned and El-i-miir remained, but only to hold her hand and stroke her hair. Seteal closed her eyes for a long time. Then she opened them. She wasn’t sure how she preferred them, open or closed? Open or closed? It seemed like a terribly important matter. But it wasn’t.
Some day she would cut off their wings and slice open their ugly blue hearts. She’d never before hated with such passion.
Seteal went to get up, but pain and fear stopped her. What was outside the blankets? What if it was too cold? What if someone wanted to hurt her? She wouldn’t be safe. She should stay put. The blankets would protect her. No, they wouldn’t. Seteal knew they wouldn’t. Nothing could protect her now. There was nothing left to protect. He’d taken what’d made her a lady. And it had to be him.
Was this Maker’s cruel joke? Did Maker sit on His throne laughing? Did He laugh? Was it funny to Him? Did He watch while it was happening? Did the all-powerful Maker just sit there and watch her suffer . . . have that stolen from her? Was it the irony He enjoyed, that it’d been a man to touch her, when it was not the touch of a man she desired? But Seteal didn’t believe in Maker. How could she put her faith in someone so cruel?
And the silt that’d left her alone in the field. For him, she would reserve special torment. She would enjoy killing him slowly. So that she could become a monster, too?
El-i-miir had been gone awhile. She returned later. Time moved awfully quickly . . . and also slowly. El-i-miir packed their bags at a hurried pace.
‘Seteal.’ Her face filled the world. ‘You need to sleep. Far-a-mael told me we’re leaving tomorrow.’
‘Leaving?’ Seteal’s voice sounded weak, even to her.
‘He said we have to get on with our journey.’ El-i-miir frowned. ‘He’s organised a wagon as transport and I’ve bought you some clothes.’
‘Why must we go on?’ Seteal looked El-i-miir in the eye, her lips cracking as she spoke.
‘Because we have to get you to the Frozen Lands.’
Seteal put a hand to her throat. ‘What for?’
‘You know what for,’ El-i-miir said defensively.
‘Do I?’
‘Of course,’ El-i-miir flushed pink and backed away. ‘Now, get some sleep. I have to see Far-a-mael.’ She hurried out the door, stumbling twice as she left.
The door slammed and Seteal found herself alone once more. She pulled back the blanket and lifted her night dress to look beneath it. El-i-miir must’ve cleaned her up at some point, although when exactly remained a mystery. Seteal put a hand on her cheek. It was inflamed and swollen. With a deep sigh, she dropped the blankets and rested her eyes.
‘Pretty little thing, but none too bright,’ Master Fasil smiled down at her.
Seteal sat up and screamed. The room was black. She leapt out of bed and stumbled while disabling pain sapped her strength. She sprawled across the floorboards and cried until a light was ignited and El-i-miir gathered her into her arms. She was wearing her nightdress. Seteal must’ve slept for hours.
‘It’s okay,’ El-i-miir whispered in her ear. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘I don’t even like men,’ Seteal sobbed bitterly. It seemed like such a silly thing to say, but she couldn’t force the thought from her mind.
‘I know,’ El-i-miir sighed, rocking her back and forth like a child. ‘I know.’
Deuteronomy 22
25. But if a man find a damsel in the field, and the man force her and lie with her, then the man that lay with her shall die.
Scriptures of the Holy Tome
CHAPTER NINE
THE BIRD, THE HORSE AND A DEMON