"I know."
"The lake," she added, "is now full of fish that like to feed on human flesh."
The Blood Sorcerer enjoyed throwing "scraps" out the window and watching the fish jump and snap - at the hacked-up pieces of magical creatures, human beings. He'd once put Liliana in a thin, woven basket and lowered her so close to the water that she'd felt the snapping teeth of the fish a bare inch from her on every side. She'd been eight years old at the time.
Fighting back the memory of horror with resolve gained from experience, she continued. "There's a connecting causeway to the shore, but it's guarded night and day by large poisonous creatures who were once blue sand scorpions and are now nothing that should exist." A single sting equaled instantaneous death. "There are four of them. Two stand at the gate, while two prowl up and down the causeway."
"Why are you scared of the lake?"
Jerking up her head, she stared at Micah. "What?"
"You're scared of the lake." His eyes pinned her to the spot. "Tell me why."
"My father is an evil man," she said, because what else was there to say. "I was a great disappointment as a daughter."
When Micah said nothing, simply watched her with eyes of cool winter-green, she began to feel as if she was drowning, though the water only came up to her shoulders. "I'd like to get out now," she said. "I need to prepare dinner."
For a second, she thought he'd refuse to leave and part of her wanted him to do exactly that - because it was something the old Micah would've done, the one who was sly and arrogant and liked to tease her in wicked, wicked ways. But this Micah - the one who had every right to hate her - pushed off the wall and stalked out, slamming the door behind himself. Trying for the ice-cold will that had allowed her to survive her father, she found only the hot burn of tears.
Stupid, stupid Liliana.
Her harsh imprecations didn't assuage the rawness in her throat, but a splash of cold water on her face after she left the bath had her eyes clearing at least. Rubbing herself dry, she once more put on the ugly brown dress in which she'd arrived, though it was dusty from the fight with the Arachdem. It seemed only fitting. She was no longer the woman for whom Micah had brought dresses of chocolate and red, green and silver.
Combing her hair straight, she stared at her face in the mirror.
It's a good thing you're my daughter or you'd be spit at like a mongrel dog on the street. As it is, men beg to come to your bed, even knowing they'll have to do the deed with their eyes closed.
Her stomach revolted at the memory and the only way she kept down what little she'd eaten was because she refused to give her father the satisfaction. Back then, she'd been young, a cowering animal on the floor that he'd kicked at with steel-toed boots to emphasize his words. Now she was a woman who was going to drag him into the Abyss for the basilisks to feed on.
With that in mind, she opened the bathroom door and walked out to face Micah.
He wasn't there.
Her hand trembled on the edge of the door but she shook her head, said, "No more tears." There was no longer any room for self-pity. No room to mourn the loss of something that hadn't been hers to begin with; she'd been a thief, stolen so many moments, moments she'd never, ever thought to have. That stolen hoard would have to be enough.
Except now that she'd touched Micah, been touched by him, been looked at as if she was beautiful even though she knew she wasn't, it hurt much, much more than before, when she hadn't expected anything at all.
Micah prowled the great hall until his patience ran out. "Where is my meal?!" he roared so loudly the walls shook.
Bard turned baleful eyes on him. "Jissa will be scared."
"Find her!" If she had tried to run away, he'd throw her in the dungeon and chain her up with cuffs of iron forged in the burning cold of the Abyss.
The door opened on the heels of his command, the object of his anger walking in with a tray. "I'm sorry this is late, my lord." Her words were polite, reserved.
He scowled and went to grab a seat. The food she placed in front of him was some kind of a thick stew with rice, followed by fruit. She set it out and went to leave until he grabbed her wrist. "You will stay here." But he nodded at Bard to leave.
Liliana stood motionless beside him as he ate.
"Why are you scared of the lake?" he asked her once more.
She grew stiff. "I - "
He waited to see if she'd lie to him again.
"Just because," she said at last, "I was his daughter didn't mean I was safe from him."
Pulling her down with his grip on her wrist, he fed her a piece of fruit. "Sit. Eat. I need you healthy if we're to defeat your father."
Her lower lip trembled. He saw it. But she bit it and, tugging away her wrist, sat down at the table, began to force food into her mouth. He watched to make sure she ate what she should. "What did he do to you?"
She pushed away her plate, pressed her hands to her abdomen. "I was his to use, his to hurt in any way he saw fit. After all, he made me."
Micah slammed a fisted hand on the table, causing the plates to jump. "Stop sounding like that!"
Those eyes of no particular color that reflected everything were dull when she said, "I've offended you. I'm sorry."
He should have been happy that she felt so bad about lying to him. He should have made her apologize over and over. Except he didn't like the way she looked, the way her shoulders were hunched up, as if she expected him to hurt her. The realization enraged him. "You think I'll beat you!"
Liliana caught a plate before it would've skittered over the edge of the still-cracked table and crashed to the floor. "No, my lord. You need me to defeat my father." Her shoulders straightened to reveal the line of her throat. "I'll give you everything I have."
He wanted to bite that throat.
Hard.
And suddenly, he had the answer. "You will make me be not angry."
Her gaze slammed into his. "What?"
"You will convince me not to be angry."
"How?" She shook her head, as if her thoughts wouldn't settle. "I can ask for forgiveness but - "
"No. Words aren't enough. You lied to me with words."
"Then?"
"Come." Taking her hand, he ordered her to leave the dishes and dragged her up the stairs and to his bedroom. "Here," he said, turning to trap her against the closed door. "This is where you will convince me to be not angry."
Chapter 21
Liliana's mind simply stopped working for several long seconds. Because before Micah had shut the door and pinned her to it, his arms braced palms-flat on either side of her head, her eyes had fallen on the massive four-poster bed with black sheets that she'd occupied the night before the Arachdem invasion. A bed in which she'd fallen asleep waiting for the Guardian of the Abyss.
"Liliana."
She scraped up her pride, set her jaw. "What if I say I don't want to?" Being with him again was a temptation almost beyond bearing, but she wouldn't degrade herself, not even to appease this man who she'd foolishly thought had cared for her at least a little.
"I would touch you between the legs and prove you a liar."
He must truly hate her, to want to humiliate her this much. "Am I your prisoner?" she asked, shame a cold, cold rock on her heart; each and every memory of intimacy stained with an ugliness that made her want to tear out her soul because those memories were her greatest treasure.
Eyebrows lowering, he pushed off the door. "Go. Go, then." Turning away, he folded his arms.
He'd let her go.
Even after the lies she'd told him, and though he was so furious his eyes glittered hard as gemstones, he'd let her go - when he would have been perfectly justified in hurting her. No, she thought, no. That was the dark reasoning of a woman who had been raised in the house of someone who had treated her like a piece of property, his to break and bloody and beat.
For Micah, a man with honor that ran so deep and true it had survived the Abyss itself, hurting a woman would be anathema. Yet he'd brought her to his bedroom, demanded she defuse his anger. The proximity of the bed led to only one conclusion, but she knew it was the wrong one.
Hurting, confused, scared the hope inside her was a mirage, she took a page out of his own book and just asked. "Why did you bring me here?"
Silence.
Angry and frustrated, but wanting him more than she'd wanted anyone or anything - even her freedom - she stomped around to face him. When he refused to lower his head to meet her gaze, she slammed her fists on his armored chest. "I need to know, you big sulking beast!" It just slipped out.
And it made him glance down, his gaze blade-green, his words snarling with anger. "You wanted to leave. There's the door."
Glaring at him, she barely resisted the urge to kick at his booted foot. "I thought..." ...you wanted to humiliate me. She bit off the words before they could escape, because to say those words would be to hurt him in a way this man should never, ever be hurt.
No. Words aren't enough. You lied to me with words.
"Liliana, you are not leaving."
This is where you will convince me to be not angry.
"Why are you not leaving?" It was a growl.
"We enjoyed each other in the great hall," she whispered, speaking past her embarrassment because she had to fix this. "On the chair."
His eyes gleamed and she knew, she knew, he was imagining her naked flesh on his own as she moved over the hot, hard ridge of his arousal. "I don't think you enjoyed it so very much."
"I did." Swallowing to wet a dry throat, she stood on tiptoe, realization a shimmering rain through her senses. "Please bend down a little."
"Why?"
"I'm trying to convince you to be not angry." There had been nothing brutal or cruel in his demand, in his dragging her to his room. Micah hadn't grown up in the world, didn't think in the ways of a sophisticated courtier or a world-weary seducer, had never had cause to learn to hide lies behind charm or to become jaded in his sexuality. For him, there was only pleasure in this act, only delight...and so he'd used it to give her a way to ask for forgiveness that would cause her no pain.
