CHAPTER FOUR

The Courtyard of the People, Yoyette, Coroleas

S alome supposed that there was an outcry over the loss of the Weeper, but it did not save her. The guardsmen who held her continued to drag her out of her bedchamber, out of her luxurious apartment, out of her privileged life, and down into a misery so extreme Salome wished beyond anything else for death.

They took her first to the guardroom, where they raped her, then handed her over to their fellows. A day or so later, when the entire guardroom had finished their fun, they dragged her bleeding body through the streets of Yoyette to the Courtyard of the People, where she was chained to a stake in one corner.

If Salome had thought she’d endured hell over the past day, it was nothing to what occurred now. Men and boys continued to rape her—at least while her body remained vaguely intact. The rapes stopped, however, once the countless rocks and pieces of wood thrown at her broke and tore her flesh to such an extent that not even rape became attractive.

The Coroleans did not stint themselves. The Duchess of Sidon was hated so violently that people from all the castes traveled in from the country to have their turn at her. They tried ever new and inventive ways of humiliating and abusing her. One man tried to persuade his dog to mount her, another the boar he’d brought in from his farm.

The dog refused, the boar was not so choosy.

Women spat at Salome and emptied chamber pots over her. Small boys poked at her flesh with hot coals held in iron pincers.

Salome wished for death, she begged for death, but it did not come.

Even death tormented her.

All this abuse was terrible enough, but it paled into insignificance when they dragged her son, Ezra, before her. Salome had hoped he’d escaped, or had at least been spared the emperor’s vindictiveness.

But, no.

Ezra was too good an opportunity to torment Salome into hell itself to be ignored.

Guardsmen dragged him before Salome, tossing a bucket of icy water over her to rouse her.

Then they raped him, as violently and as viciously as they had raped Salome.

At one point, when she could no longer bear the screaming of her beloved son, Salome turned her head.

And saw to one side, through eyes bleary with agony, the emperor and half the court, hands laced over fat bellies, watching with satisfaction.

She tried to shriek to them to stop it, to save her son, but nothing came from her mouth save a faint croak.

When Ezra’s rape became less amusing, the emperor gestured with his hand, and one of the guardsmen pulled forth a knife.

With long, slow strokes, he castrated the boy, tossing the severed genitals onto Salome’s naked, battered breasts.

Then they dragged Ezra close to his mother, close enough that they could stare helplessly at each other as he slowly bled to death.

The last thing he whispered to her was, “You said I was to be emperor.”

At that point Salome hated StarDrifter so greatly she thought her hate would become a living thing and rise from her body and hunt the birdman down on her behalf.

On the third night that Salome had been chained to the stake in the Courtyard of the People, she was finally left alone. She was close to death, and people had become tired of taunting her. Better for them to go home to bed, and resume in the morning, on their way to market.

Salome was largely incapable of coherent thought. All she wanted was to slide into death, and follow Ezra into whatever relief he’d managed to discover. As much as she was capable, she tried to concentrate on not breathing, and on making her heart stop.

But her body was too strong, and it did not want to give up on life just yet.

At some point when it had become very cold, Salome thought she heard a movement behind her.

She didn’t care who it was, just so long as they had come to slide a merciful blade deep into her heart.

More footsteps, and murmured words.

Then a hand on her shoulder.

Salome almost screamed in shock. Then, before whoever had touched her could speak, she convulsed—caused by a combination of despair, shock, fright, and the sheer degree of physical damage done to her body.

“Stars,” someone muttered, and the hands now moved faster and with more determination, cutting Salome free from her chains, and wrapping her in a blanket.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

“We can’t leave you here,” said the voice, and then, horribly, terrifyingly, Salome felt herself lifted into the air and knew she was being carried by an Icarii.

She tried to struggle, tried to wrest herself free of the hated creature’s grip so that she might fall mercifully to the ground and dash herself to death against its kindness.

But he was too strong, and she too weak, and so finally, gratefully, Salome slipped into unconsciousness, and knew no more.

Salome woke an indeterminate amount of time later. She was lying in a bed, in a plain, ill-lit chamber, and she was in agony.

She could feel every hurt and every injury done to her over the past few days as if it had been committed only moments earlier. She moaned, twisted a little on the bed, then cried out in pain as her body spasmed.

“Here,” said a voice, “drink this.”

A none-too-gentle hand gripped her hair and pulled her head up, and a cup was pressed against her lips.

A bitter liquid splashed into her mouth, and Salome choked on it. She tried to twist her head away, but the hands kept the cup to her mouth until she had gulped down all the liquid.

“That will keep you alive a little longer,” the voice said, and Salome blinked, trying to bring the man into focus.

She could see by his silhouette against the lamp that he was an Icarii, and so she tried to spit at him and pinch him with her fingers.

But Salome was too weak to do more than purse her lips, and flutter her hand helplessly, and the Icarii gave a short, dry laugh.

“A little gratitude would be appreciated,” he said.

“Who are you?” she managed. “Why…”

“Our names you are never likely to hear,” said the Icarii, and Salome realized there must be more than one in the room. “Why reveal ourselves to such as you, when you would sell our souls to the highest bidder, even though we have saved your life?”

“And as to why,” said another voice from somewhere to Salome’s left. “We saved you because we could not let a fellow Icarii continue to suffer in that manner. Not at the hands of the Coroleans.”

A fellow Icarii? thought Salome. Gods, they called me an Icarii!

Loathing for them rushed through her.

“But do not think we sympathize with you, or like you,” said the first speaker. “You are foul in our eyes.

What you have done in your life…”

“Me?” she managed, feeling stronger now that the painkilling drink was taking hold. “Me? What about StarDrifter? He did this to me. And my son…my son.”

“Ezra we do regret,” said the Icarii to her left. “We would have saved him had we the opportunity. But we didn’t. Only your heart had the strength to hold fast.”

“Strong Icarii blood,” muttered the first Icarii.

“As for StarDrifter,” said the other. “Well, we do not agree with what he has done, but we do not wonder at it. He would have hated you almost as much as we do.”

She tried to move, but her body was so painful and stiff she could only wince. “What do you want from me?” Salome said. “Why save me if you loathe me this greatly?”

“For you to get strong enough that we can get you away from us,” said the first. “We will make you stronger, then we will ensure you get out of this country. We will give you some clothes and some money, and after that your life is yours to rebuild as you will.”

“After all,” said the other, “if our Icarii blood is good enough to see you survive the brutality meted out to you over so many days, then you will surely live a long, long life. Five hundred years, at the very least.”

Salome moaned. Nothing had hurt her so much as that. A life five hundred years long? No, no, she could not bear it.

Salome slipped back into unconsciousness.

The two Icarii males tended her over the next week. Salome never saw their faces clearly, nor learned their names. They stayed with her day in, day out. They washed her, rubbed salve over her wounds, and fed her food and herbal medicines.

After their first conversation they rarely talked to her, which suited Salome. She hated talkers, whether lovers or any others. She closed her eyes to them whenever they were near, as if in pretense that she slept, even though her mouth readily accepted any food they spooned in, or drank of any refreshment they offered.

Salome discovered that she wanted to live, after all. If she could not die, then she would do the next best thing.

Find StarDrifter.

Then ruin his life as he had ruined hers.