Cade 32

Mikota was sleeping when Samanda entered the chamber.

“Where is the king?” Mikota rubbed violet eyes and pushed dark tangles of hair from a pale face.

Samanda held up a blue linen dress. “He is locked in the war room with several guests. We must get you dressed.”

Mikota shook her head, cheeks colored. “No, no. The king bid me be here when he returns. In this very spot.”

Samanda rested a gentle hand on Mikota’s rumpled brown hair. “He has since ordered you dressed in linen and removed from his chamber. You are to move into one of the rooms on this floor.”

“I don’t understand,” Mikota said weakly.

Samanda laughed showing a mouthful of rotten teeth. “It is well Mikota! The king finds favor between your legs. You will be Mistress!”

“No,” Mikota whispered. She closed her eyes and saw Konni, a beautiful blond girl with a quick smile and cheerful green eyes. She was mistress for only two months before falling down the castle stairs and breaking her neck. The two before Konni died in similar tragedies.

Mikota opened her eyes and slipped from the bed, her mind numb, bare feet landing on cold stone. She survived the king’s attentions, the thing she dreaded an entire life time was done. She wanted to live.

Samanda helped her into the blue linen. It was too short by a hand and too tight across the breast, but by far the softest dress she ever wore. She recognized it as one of the few made for Konni many years before.

Samanda quickly smoothed the bed linens. “You will be permitted one personal slave Mikota.”

Mikota forced her mind to focus. “This can’t be real.”

Samanda put a hand on her hip, pregnant belly protruding. “It is real Mikota. The beast master is in a frenzy about it. Already the horses are receiving his whip.”

Mikota swallowed hard thinking of Marrick. “The horses?”

Samanda nodded. “I could hear them screaming from the stables. Cook said the beast master heard the king crowing about you. You are fortunate the king found his pleasure with you Mikota. You will be out of the beast master’s reach now.”

“But not out of the king’s,” Mikota shivered.

Samanda clucked her tongue. “It is our fate Mikota. The king kept me three days. He is not an inconsiderate lover. Did you find no pleasure at all?”

Mikota hid the blush by turning to gather the red silk robe and vial.

Samanda snatched the vial from her fingers. “What is this?”

“A potion,” Mikota grabbed for the vial.

Samanda, despite being heavy with child, moved too fast and kept the vial from Mikota’s grasping fingers.

“Did Renel give you this?” Samanda’s eyes narrowed. She held the vial close for inspection.

Mikota nodded.

Samanda walked to the fireplace and threw the vile into the dying embers. She stoked the fire with an iron poker.

“What have you done?” Mikota wailed. “It was to keep me from conceiving!”

Samanda faced Mikota, hands on hips. “Coming from Renel, it would more likely put you in the grave.”

“What are you talking about?” Mikota watched as the vile was consumed by hungry red orange flames.

"Renel is a jealous bitch,” Samanda said. “She wants no woman in the king’s bed.”

“Why?” Mikota resigned herself to losing the potion and fastened angry eyes on Samanda.

Samanda sighed. “Because, she covets the spot.”

Mikota flinched. “But they are kin, brother and sister.”

Samanda shook her filthy brown hair and rolled her eyes. “Renel is one of King Kryler’s daughters.”

The blood drained from Mikota’s face. Not even the lowliest slave mated with their offspring. It was forbidden, known to birth deformed and mad children. Was it different for the nobility? And if it was true, what did that make her? A woman who responded to the touch of a debauched king? No, Samanda was mistaken. She must be mistaken.

“How have you lived here most of your entire life and not known so basic a fact?” Samanda queried.

“Who would tell me these things Samanda?” Mikota’s voice quivered despite the warmth of the fire. “I never worked the women’s quarters.”

“Myra is the oldest slave in the castle,” Samanda said. “She is well on fifty years old and born here. Her great grand mother served King Kryler.”

Mikota’s eyes widened. “How is that possible? That would mean he is…”

Samanda smiled. “Exactly, as far as Myra can tell he is at least two hundred years old.”

“The ritual?” Bile, strong and acrid, rose in Mikota’s throat.

Samanda shrugged. “I don’t know. No slave does. But as is the way with this family, they mate with their siblings to keep the blood pure. King Kryler bore children with all three of his sisters before they died. Once the males are of an age to challenge the king, they disappear. The daughters are sheltered and raised in the women’s quarters. Kryler is the first king as far as anyone knows who bred both his daughters and his sisters. None of the others lived as long. When King Kryler dies, his heir will murder his brothers and breed his sisters. And on it goes.”

Mikota stood open mouthed. “How many women are there?”

Samanda sighed. “I don’t know, at least two hundred.”

Mikota’s swallowed. “Two Hundred?”

Samanda nodded and started toward the door. “There would be more but some were,” Samanda looked toward the door and lowered her voice. “Some were born, deformed, or mad. They were sacrificed to the dark god. And others die of strange illnesses, or poison.”

Mikota shivered despite the warmth of the linen dress. A hot and heavy knot weighted in her belly. She took a deep breath. “And if I am with child?”

Samanda made a hand sign against evil. “It is said any slave carrying Kryler’s bastard is cursed. Cursed to die a horrible and painful death before the babe is born. His bloodline is guarded by the dark god. He hasn’t produced a child in over twenty years.”

“I must not conceive,” Mikota whispered.

Samanda sighed and looked at her own protruding belly. “For as long as King Kryler calls you mistress, you have access to herbs to keep a babe from rooting in your belly. I will help you Mikota, you are not alone. But take no potion from any hand but mine. Come, let us see your new room.”

Mikota followed Samanda out of the room and down the cold dark corridor, their bare feet silent on the dirty stones.