Because of Hatred
At her question, his dark brows twitched, just barely. Elona followed his gaze to the fire and waited for an answer. What came back to her was not an answer at all, but another question.
"Elona. How did I become king of Ashatra?"
She turned her head and looked up at him. This time Kazan was facing her as well. Firelight lay in the eyes that met hers, and still they were dark. He gave her the answer in a quiet voice, as if he were making a confession.
"Because I hate. Everything in this country... and you, above all."
He drew away the blanket that covered her. Pale skin still marked by their coupling caught the hearthlight and gleamed like ivory, then vanished at once into his shadow. Elona looked quietly up at the face turned from the light. Within that cold expression, only the eyes that held her were full of heat. Lust, vengeance, impulse—a host of ruinous words flickered through her mind.
Feeling his hands come for her again, Elona turned her face aside and shut her eyes. She could do nothing with the grief rising in her chest. His answer had made everything clear.
The Kazan she had loved was nowhere in this world. He had died in this room on that night, seven years ago. No one else had killed him. She had.
All that remained was a conqueror bent on ruling her.
Elona opened her eyes in the midst of a searing heat.
She was lying inside a jolting baggage wagon. Among the treasures hauled out of Parsion Royal Castle, a small space spread with a wool carpet was the place given to her.
Morning... no. Is it day?
Collapsed in the dark wagon, she had no way to judge the hour. Elona rose on her aching body and leaned against the swaying wall. Up on her toes, the view beyond the high side window came into sight, and the glare was so fierce she winced.
Beneath a blue sky where the sun blazed, golden sand drifted on the wind. The endless desert horizon shimmered through the heat haze, rolling like a wave. Elona watched the burning land and moved her lips, dried stiff and rough. Gritty grains of sand filled her mouth, but she swallowed the cough. She had long since learned that coughing only hurt her throat and made the thirst worse.
It was the fifth day since the army of Ashatra had won the war and left Parsion Royal Castle. Counted among the king's spoils, Elona was being carried in the baggage wagon toward Perma, the royal capital of Ashatra.
No one tended her now that she was a slave, so eavesdropping was the only way she could learn anything. Listening to the soldiers who passed beside the wagon, she had gathered a few facts about Kazan.
The name he bore upon the throne was Sindar Kazan Mileshatra. Sindar, the god of wind and death, was the formal royal name bestowed when he was crowned. Kazan was his true name, a form of address so intimate that no one, it seemed, was permitted to use it. Mileshatra was the name of his house, and to Elona, who had known nothing but Kazan, it sounded wholly strange.
The god of wind and death. Why fasten a name so dreadful onto a king?
How many people had he killed? The memory of Kazan murdering Antonio rose in her, and she shuddered. He had been cruel and cold enough then to call the god of death himself to mind.
Will I die that way someday? Like my brother... by Kazan's hand?
Once, she could never have imagined it. But the way Kazan treated her now, it no longer seemed an impossible thing to suppose.
"Drag her out."
When night fell, the door of the wagon she rode in opened, and two soldiers came. They were elite troops trusted by the Sindar King. With indifferent hands they seized Elona and led her across the camp.
Ashatran soldiers filled the silver desert beneath the moonlight. Fresh from victory and bound for home, their faces were bright, and they were busy talking among themselves. But the moment Elona passed through them, silence fell at once and every eye fixed on her. Each time, she bowed her head and tried to quiet even her footsteps.
The soldiers who looked at her were expressionless, and if their eyes happened to meet hers they scowled, hard and vicious. Their gazes were full of loathing, as if they were looking at something filthy and low.
"I just don't understand it. Why would His Majesty decide a thing like that..."
"Why doesn't he just kill that wench already?"
Once one or two opened their mouths, the muttering spread through the whole camp in an instant.
"Even making her a slave is more than she deserves. Letting her set foot on our land... I was sure he'd have dealt with her back in Parsion."
"She was a princess. Ate well and lived soft, no doubt, thanks to selling off our own people."
"Yeah. My cousin got dragged to the Slave Market in Parsion two years ago, too..."
Elona bit down hard on her lip and walked faster. She wished she were deaf, and blind besides. The world outside the wagon was far too harsh toward her, and far too hostile.
Any Ashatran would hate me. Because I'm from Parsion...
The soldiers' conduct was no different from the contempt with which the people of Parsion had treated Ashatran slaves. They had already lost so many family and neighbors; they would resent the mere fact that Elona's life still clung to her. She felt the weight of guilt pressing on her chest and dropped her eyes.
"This way."
The elite soldiers brought her to the edge of the great encampment. It was the washing ground, and in a small space set aside for Elona alone, a screen of white cloth had been raised.
"Be quick. His Majesty is waiting."
They shoved her behind the screen and took up their posts at once. As she slipped out of the coarse cotton clothes, Elona let out a soundless sigh.
I don't want to share his bed. I'd rather sleep in the wagon.
But if she did not hurry, the elite soldiers would not leave her be. What good was a screen thrown up for the sake of appearances? Should she refuse and resist, they would drag her to their king that very moment, naked though she was.
To His Majesty the Sindar King, great king of Ashatra.
Kazan won't listen to me today, either. Surely he won't keep at it all night again?
It was their first night camped in the desert. Until now, while they passed through cities and villages, she had at least been able to sleep in proper buildings—places with a real door, walls, and a roof.
But tonight... where?
Worrying over what her bed would be, Elona poured water over herself. She dried her body with a long towel and was reaching for the basket of clothes when she felt it.
Beneath the garments there was something hard and unfamiliar. Something inside the basket was moving.
"...!"
Startled, Elona jerked back. She watched with wide eyes, and the creature in question showed itself through a gap in the clothes.
A pitch-black scorpion. It must have thought itself under attack; its tail was raised in threat. At the sight of the sharp stinger she did not dare step closer, and clutched the long towel around her body.
When did it crawl in? I don't dare touch it... it's too dangerous.
The black scorpion scuttled savagely among her clothes. A little more carelessness, and she would have been stung and left with no choice but to die.
"Something wrong? If you're done washing, come out."
The elite soldiers found her silence suspicious. With no other choice, she leaned out past the screen. Even they were thrown by the strange sight of her, her body covered by nothing but a single towel.
"Wh-what are you doing? Put your clothes on properly..."
"There's... a scorpion."
"What?"
Elona pointed at the basket of clothes. One of the soldiers, grasping the situation a moment late, stepped inside and looked. His face turned awkward at once.
"Tsk. Of all things, one with a vicious sting..."
Bare hands would not serve. In the end he lifted the basket and turned it upside down, then used his scabbard to rake through the clothes and drive the scorpion well away.
"Here."
Tumbled across the wet sand, the clothes he held out to her were badly soiled.
"...Thank you."
Elona took the dirtied garments without a word of complaint. When she came out in them, caked with grime, she looked every inch a slave. More ashamed than ever, she followed the elite soldiers with her head bowed.
They arrived before the tent at the center of the camp.
"Your Majesty. We've brought the slave."
A short answer came back to the report.
"Send her in."
The soldier lifted the brown cloth over the entrance and jerked his chin at Elona. She hesitated, then stepped into the unfamiliar tent.
Lit by a dim oil lamp, the king's space was not particularly large. For an army that had to move quickly, everything had been kept practical: a tent of modest size and height, a low wooden table and chair, a simple cot. All of it was rough and bleak, and yet the soft lamplight alone gave the place a quiet warmth.
Elona was looking about the interior when she felt Kazan's gaze and turned to him. He had already set aside his weapons and changed into comfortable clothes of plain cloth, and he sat in the chair, staring straight at her.
"Those clothes."
His eyes rested on the soiled hem of her skirt. Before she could answer, he asked.
"Did you fall?"