Rainura didn’t think Arystan actually loved Sara, but he was clearly attached to her. She would take the attachment. Besides, she had no patience to wait to see whether Arystan developed feelings of love for Sara that she could eventually transfer to herself. No, simple attachment would do just fine. She would be quite satisfied with being welcomed into his yurt many nights, having a special place, no matter how small, in his heart, or at least with his cock.
Rainura was familiar with the routines of those in camp and busied herself in the yard until mid-afternoon. She watched Sara leave the encampment to run around the forest and do various movements with her body. The silly woman did this several days each week for seemingly no reason at all. Rainura supposed it was why she had noted muscle tone in the young woman’s legs when she had first been brought to the camp, but what purpose it served, she had no idea. There were women who were warriors, but Sara did not train with weapons or demonstrate any aptitude for or interest in such things. She doubted it helped on a sexual level. Why Arystan would be attracted to musculature on a woman of all things, she had no idea. Rainura concluded that it must be a very strange residual habit from the woman’s foreign land. Very strange indeed.
Rainura knew that Arystan often retired for a short rest at this time of day. Her heart leapt as she saw him enter his yurt after Sara left. Today was the day then. She considered bringing the drink to him personally, but decided against it for two reasons.
First, he had all but ignored her ever since the night he had chosen Sara from the bonfire.
He even brushed her aside for the thank-you fuck she always received after a successful ritual, suggesting she fuck Tebur or Sabalak instead. They were both good in the furs, but they were not Arystan. But the most important reason not to bring in the drink herself was that Arystan was well aware of her skill with concoctions. It would be odd if she suddenly appeared in his yurt with a refreshing beverage. She couldn’t risk raising even a slight suspicion that she had added something to his drink.
So, she cornered a foot soldier.
“Arystan is thirsty and has requested that a glass of goat’s milk be brought to him before he retires for a rest. Here,” she thrust the mug at him.
The man stared at her. “Why don’t you bring it to him?” he said gruffly. “I’m not your servant.”
Rainura sighed. She would have to resort to the usual.
“You know,” she said seductively, her ebony eyes washing over the short, dusty man.
His face was fleshy and pockmarked. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you in camp before. Where have you been hiding? Unfortunately, I have something else to attend to right now, but I may have some . . . free time, later this evening.” She ran a finger over his shoulder suggestively.
His eyes looked lustful and he gave her a lopsided grin showing his grayed teeth. He made to grab for her and she thrust the mug into his hands instead. He held the vessel, still leering.
“Not so fast, lover boy. As I said, there’s something I need to do now. Take this to Arystan and I may see you later.” She gave him a sexy smile. Uggh. The things she did to get what she wanted.
He grunted his assent and turned to go, pleased with his turn of luck.
“Oh, and one more thing –”
The solider turned, looking back at Rainura, an impatient gleam in his eye.
“I’ve heard Arystan is in a foul mood today. I suggest you say nothing about the goat’s milk. Just set it on the table without saying anything and leave immediately. You know how he gets when he is in an ill temper.”
The man nodded and disappeared, heading for Arystan’s yurt. Yes, he did know how his leader could be. He’d be as quick and surreptitious as possible.
Rainura waited ten minutes and then made her way unobserved to Arystan’s tent.
Glancing around, she undid the fasteners and moved the flaps apart just a bit with her hand. The yurt appeared to be empty, but then her eyes fell on Arystan’s form sprawled on his bed. She slipped inside.
The mug was on the table, empty. Good. She knew Arystan enjoyed goat’s milk and it was a hot day after all. He probably had no idea how the drink appeared but assumed it to be the thoughtfulness of the camp servants.
She removed the pouch that was slung over her neck, set it on the table next to the empty mug, and walked quietly to Arystan’s bed. She studied him for some time before resting her finger on his wrist. If he awoke, she’d claim, perhaps, that she wanted to fuck him and then let him throw her out. He would believe that. But she had seen enough of the drug’s effects to know that he would not wake. His pulse was strong, but slow. Very, very slow. Perfect.
She moved back to the bench and sat down, her back to Arystan. She opened her pouch and began to work quickly.
* * * * *
* * * * *
She shifted, bringing her foot up to the bench and raised her dress up to her hips, revealing a knife with a six-inch blade belted around her thigh. She unsheathed it and examined it. This was the only part about which she was unsure. Her grandmother had told her to add her blood and the blood of the man, but not how much or from where on the body it should be drawn.
Rainura considered. Her wrist was out of the question. She wasn’t skilled at this. She might nick an artery and she didn’t want to die. She guessed she could simply grip the blade of the knife and let the blood fall from her palm. Ouch. She glanced over at Arystan’s still form and took a breath. All right, it would be worth it.
She held the knife over the bowl, chanted the incantation, and then brought her hand to the knife, closed her eyes and squeezed. The pain was sharp and she sucked in her breath, gasping audibly as she removed the knife. Arystan shifted. Rainura glanced behind her, her eyes widened with shock. Her hand strayed from the bowl, blood dripping on the table, before she realized what had happened and quickly moved it back.
Arystan should not have moved. The drug must be wearing off. She must have miscalculated the dose for his size and metabolism. She would have to work faster.
She squeezed her hand together, willing the bleeding to stop. Finally, the yellow-brown mixture was saturated with crimson, the blood starting to darken and congeal. That had to be plenty. Once mixed, only a few drops against a mucous membrane was enough to trigger the effects. Arystan wouldn’t have to drink it. She could dribble some in his mouth or even put a few drops inside his nose.
She rose quickly, wiping her hand on her dress. She would clean it later. Or throw it out.
She quickly replaced the supplies in the pouch, closed it, and set it on the ground next to the table. All that remained on the table were the wooden bowl, a mixing dowel, and a small mug. She didn’t want to risk upsetting the bowl so she decided to collect Arystan’s blood in the mug and then add it to the mixture.
Quickly, she got up, walked to Arystan’s bed and knelt beside it. She gently pulled his arm from across his chest and spread his palm, bringing her knife to it. She positioned the wooden cup with her other hand, whispered the incantation, and then took another deep breath raising her knife. She really hoped he didn’t wake up from this.
“What’s going on here?”
Rainura jumped, looking toward the tent flaps, bringing the knife down involuntarily over Arystan’s palm as she did so. He shifted, mumbling a few words. Blood seeped from the gash, dripping quickly into the wooden container. Rainura kept her eyes on the woman in the entranceway while catching the drops. She needed only a few more seconds.
“Why, nothing,” said Rainura sweetly, pulling a fur from the bed closer to her so that it hid Arystan’s hand and the knife from Sara’s view. “Arystan was feeling a bit ill and I was asked to check on him. How are you? It’s been some time since we’ve spoken.”
Rainura’s eyes swept over Sara scornfully, despite her best efforts to be civil. “I see you’ve moved up to a bit more . . . comfortable surroundings.”
Sara closed the flap behind her, walked over to the table and sat down on one of the benches facing the bed. She had no reason to disbelieve Rainura. “I’ve been fine, Rainura. How is Arystan?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “He wasn’t ill this morning.”
Worry was in her voice.
Rainura seethed internally. Of course, the tramp would know whether Arystan was or wasn’t ill this morning. She probably spent the night with him. Rainura forced herself to calm. She had more important things on which she needed to focus now. Focus, Rainura.
“I’m sure it’s just a stomach flu. Nothing serious,” Rainura said confidently, wringing the last drops of blood from Arystan’s hand into the container underneath the furs. She released his palm and placed her own hand over the mug, considering how to get it in the bowl sitting on the table.
“What’s this?” Sara asked, poking at the purplish liquid in the bowl in front of her with the dowel. She wrinkled her nose. It looked awful.
“Just something to calm his stomach. An old remedy my grandmother taught me.”
Sara’s eyes drifted to the line of red drops leading from the bowl to the edge of the table.
“This looks like blood . . . .” Her eyes shifted to Rainura, questioning.
“I cut myself preparing the herbs for the calming remedy.”
There was something about Rainura’s tone Sara didn’t like. But she knew that Rainura was good with concoctions. And drugs. She slid her eyes back to Rainura. The woman was rising from Arystan’s bedside and had something in her hands. Sara reached across the table and slid the bowl closer to her.
“Don’t touch that,” Rainura hissed. “You’ll spill it.”
“Why is that so important?” asked Sara, suddenly having a powerful urge to take the bowl. She protectively drew her arm around it. “I thought you said it was a minor stomach illness.”
Rainura abruptly leaped at the table as if possessed, grabbing for the bowl. Alarmed, Sara jumped back, having the presence of mind at the last second to take it with her as she rose. Its contents slopped a bit as she backed up. Rainura circled the table.
“Give me the bowl,” Rainura hissed. There was a terrible glint to her eyes.
Sara held it tightly, backing around toward the bed. “Arystan,” she called, not looking behind her. “Arystan, wake up.” He didn’t stir. What the fuck was going on? She chanced a glance toward him and immediately was set up again by Rainura who climbed over the table and launched herself at Sara. Sara nimbly sidestepped her and then saw the knife in the woman’s hand.
“Why do you have a knife, Rainura?” asked Sara, alarmed, backing up again. The blade was covered in blood. Fresh blood. It was dripping from it. Rainura didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the bowl in Sara’s hand.
So it was the bowl, was it. Well, that was easy to take care of. Sara looked at Rainura squarely and then flung the entire bowl across the room. The contents flew through the air and scattered over the skins on the floor.
“NO!” shrieked Rainura as she followed the bowl with her eyes, wincing as it hit the floor. She turned her eyes to Sara, her expression murderous. Sara darted to the stone bench, unsheathing Arystan’s short sword from his belt. She knew exactly where he kept it.
Rainura eyed the blade. It was much bigger than the knife she held. She didn’t know how to fight. She wondered if Sara did. This was a battle she’d most likely lose.
Rainura had a sudden thought. Instead of advancing on Sara, she ran to the bed and clambered over Arystan, kneeling next to his head, bringing her knife to his throat. He didn’t move.
“Oh gods, you’ve drugged him,” Sara realized, her eyes flashing as she took in Arystan’s condition. “Why?”
Rainura kept the blade to Arystan’s throat, her black eyes on Sara. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill him. Put down the sword.”
“What have you done? Why, Rainura?”
“Why?” she spat. “Because I was here for Arystan long before you arrived. I was good to him, good for him, and he never gave me anything, never showed me anything other than using me. Then you came and he gave himself to you after just one night. One night! I don’t know how you bewitched him,” she said harshly, staring at Sara, pure hatred in her eyes.
“I didn’t bewitch him, Rainura. We just – it just happened. I can’t explain why we felt the way we did.” Sara’s skin prickled with fear. She began to move slowly closer, trying to keep the woman talking.
“Well, I want that.” Her voice was shrill, rising. “Any part of it will do. I want Arystan’s attentions. My concoction – which you destroyed – would have done just that.
Transferred Arystan’s feelings for you . . . to me.”
Sara’s eyes widened. The woman was seriously disturbed.
“If he won’t have me . . . I’m going to make sure he won’t have anyone,” Rainura said hysterically. She brought up her hand up and began to plunge the knife downward toward Arystan’s neck.