Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [96]
I told her, long ago. I had never told anyone else.
"He wanted to break me," I said to Eamonn. "Not all at once." I gave him a bitter smile. "I was lucky, if you can believe it, at least compared to the others. He was saving me for something special, or at least he was until Phèdre came. I wouldn't have lasted as long as I did if he hadn't. But he did… things."
"The Mahrkagir?" he asked softly.
I nodded. We were sitting face-to-face, now, both of us cross-legged on the sun-warmed slate. It had been hours in the telling. The lake-dampened attire we had donned had long since dried. In that bucolic setting, it seemed impossible to envision. I hugged my knees, hunching over them. "Yes," I whispered. "He did things."
Eamonn gazed steadily at me. "Do you want to tell me?"
"No. I don't know." I stared over his shoulder at the lowering sun. "One time…" I began, and then halted, shuddering. "Oh, Eamonn! It's vile."
"No." He touched my arm. "It may be. You are not, Imriel."
I nodded, shoving away unbidden tears with the heel of one hand. "One time," I said roughly, "there were two of us. Before Phèdre came. There was a woman, one of the Chowati, named Lilka, who was kind to me." I heard a ragged laugh escape me. "Ah, Elua!"
"What happened?" Eamonn leaned forward.
I gritted my teeth. "Duzhmata, duzhûshta, duzhvarshta," I intoned. "Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds. That was his Three-Fold Path. He marked her for death in his chambers, and offered me a bargain to spare her life, if I was willing."
"Were you?" Eamonn asked.
"Of course!" My pride stung, I flared at the words. "I tried." I scrubbed at the sockets of my eyes. "I tried," I said softly. "I did. He bade me to kneel, and open my mouth. And then he pissed into it." Eamonn made a sound; I smiled dourly. "That was the Mahrkagir's price," I said. "If I could swallow his piss without gagging, he would spare Lilka."
He flinched. "Did you?"
"No," I murmured. "I tried. I truly tried. But it was hot and it stank and oh, Elua! There was so much of it, and I was so scared. I swallowed what I could, and choked on the rest."
"I'm sorry," Eamonn whispered, looking sick. "So sorry. Dagda Mor, Imri! Did he… ?"
"He took her from behind," I said. "While I knelt there in a puddle of piss and bile and watched it. That was my penalty for failure." I turned my head to gaze at the lake, watching a breeze ruffle the water's surface. "He didn't use his iron rod, since it was already an act that would end in death. I didn't tell you about that. It was part of it, you know; sowing death in place of life. But he held a dagger to Lilka's throat the whole time, a filthy, old, rusty dagger. She kept her eyes closed," I added. "To spare me from seeing the look in them, I think; or mayhap from seeing the look in mine. I was grateful for that. Especially at the end."
Remembering, I fell silent. Eamonn said nothing, waiting.
"He spent himself in her," I said without looking at him, "and he pulled her head back by the hair and slit her throat. Her blood…" I paused, swallowing hard. "It was like a fountain, Eamonn. I was drenched in it."
With an effort, I made myself meet his eyes, fearful of the shock and disgust I might see in them. Instead, there was only shared grief and steadfast compassion.
"Ah, Imriel!" Eamonn grasped my right hand, clutching it hard. "I almost wish he were not dead, this Mahrkagir," he said fiercely. "So I could swear a blood-oath to avenge you!" He paused. "He is dead, is he not?"
I nodded. "Phèdre killed him."
"Phèdre?" His eyes widened. "Our Phèdre?"
It made me smile, a little. "She did. With a hairpin."
"Mother Mebh have mercy!" Eamonn's mouth hung open; he shut it with a click. "By all the cows in Connacht, Imriel, I cannot believe you lived through this." He shook his head. "All of you. But you… how old were you?"
"Ten," I said. "I was ten years old when they took me."
Tears shone in his grey-green eyes. "Ah, you poor lad!" He squeezed my hand. "People don't know, do they? Those poncey Court friends of yours?"
"What