Marooned - Christie Golden [30]
How often, in her brief life, had she been a prisoner? First, the subtle prison of simply living on Ocampa, being taken care of by a benevolent yet distant Caretaker, with no room for a young girl to stretch the wings of her imagination and fly. Then a more brutal life as a slave of the Kazon, her reward for trying to escape that first prison.
Her frail body had ached with blows and bruises, staggered beneath the weight of loads far too heavy for her fine bone structure and delicate frame. Nights had been easier, filled with dreams of escape, of reaching for something grander and more wondrous than she could ever have dreamed.
And Kes had also been a prisoner inside her own body, watching her small hands, commanded by Tietan's cruel whims, commit murder, feeling her lips part for rough kisses without love, hearing her mouth utter obscenities. She had lurked quietly inside her own mind, fighting Tietan's possession of her body with everything she had. She had won all of those fights, but not without cost. She had left Ocampa and its closed minds behind; had escaped the grip of the Kazon thanks to Neelix and all those aboard Voyager, had been able to stand against Tieran long enough for those same friends to free her.
But now Kes was again a prisoner.
True, this time the cage was beautiful and comfort able. There was good food and wine to nourish her, beauty to delight the eye, all sorts of interesting tasks to engage her imagination. And her jailer was not an elusive demigod of an alien, nor a rough and cruel Kazon, nor her own body commandeered by another.
Aren Yashar was intelligent, cultured, witty-and implacable.
Prisoner.
Impotent rage rose in her, crested, and she slammed her fist down on the table. The plate and silverware jumped.
"Careful, my little bird, you'll hurt your hand!"
Aren Yashar, of course, appearing suddenly and in silence. Jailer. Kes remained silent, her gaze fixed on the colorful foodstuffs arranged artfully on the deli cate plate. Her breathing was quick and tears welled in her eyes. Not tears of fear or sorrow, but tears of an almost overwhelming wrath that threatened to break her control-the legacy of Tieran.
The pirate leader sank into the seat beside her. "You've eaten nothing, little bird."
:,I'm not hungry." The words were almost a growl.
"But you must eat something." He leaned forward. Kes glanced at him, saw his face, placid and tranquil, filled with the peace that a near-eternal life-span imparted. Suddenly Kes was angry at him for that, too, for living thousands of years while she could only hope to count the years of her own life-span on her fingers.
"Shall I feed you then, like a real little bird?" He lifted a spoon and brought it to her lips, an indulgent smile curving his own mouth. "Come, Kes, it's much tastier than grubs, I promise you."
Kes barely managed to keep her hands still in her lap, clenched into tight fists. The desire to strike the spoon out of Aren's hand was almost overwhelming, but she conquered it.
Don't lose your temper. Don't let him see how this is wearing on you. Kes closed her eyes for an instant, mentally summoning the inner quietude that Tuvok had taught her was always there, always within reach, anytime she needed it. When she at last looked the Rhulani in the face, her features were calm and composed.
"You don't know my friends," she said, her voice cool and soft. "They won't give up that easily."
Aren averted his eyes for a moment and was silent. "Kes," he said at last, "I'm sorry to say that... it is you who do not know your friends."
The control slipped. Kes reached for it again, pressing her lips tightly together for a second before speaking. "What do you mean?"
"I installed listening devices aboard your captain's vessel," Aren confessed. "I heard their unguarded comments. Captain Janeway is a practical woman, and she does have the welfare of her other crew members to consider. It doesn't seem likely that they will be returning for you."