Shattered remains

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

It hurt so terribly to breath, and the air was thick with the smell of healing herbs. Every inch of me hurt, my nails, broken and crusted with blood, the dark bruises covering my arms, torso and legs. Hoolies! Even my hair hurt, though I was only missing a small hank near the base of my neck.

Pristine bandages wrapped most of my wounds, a thick unguent smeared on the numerous bruises, the unpleasant taste of narcotics lingering on my tongue. And still it hurt.

Tears oozed out of my eyes, eventually drying, making my face itch. Just another torment among so many. I was safe for now, Michael had seen to it. A bitter laugh turned into piteous crying, then whimpers. Safe. The cosmic joke.

* * *

Roughly Davion had shoved me into the coach, and I remained silent. He was simply angry as he sat across from me, fuming silently and glaring at me only occasionally.

No doubt he didn't want to cause a scene where it could be witnessed. I spent the short ride putting together my story.

At the townhouse he jerked the door open before the footman could and hauled me unceremoniously out and into the house. The cruel grip on my arm was bruising already darkening skin. Damn my mother for giving me her skin, and her propensity to bruising. I saw Michael standing in the hallway, a puzzled look followed by dawning on his features. I caught his eye, my own filled with a fatalistic knowing. You can't save me.

Davion marched me up to his rooms, slamming the door so loudly I jumped. He let me go only long enough to throw the bolt. The next think I knew my head was aching, my ears ringing, and faintly the taste of blood in my mouth. He had slammed me against the door, and arm pinned across my throat.

I struggled for only a second, but he ruthlessly cut off my air. I don't know how I stilled myself, but I could breath again once I did.

"Answer me this, whore: who do you belong to?" Goddess! He smiled so congenially at me! When I didn't answer him swiftly enough he slammed me into the door again.

"You! To you, Lord Davion!"

"That's right. You belong to me, the clothes on your back, the food in your worthless belly, and this..." With his free hand he shoved it between my thighs and squeezed cruelly. I bit back a cry, turning my face to the side. The gauze was so thin, and he had insinuated his fingers deep. He felt the spent passion of my Prince still on me.

"Who were you with, houri? Who has stolen from me? As I so clearly did not give you away to anyone?" His arm ceased pinning me, instead coming up to caress my face, even though his hand between my thighs hurt.

I did not speak.

"Tell me, bitch. For if you protect your lover, and I can't get my hands on him, I will give you his punishment on top of yours. So speak!" He backhanded me, again I tasted blood, the soft inside of my cheek cut against my cheek.

"Don't think you're protecting him, because you are not. When I find out who he is, who touched you with his filthy hands, who stole a taste of what is solely mine. I'll find him, and I'll torture him a long time before he dies. Tell me know, and I might just kill him quickly." He spoke calmly, almost crooning to me. I closed my eyes and tears poured down.

I was going to die. He wouldn't stop until I told him, and I would never betray my Prince. Because I knew Davion spoke true. He would kill Christien. Not tomorrow, but eventually he would find a way, possibly even make me witness it.

Mother Ishtar, protector of women, have mercy on my soul, for this lowly slave who bears your honored name. Protect my Prince, ease his sorrow and save him from himself. Let him not find out the particulars of my death, and keep him from harm. Let him find a noble woman for him to love, so that he may forget in time ever hearing my name! I beseech thee...

"No."

***

I don't remember much of the beating that followed, or the rape. Mother Ishtar was at least a little merciful in that aspect. But I remembered his face, the murderous hatred shining in his eyes, his handsome face a rictus of ugliness. And that it hurt.

I fought back as best I could, clawing and biting, screaming when I could get enough air. But he was so big, his killers hands striking every blow precisely and with such force. I lost strength quickly, reduced to curling on myself to protect my vulnerable belly and face.

But he just kept coming, the blows and kicks seeming endless. Only as I was loosing consciousness did he stop, panting heavily as he stood over me. I was prone on the floor, to hurt even to writhe. Blood and angry scratched marred his cheek. Not all of the blood was his. I could feel the warm ooze of blood as it dripped painfully down my skin from various places.

The last thing I remembered was his busy hands working on the lacing's to his trews. Then it was blessedly quiet. Had I died? Wasn't I supposed to be greeted in Terre-d'Ange-That-Lies-Beyond by all my kin who had gone before me? Wasn't everything supposed to stop hurting?

Pain.

Pain brought me keenly back to the shattered remains of my self. It was cold, and filled with pain, this new world. I wasn't dead. Pity.

"I said hurry damn it! Fetch the blasted healer, leave Lord Davion to me. Merciful Elua! What has he done to you, girl? What did you do to push him so over the edge?" a man's soft voice muttering over me.

I dragged one swollen eye open. Michael, a crease between his brows. He touched me and I tried to crawl away, but it hurt so! Instead I curled into myself, as best I could and cried pitifully, even though it hurt.

"Just let me die. Please, I want my mother, just let me die. Can't let him know about my Prince. Please, just let me die. I want my mother-" I whispered brokenly in Akkadian, the words looping endlessly. Please, please please!

I blacked out again from the agony as the healer arrived and started tending my various wounds. Angry shouting followed me down, twin mirrors screaming at each other. How one could be so cruel, and the other save me I did not know.

Christien...

[Michael Clavel (I)]

I sighed wearily as I slowly climbed the stairs to the garret room Ishtar occupied. Davion had been enraged that I'd interfered. Hell, I hadn't intervened soon enough by the look of the girl's battered body. Davion really could be a pig. But she had done something to tip him off his precarious balance.

Softly I knocked on the door and walked in. It smelled heavily of herbs and faintly of blood and fear. A soft feather mattress had been appropriated from a spare bedroom and brought up to lay her on. She looked so frail and broken lying amid the pale sheets. I sat in the rickety chair by her bed and waited for her to wake, taking inventory of what had been done to her.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

I was instantly alert at the tapping on my door. My heartbeat roared in my ears and the sick taste of fear cloyed my tongue. Davion wouldn't have knocked. It was just a servant. You're safe. He wouldn't just knock like a human being...

I feigned sleep anyway, trying to still my racing heart, keeping my breathing slow. Through my lashes I watched Michael enter and sit. He said nothing, obviously brooding over something by the look on his face. I should just keep pretending, maybe he'd leave. But his very nearness kept my heart pumping fear into my veins.

"You want to know what happened, don't you? What makes me think I'm any safer telling you than him?" painfully I rolled to my back and tilted my head to look at him through my good eye.

[Michael Clavel (I)]

I was startled when she spoke, and horrified. Her voice had that horrible strained quality that only deep bruising around a windpipe can produce; a painful croak. I sat up straighter and spoke, using a touch of arrogance as a shield.

"I already know what you did. Davion caught you rutting with some other bloke. Very foolish of you, girl. And for protecting him. But if he is who I think, he may be protected enough, barely. Tell me who he is, Ishtar." I said this last gently. There were only so many princes in the City and I knew everyone at court. Davion did too, but he didn't know what I did.

Tears leaked from her eyes and she painfully shook her head, a muffled sound coming from her throat. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't sobs, but laughter.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

It was agony to move, to speak, and the laughter croaking out of me made bone grate in my broken ribs until it eventually subsided to a pained wheezing. The blind, petty arrogance of the man! As if I could be cowed by a stern talking to... his brother had nearly beaten me to death and I had not broken my silence. Well, I had screamed plenty, but no incriminating name he so desperately wanted to hear.

But I must have said something, it niggled at the back of my mind, I'd spoken some words there when he found me, pleading...

"Can't let him know about my Prince. Please, just let me die..."

Goddess! What had I done?

"He's not safe enough. No one is. What's to say if I tell you, you won't tell the Bastard. And then he ends choking on his own blood from a knife to the back? No, I'll leave you with your speculation only. If this land is anything like Akkad, a prince is a dime a dozen." I closed my eyes for a few moments as a wave of pain washed over me, trying to focus and calm my breathing until it passed.

"Besides, when you open yourself to love, you leave your beloved the hostage of fate. I'll not give you that power over me."

[Michael Clavel (I)]

I just stared at her in silence for a few moments, at once angry with and admiring her courage. And she was only a woman. I stood, shaking my head.

"Then both of you are damned when he finds out. I'll say nothing." I left her to heal in the warm darkness of the attic.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

Three times three is forty three. A brown mouse stole the moon...

I tossed restlessly in the smothering softness of my bed. Every cell in my body hurt and my teeth chattered with cold. Vaguely I recognized the healer, the frown marring her wrinkled face. Which melted into the Mushira's cold perfection, haughty and cruel. A serpent's tongue flicked from between her perfect lips and I cringed.

Fever. I was sick, so very sick, and cold, but hot and... my thoughts were as sand, pouring between my fingers. The Mushira left and the healer spoke, but I did not know the words.

"I only speak Akkadian." But it was said in perfect high court D'Angeline. I giggled, gasped with pain from a particularly tender bruise and subsided into humming softly to myself, feet twisting in the sweltering covers.

"Three time three is forty three, my prince will buy me the moon!"

[Michael Clavel (I)]

A knock on my chamber doors roused me from fitful sleep. Pacing over and opening it, I was greeted with the concerned frown of the healer's face. Something must be wrong.

"Lord Michael, you said to come to you if she worsened. A fever has set in and she is babbling in some strange tongue intermittently. I hate to bother you, but I need to know if she is just raving, or has reverted to her birth language." She wrung her hands for a second before stopping and smoothing her stained apron. I sighed.

"I will come. She may be speaking Akkadian by habit." The woman nodded and I followed her upstairs to Ishtar's garret room.

I was shocked when I saw her. The long mass of her hair was tangled and her skin bleached. She was indeed raving, and in Akkadian, something about the moon. Her eyes were fever bright and twin flags of color were lurid on her pale cheeks.

"Have you come for servicing, Sayyid? I think this houri is broken, no more playing with your broken toys. So sad. And I'll never tell you, Bastard. Nor Michael, or the mouse and the angels in heaven. Goddess it's so cold." She twisted in the bed, flinging covers from her slender body. So many bruises, so many bandages. I could almost feel my heart break for her.

Carefully I sat on the bed next to her, stretching my long frame beside her. She stared at me like an adder poised to strike before sobbing piteously and bringing a bandaged hand over her eyes, turning her still exquisite face from me. I gathered her into my arms and cradled her close, sharing what warmth and comfort I could.

"I'm sorry, sarika. For all of this. A man never apologizes to a woman, but you, you are a warrior, a fighter cloaked in the feminine. You will get through this, and I will find some way to help you. Sleep, sarika, heal and sleep." I caressed the tangled weave of her hair, lips pressed to her crown. She quieted a little, still feverish but calmer. The healer looked at me strangely but handed me a cool rag before resuming her seat.

What power did this girl have over me that I cared so much about her fate? I'd think of it in the morning, instead wiping her burning skin and closing my eyes.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

I woke slowly,, my eyes gritty and throat parched. But no longer burning or freezing by turns. My skin felt stiff with dried sweat and everything still hurt, but not as sharply. The room was pleasantly dim and warm, even though I knew it was mid morning or later. An arm was draped over my middle.

Cautiously I turned my head and saw Michael cuddled behind me, his long hair spilled across my own, face lovely in sleep. I sighed quietly, unsure of how I felt. I examined the feelings I had closely.

There was tenderness for him, and a genuine liking of his personality and dry humor. There was resentment, but more nebulous than specific, he had tried after all, to keep me from Davion's way. And gratitude. Not only would he keep his counsel about Christien, or my unknown prince, but he had stayed with me during the night.

'A warrior cloaked in the feminine...' I liked that, it suited me.

He stirred, the arm around me contracting, pulling me closer. It hurt, but not as badly as I had feared. His eyes opened and we stared at each other. I knew he was Davion's twin, his mirror image, but I saw little of the Bastard in Michael. Slowly I levered myself onto my side facing him, and with equal care brought his lips to mine in a soft kiss. It was not passionate, nor artificed, just... a kiss.

"Thank you, Michael."

[Michael Clavel (I)]

I wondered what lurked behind those pale irises, what nebulous demons she had hidden away. And they were so easy to drown in.

My fingers swept across her lips in the briefest caress before I rose carefully, disentangling ourselves. She settled with a pained sigh back into the mattress, those clear eyes just watching.

Thank you... for what? I had failed this woman in many ways.

"I'll be back this evening to check on you, sarika. Don't let anyone in here but me. Especially Lord Davion." The healer nodded, lips set in a grim line. I looked one last time at Ishtar before leaving, the door snicking softly shut behind me.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

After Michael left, I slept. My dreams were fragmented and strange, causing me to wake several times in a cold sweat, heart racing and the image of Davion's leer burned on my retinas. Toward late afternoon I ate some, the healer dosing me again with her potent brews. I dared not sleep again, and so suffered my pain awake.

The sun was just slipping past the horizon when I couldn't stand it anymore. I was filthy, could feel dried sweat clogging my skin, traces of blood, and other fluids, still coating me everywhere. Painfully I started getting out of the bed.

"What madness possesses you child! Stay in that bed!" The healer hurried over to me, trying to force me down. I bared my teeth at her. Startled she stepped back.

"I want a bath. Or is that too heathen for your D'Angeline sensibilities for me to desire removing the filth from my skin?" yes, I needed to remove all trace of the Bastard from me.

"Fine, you pull any stitches, or hurt yourself worse, you'll not be getting any sympathy from me." Roughly she pulled me to my feet and I bit back the moan of agony. Damn harpy, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

Once in the hall she found a maid to draw me a bath and painfully we made our way to the bathing room two floors down. I had to stop periodically, breathing labored and sweat staining my shift. Just let me die, oh Mother Ishtar!

Finally, oh finally we made it to the bath, water already steaming in the pretty room. The healer gently removed my shift and all the bandages, muttering how I didn't need them anymore, not really. I sank slowly into the warm water, hissing in pain as the water touched every cut, seeped into every bruise.

It was divine. The woman handed me a soft cloth and I slowly started rubbing my skin clean with the utmost care. It hurt, but was worth it. I didn't notice when she left, just kept methodically moving the cloth over my body.

[Michael Clavel (I)]

I spent the day wandering the streets, speaking with all those I knew in the shadier side of Mont Nuit. Who could take her in? Give her work? Where would Davion never find her. The prospects were grim.

Tired and disappointed I made my way back to the house. I'd only look in on her, not stay as I had the other night. Just a quick stop...

"My lord, she has decided to get up and is in the baths. I warned her against it." I was startled by the appearance of the healer.

"Fool girl. I s Lord Davion in residence?" I clenched one fist, praying he wasn't.

"Not that I know, I've seen no sign of him since just after... just after he beat her." Her jaw clenched and a hardness came over her eyes. She did not approve. Good, neither did I.

"My thanks, I'll go see to her. Get some rest." She nodded and left. I made my way to the bathing room.

She did not stir when I opened the door quietly, was so intent on her task, face slack and eyes vacant as her hands methodically scrubbed her body. By the gods! She was so beautiful... even with the bruises and cuts marring her skin, she was perfection, the slender line of her back, the sweep of her hair, the curve of her cheek, visible now the swelling had gone down.

I shed my cloak and the heavy doublet I wore, rolled up the sleeves of my cambric shirt. Her eyes finally registered on me and her expression did not change, just a keen wariness filling her eyes. Slowly I approached, knelt at her side and pulled the cloth from her still fingers. Gently I began washing her back.

"You came back."

"Yes. And you left the room, when I bade you not to."

"I felt so- I feel so dirty. I'll never come clean." her voice was quiet, and so very hollow. It took effort not to jump up and destroy something.

"Shhh. I'll help. You'll feel clean eventually- just... just give it time." She turned her face away, her slim shoulders shook only once, but I knew she cried. Gods! Why did I have to care for this chit?

Someone knocked on the door. I sighed my irritation, laid the cloth over the rim of the tub. Ishtar did not perceptibly move, but she seemed to cower into the corner of the tub. I opened the door only a crack and saw a servant hesitantly standing outside.

"Lord Michael, Lord Davion wishes to speak with you in the library. He said it concerned the girl..." I wanted to smash in his face as he tried to peer around me into the room.

"Fine. Get out. I'll see him in a moment." I slammed the door in his insolent face. Going back to the tub, I knelt in front of Ishtar, saw the faint trails of tears on her skin. Gently I wiped them off.

"I'll be back, you're still safe, I'm working on a plan, I promise you..." Promise you what? I could offer her nothing with surety. I sighed. "I'll be back." I left her, those clear eyes doubtful and at once forgiving, as if she knew I could do nothing, and forgave me my failure. I went to find Davion.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

Dispassionately I watched Michael leave before picking up the cloth again, resuming my cleaning. I hated this, hated the empty, cavernous feeling in my gut, the tight clench of anxiety in my chest at every odd noise, every footfall in the corridors. I was constantly sick with dread, praying Davion would not return, would forget me. No such luck, he was consumed with me, and would not forget me until I lay still and cold under the ground at his feet.

I shuddered, cold, in the warm water.

Something changed in the air, like static before lightning strikes, my whole body came alive with it. The sensation was similar to coming alive under a lover's touch, whole body primed and ready for the slightest touch, heightened, super aware. Save no lover had ever sent fear eating along my nerves like acid, no lover save one.

Footsteps softly approached, circled the tub before coming into my view. I sat paralyzed, fear howling wordlessly in my head. The leer from my nightmares, that sick tenderness was on his handsome face. Bile crawled up my throat and I wanted to vomit, but again, was paralyzed by my fear.

"Lovely houri, where is your protector now I wonder? You still owe me a name." I closed my eyes, lips moving silently in prayer for a second before opening them to scream.

[Michael Clavel (I)]

The library was empty when I arrived, a fire lit, a glass of half finished brandy sitting on the desk. Something was not right, where was my twin? I paced close to the fire, waiting impatiently.

Was that a scream? Gods, how could I be so stupid! I left the library at a dead run for the bathing room. Ishtar, please let me be in time!

The door was closed, that same insolent servant standing pathetic guard in front of it. He made an abortive gesture to stop me. I roared and shoved him aside, barreling through to the room beyond.

Time slowed, and for one frozen moment I saw the scene spread before me. There was water everywhere, splashed on every surface of the room near the tub. Davion was hunched over, both hands firmly grasping the back of her fragile neck, almost elbow deep in water. Pale limbs thrashed, strands of dark hair eerily floating and tossing with the water. The gurgle of frantic bubbles made me sick.

And the rage burning from my mirror's face, lighting him up in a blaze of emotion hardened me. I grabbed up the nearest object to hand, a hefty ceramic wash basin and smashed it into my twin's skull. He collapsed with a groan into the water, hands going slack on Ishtar's neck. She was still trapped under the water by Davion's bulk, weakly thrashing now to find air.

I heaved my twin to the side, his wet body lying very still on the floor. Did he live? I'd see in a moment. I reached into the water and pulled Ishtar free of it's smothering embrace.

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

Air! I filled my lungs full to bursting with it, even though it set off riots of agony in my damaged ribs. I didn't care, coughed weakly to dislodge the last of the cloying, scented bathwater from my abused lungs, filled them again to bursting with air and just breathed. I clung weakly to Michael, like a newborn, helpless. I was so cold.

He had stroked my face tenderly, and I had sat before him, hypnotized, as small birds were by a serpent's sway. His huge hands had smoothed down to my neck, pressed lightly and I prepared to die. I would not tell him the name, no matter how scared I got. Christien... I screamed in wordless terror.

He plunged my head into the water, ruthlessly holding me down, only to pull me up, sputtering, to plunge me back down again. I panicked, flailing and thrashing, trying to claw one final breath. My lungs burned and my limbs where so heavy! Then Michael was there, and I was still breathing.

I leaned over the tub, past Michael's sheltering arms and threw up. I lay shaking in his grip. His hands soothed me, stroking my back, the same cloth I'd scrubbed myself with being used to wipe bile from my face. He lifted me from the tub, held me secure to his chest; nothing but wet skin and bones.

He stood over his fallen brother, nudged him with his boot. Davion groaned but did not stir and my heart threatened to burst from my chest, pounding so hard. Michael grabbed his cloak and jacket, covering me with both before carrying me from the room and down the hall. I kept my eyes on Davion's prone form until he was out of sight. I should be dead...

[Michael Clavel (I)]

Her whole body trembled as I carried her down the hall to my rooms, her face bleached of color, like dried bone. Her skin felt cool and I worried she was going into shock, I had to get her warm.

We entered my rooms and I went over to the bed, carefully setting her down before returning to the door, throwing the bolt. Who knew how long Davion would remain unconscious, I had to get her out from the house before he did. Myself as well. Decisively I went to work.

From the secret caches about my room I pulled all of my valuable possessions, money and documents, placing them in a bag on the bed. Ishtar didn't move, just sat numbly where I had left her. I went to my closet and fetched warm clothing, for myself and something for her. Again, all the items went into my packs. I laid down a few items for Ishtar next to her on the bed. Gently I turned her wax face to mine, her eyes sightless. She did not respond to her name.

I slapped her.

The blow was not hard, but brought her back to herself, a wounded look in her eyes.

"Forgive me sarika, you are going into shock. Can you stand?" She nodded her head, shakily got to her feet, a slender hand braced against my supporting arm. "I need you to get dressed. All of it will be too big, but there is no time to go to your room and fetch your things. I'll find a way to get them to you- no matter. Get dressed."

I helped her as much as I could, tucking and twisting the extra fabric around her as best I could. She looked ridiculous, be at least she would be warm. Once she was modestly covered, I swung the heavy weight of my cloak around her shoulders. It was equally huge on her, and she looked lost in it's dark folds.

"I've money in the inner pocket of the cloak, enough to get you by for a week or so if you are careful. I need to know one thing; can you get to your Prince?" Her spine stiffened and she stepped back from me.

"I'll still not tell you, despite saving me."

"I don't care what his hoolie's be-damned name is! Can you get to him on the coin I gave you or not?" I yelled, frustrated with her stubbornness. I was helping the damned girl!

Her hand fished in the coat, weighed the bag and nodded.

"Good. Follow me and I pray to the gods you'll be safe wherever it is you are going."

[Ishtar Palindrake (I)]

Everything was moving so fast, and yet I couldn't seem to keep up, my limbs slow and heavy. Michael threw another cloak around his broad shoulders, lifted his packs and took me by the arm. Sluggishly I moved after him, forcing my body to move. I was still cold.

Like ghosts we slipped through the house to the main doors. We saw no one, heard no angry footsteps chasing us. Davion must still be unconscious. Oh gods if only he were dead! But that much luck was not in my stars.

Michael lead me outside and down to the stables. He left me, an admonishment to silence his only words. I jumped at every noise, cringed from every shadow. Was it Davion? Would he finally lay hands on me this third time and kill me? I nearly screamed when hands touched me but choked on the sound. It was just Michael, leading his horse, his packs neatly stowed. I felt my heart would burst, terror slow to leave my veins.

He swung into the saddle, carefully lifted me to sit sideways in front of him, his cloak pulled close around me. It hurt, being lifted, my ribs and all the many bruises. But the pain was worth it, if I was to be free.

We rode quietly through the main gates of the house and into the streets beyond. Not many people were out, the hour was late and the City winding down in it's more decorous neighborhoods. Night's Doorstep was still very alive though and it was here Michael stopped, gently eased me from the horse to the ground before dismounting.

"I'll find you a coach for hire. I want you to pull up your hood and let no one see your face. Tell them where to take you and pay in small coins- nothing outrageous. You want no one to remember you this night. Davion will search for you. And for me. Go to your Prince, stay guarded, stay safe. If you need anything from me, leave word at the Cockerel with a woman named Layla- only with Layla." His eyes searched my face, cool as the waters of the sea off Tyre.

Was that regret I saw there? Compassion? Through the fog shrouding me a swell of emotion bloomed in me, tenderness. Shakily I reached up, hands framing his face, the long strands of his hair tickling my skin. I pulled him down to me, pressed my lips to his. My saviour. His arms came around me, pulled me close. It hurt, but the sweetness of the kiss soothed it.

Then he was gone, long strides carrying him around the side of the building, and me left standing numbly in his wake. With a small shake I pulled the cloak tight around me, drawing the deep hood over my hair and face. Shortly a carriage rolled to a stop in front of me.

"Where to lad? Bloke came round and said you needed to travel- discreetly."

"Take me to the Palace."

I stepped lightly into the coach.

Christien...