Cursors's Fury

It was a slaver’s device, furywrought to give control of whoever wore it to the slaver. It could incapacitate its wearer with pain-and, more insidiously, it could, at the slaver’s option, provide the inverse of that sensation, and just as intensely. Discipline collars were sometimes used to restrain particularly dangerous furycrafters being held for trial in the legal system, though such cases were historically rare.

But in the past century or so, their manufacture and use had become far more widespread, as the institution of slavery deepened and darkened. Prolonged exposure to the collars could shatter the mind and will. Continually forced through agonies of torment and euphoria, victims were compelled to obey the slaver and forced to experience pleasure as they did so. Over time, often years, many such slaves were reduced to little more than animals, their humanity torn from them and replaced with the simple, irresistible compulsion of the collar. Chillingly, they were often deliriously happy to be that way.

More independent-minded individuals could often resist the extremes of dehumanization others faced-for a time, at least. But none of them survived it unscathed. Most went hopelessly mad.

“Blushing,” Odiana singsonged, and spun on her toes in a little dance step. Her silk dress changed colors, shifting from pale blue to pink. “Just this color, Cursor.”

“I’m not wearing a collar,” Amara said quietly.

Lady Aquitaine arched an eyebrow. “Why on earth not?”

“I’m aware of how dangerous they can be, Your Grace,” Amara said. “And I have certain reservations about the notion of closing one around my neck.”

Odiana covered a titter with one hand, dark eyes shining as she stared at Amara. “You needn’t be so afraid, Countess,” she murmured. “Honestly. Once the collar is on, it’s quite difficult to imagine living without it.” She shivered, and licked her lips. “You scream all the time, but it’s the inside kind. You scream and scream, but you can only hear it when you’re asleep. Otherwise it’s quite lovely.” She gave Aldrick a somewhat petulant look. “My lord won’t collar me. No matter how naughty I am.”

“Peace, love,” Aldrick rumbled. “It isn’t good for you.” He glanced at Amara and said, “the collars aren’t genuine, Countess. I made them out of table knives this morning.”

“It isn’t the sort of pretend I like to play,” Odiana sniffed. “He never lets me have my favorites.” She turned away from Aldrick, passing a second costume like Amara’s to Lady Aquitaine, and took a third for herself.

Lady Aquitaine regarded Amara thoughtfully, and said, “I’ve some cosmetics that should make your eyes look lovely, dear.’

“That won’t be necessary,” Amara said stiffly.

“Yes it will, Countess,” Rook said quietly. The plain-looking young woman sat in a chair in the corner farthest from Aldrick and Odiana. Her eyes were sunken, strained, and worry lines crisscrossed her brow. “The pleasure slaves Kalarus imports for his retainers and personal guard in the citadel are a common sight. Kalarus’s favored slave traders are always in competition with one another and spare no expense. The clothing, the cosmetics, the perfume. To do anything else will draw unwanted attention.”

“Speaking of perfume,” Lady Aquitaine murmured, “where is the good count Calderon? We all smell like folk who have been traveling for days.”

A beat later, the room’s door opened, and Bernard came in. “Bath’s ready,” he said quietly. “Other side of the hall, two doors down. There’s only two tubs.”

“I suppose it was too much to hope for a proper bath,” Lady Aquitaine said. “We’ll just have to go in turn. Amara, Rook, by all means go first.”

Rook rose, gathering up her clothing-the same dark colors she’d been wearing when Amara had captured her. Amara pressed her lips into a firm line as she took her own costume and turned to the door.

Bernard leaned casually against the door and held up a hand. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t want you alone with her.”

Amara arched a brow at him. “Why not?”

“Regardless of what she might or might not have to lose, she’s the master assassin for a rebel High Lord. I’d prefer it if you weren’t alone in the bath with her.”

“Or perhaps,” Odiana offered, “he wants to see what Mistress Bloodcrow looks like beneath her clothes. “

Bernard’s nostrils flared, and he glared at Odiana. But instead of speaking he turned the look on Aldrick.

The big swordsman did nothing for several seconds. Then he exhaled slowly and said, to Odiana, “Love, hush now. Let them work this out in peace.”

“I only want to help,” Odiana said piously, moving to stand beside Aldrick. “It is hardly my fault if he is so-”

Aldrick slid an arm around Odiana, and placed one broad, scarred hand over her mouth, pulling her gently against him. The water witch subsided immediately, and Amara thought that there was something smug and self-satisfied in her eyes.

“I think,” Amara said to Bernard, “that it would be wise to have a pair of eyes watching the hall in any case. Wait outside the door?”