Blood of Azura

Part VII

So it had a name. 

The beast of Leoth had a given name.  She hated how soft it sounded on his mouth.  In her head.  In the space between them.  She hated it.  She hated him more for giving it to her. 

It was far easier to hate him when he spoke to her like a master spoke to a slave.  When he growled his demands at her.  When his mouth pulled back in its impatient growl to reveal his beastly teeth.  She did not want this: she did not want him speaking in soft tones and looking at her with humanity in his eyes and giving her his name

'Then let me say it again, I will never beg you for anything, Theodan.'

Surprisingly, the beast smiled at her.  A close-mouthed imperious smile that made his eyes look aflame. 

'Time changes many things,'  he replied, arrogantly.  Her fingers tightened harder into fists.  'Those who speak with the most haste are often those who have most to regret.'

He reached across to lift the battered metal goblet from the table, filling it from a similarly-battered looking jug with markings etched into its sides, and drank deeply. Then he refilled it and quenched his thirst once more. When he turned his eyes back to her they looked slightly glazed, a calmness now settled over them.   

'I would know your name in return,' he said as he lowered his cup, fixing her with a commanding stare.  

She started in shock.  She had not for a moment considered this.  What need did he have of her name?  Wouldn't 'slave' or 'female' suffice as it had done so far? 

Her torso tightened, bones hardening, her mind grasping, clutching.  She could not refuse to give him her name, she had pushed him too far already this night.  She hoped the panic did not show on her face as her mind struggled to find purchase on something, anything.  She considered using her dear mother's name but no Azurian servant would ever be named for a Calate queen.  She clawed harder, he was going to make the impatient noise again, he was going to be suspicious of the reason for her reluctance.  Think, Fara. The name came to her in a bolt of lightning straight to her chest, a memory of warmth and love and longing.

'Cassine," she uttered, startled with the sound as it left her mouth.  'My name is Cassine.'

She saw him let out a deep breath, saw his shoulders relax.  No Leoth warrior would know the name of a long-dead Princess of Calate who did not live past her seventh name day. 

'Cassine,' he repeated in that oddly accented tone. It caused a tremor of something dark and forbidding to roll over her bones. Her dead sister's name sounded almost like a curse on his lips. It did not belong there.  It did not belong here in this tent being used as a falsehood. 

Why in the goddess had she said it?  Hadn't she buried her sister's name long ago, for it hurt too much to think of her? Now she'd called it forth to be used by a Leoth to hurl commands and insult at her. Cassi, forgive me, please forgive me.