The Vixen Trials

I'll Stop You

Dakkoul

His brother. The thought sank into his heart even as he tried to brush it off. Malek just wanted to find his father not claim a brother. He ordered Malek to sit up and began binding the wounds on his body, the wounds he had made.

"Why was I punished?"

"Consider it an initiation," Dakkoul said the side of his mouth twisting. "All new slaves must be beaten by the Hattavah and flimsier the excuse, the better. It's so you hate and fear me. It's supposed to keep you obedient."

Malek digested that in silence.

Dakkoul added, "When you report to Lord Rustavan, you must make it clear that you hate me. He trusts hatred. It will make him believe all you say. And if you're convincing enough, he'll stop ordering me to hurt you." He stood to his feet.

With a groan Malek copied him. "That burned. You didn't hold back at all."

Dakkoul doused the lamp and the room plunged into shadows. "He'd have liked a whole cup better. You should be grateful I kept it short."

Malek did not reply. 

That night, as Dakkoul lay on his straw pallet, he made loud snoring noises to see if Malek would sneak in after all to kill him or steal from him. By the time he was convinced Malek was not coming, Dakkoul could not sleep. The shadows, as they so often did, seemed to have faces that whispered against him. If he entertained them long enough he would see their features and remember their names. The one hovering by his stool had spiky auburn hair, a kitchen slave with the fever whose death had been ordered by Lord Rustavan. She'd opened her eyes right before he plunged his knife in, begging for her life. She often returned to whisper curses against him.

But it was the newly dead Captain Tanaach that demanded his attention now. Every time he shut his eyes, he could sense him approaching and the urge came to get his dagger. He rolled off his pallet, lit his lamp and found it.

Malek barged in, did a double-take, then lunged for the dagger wrestling it from his hand. It clattered to the floor. With his foot, Malek shoved it so it slid out, past the tattered curtain, into the hallway.

"How dare you?" Dakkoul shrieked, so overcome by fury that Malek had time to back against the wall before Dakkoul launched at him, aiming punch after punch that sometimes connected and sometimes missed. Malek had a knack for dodging blows but he did not fight back. Finally Dakkoul landed a punch to Malek's stomach that crumpled him to the ground.

Malek staggered to his feet. "I follow my owner's orders, Hattavah."

The coolness in his tone sliced through Dakkoul's anger, although shame made him say, "I'll cut myself if I want to".

Malek gave him a derisive glance then hobbled out, spots of fresh blood appearing on the back of his tunic. Dakkoul followed him, saying, "You can't stop me," as Malek picked up the dagger and slung it through the belt of his tunic.

"And it's not like that's my only blade," Dakkoul added. Only it was the one he usually used. He liked the feel of the hilt and the engraving of the Fox on it seemed fitting. All he had to do was demand it back. He knew that. Yet did he really want to?

Malek ignored him, put the dagger on the ground and stretched out over it, his hands behind his head as cushion. "This ground is cold, Hattavah," he said in a tone of mild complaint. 

"Don't sleep on it then," Dakkoul snapped. "Lean against the wall."

"I've tried that. I fall over when I go to sleep. It's a shock, waking up after a crack to the head."