Pariah (The New Covenant Series) (27 page)

While Riven readied himself for
bed, I decided to take a bath. There was clean water in the tub and a pot of hot water still over the small fireplace. I grabbed cloths and dumped the large pot into the bath water, warming it instantly. I soaked for what seemed like an hour and removed all of the makeup and stress from my face and body. I dried my hair in a towel as best as I could and combed it out and then put on a delicate yellow long sleeved cotton gown. It was so comfortable. I couldn’t wait to climb into the goose down comforter and escape into my dreams.

Riven was awake, sitting with
his back against the headboard. As I climbed in next to him, he slid down and propped his head on his bent elbow and looked at me. I mirrored his position and said, “What?”

“What did Father say to you,
and don’t lie to me please?” he said, closing his eyes and swallowing.

“Well, first of all, I wouldn’t lie t
o you. Secondly, he asked me if we were truly married, and I explained that though we hadn’t been married in a church or by a priest, we’d exchanged vows before God and considered them binding. He seemed to buy it.”

He looked at me, furrowing his brow. “Wh
y would he question that? I wonder why he asked you and not me.”

“He said that, um, if we we
ren’t married, he would like to marry me,” I said. I saw the anger flash in his eyes. “But I told him we were, and that I was young enough to be his daughter.”

He laughed a little. “Well, wh
at did he have to say then?” He smiled, seemingly content with my handling of the situation.

“Um, he said that I was old e
nough to be his lover, and that he’d had lovers younger than me. I told him it didn’t matter because we were married, and he said that he would have my body prepared for his examination of my mark tomorrow. Whatever that means,” I muttered.

He sat up and started pacing the
floor, “I hate him!” he yelled.

I shushed him and walked over to him.

Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay. I handled it, and I think he knows where we stand now.”

“No, Solara. It’s not okay. He has made passes at you since
you stepped foot on the island and did my claiming you as my wife stop him or slow him down? No! And don’t shush me. I will not calm down. I can’t stand the fact that he will see your body tomorrow. I just cannot stand it!” He stalked back and forth.

“Well, he’s not going to
see me naked or anything. He’ll just look at my back and hopefully be able to make sense of the language and markings. We were going to ask him to decipher them anyway, right?” I tried to lighten the mood with a timid smile.

“I can’t stand it. I will be in
the room with you. I don’t want him near you alone. Do you understand? If he asks you to bare your back for him, and I am not there, refuse him until you find me. Stall. Tell him that I want to be there to learn more of the mark. Whatever you have to do, do it. Just don’t go to him alone. He’s a snake. He’ll have you talked out of your panties in two minutes!” he yelled.

“Excuse me, Riven. But your
father cannot and will not talk me out of my panties. I am not the least bit attracted to him, and though some women may fawn all over him, I’m not that kind of girl. You need to give me more credit and respect than that. And yes”—I walked to the bed and climbed in—“I will make sure you are present for everything. Good night.”

I blew out my candles and f
elt the mattress sink under his weight. He blew his candles out, and we lay with our backs, facing one another. I fumed silently for what seemed like forever at his crappy comment. I was many things but a slut I was not.

He cast upon them the fierceness of his anger, wrath, and indignation, and trouble, by sending evil angels among them.

—
Psalm 78:49

We awoke again with tangled
arms and legs as the servants burst into our room with breakfast. “Eat fast. We must prepare you, miss,” a short plump gray-haired woman chirped. I wanted to scream “five more minutes” but refrained. I was on seafarer time and at the whim of a very disgusting fake father-in-law.

We pulled apart without speaking, and Riven went to the
basin room while I ate breakfast. I’d eaten two strawberries and a bite of a muffin when three women burst into my room, buzzing about like bees. They ushered me into the bathing room and began making me presentable for his grossness. They tortured my hair into braided submission, powdered, prodded, and massaged my back with oil until I was certain I might slip right off of my seat. I was put in a high-necked cerulean blue dress with a very deep plunging V-shaped back that was cut way too low for my comfort, especially since I would be in the hands of master pervert himself.
Why couldn’t my mark be tiny and elegant? Maybe on my shoulder blade.

After I was deemed presentable
by the style team, I exited to find Riven pacing the floor once again. He paused when I exited, looked me up and down, cursed under his breath something about my dress, and then began pacing again. I was sure the rug under his feet would catch on fire. Friction was a beast. Two guards showed up and announced that Martus would like to see me now, and that I must come alone. Riven shook his head. “No. I am her husband, and I shall accompany her. Or she will not go.”

The guards looked at one another uneasily and then motioned
for us to follow them. They led us down a hallway then left down another, then right down another before stopping at a set of double doors.

One guard entere
d the room. Shouting erupted from beyond the door, and then the guard exited. “He said that only Solara could enter his private quarters,” he stuttered, face red with embarrassment.

Riven pounded on the door. “Father, if you wish to see the
mark. I will be present. Otherwise, consider the deal off.”

More shouting from inside, and then Martus jerked the doors
open. I expected his face to be full of anger from such outbursts, but it was smug, and a half-smile tugged on his lips. His eyes were heavy and cold. He stared at Riven for a moment, and then swept his hand out to motion us in. It was his private quarters—his bedroom. It was humongous and lavishly appointed with intricately carved mahogany furniture draped with red silk. I was very uncomfortable being anywhere near his bed, even with Riven standing beside me and holding my hand.

A beautiful brunette with pr
etty hazel eyes ushered us to a large patio area where a table had been set up with comforters and a pillow on it. Books were spread about on small tables, and a magnifying glass sat ready for use. “Please, Solara, climb up and lay on your stomach. I need your back completely exposed.”

Riven grabbed my hand a
nd helped me up on the table in as lady-like a fashion as possible in the dress I found myself in.

He pulled a wooden stool over and
sat at my right side. I folded my arms under the pillow and faced him, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I hadn’t heard Martus in a few minutes and assumed he’d gone back inside until I felt cool, damp fingers glide along the skin of my back. I jumped at the contact. I imagined the fingers of the dead would feel warmer.

Martus began laughing. “Riven
, I must have an effect on your wife. She shivers under my fingers. Does she shiver under yours?” Riven didn’t reply. I squeezed his hand to steady at him. He shot teal daggers at his father’s audacity.

Martus grabbed a book and
his magnifying glass and began to slowly examine at the mark, making notes on some paper as he went. “The script is ancient. Aramaic. The language of Christ. Interesting,” he said, softly as his fingers traveled over my skin. “I should be able to decipher the text, but it will take more than one session. It is a very old language, and some words have multiple meanings, so we’ll have to choose the most likely and rational as we go. Riven, will you assist me?” he posed as a question.

“Yes, Father.”

The next several days were repeated in much the same fashion until Martus felt he had all of the text copied exactly. He left us to continue his work privately and promised that he would call for us as soon as he decoded the entire message.

It took him three more days
of nonstop work. We spent those days at the beach with friends until a summer thunderstorm drove us off the beach one evening. The lightning flashed and forked brightly over the ocean, giving an overall wicked effect. Electricity thrummed in the air. Rain fell in torrents sideways, forcing our usually billowing windows closed.

After washing up from my day at the beach
, a guard appeared at my door. Riven had gone to speak with Faric and Rebekah.

“Martus needs to speak with you i
mmediately and privately. It is very important that you come alone. He said that he is finished and needs to speak with only you as soon as possible.”

I considered getting Riven but decided against it. I left him a
note instead and headed out following the guard. Unease crept over me, but at the same time, I thought that perhaps the message on my back may be only intended for me. I paused outside of the double doors that led to Martus and his discovery. I didn’t want to be alone with him and knew Riven would be angry with me, but I needed to know the message. Now. I couldn’t wait for him. I couldn’t wait for anything. I had so many questions that I prayed the message would answer.

Why was I chosen? How did all of this relate to the prior
prophesy? What was my purpose, and what was I to do? How was I a key? I grabbed the handle and twisted and entered into the private quarters of Martus—my fake father-in-law slash pervert slash the only person I knew who could decipher the mark on my back.

A pleased look drifted over
his countenance as he saw that I’d come alone. He grabbed his papers and motioned me toward the table. On it were perched several candles whose white wax was dripping in rivulets down their smooth sides onto the plate beneath them. “Solara, I’ve finished. Finally. I think I have deciphered the message accurately. I think it is imperative that you hear it for yourself before sharing the information with anyone—especially Riven.” For once, smugness was absent from his face. He looked rather serious and sincere for once.

“Okay.” That’s all I could muster in response.

He cleared his throat and scooted his chair closer to mine.

He leaned over and held the papers out so that I could see them.
“The Aramaic is noted first and its translation after. Please listen to the words as they were written on your flesh, and then I will translate into our language.” The words as spoken by Christ flowed elegantly over his tongue as he pronounced each symbol, giving life and meaning to each. I closed my eyes and listened until he stopped and grabbed my hand.

A tear escaped my eye. “That was beautiful. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Did you understand it at all?”

“No. But it was as if my soul
was rejoicing at hearing those words,” I admitted, swiping another tear from my cheek.

He cleared his throat and star
ed at me for a moment, “Are you ready for the translation?”

I nodded, and he began.

Trust not the twin fallen.

Though both born in light.

Each chose his fate and fell.

One to earth and one to hell.

The Chosen is the key to life.

Earth’s future is at stake.

Guard your heart and guard your mind.

Else the foundation should shake.

Betrayal from those you hold in trust.

Will tremble the foundations of your soul.

Remembe
r you’re never alone, you must.

As waves o’er your head roll.

He cleared his throat and l
ooked up from the paper into my eyes. For a second, it seemed that compassion or pity traveled across his icy irises, but then he sat back and looked at me. “Solara, you are very much alone in this journey. Your friends will betray you. It is written.”

That observation shook me to
the core. I was still trying to absorb the translation. Could I trust him to give me the correct information? Was he trying to manipulate me? “But,” he said, placing his hand on my thigh, “my sons seem to pose a great threat to you. I would never allow them to hurt you, you know.” I looked down at his hand and reached down and pushed it off of me. He tilted his head back in laughter.

“What is so funny?” I challenged, fuming at his touch.

“You are so naïve. You are absolutely doomed, and you don’t even know it.” He kept laughing. I found absolutely nothing funny. I grabbed the paper from him, slamming the door closed behind me as I left. My feet felt like lead as I sprinted down the hallway, fleeing from his laughter, from the scorching handprint on my thigh. I looked back to see if anyone followed, half expecting to see guards and spears chasing me, but the sterile hallway was empty. I ran right into a solid form and almost fell backward when two strong arms caught me. Riven.

He looked irritated—ticked off to be more accurate. His face
was red, and his nostrils flared as he tried to breathe. The grasp on my arms tightened as I tried to pull away. “Where have you been? Have you been with Martus? I told you not to see him alone. I told you to come and get me!” he yelled.

I jerked out of his grasp, still clinging to the paper and yelled,

“Stay away from me, Riven.” I ran past him and flew out a set of open doors. Getting tangled in a white curtain, I ripped it down and continued my flight. I ran to the edge of the ocean and stopped to catch my breath. My heart felt heavy, and I clutched my chest and fell on my knees in the gentle surf, hung my head, and cried. I had to figure out how to leave. Alone.