Chapter 84: Skye

Ushering my sister to the harem feels both proper and shameful at the same time. I've become a different person since we last met, accepting things into my life that didn't seem real when I was a sixteen-year-old girl searching for Sanctuary with my family. Now, the women of the harem have become my family.
The residents, particularly Hannah, took care of me when I first arrived. Taught me how to fit in, but also how to preserve my individualism in a society taken over by the base instinct to survive. They showed me that there is no shame in belonging to a group of people whose only job is to serve the Warlord. I learned that sex is just another weapon. A more subtle weapon than the weapons of men, but just as potent. Sometimes just as deadly.
I took their teachings and applied them to my Warlord, weaving him into the spell of my love as quickly and effortlessly as if I'd been born to the role. Much like my sister, I'm a survivor. Unlike my sister, I'm also practical. I don't see the world in the blacks and whites that she sees. I believe that there is nothing wrong with taking the law into your own hands when living in a lawless world. I've climbed to the top of my particular world and this is where I want to stay.
"You'll be comfortable in here," I try to reassure Taran, stepping away from her. "Hannah and the others will take care of you."
"Where are you going?" she asks sharply, eyeing the other women with suspicion. "I want to see my husband."
"I understand," I tell her calmly. "But we have certain protocols we need to go through before we allow guests into the fortress. Especially guests of Warlord Fuentes' power. I need to go and see my husband, update him on the situation and your presence here. I'll be back very soon."
She shakes her head and looks around again, her gaze sweeping the women who are watching her curiously. Their revealing flowy dresses clash with Taran's travel worn masculine outfit. The women in this room have become a status symbol. The property of a powerful figurehead. Where once I would have dismissed their power as I can see my sister doing now, I no longer underestimate its worth.
I turn to Hannah. "Please take good care of Taran. She's very special and is to be treated with the utmost respect."
"I understand," Hannah says softly, her kind amber eyes promising that she will do as I've asked.
I step closer to the other woman, bending my lips toward her ear. "Don't let her leave the room."
"I heard that," Taran says sharply, if a little sarcastically. "I'll leave the room if I want to. In fact, I'm leaving right now." She heads toward the door only to stop short when a big, mean-looking harem guard steps into her path. She turns back and glares at me.
I sigh. Same old Taran. Headstrong, stubborn and a bit of a brat. "You need to remain in the harem, Taran. It's for your own safety."
She shakes her head and balls her fists at her side, the frustration within her visibly rising. "I want to see Diogo. Right now!" I can understand her feelings. She's been through hell, kidnapped from her Sanctuary, taken from her husband and dragged into an emotional meeting with a sister she thought long-dead. In her place, nothing would stop me from going to my husband.
I go to her, taking her fisted hands in mine and rubbing them. I talk to her in a low voice so the others can't hear. "Please trust me, Taran. I promise you, no one wants to hurt you here. In fact, everyone in this room has reason to care for the plight of a fellow woman in need. Allow them to take care of you and I'll be back before your husband can set fire to our wall."
Hannah walks slowly toward Taran, as if approaching a wild animal in desperate need of care. "Are you hungry?" she asks kindly, waving her hand in the direction of a hallway that leads to a kitchen. "We have many succulent choices. We're lucky here in the fortress, we have access to the best and freshest foods."
Taran looks as though she's going to refuse but then her hand drifts to her stomach and, despite her pique, she says, "Okay, I am a little hungry, but only because I threw up my breakfast."
Hannah laughs softly and links her arm with Taran's. "Let's take care of that and then we'll discuss what you'd like to do next. Perhaps a bath or a change of clothes. We can do whatever you please."
"I'll be back before you even know I'm gone," I assure Taran and walk swiftly to the main door before she can argue some more. I rap on it and seconds later it swings open revealing another big, burly harem guard.
Wolfe falls into step beside me as I walk. Tension flows between us until I feel like I'm going to start screaming just to crack his eternally expressionless look. Before we arrive at the Warlord's chambers, he speaks.
"What went on between you and the Outsider?" he demands.
I frown at him. "Nothing."
"Something," he snaps. Still, his expression doesn't move. When he looks at me, the only indication I get that he's annoyed is the twitch of the badly patched skin over his empty eye.
I stop walking and spin toward him. He stops too, taking a step toward me until we're standing in each other's space. I dart a glance down the empty hallway before I hiss, "What exactly do you want to know? Do you want to know if I fucked him, is that it? Do you want details?"
His fingers curve as though he wants to grab me. He doesn't touch me though. Maybe he knows the Warlord will punish him, but I don't think that's it. Wolfe has far more power that our current leader. He also commands the respect of the military and the fear of the residents within our Sanctuary. If he made a bid for power, he might actually win. The question is, would I become a casualty in his war, or would I pass from one man to another?
I have power too and could put up a fight if he tried to take over. The harem holds its own when it comes to loyalty within the city. Unlike other Sanctuaries we don't have a lot of strife or unrest among the citizens. While our Warlord and his men take care of security, the harem manages the people. We take care of medical needs and supplies, food production and distribution, clothing, water, education.
Now, if that same harem decided to rebel, decided to seize power, we'd have an entire city of loyal followers. They would burn the fortress to the ground rather than see their precious saviours harmed. And I stand at the head of the harem, proudly taking my place next to the Warlord as his favoured wife.
Does Wolfe see all this? Does he understand the implications, the potential war? I think he must. He's not a stupid man. His quiet reserve masks the constant watching and plotting that goes on behind that strange-coloured eye.
Rather than answer my question, he waves me toward the Warlord's chamber, his gaze fixed on the wall over my head. I clench my hand into a fist, resisting the urge to strike him. I turn and stride away from him, my soft slippers managing a satisfying tap, tap, tap as I walk. One day we'll be forced to deal with the tension that vibrates through every meeting. Today is not that day. My mind is elsewhere.
The doors to the Warlord's chamber are opened for me, allowing me to walk through without pause. The guards stand on the outside, rarely allowed into his private sanctum. Everything in the fortress has become a well-oiled machine. The Warlord set it all up and I smoothed out the kinks, with a harem of women at my back.
I look around and spot my husband sitting in his chair next to the indoor herb garden, a blanket over his knees. The scent of nature fills my nostrils as I approach, a myriad of smells from flowers to strong herbs like basil, lavender and rosemary. Though not a green thumb myself, I have spent many enjoyable hours in the garden watching Silas dig and muck about.
I sink to my knees next to his chair and wait eagerly for his attention. It used to come quickly, sharp and almost desperate as he realized his love for me. Now he's slower, disease having ravaged his senses. Glioblastoma, or brain cancer, is the diagnosis our doctor came up with. We were told that, without intervention, this condition would become fatal after a few years. Not trusting his assessment, believing there had to be an available cure, I'd sent away for another doctor, another opinion. At great peril and expense a doctor arrived from the East coast only to second the opinion of the first.
Ultimately, the diagnosis means that my husband will die at a relatively young age for a Warlord who was top of his game when we met. 50 or so years ago we would have been able to get him medications and treatments to either cure or slow the ravaging effects, but now, we are left to simply make him as comfortable as possible.
"Silas," I whisper when it appears he isn't paying attention. He must be having a bad day. Though slow, he's normally sharp enough to know what's happening around him. Headaches and fatigue are a constant nowadays.
He turns his gaze slowly down and looks confused for a moment. I fear we've finally reached the point where his memory can no long hold up under the pressure of the disease. Then he smiles, his special smile, just for me. It lights his face in a way nothing else can do, stretching those thin lips and showing a hint of the crooked teeth behind.
"My love," he says and reaches a shaking hand, placing it on top of my head and stroking. I close my eyes at the caress, soaking in his adoration.