Chapter 86: Skye

"Touch me again and we're going to have a problem."
The sound of Taran's angry voice hastens my stride. I round the corner to the women's living quarters in time to see my sister wearing a towel and brandishing a kitchen knife at Hannah, Scarlett and the harem physician. I rush to stand between the point of the blade and the others in the room, not wanting anyone to get hurt. The young Taran that I knew as a teen had hated weapons and couldn't use them, but this Taran clearly knows what she's doing. She holds the blade with ease and balances on the balls of her feet as though prepared to strike.
"What's happening here?" I ask softly, drawing her attention.
"They took my clothes away and won't give them back. And now they want this" Her angry gaze swings to the doctor, " person to inspect me like some kind of cow. I don't want to be touched anymore. And I'm telling you, if my husband finds out all these people have been touching me he'll lose his shit."
"Language, Taran." I try to keep the amusement from my voice. She is exactly how'd I'd imagined she would be. Lovely, feisty, take-no-prisoners. She's my sister through and through; the thought of losing her again is gut-wrenching. I reach out a hand. "Please let me have the knife, sweetheart. The kitchen staff will want that back."
She rolls her eyes, flips it around and hands it to me hilt first. A near audible release of tension zips through the room as the harem relaxes once more. I'm certain they were more worried about Taran hurting herself than anyone else getting cut. A glance at her will tell a person that she has no business threatening anyone with a weapon. While she might be able to handle a blade, she has pacifist written all over her. I wonder how she and a warlord ended up married. A question I need answered before I hand her over to the man in question.
I hand the knife to Hannah and beckon Taran to follow me into my private room. Each member of the harem gets her own room, a private sanctum where she won't be disturbed. "Come, let's find you something to wear."
"I'd rather have my own clothes," Taran says grouchily, tightening her hand on her towel and following me.
I give her a stern look. "Don't for one minute tell me you prefer to wear those travel-stained, smelly clothes. You're in my Sanctuary now, and no sister of mine is going to appear in front of my people looking like a street urchin."
Her face softens and she smiles, dropping onto my bed as I search my wardrobe for something for her to wear. "This cop that would arrest me sometimes used to call me urchin because I wouldn't give him my name."
"Taran, you shouldn't bait men in authority, that's how you get yourself hurt!" I scold.
"I can't help it," she says with a dismissive shrug. "I was born to piss off the people in charge."
"Yes, you always were a stubborn self-righteous little thing. Why doesn't it surprise me that you've been arrested inside a Sanctuary before?"
"Hey!" she giggles and throws a pillow at me. "You don't even know the half of it."
I pull a dress from the rack, it's a little old-fashioned; light blue to complement Taran's eyes, with a high neck that'll button up over the scar on her throat. I toss it toward her and sink into the seat in front of my vanity mirror. Among the luxuries afforded to the women of the harem are the vanity desks, wardrobes filled with clothes, shoes and accessories. Beyond our bedrooms, we're treated to a kitchen with a chef, a personal trainer for exercising and guards to keep us safe.
"Tell me the half of it then," I demand. "Tell me about your life within Sanctuary."
She drops her towel and pulls the dress over her head. It fits loose on her smaller frame, but is still attractive, the colour beautiful next to her skin and hair, and her slight curves visible where the fabric flows down her body. Her fingers fly up the buttons, from her belly to her neck, ensuring each one is in place. She tests the collar, making sure it covers her neck, then she falls back onto the bed with a bounce.
"I was taken in at fourteen and given a husband," she starts bluntly.
"Fourteen!" I gasp, appalled. Most Sanctuaries have laws regarding women and marriage, and unfortunately marriage for girls of child-bearing age has become rather common. Still, I can't imagine my young sister becoming a bride at such a young age. The very thought is appalling.
She shrugs and echoes my earlier thought. "It's pretty normal in most Sanctuaries."
I don't comment that it's the norm for mine as well. My standards for a sister I love and other nameless faceless women are different I suppose. Perhaps a thought I should pick apart and examine again later. Does our need for babies outweigh individual freedoms? Should it?
"Xavier, my first husband, wasn't a bad person and our marriage wasn't real." A weight eases off my shoulders when she tells me this. Even though there's no way I could have saved her from the events that happened after we were separated, she's still my younger sibling, still my responsibility.
"So the man you married at fourteen isn't the Warlord you're married to now?"
She shakes her head. "No, I met Diogo a few months ago. I knew who he was, of course, since he's the Warlord, but I hadn't met him face-to-face. Our marriage well, it's a little complicated and I'm not sure you'll approve all of my actions that led to it."
I laugh out loud, some of my tension easing. "When you put it that way, I'm certain I won't agree with what you did. But tell me anyway."
She sighs and leans back against my pillow, sprawling out despite, or maybe in spite of, the dress. "I guess to sum things up as quickly as I can. I was part of a rebellion that started in our city several years before I arrived. As I grew up, my jobs became more significant until I stepped into the role of the Desert Wren, a rebel leader. My main job was to guide refugees into Sanctuary by any means necessary."
My jaw actually falls open as I listen to her story. She keeps her eyes on the hem of her dress, pressing it between her fingers nervously. She cares what I think, is worried that I won't approve. This bad ass woman cares about my opinion. Pride, along with a tiny dose of worry over her antics, swells within me. We each took different paths with the lot we were given, but in some ways, we are so similar. I'd become a leader within the fortress, while she'd become a leader within a rebellion. Both strong, both resilient, both fighters.
"I had just climbed over the wall and was preparing to meet with a small group of refugees when Diogo arrested me and charged me with treason." Here I gasp and sit up straighter, her story catching my full attention. Treason means death in most Sanctuaries. "I guess the more he got to know me, the less able he was to hand me over to the Authority. He kept me near him and eventually we married."
She's blushing and refusing to meet my gaze. I have no choice but to ask, "Were you forced into the marriage?" Her answer will dictate my next move. Whether I break my own heart and hand her over to husband or go to war with an important and powerful Warlord. A war that could possibly end in the fall of our Sanctuary. Regardless, I won't give up my sister until I'm absolutely certain she wasn't coerced into this relationship.
She sighs deeply and finally lifts her eyes to mine. "Yes, he forced me into marriage." I can feel the muscles in my face go rigid as my mind whirls, picking up and discarding different plans on how to move against her husband. But before I can get very far in my thoughts, she says, "I may not have had a choice in my marriage, but I'm happy now. I'm happy with my husband. I love Diogo and I want to be with him."
I can tell that she's saying what I want to hear, but I can also hear the sincerity in her tone. She does love her husband. Fiercely and with an unbending loyalty. Silas is right, I needed to find the truth and my path becomes clear.
I smile, hoping it's not too watery, and speak, hoping the sound of my heart breaking isn't evident in my tone. "We've wasted enough time then, haven't we? Let's get you back to your husband."