10: Soulbound

Chapter 10: Soulbound

The Time: Present Day, 720 AE

The Place: Central Saimr

For the second time in a row, Ari wakes without knowing immediately where she is.

She doesn’t open her eyes, or speak, or give any other obvious indication that she’s technically conscious. Partly this is because the inside of her head is scrambled like an egg on a hot skillet, and partly it’s thanks to the alarming yet not unpleasant sensation of someone else’s magic winding its way through her spiritual veins to nestle deep inside her core.

She’s never felt anything quite like it. Earlier, Mother Mouse had poked around in her pneumatic system to help purge the Harbinger’s toxins from her body—that was the sort of intrusion any warcaster would be used to, and Ari is no exception. But this is… not that. This is a feeling not unlike becoming a hand puppet with a fist rooting around in its innards, reshaping her flesh and bones to satisfy its own strange whims.

It should probably hurt. Instead, it feels… soothing? The stream of magic running through her pneumatic vessels is warm and rich, so densely-packed with numina that every drop funneling through her makes her tingle wonderfully: an inside-out massage. Ari vaguely recalls that her spiritual veins should be in quite the state right now, but they feel as sturdy and reliable as ever, blessedly free of abrasions or obstructions. Probably that’s thanks to the pacifying flow of energy rooting around in her core.

She knows she should be worried about that, but she just can’t bring herself to panic. It feels so nice, so familiar, so…

Oh, who is she kidding? She knows who’s doing this. Who else but Sahan would have the power, the precision, and the interest?

She should be furious. And she will be, later. Right now, she lets herself drift, basking in the molten honey pouring through her body, and the much cooler sensation of slim fingertips pressing against her temples. She’d never even dreamed Sahan would ever touch her like this again. Is it so horrible, to let herself enjoy it? To give herself just a few minutes to not think about what comes next? To pretend she’s sixteen again, napping with her head on Sahan’s lap after over-extending herself during training?

You’re so pathetic, she thinks grimly.

No refuting that. But even her shame isn’t a potent enough motivator to drive her out of this lull. She sighs, turning her head to rub her cheek stealthily against the smooth silk of Sahan’s robes. Jasmine and amber. Same as always. If she could pipe this scent down her throat and swallow it until her stomach bloated, she would. She’s always heard that the nose is the doorway that leads to the halls of memory, and maybe that’s really true; breathing in Sahan’s aroma—the one that lingers on her skin, her hair, her clothes; sweet and intoxicating—makes her pulse skip weakly, makes her mouth slick with saliva, makes her breath come in short pants.

Her mind might deny it when it’s more aware, but her body recalls very well how to desire.

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), at that moment her brain patches itself together enough to burst through the fog of nostalgia and remind her exactly what happened before she conked out.

Varul–

The kids—

Is everyone okay?

Before she has time to think about it, Ari’s eyes bolt open and she shoots upright. Or… she tries to, until one of the hands on her temple swiftly grasps her shoulder and slams her back down so hard she lands with a wheeze.

Her heart is racing. Her throat clicks when she swallows. She blinks rapidly, clearing the fuzz from her vision. Canopy overhead. Blue. Tent. Command tent? Probably. She can’t hear anyone else; Sahan probably booted everyone out and took the command tent over for herself.

The air is faintly spiced with woodsy incense; the tent’s gloom is dispersed by a few emerald-colored magelanterns suspended above them. She can make out a long, long hank of dark hair, one slender gray ear, part of a sharp cheekbone, a dangling platinum chain earring dripping with teardrop-shaped amethysts.

She suddenly can’t seem to move her head. Or any other part of her body, for that matter. Nails dig into the side of her skull. Not hard enough to break skin, but certainly hard enough that she feels them.

Can she talk? It’s worth a shot. She licks her lips.

“Wh…” she croaks valiantly. She clears her throat, tries again. “What…”

There’s no answer. The flow of energy into her core, briefly halted by her attempted escape, resumes without a hitch.

Ugh. Ari’s brow furrows. Determined, she forces air through her beleaguered lungs and up her windpipe. “S…Saha—” Oh. “Your… Worship…” she course corrects, injecting as much flat displeasure into two words as she can manage in this state. “What’re… you doing?”

She’s not injured, she’s pretty sure, but her body isn’t responding to her the way it should. That’s incredibly annoying and also Sahan’s fault.

The toe of a leather boot nudges her waist—a light touch, but aimed so perfectly at the delicate spot under her ribs that it makes her wince anyway. It definitely isn’t Sahan’s; it’s coming from the wrong angle for that. Bewildered, Ari squints to the side as far as her poor little eyes can go without the use of the rest of her head. She can see a… leg? Clad in fine, form-fitting dark trousers and equally fine black boots.

“Can’t you see Dareja’s busy, mutt?” a smooth voice soaked in leisurely boredom asks.

Aughhhhh!!!! Of course it’s Suyan! Ari’s lips pull into a grimace.

“Then you can… answer this useless one, my… my lord,” she says blandly.

Suyan snorts. The tip of her boot nudges Ari’s ribs again. That’s gonna leave a bruise, no doubt. “Why would I do that?”

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Ari thinks for a moment. “Because… you like to… hear yourself talk.”

Suyan doesn’t respond verbally, but Ari can feel her sneering.

She doesn’t give up. “Everyone… alive?”

There are several beats of silence. Just as she’s starting to get anxious, Suyan clicks her tongue irritably. “Yes.”

No elaboration. No comfort. She could very well be lying, but Ari chooses to believe she isn’t—she doesn’t want to consider the alternative. She closes her eyes briefly and swallows.

“Varul?” she rasps.

Suyan makes another annoyed sound, more prominent this time. “Can’t you tell?”

“Can’t tell… my ass from my head right now…” Ari grumbles. “Someone… is drowning… my core.”

Sahan isn’t technically blocking Ari’s spiritual perception, but the flood of her magic is so overwhelming it’s impossible to discern anything past it.

“Shut up, girl,” Sahan says above her, her voice devoid of inflection.

It’s the first time she’s spoken since Ari awoke—the first she’s spoken to Ari since the last time she saw her five years ago, actually. That remote, imperious tone, like Ari really is some stray dog cowering at her master’s feet… it sends a hot flush down her breastbone that she resolutely pretends is only from anger.

Ari blows a raspberry.

“Varul?” she asks again, insistent. Her lips feel numb. Sahan isn’t exerting a lot of effort to silence her, but she is exerting some, and “any effort at all” from Sahan is equivalent to “a whole bunch of effort” from anyone else. It takes just about all Ari’s strength to force these words out.

She can hear Suyan’s eyes rolling around in her skull, but when she finally responds, Ari’s heart sinks. “She’s dormant. You overtaxed her.”

Guilt presses down on her sternum until she can hardly breathe. Oh, Varul… She’d finally gathered up enough strength to take on her true form–twice, actually!—and Ari had leached it all away, left her vulnerable, helpless. Varul has already given her so, so much. How could she?

She feels like the lowest scum on the planet.

Sahan speaks again. Her voice, compared to Suyan’s, is deep and controlled, commanding even in repose. “I gifted you an unparalleled blade, and you ruined it nearly beyond repair.”

Even after everything, Sahan’s unvarnished disappointment is like a knife in her gut. Ari bites the inside of her cheek to steady herself.

“Where…?” she asks, her voice small.

Sahan understands. “With me. Her reserves have been drained. If she’s to recover, she will require more attentive care than you can provide.”

Ari might feel like shit on someone’s shoe right now, but her eyes snap wide at that. A flare of possessiveness starts in her gut and burns all the way up to her tongue. “Not… yours anymore,” she says with as much venom as she can muster. It sounds… not very impressive.

Sahan’s tone is as even as a carpenter’s level when she speaks. Her nails dig small, idle circles into Ari’s scalp. “Whatever do you mean? Varul belongs to you, of course, and now you belong to me. If a lord’s serf raises a herd of cattle upon her land, don’t those livestock belong to her as well?”

…What? What?! Belong to—belong to who?!

Ari stares blankly at Sahan’s heavily-decorated shoulder.

It’s reasonably difficult to render her speechless, but she can’t think of a single word to say right now.

“You said…” she begins faintly. “You said… you would kill me if you s-saw me again.”

You didn’t want me! part of her cries. You threw me away, even when I begged! What changed?

Sahan’s nails keep scratching at her scalp, and she realizes belatedly that her hair is loose. She never wears her hair loose unless she’s going to bed. Maybe in the cities things are different, but in the village where she grew up, an unmarried woman was never permitted to let her hair down in public—seeing her hair unbound was a privilege reserved exclusively for her husband. Ari is a widow now, technically. She doesn’t wear a mourning veil (she’s hardly going to mourn the woman who killed her), but she always ties her hair back. It’s a dumb tradition to keep when she’s thrown away so many of the customs she was raised with, and yet…

Stupidly, it leaves her feeling vulnerable. She can’t control her body, can barely control her words, and now this person who has torn her heart to shreds is seeing her in a way her upbringing tells her only a lover should. Once upon a time, she would have been thrilled to let her hair down for Sahan. How is she supposed to feel now?

“Did I?” is how Sahan finally responds. Dry. Mocking. Like she doesn’t care enough to remember.

Ari shuts her eyes. “Fuck you.”

Suyan’s boot presses into the dip below her ribs again, but Ari can’t bring herself to care. “Insolent,” she hisses.

Surprisingly, Sahan waves her off. “Enough, Suyan.” To Ari: “What use is there in punishing you now? You’ve been brought low enough. Better to utilize you properly now that you’re awake.”

Like she’d stomped off in a huff and bundled herself away for a long nap, sleeping off her master’s displeasure like a child throwing a tantrum and going to bed without supper. It makes her so angry she feels nauseous.

“Fuck you,” she repeats, more emphatically this time.

She wants Sahan to get angry. She wants her to crack just a little, show some shred of genuine emotion. What she gets instead is an uninterested hum.

“Is that… all you can do?” Ari asks through gritted teeth. “Ignore me? Spit… on me? The hell do you… want me for? You… have a throne. All your blades are awake now. You were happy to let me… rot in a hole for years. W-Why… dig me out now?”

Sahan’s fingers stop. There’s the faintest fluctuation in that constant stream of numina, there and gone in a heartbeat—but Ari still catches it. Vindication melts sweet on her tongue like spun sugar. Such a tiny crack in that perfect facade, but it’s there! Ari did that! She’s not sure exactly which part of her diatribe landed, but it’s enough to know that she can still drag some reaction out of her old master.

Inordinately pleased with herself, Ari tilts her head as much as she can, until her gaze drifts across Sahan’s face. Sharp jaw, shapely lips quirked in a faint frown, long straight nose, full brows drawn low. Her cat’s-eye pupils are wider in the low light, a sucking darkness against the backdrop of her luminous irises. Her face is framed imposingly by the shining curves of her royal headdress. When their eyes meet, Ari feels it like a hammer landing on her solar plexus.

She swallows. Tries for a smile, mostly fails. “What’s… left to say?” she rasps. “Nothing’s changed. You don’t need me, and I… I don’t want—”

“Nothing’s changed?” Sahan interrupts her quietly. Her tone is hard to read. She blinks slowly, dark lashes fanning across high cheekbones. “What an odd thing to say.”

She draws a hand up to Ari’s brow. Her skin has always been cool—a drow thing, apparently; they run chilly—and the contrast against Ari’s sweaty forehead sends a shiver down her spine. Her hand trails down until the backs of her fingers curl against Ari’s cheek, her rings scraping not unpleasantly over the delicate skin of Ari’s face.

When Sahan speaks again, there’s an unfamiliar note in her voice. Ari can’t quite place it, but if she had to guess… she’d say it’s something uncharacteristically erratic. “The False Prophet is dead. Her war has ended. All the blood you feared to shed has already been spilled. How can you say nothing has changed?”

Ari blinks. Before she can calculate some kind of response, though, Sahan speaks again, moving her hand down to cup Ari’s jaw. Her grasp is light, but the hidden strength in those delicate fingers is frightening. She could crush Ari’s bones to dust without so much as interrupting her monologue.

“I was too harsh with you,” she murmurs, but it’s so absent-minded it’s like she isn’t speaking to Ari at all. “I understand that, now. You were always so delicate. It was my mistake. But you—”

She cuts herself off. Her hand is hovering just beneath Ari’s chin, at the apex of her throat. The pads of her fingers brush either side of her esophagus. Ari swallows again, wondering if Sahan can feel it.

Sahan’s eyes trail across her face with a weight that’s near-palpable. Her sclera are so dark they absorb the light of the magelanterns. “Well. I suppose you’re right—it’s no matter now. This master is magnanimous. Bygones will be bygones. Perhaps you fled once, but you will not ever again.”

Ari stares at her, a very potent finger of unease trailing up the back of her neck. “What… do you mean?”

Sahan rests her palm just a touch more heavily upon Ari’s throat. “Can you not guess? I should have done this long ago. More the fool I—in the past, this master assumed your loyalty was faultless. But now I’ve assured it.” She sounds unbearably smug.

All the blood drains from Ari’s face.

Her soul. Oh fuck. Sahan has bound her soul.