Author's note: This piece is a companion to "A Lover and a Fighter".
I've tried to make it stand alone, but if you find yourself wanting more background, click on my name above to read my previous fics.
Events occur prior to my other Eric's POV piece, "Her other lover."
I once told Sookie I would be her friend for as long as I could do so without jeopardizing my own life.
I lied.
The short, pompous man drones on and on in front of me.
"...the most challenging part of my role as your monarch. Our revered Kingdom would not survive," he pauses dramatically, turning to stare at me, "were such stark disobedience allowed to go unpunished. Loyal subjects, it is of grave importance that we all..."
There is no need for me to fake boredom listening to Felipe's speech. He is pontificating about the perfect match between my punishment and my crime, but I find it hard to care. He has to make it sound as though he is in control of this situation, because he is not - and the assembled crowd knows it. He cannot send me to my final death, legally or otherwise, as my bonded will be inherited by Pam and indentured to Stan and Russell if he does, so he will never gain access to her to complete his latest scheme. He also cannot enact his preferred punishment of me, because the sham trial he organized turned a tad too real for his liking.
When Mr. Cataliades produced the decree the King sent to me some months ago to try to take my bonded - stolen from his own safe by a spy loyal to her rather than me, ironically - he was forced to admit she was under his protection when she was taken, so the fairies' kidnap of her was technically an act of war. My charges were immediately downgraded from treason to disobedience, because he could no longer argue I was trying to start a war once it was established I acted in response to an attack on his Kingdom. It was a sublime moment when he was forced to admit he ordered me not to go to her so he could go himself, because he would otherwise have been seen to have tolerated the theft of one of his Kingdom's assets.
He has been outplayed tonight, but the reminder that his intellect does not match his ruthlessness only serves to make him more cruel.
"...in skilled hands, it is as accurate as the tiny scalpels humans prefer," he tells the crowd, waving his favorite sword around in a way that only impresses those too young to know better, "and yet it has a flair modern surgical instruments lack. With this very sword, I have..."
Looking around the King's theater, the crowd is as bored as I am. They came because he promised a spectacle, a punishment not seen on this continent for over a century. But the Silver Heart is only used on those who commit high treason at the behest of a lover, and when my charges were downgraded, so was all interest in this show. We vampires are literal when it comes to extracting our pound of flesh, but not all pounds of flesh are equal. While my heart would have grown back in a matter of months - once the beautifully polished silver replica on the table beside me was removed, of course - the one in Felipe's trophy room would have ensured my obedience. Even when we have grown another, a vampire's heart is his weakness, and not in the metaphorical sense that it is a human's weakness. Felipe would have needed but a toothpick to send me to my final death, wherever I was, at any moment he chose, had he succeeded. But he didn't.
Left with a punishment even the youngsters in this crowd have seen a dozen times before, he must rely on showmanship and brutality to win back their interest. He keeps sneaking looks at me from the corner of his eye, to see if I am suitable cowed. I am not.
I do not fear pain. Unbeknown to my accuser, he can do little that was not already done me by my Maker. In his own mind, Felipe is one of the world's great sadists, a figure on par with the Marquis de Sade himself. But those cruelties are extreme only to the modern eye; the Romans made sport of cruelty in a way that surpasses all who have come since. Or so it always seemed at the hands of Ocella. When I compare the creature in front of me to my Maker, I am almost tempted to laugh aloud that he thinks he can hurt me.
"...have little doubt of the deterrent value of a well-conceived punishment. To separate the offender from what they hold most dear is a lesson they..."
What I hold most dear? I quirk an eyebrow ever-so-slightly and the crowd roars in laughter. Felipe assumes they are on his side now and becomes all the more grandiose. I miss Sophie-Anne. I miss the fairness and creativity of her punishments. I think of Waldo, kept in salt water for years to rob him of the looks that allowed him to seduce one she had claimed. I miss her subtlety. She had no need of long speeches, she simply counseled disobedient subjects next to Waldo's tank. This posturing dictator is unworthy to follow one such as her.
When Felipe finally advances on me with his sword, I remind myself that I have won here tonight, even if I must endure the most painful punishment he can think to mete out. I have kept both my heart and the one who holds it, while this royal pretender gets only some flesh I will soon re-grow.
He makes his way across the stage slowly, dramatically, ready to collect his prizes. But like so many self-professed sadists, it is the reaction he craves far more than the violence itself. He is not excited by the body's inner structures and the methods of exposing them as my Maker was; he cares only for the screams of agony and look of despair induced by his actions. He is mundane, commonplace even.
A hush falls over the crowd as they wait for him to strike.
He rushes toward me suddenly, likely thinking he can shock me into crying out by cutting me before I steel myself for it. His blade hits me hard, rending sensitive flesh, but I give him no satisfaction. I am silent, still. My strength surprises even me; it is as though the pain washes straight through me, barely acknowledged. The crowd screams for more and he obliges them, courting their admiration with his savagery. He takes liberties with my body, trying both to entertain the crowd and establish his dominance over me. To my benefit, their bloodthirsty roars excite him, making him move more quickly than he ought. He hacks at my body clumsily, utterly lacking finesse. I feel nothing but contempt for him, a man who thinks he excels at an art he barely begins to know, a man who prides himself on work that is, objectively speaking, messy and inept.
It takes effort to remain impassive as his sword strikes me - I could readily take it and behead him before he realized it was gone from his grip - but I do as I must. I grit my teeth and make my body rigid, just as my Maker taught me. Pain cannot force reaction from me.
In but a few slices, the sentence is carried out. He can do no more to me; I have been judged and punished. My silence and bland expression have robbed him of any pleasure in this task, and I know I have won once more. I give him the slightest smirk, determined to show him he has not defeated me and never will.
In fury, he jerks the sword over his shoulder and lurches it up and over, aiming to add an arm to the pile of flesh on the ground in front of me. This was not authorized; the Pythoness granted him only organs, not limbs. He is slow for one of our kind, telegraphing the move so I have time to react. Entirely by instinct, my hands clap together around the blade, stopping it before it reaches its mark.
The restraints supposed to hold me to the wall are a trifling inconvenience, barely slowing my movement. I had a substantial meal of my bonded's blood before I came here, and with her fairy magic singing through my veins, silver bothers me far less than usual. It is a shame I have to show the effects of her blood once more - the way it strengthens me without extracting the usual price of insanity - but the benefits of keeping my arm outweigh the added danger I have put her in by showing my strength.
As his sword stops unexpectedly in midair, Felipe lose his grip on the handle so I am left standing there, naked and bloodied, holding his favorite sword by the blade. It has bent a few degrees where I caught it.
"I don't recall being charged with theft," I tell him coolly, my steady voice the only sound in the now-silent theater.
We vampires are very literal in claiming our pound of flesh, and an arm is taken only from thieves. Fingers for small thefts, a hand for medium ones, from the elbow for a large theft and from the shoulder down for exceptional cases. I have never stolen from Felipe; I do not owe him my arm. I am within my rights to stop him taking it, and he knows it.
"I slipped," he lies. "And you have damaged my sword."
I shrug, still holding it between the palms of my hands. "I will pay for it, just as I paid for your building."
"No, you will not," the Pythoness interrupts. "He attempted to increase your sentence beyond what is justified. His sword is forfeit."
The crowd gasps. I will walk away tonight with my life, my bonded, my heart, and now Felipe's favorite sword as well. It is a significant prize, and it will be hard for him to pretend otherwise when he has just boasted to the crowd how many enemies and traitors met their fate at its blade. There is no finer metaphor for the way he is weakening his Kingdom with this ridiculous war of egos. I miss Sophie-Anne once more; she was wise enough to see I had the means but not the ambition to overthrow her; that allowing me freedom to run the Area of my choice as I saw fit would keep me loyal to her; that treating me as an almost-equal would make me treat her as my Queen.
Felipe shuffles off stage, lacking the arrogant flourish with which he mounted it hours before.
The attendants release the silver bonds still shackling my feet and neck, and the crowd murmurs when they see how little my skin has been burnt by them (or more accurately, how quickly it has regenerated) with the help of my bonded's blood. I step over the pile of recently-removed flesh in front of me and take Felipe's sword with me as I leave the theater. The loss of blood and tissue has not weakened me yet, but I know I must go quickly if I am to walk away looking strong.
The cleaning crew is already taking to the stage, including the man I have bribed to ensure no part of me ends up in Felipe's trophy room.
In the antechamber we retire to, Pam fusses over my wounds. I am surprised by how little they hurt and how strong I feel, in spite of my recent injuries. My bonded's blood has helped me far more than I expected.
An improbable idea crosses my mind, a thought that it may be more than her blood that strengthens me. I simultaneously dismiss the idea - she is too far away - and check the state of our bond. Sure enough, my pain is being pulled away through it, strength flowing back in return. I am momentarily stunned, but then another feeling overwhelms me, something I do not immediately recognize. I finally identify it from my human life; I am not sure I have felt it since.
Hneykja.
Shame, I translate. I am ashamed. My bonded has taken the pain of my punishment, somehow pulling it through our bond to herself so I may appear strong. How it is possible, I am not sure; the distance should protect her from feeling this, but it somehow has not. Her power has grown beyond my expectations, and I have just taken her strength to help myself.
With some effort, I close my link to her. The bond is not broken, but it may as well be now; she will feel no more from me until I am healed. I will not let her suffer any more in my place.
I sag as the pain of my injuries finally hits me, along with the realization of what Felipe has done. He will keep me from my bonded for some time; she cannot be allowed to see me like this. I will be able to hide the healing injuries well enough from others, but she is perceptive and would likely realize something was different, even through clothing. I will give her no chance to see me as weak, to pity me once more.
When I begin to lose my footing, Pam is with me in an instant, helping me to a chair. The room spins for an indeterminate time.
"Feed," my Childe tells me. I open my eyes and a painfully engorged breast is right in front of me, blood already on the nipple. I latch onto it gratefully, feeding deeply on the girl's sweet-tasting blood.
My Childe's cell phone vibrates, and before I can disengage my mouth to tell her to ignore it, she has answered it.
"Pam, it's Bill," I hear faintly from her phone.
"Speak," she orders.
"It's Sookie. She felt something through the bond. She said Eric was in terrible pain, and now she can't feel him at all."
"He will heal," she tells him, sounding studiously bored, as though there is nothing wrong. There is no need for Bill to know there is, although he will surely hear what has happened, sooner or later. I know it will amuse him greatly, what Felipe has taken from me.
She turns to me. "Eric, it's Bill. Sookie felt everything, and now she can't feel you through the bond."
I pull away from the girl's breast, noticing for the first time that she is not human. Felipe has sent me a Zurzub. I puzzle over that momentarily; I have not seen one in the New World before, and even if I had, someone as lowly as me would never be permitted to feed on one. Pam taps her foot impatiently, hating to wait even a second for an answer.
"I have closed my end so she does not feel this," I explain, sounding strong no longer. "Ask if she is OK?"
"He has closed the bond," she relays economically. "He wants to know how she is."
I smile slightly; my Childe is efficient to a fault. I taught her well.
"She seems to be OK," comes the muffled answer. "Quinn said she fainted, but she was screaming. She was so loud I heard her from my place."
"You're such a hero Bill, hanging 'round her house every night." Her voice drips with sarcasm.
We both know he has enmeshed himself in some new plot regarding my bonded; were it not for her delicate sensibilities, I would dispatch him for disloyalty right now, even though I have yet to uncover the details. He is one more vampire whose loyalty is to her and not me, and that troubles me. He does not trust me to protect her, and unlike the weretiger I hired to guard her in my absence, or Pam's Childe who is there to keep watch, Bill thinks nothing of withholding information I may need to keep her safe, so he can feel like he is her confidante.
"Tell him to fuck off and leave us alone," I spit out, angry that it is him there with her and not me.
He who dishonored and mistreated her while she was his. He who forced himself upon her when she wanted him no longer, almost draining her as he did. He who professes to love her, but is betraying her again regardless. I wish once more that she would let me kill him.
"Eric asked me to pass on a message: fuck off and leave us alone."
"Goodbye, Pam." Comes his abrupt answer.
I fall on the girl's other breast, drinking deeply to start healing my wounds.
