Warnings: racism, gendered insults, torture, and a brief mention of menstruation.


Malrian drums his fingers against his desk, barely registering Ravienne's angry voice. Elenwen's stormy silence concerns him more than the incessant bleating of some painted whore. Yet, here he is, trapped behind his desk while she squawks about a few minor scrapes and bruises. There is some part of him that is rather pleased that his pet did such damage, although he is disappointed she didn't do more. Regardless, he is furious Lumen chose to misbehave while his mother is here. Of all the times for her to behave like the little, Bosmeri beast that she is…

He sighs and holds up his hand in order to silence her. "Please, Ravienne, give me a moment to speak."

"You've had plenty!" she snaps. "That monster of yours is completely out of control, and I will not have her around our children!"

"We don't have any children."

"Not yet! But someday we will!" She places her hands on her hips, stepping around the desk to loom over him where he sits. "She is dangerous and she needs to be put down!"

He stands up so fast he nearly topples Ravienne over. "How dare you order me around in my own home," he hisses. "The breeding contract does not give you any authority over me. You would do well to remember that at the end of the day, I am a Thalmor Justiciar and you are just a receptacle for my seed."

Ravienne gasps, stepping away from him and throwing her hands in the air. "That does it! I am done with this!" She stomps to the door of his study, ranting all the way. "I won't take this kind of abuse from some male who doesn't know his place, Elenwen! I can't do it! I won't do it!"

Elenwen does not look over from her place by the window. She stands still, her hands clasped behind her back as she watches the sunset turn the sky into a blaze of celestial fire. Ravienne does not wait for a response as she wrenches the door open, and when she leaves she slams the door so hard a picture falls from its place on the wall, the wood frame splintering as it hits the hard, marble floor.

"Nothing to say?" Marlian snarls at Elenwen, who still has her back to him. "I'm sure you're just dying to tell me off, so come on! I've already endured Ravienne's incessant clucking, so I'm sure I can take whatever it is you have to say!"

"Watch yourself, Malrian," she says, her voice deceptively calm. But within those soft tones is a warning that Malrian would be wise to heed.

"Or what?" He is careless in his anger, ready to lash out at anyone and everyone in his way. He walks toward her, tired of speaking to her back. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to give you some advice," she says tersely, turning to face him when he draws near. "You need to rein in your temper, because Mother will not tolerate such outbursts. The Supreme Emissary is taking you back to Alinor with her! We all should be so lucky, Malrian! You're going home, and yet, here you are, acting like a stupid, spoiled child because your favorite toy has been taken away from you!"

Malrian clenches his jaw, electing not to respond. He cannot tell her that he has no desire to return to Alinor and live a life under their mother's thumb. He has grown used to his life of luxury, a life where he is no one's subordinate. But in Alinor everything will change.

Elenwen watches him, her eyes softening as the silence stretches between them. "I am leaving in a few days," she says, some of the anger fading from her voice. "Aelfwynie and Elaninde will be returning to Alinor with our mother, and you are expected to follow once you wrap up your affairs here in Cyrodiil. Once such affair is the matter of this breeding contract."

"I thought Elaninde was suppose to remain with Ravienne," Malrian says, not looking forward to spending any time alone with that vicious harpy.

"Ravienne asked her to go home," Elenwen explains. "She feels that her chances of becoming pregnant with your child will be higher if Elaninde is not here to tease you. I think she might be right."

"And what of Ancarion and your sons?"

"They will return to Skyrim with me," Elenwen says with a sigh. "They will only be there for a few weeks. The boys have been seized with an unquenchable curiosity concerning the savage land I've been stationed in, and they're dying to see it."

"Your sons have some strange interests," he comments.

"And you act like you don't," she says. "What do you plan to do with your pet? You can't really expect to break her just by locking her in the cellar. Surely she is more resilient than that, otherwise she wouldn't have survived you all these years."

"I have a plan." Malrian smiles at the curious expression on Elenwen's face. "Crushing Lumen's willful spirit is going to take more than a few days in solitary confinement. Do not worry, I have put much thought into this."

"In that case, I hope you succeed, brother." Elenwen turns away from him to stare out the window as silence falls between the two siblings once again. Whether or not she believes he will fail or succeed is of little consequence. He knows he will succeed. Failure is never an option for a Thalmor, and it is certainly not an option for the Supreme Emissary's son. He will break Lumen. There is no other option.


Malrian is rarely caught up in the throes of indecision. A justiciar should have more discipline, and should be able to make good decisions without much time for thought. But time is something he has, so his thoughts are running in circles, like a dog chasing its tail.

Lumen's mother is dead, and so he is left with the task of dealing with the child. The girl has been mourning for days. She barely eats, and only sleeps when she has finally exhausted herself from crying. It would be so easy to dump her at the local orphanage, or send her to Valenwood to live with Aranwen's relatives. Malrian doesn't have the patience for a grieving child. Especially when her grief only reminds him of his own.

But… the thought of sending the child away sends a new fissure of pain through his already aching chest. He's been alone for as long as he can recall. Always surrounded by a crowd, but always utterly alone. Altmer do not confide in others. They do not run to their family or friends in times of need. It is a sign of weakness, and just plain stupid to freely provide others with information that could possibly be damning. The Thalmor do not want justiciars who doubt themselves. They do not want justiciars who struggle with fears of inadequacy and weakness.

He does not feel weak around the girl, though. It is a strange thing to be needed for nothing more than company. A ten-year old Bosmer hasn't a care for gold and baubles. All she requires is his presence. She needs him to check beneath the bed, to chase off the unseen fears that are so prevalent in a child's mind. She needs him to tell her stories and to braid her hair, because the poor girl hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet. But he does not mind helping her, and the strange truth is that he enjoys it.

He needs her to need him, and he supposes that is reason enough to keep her around.


Lumen doesn't know how much time has passed. Minutes? Days? Weeks? Days, probably. It's hard to tell with no sunlight, and even harder to assume when she is so hungry and thirsty. Her head hurts, her eyes and mouth are so dry, and the need to urinate is practically nonexistent. She's tired, too. There's little else to do but sleep. But sleep is impossible with the sound of mice scurrying through the walls- but that's impossible, right? There are no mice in Malrian's estate. It's just in her head. Just like that distant whisper she keeps hearing. A soft voice in the darkness, murmuring something that's just on the edge of her hearing. But she can't hear what it's saying because the beating of her heart is beating so thunderously loud it's driving her mad. She holds her breath because she wants to hear that voice. She wants to hear it so badly, she wishes her heart would stop its loud staccato, if only for a moment.

If she believed in ghosts, she would believe it to be the voice of her long dead mother. Surely it is nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her. She's delirious with hunger and exhaustion, and so utterly alone.

There are more sounds just beyond the door, but she holds back the hope that it's her master come to fetch her. Just more hallucinations from her tired mind. Her master has left her down here, and he's already forgotten her, she's sure of it.

The door opens, flooding the room with blinding light. Lumen covers her eyes from the onslaught, listening intently to the footsteps that near her. It is her master, she knows his scent. She recognizes the oily leather of his Thalmor robes, and the sweetness of the cologne he favors. But there is nothing sweet about the way he touches her; a fist in her hair, dragging her to her feet, and a firm hand clamped around her throat to keep her upright. Whatever comfort she took in his presence vanishes when his fist connects with her stomach. A hard punch to her liver triggers an intense swelling of nausea and terror, and though she cannot see, she knows her master is taking pleasure in her pain. With every punch and every subsequent groan from her throat, she can hear a sigh of pleasure leaving his lips.

He releases his grip on her throat, and her weak legs crumple beneath her. Too weak and too numb from intense pain to hold her up. She rolls on her side, clutching at her abused stomach and just wishing he would speak, or that she could see. But when a foot stomps down on her side, breaking multiple ribs in the process, the only thing she can wish for is a release from this torment.

The pain is nothing in the wake of the isolation and loneliness she's endured from being locked in the filthy cellar. Pain fades. It always does. But the horror of being left alone and forgotten in the dark has endured, and she is not sure if she can take much more. But even in her desperation to appease him, the litany of apologies dripping from her tongue are as bitter as the blood in the back of her throat. Even now, as beaten down as she is, some part of her demands that she fight, even though she has no fight left.

Perhaps he can sense her defiance. They have been at this intersection before; the angry master and his disobedient pet who is determined to take whatever cruelties he can dish out. So perhaps that is why he says nothing, and offers no healing. He simply turns on his heel and walks away from her, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

The beatings continue for what Lumen can only assume are weeks. She has lost track of time, and it is impossible to guess when her master will return to her. His visits are as random as his chosen methods of pain; fists, magic, instruments of torture surely devised by Molag Bal himself. Broken bones are set after a few days of festering in pain, and open wounds are healed by the end of the torture session. Her master does not wish to see her disfigured, he heals the worst of her wounds, and he never focuses his rage on her face. These clues are the only indication she had that she would live to see the end of this.

For all that she has endured, her master always seems disappointed when he leaves. Does she not suffer enough? What more could he want from her? She screams at the pain. She begs him to stop. She cries when he leaves her. There is little else she can do, and all she wants, more than anything in the world, is to return to her place by her master's side. A hollow life of comfort and servitude is better than this. A life bowing and scraping to a man she fears is better than lying in her own blood and filth, suffering, alone and in pain.

Despite the torture she has been subjected to, she finds that she misses her master from time to time. In the lonely, idle hours spent in darkness, her thoughts often wander to pleasant memories of him. Memories of his kinder moments when he still cared for the little girl that she was, rather than hating the obstinate woman she has become.


Lumen wakes to a terrible pain, and a puddle of something warm and sticky upon her bedclothes. She rips the covers from her body and yelps at the sight that greets her. There is bright red blood staining her nightgown and her sheets. That, along with a horrible, gnawing ache in her abdomen terrify her more than incurring Malrian's wrath for waking him at such an early hour.

She slowly crawls from her bed, the cramping in her stomach worsening when she moves. Even her legs hurt. There's a sharp, clawing pain crawling down her hips and ending at the tips of her toes. She is so nauseated and dizzy, and she doesn't know what to do except that she must find Malrian. He'll know what to do. He always does. He's the one who heals her scraped knees and bruised shins. Surely he can heal this pain away, too.

Lumen doubles over in pain when she finally stands, and after a few gasping breaths she is able to walk to her door. The walk to Malrian's chambers seems longer than before. She takes slow, measured steps, only stopping when a surge of pain wracks her entire body. When she reaches his door she hesitates. There is always a moment of uncertainty before she approaches him for any reason. There are times when he is kind, and there are other times when he is relentlessly cruel.

She looks down at her ruined nightdress, and thinks of the stain left on her bed. Malrian hates messes of any sort. There is a chance she'll be punished for this, but a punishment is preferable to bleeding to death, right?

With a sigh of resignation, she knocks on the heavy, oak door. "Master? Are you awake?" she asks, her voice shaking. "I- I need your help."

There is a fleeting moment of relief when she hears footsteps approaching from the other side. At least she is not waking him, such a mistake would surely earn her a clip on the ear. The door opens to reveal her master; half dressed, and his hair still uncombed. But the look on his face is curious until his gaze falls to the deep, red stain on the front of her gown. She is hard pressed to translate the myriad of expressions that flutter across his features. Fear, revulsion, and finally concern.

Her eyes burn with tears because she is so ashamed of her mess. "What's wrong with me?" she asks. "Am I dying? I feel like I'm dying. It hurts-"

To her immense surprise, his mouth quirks into a smile. "You are not dying, little dove," he says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Did anyone ever talk to you about your Moon Time?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "My tutor did. But- she didn't tell me it was this bad."

"I shall have to find you a more suitable tutor," he says irritably, as he places a hand on her shoulder and leads her back to her bedroom. "Preferably one who is not afraid of the messy truth."

"Master," Lumen breathes, willing her body not to shake when she tells him, "I'm sorry."

He looks down at her then, his brows raised in amusement. "There is nothing you could have done to avoid this, my girl."

"You're not angry with me?"

She immediately regrets asking that question, because the easy, open expression fades from his face, only to be replaced with something resembling hurt. Which doesn't make sense, because Malrian is too strong to be hurt by something as innocuous as a question.

"Why would I be angry?" his words come out in a hushed whisper, as if he cannot fathom why she would fear him. As if he's forgotten all the times he's been cruel to her for doing something as harmless as sneezing.

"Because I made a mess," she says quietly, suddenly feeling guilty and not knowing why.

The smile returns to his face, but it does not reach his eyes. "Blood can be easily washed away," he says, patting her on the shoulder to urge her onward. "Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up. In the meantime I'll have the servants bring you some tea that should help with your discomfort."

"Thank you," she murmurs, wishing she had never doubted him in the first place, and knowing she will pay for it eventually. But until then, she would cherish every moment where he is kind, all while fearing the moment when his kindness will turn sour.


For the first time in a long time, the house is utterly silent. Elenwen, Acarion, and their two sons have left for the bitter terrain of Skyrim. His mother and his two sisters have also gone, but to the warm, beautiful country of Alinor. A stark contrast to the wretched land where his eldest sister is stationed. Psysha delivered her orders before she left; he has six months to wrap up his affairs in Cyrodiil, and after that he is to come to his mother's estate in the city of Cloudrest.

He is confident that he can break Lumen before the end of the six months, and some part of him wants to believe he has almost done so. But he knows better. The girl is resilient. Despite her defiance to utterly bend to his will, he does miss her company. It would be so easy to go down to the cellar and fetch her. But her punishment is not at an end, and so he would have to endure.

He grits his teeth when he hears his bedroom door open. Another torment he must endure is the lingering presence of Ravienne and her unwanted affections. She approaches him from behind, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder, pretending to show interest in the world beyond the window. Malrian barely resists the urge to cringe when her hands begin to wander.

"I would like to see what you look like beneath those heavy robes, Malrian," she says, her voice taking on a low, breathy quality that would surely earn the interest of any other man. "I'll show you what I look like. That seems like a fair trade, yes?"

She pulls away from him, and the sound of fabric being dropped to the ground does pique his curiosity. Perhaps if he finds her appearance pleasing enough, he could fulfill his contract and be done with her. He takes a deep breath and turns around to see what he supposes is the epitome of Altmer beauty.

Any other man would surely feel the first stirrings of desire upon looking at Ravienne. She is beautiful, Malrian cannot deny that. Her body is pale and slender, and her small, perky breasts are crowned with rosy nipples. The flat plane of her stomach is accented by a straight abdominal ridge that leads to her navel. Thin, bony hips flare out on either side of her nearly hairless sex, and she is supported by two long, willowy legs.

Even though she has all the attributes Altmeri society says he should find attractive in a childless female, he finds himself woefully unimpressed. Even after all these years, after all the hate and the pain, Aranwen is still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. Dark skin with freckles across her cheeks and shoulders, beautiful grass green eyes, and a small body with soft, supple curves. Her daughter has inherited her mother's beauty, which riles him as much as it pleases him. Altmer who desire anyone outside of their race are regarded as little more than sexual deviants. Is he truly so warped to prefer the aesthetic qualities found in their Bosmeri cousins? Perhaps the bitter truth is that he is. Because the idea of mating with Ravienne still disgusts him, and he wonders if he would feel differently if she were someone else.

How sick is he? There is a lovely Altmeri specimen baring herself before his gaze, but he would prefer it if the woman in front of him was the girl he raised as his own. But... Is it so wrong to desire her? It's not as if she is his own flesh and blood. Lumen is not his daughter. She was sired by another mer who never bothered to claim his child after Aranwen's passing. But it is Malrian who raised her, who molded her, who made her into everything he wanted her to be.

Malrian shakes himself out of his reverie. He does not have time to entertain sinful thoughts about his pet when she is still needing punishment, and when a naked Ravienne is staring expectantly at him.

"Ravienne, I-" he turns away, focusing his gaze on a grove of trees just beyond the wall of his estate. "I apologize. But- I am not feeling well. I do not think I could provide you with what you need when I am not at my best."

"Well, at least you're being civil about it," she says, sighing as she picks up her robe and wraps it around her shoulders. "Another time, then?"

"Another time," he says, grateful when she leaves the room. Only Aranwen was ever able to seduce him with soft sighs and sultry looks. Only she was able to distract him from his sadistic tendencies. He wasn't lying when he told Ravienne she wouldn't survive what he's into. People seldom do. The only things that fan the flames of his desire are sorrow and pain. The suffering of others is more enticing than bedroom eyes and a pair of perky tits.

Those thoughts lead his mind back to his pet, who can deliver suffering and beauty in equal amounts. He's seen her kill, and in a way, he's nourished her predilection toward violence. Her brutal nature brings him more pleasure than she will ever know. But now they are both paying the price for his indiscretions. Murdered guards and guests will not go unnoticed in Alinor, and his peculiar desires will not be tolerated.

Movement in the yard below distracts him from his base thoughts and turns his attention toward the groundskeeper. The middle aged Bosmer is old enough to be Lumen's father, but that did not deter her from pursuing him. Nydia has provided him with more information about the two than he truly wanted to know. It enrages him to think of Silvan touching her, and it sickens him to think of his pet allowing it, let alone enjoying it.

Perhaps it is time he had a little talk with the groundskeeper.


He does not have time for this. Nor does he have the patience to listen to the horrible truths Nydia is telling him. The thought of his precious girl entwined with the filthy, lowborn groundskeeper will surely kill him. His lungs are burning and his heart is hammering in his chest. But he must be calm and collected. He must ignore the violent rage brewing within him because his sisters are here and his mother will arrive in a day, and he simply does not have the time to deal with Lumen and her indiscretions.

"Are you certain- you have witnessed-"

Nydia levels him with an annoyed look, and it is obvious that his colleague is growing weary of his stammering. "They have been intimate, Justiciar," she says drily. "The noises are unmistakable, as are the saccharine confessions that follow."

"By the Eight," he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he ought to. "That is enough."

"If you wish to prevent any future incidents, I would suggest you keep the girl inside," Nydia says, the corners of her mouth turning up. "The orchard seems to be their favorite place to meet."

Malrian could scream at the thought of his sweet pet rutting away in the trees. It is not unexpected of his unwashed Bosmeri cousins, but he had hoped Lumen was above such disgusting acts. How could she do this? It is such a betrayal. She shouldn't have a care for anyone in the world except for him! The groundskeeper has managed to manipulate her somehow. There's no other reason for his pet to act like such a wanton harlot. There's no way she would prefer the company of a dirty peasant over his!

"Do you wish for me to take action?" Nydia asks helpfully. "I could have the guards bring him to the dungeon so that you may deal with him."

"No," he breathes. "No, not now. Later, perhaps, when my sisters have gone and I have the necessary time alone to teach them both the error of their ways. Do nothing for now. I will fetch you if I have need of you again."

Nydia's blonde curls fall over her shoulders as she dips into a graceful bow. Her exit from the room is swift and silent, and when the door swings closed, Malrian breathes a sigh of mingled desperation and relief. He is gripped with a dire need to punish his pet for her foolish actions, and he aches to see the groundskeeper's blood spilled for daring to befoul his sweet pet. But, like in all things, he needs to be patient. There will be time to deal with them both, but for now, he has the Dominion's work to do.


The sound of approaching footsteps rouses Lumen from a dreamless sleep. She can hear the soft footfalls of her master, and the clatter of his golden armored guards, along with the drag of something heavy against the stone. The door opens, and the sound of so many people entering the room is a deafening din against the silence Lumen has grown so accustomed to. She holds her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut against the light that now floods the small room.

A pair of strong hands grab her by the shoulders and pull her to her feet. One arm wraps around her chest to keep her upright, while the hand of the other pries her eyelids open.

"Open your eyes, pet," her master hisses in her ear. "Open them, or I will gouge his out."

She strains to open her light-sensitive eyes, feeling disoriented by the bright, glow of magelight that illuminates the room. Her gaze falls upon a sight she knew she would have to bear witness to eventually. Two of Malrian's most loyal guards strap Silvan to the rack, the hinges groaning as they prop him up so that he is facing her and her master. He looks unharmed, aside from the blood dripping down his brow. He must have fought back when the guards apprehended him.

"I'm sorry, Lu," he says quietly, sorrow etched in every syllable.

"For what?" she wonders as a sob bubbles up in her throat. "This is my fault." She could beg Malrian for mercy, but he would not give it. Tears roll down her cheeks as she struggles against the inevitability of her situation. She could have saved Silvan if she'd ignored him like she was supposed to. He would not be strapped to a rack, at the mercy of a sadist and his equally sadistic guards. Lumen only wanted to make a choice for herself, and she chose him. But now he is paying the price for her selfishness.

Malrian makes a motion to one of his guards. One pulls out a small, sharp dagger, and draws the blade across the inside of Silvan's elbow. The other dips his thumb into a satchel of black powder, then presses the coated digit into the fresh cut. Silvan grits his teeth as black, bulging veins appear on his skin, snaking out from the cut and infecting his blood with a poison that will amplify his pain.

Lumen wishes she could tell him that the sooner he screams, the sooner his pain will end.

"I want you to watch," Malrian murmurs, his lips moving against the shell of her ear, pleasure dripping from every word. "I want you to take in every detail. I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life. And if you dare close your eyes for a second I will break you down to the point where there is nothing left, and I will leave you in here to rot."

Empathy is not a quality Malrian ever bothered to instill in her, but the thought of Silvan suffering because of Malrian's jealousy will surely kill her. If she has a heart, then it will be broken by the end of this. She wonders if Silvan is regretting every moment spent with her. She cannot be worth so much pain. But when his eyes flick to her tear streaked face, he offers her the tiniest of smiles before the guards set to work on his other arm.

Another small cut. Another small dose of poison. Another hiss of pain.

The hours pass, and Malrian's guards continue their wretched work. Leaving cuts along the most sensitive patches of skin; under the ears, under the arms, near the groin, and behind the knees. They slip more poison into his body, and more dark, infected veins rise up against his skin, which has gone from a healthy tan to sickly pallor. Lumen is not sure what the poison is called, but she has seen what it can do. Silvan will die a slow, agonizing death as the toxic mixture in his veins weakens his heart, beat by beat.

"Master, please don't hurt him anymore," she gasps. "I am begging you."

"And why should I stop?" he asks, his grip tightening. "I'm enjoying myself."

"He's done nothing wrong," she says, hoping against hope that she can convince her master to show some mercy. "I pursued him. It's my fault, not his!"

"Perhaps you are telling me the truth, but our dear groundskeeper should have known better than to manhandle my property." His voice is giddy, like a child on New Life Day. "This is what happens when you try to keep secrets from me, my pet. This is your fault, and he will suffer for your poor judgment."

"I'll do anything you want," she gasps, not knowing what she's promising. "Anything- just, show him mercy."

Malrian is quiet for a moment. His eyes drifting across Silvan, who is barely clinging to consciousness, and muttering incoherently through the dizzying mixture of pain and poison. "Anything?" he asks.

"Yes," she whispers, the word burning up the back of her throat. "Anything."

"Very well," Malrian says, inordinately pleased. He makes a motion to his guards, and steps away from Lumen. "Release him."

They instantly do as they are told, releasing the leather binds that hold Silvan in place, his weakened body falling to the floor. Lumen resists the urge to run to him, knowing that such an action will not go unpunished.

Malrian holds out a small knife to her. "Take it," he orders. "There is no cure for that poison. It will eat away at him, slowly and painfully. A quick death is the only mercy you can give."

In another life, perhaps she'd consider turning the knife on Malrian and his guards. But then Silvan would be left to suffer, because Lumen would not survive her master's fury. The thought of a life without him is unbearable, but so too is the thought of him lingering in agony. One way or another, he is going to die. The least she can do is end his suffering quickly.

Without another word, Malrian and his guards leave the room. The magelight spell is fading, the once bright, white orb has now faded into a murky, undersea glow that bathes the room in a sickly green hue. She had assumed Malrian would want to watch, but instead he has chosen to leave her alone with a victim she never wanted. She always had good reason to kill his vicious guards, but she never wished to harm a single hair on Silvan's head.

She kneels beside him, gently touching his clammy cheek. "Can you hear me, Sil?"

"Yeah," he rasps, lifting his shaking hand to grasp at hers. "I can, and I know what you have to do."

"I am so sorry." Her chest aches and her eyes burn, and she's surprised that she still has tears left to cry. "I never wanted this to happen."

"I knew the risks, but every moment with you was worth it."

"I am not worth this…"

"Promise to make it quick?" he asks, attempting to smile as if talk of his death is nothing more than a joke. "I'd like to retain some of my dignity."

"I don't-" she gasps, her voice breaking in between sobs. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do you love me?"

The question hits her like a kick to the chest. Does she love him? At first she denied her feelings for him, believing love to be nothing more than a frivolous notion one reads about in fairy stories. But she cannot deny the warm, fluttering sensation that would fill her up whenever he touched her. She cannot deny how happy she was whenever he smiled at her. Here and now, she cannot lie to him. He deserves better.

"I do," she whispers, promising to never allow love into her heart if this is what it feels like. "I do, Sil. But I can't do this. I can't kill you."

He squeezes her hand, turning his head to press a kiss against her palm. "You would be doing me a kindness, Lu," he says weakly.

She knows he is right, but the thought of ending his life is too much. "I wish we'd had more time," she says, desperately holding on to every last moment she can. "It's not fair."

"Life is seldom fair," he murmurs, his heavy eyelids slipping closed for a moment. "And there is never enough time."

"How can you not hate me?" she wonders aloud. "This is my fault."

He offers her a smile. The same smile that would normally send her heart soaring now brings her nothing but sorrow. "I could never hate you." He reaches for her face, coaxing her closer to him for a kiss. "I love you," he murmurs against her lips. "No matter what."

She presses her lips to his and pushes the blade into his chest. It pierces his heart quickly and without warning, because it would hurt more if he'd been ready for it, and because she has caused him enough suffering for one lifetime. He sucks in a wet, gasping breath, his body going stiff in one last ditch effort to fight against the icy grip of death. But after a moment, he breathes his last, and he goes still.

Lumen holds her breath, fighting the tears that burn at the back of her eyes. The sorrow is overwhelming. She feels sick with loss. Even if she lives for a thousand years, she will never recover from this. But she cannot give in to the desire to cry. Malrian will unleash a flurry of new torments upon her if he returns to her and she is puffy eyed and weeping. She must stomp down her emotions until there is nothing left to feel. The only way to survive this is to become numb, to shut herself off until her heart is hard and wicked sharp. Because she will not allow herself to feel this kind of pain again.

She will not allow herself to feel anything again.


They lounge beneath an apple tree in the middle of the orchard, the sky above still painted with the orange glow of dawn. The chill of the night hangs in the crisp, morning air, but Lumen's warm touches and heated looks chase the cold from his skin. His lips are against her neck and he is whispering to her in broken Bosmeris. She understands none of it, and he understands only a fraction of what he's trying to say, admittedly. He recites fragments of love poems, and even one of a recipe, but he says it in such a way that it sounds like the most enticing filth they have ever heard.

"I wish I knew what you were saying," Lumen says, grinning widely when his hands drift down to trace the curve of her hips. "But I am afraid it might be something terribly lewd."

"Oh, it is," Silvan says. "Well, some of it is filthy. The rest is quite sappy, I'm afraid. You'd probably laugh yourself sick if you knew what I was telling you."

"Are you going to translate for me?"

"In time," he says before kissing her, slow and sweet. "I cannot reveal all my secrets just yet. I need to have some way of convincing you to spend time with me."

She offers him a lopsided grin. "Even if I knew everything there is to know about you, I would always keep coming back," Lumen says, her voice shaky in the wake of her admission. "I only wish I could stay longer."

The truth has a sobering effect on the two. Their time together is always limited; their meetings arranged around the times when Malrian would be too busy to notice her absence. They can lose themselves in each other for a while. But when their time is up, Silvan will return to his duties and Lumen will run back to her master's side.

Being with her is as pleasurable as it is painful, but he would not give back a single moment just to ease the terrible ache of loving someone who is not free. It can go nowhere, he knows that. It is painfully temporary. It will end, he just doesn't know how. But a wicked, hateful part of him knows that it will end by Lumen's hand.

The worst kind of slave is one who does not wish to be free.


Notes: I'm sorry. I am the worst. :(

The story is almost complete. I have one more chapter and an epilogue planned. This chapter was going to be the last, I was just going to make is extra long. But considering how sad this chapter is, and how weird the next one is... I thought it would be best if I split them up. I'll have 10 posted soon.