A/N:
A bit of a warning- this chapter contains depiction of child death that some readers might find disturbing. While technically still covered under the tags I've already used, it's a lot more graphic than it has been and thought it deserved a heads-up.
Only other thing I have to say about this chapter beforehand is "by the Emperor, I hate writing speeches"
Thanks again to everyone who helped with this chapter, especially Ashilaa and TheLadyNovelist (who's only on AO3)
Jian enters Valthiel's cabin, bearing the new weapons and armor that his armorers have made for her. Excitement and fear stir into a cocktail of emotion that makes it difficult to sit still. The Kabal of the Ashen Rose has been in orbit around whatever world this is for several days, now, their forces joining with those of the Kabal of the Flayed Skull to break the mon'keigh's will and shatter their defenses with a series of hit-and-run attacks.
Valthiel, however, has remained here, overseeing the operation from a distance, as has most of his retinue, including Jian. Tonight, however, Lord Malidrach of the Flayed Skull will make landfall to take part in the final fighting himself, and so will Lord Aire.
She finds him standing before the artificial window in a grey satin bathrobe, staring at the projected image of the planet below with a glass of wine in his hand. He turns to her as she enters, inviting her with a gesture to stand by his side. "You look excited."
Jian smiles. "It will be good to test myself in real combat again." Even the few weeks of lessons she's had with Ayslinn have begun to rebuild her confidence and she can feel the gifts of Khaine and Morai Heg singing in her blood – a call to do battle.
He returns the expression and kisses the top of her head. "And you are still certain you want to join us?"
"Of course." Jian looks up, instinct compelling her to offer some form of assistance and support. "Do you need help with your armor?"
"That depends," he replies lightly. "Are you offering?"
"I am." The longer she thinks about it, the more enjoyable it sounds.
"Well in that case, how could I refuse?"
The process is somewhat strange to her, but she is experienced enough putting on her own that she quickly figures out how to help him attach the plates. Although the green and white panels are simpler than the armor he wore to the party, with no gilding or engraving, the armor itself is the high quality she has come to expect from everything Valthiel owns, with the overlapping plates shaped to add visual bulk to his lithe frame while still allowing freedom of movement. The edges of his gauntlets and boots and the tips of his gloves form bone-colored spikes and talons and his pauldrons curve into crescent horns.
With a slight pang, she realizes that it was the armor he wore the day he bought her.
"I thought of something you could do. To make me happier here," Jian says as she helps adjust the positioning of his belt, laden with grenades and devices whose uses she can only guess at.
"Oh? What might that be?"
She swallows, reminding herself that this is alright, that he has asked for this. "Can I have somewhere that is just mine? It – it doesn't have to be large. A closet will do just fine. Or even a box to put things in if that's too much to ask. But I want a place where people will only be able to come in if I let them."
Any slight tension that might have been in his posture as she asked her question relaxes. "Consider it done. As soon as we return to the city, I will work on a space for you that not even I can enter. And no, it will not be a box or a closet; you deserve your own room, at least."
"Thank you," she replies quietly as she picks up a heavy black cloak and fastens it to the back of his armor. "It is difficult to fully relax when someone could walk in at any moment." And often does. Lynx, in particular, seems to have little understanding of the concept of privacy.
"Of course, I understand." Catching her arm as she returns to his front, he pulls her into a kiss. "I love you."
"Be careful out there." It's not just the fear of what would happen to her if he died that makes her worried for his safety.
"Of course I will. You too; I don't want to see you in a hospital bed again so soon." The seriousness of his statement is undercut by his hand, which wanders down to pinch the flesh of her thigh between the armor plates. "Do you want to join my strike team, or is there another part of the battle where you would prefer to fight?"
"Is that where I'll be the most useful?"
"You are an accomplished warrior, my dear, I'm sure wherever you join will be useful to us." The tingling excitement of the pinch lingers as he traces the shape of her backside with his fingers.
Jian makes a face. She's asking for advice, not flattery. "Very well, I'll join your strike team. Just tell me the objective and I will win it for you."
"The most important thing to remember is not to kill unless you have to. Every life extinguished on the battlefield is a resource squandered. And… try to keep up, will you?" Another squeeze of her ass as he pulls away to pick up his sabers.
"You might regret asking that," she replies as she reaches for her helm.
"And why is that?" Valthiel shoves her playfully.
He's egging her on deliberately, she realizes. Trying to get her excited for the combat to come so her bloodlust will match that of the rest of his troops and any fear will be extinguished. It's working, too. "You're asking someone trained by the Howling Banshees, an aspect known for its speed and ferocity, to keep up with you?"
"I don't know… Banshees always seemed kind of slow to me." He delivers another swat, this one across her breasts.
Jian lets herself respond in kind, tackling him into a chair. He puts up no resistance and falls into the seat laughing. "Alright. Are you ready to go?"
"What do you think?" she replies.
Offering her his hand, he leads her out of the cabin and toward the waiting dropships. As they approach, he releases her and she drops back to a respectful distance, slipping unobtrusively into the groups waiting in their seats on the ship that will bear them down to the surface.
Valthiel strides to the front of the passenger compartment, commanding the attention of the assorted drukhari with his motions. He turns to face them with a dramatic sweep of his cloak just as Jian feels the telltale shuddering of the ship. They're on their way down to the surface.
The lights dim and Valthiel motions for the team to be quiet. Silence instantly falls. For a moment, his eyes sweep back and forth over the crowd. Then he speaks.
"Warriors of the Ashen Rose. Below us waits a world of the mon'keigh, cowering in fear and begging for their corpse emperor to save them. But there will be no escape and there will be no respite. We will fall upon them and feast upon their screams as they watch our forces overwhelm their defenses. Their souls will sustain us and their treasures enrich us, gifts that they were too weak to protect and thus never deserved. A fundamental truth that we will remind them of tonight. Tonight, when we prove ourselves superior to the pitiful humans who think that their breeding rate entitles them to own the galaxy that has always belonged to us.
"But will not just be us down there. Today, we seal our alliance with the Kabal of the Flayed Skull, an alliance that will enable us to purchase weapons and hoverbikes to further our military might and rare components to make us even more competitive against the technological arms race of the other kabals.
"And yet this raid is more than that. Since my earliest memory, I have stalked the stars, carrying on the legacy of our people and of my bloodline as I proved myself superior at the point of a poisoned blade. Even now, my place is not on a throne, but here, at the razor's edge of destiny, mastering and shaping my fate by a design thoroughly my own! And that is why you are here; because, like me, there is nothing that makes you feel more alive than to waltz like gods through the realm of mortals, laughing, dancing and celebrating to song of our enemies' screams!"
He pauses as the seated drukhari cheer, pounding their boots on the floor and shoving each other in enthusiasm. Jian finds herself cheering with them. The words he says are irrelevant. The emotions they represent resonate in her, a tide that swells to carry her away in a thirst for victory and action.
Valthiel picks up a decanter that sits on a nearby table and pours himself a drink. "So go forth my brothers and sisters. Plunder, feed, ravage and raid but most importantly – " He drains the glass in a single gulp and throws it at the nearby wall where it shatters, the remains of the wine dribbling down the paneling like blood. " – have fun."
His wicked smile is the last thing Jian sees of him before the rest of the room leaps to their feet, crowding toward the shuttle door as it opens. She follows the current to the edge and leaps with only an instant's hesitation.
Old instinct takes over. She twists in the air to land on her feet, letting her momentum carry her forward into a roll. As she stands again, she takes in the landscape around her. The shuttle has dropped them in the middle of a city. The invaders spread out from their landing point down the street and into the surrounding buildings that stretch up hundreds of meters to what looks more like a roof than sky. The ground around her is damaged in places, leaving holes where she can see another level far below.
This must be a hive city. She's never been in one, but her father has told her about them – lightless, poisoned places where the mon'keigh scrabble around like rats, the lower classes never seeing natural light or feeling fresh air on their faces. Jian can't imagine what that must be like.
Smoke covers everything in a black, oily haze as she runs toward the nearest building. Venom transports and reaver bikes swoop through the air over her head, harrying drably armored defenders from above as kabalite warriors push the same troops back. Most bear the red and black coloring and skull sigil of their allies, but Jian spots several Ashen Rose vehicles as well. A cluster of scantily clad wyches falls upon a group near her, laughing as their knives carve the men and women in front of them to ribbons.
There is no question in her mind how this battle will end. The defenders outnumber them, but they are tired and forced to stay and defend their positions, while the attacking kabals are free to strike at any point they chose, cycle their forces, and pull back if they decide a particular target is too much trouble. Their technology is superior and their forces sustained by the Ashen Rose's combat drugs and their own aggression.
Jian fixes her blades into place. A half-dozen mon'keigh are charging at her, heavy maces at the ready and faces hidden behind shielded helmets. She rushes forward to meet them, dodging and twisting to deter anyone who tries to fire at her. A hail of dark energy fire spurts from behind her as one of the sybarites who jumped next to her provides cover for her charge.
Three of the men fall as she runs and a forth drops to the ground. Jian hurtles toward one of the ones still standing, jamming her blades into the vulnerable fabric at his neck. Blood gushes from the wound, flowing over her hands and spraying across her armor. He gurgles and falls. She's already moving forward, dispatching his companion equally quickly. It's elegant, the direct simplicity of mowing them down like this.
A third man approaches her, raising the maul to crush her skull. But before he can reach the apex of his swing, she dives forward, striking at the backs of his knees to bring him to the ground. She doesn't have the weaponry to slice them clean off, but as he falls, she can already see the poisons that Valthiel has stocked her with eating away at his flesh.
He screams on the ground as she steps away.
The drukhari assault has blown a hole into the huge structure directly in front of her, a black stone building decorated with gilded turrets, massive, winged statues, and heavy columns. The thrust of the attack seems to be moving in that direction. Kicking the weapon out of the reach of the man next to her, Jian joins the current.
Perhaps she should have stayed to finish the man off. It would have been a kindness, compared to what awaits him should he survive. She wasn't thinking, just acting on the combat instincts that first Verynia and now Ayslinn have drilled into her – do not waste time with non-threats or remain stationary for too long. And Valthiel did order her to leave as many alive as possible. Is she brave enough to defy him, even if he will never know the difference?
She climbs through the field of rubble and larger chunks of stone that the blast has left and finds herself inside a large estate or noble's house of some kind. Heavy tapestry hangs from the walls and rich, gaudy features adorn everything. A few defenders linger, but most have already been incapacitated or killed. Whatever action there is to be had is deeper into the building.
As she looks around, she spots Valthiel, running toward a staircase. Bealfor and several other kabalites that she vaguely recognizes are with him. She follows.
Merging with the group as they ascend to the next level, Jian finds herself in another hallway, this one narrower, with lower ceilings and more doors leading off it. Bealfor kicks open the nearest one to reveal a bedroom. Empty, as far as she can tell, but after an instant he lunges for the bed and drives his klaive through the mattress. Someone shrieks and the incubus reaches down to drag a man from the space underneath before kicking him into a nearby wall. The man shudders and lies still and Jian feels a flare of sympathetic pain in her own stomach.
But her mission is clear. Jian opens another door, scanning for anyone who might be lying in wait. A whimper sounds from a door at the far end. She hesitates for just a moment before throwing it open, her pistol in one hand and blade at the ready to deal with any threat that might be inside.
There's no need. The door leads to a small room, clothes hanging from hooks and railings. A woman crouches at the back, dressed in plain civilian garb. She cradles a baby in her arms and another, slightly older child presses against her side, making the noise that alerted her to their presence. They stare up at her with round eyes.
Mon'keigh children look so strange…
Jian's bloodlust evaporates. She knows that fear, the horror that's written across the woman's face. How often has she felt the same emotion as she lies at Valthiel's side, wondering if even then his child was growing inside her? The idea of someone young, vulnerable, and innocent being brought into her world…
Her hands shake as she approaches the woman, the poison-filled pistol still pointed at her. She can't just let her go, and it will be obvious she killed them on purpose if she shoots them. The rest of the kabal is right there.
A set of syringes hangs from her belt, filled with drugs to render her victims unconscious or paralyzed. She fumbles them out and slides down on one knee, pressing the muzzle of her gun to the woman's forehead.
Only when she hears footsteps behind her as other members of Valthiel's retinue enter the room does she realize how long she's hesitated. But she has to do something. Jamming a pair of syringes into the baby's neck, she presses both of the autoinjectors. Hopefully, it will overdose, she thinks as she moves on to the older child.
Something rushes past Jian's head and her vision fills with red. Hot blood and chunks of flesh and bone splatter her and the woman who now sits, blank-faced in shock, clutching her headless children. Jian can only blink back, too stunned to react.
Behind her, Valthiel chuckles. "There's something special about the pain of a grieving mother, isn't there?"
The rest of the drukhari laugh as she turns to stare at him, desperately pushing down her own revulsion so they can't see her weakness. He has always been capable of this, she knows it. This is but one in a long line of cruelties that the man to whom she has given her life has perpetuated. She chose to stay with full knowledge that this was who she was offering her soul to.
And what does that make me?
Valthiel beckons her to him, but she notices his gaze linger on the woman and the remains of her children. Is that regret in his eyes? Did he grant them a quick death to spare them the city and a childhood in slavery, a horror she knows he remembers? Or is it simply wishful thinking on her part, a way to rationalize the affection she still feels for him in the face of abject evil?
A question she will wrestle with later.
Her legs shake as she stands, but by the time she has reached his side, her movements are smooth and steady again. She follows him and the rest of the drukhari back into the hallway and up another set of stairs. The resistance they encounter is token, a few guards quickly dispatched.
Something is a bit off, though. Valthiel is hanging back a bit, his usually dramatic movements a bit subdued, letting his subordinates do the work. Jian leaves yet another woman on the floor and drifts toward him in the chaos. She doesn't want to undermine his authority by asking if he's alright, but if he's been poisoned or injured….
He smiles at her, an expression incongruous with the battle around them. "I'm alright dear."
A burst of laser fire from the top of the stairway brings her attention back to the moment. The drukhari at the front return shots. Several fall, injured or killed. Jian realizes she can't hope to shoot over the heads of those in front of her, or to get through the press to attack close-up.
Pulling away from Valthiel, she runs back to a landing and knocks out one of the windows. This building is so embellished, it can't be that hard to climb up the outside, right?
As she pulls herself through the opening, something ice-cold brushes her foot. She looks down to see a quartet of creatures climbing after her, aeldari-shaped, but seeming almost to be made of living shadow. Runes painted on their skin pulse with an eerie green light and their white hair is stiff and dry, like a corpse.
Jian freezes, eyes wide as they crawl onto the stonework that surrounds the window. Her foot still tingles where one of the things touched her, as though something has been sapped from it. They continue past, however, without so much as turning their featureless faces toward her. Of course, they must be allies of the Ashen Rose, perhaps even members. She has seen many strange things in Commorragh, and it would be an odd moment for an enemy to suddenly appear. She follows them, keeping a watchful eye out in case her estimation was incorrect.
The walls of the palace do prove easy enough to scale and she quickly finds herself perched atop a golden statue of a winged mon'keigh woman, staring through a massive window at the sides of several dozen troops. They're dressed differently than the soldiers she's run into so far, and better equipped. Perhaps from off-world?
On the other side of the room, the Ashen Rose warriors have formed a gun line of their own, set up along the stairs and behind the piles of debris nearby. She can't see Valthiel, although Bealfor is hard to miss as he cleaves anyone bold enough to approach in half.
And then, as she waits for the best moment to strike, holding motionless to avoid catching the defenders' attention, she spots something. A group of reinforcements is arriving from upstairs, a cluster of hairy, almost bestial-looking creatures, nearly human but not quite. They carry large, heavy swords. Jian looks toward the shadow-aeldari and one of them nods at her.
Despite the armor that protects her, she still tenses a bit as she breaks through the window, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. The guards look up in surprise but their attention is quickly drawn back to the fire from the kabalites on the stairs. Neither she nor her allies pause, crashing straight down into the beast-men and plunging their weapons into the thick hides.
Gore spatters her again as she strikes with her knives, aiming for the lower spine when she remembers to. Incapacitate, not kill. She's not sure if she manages to do it. Taking advantage of the distraction, Valthiel, Bealfor, and the rest of the incubi and lhameans in the group charge forward, covered by their ranged troops.
And then the action is over and she stands, panting, in a room full of dead and dying. The floor is slick with blood and their opponents lie scattered with all manner of horrific injuries – limbs chopped off and bones crushed, flesh melting away from poisoned wounds and burning with sticky, caustic liquids. Jian can see the effect it has on the drukhari, all the pain that practically forms a miasma, but she herself feels no joy or sorrow, only the burning need to move on to her next task and destroy her foes once again.
Instead, the strike force pauses. At first, she thinks they're only collecting themselves, but soon realizes that the lhameans are moving throughout the room, restraining their defeated opponents with disposable cuffs and injecting them with something from small vials that they seem to be carrying. If the substance has any immediate effects, Jian can't see them. She hovers at the edge of the room, restless with the desire to do something to help, nervousness clawing at some part of her mind. Whatever Valthiel's plan is, she doesn't think she will like it.
Before long, however, he jerks his head and curses under his breath. "It seems that reinforcements are incoming; time to finish this," he calls out. Gesturing first to the leader of the sybarite troops, then to one of the shadow-creatures, he continues. "Sarothrax, take half your people and sweep the rest of the estate for anything we missed on our way in with Alpha."
They hurry to obey as he turns his attention to another of the officers. "Begin preparing our slaves for extraction, I want them all to be ready as soon as I'm done here."
Finished, he turns to the remainder, which appears to be mostly lhameans and incubi, and begins consulting with them in hushed tones. Jian approaches and he acknowledges her with a nod. "Where would you like me?" she asks quietly.
"Go help move the slaves."
No. No, this is too much like things she doesn't want to remember, will remind her of how much she is party to all the horror that they have brought onto this place. She can't do it. But she can't say it, either. "Whatever happened to 'keep up with me'?" she asks, putting as much swagger into her voice as she can.
She almost thinks he might refuse her before he sighs and curses again. "Very well."
Despite the order to prepare the slaves, the lhameans wave the sybarites away from the group they just defeated, sending them back down the stairs. Again, a creeping feeling of dread seizes hold of Jian. She follows Valthiel and the newly shrunken group to the door at the far end of the massive room.
Another line of defenders waits for them inside, faces and forms obscured by masks and long coats. The room is much smaller than the one they just left, and she can see several individuals in the center of the ring of troops, although their features are obscured by those in front of them. They are likely the goal Valthiel is pursuing, or the keepers of it.
"Filthy hell-spawned xenos!" A woman's voice, shouting as the drukhari pour through the door. The words sound strange to Jian. Her father taught her one of the various tongues the mon'keigh speak when she was a child, but she's never heard it from a native speaker before. "Your arrogance and blind servitude to your own sins has failed you. The God Emperor's chosen are already on their way and they will – "
Valthiel waves his hand dismissively as he steps forward and looks around the room. His camouflage field is up, copies of himself darting in and out to obscure his position. "Is this all? I thought there would be more of you. Disappointing, really." He, too, is speaking the language of men, reminding Jian that he grew up among them.
"Disappointed?!"
Jian can see the speaker now, a woman at the center of the group wearing a tall, brimmed cap and a long coat. The armored men that surround her keep their rifles trained on the Ashen Rose warriors, who respond in kind. Behind the woman stands what she thinks must be a human, or at least was, but of absolutely massive size and bulk, head shaved and clad in an armored vest. A glitter from the far corner of the room draws her attention to a darkly clothed sniper crouched atop a makeshift nest of furniture.
"Yes, no need to feign shock. This is likely where you plan to tell me that I've walked into your trap, that there will be no escape and that your righteous flame will purge my degeneracy in the glory of the rotting corpse you call a god. I've heard it all before, and likely better stated."
Jian edges toward the wall, eyes darting everywhere, but always coming to rest on that sniper in the corner. Like her, the mon'keigh hang in a balance, itching to destroy their foes but unwilling to fire the first shot.
Valthiel continues to speak. "Now, you may well be correct. We are short on time and energy, and you are in your native environment and expecting reinforcements. Really, you have every advantage. Except one."
"And what would that be?" replies the woman irritably. She raises her hand and Jian senses rather than consciously knows that she is about to order her men to fire.
But Valthiel obviously picks up on the same signals. A smile spreads across his face as he holds out his arms. Some kind of remote or device is held in his hand and Jian notices a flare of psychic energy as he speaks – from the device or from him, she isn't sure. "Souls."
Pain.
Pure, unfiltered pain, worse than any agony Jian has felt in her life. It rolls over her in a wave from the slaves in the room they just left, dousing every nerve with ice-cold acid. Yet more than that, she feels it in her spirit, filling her mind and swelling her chest and roiling in her gut. The experience is… transcendent.
Through the awful sensation, she can feel energy pouring into her, filling her with white-hot light and searing away her exhaustion. Everything in her seems to vibrate and hum. She's ready to move, to run to hunt and kill.
The room erupts into a blur of motion. Jian dashes forward with the rest of the kabal, avoiding shots instinctively. The man in the sniper's nest turns to fire on her, but his shot, too, goes wide as she slams into him. The points of her knives slide between his armor plates, over and over as he moves in slow motion. Blood sprays in her face and his grunts of pain barely penetrate the rush in her ears.
Kill him, destroy him, make him suffer.
His gun falls to the floor, mangled into a useless lump of metal, followed by his arms. Still, she keeps attacking, staccato strikes carving chunks from the flesh of his torso.
And then she stops, breathing hard, her foe an unrecognizable pile of gore in front of her. By Isha, what is she doing?
She is given no time to contemplate, however, as she turns back toward the rest of the battle. The ugly giant has noticed her, lumbering in her direction as he raises a heavy tube and fires.
Before she has time to react, another blur of metal and blade rushes into her field of view, striking the grenade as it hurtles through the air. It falls in two and Jian's rescuer charges toward the man, klaive raised for another blow.
Bealfor just saved my life. It's so unexpected that she laughs aloud. Ordering her death one day, bringing salvation the next. She shakes her head and pushes the thought from her brain with all other unneeded complications, diving back into the swirl of combat.
None of the other men she tackles have the same satisfaction as the first, but still she fights on, buoyed by the eddies of pain that still swirl through the room. She hasn't felt this good since – since her mother died, really. Her blades bite over and over again and men and women fall, injured or killed, she doesn't care.
And then it's over. She stands over the body of another mon'keigh, dead or too wounded to fight on. Around her, the rest of the kabal slows their own fighting. Her breath comes in short bursts. The surges of energy in her chest still push her on to more violence, but there are no enemies left. Bealfor and his incubi stalk through the gore, delivering sharp kicks or stabs to the few who still dare to move, while the lhamians begin to secure them with restraints that flash with red energy.
Valthiel crouches atop the woman who spoke earlier, pressing down on her chest with the pointed, armored knee of his boot. It doesn't seem to be needed. She lies still, far too still even for one who has given up the fight. Jian almost wonders if she's dead or unconscious, but then she speaks. Shouts, rather. "Xeno scum! If you think – "
He shakes his head. "My dear Louvenia, surely you knew I would win the day. Or perhaps you didn't: arrogance has always been a shackle on the thinking of your kind."
"How did you – "
"How did I know your name? Well, that's quite easy. I know a lot of things about you, Louvenia." Even from several meters away, Jian can feel the outright loathing in the look the human woman gives him. "Such as, for example, your interest in human mutation and your research on the navigation gene and the ways the various houses breed and refine it."
He rips her jacket open and Jian turns away in disgust. She has no desire to watch what's next, busying herself instead with helping the sisters place cuffs on the prisoners. She can't help hearing their voices, however, as they continue to speak. "How did you know that?" Louvenia growls.
"I told you; I know many things. Trust me, your research notes and genetic samples will both be used to their full potential. I'm afraid I'll need some further insight into your methods, though, to know what you haven't decided to write down. So I'm sure we'll be having extensive and thorough talks in the future."
Movement catches Jian's eye and she looks over involuntarily to see him stand. Relief fills her as she realizes that both his and the woman's clothing are still in place. Perhaps it was ungrateful of her to think he would do such a thing. He holds a small silver case and a notebook, likely removed from some internal pocket of her coat. Louvenia is still sputtering insults and curses, rolling her head back and forth helplessly. "Bealfor, get her prepared for extraction," Valthiel says, ignoring her. "Remove her clothes and equipment and burn them; you can pull the armor off one of the guardsmen's corpses. A throne agent is a valuable prize and we cannot reveal to our so-called allies that we have one in our possession." The hierarch nods.
"You won't get away with this!" Louvenia spits, loud enough to be heard over the general din.
"Really? I would have thought you'd come up with something more original than that." He strokes his chin in mock contemplation. "Although, I suppose your people might realize that Commorragh was responsible for this raid. They aren't as incompetent as some like to think. But even so, it was the Kabal of the Flayed Skull that led this raid, not mine. We were barely a footnote, really. No, Louvenia, no one is coming to avenge you. But over the next few months, I want you to remember something: you would have done the same to me if you'd won, and had just as much fun doing it."
He turns away pointedly and approaches Jian, tucking the notebook and case into a pouch at his waist. A smirk is still plastered across his face as he leans in to kiss her. "Are you ready to leave, dear? I think we've overstayed our welcome."
Jian nods. She's starting to come down from the high of combat, the energy fading to a comfortable background hum and the world beginning to resume its normal pace. Discomfort is creeping in. She is uncomfortably aware of the fact that she stands among piles of bodies destined for a drukhari ship, to be stripped and bound and sold off to die slowly. A fate she had a hand in creating.
But it's nothing, right? It's only mon'keigh. Just the spoils of war. Everything is fine.
Valthiel takes her hand and leads her down the stairs and through the mansion, out into the cavernous tunnels of the hive world. The scene is hellish. Even more wreckage litters the streets than before, much of it burning with red and green fire or melted to slag by the kabalites' acidic weaponry. Bodies lie twisted and bloody, stabbed or burned or poisoned. Low-ranked warriors roam through the chaos, searching for any who hope to escape by feigning death.
All that pales, however, in comparison to the prisoners. Men, women, children, shackled together and driven by the whips and spears and shouts of their captors, toward the gaping holds of the ships that have landed in a relatively clear spot. Some cry or scream in frustration or anger or fear, but most simply walk, faces blank in numb despair, seemingly oblivious to their circumstances.
Worse still are those too injured to walk, those missing limbs or limp with blood loss or simply too exhausted and hopeless to move. These have been hooked to the back of the kabal's flyers and dragged along, battered and ground down by the rough landscape as they leave trails of blood in their wake. Their wails pound into Jian's mind, forcing her to pay attention to the scene before her.
It keeps getting worse. In the screams, she can hear her mother's voice, and her own, echoing from a thousand throats. A whip cracks nearby and she flinches, trying not to cry out in harmony with the recipient of the blow. Why is it so hard to breathe?
Something bumps her leg and she looks down. A mon'keigh has fallen at her feet, more girl than woman, with pale yellow hair matted with blood and dirt and a torn black robe trimmed in gold – some kind of priestess or acolyte, Jian thinks, in the faith followed by the human empire. Welts cross her back, raw and red through the slashes in her clothing and her chains rattle as she struggles to rise to her feet.
Their eyes lock and the girl's mouth opens in a silent cry for help. Jian's chest tightens. "I can't help you…" she breathes.
Valthiel's arm wraps around her shoulders. "Of course you can, dear." He gestures to one of the drukhari who dart around the area on small gliders, watching for trouble. The man flies over. "I want this girl cleaned up and any wounds and potential infections treated before she is transferred to my consort's quarters on my flagship."
"Of course, my lord." The man smiles unpleasantly and brings his flyer down to hover just above the ground. He grabs the girl by the collar and hauls her to her feet before dragging her onto the platform and flying away. She puts up no resistance.
Trying to clear the fog from her eyes and the confusion from her mind, Jian looks up at Valthiel. Still glowing with the cruel light of his enemies' pain, it's not the most comforting sight, but better than the horrors around her. Her panic is receding, but not enough that she feels like she could speak without her voice shaking.
He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You deserve a reward for your excellent work today, and a share in the spoils of this world. She will be your responsibility and I expect you to break her in and make sure she understands her role here. A rebellious slave reflects poorly on both of us, so whatever you do in private, make sure she behaves in front of others."
"Thank you." Her first instinct is to reject the gift. The memory of her early days in Commorragh, terrified that any wrong move will bring more suffering than she can imagine, helpless to resist anything her new master might wish to do to her, is too raw. How can she participate in such a thing and take up the mantle of the owner? Bathing in another being's suffering, a constant reminder of her own position, will be as much a slow poison on her soul as anything else in the city. Worse still, what if she grows to appreciate it? Having even a small bit of control over something in her life could easily enslave her just as much as the drukhari have.
But can she reject it, either? Such a thing would certainly offend Valthiel, and even if it didn't, what would happen to the girl? She'd be thrown back in with the rest of the prisoners, where the kabal would laugh as they destroyed her, bit by bit until she lost her mind and her life. Maybe this is the best thing that could happen to her. Maybe Jian can hold onto one good deed to keep herself from drowning in all this awfulness.
Valthiel searches her face and frowns, but shakes his head, apparently deciding not to comment on whatever he reads there. "I only wish I could do more for you."
"Do you need me to help you with anything here?"
"No, I just need to oversee the cleanup to make sure there is no trace of our presence when the reinforcements arrive. I doubt there is much you could do. Go back to the ship and enjoy some food and a bath; you've more than earned it. I will be back in an hour or two if you want to join me after, otherwise I will see you when you feel ready."
It takes more effort than Jian would like for her to pry her fingers from his armor and stand under her own power. Her legs and shoulders ache from tension and she has to take a moment to steady herself before she can begin walking back toward the ship. But she does, seeing herself off with a light kiss on his lips. His men might talk, after all, if she does not.
The trip back is uneventful, although she barely remembers it. There is blood and bones exposed to the air, screams and the rattle of chains, fire and smoke and the stink of death, but Jian focuses on managing herself. One foot in front of the other, breaths in and breaths out. There is no one here who would dare hurt her now. And if they try, she will crush them.
As soon as she enters the ship, she goes directly to her cabin, locking the door behind her. There, slowly, she can peel the armor off, attend to the scratches and bruises she has suffered, and stretch her aching muscles. Focusing on the work takes her mind from the battlefield somewhat. It saves her from having to remember the joy she took in destruction and slaughter and the consequences laid plain for her afterword, even though both still fill her mind.
When she has calmed somewhat, her heartbeat slowed through repetition of the poses and stances Ayslinn taught her, she runs herself a bath and sets to work cleaning the sweat and blood and battle-grime from her body. A meal has arrived by the time she's done and she eats it quickly, surprised at how hungry she is. Not that it should be surprising. She has been busy today.
Exhaustion pools in her limbs, but she doesn't feel like resting quite yet. A disquiet still lies over her, elation mixed with horror that won't allow her to sit still. After a few minutes of pacing, she pulls a robe over her nightdress and makes her way to Valthiel's room.
He answers her knock with a faint invitation inside and she enters. The room is deserted, but she can see a light on in the bathroom. A moment later, he emerges, barefoot and bare-chested, drying his long white hair with a towel.
Something slams into Jian, a wall of formless thoughts that leaves her momentarily paralyzed. She finds herself uncomfortably aware of everything in the room: the soft lights, the way his muscles stand out on his slim torso, the scent of the meat that he must have had for dinner, the lines of his jaw and how the towel rests so precariously on his hips…
She needs him. She needs him on her, in her, making each second last a lifetime as pain and pleasure mix into a cocktail of emotion and hormones that leave her a helpless, whimpering mess. His mess.
Before she has time to think about what that means, she's in his arms, kissing him desperately, afraid that the desire will wear off before she has time to satisfy it. His wraps his arms around her, pulling her down into a chair.
Still, the feeling swells into her throat. She finds herself tugging at his robe. It slides off his shoulders and catches near his waist and he twists for a moment to free himself. Jian takes his distraction to run her kisses down his neck and onto his chest, shedding her own clothing as she does.
"Someone is assertive tonight," Valthiel chuckles.
Jian looks up, a bit of uncertainty making its way in. Is she doing something inappropriate? "I just really want you right now."
His smile widens and he licks his lips. "Well then, I am at your mercy. Come and get me."
She needs no more encouragement.
Lilithu's son and Khaine's daughter crash to the ground, skin on naked skin. He effortlessly takes the lead, pressing her to the floor and holding her pinned as he enters her, and she responds in kind, wrapping her legs around his waist and meeting his every movement. They remain entwined for hours, exploring every detail of each other's bodies and reveling in the victory they have just won until at last, sweaty and exhausted once again, they make their way to the bed to sleep.
As we're getting further into the story, I'm curious as to what you guys think of the relationship between Jian and Valthiel. Are you rooting for them to work out their differences and get together? Or does he still need to do more to win your support? Or perhaps you don't think he ever will?