A/N:

Another heads up, this chapter includes a lot of disturbing content.

I should probably just stop putting these, it's a master/slave romance set in Commorragh, everybody knows what they're in for, but still. Escalation occurs in this chapter.

Also, I was never happy with the sex scene in chapter 8, so I've rewritten that and added in the updated version

"No, Jian, higher up." Lynx takes Jian's hand and slides it along her thigh. "Right there. Try that."

Keeping her finger on the exact point Lynx showed her, Jian presses the tip of her nail into the skin, feeling the tiny flutters of movement that indicate a blood vessel nearby.

Instantly, Lynx's eyes lose focus and her already pale skin seems to lose even more color. "Stop," she grunts through clenched teeth.

Jian obeys. "I found it, I take it?" Lynx nods vaguely as she retches over the edge of the porch. "Are you alright?"

She doesn't answer for a moment, then straightens, all signs of distress gone. "Just fine. I forget how quick that one works sometimes. It's not the most useful pressure point, if you're close enough that you can get to it, you have dozens of better options, but situations do come up where it's invaluable."

"Like when you need to break off sex in a hurry?"

"Yeah, like that." Lynx makes a face. "Just be careful if you ever use it on a woman. If she's pregnant and you do it for longer than a few seconds, it can cause serious damage to the fetus, even miscarriage. Although that's sometimes an end in itself."

"Don't you have abortifacient drugs you can manufacture?" Jian leans forward to glance inside at the time. She needs to leave soon; Valthiel has asked to talk with her this afternoon and she wants to freshen up a bit first.

"Of course we do, but there are some kabals that prohibit such things. Trueborn are rare enough as it is. Sometimes you need to be able to play innocent, especially if the mother isn't aware of what's about to happen." The idea doesn't seem to bother Lynx, and Jian finds herself unsure what to say next. This is the reality of the path she has chosen.

Fortunately, she's saved from having to respond by further comment from her teacher. "Now, then, I think we have time for one more pressure point before you have to leave."

The lesson finishes uneventfully, with Lynx explaining the best places to jab male genetalia for maximum pain, although it remains limited to a diagram. "I'll get someone out here for you to practice on next time. I doubt Valthiel would appreciate being your dummy for this particular phase of instruction."

Jian laughs as she says her goodbyes, trying to ignore the fact that her next lesson will mean torturing some hapless slave. It's not as though she can avoid it if she continues this line of study, and this is relatively harmless in comparison to many of the things she could be attempting. And likely will be attempting before long.

Contrary to Jian's expectations, her lessons with Lynx have not yet touched either a sexual position or a poison vial. Instead, the first few months have taken the form of extensive and detailed anatomy lessons, coupled with posture and body-control exercises that Lynx says are designed to work in tandem to grant her complete understanding of the eldar physiology. "Sex and death are two sides of the same coin, really," she said on their first day together. "A million ways to achieve each, a billion scenarios to lead to it, but eventually all that remains is that one perfect moment where your soul touches your victim's."

Jian hasn't found any noticeable changes to her life from the lessons, but having something to occupy her mind when she's not working with Ayslinn or spending time with Valthiel has been invaluable. Besides, the other demands on her and Lynx's schedules have made it so they can only move at a fraction of the pace that typical lhamean instruction proceeds. She's not worried, though. It's not as though she is going anywhere.

Jaeden is in her room, bent, as she often is, over a small notebook full of what Jian knows are her notes on the aeldari language. The girl seems to spend most of her time either studying the speech of her captors or scribbling in a second notebook in a language that Jian is unfamiliar with. She stands as Jian enters. "Hello, my lady," she says, her speech broken but surprisingly intelligible.

"Hard at work, I see."

"Much so."

She looks nervous and Jian frowns. She's still not sure how to make her feel more comfortable without giving her a longer leash than would be wise at this point. She's still not entirely convinced that the mon'keigh isn't just waiting until Jian lets her guard down to make a violent escape attempt. She collapses into an armchair with a sigh. "Would you order up some food? I'm starving." Lynx's lessons always leave her exhausted and hungry.

"I immediately will. What you feeling for?"

"Something with meat in it. Spicy, if possible." Jian looks at Jaeden, trying to figure out what kind of gesture she can offer. "Have you had anything yet today?"

Her maid shakes her head, although this fact doesn't appear to overly bother her. "Well, get something for yourself as well, then," Jian adds. "You can do that any time, you know."

"Alright." She disappears and Jian takes the time to slip out of her clothes and into a bath. The fact that her bathtub is shaped like a heart and in the center of the bedroom barely strikes her as an oddity anymore.

Jaeden returns a few minutes later, while Jian is still washing her hair. The human girl pulls a small table over to the side of the tub and sets her tray of food on it before backing away without a word. Jian notices with some amusement that she keeps her eyes averted the entire time. As she's grown less visibly frightened of her situation, Jaeden's modesty seems to have increased, and the sight of her mistress nude is clearly one she doesn't relish.

"Thank you," Jian says before immersing herself quickly to rinse the last of the soap from her hair. Blinking the water from her eyes, she reaches for a bottle of tonic that she begins to work into the strands. "I'll need you to help me get ready for the evening when I'm done here, but apart from that, you should have some time to yourself." When she gets done with whatever Valthiel has planned, she's probably going to want to just go to bed. With all her various lessons on top of spending time with him, she's been waking up exhausted every morning. It will be good to get a few extra hours of rest.

A part of her knows that there's likely more to it than that. If she includes the time they spent returning to Commorragh, it's been several months since the raid, and she hasn't done anything to replace the bits of her soul that have been lost to She Who Thirsts since then. It isn't as bad as it got last time – it helps that she's not taking a constant physical and emotional beating – but she has no doubt that it contributes somewhat to the tiredness that seems to be a near-constant companion these days. Not that Valthiel wouldn't give her someone to torture instantly if she asked, but it's not a solution she's willing to accept. She can only hope her resolve holds.

"Are you entertaining your husband this evening?" Jaeden's voice startles Jian from her reverie.

"My husband?" she replies, too distracted to think about what Jaeden is saying.

"Yes… he is not your husband, then, you are…" Her eyes widen and she blinks in surprise, as though she has just made a connection. "You are his possession," she says quietly. "As I am yours."

Jian nods. The details differ, but the outcome is the same. It feels curiously hard to admit, despite the overwhelming obviousness of it to everyone else around her.

"Is that the reason for your treatment of me?"

For a moment, she's too surprised by Jaeden's bluntness to answer properly. "What do you mean?"

"I am not blind. I have seen that you are much more civilized in your treatment of me than the rest of your xeno race would be. Is it because you are in the same circumstance yourself?"

"No, it's – " Jian's first instinct is to defend herself, explain the difference between her own people and those of Commorragh. I'm not one of them. But what's the point? She doubts Jaeden would understand or care about the distinction. They're all just 'xenos' in her mind, and the meaning of the mon'keigh term is obvious even if it's not a word Jian knows immediately. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"… I am sorry."

"It's alright. The gods have been good to me and I have found a good place for myself. The archon treats me extraordinarily well and I have several others that I am friendly with. I am content."

Jaeden frowns at this, but doesn't say whatever is on her mind. What she does say, however, sounds almost reluctant. "That is good. And you have been quite fair with me as well. Thank you."

"Which reminds me. If there is anything here, any situation or person who tries to threaten or take advantage of you. Tell me. I will end it." Standing, Jian reaches for a towel to dry herself.

"I will. But I rarely leave your quarters."

"Do you want to?"

"Maybe."

Her voice is so listless and sad that it arrests Jian in the middle of her movement. "What's wrong?"

"I just don't want to wither away."

Wither? Do the mon'keigh have to contend with She Who Thirsts as well? Jian isn't aware of any such thing, but there is a great deal that she doesn't know about them, she is coming to realize. "What do you mean?"

Jaeden's eyes flash and when she speaks again, it's in her own language. "I was a Black Priestess, a servant of the God Emperor on Holy Terra. I fought the insidious workings of the ruinous powers and protected the souls of the faithful. I was a warrior, not a – a bath girl!" Despite the ferocity of her expression, her words cut off with a sound that's close to a sob.

"I understand." Not the words themselves, several of which are unfamiliar to Jian, and she will never grasp the human devotion to the corpse they call a god, but the sentiment is painfully familiar. "I'm sorry. This place has a way of eating your dreams." She had been naïve enough once to hope for a happy life.

"I don't want to forget who I was," Jaeden says, looking at the ground.

Jian doesn't know how to respond. Nothing she says will be both true and comforting, and Jaeden doesn't strike her as someone who will appreciate blind optimism. "I would like to help you, but I do not know how."

When her maid looks up, the iron core has returned. "Does this palace have a library?"

"I believe it does." The books that Valthiel keeps giving her must come from somewhere.

"May I have access to it? I want to see if there is anything that could help me further my research."

"I don't know if I have the power to grant your request, but if I can, I will. You have my word."

"Thank you. It means a lot." She does sound slightly better, although Jian isn't sure how much is a genuine improvement and how much is simply her regaining her composure.

"I do not know when I will return tonight, and I may spend the night with the archon. There's no need to wait up for me."

Jaeden nods. "Thank you, I won't." They fall silent and Jian finishes dressing and doing her hair and makeup without reopening the conversation. Jaeden assists, but offers no more than a brief farewell as Jian leaves.

She arrives in Valthiel's suite quickly and without difficultly. He sits at his desk as she enters and rises to greet her, but doesn't step forward. She's relieved to see him looking alright. It's been nearly a day and a half since she left him last, and while she once might have welcomed the small interval of relief, it now brings something more akin to worry.

Twice since they returned to Commorragh, someone has tried to kill him. Or at least twice that she knows about. Both times were poisons, one of which merely made him ill when all was said and done and the other of which he discovered before ingesting it at all. Valthiel has reassured her that such things are common here, that he's survived dozens of assassination attempts since he became archon, but still it makes her uneasy.

He looks well today, though a bit distracted, smiling as she takes a seat in front of the desk. Old instinct suggests she should perhaps crawl under it, but it doesn't seem to be on his mind today and she's not in the mood to initiate.

"Hello, dearest. Would you like some wine?" he asks. Jian nods and he fills a cup from the half-empty decanter at his elbow as he continues speaking. "I know you're aware of the efforts we've been making during the past few weeks, to answer the Kabal of the Dying Wish for the death of one of our lhameans."

"I am."

"What we haven't really talked about is where you fit into all of this."

"Of course, I'm willing to help however you wish me to." That's why she's been training with Lynx, isn't it? To be something more, to be a useful member of the kabal and someone with a purpose of her own?

"Are you sure? I mean – " He takes a sip of his wine. "The realspace raid was familiar ground, a battlefield with rules and situations you were already acquainted with. This is a battle against another kabal, and we will fight with tactics and weapons that you have little experience with and might well find distasteful. And I do not want you to feel obligated to participate, or to join the fighting directly. If you want to avoid this mission, or take a more supportive role, I won't be upset and I won't pressure you. It's your choice."

"Distasteful how?"

"I plan to cheat. Turn their allies and confidants against them by appealing to their base impulses and desires to convince them that a partnership with us will be more pleasurable." His face twists into a sneer of contempt as he continues to speak. "We might like to see ourselves as complex, intricate individuals, but it's rather frightening how few actually match that description. Most of us are simple and painfully easy to manipulate."

He's right, Jian thinks, reminded of the interactions she witnessed at the party he brought her to, how even through her fear she knew exactly what to say and do. "Believe me, I'm under no illusions about my own genius," she replies wryly.

Instantly, his smile softens and he places his hand atop hers. "There's no illusions or deceptions to be found around you, my love. It's one of the things that I admire about you and it's… something I wish was possible for me to carry through in my own life."

After a moment of silence, Valthiel staring wistfully at their entwined fingers and Jian wondering how to respond, he speaks again, back to a more businesslike tone. "If you do want to help, I have two ideas for the moment. You could accompany me to a meeting with an elder haemoncullus, the Dying Wish's current contact for the resurrection of their high-ranking members. But I will warn you that meeting such a being or experiencing the covens first-hand is not something I wish to force on you, or even recommend. The other option is to go along with Lynx to meet with a gang of hellions allied with our enemy to convince them to contract with us instead."

Hellions. Savage criminals, many of them fresh from the slums of Lynx's upbringing, who scream through the skies on their hoverboards, fighting the other gangs and any kabalite or slave foolish enough to get in their way. The kabal that captured her seemed to have a great number of them as allies, and Jian had gathered that their archon had been one of their number herself in younger days. Going among them will not be pleasant, especially not with talk of 'baser manipulation'. "I won't have to sleep with them, will I?" Not that she thinks he would ask such a thing, but it's the first place her mind goes when she thinks of the gangs.

Valthiel snorts and rolls his eyes. "Of course not. Merely your presence will be more than enough, particularly with Lynx there. You can nearly get away with murder by implying things here, playing to the fantasies of a few bloodthiristy lowlifes will take no effort at all."

"I would rather go with you." Regardless of how he frames it or what she actually has to do, the idea of intentionally provoking the desire of a pack of slavering strangers is enough to nauseate her. But she does want to contribute, too.

He blinks, looking somewhat shocked. "Are you sure?" he asks carefully. "I want to make certain you understand who you're asking to meet before you confirm your choice."

"I want to help you! And I can stomach gore and death. I would rather that than be viewed as a – as a whore."

"Jian…" Shaking his head, Valthiel sets down his wine glass and wraps his other hand around hers. "It's not a matter of gore. It's… You know your craftworld kin, and how much they fear my people and our raids?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then trust me when I say that the residents of Commorragh fear falling into the hands of the haemonculli covens even more than that. The things you'll experience in their labyrinths, the things you will hear and see and smell, they stay with you. It's an experience I would like to spare you from."

"Then why ask at all?" Jian replies petulantly. His words have given her pause, but now that her mind is made up, she doesn't want to change it. And what is the alternative, really? To stay here and contribute nothing?

"Because I didn't want to decide for you. If you stay here, I will find something else for you to help with soon, I'm sure. I won't be angry and I won't find myself unprotected. Bealfor and his men will be guarding my every moment in any case."

Jian shakes her head. "I stand by my choice." She may come to regret it, probably will come to regret it, but it will be her decision, made of her own will. A luxury that has been all too scarce these days, and, she hopes, well worth the minutes or hours of horror she will have to endure to claim it.

"Very well. We leave in an hour; I would recommend changing into something you do not mind ruining." He stands and offers her his arm to rise from the chair before planting a light kiss on her lips. "I will be grateful to have your supporting presence at my side, Jian."

He's afraid, she realizes. The thought is a cold worm in her stomach, but rather than doubt, it steels her resolve. The incubi may be powerful warriors, but they're as unyielding as marble. If her support will help him face their would-be partners, then she will be there to give it.

Nevertheless, she feels a tremor in her legs as she steps away from Valthiel's embrace.

An hour later, Jian arrives at one of the landing platforms on the exterior of the spire, dressed in one of her suits of armor, a practical design that doesn't show too much skin. Her vambrace blades, a selection of knives, and a stinger pistol all wait in their appropriate places. She doubts Valthiel would have let her come if they were likely to be attacked directly, but she wants to be prepared. There is no question about if such things will be allowed at their destination. In Commorragh, to arrive without weapons is akin to arriving naked, and perhaps even more unusual.

He is there already, dressed in the gilded, engraved armor that she knows he reserves for formal occasions. A pair of long blades cross at his back and pistols hang at his waist. Jian bows from the waist. "I am at your service, my lord." The pageantry seems appropriate. It has been so easy, the last few weeks, to forget at whose side she stands and in whose arms she sleeps but now, seeing him arrayed in the death-white armor and with a quintet of incubi warriors at his back, there is no ignoring it.

Extending his hand to allow her to rise, Valthiel smiles at her. "In that case, I would be delighted to have you along. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?"

"Not yet." The fear has been slowly growing since she first agreed to do this, but she can't leave him to do it alone.

They board the flyer and Valthiel helps her settle in her seat, placing an arm around her shoulders protectively. "If one of our guards gives you an order, I want you to obey it as if it came directly from me, do you understand?"

Jian nods.

"They will only do so if it has to do with your or my immediate safety." His hand moves up to entwine with her hair. "And no matter what you see or hear, or what might happen, remember that we will return to our own quarters at the end of the day. Just stay with us and do not speak unless you are spoken to."

"I understand."

They ride in silence for most of the trip. Valthiel seems eager for physical contact and Jian finds herself craving it as well. She wonders what the incubi are thinking, watching them from behind those expressionless helmets, but they give no sign.

The flyer sets down on an isolated landing pad. A single set of stairs leads downward, into a wide tunnel that Jian can see rapidly branches off into a half-dozen separate routes, the walls stained and pitted from centuries of use and lit by a dim, colorless glow. Leading the way, Valthiel walks confidently into the warren. Jian follows close behind him and their guards bring up the rear, near enough that she can feel their movements with every step.

Almost as soon as they enter, a creeping sense of darkness, of wrong envelops her, pressing in on her from all sides. It feels as though cold, damp fur brushes against her skin, every hair in sharp focus, but when she looks down, she sees nothing. Something evil lives here.

They walk for perhaps five minutes. Valthiel leads them with apparent certainty through half a dozen choices of route and past a score of doors set into the walls before stopping in front of one, a black, circular slab of metal, large enough for three drukhari to walk abreast through it. On either side stands a pair of creatures, although they barely deserve the title. Both are taller than Bealfor and muscled to the point of grotesquerie, with helms fitted over their heads to obscure their features. A variety of metal devices sprout from their bodies, some seamlessly, others looking like fresh implants with inflamed skin weeping fluid around them. One of the creatures has a second pair of arms and the other has had its hands replaced by massive, serrated hooks.

Jian fights to keep from cringing away as one of them leans to open the door. They are expected, it seems, as Valthiel made no introduction.

The tunnel beyond the door is darker still, and cold enough to condense a thick mist that swirls around their knees. It almost feels to Jian as though the cold is the darkness itself, reaching out to suck what little warmth and light they have to offer. She tries to shake away the feeling – it's only a dark room, after all, nothing for a grown woman to be frightened of – but she can't shed the impression that the area they are about to enter is alive with malevolence.

As the last incubus walks through the door, it slides shut behind them with a clang. The guards remain where they are and the Ashen Rose party continues down the tunnel alone. They walk forward in the pitch darkness, all sounds seemingly muffled by the atmosphere.

A moment later, it hits her. A wave of noise, not physical but spiritual, silent screams of horror and panic, desperation and, above all, pain. So many voices in so many tones form a wall of psychic sound, yet still Jian can hear fragments of individual souls crying out. Begging, pleading, offering anything in the galaxy and more, every request is the same. Kill me, please, make it stop, it hurts so much, I want it to stop.

Jian clamps her hands over her ears in a vain effort to stem the tide, but still, the agonized sensations continue, ever-shifting as the souls warp under their torment. It's the impact of her first entry to Commorragh, multiplied a thousand times, and she can feel it manifesting physically. Her mouth is filled with the taste of blood and her ears with a rushing sound as though her body is trying to make sense of what she feels.

Something brushes her shoulder and rests there. A hand. Valthiel's hand. He squeezes gently, a reminder that he is still there, that a world exists beyond the horror that assaults her, before urging her forward. They have a purpose here.

Swallowing the blood, she keeps going, one foot in front of the other, her hand on Valthiel's arm for support. How is he able to remain so calm? With his strong empathic sense, this must be even worse for him.

After a few more eternal moments, Jian realizes that she is starting to be able to see, just slightly. There is a light somewhere in this place, far off or behind many twists and turns, but growing brighter with every step. In another minute, she can discern the walls of the tunnel and the ground beneath her feet. Both are made of cut stone, curiously archaic for such a technologically advanced city as Commorragh, and covered in irregular crisscrossing patterns of lines. It's only when she notices the blood spattered across the floor that she realizes what they are.

Scratch marks.

Gods, what sort of being must have passed through here to leave marks like that? A turn in the corridor brings Jian closer to the walls and she can see that many of the scratches have things lodged in them – bits of hair or fur, crusted blood, broken fingernails. Aeldari hands made these, at least some of them, fighting with every ounce of strength they possessed to resist whatever was dragging them toward the destination that Jian and Valthiel now approach.

The wave of psychic torment continues, combining with the reminders on the walls to worm its way deep into Jian's mind. She can't shake the feeling that she's not going to escape, that they'll be trapped in here and something horrible will happen to her, or to Valthiel. They have to run, before they become another voice in the storm.

But as they keep walking, the screams begin to subside. At first, Jian thinks she's merely becoming used to them, but soon she realizes that the spiritual cacophony really is lessening, growing fainter even than the normal background of Commorragh. In its place, it leaves a blank void, rendering even Valthiel and the incubi invisible to her empathic sense.

The hallway widens into a room with walls that curve away to both sides – quite large, Jian thinks. An icy white mist fills the space, prickling on her skin and so thick that she can barely see Valthiel at her side. The silence and emptiness press down on her as a physical weight and vague shapes float just at the edge of her vision, too obscured to make out the details.

Something hits her in the face. One of the shapes. Perhaps the size of her head and hanging from the ceiling by a long chain, and almost the shape of a –

The thing reaches out an arm. A bony, damp, yet strangely soft hand clutches at her face. A tiny hand, just like a –

No.

Jian cries out in alarm and stumbles backwards, away from it. With the revelation, she can start to make out the shapes around her in more detail. Babies, dozens of them, maybe more if the room is as large as she thinks it is, hanging from the ceiling from hooks and chains pierced through their flesh. Their mouths are stretched wide by metallic apparatuses that hold tubes down their throats, and their tiny bodies, brought past starvation into living death, twitch and tremble in their suffering.

The little eldar boy closest to her reaches out a blood-covered hand again, back arching in a silent scream. That's what the tubes must be for, Jian realizes, to collect the sounds and funnel them away for the pleasure of whoever created this room.

Jian vomits. How… why… what demon would create such a thing? The void that she now realizes is the children's utter despair offers no answer.

"Are you alright, Jian?" Valthiel's voice, quiet even in the silence as he pulls her hair back from her face. "Do you want to turn around?"

"No, no I'm alright." She breathes deeply, trying to purge all weakness from her body and mind. The cold, focus on how cold it is. She asked to come, and forcing him to leave now would ruin whatever plans he had.

They continue through the room, avoiding getting close enough to any of the children to disturb them more than needed. Still, Jian can feel their lifeless, dull eyes following her as they enter another tunnel.

This one proves much shorter and before a minute has passed, they emerge into another room. The mist is thinner, here, once again swirling around their ankles and leaving most of the space clearly visible. Dozens of bodies lie on metal slabs, every kind of sentient being Jian knows of and many she does not, in various stages of dismemberment. The one closest to her has had its eyes removed and hung, nerves trailing, to force the still-living human woman to watch what has been done to her.

Unlike the rest of the homunculus' den, this room is alive with movement and sensation. More of the giant creatures that guarded the door move in and out among the experiments, each different from the rest and wrapped in patched, tattered robes spattered with gore. Moans and wails fill the air, punctuated by the cracking of joints and bones and the low hum of the various mechanical tools that the servant-creatures wield. The air stinks of rotten flesh and bodily fluids.

Jian closes her eyes, trying to find the serenity that filled her mind in her warrior days. The countenance of Khaine has witnessed much worse horrors, and if she can embody his aspects once again, she will be able to endure. She squares her shoulders and looks up again, noticing for the first time the sarcophagai suspended above the entire scene. Is this what it takes to bring back the dead? To bathe in endless suffering until you have satiated She Who Thirsts long enough to steal away?

She gags, but manages to keep down what little bile she has left. This is hell. Finding Valthiel's arm, she grips as tightly as she can, heedless of any pain she might be causing him.

"Mmmm… cross the stars and brave the warp, who do we have here?" A woman's voice speaks behind them, smooth and high-pitched, almost like a child's, but with an unnatural echo like no child Jian has ever met. "It's not every day we are blessed by the child of a muse, not at all."

The woman laughs and Jian can feel warm breath on the back of her neck. Long, bony fingers with razor-sharp nails trail down her spine in a way that feels exposing, as though the woman can read her every memory and violate her innermost thoughts by touch alone. "And the pet that accompanies him, uncommonly loyal and with such a radiant soul. Yes, yes, such a fine specimen, so very fine, we could do such things with it."

Everything that has happened since she left Yme-loc has given Jian many skills she has never expected to possess, and one of them has been to remain absolutely still while strangers paw at her. She waits, desperate for an end and willing herself to breathe normally. What does this woman want with her?

Valthiel sighs, managing to sound almost bored. "Please, spare us the theatrics, Ezirmera. We are not humble vat-born, dazzled by parlor tricks. We are here to parley, either hear our terms or walk away from a once in a lifetime deal."

The creature – the haemonculus, Jian realizes – cackles and her hand slides back up to Jian's neck. "The princeling has decided to play the role of his elders today, very nice. But I'm afraid that the darkness of your cloak is rather see-through. One might even say watered-down."

Valthiel turns to face the being behind them, not just strangely calm, but resolute and commanding. "Be that as it may, do not, for one minute, presume to touch what is mine without my consent."

The talons remove themselves from Jian's neck, dragging across her skin as though reluctant to let her go. "So," the haemunculus hisses. "What is it you would ask of me, then? To hear about her, perhaps?"

"No"

"Oh? The stories we could tell you about the nights when Lhilitu still walked our streets, even then more of a concept and an ideal to come than a true drukhari woman… But still more than capable of mothering offspring, I see."

"You may be old, Ezirmera, but you are not that old," Valthiel sneers. "Everything you could tell me would be rumors and superstitions, no more than I have heard a thousand times in my own halls. You might be able to ensnare gutter rats who fancy themselves archons this way, but we are made of better stock."

Jian turns around as he speaks, forcing herself to look at the creature behind her. The one responsible for all of this.

The first thing she notices is the haemonculus' skin. Far smoother and softer even than Jian's, which is already perfect from Lynx's extensive beauty treatments, but instead of covering flesh and muscle, it almost looks like it's draped straight onto the bones, forming an elongated shape that might once have been a drukhari. A quartet of jointed, insect-like limbs project from its – her? – back, two waving about as if to punctuate her words. The other two are planted on the ground to steady her as she rests in the air, held aloft by what looks like a spine that has been extended into a long, spiked tail.

Looking up from the creature's bare abdomen, which is at Jian's eye level, she forces herself to gaze directly at her face. It, too, has been altered, eyes round and pitch black and glittering and a mouth full of jagged, razor-sharp teeth. It occurs to Jian that the woman's skin cannot possibly be her own.

The woman grins and reaches out those long, bony fingers toward Jian. But before she can touch her, Valthiel speaks, his voice again cutting sharply through the din. "We are here to offer you a deal. Nullify your contract with Lord Urkdreth and the Kabal of the Dying Wish, leaving him and the upper ranks of his kabal as a feast for She Who Thirsts when the time comes. The meager tribute he can offer is nothing compared to the coffers of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. Your petty dalliance with those acting above their station has paid off, and you have my attention. Let us negotiate." He steps forward, interposing himself between Jian and the haemonculus.

"Mmmm… An intriguing offer, it is most certainly. Tempted I am, very tempted to accept… but let us sweeten the deal, shall we?" The haemonculus takes Valthiel's shoulder and, before the incubi have even managed to draw their weapons, slides him from her path. A path that leads her right back to Jian.

"Firstborn," she hisses, sliding one of her clawed appendages across Jian's stomach. "Fresh from the womb, with seeds supplied by the noble archon. A fascinating child I could grow from such stock, a rare treat for my collection." The tail twists, lowering her until her feet are just above the ground, and she stares into Jian's eyes. Her hand extends. "Do we have a deal?"

No. The thought is too much. Not after everything. "No, we do not." She might be ruining things for Valthiel, she might be ruining things for herself. She doesn't care. She can't give this vile being any more children to hurt.

The haemonculus recoils slightly in surprise and seems about to speak before Valthiel steps forward again. "Nor is she able to make such a deal even if she would. If you seek an alliance with the Ashen Rose, you speak to me or you do not succeed. Nor does the deal I propose require sweetening, as unlike the pitiful rewards that the Dying Wish has to offer, we pay our collaborators fairly."

"And what, pray tell, is fair in this case?"

Valthiel pulls a small vial from inside his coat, holding it up to the harsh, diffused light of the laboratory. It contains a thick, red-brown liquid that seems to Jian to slosh about with an almost sentient intensity.

Ezirmera leans forward. "Is that – "

"Yes. An ichor sample from the long-extinct Sariesa race, preserved by the Order Xenos of the Imperium of Mankind and brought directly from their vaults to my own. And then to your hands, should you so desire. Merely the first of many timeless treasures we can offer your coven."

She considers for a moment, but not nearly as long as Jian thought she would. She must want this very badly. "Very well, you have an accord, young museling. And a prosperous one may it be."

The negotiations proceed quickly from there. A great deal of the specifics fly over Jian's head, but it seems that Valthiel and Ezirmera come to an agreement with little trouble. She wonders if it's because what he offers her is so valuable, or if the Kabal of the Dying Wish was not a very reliable ally.

After a few minutes, the two drukhari slice their hands to mark one side each of a pair of metallic discs, a symbol, it seems, of their agreement. And then the meeting is over, and Valthiel turns to leave without another word, gesturing for Jian and the incubi to follow him.

She barely registers the return journey. There is the screaming, the scratched walls echoing with desperation, and the deathly silence of the room full of tortured children, but her senses are seared to numbness. All she can think about are Ezirmera's words, the claw brushing across her stomach. Firstborn…

Lynx's stories of her own childhood, and Valthiel's, the thought of a tiny, helpless thing that she created hanging from those chains, wishing only for death despite not even understanding what that is. It brings back memories of her own hopelessness and pain, from the early days when she wondered if she, too, would end up on a cold slab watching her own dismemberment.

They settle into the flyer and begin their trip back to the Ashen Rose's pocket dimension. Valthiel wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, and she clings to his armor, trying to lose herself in the motions of his hand on her shoulders. You're safe, now, Jian, she tells herself. He doesn't want to hurt her, he loves her. He wouldn't make her do such a thing as was asked of her, and the haemonculus is back in her lair, getting further away from her by the second.

No one speaks. Jian wonders if Bealfor and his men are as horrified as she is, or if they simply don't care. Ayslinn has assured her that there is more to the hierarch than a soulless killing machine, but Jian has yet to see it.

Perhaps an hour later, the flyer sets down on the same landing platform from which they left. Valthiel dismisses the incubi before helping Jian climb down. "Do you want me to walk you to your room?" he asks quietly. She can only nod and let him lead her toward the safety and familiarity of her quarters, quiet and compliant, just like she's always been.

Jaeden is absent when they arrive, either running an errand or ensconced in her quarters, praying at the little shrine she has set up or writing in that little notebook of hers. Or perhaps asleep already. Jian realizes that she has no idea how long they were gone.

She lets Valthiel guide her to the bed and sits, taking a blanket to wrap around herself. "Will you please stay with me?"

"Of course. Do you mind if I change my clothes?"

Jian shakes her head. He reappears after a few minutes, dressed as she has sometimes seen him, loose brown pants and a bright blue shirt half-unbuttoned, hair tied back carelessly with a few strands coming free to hang around his face. It's not an archon's look, but it is an improvement in Jian's opinion. It's almost as if the lack of reminder of his position removes some of the hard lines from his face. He takes a seat beside her.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"For what?"

"The baby, I – I couldn't do it. Not after what I saw, I…" She trails off, unable to explain.

"I understand. And I want you to know that I didn't expect you to, nor would I have condoned it if you had." He sighs. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Jian shakes her head, trying to make sense of her thoughts and the source of the ache that's growing in her chest. "I asked to come. It was my choice. And I'm glad that you didn't have to face it alone."

Valthiel laughs humorlessly. "I would have had the incubi with me."

"That's not the same thing." Jian looks up. "Are you alright?" He doesn't seem upset, but it must have been even more painful for him than for her.

"I should be asking you that."

"I will live." Jian has no idea what makes her keep talking, but the horrible weight of what she's seen keeps pressing her until she can stand it no longer. "It was one of the things I feared, when you – when I came here. That I would have your child, and he would grow up here, in this city."

Valthiel doesn't answer for long seconds, but Jian can feel his chest and shoulders rising and falling as he tries to steady his breathing. "Jian," he finally says. "I know it didn't seem like it then, and likely still does not now, but I want you to know beyond the slightest doubt that if you ever conceived our child, and if you decided to keep it, I would never, under any circumstances, force you to deliver and raise them here in Commorragh. Ever. It is out of the question."

His words should gratify her, but instead they just tear further at the gaping emptiness in her chest. "I thought at first that it was what you wanted. I wondered why you were treating me so well and thought that perhaps you wanted an heir."

Tensing, Valthiel shakes his head. "That is a complicated question to answer, but I can assure you that no, I am not all that interested in an heir and it has nothing to do with why I bought you or why I've treated you the way I have." His voice drops to a whisper. "And you still deserve far better."

Now that there is no taking back her words, Jian is starting to remember herself. This isn't a door she can open, not if she wants to hold onto the thin thread of happiness that she's started to find. "It's alright," she says quickly. "Everything is alright now."

Valthiel twitches, as though she's stabbed him. "No it isn't," he croaks. His fingers slide under her chin, gently lifting her gaze to meet his own. "Jian, when I first brought you here, to my kabal, the way I treated you… the things I did to you and made you do, and the name that I gave you… I am not proud of that, and I know it caused you a great deal of pain. I – I know that I cannot undo what happened, and I likely can't make it up to you either. But I swear, I will spend the rest of my life trying. You didn't deserve any of it, and for that, I am sorry."

Jian stares at him, mouth open in shock. Her eyes fill with tears, but she barely knows why. What is he saying? Things she wasn't sure he felt, let alone would ever speak aloud to her. "Why?" she breathes.

He twitches again. "I told myself a lot of things… That this is the way things work, here, and it was your role and mine. That you would be fine as soon as you got used to the idea, and that even if there were caveats attached, your life was still much better than it would be otherwise." Sighing, he shakes his head. "But they were all excuses, and I knew that at the time. I'm sorry, Jian. I'm sorry for everything." He pulls his hand away from her and sits, looking down at his lap as though he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Neither does she. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to understand the pain that washes over her in waves. All the emotions she's been trying so hard to keep out of her mind flood back in. A sob rips from her. Another.

How long she cries, she's not sure. Her eyes burn and everything aches by the time she's reduced to sniffling quietly, curled in on herself on the bed. Through blurry vision, she sees Valthiel reach his hand toward her, but then pull it back. He looks down again.

"Even after you told me I could say no, I was afraid to," she whispers. "I thought you would hurt me if I did. And I hated myself for being a coward and giving in. Everywhere I went, I could feel you inside me, taste you. I wash and I wash and still I never feel clean." Things she's never admitted, even to herself alone in the dead of night.

"Please." He swallows. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

She shakes her head. "I don't know…" Nothing will ever erase the memories or get rid of the darkness that grows inside her with each passing day. It eats away at her as much as the slow sapping of her energy does.

They remain quiet for hours. Eventually, her hand finds its way into his, then, slowly, she draws closer until she is once again in his embrace, arms tight around his midsection. Anything to keep from having to be alone with her thoughts. His hands work soothing circles into her shoulders and back and run through her hair.

Jian runs through her memories, the way their relationship has progressed. So much that she wishes had never happened. It hurts, oh, Isha, it hurts so much.

It's with a strange sadness that she realizes that she isn't angry with him. She was, once. She remembers how she used to hate herself for not even trying to kill him. But somewhere, the anger has faded, replaced with only a dull, bitter regret.

She will never forget what happened. She's certain of that. No matter how many years or decades or centuries she lives, it will always be there. But maybe, with time, she can move past it. Cover the bad memories with newer, better ones so that they only cause pain on rare occasions.

"I forgive you," she says.

His grip on her tightens and she feels him draw a shuddering breath. "You… forgive me?"

Jian nods. There is nothing to be gained, anymore, by being angry.

A drop of something warm hit her head, then another. Tears. "Thank you," he whispers.

The man and the woman sit entwined on the bed. Forgiveness granted, it is mere seconds before she feels his touch on her mind. A blanket of psychic presence wraps her in its warmth and shields her from the torment of the city that surrounds them, leaving his every thought and feeling open to her should she choose to explore.

Not since she left the healer has she felt such intimacy and she longs to meet it with her own, but she doubts she will ever be able to trust another so deeply again. Yet still, she tries, opening herself up just a crack and feeling him race to the edge to touch the fleeting piece of her exposed soul.

As Commorragh night passes into an identical day, they remain where they are, in the privacy of their embrace, slowly forging a bond anew.

THIS IS IT! This was the chapter that I've been looking forward to writing since I started this story (well, one of them). It was so hard, but so, so much fun. Both the horror show that was the haemonculus coven and the scene after.

I'm curious, what did you guys think of the coven? And what about Val's apology? Did you expect it?

OOC, I can tell you that this is likely the first time in his life he's ever heard the phrase "I forgive you" directed toward him.