It must be midday when Jian awakes in Valthiel's bed. The night before is a blur of passion and pleasure and only a few images stand out clearly, but she doesn't regret it for a second. She feels warmer and stronger and more alert than she has since her days as a Howling Banshee. Every muscle seems to move perfectly to her command as she stretches. Her skin is smooth and soft, and her hair silken. It's as though she's been revitalized.
Another stretch of her arm is stopped by something firm and she twists to see a golden cuff connected to a chain that runs to the nearest bedpost. Valthiel must not have removed it before they all collapsed into sleep. As she sits up to look around, more tugs confirm that other chains connect her collar and one of her ankles to the bed as well. Valthiel is nowhere to be seen, but Lynx lies nearby, still deep in slumber with her hair loose around her face and her hands bound above her head. She's smiling.
Further exploration uncovers a key holding down note in Valthiel's handwriting. The large, looping runes explain that he was called away by the quartermaster to discuss the assimilation of the Kabal of the Dying Wish's remaining resources. She shouldn't expect him until late tonight, possibly even tomorrow morning.
A small cloud appears in the sunny morning of Jian's mind, briefly reminding her that when the highs fade and the excitement wanes, her collar is still there. But the melancholy is short-lived. The key frees her from the cuffs and removes the leash, leaving her free to do as she wishes. Free and with a whole day to spend as she pleases.
It looks as though the cuffs that bind Lynx to the bedpost use the same lock as her own. She could let her loose and figure out what she wants to do from there…
Or she could take charge again. There's some part of her that wants what she had last night, the connection and the feeling of being desired, to continue longer. Setting the key carefully out of Lynx's reach – she might be nimble enough to pick it up with her toes – Jian crawls across the bed to curl up next to her and pull her into an embrace. She presses the lhamean's head against her chest and caresses her hair, letting her other hand drift along her back and down to slide along her thigh. Lynx sighs and cuddles closer. She's beginning to wake up, but slowly, ever so slowly.
"Wake up, Lynx," Jian says teasingly to hurry her up.
"Mmmm…" The other woman opens her eyes briefly, then closes them again. "M'wake…"
"Did you have fun last night?" She pokes her a bit to keep her from drifting off again.
Finally, Lynx blinks a few times and yawns. "I did." Yawning again, she stretches in her bonds, arching her back and thrusting her hips forward in a way that sends tingles racing across Jian's skin. By Isha… she can't be doing this by accident, can she? "What about you?"
"I had a lovely time." Jian's grip tightens on Lynx's thigh. "I'm still hungry, though."
Lynx smiles a predator's smile. "I see… why didn't you say so?" Her legs tighten around Jian and she twists, pushing her down so she can climb on top.
Instantly, Jian's instincts kick in, telling her to relax, submit, let Lynx take over. It's impressive how she manages to convey such a presence while still cuffed to a bed post.
But no. Jian pushes back, using her own strength to fight the pressure and force Lynx back, down onto her stomach with Jian straddling her back. A quick glance around the room finds some of the cuffs Valthiel used on her last night. Another wrestling match ensues, but soon she finds her prey completely immobilized and ready for her to take the lead.
"What are you doing?" Lynx says, straining against the chains.
"Eating myself to satiation," breathes Jian. Her lips travel up Lynx's neck, pausing to nibble on her ear and breathe in the scent of her hair.
Lynx laughs. "Aww, that's kind of cute, actually. But come on, sweetheart. Let me out of these cuffs so we can have a real woman on top."
"Oh?" A smile spreads across Jian's face at the challenge. Lynx should know her better by now. "And what does that make me?"
"You're a – "
Whatever she was going to say next cuts off in a surprised yelp as Jian slides her hand in to twist her nipple. Yes, this is just what she needed. Her fingers slip down her body, toward her thighs again.
And stop as an erotic pain explodes in her head, pulling a gasp from her. Gods, did Lynx just bite her ear? "You stop that," she admonishes, but the words come out husky and quiet.
"You're one of us now," Lynx replies with equal excitement. "Don't ask me, make me."
She does.
Unlike last night, her passion runs out quickly. She finds herself curled in the hollows of Lynx's body, sweat and fluids making the warmth of the blankets feel close and heavy. Keeping one arm wrapped around Jian, the taller woman reaches up with her other hand to remove the gag that went into her mouth during their struggles. "Well that was certainly unexpected."
"Mmm-hmm." She's not ready to talk yet. This is too nice.
"We should do it again some time."
Jian looks up. Does she want to?
Perhaps noticing her hesitation, Lynx runs her fingers through Jian's hair. "Come on. You know you loved this."
"I did… just…" She takes a deep breath before blurting out her fear. "I don't want this to be more than it is."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't take this to mean that I don't like you, or I didn't have fun last night. But I don't have the energy for another lover. Not the way I am with Valthiel. We can do this again, but can we keep it – " she searches for the word " – casual?"
"Of course," Lynx replies. "That's all I wanted from the start, Jian." She kisses her on the top of the head and Jian feels herself relaxing into the embrace. The details of this new dynamic to their relationship will come later. For now, she just wants to enjoy the company.
The campaign against the Kabal of the Dying Wish reaches its end less than a week later. Nearly all their resources have been destroyed or absorbed into the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. All but two of the key members of the kabal are accounted for – one has disappeared into the webway and the other, the commander who escaped from the battle with the t'au, has sought refuge with the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists, who Valthiel deems too dangerous to risk provoking over such a matter.
After all the excitement, Jian finds the return to normal life in the kabal somewhat boring. While her lessons with Lynx and Ayslinn fill many hours, a sensation of sameness settles in. But the rest isn't entirely unwelcome, either. The routines are comforting, as is the chance to spend more time silently meditating in her private garden or relaxing with Valthiel. Now that the active threat has ended, he seems much less harried and has taken to eating dinner with her every night. Sometimes they dine alone, sometimes with Lynx or Bealfor or Derfahn. After, Valthiel pours over his intelligence reports while Jian studies or reads. Although the night frequently ends with sex, hard and fast and intense enough to leave her screaming in pain and pleasure, almost as often they simply retire together, Jian curling up in his arms in the nest of pillows and silken sheets to sleep until morning.
So it surprises her, one day several weeks after the victory celebration, when she answers a knock at the door of her chambers to find him standing outside. He rarely calls on her this early. "What's wrong?"
He smiles softly. "Nothing's wrong, dear. I just wanted to tell you that we caught the man who tried to poison you last week. He annihilated himself before we could interrogate him, but based on several items we found on him, we believe he was connected to another kabal. Likely trying to strike at you to send me a message. I promise, we won't stop looking until we find who is responsible."
"Ah. I see." Curiously, the thought doesn't frighten her as much as it should. Perhaps because the threat seems so abstract compared to a drukhari warband staring her in the face, or maybe she just trusts that he has the situation well in hand. She suspects that he wouldn't have mentioned it at all if he didn't.
Valthiel's smile drops. "Unfortunately, I also came to say goodbye – "
Jian doesn't hear the rest. Her head echoes with emptiness that pulses with her heartbeat. I failed. I wasn't pleasing enough and he's decided to move on.
No, no, that isn't right. Valthiel wouldn't throw her away, not like that. She shakes her head to clear the thoughts and forces herself to loosen her grip on the edge of the doorway. "I'm sorry," she says, pleased that only a slight tremor enters her voice. "I was distracted for a moment, could you repeat that."
His frown deepens and he reaches out affectionately, the leather of his glove soft against her cheek. "I said that I had some business to attend to. I'll only be gone for a few days, but I didn't want you to worry."
"Of course," Jian replies. The tension still fills her body, but it's irrational, she knows it's irrational. She smiles and winks with a humor that she knows she would feel if this were a normal conversation. "You'll just have to make it up to me when you get back."
"Of course I will, Treasure." He smiles back and bows with an exaggerated flourish before kissing her lightly on the cheek. "You will have me at your complete disposal when I return, I promise. Was there anything you needed before I go?"
Jian shakes her head and watches him retreat down the corridor, wondering what she is going to do with the next few days.
Despite her initial fears, Jian has little trouble filling Valthiel's absence. Her lessons with Lynx and Ayslinn continue, as do her mediation sessions. The extra time in the evenings is spent in her room, creating music and artwork. Jaeden seems curious about the content of her songs, so she begins telling her about some of the traditional mythology of the aeldari as well.
But still, the archon's absence is keenly felt. After the first lonely night, Jian joins Lynx in her cabin to sleep, but it's not merely his warm body at night or his sexual attention that she misses. She finds herself storing up things to tell him, questions she wants to ask, things she wants to do together. The strength of her response surprises her, as does the intensity of the happiness that fills her when, after nearly a week, Bealfor informs her that Valthiel will be returning that evening.
She waits in the antechamber of his suite for him to arrive, dressed in one of the outfits he gave her the day of their first tour of the kabal. This particular piece is a heavy, embroidered robe in her favorite brilliant blue, cut and wrapped tightly at the torso with a long, straight skirt and a deep neckline that reveals her cleavage. In recent months, it has become one of her favorites, perfect for tonight.
He enters perhaps a half hour after she sits down to wait, looking tired, but not unhappy. His eyes light up when he sees her and he rushes to embrace her, pulling her from the ground in his enthusiasm. "I didn't expect to see you waiting for me here."
"Mmmm." Jian buries her face in his shoulder. His armor presses lines into her skin and under the bright citrus scent of his cologne, she can pick up a faint sour smell, like vomit or rotten food, mixed with a metallic tang of blood.
He doesn't respond at first, simply hugging her tighter and sighing happily before releasing her. Then he grins. "So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?"
Jian looks up, trying to remain serious. She fails. A teasing smile of her own spreads across her face. "I'm here to hold you to your word."
"Oh?"
"You promised you would spend time with me when you arrived. 'At my complete disposal', you said."
"Indeed I did. So," Valthiel says, extending his wrists in front of him as though waiting for her to cuff them. "Show me your will."
Taking him by the hand, Jian leads him further into his rooms. She's spent most of the afternoon getting ready for this evening, and she hopes her work won't be for nothing.
She needn't have worried. As they enter the seating area, he stops, pulling her up short and drawing her back to him. "Did you do all this?" he asks quietly.
"I did." Her ideas for decorating had turned out to be a great deal more involved than she thought, resulting in several hours of stringing tiny lights across the ceiling, hanging drapes, moving and setting chairs and tables, and finding the right music and lighting to complement the evening. Perhaps she could have requested assistance, but that would have required explaining why she needed Valthiel's room redecorated and she suspects that would have ruined whatever shreds remain of the illusion that she is nothing more than his hapless plaything.
In the end, though, she's pleased with the effect. Gauzy curtains drift in the slight air currents of the room, turning the light from dozens of candles into a dim haze. Flowers and herbs from the gardens fill the air with a pleasant scent. Music plays from one corner, and Jian is proud of herself for managing to track down a recording of a gentle craftworld tune that she's always loved.
After a moment of apparent speechlessness, Valthiel kisses the top of her head. "It looks beautiful, Jian."
"I ordered dinner. It will be here in an hour."
"Well, that gives us three thousand six hundred seconds to kill. I assume you have a plan for how to use that time?"
For the first time, Jian hesitates. She's not sure what it is that makes the blush rise to her cheeks, but somehow her idea seems very silly to her now. "Would you – would you like to dance?"
He starts, again seeming at a loss for words. "Of course. Nothing would make me happier. Do you mind if I change clothes first?"
Jian shakes her head. "Put on something nice for me."
"Of course." He disappears into his bedroom, leaving Jian to fidget with the music and readjust the table settings and her hairpins a half dozen times. Isha's tits, what's wrong with me?
When Valthiel reappears, his appearance has completely changed. The coat and armor is gone, replaced with a red and white robe, elaborately draped and layered with a sash tight around his waist, a thing far too soft and delicate to have been made in Commorragh. Jian is reminded again how small he really is, only a bit taller than herself and built slightly enough that he could probably have been accepted to the Banshees, had he been born on a craftworld. His hair is pulled into a knot decorated with what looks like the tooth of a large predator and he's expanded the tattoos on his face with complex designs in a matching black paint. "How do I look?" he asks.
"Very handsome," replies Jian. Then, without thinking, she adds "And not at all like an archon."
"You know, coming from you, I'm going to take that as a compliment," he replies warmly as he crosses the room. Taking her hand, he guides her up from her chair and to the center of the room. "Are you ready to begin our first dance?"
"I should probably have asked you if you know how."
"I'm sure I will manage somehow." He allows Jian to guide one of his hands to her shoulder as she wraps an arm around his waist, taking his other hand in hers.
"We should be reversing this, really, since you're taller," she says. "But I'll lead tonight."
Valthiel nods and lets her show him the steps, basic at first, but gradually adding more twirls and dips and long sweeping steps until they're spinning back and forth across his sitting room, floating on the highs and lows of the music. When they stop, Jian closes her eyes and leans against his chest. His arms slide down to wrap around her and they stand, swaying ever so slightly as though pushed by the drafts in the room until the song ends.
Happy.
A moment of silence and stillness elapses before she speaks. "Alright, it's your turn. Do you know any dances?"
Releasing his hold on her, he grins mischievously and stretches his arms above his head. "I do. Be warned, though, you might build up a bit of a sweat."
"Oh?"
Instead of answering, he touches one of the bracelets around his wrist. The music changes to something else, quickening in tempo and changing to a new beat. He pulls her to him and they begin.
Although the steps are unfamiliar and quick, Jian is used to moving in unison with others. He casts her out and back in to press his hips against hers, their legs crossing and uncrossing in unison. Before she realizes what's happening, he's lifted her from the ground to swing her above his head and bring her down into another turn.
The song ends. True to promise, Jian can feel sweat starting to break out on her back from the exertion. Their faces are centimeters apart and his breath is warm on her face. Their eyes lock.
But the tension breaks before Jian can move forward. Valthiel pulls her back to her feet and releases his hold on her, letting her stand under her own power. "How did you like it?"
"It was wonderful! I love a dance that gets your blood moving." The movements remind her of the elaborate forms and poses that Verynia and Ayslinn both use as part of their training regimes. "Is it a corsair tradition?" She has a hard time believing that anything so beautiful and freeing could come from Commorragh.
"It is. And judging by the look on your face, I'm going to have to show you more steps soon."
"I would like that." Jian pauses, unsure if she should ask the questions that come into her mind. She's wondered such things for a long time, but has been held back first by fear and then by the worry of stirring up painful memories. Perhaps sensing her feelings, Valthiel squeezes her hand and tugs her toward the couch. "What happened to the rest of the corsairs? The fleet you used to be a part of. Are they still out there?"
A brief frown crosses his face as he settles down, but it passes quickly. "Yes and no. There were originally four of us, hence the name Reavers of the Four Winds. One of them sadly was lost in battle a decade before I left, and I brought many of my more loyal bladesworn and felarchs with me when I took leadership of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. The other two are still alive as far as I know, although one has retired to Alitoc." He sighs pensively and Jian leans against him, playing with the beaded edges of his robe. As she has become more relaxed around him, she's begun to get a finer sense of his emotional states as well. Some part of the situation with his former corsair brethren pains him greatly, she's sure.
The openness brings with it a desire to share something of her own. "The kabal that captured me killed my mother, but my father and Reena still live on Yme-loc. He follows the Path of the Thought-talker and she is a healer. Still training when I left, but the senior healers said she was phenomenally talented and took to the path like breathing."
"It sounds like you were surrounded by a lot of love and care. Did you have many other friends?"
Jian shakes her head. Since that last horrific day on her mother's ship, her spirit may have diminished, but her poise has grown exponentially. On Yme-loc, she was always nervous around others that she didn't know, hesitant to assert herself and content to spend her time with the same few people. Here, she has learned to hide any sign of weakness lest it be exploited. Moreover, she's come to desire the company of others and a constant variety of experience. She wonders if these traits were always there, dormant in her, or if something about her situation has invoked them. "The only others I would say I was close with were the women in my shrine."
He nods. "Would you like to tell me about them? Or would it be upsetting for you?"
"No, I would love to." It does hurt; the memories are horribly painful. But there is a sweetness to the pain, a kind of catharsis that comes with speaking of them and bringing their existence out of her own mind.
So she sits and talks, telling him about her training as a Howling Banshee and her life on the craftworld. She tells him about Aya and Lethe, the twins who somehow always seemed to wind up on the same path at every turn of their lives, about Elreth, who had joined after her children were grown, Dehina, who was considering the Path of Command, and Kayna, the woman who had endured dozens of battles without losing herself to the call.
Finally, she tells him about Verynia, the exarch, seemingly barely older than Jian, who had led them. Jian had often wondered what pain or rage had led Verynia to be so consumed by Khaine so quickly. But despite her fierce temper, abrasive demeanor, and constant streams of invective, she had been the one who'd taught Jian how to fight, to endure, and to control the restless irritability that had plagued her adolescence. She had taught Jian how to hear Khaine's whispers – and how to ignore them.
But now they're all gone. Dead or captured and sold away to someone who will make them suffer until they beg for death, and then on longer. She sighs and falls silent, curling up closer to Valthiel for reassurance.
He wraps himself around her and hums quietly. "Did they all die in the raid?" he asks after a moment.
"I don't know. I know that some of them did, but I didn't see what happened to Elreth, Aya, or Verynia." She can't keep the thickness out of her voice. "I hope they're dead. I doubt the gods are kind enough to make all of them as lucky as I was."
"If you wanted, I could try to find out what has become of them and, if possible, purchase them for you."
"Of course!" Jian feels a blush creep over her face. "That wasn't why I brought it up, though."
"I know. But if I could manage it?"
"I would love that." She's terrified of what he will find, but she cannot let fear stop her from doing this.
He kisses the top of her head. "Then I will start looking tomorrow."
For long minutes they sit in silence again, enjoying the soft music that still plays in the background, until Valthiel shifts his position. "I wish you could have met the other Princes of the Winds. They would have liked you. Well, not Koi, I suppose, but truth be told, he never liked anyone."
"Oh?"
"He was not fond of company, far too focused on his own training and spiritual meditations in his quest for perfection in his crafts. In fact, it's arguable that his fleet was almost a cult in itself, dedicated to his unique vision of battlefield superiority and of the perfect murder."
"I don't think any of my friends or family would have liked you," Jian replies, more bluntly than she means to. She's too busy trying to imagine what Koi must have been like from the strange description. "But I don't think that comes as a surprise."
"I take it they would merely need to hear that I am an archon and a denizen of Commorragh?"
"Exactly." She laughs sadly just as a soft chime sounds from the door. "I think dinner is here." She hurries to retrieve it, eager to move from weighty topics and back to the simple enjoyment of each other's presence.
A moment later, Valthiel and Jian settle down for a luxurious meal and a rich selection of wines, their conversation drifting back to the trivial and enjoyable as they drink and dine. The candles burn low and the music stops, but the conversation continues late into the night until, at long last, they exchange their clothing for loose, soft robes and crawl into bed. Sleep is slow in coming to Jian, but she lies in a drowsy, comfortable warmth, a smile on her face.
This was just what she wanted.
Jian curls up on the chaise in her room, deep in concentration. The drawing taking shape on her paper is going slowly, and no matter how hard she tries, she can never quite manage to capture the landscape in her mind.
Only a few weeks have passed since Valthiel returned, weeks that have been rather unremarkable by most standards. Her routine continues uninterrupted, although she has noticed that she's finding it more exhausting recently than previously. She's not sure if this is because she's once again starting to lose vitality to She Who Thirsts, or if her life is merely becoming familiar and dull. Either way, she decided to cancel her training with Lynx this morning and spend the early part of her day alone.
"Beautiful." Valthiel's voice in her ear is so unexpected that she jumps, dropping her hand-easel on the floor.
Giving him an annoyed look, she picks it up and shifts her position to face him. "Thank you," she says wryly. "What are you doing here?"
He flashes a boyish grin. "Visiting the most beautiful woman in the kabal, of course. You were too lost in your work to hear me knocking, so Jaeden let me in."
Jian looks in the direction of the door and sees Jaeden hovering nearby with a nervous expression. She nods briefly to indicate that her actions were correct and the human maid retreats to her room. "Ah, I see. Is there a reason for your visit, or are you just wanting to bask in the glory of my presence this morning?"
He shakes his head. "No, I just heard that you had asked Lynx for the day off and wanted to make sure that nothing was wrong."
"No, just a bit tired." She pats the couch beside her to invite him to take a seat.
He does. "Would you prefer I left you alone?"
"No, I don't mind spending the time with you. I just don't think I'm ready to insert more knowledge into my head right now."
"Alright." He picks up her paper and inspects it. "This looks good."
"I've done better. I think I need to start over. The mood was supposed to be one of rest and contemplation, and instead it looks ominous."
"Nonetheless, you're coming along quite well. Who knows, you might be working on a portrait of me before you know it!"
He's right – in all the hundreds of drawings and paintings she's created, she has never done one of him. At first, she had no desire to devote even more of her thoughts to him. Later, other activities filled their time together and it had never come up. "Would you like one?"
A sly smile cracks his fond expression and he reaches over to stroke one of her ears. "As long as it follows your inspiration and vision, I would love one."
"Well, then, go sit over there." She gestures toward the armchair that she normally uses for reading. "You can tell me about your day while you do."
"You mean now?" He seems surprised, but not too surprised to pinch the tip of her ear, making her squeal. Some days it feels like half of their interactions end with her needing to change her undergarments. "Would you prefer me clothed or not?"
"Which would you prefer existing as a picture that others might see?" Jian replies. When she has sat for him, he has varied the pose and style, drawing her in everything from formal craftworld robes and his rose garden to nude and blindfolded, suspended from the ceiling by bindings of intricately knotted rope.
Snickering, he continues to rub her ear for another moment before sauntering over to the armchair she uses for reading. He removes his coat, then drapes himself over the chair in his ruffled shirt and fitted pants. "Something like this?"
"Perfect." She looks down to concentrate on laying out the basic lines of the picture. Something hits her arm and she jerks instinctively, slashing a dark line across the page. She looks up, but Valthiel is sitting quietly, smirking like a gyrinx that's caught a bird.
She returns her attention to her work, but again, a light impact, this time on her leg. This time, she looks up quickly enough to notice Valthiel's arm moving back to position and the scrap of paper scrunched into a small ball lying at her feet. "If you're not going to behave, I won't be able to concentrate and you will wind up looking like Derfahn," she says severely.
"Yes," he chuckles. "That would be a travesty worthy of a lament equal to those describing our fall." Sighing dramatically, he settles back into his seat. "I will behave, I promise."
So Jian resumes her work, listening to Valthiel speak about his activities and the day-to-day affairs of the kabal, offering her own input and anecdotes as appropriate. Although her physical exhaustion remains, she finds her mind growing lighter with the relaxation. It seems that starting anew has improved her drawing form today as well, with the new picture taking shape much faster and to far greater satisfaction.
"Are you doing anything this evening? Or are you free?"
The question takes Jian off guard and she pauses to consider. "I am meeting with Ayslinn to train this afternoon, but after that I have no plans. Why do you ask?"
"I want to take you out. I secured prime seats for the gladiatorial games tonight, and I thought you might like to come with me."
"Gladiatorial games?" She knows what they are, of course – staged deathmatches held in massive arenas for the entertainment of Commorragh's populace. All manner of exotic beasts and slaves from every corner of the galaxy lose their lives on the arena floors, either forced to fight each other or killed by the gladiators of the wytch cults in flamboyant and vicious displays of skill.
"Yes, the Cult of Strife is hosting a festival to celebrate the ascension of a new succubus and to honor her achievements. Several kabals have already donated exotic and valuable prizes from their recent raids to spice up the games. It should be quite the show. And I would love it if you would accompany me."
"I would be happy to come." Jian pauses, swallowing as she remembers the last event she attended with him. "How will I be attending?"
"Lynx has arranged for a lhameanite robe to be made according to your measurements. That should suit."
Jian relaxes. This will be much less painful than the party. "Perfect. How long do I have to prepare?"
"About two hours, how come?"
She stands abruptly. "Because I need to start getting ready now." She normally saves her bath for after training with Ayslinn, and between that, her hair, painting her face…
"Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me to leave and call Lynx to attend to you?" He eyes her curiously.
"Between Jaeden and I, I'm sure I'll manage. But two hours will barely be enough time. I can't sit here and keep flirting." She smiles to soften her words.
"Fine, I can tell when I'm no longer wanted," he replies with an exaggerated eye roll. "I'll go play cards with Derfahn while you get ready."
He retreats and Jian calls Jaeden back in to help her. Swiftly and with minimal small talk, she bathes, arranges her hair in a subtle updo, and does her face in a subdued echo of traditional lhamean makeup. But no white base. She's still not ready for that. And even if she was, Miarya would use her entrails as corset strings were she to go that far without an official appointment to the order.
Satisfied with her appearance, she dresses in a set of her most seductive lingerie, soft boots, and the robe Lynx sent up. Fitted at the waist with a floor-length skirt and lightweight overdress, the collar is also high enough to hide the band of metal that she still wears around her neck. A reminder that the world she and Valthiel have created is simply a little pocket of joy in a wider realm of horrors.
But thoughts like that are too gloomy for the moment. There will be times when she can't push away the miasma of pain and malice and despair that permeates the essence of the city, but right now she can. With only a few minutes remaining, she busies herself tucking a series of knives, poisons, and other implements into the folds of her robe and the special pockets of her undergarments. When she's finished, she dismisses Jaeden with a warning that she likely won't be home until late and settles down to await Valthiel's return.
She doesn't have to wait long. He returns a few minutes later, wearing a suit of white and green armor trimmed in deep crimson. It is, Jian realizes, the same set he was wearing the day he purchased her, but it's been made over and reworked somewhat, adding a different feel. "You look different," she says as she stands and offers him her arm.
"I felt like a change was needed." He takes it and guides her out the door in an oddly tense silence. "My life is different, and much improved, since the day you entered it." Another moment of quiet. "Thank you."
"It was the least I could do," Jian replies quietly. The two reminders, one right after the other, fill her with confusion and regret, but not entirely painfully so. She's just glad that this is where she ended up. She doesn't want to think about what might have happened otherwise.
Valthiel's expression is already changing, though, becoming lighter and more eager. "Shall we, my love?" He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Alright." Kissing him lightly on the lips, she follows him into the flyer and out into the wider city.
This journey is longer than the one they took to the party, but still not long. The massive, domed arena looms over the skyline, spiked turrets and jagged edges reaching out to impale anyone foolish enough to approach without respect. Below them, massive queues stretch for kilometers as Commorragh's poor and unimportant wait to see if they will be allowed in, or if they will have to content themselves with whatever scraps of pain and fear make it beyond the arena walls.
As they slow to make their approach, a man appears, hovering toward them on a floating disk, his long dark hair snapping in the wind of his movements. "Lord Aire of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose," he says. "We are honored by your visit."
Jian remains silent, trying to strike the balance of aloof, yet superior that lhameans seem to be known for. Her hand rests on Valthiel's thigh suggestively.
He takes her cue and strokes her ear as he speaks to the man, starting slowly and increasing in intensity until Jian is thoroughly aroused. "Of course. It's always a pleasure to show my support for Lady Hesperax while she shows off her protegees. By all means, relay my regret at not keeping in better touch, but duties are endless, as I am sure she is well aware."
She makes a show of straddling his lap and nibbling at his neck as the man uncertainly waves them on. As soon as they're out of sight, she relaxes a little, but still remains close to him. "I didn't know you knew Lady Hesperax."
"I don't. We've met, but my invitation was a formality, not a personal request. But I was invited, and the difference means little to a doorman."
"I see." Another power play, an act just like hers. Now that her humiliation isn't the focus, it's almost fun.
"Just focus on having fun, Jian. After all, tonight is for you."
"For me?"
"Of course." He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and helps her from the vehicle. "We're not on Yme-loc anymore, and we need to find some way to restore your soul and keep you healthy. We can't raid every day, and I want to help you find something that works for you." His voice drops quiet. "My desire is for you to enjoy yourself here, after all."
"I do, though! I have a wonderful time when we're together."
Valthiel's face lights up like a child's, although his voice is still controlled. "It sounds like I am doing alright so far, then."
"I would say so." Despite her light tone, Jian can't help but feel touched by the care. To have him notice something so subtle without her prompting is a welcome development.
An elevator carries them upwards before opening into a small but luxurious room. The entire front half is made of clear panes, offering a full view of the arena and the crowds below, as well as a glimpse of the other boxes. The inside is outfitted with wide, luxurious couches and a table full of wines and liquors. Valthiel's pipe sits on a small table, already filled with the green smoke that he favors.
Remembering her role, Jian pours drinks – a sweet wine for her and a distilled one for him – before sitting. Valthiel takes his glass and tugs her down with him, settling her with her head in his lap where he can play with her hair as they wait for the games to begin.
Jian returns the affection by kneading his thigh as she looks around. Their box is located in the center of dozens of similar ones, all presumably filled with high-ranking drukhari. In the ones that have chosen to reveal themselves, she sees archons and their retinues, succubi of other cults, even a haemonculus, twisted into a form barely recognizable as an aeldari, yet strangely beautiful. Banners announcing the loyalties of those present flutter on the exterior of the structures and to Jian's surprise, she even recognizes a few of them.
A mix of emotions fills her. These are the monsters and demons of her childhood stories and fears, guilty of acts of cruelty and hatred that are still beyond her conception. And she exists here, not as a miserable victim, but as the lover and perhaps even a friend to one of their number. A man who, whatever his private softnesses and secret pains, seems to exist comfortably among them.
What does it mean that she is now a part of his world as well?
Her musings are interrupted by a commotion from the crowded stands below. Turning her attention to the arena, she spots a cluster of beastmasters guiding a pair of creatures toward the center of the sand. But these creatures are like nothing she has seen before, a chaotic riot of colors and mismatched limbs and spiked armor plating. Tentacles whip around something that might be a mouth, flinging droplets of slime that smoke on the ground where they land. One of the beasts rears and spits a gout of blue and purple flame at its handlers, who swiftly retreat to avoid the blast before returning to regain control.
Jian sits up, watching with interest. She's no zoologist, but she has never seen anything like this before. She suspects they were brought straight in from the warp itself.
As the beastmasters approach the center of the ring with their charges, the challengers enter, three women enter from the opposite side. Tall, lithe, impossibly graceful and beautiful, they are each clad in a skin-tight suit of black leather, cut away to show off their physiques, and each wields a different set of exotic and eye-catching weaponry.
For once, Jian feels no guilt at her interest in the violence that is about to ensue. The foul daemons of the warp need to be exterminated anyway, and this is going to be a good show.
Her enjoyment is delayed, however, as another drukhari emerges, this one a tall, broad-shouldered man of equally superlative looks. He begins to speak, amplified voice booming through the arena. "Denizens of Commorragh – "
No sooner has the speech started than she feels Valthiel's hand on her leg. He slides it up and down, up and down, dragging the movement out to keep her perfectly aware of the pressure along her thigh. Slowly, he begins to pull her skirt up and move his massage to the flesh under it.
She rolls her eyes, but plays along, leaning into the caresses as she tries to pay attention to the announcements below. But by Isha, it's hard. She can feel him brushing her neck with his lips, moving her hair aside to give him access. An arm wraps firmly around her waist, holding her in place as his other hand ranges further and further up her leg. His finger hooks around the edge of her stocking and begins to slide it down.
"Stop…" She mutters through her arousal. "Can't hear…"
"He is just flamboyantly and verbosely informing us of the champions' names, their past achievements, and their important victories, as well as glorifying the history of the Cult of Strife." He snorts. "As if it needed any embellishment. And telling us about all the fearsome qualities of their opponents. You are not going to miss anything essential."
Jian hums and allows him to continue, satisfied by the explanation. Valthiel kneads at her breast, making her squirm in delight.
And then, in a moment that she might have anticipated if she'd been paying attention, the chains holding back the warp creatures snap and they surge forward, toward the three women who seem to be hopelessly small and fragile in comparison to their opponents. Jian knows better, though. She sits up, eager to watch the grace and skill and the beautiful carnage.
The trio of succubi race toward the beats, one slightly ahead of the other two. Just before it seems that they must stop or run headlong into the writhing tentacles, they part, diving and whirling between them with weapons flashing and striking.
A cry rises from the audience as first blood is spilled and Jian leans forward to add her voice to the sound.
Valthiel too, pushes ahead and keeps pushing until she tumbles forward. Her knees slam down on the clear glass floor with an impact that makes her suck her breath in. The fight below continues, the succubi slicing their foes to ribbons, seemingly with no more effort than it takes her to transition between her sword forms. Each cut and stab and whiplash sends a new wave of pain washing over the audience. Perhaps it's merely a subtle hint to the jaded minds of those around her, but to Jian, it's a stream of energy that fills her with light and power. Valthiel's hands fumble around her waist, loosening her dress and pulling down her undergarments as though the euphoria has infected him too.
She doesn't resist as he enters her. The pain of the bloodshed below mixes with the pleasure above and Jian can feel herself hungering for it, mixing the two and longing for both in equal measure. I understand, now, why they crave torment. In the rush of the moment, the thought doesn't disturb her the way it should.
Again, the crowd whoops and cheers as the three succubi finish their performance, leaving both of the warp beasts in a pile of brightly colored flesh and fluids. Valthiel lets her go as they make their flourishes and exit the arena. Jian has finished their encounter on her hands and knees, drenched in sweat and breathless with excitement.
A flush creeps into her cheeks as she stands, realizing that the drukhari in the surrounding seats might well have been watching their performance. Although the thought doesn't embarrass her as much as it might once have, she puts extra effort into tidying herself in a calm and dignified fashion – straightening her robe, replacing her hairpins, removing the panties shoved into her mouth – before rejoining Valthiel on the couch. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her to him, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Well, that was fun," she says.
"It was," he says, the impish expression obvious in his tone. "And it seems to have worked."
"Worked?" Noticing what appears to be a program on the table next to them, she picks it up along with her wine.
"Soul feeding can be uncomfortable if you're not used to it. I wanted you to relax and have fun." His hands work at her shoulders. "You seem less strained now."
She is, she supposes, but she's not ready to give him an unchallenged win. "You've ruined my undergarments, though," she replies with mock severity.
Valthiel chuckles and squeezes her thigh. "Oh really now… And what could I do with you all exposed like that, hmm?"
No further sexual advances follow, however. They content themselves with sipping their drinks while arena hands clear away the bodies of the defeated warp beasts. Jian scans the parchment in her hand, which is decorated with elaborate calligraphic flourishes and bears a crest that Jian assumes belongs to the Cult of Strife.
Her eyes linger on the final attraction of the evening: an exarch of the Swooping Hawks, accompanied by half a dozen additional warriors of the aspect, will be pitted against Lady Hesperax herself. The minimal information present seems to indicate, however, that it is not a complete shrine, but rather donations of unrelated slaves from some of the cult's wealthier benefactors.
Jian bites her lip as the wine loses its taste in her mouth. She's not sure she's strong enough for that. Not yet.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
She tells him and he sighs. "You won't be able to escape the slaughter of craftworlders forever, Jian," he says sadly. "And this is a safe way to get used to it. I promise, we will leave as soon as you feel you have to, but can you agree to at least try?"
"Alright." Her good mood ruined, she looks back down at the arena, which seems to be ready for the next act. Captured ork freebooters, the parchment tells her.
This introduction by the herald is as long-winded as the first, and she finds her attention wandering back toward the stands and the drukhari they hold. A banner nearby catches her eye, dark blue with a crimson hand clenched in victory. The Kabal of the Bloodied Fists must be in attendance. Jian has heard of them several times; while they do not seem to be direct rivals to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose, she gets the sense that Valthiel is not fond of them. Shifting her position, she tries idly to catch a glimpse of who their archon might be.
It's difficult to judge age in Commorragh, but she would wager the man sitting in the thronelike chair is centuries older than her or even Valthiel. His armor is a shimmering midnight blue, unbroken except by the blood-red gauntlets, every piece fitted to perfection, while the man himself is handsome by drukhari standards, tall, with shoulder length black hair and a pinched, angular face. He looks out over the crowd and the goings-on below as though he is above them, separate both from the rest of his kind and from the warriors at his back. A spear in his left hand, as straight as his back, hammers home the image of a warlord and conqueror, the leader of a kabal far different than Valthiel's.
He gestures with his right hand and Jian sees that it holds a leash, attached to the collar of a woman standing just behind him. She steps forward, and Jian finds herself looking into a mirror.
After her initial start, she realizes that the woman who now stands blankly at the archon's side is not actually identical to her – she's older than Jian, with lighter skin and a more dramatic figure. Nonetheless, she feels as though she's looking at a sister, or perhaps an older version of herself – one who has lost all hope and has nothing left but stoically waiting for the end. A pang of sympathy races through her. She knows that feeling.
The man waves his hand impatiently and the woman holds out an arm, her face twisting in unhappiness as she does. Without sparing her a glance, he slices her wrist with a knife and raises a goblet to let the blood drip into it.
Jian turns away. Whoever she is, staring at her won't help. But still, she finds her eyes drawn back toward her. Something achingly familiar about her, her expression, her being keeps her sneaking glances in the direction of the Bloodied Fists' box.
The archon is apparently satisfied and has returned his attention to the games below, taking periodic sips from the cup in his hands. At his side, the woman remains, dead-eyed.
Valthiel's arms tighten around her and she feels his whole body stiffen. She looks up, suddenly worried. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he says, voice strained and jaw set. "Are you enjoying the fights?"
Jian looks down. The ork fight has apparently started without her noticing. "I am… what about you?"
He jerks his shoulders in what is probably supposed to be a shrug. "It's orks. They can hardly be considered sapient life, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes." Again, Jian finds herself looking at the woman, standing in her see-through dress that shimmers in tiny glints of sparkling color. "Is something wrong?"
He doesn't answer for a long time. Looking up, Jian follows the line of his gaze to see that he, too, is watching the other archon and the woman. Again, his grip tightens before he finally tears himself away. "So, how about we finish out this fight and then retire prematurely?" he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Anything you want, dear." Unsure of what to do, unsure even what exactly is wrong or why she feels dread filling her, she reaches up to run her hands through his hair.
"I'm just… not that impressed with these succubi compared to some of Lelith's previous cadets."
"Then why don't we leave right now? There will be other shows, other days." The pressure that envelops them is suffocating her.
A tear forms at the corner of Vathiel's eye and starts to make its way down his cheek. "Are you certain? I don't want you to leave before you've had your fill."
"Of course I am. I have enough to last for a bit, and you're obviously not having fun." Anything to escape.
"We will have to do it again soon," he replies automatically. He stands and leads her toward the vehicle.
As they go, Jian takes one more look at the archon of the Bloodied Fists. He has the woman in his lap now, caressing her hair in an intimate manner while her blood still drips into his cup. For her part, she observes the fight below without a flicker of emotion. It's then that Jian realizes her dress is decorated with the broken remains of dozens of waystones.
Neither of them speaks as they return to the flyer. Valthiel spends a moment programing an autopilot route, then settles back into his seat with his arm around Jian as they fly away. Still, neither speaks. Valthiel rests his head on Jian's shoulder and she can hear him swallowing hard. For her part, she finds herself playing nervously with the edges of his armor plates. He won't tell her what's bothering him until he's ready, she knows from experience, but that doesn't stop her from wondering. A sinking feeling grows in her stomach as her suspicions intensify.
The flyer enters the Ashen Rose's pocket dimension and keeps going, weaving through the spires and on, until it finally comes to rest at the edge of a cliff on the far edge of the world, where the dim color of the sky resolves into the hundreds of swirling colors of the webway. Valthiel switches the vehicle off and hesitates. Then he speaks, still staring away from her into the infinity in front of them.
"Her name is Illyria."
"The woman at the arena?" Jian confirms.
He nods. "She was the partner I told you about, the one who I thought to spend the rest of my life with, exploring the stars on my corsair ship. I spent years believing she was dead…"
"But she's here," Jian says, following the implication.
He nods. "Captured by Lord Ordai, her father and the archon of the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists."
"That's her father?" Disgust fills Jian at the memory of the man drinking his daughter's blood and holding her like a doll.
Again, Valthiel nods, a movement heavy with grief. "An autarch of the craftworld Kel'tereth, one of the most talented they had known, until he lost his wife in a campaign that he blames on their farseer council. The fury and hatred led him here, where he has made a name for himself as a fierce warrior and strategist and an ally of Supreme Overlord Vect himself. He's been obsessed with reclaiming Illyria for centuries."
"And now he has her…" Jian trails off as thoughts connect in her mind. Pity, yes, still, for the woman trapped in such a horrific situation. But as she listens to Valthiel, she realizes with horror that the dark implications she's been resisting are true.
He must see her face and read her unasked questions there. "Yes," he replies, staring at his lap. "The primary reason I noticed you initially and decided to buy you was your resemblance to her. I thought that if… if I could improve your life, help you and make a life for the two of us together, in whatever fashion I envisioned at the time, that it would make up for my inability to help her."
Looking up, he meets Jian's gaze with tear-filled eyes. "But I swear that is no longer the case. I love you for who you are, not what you look like or who you resemble, and Illyria plays no role in the way I interact with you now. I will give my word on anything or anyone in the galaxy that I'm telling the truth, submit to any test you want…" With a sigh, he breaks off and looks away. "I understand if you don't believe me, though."
"I'm sorry," whispers Jian. Both for the horror of his and Illyria's situation, and for the fact that she cannot believe him. Not yet. Unwilling to confront her own grief, she wraps her arms around him, trying to bury herself in dealing with other losses.
Valthiel tenses as she touches him. "I'm sorry, Jian. I should have been honest and straightforward with you from the start, and I certainly should not have waited this long before I told you."
"I don't really want to talk about it," Jian replies numbly.
"I'm sorry."
"And I'm sorry this happened. To you, to her. It must be very painful. Do you want to talk about it?"
He sighs. "To some extent, yes, but I want to save my current relationship with you even more. Please, ask me anything and I will answer you honestly." When she doesn't respond, he repeats. "Anything."
"What happened?" She does want to know, now, something about the life that has shaped her own so much without her knowledge.
"Jhovar and I assisted Kel'terath with an expedition to a crone world to recover artifacts. She was the farseer responsible for guiding the operation and we grew close working together. I found myself returning to visit until she eventually agreed to accompany me on my travels. It was the first time in my life I can recall being truly happy, and I would give so much to – " He breaks off, perhaps remembering who he's speaking to. "She was furious when I told her that I had chosen to embrace my legacy and nurture what my ancestors built here. She left immediately and her father intercepted her on her journey home. I found out what happened about twenty years ago, but this is the first time I've seen her since that night."
Jian nods into his chest. She can imagine the pain, the loneliness, the guilt. It must be rotting him alive. "I'm sorry. It's never easy to lose someone you love, and those sound like extremely painful circumstances."
She feels his arms around her, but his body is still rigid and his voice rough. "I love you, Jian."
She doesn't respond.
"I can drive you to your own private quarters now, if that is what you want."
"Thank you."
They ride back in silence, both staring straight ahead. Valthiel stops on the landing platform closest to Jian's room and stares after her as she climbs out of the flyer and enters the spire. She can't bring herself to kiss him goodnight.
Her room is quiet, dark, and empty. She completes the necessary security checks and collapses on the window seat, forehead pressed against the cool glass.
The longer she thinks about the evening, the more things she understands. His reluctance to speak about his corsair adventures in any way but very specific stories. The dozens of visits he mentioned making to such a small, out-of-the-way craftworld as Kel'tereth. The emotional reaction to hearing Lord Ordai's name that he's never been able to hide, no matter how passing or trivial the reference. And the question that has lingered in the back of her mind for nearly the entirety of the two years she has been here: why me?
A memory drifts into her mind. Lying in Valthiel's arms, terrified and sick with the knowledge that the lovely dinner and easy company she enjoyed the night before is about to vanish into pain and violation. He had stirred and embraced her, whispering "I love you" with a tenderness she hadn't known he was capable of. Whispered it to her.
Jian sobs.
But after only a moment, she stops herself, biting her tongue and savoring the taste of her own blood until her shoulders are still. If she keeps up like this, Jaeden will hear her, and then she will have to confront the betrayal now. She should go to bed and think through things in the morning.
Her movements are slow as she removes her clothing and changes into a soft robe. Calling for someone to bring hot water, she prepares a cup for her tea and washes her face to hide the tears.
A movement behind her startles her and she spins around, knife in hand, to find Jaeden waiting in the door to her own room. She seems to have been in bed – her pale yellow hair is braided loosely and she's hastily fumbling with the ties of her wrap. "Mistress? What is wrong?"
Jian swallows the thickness in her throat. "I… received some bad news today. Things that bring both the archon and me a great deal of pain. And I don't know how to react."
The human girl nods, crossing the room to retrieve the hot water that has arrived and begins testing for any hidden toxins. "I am here, if you want to talk about it. I was a priestess in my prior life. Listening to people was a part of my job."
"Thank you," Jian replies. She sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Jaeden to bring her a cup before gesturing that she is allowed to make one for herself. "Do not speak of this to anyone."
"Of course not."
"I'd almost forgotten that I did not… enter my relationship with the archon willingly. Until today."
Jaeden nods as she approaches the bed. "May I?"
"You may." Jian waits for her to settle herself and continues. "I found out why he – why he bought me. Because I look like a woman he used to love. And now I don't know what to think or how to feel. He still loves her, I know. And I can tell that it's agonizing for him to know that she suffers when he can't help her, but it also hurts to know that I not… " She struggles for words, for ways to express the depth of what she feels. Empty. Lied to. Used.
"I thought he loved me," she finally whispers.
Lips pursed, Jaeden watches her for a moment. "How do you know that he does not?" Even through her grief, Jian has to admit that she seems to have picked up on the aeldari language and nonverbal indicators phenomenally quickly.
"He admitted that I was supposed to replace her, and I think he used to pretend that I was her while he was on top of me. Sometimes. And now I wonder if he ever stopped." She's being uncharitable, she knows, but once again she is adrift in a sea of horrific possibilities.
"Well, that was definitely cruel of him." Jaeden takes a sip of her tea and starts, as though it's too hot. "Has he given up on your relationship, then?"
"I don't know… Today was the first time he has seen her since she was enslaved and I think it reminded him." She can feel tears starting again and pushes them down fiercely, but one runs down her nose anyway. "I don't want someone else to be in pain, but when he rescues her, I'll be nothing. Again."
Frowning, Jaeden blows on the cup a bit before looking up at Jian. "Have you tried asking him? How he feels and how he views your position in relation to his lost love? I know that it would not be easy to ask for someone in your position, but if he loves you, then he owes you answers."
"He says he loves me and that she has nothing to do with it anymore. But how am I supposed to believe him? He's hidden this for so long, what else has he not told me?"
She seems to consider a bit before answering. "Let me ask you this. Your race believe in gods, yes? How do you know they exist and that they hear your prayers or listen when you call out to them?"
"Most of them don't. Not anymore. They're dead," Jian replies bitterly. She knows where Jaeden is going with this, and doubts it will help.
Her maid seems taken aback by this. "You have no gods that you pray to at all?"
"Only three escaped the birth of She Who Thirsts. Khaine's essence has been shattered, but his spirit rests in our great champions of the battlefield and champions our greatest needs. Isha was captured by the Lord of Decay, held by his twisted affection and spending her life-giving power to combat the plagues he feeds her. We've made dozens of efforts to rescue her, but none have even caught so much as a glimpse of her. Only Ceggorach, the trickster, remains at his full power."
"You still pray to Isha, though. I have heard you speaking her name at night. You say no one has seen her since she was taken – how do you know that she is still alive?"
"I would know if she wasn't. Every aeldari would know it, we would feel it as our bodies withered and our crops died and we would see it when our children were stillborn." Perhaps their neglect of her is why her people created such a place as Commorragh, Jian wonders. A place where birth and death, life and healing are all artificial, aeldari lives just another commodity.
"You have faith, yeah? You have not seen her, you do not speak with her, but you know she is there by her effects, and you trust that she can hear you calling for the protection of your loved ones."
"You're saying I should just hope Valthiel is telling the truth this time?" She knows that's not what Jaeden means, but to have everything reduced to such a simple platitude feels inadequate to cover the wound it has opened.
"I'm saying that you need to look at your relationship and decide what the effects of his supposed love are – and if you can have faith in the relationship based on that or not."
Jian sighs and looks down at her tea, which is growing cold. "I almost hope he can't rescue her," she says quietly. Her face heats.
"I understand that. But remember, the question of if he loves you or not isn't based on where she is. If he really loves you, he won't stop just because she is free, and if he doesn't, then her being imprisoned won't change that."
"I just don't want to get thrown away when he has the real thing back."
"Mistress," Jaeden says sharply enough that Jian looks up. "I understand that you're upset. But if I may be crass, if all you were is a stand-in for another woman, he would not have kept you around this long. I'm sure he would have found a better solution by now."
"I suppose." She feels better, now, than she did a few minutes ago. But still defeat weighs heavily on her.
"Now, why don't I take that cup from you and we'll get you into bed? It's late, and I'm sure things will look better in the morning." Jaeden hesitates. "Would you like a hug?"
Jian accepts, then lets herself curl up on the bed and wrap herself in blankets. Exhaustion overtakes her quickly, but as she starts to fall into the grip of nightmares she'd hoped were behind her, she can hear Jaeden in her room, a quiet voice chanting prayers in a strange tongue.
The next few days pass slowly, but thinking back, Jian barely remembers what happens in them. Valthiel checks in on her several times, but their conversation is stilted and she holds herself at arms' length. Her lessons with Lynx and Ayslinn proceed and she is grateful for both the distraction and for the fact that they seem to understand that she doesn't wish to talk about what is upsetting her. She suspects that Lynx, at least, knows what it is. Much of the rest of her time is spent in the garden he built for her, where she can wait in the quiet and think.
On the third day since the arena, Jian has retreated to her room after her lessons. Her bath is done and she wears a comfortable tunic and pants as she sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by small bowls of a dozen exotic substances. She's run low on the draughts that help her sleep, and now is as good a time as any to prepare more. Jaeden hovers nearby, watching with interest.
A soft knock on the door startles her and she sends Jaeden to answer. "It is the lord archon," she says.
Jian sighs. "Send him in."
He looks as though he hasn't slept in days, with dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. "May I speak with you for a few minutes?" he asks.
"Alright." She gestures for him to sit wherever he likes.
Valthiel remains standing. "So. How are you doing?" He looks down at the ingredients she's preparing and frowns.
"I'm doing as well as can be expected. How are you?" This isn't what she wants to say, isn't how she wishes it could be. But where to start and how to open the conversations, what even to discuss and how to begin moving forward from something like this?
"Not well," he says bluntly. He sighs. "I know that you are afraid that I am not being genuine with you, that I really only care about you because of your resemblance to Illyria. And I want to prove that she has nothing to do with my feelings for you, not anymore. I have access to the best medical knowledge in Commorragh, and if you want, I will speak to them. You can alter your appearance however you wish, look like anything or anyone you desire. If you want to erase the similarities, I will make it happen, and I will still love you no matter what alterations you undergo."
"Thank you," Jian says quietly, but inside, her heart sinks. However well-intentioned the offer, the thought of losing her very appearance to the farseer who has unintentionally shaped her destiny makes her sick to her stomach. Behind Valthiel, Jaeden's expression echoes her own.
"Would you – "
Whatever he was going to say next is lost as a shadow pulls itself from the wall behind him. Jian cries a warning and he spins around.
A mandrake, one of the shadow creatures that the drukhari sometimes employ as scouts and spies, dives toward him. A sickle swings toward Valthiel, glistening with toxins. He blocks, but only just. She can see him strain against the shadow's unholy strength.
An instant later, they part again and Jian scrabbles for weapons of her own, cursing the complacency that let her set them so far from her in the first place. Another clash of blades rings loud in the otherwise quiet room. Jian looks up to see Valthiel kicking the mandrake away from him.
It stumbles backwards, into her vanity. Cosmetics scatter everywhere, but the mandrake is undaunted. As Jian's fingers close around the handle of a knife, a nimbus of black flame forms around the mandrake's hand, seeming to suck light in rather than emit it.
It launches a blast at her.
Time slows as the sickly energy spirals toward her. She dives out of the way, but knows that she doesn't have time. Valthiel cries in alarm, moving in a blur toward her. An impact, and for an instant, darkness.
Her breath returns a moment later and the spots clear from her vision. The mandrake's head and shoulders are gone and what is left is wreathed in fire, real fire this time. Jaeden stands over it, a determined expression on her face and one of Jian's pistols still trained on the corpse. Valthiel is on top of her, breathing hard.
"Are you alright?" Jian asks as soon as she has wind. Something warm drips onto her chest. Blood. "JAEDEN! Get a medic!"
"Don't worry. I'm. alright," he grunts. "Are– you– hurt?"
"I don't think so." She eases him off her and onto the floor so she can get a look at the wound. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to make sure. It's…" He huffs as she probes at the wound. "It's my fault for not being more alert."
Jian frowns. The hole in his shoulder is burned and twisted, but the skin around it is cold. She pulls one of the pillows from the nearby bed and presses it to the wound to help with the bleeding. "I'm sorry I distracted you. I… don't like seeing you hurt."
Despite his injury, he seems to catch the double meaning in her words. He reaches up to stroke her cheek, with a level of effort that concerns her. "The feeling is mutual. And I have seen you in pain for days now. I didn't want to add to it with physical injury as well."
"Well, I am unhurt." She should give him some of her basic antidotes as well. She isn't sure what kind of warp sorcery the mandrake was using, but she doubts that its effects are limited to simple burns. "And I do appreciate your offer."
"I just want you to feel as loved and cherished as you truly are, Jian. And if it would reassure you of my feelings if you shed Illyria's shadow…"
A commotion outside signals the end of their privacy. Lynx and Derfahn burst into the room, Jaeden behind them. Jian shakes her head sadly at him as Lynx pushes her out of the way to begin her inspection. Changing her appearance will only make it worse.
It's hours later when the burst of frenzied activity dies down and the grave silence of the palace returns.
When it does, the concubine returns to prepare anew the drugs that allow her to sleep. Her hands tremble as she longs to visit her lover, but knows that it will only bring pain and disruption to his much needed rest. When she finally crawls into bed, peace eludes her and she stares at the wall until morning comes.
The archon, meanwhile, drags himself to his room to nurse wounds far more severe than he let on. Propped in a chair to sweat out poison, he braces for another night in which both the women he loves seem equally unreachable.
Alternate chapter title: "Jaeden is smarter than she looks"
As we enter the final act of the story (only 5 chapters left!), I'd like to thank anyone who's stuck with me through the ride. Longfics are a commitment for sure, especially ongoing longfics, and I feel immense gratitude to anyone who's been willing to keep reading my work. You guys make it all worth it. (And to anyone else reading this after completion, I appreciate you as well and would love to hear your thoughts!)
For reference, I imagine the dance that Jian teaches Val as somewhat waltz-like, while the one he teaches her is more like a paso doble or a fast tango.
What do you guys think of this new insight into Val's life and relationships? What do you think he'll do to convince Jian that his feelings for her are genuine? Or *are* they genuine?