Jian and Lynx sit lazily next to the stream near her cabin, dangling their bare feet in the icy cold water. Their lesson on sedatives has been cut short by the sudden discovery that Lynx is out of a key ingredient for one of the drugs. Jian suspects that her own emotional state had something to do with it as well. They could have sought out more or shifted topics slightly.
For perhaps a quarter of an hour, they simply sit in companionable silence. Lynx leans her head on Jian's shoulder. Yesterday, their lesson ended with them naked in bed, but Jian doubts that will happen today. She's not in the mood.
"Lynx," she says quietly. "Did you know Illyria?"
Lynx starts a bit. "Some. Not well. Why do you ask?"
"I just…" She sighs. "I was wondering what she's like." The question has been bothering her for days and she's finally found the courage to speak up.
"And you don't want to ask Valthiel about it." Lynx nods in understanding. She squeezes Jian's hand. "Yes, he took over my contract when he initially made contact with the Ashen Rose. It was several years before everything was finalized and he truly became the lord archon, and in that time I traveled with him and the Reavers, albeit only as an alchemist. Illyria would have had my head and his if she thought there was more between us, and he respected her wishes."
"She was assertive, then?" A foolish question – Jian has never met a farseer who was not – but Lynx's words paint a picture.
"Very." She snorts. "Valthiel let her get away with far too much."
"Oh?"
"If my lover had ever spoken to me the way she did during some of their fights, I would have left instantly. Or killed her."
"You don't think she loved him?"
"Oh, she did. And he loved her even more. But she was her father's daughter – aggressive, direct, and focused to an almost obsessive level on military strategy and battle in her predictions. I've never met a farseer more in tune with Khaine, and it spilled over into her personal life."
"I see." Jian isn't sure what to do with the information. She's not sure what she expected Valthiel's first love to be, but certainly not this. And if Lynx's description is accurate, it's nothing she can ever hope to live up to. Nor does she want to if she's being honest.
"She did have her good points, though. I don't think she liked me very much personally, but for all her hatred of Commorragh and the drukhari in general, she was still more open minded that many craftworlders I've met. I think it fed into that, really. She hates the place so much that she automatically has compassion for anyone hurt here or wanting to get away."
"He said they met while rescuing artifacts from a crone world?"
"I wasn't present for that, but it's my understanding, yeah. I think it started as a casual thing to unwind and grew into something more over time. But I could be wrong."
"And was she –" Whatever Jian was going to say next breaks off abruptly. Valthiel is approaching, coming from the trees that surround Lynx's little clearing toward where the sit.
Lynx squeezes her hand as he reaches the footbridge.
He stops halfway across and waits for a moment, head slightly bowed. Jian assesses him as he does. His hair is loose and somewhat unkempt and his posture closed off. It seems to her that the wound the mandrake gave him is still causing him discomfort. As to the purpose of his visit, she isn't sure and his outfit – a simple grey and green coat over an armored vest and boots – gives her no indication either.
"Hello, Jian, Lynx," he says, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the stream. "Am I interrupting something?"
Jian shakes her head before she has the chance to consider if she actually wants to talk to him or not, but upon consideration, decides that she doesn't mind anyway. "No, I think we were done for today."
"Then I would like you to accompany me, if you don't mind."
"Where?" Jian asks. Lynx seems to take this as her cue to leave, offering Jian a last squeeze on the shoulder before she goes.
Instead of answering her question, Valthiel turns and begins to walk back down the path he arrived on. Jian scrambles to put her shoes on and follow him, but his pace is slow enough to allow her to catch up before he's out of sight among the trees.
Neither of them speaks as they walk down the path, her following half a pace behind him. It soon becomes obvious that he's leading her back to the spire. But instead of entering one of the numerous elevators or stairways that leads up to his quarters or her rooms, he leads her into a narrow set of stairs that twists its way downward.
Jian's wonders where they could possibly be going. She's never been down here before and until today had only had a vague awareness that sublevels of the palace existed at all. Her confusion grows as they continue to descend. Valthiel leads her through a maze of passageways and staircases until she realizes that she has no idea how to retrace their steps. They must be far underground by now.
Eventually, he stops in front of a heavy door of plain metal. He stands over the console pad for a few minutes, disabling whatever extensive security measures hold it shut, before it silently slides back and he gestures for her to follow him into the darkened hallway.
Stark lights turn on at their approach and Jian sees that the corridor they're walking down is lined with doors. At first, most are unlabeled, but soon she sees that the later ones each bear a small, black sign, although she's too far away to read the runes carved on them. Psychic energy dances at the edge of her awareness, auras of life and death twining together in a way that sends shivers down her spine. This is far from the horrific despair of the haemonculus's den, but something in the air reminds her of that feeling.
As they continue to walk, their path drifts closer to the center of the hallway and Jian is able to read the labels on the doors. Or rather, the nameplates. "Haradrach Urkdreth" says the one closest to her. A bit later, she spots one labeled "Louvenia".
For the first time, a sliver of fear pierces her. This is clearly Valthiel's prison, a vault to bring his most dangerous foes to have their secrets extracted with their souls until they have nothing left but a long, slow death filled with torment.
She knows he wouldn't do something like that to her, she knows. But he's still an archon, one of the vicious commanders of the side of their race devoted to following their darkest passions. And she is a slave who continues to defy his advances. He must have a limit somewhere, and if she's the one to cross it… If it's not to hurt me, then why has he brought me here?
Another door cuts off their advance and again Valthiel unlocks it before taking her hand to lead her inside. His hands are shaking, she notices, and his posture is stiff.
She finds herself in a large, oval room with the same harsh lighting as the hallway outside. Shelves and alcoves fill the walls near her, stuffed with jars and vials and containers of all sizes, some opaque, others filled with colorful liquids or what she can only assume are the remains of alien beings. Further into the room, the storage gives way to an array of cages and terrariums housing creatures that Jian can't make out from this distance. The floor of the room is filled with cluttered workbenches and tables, as well as miniature greenhouses that glow a variety of colors to feed the exotic-looking plants within.
Valthiel is looking through the piles of equipment and reagents on one of the workbenches, which sits next to a heavy metal chair. He beckons her over. Jian realizes with another twinge of fear that the chair is equipped with shackles for the occupant's feet and ankles.
"Why have you brought me here?" she asks, her voice sounding small in the vast, silent space.
He doesn't respond directly, but his face sets into an expression of resolve as he holds up a glass vial. The thick, sludgy liquid inside appears black at first glance, but as it catches the light Jian sees that it's actually a very deep red. "The Curse of Lileath, a gene spliced poison," he says as he begins pulling the contents into a large syringe. "Always created for a specific host, and with a mirror antidote containing the inverse sequence. It is also the most potent truth serum in the kabal, possibly in the entire city."
Setting the syringe on a tray table next to the chair, he picks up a second. The contents of this one are a translucent blue that shimmers with a silvery opalescence. "And this is the Maiden's Tears, its counterpart. The only antidote for this particular formulation." He holds it out and Jian accepts it tentatively.
Valthiel hesitates for a moment, but then, just before Jian can speak up, he plunges the first syringe into his neck, injecting the Curse into himself. Immediately, pain twists his face and he shudders, stumbling his way back into the chair. The cuffs click shut automatically, holding him in place. He sucks his breath in between his teeth and looks up at her. "Ask me anything you want."
"What?" Jian replies, more from surprise than true lack of understanding.
"The poison compels both speech and truth," he replies. "You may explore any secret I possess."
Jian's brain locks. What does she even want to know? "Why does it hurt so much?" she blurts as the first thing that enters her mind.
"It is an aggressive poison that mixes genetic manipulation with chemical impulse control, neurological subversion, and partial paralysis. None of those processes are painless."
"Will it cause damage if I don't give you the antidote quickly enough?"
"Yes." Despite the obvious difficulty with which he speaks the words, his tone is annoyingly calm, even as a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead and his grip tightens on the armrests of the chair.
"How long do I have until it starts?"
"It's already doing damage." Valthiel grunts and is silent for a moment before continuing. "I estimate you have two minutes before noticeable permanent effects."
Jian steps forward to administer the antidote and relieve the pain immediately, but stops herself before the needle meets his flesh. She may never have another chance like this, to get complete honesty without a possibility of doubt. Taking a deep breath, she asks another question: "Has there ever been another girl like me? A companion, a – "
"Yes," he cuts her off. "Illyria, a trusted companion and someone I thought of as my mate and a future life partner. Just as I do with you. Albeit for different reasons, despite your visual similarities."
"What reasons?"
"Illyria made me believe I could be a better man. She was self-assured and had a sense of right and wrong that I wish I could live up to. While with you, I…" He stops again, his fingers digging into the metal of the chair until Jian could swear that he's bending it. "I feel that there is something in me that is worth saving already. That I can be forgiven, that – I love your spirit and your compassion and your authenticity, I – "
Jian cuts him off with a gesture. She can feel her throat tightening and her eyes burning and she needs to hold herself together long enough to take advantage of this poison. Her next words come out far quieter than she intends. "Did you ever pretend that I was Illyria while we were together?"
Vathiel shudders and seems to be having difficulty with his thoughts before he bows his head. "I had thought to originally. But it became impossible the moment you spoke to me and I caught a glimpse of the brilliant soul in your eyes. I have done many things to you that I regret, but never since that moment was I trying to convince myself you were someone else."
The confirmation hits her like a blow from Lord Vrash's sword. She clutches at the nearby bench for support. For his part, Valthiel looks up at her, eyes unfocused and a thin stream of blood trickling from his nose. "What… else… do you want to know?" he gasps out.
Jian hesitates. She's never admitted the depth of her fears to him, and now that they've proven baseless, bringing it up feels like needlessly opening wounds in both of them. But she has the chance to know, to really know for certain even when her whole mind is working against her. It's too much. "Would you ever give me away? Or sell me?"
"Jian, I…" Valthiel's face blurs in front of her as he struggles to respond. "I would rather throw myself headfirst into the arms of She Who Thirsts than to ever again treat you as a – a bauble and a plaything, rather than the blessing… of fate herself that you are. It is one of my deepest… regrets that I was too blind… to see that gift for what it was until… until it was too late… From the bottom… of my heart, I'm… sorry… I – "
As she blinks away the tears, Jian sees that Valthiel has gone still. His fingers twitch and his jaw clenches and unclenches convulsively. She's out of time. Perhaps it's already too late.
Her fingers tremble as she approaches the chair, cursing herself for her slowness. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she plunges the needle into his neck and depresses the syringe. Her legs buckle under her and she falls to her knees, weeping.
"The key to release me is on the workbench. If you want me free." His voice grates, nothing like his usual smooth tones, and he seems to run out of breath after every few words. She hurries to open the cuffs and he crumples forward into her arms. A foul smell seems to be coming from the oily liquid that has appeared on the back of his neck as the poison works its way out.
He stirs as she lowers him gingerly to the ground. His fingers wrap into the folds of her clothing and tremors shake him. For long minutes she waits, stroking his hair and tunelessly humming in what she hopes are soothing tones.
"I'm alright," he says finally. His voice is so quiet that she can barely hear him as he points a shaky hand toward the workbench. "Would you please get me those vials?"
Jian disentangles herself from him and scrambles to fulfill his request. When she turns back, she sees that Valthiel has dragged himself to a nearby waste bin. Before she can ask if he needs help, he begins to gag and she waits, holding his hair and watching in concern as the container fills with blood-tinged vomit.
He finishes and wipes his mouth with his sleeve before leaning back against the cabinets and closing his eyes. "Head hurts," he groans, reaching out to take the potions she's almost forgotten she's holding.
"What else can I do for you?" Jian asks worriedly.
"Just… stay near me, please," he replies as he downs the contents of the bottles. His eyes close for a moment, but when they open again, he seems… better somehow. His hand is firmer on her shoulder and there's strength in it as he tugs her to him in an embrace.
She can feel his tears on her hair as he wraps himself around her and when he speaks again, it sounds as though the words bring even greater pain that his physical state. "Is that… did you think I would do that to you?"
"I'm sorry," she sobs. The shame of her doubts fills her stomach like acid, and yet she can't bring herself to regret asking. "I don't think that, I swear. And I know you said that you wouldn't, but I was so afraid, for so long, that I need to have your word for when I can't talk myself out of it any other way. Thank you for this, I'm sorry… "
"No, no. You were right to ask." Valthiel sighs and begins to rub her back. "I am an archon and the descendent of a dark muse. If you believed everything I said without question I would have to doubt your sanity. You deserve any reassurances you need."
Jian presses her eyes closed and lets him work, guilt still mixing with her relief. Her explanation didn't help, it seems. He's still convinced she hates him; she can see it in his face. "But love means nothing without trust," she replies. "And I do love you."
It wasn't a simple moment, that knowledge. But in the long hours alone in her private garden, tucked away from prying eyes with the time to simply think, she realized something. As she soaked in the gentle sound of the water and the rustling of the leaves, she had found that the only way that the discovery could have hurt her this badly was if she had cared about their relationship for its own sake. From there, it had just been forcing herself to admit to it.
Valthiel doesn't say anything in response, simply bending down to catch her lips in a kiss. It's a terrible kiss, tainted with blood and vomit and full of sweat and half-dried tears, but Jian barely cares. She can't believe how much she's missed this. But there's one more thing she needs to say before she can fully put this behind her. "Just don't ever lie to me again," she says softly. "Please."
He shakes his head. "I give you my word. And I should have been honest from the start, I know. My only defense is that at first I didn't know what I wanted from you or what I planned to do with you. I was mostly making it up as I went along. And that is a coward's defense for untruth."
"I just want to feel safe with you, Valthiel. That's all I'm asking."
"And I will protect you with my life, I swear."
Embracing her again, he falls silent. After a few minutes, he loosens his grip on her. "Would you like me to carry you to your room? You must be exhausted."
Speak for yourself. Even now, he looks as though he's only a few minutes from death. "Could we go to your room instead?" she replies.
"If you're certain?"
Jian nods and he scoops her up and begins the long journey back to his chambers. The effort is clearly all he can handle and several times she wonders if he's going to drop her, but she knows better than to insist on walking herself. It's something he needs to do for his own peace of mind.
They reach his room and he sets her down on the bed as though she were made of glass before collapsing beside her and falling instantly asleep. She stays awake longer, enjoying the closeness and connection before emotional exhaustion guides her too into rest.
A month later, Jian sits at a desk in her room, thumbing through stacks of papers. Dozens of things demand an archon's attention every day, but only a few are actually worthy of his time. Today she's filling in for Lynx in trying to determine which stand out from the background noise as possibly important or useful.
The past few weeks have been happily uneventful. Valthiel is effusively affectionate and seems determined to keep her as close as possible. The effects of the truth poison still linger in the form of pain and tremors, but gradually the symptoms seem to be decreasing.
Lynx has been sequestered in her cabin for the last few days, working on the final stages of a new aphrodisiac. Miarya is apparently insisting on having it ready as soon as possible, so to avoid angering her, Lynx and Jian agreed that pausing their lessons until the project was completed was the best course of action.
Someone knocks on the door and Jian starts. Valthiel told her he would be in a security meeting with Derfahn and Lord Vrash until well after dinner, Lynx is busy, and she can't think who else would visit her here. Signaling for Jaeden to hold off, she adjusts her dress, smooths down her hair, and answers herself.
To her surprise, she finds Miarya herself standing in front of the door, accompanied by two lhameans that Jian doesn't recognize and a quartet of the snake-like sslyth warriors. She pushes a frown from her face as she bows respectfully to the matron. "Lady Miarya. To what do I owe the grace of your presence?"
Without waiting to be invited, Miarya steps into the room and flashes Jian a sultry smile. "Why, what else than business, dear? No matter how much I would love a social call, the needs of the kabal are never ending. The archon has been invited to a social gathering of considerable prestige, and has made the somewhat daring choice to bring you as his courtesan. I take it you have already been informed?"
"I have," Jian replies stiffly. He asked her several days ago.
"Splendid." Miarya takes a step to the side, inspecting Jian with pursed lips. She looks, if possible, even more beautiful today than usual in a fitted coatdress of toxic green and brilliant blue. Her eyes run up and down Jian's body and she presses a manicured finger to her crimson lower lip, tugging on it just slightly. "Have you considered what you wish to wear to an event of such great political and social significance for the archon?"
The question takes Jian aback. "The party is still more than a month away, I hadn't given it much thought, no. I suppose if there is nothing else in my closet that suits, I will visit Valthiel's tailor and have him make over my black feathered dress."
Miarya makes an exaggerated sigh and shakes her head in disappointment. "I knew it was a mistake to let Valthiel place you under Lynx's management. The girl is clever, but she still hasn't lost the coarseness of her slum origins and has all the social grace of a rampaging grotesque. Fortunately, I was able to predict this situation and have arranged a suitable remedy."
He face takes on an expression that Jian thinks might actually be genuine excitement as she takes her by the shoulder and guides her toward the door. "I've arranged for an appointment with my own personal designer. The man is artist with his blade and threads, I see him every time I need an especially flattering piece." She eyes Jian up and down in a manner that reminds Jian uncomfortably of being back on a street corner, dancing nude for a crowd of drukhari to slaver over. "I'm sure he'll be able to perform miracles with, well, this, and bring forth sides and shapes you didn't even know you had."
"I take it from the entourage that you wish to leave immediately?"
"Of course." She starts down the hallway. "Try to keep up, dear."
Jian follows, resolving to avoid conversation unless spoken to. She doesn't like Miarya. Not that she needs to say much. The journey down the spire, to the exit of the Ashen Rose's pocket dimension in a flyer, and then on foot to the nearby market district, is filled amply with the matron's comments. Most of these are aimed at Jian, critiquing her stride, posture, carriage, and facial expressions. Rather than simply walking, Jian is to straighten her back, puff up her chest, and glide with her legs and feet while somehow still swaying her hips.
It quickly becomes clear that her ability to perform this task is not up to Miarya's standards, as one of the lhameans hands her a short, flexible cane, which she carries with her as they step from the flyer. The next time Jian's face becomes a shade too emotional, she flicks her wrist and Jian barely has time to tense up before a sharp pain shoots across her buttocks. The sting is much greater than the motion should have produced – it's probably poisoned or energized in some way – and it brings with it a familiar arousal.
At first Jian is annoyed with herself. Have I really gotten to the point that all it takes is a smack on the ass to get me worked up? Soon, however, she realizes that more likely the cane is having an effect of its own. And as they enter the market, she doesn't have time to contemplate anyway.
Little about the area surprises her in concept, yet in practice, she can't help but be intrigued. Shops line the streets, hawking exotic poisons and drugs to enhance the body and relax the mind, beasts from a hundred worlds and even stranger creatures that look as though they bear the taint of the neverborn about them. One offers yet more fantastic beings preserved in dozens of fashions. But she doesn't have time to do more than glance at the sheets of leather that still crawl and twitch as though they were alive before Miarya delivers another firm blow with her cane.
"Do not ogle the merchandise, dear, it's unseemly and a woman of your stature should know better. Your expression at all times should be one of barely entertained indifference. Ah, here we are."
They've stopped outside a small shop with a window display featuring a pair of eldar dressed in fabulous outfits of leathers and silks. Jian can't make out if the models are slaves that have been drugged or restrained in some fashion, corpses, or simply very detailed mannequins. She isn't sure she wants to know.
Inside is a riot of color and texture, with bolts of material filling the walls alongside more outfit designs. The shop seems to specialize in leather. There must be dozens of varieties of it in place, some smooth, some still covered with scales or hair from their former owners.
A man steps forward to greet them, thin even for a drukhari and with fiery red hair held in a knot with a giant fang, similar to the style Valthiel favors. His outfit is green and orange scaled leather and strikes a familiar chord in Jian. She can't help but stare at it as he begins to speak. "Lady Miarya. You honor me with your visit."
"Ah, Cetriminus. It has been far too long. How are your wives?"
He smiles and leans on a chair. In Jian's excited state, she can't help but notice the tightness of his pants. She looks away awkwardly. Cetriminus laughs and his smile widens. "They are doing wonderfully, Lady. Thank you for your gift, by the way. We have been enjoying her services greatly and I see the rumors about your kabal's women were not exaggerated in the slightest."
Miarya dignifies his thanks with a small smile of her own.
"May I interest you in any of my latest creations today?" he says.
"Sadly, I have been seized with a rare charitable mood, and I have decided to aid the less fortunate by helping my lord's favorite concubine to perform her role to maximum effectiveness."
Cetriminus looks over the group, settling his eyes on Jian. At Miarya's nod, he approaches her, keen interest showing on his face. "I see… she's certainly a beautiful specimen. Craftworlder, yes? Not as thin as I'm usually accustomed to working with, but I can deal, I can deal. Tell me, girl," he says sharply. "What kind of clothing does your master normally dress you in? And what of that do you find the most beautiful and comfortable?"
Jian frowns. "Most of my clothing is form fitting and cut to show off my breasts. Leather and silk are both common, as is heavy brocade. The colors tend to be brighter than those typical of Commorragh fashion. I am most comfortable in armor of various kinds."
Miarya stops her from saying any more with another firm application of the cane. "No armor. She is attending the celebration of the defense of Khaine's Gate as a courtesan to the archon, not as a warrior or champion of the arena." She places a firm hand on Jian's shoulder and the tips of her fingers just brush the metal of her collar. "Remember your place, dear," she says softly.
"Yes, ma'am." Jian successfully keeps the annoyance out of her voice.
Cetriminus ignores them both, running his hands over Jian's body and murmuring to himself. As he circles her, she realizes what's so familiar about his outfit – the leather comes from one of the giant lizards that the eldar exodites ride. For some reason, the realization saddens her deeply and she retreats into her own mind for the duration of the examination.
"Alright," the designer says, beaming. "I'm thinking crimson diablodon skin under black carnosaur scale leather to create a hidden flame effect when she moves. The outfit will be long and fitted to increase her visual height, with hidden pockets worked into the skirt for blades and needles, of course. I'll slit both sides to the hips for further lengthening and sexual appeal, and then up top, a corset to enhance your lovely breasts and a latticework of straps across the chest to draw further attention. The gloves will be tipped with diablodon fangs, of course." As he speaks, his hands rove over Jian's body to illustrate his plans, settling on her chest.
"That sounds acceptable," Miarya says. Cetriminus looks to Jian.
"It sounds wonderful," she says. She's certain that the outfit will have some kind of unpleasant twist, but for the moment, the description sounds intriguing and beautiful enough that she's excited to see what he creates.
"Very well. Remove your clothes and step into the waiting room in the back. My assistant is with another customer right now, but I'm certain it will be only minutes before she is available for you."
At first, Jian hesitates, but at a stern glance from Miarya, she removes her clothes and carries them with her to the room that waits behind a shimmering curtain of multicolored satin. True to his word, it's a small place with rich, thick carpets and a trio of plush chairs. A pitcher of pale green liquid sits next to crystal glasses on a small table, but Jian knows better than to accept a drink from an unknown source. She sits down to wait, her clothing on her lap to hide her nakedness. She can hear Miarya and Cetriminus talking in the front of the store.
It only takes a few minutes before the door at the far end of the room opens. Two women exit, one a brunette in a leather outfit similar to the shop owner's, the other tall with waves of familiar white hair.
Illyria.
Jian freezes, unsure of what to do or how to react. It seems that the farseer recognizes her, too, or at least their similar appearance. Her mouth opens and she draws in a little gasp. They stare at each other, eyes locked.
Illyria recovers first. Drawing herself up to her full height, she turns to the shop attendant. "Leave us," she says. Even in her current state, collared and emaciated, she has the bearing of a queen and Jian can't help but feel jealous of her poise.
"You must be Illyria," she says.
"I am." Illyria is naked as well, showing off not only the heavy, close-fitted collar around her neck, but dozens of metal rings pierced through every piece of her anatomy. It looks painful, but somehow erotic in a way that Jian can't put her finger on. Illyria doesn't seem bothered by them, however, and her tone remains haughty. "Who are you?"
"My name is Jian, of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose." She can feel herself growing defensive. Here, right in front of her, is the threat. The rival. The woman who can unseat her from the fragile sense of peace and love that she's managed to find in this hell. Her fingers close around the knife hidden in the folds of the robe on her lap.
Eying her up and down, Illyria raises a brow. "I see. You must be Lord Aire's latest conquest, then. How unfortunate."
"I suppose you think you know a great deal about him," Jian snaps.
"It depends on your definition of 'a great deal', but I would like to think so, yes. More than you, certainly."
Jian jumps to her feet, letting the clothing tumble as she readies her knife. She's not sure what she intends to do, only that she's not going to let this- this person take Valthiel's love away from her.
But as she strides forward, another emotion flits across her mind. Pity. She's been through far worse than I have. It's obvious in the thinness of her body and the way she holds herself that the poise is simply a façade to hide her fear. Why didn't she see it before? There's no way she placed those piercings herself.
Her arms drop to her sides and she curses herself internally for being so self-centered. "I'm sorry."
Illyria tenses, then the stiffness falls from her shoulders. "As am I," she says sadly. "You must still be new here, yes? The fear and horror of this place still cling to you."
"Almost two years."
"I thought as much. I've lost count myself. I- can you tell me, has Valthiel grown into a man yet, or is he still the eager young one that I knew and loved?"
"I don't know how to answer that. But he still misses you greatly. I can see it whenever he speaks about you." Her own heart aches with the powerful emotion brought on by forces too vast for her to make even the slightest impact.
Illyria swallows hard.
"Is there… is there anything I can do for you?" Jian feels like she's floundering, trying to navigate her own mixed feelings in addition to those of Valthiel and Illyria.
"Could you – " Illyria looks down at herself and when she looks back up, her face is flushed in shame. "Could you hug me? I cannot remember the last time someone gave me a hug. I'm not sure I remember what it feels like."
Shocked and confused, at first Jian can only blink. But slowly, carefully, she walks toward Illyria, arms extended. The knife remains in her hand, just in case, but Illyria does nothing as Jian wraps her arms around her waist. Her body is warm and carries a faint floral scent, but something is off. The skin, perhaps, is too hard and smooth to feel exactly like skin.
Slowly, Illyria raises a hand and places it on Jian's shoulder. They stand in silent closeness for minutes before Jian realizes that they're running out of time. One of the drukhari in the shop will certainly wonder what's going on in here before long. "Is there anything you want me to tell him for you?" she whispers.
"Tell him that I miss him," Illyria replies in a broken voice. "And that I am sorry I left without giving him a chance to explain himself. Even if I still think it was the wrong choice."
Jian nods into the other woman's chest. "I'm sure he would want me to tell you that he loves you, and he's doing everything he can to get to you. And I want you to know that I'm okay. He's not hurting me and I am happy with him."
"I'm very glad to hear that," Illyria say absently. "Do you know that Valthiel is an empath? Has he ever tried to explore your mind, your memories or emotions?"
"He has." Jian remembers the nights spent in each other's arms, minds and spirits entwining in silent closeness. A refuge from Commorragh and the darkness of the night.
"Well in that, case, please give him this for me." Before Jian can react, Illyria kisses her. Her hand wraps around the back of Jian's head, holding her close as her tongue presses against her lips.
Shocked, Jian allows her in, suddenly very aware of the fact that they are both naked. Illyria's body forms itself around her, the piercings cold against her skin. She can feel the other woman's nipples brushing her chest and her hands on her waist. She can't breathe.
But the kiss is brief, and just as quickly Illyria steps away, pushing her hair back with one hand. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Cetriminus bustles in. "Now, then, what are we waiting for?" he says. Turning to Illyria, he continues. "My assistant says your fitting has finished – you can go ahead and dress, your fiancé should be along to collect you shortly."
"Fiancé?" Jian can't help asking.
"Yes," Illyria says before the designer can interrupt. "I am to be married to Renthar, one of my father's raid commanders, at the turn of the year. Cetriminus is making my wedding dress." A single tear falls down her face as she turns away and exits the room.
By the time Jian is finished having every centimeter of her body measured and catalogued, Illyria is gone.
The trip back to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose is uneventful. If Miarya knew who Illyria was or realized that she and Jian had spoken, she doesn't comment on it. The canings and lessons continue – if anything, they increase as Jian's distraction makes her a poor student – but she can't bring herself to care much. Miarya leaves her in her room, muttering something about the ungratefulness of the young.
Jian passes the hours until Valthiel returns in a state of nervous frenzy. A dozen times, she attempts to sit down, to calm herself and focus on her paperwork or a drawing or a batch of sleep medicine or anything else, but each time she fails. Jaeden attempts to see what might be bothering her, but fails to break through the agitation and seems to content herself with hovering nearby in case she's needed.
When Valthiel finally knocks on the door of Jian's quarters, she practically runs to the door and throws herself into his arms. He hesitates, then pulls her tight in an embrace, kissing the top of her head. "What's wrong, treasure?"
"Can we go somewhere private? I need to tell you something and I don't think it will be short."
"Of course." Taking her by the hand, he leads her back to his suite, all the time casting worried glances back at her.
The door shuts and she can't wait any longer. "I saw Illyria again today."
"What? Where?"
He still loves her. She has known this, of course, but the desperate pain in his eyes removes any doubts she may have had. Her next words come out with a bittersweet taste. "Miarya took me to have a new dress fitted. She was there, having a dress made. Her wedding dress."
"She's getting married?" Valthiel falls onto the couch, breathless.
"Yes. To someone named Renthar. I don't think it was by choice. She sounds unhappy with it."
He shakes his head. "No, I'm certain Ordai is forcing her. He wants to pretend that he never lost her, that his family was never destroyed, so he'll tie her to him in any way he can. By Khaine, I wish I could do something for her!" He pounds his fist on the arm of the couch as he shakes his head in frustration.
"Is there anything you could offer him in trade?" What is she doing? How can she even think about trying to bring the two of them back together? But her jealousy has faded since this morning. Meeting Illyria, seeing her situation, she understands the need to free her from the situation.
"Ordai has always considered me an unworthy match for his daughter. I doubt he would even entertain the thought of dealing with the Ashen Rose, never mind for something he values so highly."
"What about his enemies? Could you enlist one of them to help you?" Jian sighs as she takes a seat next to him. "I'm sorry, you've probably already thought of all of this a dozen times over."
Valthiel wraps his arm around her shoulders. "No, I don't mind. But no, Ordai is the leader of one of the most powerful kabals outside of Vect's inner circle. Anyone who would be openly opposed to him would also be an enemy of the supreme overlord and far too dangerous to get close to."
"I see." Jian leans against him, thinking. As she does, she remembers the other key event of her and Illyria's meeting. "She has a message for you."
"Really?"
"Yes. She wants me to tell you that she's sorry she didn't let you explain, even if she still thinks you're wrong."
"Yes, that sounds like her. I knew she would be upset from the moment I decided to follow this path, but I suppose I didn't think she would have been that angry. White roses are her favorite flower, it almost seemed like fate, and I thought – " He breaks off with a sad laugh. "In hindsight, I shouldn't have told her in a glass-walled greenhouse."
"She broke it?"
A nostalgic smile still shows on his face as he nods. "Telekinetically threw me straight through three walls. She always did have a temper."
Jian remains silent, considering. "Can you… enter my mind? Right now? She sent me a – a sensation, I guess you could call it, that she wanted me to share with you."
"Of course…" With trepidation, he reaches out to cradle the side of her head in his hand. The familiar brush of his mind appears and Jian struggles to bring to mind the feeling of Illyria's body wrapping around hers, the warmth of her tongue in her mouth and the strong, firm fingers digging into her flesh. She loses herself in the sensations of the memory for as long as she can before pulling back to herself.
It must have worked. Valthiel's eyes shine with tears and he kisses her lightly on the lips. "Thank you," he says. "I know that was difficult for you. And I want you to know that even if, by some miracle, I manage to save her, you are still my lover and partner. All I want to do is give her the chance to go home, you have my word."
"I understand." She frowns. "Is there that little hope?"
"Renthar is one of Ordai's raid commanders – the captain of his flagship. Taking his bride would be tantamount to declaring open war on the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists. And in addition to all that, he is soon to leave on a massive raiding trip that will take him deep into the heart of ork territory. He'll be gone for years if he returns at all. Almost certainly bringing her with him."
"Well, we have until the turn of the year to come up with something," Jian says, even as she begins to feel some of his pessimism.
"I suppose."
"I'm here if you need to talk about it."
"I appreciate that, and I will, just… not now? Why don't you tell me about this dress that Mia is buying you instead."
For nearly an hour, the archon and his lover turn their thoughts to happier subjects. But inevitably, their conversation returns to the afternoon's events and they find themselves again wondering how best to save a woman in such an impossible situation. By the time they break for dinner, the archon has begun to wonder if he should simply ask his assassin to put her out of her misery.
Meanwhile, in a faraway spire, the bride-to-be returns to her gilded cage, waiting helplessly for the repulsive attention of her father to make another attempt in his endless, futile, brutal attempts to heal the rift between them. And now, more painful even than her own bonds, is the knowledge that an innocent young craftworlder suffers for the sole crime of looking like her.
Whew! This chapter wrote fairly fast, but by Khaine, it needed a lot of editing. But here we are - only 4 more chapters to go, and I think I can fairly safely say that everything that's going to happen in the rest of the story has been set up, although some things have much more obvious hints than others.
I'm curious if you guys have any ideas of where this story is headed or what the finale is going to look like?