Stop objecting and love me, Trennus. Flamesower. Trennus’ breath caught. He’d never known his Name, and it sounded . . . good . . . but not quite right, somehow. Still, she had eighty percent of his soul in her keeping. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she knew it, or at least part of it. But she used it so sweetly, so softly, when she could have compelled him with it, made him helpless . . . . You do love me, don’t you, Trennus?
Of course I do. How could I possibly not? He’d just . . . never thought about her in these terms. Rather, he’d never allowed himself to do so. Her history with her last summoner was so very bad. And she’d been so fragile and damaged, just a flicker in the palm of his hand when she’d come to him . . . .
That was then. I’ve grown since then, Trennus. I thought taking human form back in Rome would get your attention, but I must have gotten something wrong . . . .
The female form was beautiful. I just . . . I thought you were playing.
I always play, Trennus. But I also love you. Let me show you how much.
Thoughts flickering like a candle’s flame, each to each. They hadn’t stopped kissing all this time. Play of tongues, again, like flames melding each other. Her overall heat increasing, fever-hot, reminding him, all over again, that Lassair was fire. Pleasant in a hearth. Deadly uncontrolled. Trennus started to roll her to her back, and then stopped. He could feel just a trace of hesitance in her body, and pulled back. How about, he offered, lying back, if you take what you want from your poor servant?
His reward was in seeing her face light up, from within. Almost bashful, demure, a flicker of joy and coy amusement at the same time. Devastating combination. That could be arranged . . . . Warmth of her hands, positioning him. And then the little smile as she sank down, and caught her lip between her teeth, and then all Trennus knew was that he was passing through the heart of a star. White-hot flame all around him, encompassing him, but not burning him. Bliss and physical delight, yes, when he caught glimpses of the things their bodies were doing, but he knew she was playing with his soul now, too. Caressing it, as if it were a harp-string between their bodies and minds, connecting them to one another, just as their flesh was connected. Oh, gods, I didn’t realize I was already in you all this time . . . . Watching her face as she reached her own peak, delight and happiness in her face, and fire wreathing her body . . . going to be hard to explain the scorched sheets . . . and then rolling her to her back at last. Taking and giving at once. And then passing back through the heart of the star once more. Far, far more than mere physical gratification.
Trennus finally managed to pull away, by a few inches, and settled them on their sides once more. Pulled her back into his chest and stomach once more, and ran his fingers through her hair. “Lassair . . . .”
Mmm. Contentment in her tone, like the crackle of low-burning logs.
“You might be a little addictive, Lassair. I’m probably not going to leave you alone. Fair warning.” Trennus found the back of her neck to kiss again.
I don’t want to be left alone. I want you. You saved me. You take care of me. Now, it’s my turn to save and care for you. Free exchange, Flamesower. No bargains. Just giving and receiving. She caught his hand and kissed the palm, and Trennus groaned a little as she nipped and bit the tips of his fingers, too. He was reacting, and he shouldn’t have been able to, not for at least a good twenty minutes or more. Must be the long dry spell, he thought, hazily, and slid a hand along her flank again.
A little pause, and Lassair admitted, I was remembering things, Trennus. Things from . . . before.
“Before?” Trennus blinked. “Not the—”
No. Not the vile one. Before him. Things I had forgotten. Who I was, I think? What I was?
“The dream I had before I awoke . . . . ”
Yes. That was one of my memories. But it was a very long time ago. Your people were different then. And I think I was . . . on the continent of Europa. Perhaps Gaul. Not so far north as your home. Lassair’s voice was intrigued. I want to remember more, Trennus.
“Hmm. I don’t know how to help, but if I can, I will.” He had to admit to a certain fascinated curiosity, himself. Spirits were ageless. If not killed, eternal. Technically, they were genderless, as well. They were essences, not organic life forms. It was probably fruitless to love one . . . and Trennus was aware that he both loved Lassair, and was now starting to fall in love with her, as well. In the face of that, none of the rest of it seemed to matter much.
The memories are stronger now, than they were before. Perhaps I merely need to do things that I once did? And that will serve as a reminder? Lassair rolled over and began to kiss him, a little more seriously.
Trennus reciprocated, and with interest . . . and then got a look at the clock. Horrible little windup noisemaker that it was, its hands had both just touched the twelve. “Morrigan!” Trennus swore. “It’s noon already? I need to get up.” His mind scattered into duty rosters and how he must have missed a shift . . . and then realized that Livorus had, in light of the fact that two of his main lictors were in the hospital, and the other two had been wounded, as well, stood them down for the time being. He had the day off.
Would you like to spend it here, in bed? Lassair offered, her tone hopeful.
Trennus tried to access his brain. “. . . I should say no. I should say we need to go to the hospital.”
Stormborn is awake. She and Steelsoul Godslayer are both well. Emberstone remains at the hospital. He is with the one who binds him. Lassair’s tone hardened. They are arguing.
“So, you’re saying that there’s nothing that I can or should be doing, besides staying in bed beside one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen?” Trennus considered that for a moment, and then lay back down to wrap her up in his arms again. Bargain made, bargain sealed. He gave her a hopeful look, however. I don’t suppose you want to go to the baths, do you?
That . . . is a terrifying amount of water. Her tone held trepidation.
Water shouldn't affect you in that form, should it?
I . . . am not sure.
Respecting the fear in her mental voice, Trennus let it go, lightly. Think you might be able to sneak into the male side? One of the steam rooms, maybe? He grinned at her as she turned towards him.
Ohhh. Yes. I think I could manage this.
I might begin to have a reputation for an unhealthy fixation on my phoenix, however.
Then I will not manifest until you are in the steam room and alone.
Trennus chuckled at her pragmatic tone. Suddenly, his entire world was brighter. And he couldn’t think it was anything but a good thing to have his soul owned by this beautiful, glorious, powerful being, his Name known to her, as hers was known to him.
___________________
Kanmi Eshmunazar got dressed in the clothing his wife had brought to the hospital for him, and, carrying the bag she’d brought them in, and a dispatch case, hesitated. He should check out and go back to the governor’s residence. See his wife and the boys. But she’s spoiling for a fight. And I don’t want to argue just now. It can wait. Besides, Caetia’s been in heavy surgery. Should look in on her. As such, he made his way to the post-op ward, where he’d been told Caetia was recovering. He tapped on the right door, got a “Come in!” from ben Maor, and stuck his head in.
“You’re looking a lot better than I thought you would,” Kanmi told the valkyrie, concealing his relief. She looked wan and he could see bruises mottling most of her upper chest, where her patient gown sagged down a little . . . but she looked remarkably healthy, given her condition yesterday. And ben Maor, too. Considering that he should be dead. “Heard they actually used the chest spreaders on you.” His own voice was a laryngitic rasp, and his chest still ached.
Caetia blinked at him. “So I have been told,” she replied, tiredly. “It is . . . not comfortable.”
“Guess who’s refusing to take her pain meds?” ben Maor said, in a dry tone, jerking a thumb at the valkyrie. “Nevermind that pain
inhibits recovery.”
The two of them exchanged a long look, and Kanmi blinked as he realized that ben Maor was actually holding Caetia’s hand. Oh, ho. The wind sits in that quarter, does it? There were no regulations against romantic relationships in the Praetorians, or even in the Legion, really, so long as two people were of equivalent rank. Rome wasn’t ancient Sparta, admittedly; the Spartans had recommended and even encouraged their soldiers to form liaisons with one another, on the theory that a man will fight harder to save his lover than anyone else. That being said, as female soldiers had entered the Roman army, over time, a similar philosophy had been espoused, particularly because marriage was seen as a virtue in a solider. Around the time of the Industrial Revolution, there had been muttering from the general staff about ways in which to make every soldier as interchangeable as the machined parts of the average artillery piece, and that in order to make everyone the same, everyone would have to be made equal. Nepotism would have to be eliminated . . . and that had been laughed right out of the room, given that there was no inherent equality in the legions. The sons of patricians (women weren’t admitted into the Roman Legion proper; only in levy forces.) all began their careers as officers. God-born, sorcerers, technomancers, and ley-mages, given their previous high degrees of training, expertise, and raw power, also tended to start their career as officers. Officers had privileges that ordinary soldiers did not. It had always been that way. And an enlisted soldier could rise from the ranks, after showing sufficient merit.
Kanmi was all for the rights of man. To his way of thinking, society was like a footrace. Everyone who wanted to participate, should be allowed to line up at the start. But he had no time for the people who, once admitted to the race, stood around complaining that they had the lane that was in the direct sunlight, that it wasn't fair that the people to the left and the right had been practicing since childhood, that they didn't have the right running shoes on, and that someone owed them new shoes. He didn't have time for people who'd spend their entire time at the race complaining, rather than participating. Practicing. Improving. And if you started with a disadvantage, and won? Why, the greater share of glory was yours.
As for the people who showed up at the track, and wouldn't even run, but still complained that the race was unfair, and would have impacted them, if they could have been bothered to compete? Kanmi thought those people should be put in the stocks and pelted with vegetables, for making a public nuisance of themselves.
So he had no problem with ben Maor making time with Caetia. Technically, ben Maor had been appointed head of the lictors protecting Livorus for the Judea trip. The position might even stick, but Kanmi wouldn't have a problem with it. Caetia was far more experienced, but she hated talking with reporters and coordinating with other forces. Ben Maor's position as head of the lictors, and her subordinate position could be argued to represent a conflict of interest . . . except that Caetia was god-born. She was always going to be the first of them sent into the line of fire, and would never tolerate being 'protected.' She had probably twenty years of experience on all of them, and had clearly turned down promotion to head of the detail. Probably several times.
There wasn’t much probability of her receiving preferential treatment, in other words. Except maybe having her watch schedule aligned so that she and ben Maor got to sleep at the same time. Assuming, of course, that this whole thing managed to get past the handholding stage. Kanmi suppressed a smile. He couldn’t help but think that getting Caetia in the sack, beautiful though the valkyrie was, would be about as much fun as humping a snow-bank. Sure, you might be able to burrow a hole, but sooner or later, frostbite was going to set in, and things might freeze off.
But, Baal take it, not my business. He wants to risk his cock falling off from the cold, that’s ben Maor’s look-out. Kanmi moved into the room, set down his bags, and perched on one of the uncomfortable chairs. Tried to find something to say. Something companionable, that would give Caetia something else to think about besides the pain.
“Someone from the Praetorians dropped off a nice thick set of files for me this morning,” he finally rasped, nudging the dispatch case with a toe. “Things I’ve been requesting access to for months.” He flicked a glance at Adam. “Someone, somewhere, broke a logjam. If it was you, thank you."
"I did try a little diplomacy with the people over in Archives."
"I'll send you to do all my talking from now on. I have data on the Source Initiative. The membership lists, at least. I can start going through those. See if any of the names cross-match to known troublemakers of any sort. Any criminal records. It’s only two, three thousand names, tops. Can’t possibly take me more than a few years in my spare time.” Kanmi nodded, and ben Maor chuckled ruefully.
Another knock at the door, and this time, Matrugena walked in, looking clean and refreshed and disgustingly relaxed, with Lassair once more perched on his shoulder. There’s someone who didn’t spend the night in a damned hospital, Kanmi thought, grimacing. “You should teach her to be a parrot,” Kanmi told the Pict. “She’ll stand out much less that way.”
“I think she stands out, no matter what form she takes,” Matrugena said, smiling broadly. “And you’re beautiful in every one of them,” he added fondly, turning his head to regard the bird.
Why, thank you. Lassair preened at her feathers.
Kanmi didn’t know what to make of that, so he shrugged and pulled another chair across the room with a beckoning finger, and situated it for Matrugena.
“You get anything else in the dispatch case?” Ben Maor gestured at the bags, which Kanmi had placed on the floor beside his chair.
“Thaumometric readings from the Pyramid of the Sun over the past few years,” Kanmi replied, leaning back in his chair. “My initial measurements, and those that people have took before and after the event. Magic and its residue are measurable. We measure ley and electricity in wex. We measure sorcery and even spirit energies in thaums. I didn’t have the right tools with me in Nahautl at the ley-plants at first, but it can be done.” He paused. “There are some anomalies with the readings the various researchers have been getting from the ruins. Fascinating stuff, really.”
Ben Maor looked dubious. Matrugena, however, sat up. “Anomalies? What do you mean?”
“There’s about half as much power residue in the rocks and the ground as there should be.”
Caetia tried to clear her throat. “You . . . really think . . . that you can measure a god?” Her tone was incredulous, as she labored to get the words out.
“I can measure the energy output of the sun. Not directly, but by observation, inference, and experimentation. Measuring a god shouldn’t be that much different.” Kanmi gave her a droll look. “I’m not planning on attempting to find out Tyr’s vital statistics or favorite color, if that’s your concern. I value my health.”
Caetia’s eyes widened, and she laughed and coughed at the same time, and then curled inwards on herself, even as ben Maor gave her a steadying hand.
Trennus shook his head. “We know that the, ah, entity,” he tossed a cautious glance at the door behind them, which was closed, “was weakened, Esh. That might account for the number differences.”
“Not really. Magic decays at a known rate, and becomes ambient in the environment. As a result, starting with what’s in the rocks, we can extrapolate backwards to determine how much was unleashed a year ago. The problem is, I was also present and can give a fairly good estimate of how much energy that the entity—” a quick, mocking smile, “was tossing around. It’s less accurate, because it’s not an objective, measured assessment . . . but even allowing for my overestimating his power because I was being slapped around like a ragdoll? My numbers still don’t match up with the readings being taken at the site today.” Kanmi glanced over his shoulder at the door, and then warded the room against eavesdropping. "Right. Our playmate was a weakened entity, but a very old one. He was generating enough power in thaums to power a mid-sized ‘ley-energy’
plant over eight hundred miles away. That was around six hundred and sixty-seven megawex of ley/electrical. Which is close to seven million thaums."
"Meaningless numbers to most people," Trennus told him. "For reference, Adam, a thaum is enough power to lift one ounce of matter at normal Earth gravity. In terms of wex, what Kanmi’s talking about at the plant was enough power to light up a decent-sized city."
Kanmi nodded, rapidly. "And that was just the first plant he happened to be powering, continuously. There were at least four others, here and there throughout the whole of Nahautl. That’s thirty-five million thaums of constant output, or enough to power five mid-size cities and he was throwing us around like a child's toys at the same time." Kanmi paused. "Conservative estimate, thus, he had roughly forty to forty-five million thaums to liberate at the moment of his death. The amount of residue in the rock should indicate at least that much. Instead, there’s twenty-two million thaums calculated at the time of origin. Enough that it really should have cooked us more than it did. It’s a wonder none of us have developed fucking cancer, in fact."
"Oh, how comforting. Something else to keep me awake at night," Adam muttered.
Kanmi lifted his hands, palms up. “So, at least half of his power . . . went somewhere else.” He leaned back, and started talking with more interest and enthusiasm, forgetting the raspy quality of his own voice. “We know that magic follows some principles similar to magnetism and electricity. It can be stored, as we know. It’s attracted to similar fields, so it can accrete. After that fight, every battery I had was no good anymore. They’d been overloaded.” Kanmi gestured. “Question becomes, where did the rest of our entity go?”
Caetia had, midway through Kanmi’s words, had leaned her head back against her pillows, her eyes drifting shut, but the monitors continued to ping steadily, announcing that her heartbeat remained even. Now, Matrugena turned his head and looked at Lassair; the phoenix huddled a little in on herself. I caught some of his power, the spirit admitted, her tone uneasy. I did not intend it. And it was almost too much to control. But I do not think I caught all of it. Even the part that . . . suffused me . . . was almost too much.
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