by Kasia Bacon
“And that’s it?” Her brows knitted in a frown. “What about neck-biting, blood exchanges or similar gruesome rituals performed at crossroads by moonlight?”
“Lords, no. That’s about the gist of it, I’m afraid.”
“How unromantic,” she said with mild reproach.
My lips twitched. Our opinions on romance clearly diverged a great deal.
“What about the accepting or rejecting part?” she asked. “How’s that done?”
A fortnight together
Binds the two forever.
A fortnight apart,
Makes the spark depart.
The silly nursery rhyme, one of the few my mother had used to chant to me a lifetime before, echoed in my head. Bile washed the roof of my mouth, and myriad feelings swarmed through me, led mostly by resentment that I remembered it after all that time. I rubbed my temples, fighting a sudden episode of fatigue. “The bond feeds off closeness and intimacy. So if in the aftermath of Inoru Bri’ghail the soulmates spend fourteen days together—without leaving each other’s side for longer than a few minutes—it takes. To kill it off, the soulmates separate for the full two weeks. The lack of contact does the job.”
“What’s the significance of fourteen days, I wonder?” She scratched her cheek.
“It’s more to do with fourteen moonrises than time as such, I think. The Elder Magic is linked with the lunar cycle, some way or another. Don’t ask me, it’s all a mystical blur to me.”
In all my thirty-three years, I’d only ever treated the little Magic I had as a useful tool to getting my way and having fun, nothing more. Getting philosophical about its rules or mechanisms hadn’t interested me. Did the majority of humans bother contemplating why and how they breathed?
Nélle tsked, clearly disappointed. “Never mind. Fine. What about consequences?”
“What do you mean ‘consequences’?” A nervous feeling filled my stomach.
“Why, darling, everything in life has a price. I don’t see how going against destiny should be any different. So let’s say, winding up with a nasty hex. Or suffering excruciating pain during the separation period. Contracting a dreadful disease? Oh wait, I’ve got a good one. Perpetual impotence. That sort of thing.”
“Nélle, what’s with the excessive imagination? No need to enjoy yourself quite so much.” I huffed a forced laugh and dry-swallowed. “Nothing like that.”
Here’s hoping.
The truth—sad and simple—was that I didn’t know with complete certainty. Adhaŕ had once mentioned a tear in one’s soul. Even if he hadn’t meant it figuratively, how dangerous could that be?
“Why are you so opposed to this bond?”
“W-why?” I opened and closed my mouth a few times, stunned by her audacity to ask so outright. “Plenty of reasons.”
None of which I cared to elaborate on.
Buried deep inside me festered fears I didn’t rush to confront. Thoughts I wouldn’t try dressing with words and admitting, not even to a close friend like Ranélle. Why, she asked? Because I hadn’t been the type to be chosen. Not for anything that mattered and not long-term. Hadn’t my own mother left before I could draw? Hadn’t my father opted to wallow in grief and memories rather than nurture his only child who she’d abandoned? People who pursued me sought my company for mere hours and for a specific purpose—and it provided me with satisfaction to make them pay dear coin for both the time and activity. I couldn’t, however, foresee the sergeant setting his heart on being paired for life with a stranger, a whore and a Tii-Matâshi. Why would he? Despite not wanting the human myself, I didn’t need to add the experience of the ultimate failure—being cast off by my fated soulmate—to my already impressive history.
Noting Ranélle’s expectant stare, I felt compelled to say something. “Firstly, because none of it is real. We’re both being spelled. Forced on each other by a curse of sorts. And secondly,” I added, wriggling with agitation, “because I’m sick and tired of being constantly manipulated into something I don’t want to do.”
“And what do you want, darling?”
“I want… not to be pestered.” I brooded and lowered my face into the bedding again, evading the question I didn’t know how to answer.
“I see,” she said, her tone sceptical. “This entire affair is pretty straightforward, then, I’d say. And there’s choice involved.”
The validity of Ranélle’s comment stunned me into silence. I raised my head to regard her, letting my mouth hang open for a time. But of course. Nothing had to change. Not for long, anyway. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? Yes, it was all unforeseen and unfortunate. But instead of allowing myself to think the matter through, I’d got all flustered and moody over it. The cloud of want fogging my brain had no doubt taken a toll on my reasoning.
“Nélle, you’re a genius,” I said, cheering up. “It is simple, and I choose to be left the hell alone and continue as I have been. Now, as to the sergeant…” I scratched the back of my neck. “It’s inevitable we should meet. We’ll fuck, of course, then go our separate ways, forgetting it ever happened. Two weeks later, the bond will expire, I’ll be free and…victory.”
“Uh-huh.”
I glared at her with suspicion. “What’s ‘uh-huh’ supposed to mean, Nélle?”
“Well…,” she drew out the vowel. “You’ll meet the sergeant, all right. He’s coming back next Freeday, if you’re agreeable. And I gather you are, the way things stand.” She paused and continued only after I expressed my consent with a nod. “I’m not convinced he’ll just go away afterwards, is all I’m saying.” Her ruby chandelier earrings clicked with a pensive shake of her head. “Listen, if I know anything, it’s men. And he strikes me as persistent. Inquisitive. Worse—responsible. The pain-in-the-arse type. Which, forgive my pun, might prove prophetic in your case, judging by the size of that rod he carries around in his breeches.” Ranélle blew an even stream of air through her lips and flicked her hand at the wrist a few times in a rude gesture common amongst the Nĕssyrians.
How she still managed to look endearing rather than obscene, I had no idea. The fact that my buttocks clenched in confused anticipation drew a sigh of exasperation out of me.
“Besides,” she continued, still watching me closely, “considering that he offered a thousand silvers for a night with you—”
“He did? A thousand?” I said, somewhat placated. Such a substantial sum at the disposal of a common soldier astounded me less than his keenness to part with it for the sake of a few frivolous hours passed in my bed. The spark must’ve been a right whack over the head for him, too. I brightened all the more. “Huh. Perhaps I judged him a bit too quickly. He can’t be a complete idiot.”
A smile stretched Ranélle’s lips, but her eyes remained thoughtful. She observed me for a long moment. “It might be an unlikely thing for me to say, but silver ain’t what counts here. We’re talking about fate, Ōkkanȏ. Higher, ancient Magic. Shitting all over its offerings might bring you ill fortune.”
I managed not to laugh, observing her feign spitting over her left shoulder three times. Her knuckles whitened when she clasped her fingers around the charm necklace she wore to fend off evil. The whores of Nygläär cultivated superstitions with enough relish to keep three town Mages and an alchemist in business almost single-handedly. Given the graveness of her features, I swallowed a biting remark and substituted it with a deflated sigh.
“Listen,” she went on, “human soldier or not, he might be meant for you for a reason. Shouldn’t you at least give it some consideration?”
“Reason-shmeason.” I grimaced, disregarding the way she tried to stare a hole into my face. “What a lot of meaningless bollocks. Shit constantly happens for no reason. Or for all the wrong reasons. Is there logic and order to life? Hell, no. Everything about it is plain random and absurd.” I harped on, unable to contain my disquiet any longer. “This bizarre pairing is yet another example. I don’t believe some grand plan is at play here. Just my shitty l
uck.”
She drew in a sharp, noisy breath through her nose. “Still, what if your intended has a different take on this? Other than walking away? He—I don’t know—had that look about him when he watched you up on the gallery tonight. As if he experienced an epiphany or—”
“Oh, come off it, Ranélle. He looked like a lad about to unload in his trousers, like any other horny punter. Or even more so, since the enticement of the bond heightened his senses.” I rolled over, hugging a pillow and stared at the ceiling. “Besides, you sound as if the perspective of being destined to me is bound to thrill him to pieces. It’s a done thing to have a hard-on for a whore and a Two-Soul”—I ignored her flinching at the term—“but forging a lifelong attachment to one would be another bowl of stew, I assure you.”
Granted, Tii-Matâshi sounded better, but then again, everything expressed in Common Elven had more finesse to it. I couldn’t comprehend the reasons why the word disturbed human sensibilities so much myself, since I considered it an accurate description of my psyche. But the concept of having more than one self never failed to make people uncomfortable. Apparently, it smelt too strongly of possession for their tastes.
Ranélle pursed her lips. “You can’t know what his reaction will be until you put it to the test, Ōkkanȏ. You might be surprised.”
“Oh, I’m sure once he gets over the excitement, he’ll rush off to inform his immediate family. They will be so proud,” I said with faked enthusiasm, clasping my hands together.
Making light of the situation helped me pretend nothing important had happened. My shoulders, however, grew stiff at the prospect that Ranélle’s prediction might be correct. Overlooking the possibility that the man could drag out the process by proving pesky and insufferable would be foolish.
Clueing the unsuspecting human in on the situation invited complications and delay. I objected to both. Therefore, with the aim of making the situation simpler and quicker to handle, I decided to tell him bugger-all. After all, solving our mutual mating problem by avoiding any kerfuffle focused on his best interests too, right? By withholding the information, I was doing the sergeant a favour.
Having arrived at that conclusion, I couldn’t restrain a chuckle. However, it soon morphed into a prolonged hiss as air whooshed out of my lungs. My demon popped his claws out in discontentment over my plotting against the union with his beloved. With my insides on fire, I stilled, doing a passable impression of a fish out of water.
Suspicion reduced Ranélle’s eyes to slits. She straightened her back. “You are going to reveal the circumstances to Sergeant Jhagán, aren’t you, Ōkkanȏ? Choice should go both ways. He deserves to know the truth. If only to make—what do they call it?—an informed decision.”
When I could breathe again, I uttered an unintelligible mutter, even though my thoughts raced down the path of He deserves shit. He’ll get what’s coming to him—a good fuck—and that’ll be his lot.
Ranélle rose from the bed in one graceful stretch. The way she sashayed around betrayed her for the dancer she used to be all those years ago. “Well, you’ve got a week to think on it. I’d better get back downstairs to check if we haven’t gone out of business.”
“Speaking of business…” I leant over to my bedside table to grab a large box carved from cherrywood. I counted out enough silver to cover my board, lodging and Nélle’s cut for the week and placed it into her outstretched hands.
Her head bobbed in thanks. She pocketed her dues, distributing it evenly between the cleverly hidden cavities in the depths of her well-tailored skirts.
I watched her saunter away. She pivoted by the doorpost, showing a furrowed brow. “Since you can’t work, what will you do in the meantime?”
Pique closed my throat at the reminder of how closely my biology dictated my actions. How he, my demon, controlled me. For the following week, it appeared, I’d been put on a steady diet of internal brooding and annoyance, topped with sexual abstinence. Typically, the latter would send my Incubus spiralling out of hand, but now he demanded monogamy, of all things. I loathed the contrary bastard at times. From living a fuck-fest one minute to a fuck-fast the next—the change was so head-spinning it bordered on grotesque. Any other time, I’d have found the state of affairs hilarious. Especially if it pertained to anybody else but me.
“I’ll catch up on my sleep,” I said. “Do some drinking. Fine, lots of drinking. Finish a few drawings and perhaps start a new one? Which reminds me, the marquise bought another couple. Can you believe she paid more for the sketches than the pleasure of my cock?” The novel concept that painting could yield more in terms of financial reward than fucking, while taking considerably less effort, still amused me.
“And so she should.” Ranélle jerked her chin up with conviction. “Your drawings are extraordinary. Not that your cock isn’t worth every silver.” She flashed me a short-lived grin before turning her gimlet eye on me. “Will you be all right, Ōkkanȏ?”
“I’ll be right as rain. Don’t fret. Three weeks from now I’ll have it all straightened out. And the silver will roll for us once more.”
A blend of what I determined to be scepticism and concern crossed her face.
I ignored it the best I could and cleared my throat. “Could you send Aurrin up with a couple of spare lamps? I might do some painting tonight.”
“I will if he’s around. I’ve no idea why I pay the bugger and keep him here.”
“Yes, isn’t that a mystery,” I deadpanned, as if it weren’t common knowledge that the charming street urchin Nélle loved like a son had her wrapped around his little finger. My bet would be he’d be sitting in the kitchen, coaxing sweet bread and fruit paste out of Tawa the cook, who—like most of the whores—spoilt him rotten. “Tell the boy there’ll be a silver or two in it for him if he runs to the palace to deliver the sketches. And on his way back, he can—”
“Let me guess.” She planted her fists on her hips. “Pop into the winery for you?”
I lifted myself to sitting and leant against the bedpost. “Why, yes. What a splendid idea. It so happens I’m running out of the Ysêmyrian red they keep stocked for me. A few bottles to soothe my nerves wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Very well. As long as you promise not to get rat-arsed and cause a disturbance every night. The city guards can only waive the charges every so often. Remember, you won’t be fucking their Lord Commander for a while now.”
I crossed my heart with my finger and received an evil glare in return.
She hovered, her gaze not leaving mine. I could almost hear her thoughts churning around in her head.
“Out with it, Nélle.” I exhaled in resignation. “What is it?”
“You’re stubborn, Ōkkanȏ, and you won’t want to hear it. I’ll say it nonetheless. You might protest change all you want, but something has already changed. Why not acknowledge it? Sticking your head in the sand will only work for so long.” As usual, nothing succeeded better in making me feel like a halfwit than her calm logic, dressed in that patient tone of hers. “I think you’d be wrong to dismiss the sergeant without even getting to know him. He could be a good fit for you. If he can stand that temper of yours, that is. I mean, you could be good for each other. Gods know you haven’t been happy for a time, if ever. A change might be a blessing. I’m saying this as your friend, not your employer.”
My irritation reached new heights. “Sweet gods. You’ve really taken a shining to the man, haven’t you?”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Aye. I like the earnestness about him. One doesn’t encounter that often in our line of work, mind you. Not a brothel kind of man, either. He didn’t come here to fuck. He came because he’s lonely.”
I made no attempt to suppress a disdainful snicker. “Good lords. What, do you want me to start shedding tears? Nuh-uh. Fuck him.”
“Behave,” she said with a wag of her finger. Then added, beaming all the while, “As to fucking him, you’ll get your wish soon enough. No wonder you’re so eager. He’
s gorgeous, isn't he? Like the god of war.” Nélle’s dreamy demeanour grated my nerves for some mysterious reason. “Sculptured and honed and—”
“All right, all right. You can put your tongue back in your mouth now.” The tight, hot and sour heaviness that flooded my chest—was it possessiveness? I could only guess without a past example to guide me. I shook my head. At her or myself, I didn’t know.
“You're jealous,” she sing-songed.
“The fuck? Am not.” I growled.
“No need, darling. Your sergeant hardly bothered to peruse the wares. He had eyes just for you.”
Her choice of words jarred me, but also pleased me in a disturbing sense. My confusion swelled along with my ill mood. “Look, weren’t you about to quit bothering me and go back to the bar? The eye of the master fattens the horse and all that. How about you do some fattening elsewhere, eh?”
The door clicked shut. Outside, her giggling became less and less distinct until it died away entirely.
Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I tried to take stock of my emotions. One bubbled up to the surface with the force of a rampant tide: the desire to paint. Invigorated at the prospect, I sprang off the bed.
A large lamp gleamed over the dresser. I grabbed it by the ceramic base, padded towards the door leading to an adjoining room that served as my studio, and yanked it open.
What I had in mind called for watercolours. Already fixated on the project, I shut my brain down—banning all the tension, worry and self-doubt. The activity was guaranteed to keep my demon off my back, too. My pulse quickened as I chose a fresh sheet of paper and started the process of stretching it, dipping it into a tub of water. In no time, I’d blotted it with a sponge and had it drying, secured onto a rigid board.