Soulbound

by Archer Kay Leah

  Mayr narrowed his eyes. "Stop sounding like you could fall in love with him. He's still mine."

  "Oh, I know, but I get it." Aeley grinned and patted his cheek. "He's had it rough, but I trust him with you. Otherwise I'd have gutted him senseless, ripped off his goods, and sent the rest to the Shar for tough eatin's."

  "Poisoned eatin's," Mayr corrected before arching one brow. "You've been spending too much time around Ress and Adren. Keep this up and you'll horrify the rest of the aristocracy. I think they'll fall down dead with a single dose of gutter slang."

  "Please. Try four doses and a batch of actual poison."

  Mayr surrendered to a body-shaking laugh before he kissed Aeley's cheek. "Thanks."

  "Of course. One request?"

  "Ask and I'll do it."

  "Let Lira and I be family. We'll do anything, whether it's watching over children, indulging childhood hobbies, or whatever else." Aeley clutched his hand. "I'll adopt your kids into the Dahe line as wards or something. I'm sure we can come up with the right term or make up a whole new one. Lira's talented and creative—you should see the poetry she's written for me and painted all over my…" She blushed pink. "Forget I said that. Just know we could find something no Councilman or Steward could contest. Then no one could take anything away from your kids ever."

  "Sweet as you are, Ae, I can't let you go that far," Mayr argued, "but it's nice to hear."

  Aeley smiled slyly. "So how do you intend to go about it? Want me to look into orphans? I can send out letters and have names for you within the week. Babies? Toddlers? Schooling age?"

  And there it is. Mayr's face warmed. The desk felt like a bed of hot coals. He fidgeted until he fumbled off the edge altogether. "We were thinking of something… else. A little more work and a lot of intimacy and… Dammit." Mayr rubbed the back of his neck and focused on the floor. "Us and a girl, that's it."

  "A surrogate mother," Aeley suggested. "That's what you want?"

  "I guess? Or is it something else? Someone we could trust. Someone we could enjoy time with and share a child with." Mayr sighed and shuffled to the door. Muted clicks seemed to answer his steps from the corridor on the other side—the sound of someone passing through the hall.

  Mayr waited for the clicks to disappear before he continued, thankful whoever it was had rushed by. "Honestly? I don't know how we'll do it. There's no tact to stalking women and asking if they'll have our kid. That's not who we are. That's creepy." He spun on his heel to face Aeley. "I'm very aware of the interest in bedding us, so finding a lover won't be the problem, but having a child? It's not a small favour."

  "Still, it's not unheard of. Give it time? Hard effort?" Aeley struggled to hold back a laugh. "Just try, but not too hard?" She groaned and bashed her forehead into her palm. "Sorry. My mouth isn't all sorts of sex right now, honest."

  "Oh, it is, but only for Lira." Mayr smirked and leaned against the door.

  Quiet rattles sounded in the hallway, startling him.

  "You're right, though," he said, pushing away from the door. If someone waited on the other side, he needed the conversation to end. No one else needed to know. "We're not rushing into it. We're letting it happen, however it does, if it does."

  "I'll support whatever you decide. If I get a smart idea, I'll let you know."

  "Thanks."

  Silence fell, deep with meaning conveyed by long gazes and soft smiles. Why had he expected Aeley to say anything different?

  Three loud knocks rapped the door, scaring them both. Cursing under his breath, Mayr opened the door.

  Arieve.

  Every foul word tumbled back down Mayr's throat. "Hey." He leaned against the door, one arm sliding up the side.

  In an instant, he tripped on his own feet and stumbled into the door, swinging it open further.

  "You can't possibly be drunk already." The corners of Arieve's eyes crinkled with her smile, her glossed lips painted pink like her cheeks. Dark curls and plaits cascaded over her shoulders, the firelight lending a golden hue to the white-blonde streaks in the fringe of hair across her forehead. She held a silver tray, presenting two glass goblets filled with a bluish-purple drink and fragments of gold leaf sprinkled on top. "Otherwise, this might be a bad idea."

  "What's a bad idea?" Mayr grimaced, his mouth suddenly dry as if filled with pillow stuffing. Quick to recover, he smoothed his shirt, resettled his belts, and slicked back his hair, pretending he meant to be clumsy.

  "Your after-dinner drinks. Lira was going to bring them, but I thought I'd save her the trip. She's having fun trading stories with your mother." Arieve cleared her throat. "I didn't want to interrupt your conversation."

  The tray rattled in her hand. The drinks threatened to slosh over the rims.

  Mayr steadied the tray. "Thanks for that. This. These." He offered her an awkward smile and took the goblets. "I'll let you get back." So you won't see me kick my own ass for being completely inappropriate.

  "Thanks, Arieve," Aeley called from her desk.

  "You're welcome." Arieve hesitated as she lowered the tray. She swayed gently, the rich green layers of her tiered, ruffled skirts moving with her. "I'll let you finish."

  Before Mayr could say anything else, Arieve hurried down the hall and around the corner.

  "I wonder what the mix is this time." Aeley snatched one goblet to sniff it. "Hint of gaffa nectar, soured pamolea extract, and a bite of fulore. Plus maybe, probably—" another sniff "—syrup from the Sailor's Sweetheart bush." She took a sip and nodded. Flakes of gold leaf clung to her top lip. "Not as fun as last night's concoction, but I could get used to it."

  "That's what you always say." Mayr brushed the flakes from Aeley's lips with his thumb.

  Aeley wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Not always, just a lot. Cook knows her stuff. To be fair, she's known me since I was three, getting into her puddings and tarts anytime she turned around. I trust that when she serves up a hodgeypodgey drink, it's got personality." She tapped her goblet against his. "I'm heading back to our guests. You should too, considering it's your party. We can resume this conversation later."

  After a kiss to his cheek, Aeley flounced out the door and through the corridor, humming to herself.

  Mayr stared into his goblet, watching the gold swirl in an abstract pattern. My stomach. My head. I can't even…

  He set the goblet on Aeley's desk. He needed Tash's forgiveness more than he deserved a fancy drink.

  As he exited the room, questions assaulted him hard enough to drown the sound of the door latch as it caught. One question practically shouted above all the others: how much had Arieve heard of his conversation with Aeley?

  His heartbeat faltered. He was mortified. The door was not impervious to sound. What would Arieve think of him had she heard…

  Hey, stupid! It doesn't matter. Mayr grumbled and hooked his thumbs around the back of his belts. It still comes out to you're taken and happy, so shut up. Dragging his heels, he wandered through the corridor and turned into the next, towards the ballroom.

  Around the corner, Arieve leaned against the wall, head bowed, with her face hidden by her hair. She twined the trailing black laces of her bright green tunic around her fingers and pulled taut, then released them only to repeat the process. The empty tray rested beside her, abandoned against the wall.

  "Hey." Mayr stopped, careful to leave two foot lengths between them. "I thought you went back?" He toyed with his marriage ring, twisting the band nervously. Memories of Tash surged forward, the airy weight of his kisses almost real enough to feel.

  "I wanted to wait for you." Arieve raised her head and offered a tender smile. "I probably won't get a word in the rest of the night given the company, so I thought…"

  She was in his arms before he could reply. Her hug stole his surprise, shredding it until all that remained was stunned.

  "Congratulations," she murmured, her forehead tucked beneath his chin. "He's got a good heart, solid. You've found your match. If the Four could grant
me one wish tonight, it'd be for you two to have everything you desire."

  Mayr hesitated, his hands hovering over Arieve's back. Touching was a bad idea, especially while he kept Tash from the truth. "Thank you." Quick as he could, he embraced Arieve and pushed her away, feeling worse than the coward he was. "Let's go back. I need to stop my mother from revealing every baby story she has, or everyone's going to hear about my naked backside and trailing diaper crowns."

  Arieve picked up the tray and started up the hall. "I'm sure Tash is soaking them up as we speak." She laughed, the joyous sound digging up a dozen memories.

  Memories he needed to lock up and burn down.

  He followed Arieve and cast his gaze to the ceiling. Please, Reverent Goddesses, get me through tonight. Then let's talk about strength of will, because one of these days I'm going to have to confess everything, and it'll hurt more than scorching my pride.

  Chapter Six

  If he could script their fate, Mayr would kiss Tash until the end of his days. Long and easy, with Tash's name on the tip of his tongue. Every moment felt like floating on a raft of feathers and fragrant wood on a lulled blue sea, basking in adoration.

  Mayr glided his arm over the back of Tash's chair and tilted his head towards the wall behind him, shifting the slant of their mouths. Returning Tash's drawn-out moan with his own, Mayr smiled against Tash's lips, content to leave words for another day. Tash edged closer, eager and relentless. His legs slid along Mayr's as he caressed a path over Mayr's jaw and down the back of his neck, keeping Mayr close. Their last uninterrupted breaths had been some time back, forgettable and irrelevant. Had Mayr tried to count the moments since their kiss began, he would have run out of fingers and toes half a dozen times over.

  Seated in the corner of Orae's tavern, they stole what intimacy they could. Light touched nearly every corner of the dining area, but Mayr had blown out the candle in the lantern on their table. The little shadow they gained only served their mouth play, allowing them to cuddle together at the furthest end of the tavern, in between two curtain-covered windows. Outside, the village was cold and dark except for a faint glow from other buildings. The silhouettes of the pottery, weaver's workshop, and typographer's office across the road were barely visible through the foggy windowpanes.

  Inside, Mayr and Tash were warm enough for a light layer of sweat to dampen their skin. After leisurely enjoying their dinner, the slow transition to an unyielding kiss had been simple. Around them, raucous voices filled the tavern. Patrons occupied almost every measure of space, putting each of the tables to full use. People shouted, jeered, and roared their amusement, throwing coins at each other and playing with painted discs. A crowd surrounded the bar, drinking and laughing. Among them were guards from the Dahe estate, as well as villagers and travelers who had purchased accommodations for the night. The dining room smelled more like ale and beer than food from the kitchen, though the heavy scent of spiced meat pies lingered. The muffled pitch of a fanciful tune flitted around the disconnected noise, played on a hardy guitar by a young musician. More than one person had been inspired to dance and flail their arms, keeping time with the melody while they kicked their heels and scuffed the floorboards.

  There was only quiet in Mayr and Tash's corner. Lost to the warm touch kneading him, Mayr intended to leave the corner with new memories. They had sat at the same table the first time they met, chosen by Tash for its observational advantage. Sarene had been with them that night, oblivious to the silent bond they forged.

  Now it was just the two of them. While far from a paradise, it was still a comfortable place to escape. Two weeks had passed since Mayr proposed to Tash. Their dinner out was meant to be a reprieve from the routine they had adopted—an effort to retain spontaneity and liveliness. He never wanted their marriage to become a chore. A schedule. A drill.

  Tash nipped Mayr's lips. "I think I may have finally kissed you enough to touch the threads that craft your soul." Slipping his hands through Mayr's loose hair, he guided Mayr's head back and kissed the hollow of Mayr's throat. "The fire in me hates to let you go."

  "Thankfully you don't have to, not permanently." Mayr curled his arm around Tash's neck and pressed their foreheads together. He drew back the delicate veil to expose Tash's unshaven jaw, his fingertips gliding over Tash's cheekbone. "I'll always come back to you, no matter where we are." His caress ventured over the thin folds of Tash's ear and down his nape. "Those threads you talk about keep me in knots for you, and you're the only one who can unravel them."

  Tash hummed and nuzzled Mayr's cheek. "Perhaps we're soulbound by fire and thread."

  "I'm good with that," Mayr murmured, catching Tash's lips once more. He cradled Tash's head against his shoulder with the crook of his arm.

  A cleared throat brought their mouths to a stop, raiding the peace between kiss and contented moan.

  Mayr swung his attention towards the figures that stood beside their table: a man and woman, both fidgeting nervously. They appeared no older than eighteen, their rustic traveling clothes heavy and worn, drenched from the falling snow. Both flushed beneath their flickering stares. "Yes?"

  The man cleared his throat again. He removed his flattened brown cap and ruffled his shaggy dark hair. His partially gloved fingers worked his cap in circles. "I—we, I mean—we're here to—that is, we'd like—" The man shot a glimpse to the woman at his side, her arm looped around his. "We've just gotten married. We've come from the temple to…" His flush deepened. "We saw you sitting here, kind priest, and thought you might be able to bless our bed?"

  "You don't have to," the woman added, her free hand shoved into the pocket of her green, knee-length coat. Curls of bright red hair dangled from beneath her pale yellow knit hat. "We can see you're busy." She tugged on her husband. "I told you this was a bad idea. Let's leave them alone."

  Every bit of Mayr wanted to agree.

  "I would be pleased to bless your wedding night." Tash stood, offering them a kind smile. He squeezed between Mayr and the table to join the couple, his robes falling around him in graceful folds. "You have a room upstairs?"

  Both the man and woman nodded.

  "Very well, if you allow me to get the items I need, I'll follow you to your room." Tash tilted his head and regarded them with an expectant expression. The couple returned his stare until he swept his hand towards them. "Perhaps our magnanimous Goddesses would like to celebrate your names first?"

  The woman grimaced. "Sorry. I'm Nelda and this is Daury, my boyfr… my husband."

  "Well met, Nelda, Daury. You may call me Tash." He reached for a serving woman as she wove through the crowd and beckoned her close.

  A new member of the tavern staff, Mayr realized. One he did not know, save for her name: Elarel. She crept between bodies towards Tash, an empty tray in one hand and a metal pitcher in the other.

  "What can I get you, your priestliness?" Elarel stopped between Tash and Mayr, the layers of her bright yellow, orange, and red skirts pinned back by shiny silver brooches. She flashed Tash a grin before eyeing Mayr. "Now that you've sucked his face clear off, shall I get you more to drink? I think there's cake in the back with your name practically iced on it."

  "Tempted as I am, it'll have to wait." Tash motioned to Nelda and Daury. "I need you to fetch me some things and take them upstairs, if it isn't a bother?"

  "For you? Never. What things?"

  "A bowl of water, a goblet of the lightest tasting drink you have, salt, four white candles, a bowl of strong herbs, and a stick of incense—the sweet kind Orae keeps for romantic evenings."

  Elarel beamed. "I'll be up shortly." Without another word, she turned and pushed through the crowd.

  "I'll meet you up there," Tash told Nelda and Daury. As they shuffled away, his attention returned to Mayr. "I'll be back soon, kindest of loves." He brushed a kiss across Mayr's mouth. "Keep your desires kindled for me."

  A moment later, Tash was a blur of vivid red fabric disappearing into the expanse of earthy browns an
d greens accompanied by blacks and greys.

  Mayr sighed and stretched out his legs, his fingers interlaced behind his head as he leaned back. His long coat and cloak pulled under him, their bottoms still wet from where they had trailed over snow. The hilt of a knife dug into his back, protesting his choice of angle. The heels of his boots slipped through the puddle of melted snow that had formed while he ate.

  Annoyance jabbed him, his impatience wishing for Tash's swift return. Mayr straightened and tugged on his tight black pants and fitted black shirt, both of which clung to him in all the ways Tash enjoyed. He had put them on so that Tash would tear them off. Now he was too warm to be dressed and tempted to rent a room just to bed Tash sooner rather than later.

  Tavern patrons glanced in his direction, enough to take in his face but not long enough to engage in anything that would cost them. Mayr cast his gaze from one person to another, searching for weapons, foul play, or anything that would keep him occupied.

  The well-behaved, rule-abiding patrons were boring, he decided. Slumping back, he draped his arm over Tash's chair, pinning Tash's red long coat with his equally vibrant red cloak and wool short coat. He tapped his fingertips in time to the lively tune playing through the tavern.

  The moment Arieve entered his sight, he froze.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  She spotted him from the other end of the tavern, her stare locked to his. Stopped in front of the tavern entrance, Arieve hesitated, turning as though deciding in which direction to flee.

  When she moved towards him, her steps were slow, the time between them forced into a painful crawl. Dressed in long, dark skirts and a frumpy, grey wool sweater, Arieve was an image of comfort on the cold night.

  Meanwhile, his comfort was upstairs, abiding by duty and leaving him to weather things on his own.

  He had avoided Arieve since the engagement dinner. For years he had taught his instincts to regard her as a friend only, untouchable in all ways. Now he was untouchable, in wish and doubt and second chances. His conscious self needed to learn that, even if it required staying clear of her completely.