Forgotten Fates

by S J Doran

  Strong arms moved around her waist, his uncharacteristically stubbly cheek brushing along her own.

  “I came here thoroughly fed, and it made me sick. No concubines tonight, give me oblivion.”

  She looked at her bed with dismay, not like she was going to sleep anyway. The dreams were coming to her more frequently, and what they showed her she did not care to see. “You are sure that’s what you wish?”

  “yes.”

  With a defeated sigh she shrugged off his hold on her and moved for the cabinet standing in the section of her chambers designated to her works and studies.

  Using her insignia ring she opened a hidden compartment, and selected a vial which contained a murky brown liquid. Pulling up two whiskey tumblers, she poured one third of the vial’s contents into one, topping it off with bourbon poured from a glass decanter. The second tumbler she filled with only whiskey.

  “Alcohol helps dilute the toxin while decreasing absorption time. Lay down on the bed demon, this will take effect rapidly.”

  She watched him from beneath thick lashes as the demon once again spread out upon the silk and fur coverings of her bed, his form dominating the space. With him atop it, her bed appeared almost too small. Her mouth fell open at the sight of him removing his bloodied shirt, leaving her to gawk at the sculpted perfection of his broad chest and tight stomach muscles.

  Again, that devilish smirk turned his lips “I didn’t want to stain your bed…” Mischief briefly flared through those dark eyes, a vast improvement over the torment they had shown earlier. Hells, it was a vast improvement over the emptiness they normally would reflect.

  She pressed the poisoned tumbler in his hands, lifting her own untainted libation in salute as she sat down upon the corner of her bed. “Bottoms up.”

  This poison would be agony to his body, but leave his mind intact. What was left of it anyway. The ruins of a former life, and of a love lost.

  The trick to oblivion was not to destroy the mind, but to cause the body so much pain that mind grew still. Once the mind was quiet, a new tactile universe would open up, one where the body would grow feverishly hot, the nerves sparking alive with electricity, scents and sounds gained new depth and beauty. He had given her that pleasure earlier, she would cause him that pain now.

  “Remember Cass, you are the one that asked for this.”

  He burrowed deeper into the silks and furs, clearly enjoying the feel of those textures against bared skin. Feel, taste, sound, scent and color- they were all treasures Amara indulged in, remembering the centuries spent deprived. The sin-eater clearly shared her enthusiasm for these indulgences.

  “You called me Cass, I like it when you say my name. Mara, stay with me?”

  Again she had slipped. She needed to leave, establish distance between them before she lost all clear view of their situation. “I can’t…”

  “Sta... y.” His command interrupted by an agonized gasp.

  Thirty seconds. That was all the time it took before his lungs began to seize, his nails clawing at his chest in despair as the poison spread.

  Forty-Five seconds. Those dark eyes bulged out from their sockets as his body began to convulse.

  “Hells.”

  With an aggravated sigh she pressed herself behind him, wedging her body between his back and the headboard, crossing her arms over his chest as she pulled him into her lap, his nails scratching her as she continued to hold him closely. They’d both known she would be staying.

  Sixty seconds. She was forced to release her hold when his back arched off the bed, his tormented scream filling her chamber, his voice so full of anguish it sounded as if it had been ripped free from his very soul.

  Guards came barging in, only to quickly retreat at the sight of their Sarratum in her bed with the demon king screaming at the top of his lungs. The gossip which would fill both courts by morning would surely prove entertaining.

  Seventy-five seconds. He slumped back into her lap, his body going languid while heavy drops of sweat streaming down his forehead and torso, sleeking his skin. Her fingers found the soaked strands of his hair, running through the thick length

  “Let go of it demon, your thoughts, your struggles. Forget for now and only feel...”

  Coal-dark eyes opened to stare up at her, his gaze like a bottomless abyss. Another painful gasp, then finally the demon took a deep breath, his lungs expanding as the last remnants of tension fell from him body. The agony finally reaching a level so intense that the mind grew numb to it, all thoughts and troubles falling away as the mind focused on repressing pain— sweet oblivion.

  A knock on her door had her looking up from the demon in her lap, one of the heavily gilded doors opening slowly to reveal the same warriors as earlier standing guard, while ushering a small group of males and females inside. Courtesans.

  It’s not him… it was time for her to leave.

  “Come, assist the demon king. Serve his needs, but only touch him should he wish it.”

  Four concubines entered the room, followed by their acolytes, approaching the bed while Amara herself tried to scramble off without disturbing the sin-eater.

  “No!” He had turned on her with such speed that it had managed to catch her off guard, his gaze wild and unfocused as he used his body to press her against the headboard.

  She snarled “Demon, release me before you do something stupid, and stop pressing on me, you are getting me all sweaty.”

  “They leave, you stay. I want you to meet her, my Assat.”

  She feared it was her lungs that would cease functioning, again he spoke of his wife. What exactly had she done to deserve such cruelty from the gods?

  “Stay...”

  Wordlessly she pointed towards the door, the concubines and acolytes bowing in reverence as they moved back towards the door in unison, quickly disappearing through it.

  He arched his back off the bed as another wave of pain burned through him, his voice broken but full of command. “Mara… stay.”

  As soon as they departed, the demon eased onto his back before reclaiming his spot in her lap. Her head fell back against the cool metal headboard in defeat, focusing on the feel of the embedded protection crystals scraping lightly against her back.

  “Won’t your Assat mind if she finds you in my lap?”

  “Not if you care for me. Do you care for me priestess?”

  Her finger returned to move through his damp hair. “I care for nothing save for that which is mine, you should know that.” Not an answer, but neither was it a lie.

  He nestled deeper into her lap before staring up at her again, his expression much too serious, his dark eyes shining feverishly as the poison worked its way through his system. This was going to be a long night.

  “I’m your friend, that means I am yours too.” He nodded stubbornly, clearly satisfied by his deduction, “you care…”

  She felt a smile tug the corner of her mouth, which was odd, for she neither felt happy or amused. Still, she had this moment with him, and as foolish as it was, it was also a comfort.

  “You truly are more trouble than you are worth, you know that demon?”

  “Who said was I worth anything at all?”

  She shrugged and continued to stroke his hair, the poison had not nearly done its worst yet. “Why did you send my warlocks and acolytes away, you promised to feed. I can’t send you back to the Nessus starving. Basileus will utilize that weakness to his favor.”

  “No more,” he whispered, near mindless, gripping her arm as though she were a life preserver and he was drowning. “They take my body. They get my soul.” His dark eyes found hers, sweat running profusely down his stark face. “I don’t belong to him.” The last words were barely audible as he slipped away into his own poison induced reality.

  But she heard. And she hurt. For him, for things best forgotten. For the memories that even now threatened to pull her under.

  He was broken, body and mind, vulnerable in sleep. He looked young, his eyelashes c
urling against his cheeks, that one lock of hair fallen between his brows.

  Her fingers were pushing it back before she had made up her mind to. She traced his lips with a fingertip, up the angle of his jaw, down the column of his neck. His golden skin glistened with sweat, his left hand protectively covering his crotch, the right one reaching out as though in habit.

  Reaching for someone.

  She snatched her hand back in panic, could feel the treasonous wetness of tears begin to cling upon her lashes, she had thought them all spend.

  “Assat sa.” His hand reached further, grasping at air, his body becoming restless.

  She couldn’t handle him awake, could not face him. Was too raw.

  Carefully she picked up his hand, even in sleep his fingers shifted to slide between hers as though he had done it a hundred times.

  Or for a hundred years.

  “I am here vir meus, be at ease”

  As soon as the words left her, her teeth sank into her bottom lip with such force that blood began to well from her bite, stopping the flow of words spewing unheeded.

  “Not him. Not him. Not him.”

  She should knock herself out, spend the night by his side while lost to unconsciousness. She instantly dismissed the idea. The thought of being rendered helpless too appalling and dangerous to consider.

  Curiosity burned, what was the sin-eater seeing within the ruins of his broken psyche? She reached her thoughts out to him, just enough to tap into his dreams, but didn’t dare to delve into the shattered mess she knew she would find there. Over the years many had declared her brave in battle, brazen in will, and evil of character. This was true, but those strengths faltered when it came to the demon.

  Amara didn’t dare risk to injure the sin-eater’s mind any further by invading his thoughts. She wasn’t brave enough to see for herself what destruction had been done there. Too much a coward to face the ruins of his mind, the debris of their once future, the void where once his soul had existed, and the pieces of her once beating heart.

  Instead, she let him rest, leaving the demon to meet with his ghost within oblivion, her fingers stroking through soft, damp hair as she watched over him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  you say nirvana like it's a bad thing

  Agony overwhelmed all his senses. His mind…breaking. Had to stop fighting it…

  He felt Amara’s hands brushing his sweaty hair back, reassuring him. Protecting him so he could indulge in this mindlessness.

  In his head, he was screaming, but what came out was more of an anguished moan. Fevered tremors wracked through his body, he felt spittle foam on his lips, choking out as his throat closed up-

  Then… nothing.

  The pain reached a crescendo and dragged him down into the bliss of nothingness. Escape.

  “No, only the gods lived in paradise.” He sidled up closer to the bars, “my mother told me that all of the mortals went to Kur and ate dust.”

  The girl giggled, his smile an automatic response to the sound, his heart sped up and threatened to burst with happiness.

  “But the mortals were the source of their power, did they not realize?”

  “Likely their hubris was the very thing that brought about their ends. No one wants to believe they have an infinity of darkness and dust to look… forward…to,” his voice trailed off. Wasn’t that all her future held?

  She wasn’t real. This was his ghost, she belonged to his imaginings. She belonged to him.

  He fought for consciousness. Not real. His mind playing tricks-

  He was just dreaming of her again. He would wake up and she would be right back in the recesses of the enclosed void in his mind. The one that things slipped out of, but he could never slip into.

  His mind slipped fully back into the dream, his conscious mind lapsing in the grips of the poison, giving way.

  “Was she beautiful Cass?” Even in his dreams, he couldn’t clearly see her face.

  But her presence, as always, offered comfort. Nothing ever felt so right as the thought of them being together, as one.

  “Was who beautiful? I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you, Assat Sa.”

  She lightly slapped his hand, giggling at the moniker.

  “Your mother?” Her hand reached out and ran down the side of his jaw. “I think she must have looked like you.”

  He smiled, catching up her hand and kissing the tip of each finger, searching for words to describe his mother.

  “To me she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her hair was like sunlight through black silk and her eyes matched. Gold shining through darkness.” Much like his, he supposed; “and she used to sing to me.”

  “She... sang?” she tilted her head, contemplating.

  It struck him then, that perhaps she had never heard music.

  Even in the depths of his father’s Hells, he got to enjoy that much.

  “I’ll be right back,” He pulled her close to the bars, their lips close, too far away, he kissed his own fingers and pressed them against her mouth.

  He tracked down Az to tell him what he was looking for, just one person who could sing, play an instrument, anything-

  His heart raced in anticipation, return to her. She is waiting. He nearly dropped his bundle to reach out for her.

  “Az sent you new clothes and such,” he shoved the bundle through the bars, one item at a time, dropping the underwear on the floor, his face heating.

  He’d seen many women unclothed, in their undergarments- none of them could compare— none of them were her.

  “Turn your back so I can bathe,” she smiled wickedly over her shoulder, a fleeting glimpse of a face he couldn’t focus on, but he knew it. She was perfection.

  She was already stripping down.

  Her body was thin, but perfectly formed. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hold her… he yearned…

  “By the gods, I need to touch you.” He watched her until she was completely naked, then turned. There was only so much he could torment himself.

  He banged his head back lightly, trying to shake the image of water slicked skin and rivulets trailing across places he could only dream of touching.

  He heard steps moving toward them and stood, blocking as much of the view of her cell that he could. When Az appeared, he let out a sigh of relief. He had a timid lady and frail looking man behind him, the male carrying a viola that looked as ancient as he.

  Sometimes souls were left whole, especially if they entertained enough.

  He held up his hand to let Az know that she wasn’t ready, then felt her hands slide up the back of his shirt, icy cold because of the water. With a hiss, his body stiffened, and he turned to glare at her.

  “Little imp,” he said, smiling and holding his hand to her face. “Now sit with me, I have a surprise.”

  “Is it a new book?” Her smile widened.

  “Not this time.” He picked up her hand and tugged her down with him, “just hold my hand and listen.”

  When the first haunting chords cried out from the instrument, he heard her gasp. When the music was joined by the lady’s voice, he swore he heard the notes of paradise itself. She began openly weeping, her hand tight around his.

  “I didn’t know something so beautiful existed,” She whispered to him when their song ended.

  “you exist.” He said, turning to her fully. “I think the way you make me feel is the most beautiful thing that’s ever existed.”

  Her smile was blinding as she shook off his hold. “Cassius.” She whispered on a hushed breath.

  He would forever remember the way his name sounded on her lips.

  His mind surfaced from the dream, fighting off the poison.

  She was still here, haunting his mind, her lips hovering close to his, her scent achingly familiar, tinged with the scent of whiskey. He wanted to see her face. He could never focus on it, like his mind balked and skirted over details.

  “I’m yours.” He leaned
his head up to follow her mouth, needing more, his body too weak to fight out of her hold.

  “Are you really here? I’m dreaming. Always of you…” he murmured against her lips, pressing hurried kisses to her mouth.

  “Well stop. Save your heart for someone worthy.”

  His mind fought against the poison. Those words weren’t right. She was all that was sweet.

  “Take it. I don’t want it.” He clawed at his chest, the agony of it nothing compared to what it was going to be once she left him again.

  He felt himself shaking off the poison, fighting to cling to this dream— to her—

  “Cassius,” she cried out, grabbing his face and pressing her cheek to his, speaking directly into his ear. “Stop hurting yourself. Please,” she cried out the last.

  “You’ll always have my heart, demon. It’ll help keep yours safe.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, the tremble in it making him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

  “I don’t deserve that.”

  How could he offer himself when it meant nothing? There was nothing special left of himself. Nothing he could give her that thousands hadn’t had before.

  “Assat sa, I have nothing you want.”

  He woke slowly, then came to his senses all at once. She was gone.

  He was truly going mad. But part of him felt… eased. Wanted. Dare he say— loved. If he focused hard enough, he could still feel lingering traces of her in his mind.

  He lay in a sweaty heap, half across Amara, the priestess passed out with exhaustion. Because she’d diligently watched over him as he indulged in his addiction. Somehow her presence had called up the vivid dreams to his mind, through her poison, or her connection to the ether? Either way, she’d clearly worn herself to exhaustion with it.

  He eased their tangled limbs apart, running his hands down his face.

  Amara had given him a gift he could never repay. Nothing he could do would ever make up for this— feeling of contentment— she’d given him. He sat up on the bed, tucking the covers up around the priestess, pondered curling up beside her to catch some more sleep himself, when he felt a voice reverberate through his mind.