Deiq drew in a breath, feeling air hiss past his teeth. “Yes.”
“Yes,” Alyea said.
The castrates produced small, thick-bristled brushes. Deiq held out his left hand, palm-up. Alyea did the same.
“You both move in a small step, please,” Evkit said. “Must reach comfortably. Good.”
The bright blue paint felt cold and slick against Deiq’s palm and fingers. This is going to get us all killed. Gods, help me. He looked down into Alyea’s face. She smiled, no fear evident at all. Which had to be the liquor, at this point. Hopefully it would hold out long enough.
He drew a deep, deep breath, and as he let it out, pressed his hand between her breasts. She copied the motion. They stared at each other for an endless, flickering moment. Her heartbeat jarred against his hand, less serene than her face; his thudded in rapid staccato. He could see the fine lines of tension in her expression now.
We’re both terrified. This isn’t going to work.
He couldn’t feel her emotions, found only a grey haze where her mind should be. That alarmed him, a sharp, fierce spike of panic; then he realized that drugging her silent was the safest thing the teyanain could have done for this ceremony. Knowing she was afraid, compared to feeling her fear—two very different situations.
She drew a deep breath, breastbone shifting against his palm, and carefully peeled her hand from his chest. Trying not to overthink it, he pulled his own hand away.
Leaving a clean, sharp hand-print. He exhaled hard and caught a similar relief in her expression. So hers had been clean as well. He grinned, bizarrely encouraged by that small success. She returned a smile of her own, her face lighting up as tension eased for just a moment.
“Good,” Evkit said. “You have good, strong heart connection already. This is very good sign. Next comes the head.”
Metal tinked and chittered as the castrates drew lengths of chain and a handful of small, silvery rings from the chest.
“You must see each other clearly, speak to each other clearly, hear each other clearly,” Evkit said. “This requires a commitment, not to turn away from each other, to work together always. One may only withdraw from a true marriage so far before bonds tear and snap. You learn, now, the limit of what binds you, and the price for testing it.”
Deiq swallowed and resisted the urge to close his eyes. It wouldn’t help.
Am I really going to allow a tharr to lay hands on me? Cause me pain? Set me up to be chained, however temporarily, to a human? He shoved the thought away, watching Alyea’s minutely shifting eyes instead. Nice dark eyes, ferocious and strong to match her face.
The first hoops went in through the outer edge of each eyebrow. He blinked hard but made no sound, and neither did Alyea. The next set went along the upper arc of the ears; that stung considerably worse than the eyebrows had, and the posts were thicker than he’d expected. It felt like a damn chunk had been taken out, not a small hole made. Tearing these free would hurt. Which was the point, of course.
He set his teeth, then had to relax jaw and lip alike for the next hoop, which centered on the lower lip and made the ears seem tame. Alyea’s eyes watered continually now, but she stayed silent.
“You put hands on each other’s shoulders,” Evkit said. “That is range you have.”
Her hands trembled, then gripped harder to still the shakes. He felt a sudden, wrenching compassion. She was so young. She had no idea, not really, how bad things could get. He should never have agreed to her insane notion in the first place. This was all his fault; and now his responsibility to get her through this. Somehow. If he could.
He had to try, at least. Honestly try.
He laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly, reassuring. Her white-rimmed eyes sought his, and he smiled, projecting what confidence he could summon. She let out a hard breath, drew in a much smoother one, and slowly relaxed under his hands.
The castrates began clipping the chains onto the rings, carefully measuring the length of the chain: just enough slack for limited head movement. Deiq breathed evenly, smiled into Alyea’s eyes, and stayed calm. This was the worst part. If he could just allow himself to be restrained like this for a short while—
It wasn’t all that bad, actually. She stayed still. He stayed still. The drums were picking up tempo and volume, increasing his sense of nervous strain, but they weren’t actually aggressive. Hypnotic, really, if he listened with the right mindset. It wasn’t an attack-beat. It was...soothing.
I can do this. Gods, I’m doing this. Incredulous triumph flushed through him.
Then a hand tugged at the loincloth knot, and triumph turned to stark horror.
“Oh, no,” he said aloud. “No, that’s too damn much, you can’t ask that—”
“You be calm, ha’inn,” Evkit said. “You be still.”
Alyea’s fingers dug into his shoulders. His loincloth slithered to the ground. So did hers.
No. No, no, no, no....
The drums picked up another notch, the collective rhythm moving slowly towards a more jagged, chaotic pattern.
He fought to control his breathing, his frantic heartbeat. His vision began to blur. Alyea’s fingers tightened again. She gave a tiny whimper, almost inaudible. He forced himself to focus on her face.
“You stay very still, ha’inn,” Evkit said from somewhere far away. “She need to move a little bit. Lean in, Lord Alyea, not far, from waist. Good. Move leg; servants support.”
Her breath hissed in steady waves through her teeth. Her eyes stayed wide and fixed on his own, her skin ash-pale.
“I didn’t know they’d do this,” he told her softly. “I’m sorry.” Chains jingled and clicked.
She swallowed hard and shut her eyes.
“You stay very still, Lord Alyea,” Evkit said. “Very still. We know this is difficult. Ha’inn, you need to help, that is why you hold each other. We wait until you are ready. You say.”
“Look at me, Alyea,” Deiq said thickly. “Look at me.”
She stared at him, eyes swimming with tears of panic and pain. He rubbed his thumbs along her collarbone without lifting his hands.
“This—” she said. “Deiq, this—”
“I know,” he said. “I know.” A stranger’s hands prying, a piercing within the most emotionally vulnerable area she had—insane to ask this of her. Utterly insane. But it would be worse for him. “Just breathe. Think aqeyva. Easy. Hold steady.” If she jerked back in pain—ripping out the rings set throughout his face—everything would, comprehensively, end.
She sucked in breath, gulping air; shivered, chains clinking.
“Alyea,” he said. “I need—” He stopped, swallowed hard, and abandoned dignity. “I’m going to need your help. This—I need you to steady me, next.” Make her think she had a chance of that. Give her something to hang on to. Something else to concentrate on.
Delay the inevitable.
He made himself smile at her, but it held no strength.
Deiq suspected they might actually have made it, if Evkit hadn’t thrown this into the mix. Or even if he’d waited to hook the chains on until after all the hoops were in place; he might have endured that. But already restrained, already fighting a rising aggression—with enemies all around—no. Evkit, clearly, had never intended this to work after all.
So much for allies. But then, he’d asked for the marriage. Agreed to this particular ceremony. He had only himself to blame.
Alyea blinked, panic fading into a bleak, understanding horror. She drew in a short breath, blinked again; the tautness eased from her shoulders and hands.
“It’s no worse an invasion,” she said, with abrupt, chilling practicality, “than the others. Do it.”
Her fingers dug into his shoulders hard and sharp a moment later. She yipped, a smothered sound that never quite made it out of her tightly shut mouth. Her eyes watered, streams of tears streaking down her cheeks. Chest heaved with stifled breath for a few moments, then eased.
Sh
e blinked her vision clear and drew a steadying breath.
“Not so bad,” she said, baring her teeth. “You can handle it.”
Gods. You have no idea. He didn’t say anything aloud, his lips thinning.
“Humiliation,” she said, “is temporary. Pain is temporary.”
The drums picked up another notch and an ominous rattling entered the tempo.
She watched his face, sober now, her hands trembling a little. “This isn’t a life threatening situation, just a damn embarrassing one. And the people around us aren’t enemies. If they were, we’d both be dead by now.”
He blinked at her, startled.
“They’re just doing everything they can to rattle us. Gods only know why that has to be part of this ceremony, but it is. It’s not real, though. It’s all mind games.”
I want to believe she’s right. But the teyanain are so damn complicated....
“Is trust,” Evkit said from what felt like a great distance. “Is complete trust in each other, this intimacy. Is trust in working together against outside strain, in great stress. If you endure this together—nothing else break bonds, ever.”
“You have a choice, Deiq,” Alyea said softly, her stare unwavering. “You do have a choice. Remember? You don’t have to lose your temper.”
“You’re staking your life on that,” he reminded her.
“I already have, more than once,” she said. “And you made the right choice. You’ll do it again.”
He opened his mouth to say: You’re an idiot, sucked in a deep breath instead. He locked his gaze onto hers with a nearly manic intensity—no use reaching for aqeyva calm, not with his vision already hazing—then said, “Go.”
His vision went completely black before the pain even registered.
The drums stopped.
Breath went away.
Everything went away. He stood in black silence, not breathing, not thinking, just existing— dimly aware that a wave of searing rage, long held back, too long restrained, was just a moment away, and feeling—vaguely sad. It would be nice not to be murderously angry. It would be—nice.
I’ve just allowed a tharr to lay hands on me to inflict pain. I’ve allowed myself to be intimately humiliated in the face of two dozen deadly dangerous teyanain, including Lord Evkit. I’ve allowed a human to seduce me out of my dignity and sense. I will leave no witnesses to this. Humans have forgotten too much. They must relearn their place.
He knew what that would look like. He’d walked through the ruins of a city long forgotten by men. He remembered its fall.
I am their master, not their slave. I do not submit.
A vision of Alyea, torn and bleeding, near death as he scooped her from a blood and urine-soaked bed—her life in his hands then, and again not long after that, as he knelt, desperately warding her away, and her refusal to listen—She hadn’t been too proud to serve.
It is her place to serve. To kneel. Not mine. Not ever.
Partner, Alyea’s voice said in his memory. You want a partner, don’t you?
How can I possibly partner with something so insignificant? This is ludicrous.
Not one desert lord in a thousand years showed this much bravery. I know ha’ra’hain with less courage than she has displayed.
She will hardly live long enough to be worth it. Sixty years at best. More if I extend her life and her own kind doesn’t kill her along the way. Still nothing, weighed against a thousand and more years. This is pointless.
Idisio’s voice came to him now: “No. It’s sixty years of something honest. You can at least try.”
It won’t be my fault if I fail.
It will be my fault if I fail because I didn’t try.
Silence: a long, eternal flicker of black on black on black—
—he sucked in a great, gasping breath and blinked streaming eyes. Alyea’s hands were tight on his shoulders, and he could feel her collarbones creaking under his own fingers. He flexed his fingers, settled his hands back into place more gently.
Chain clinked below. A flare of pain swept through his body, then faded; he could feel his body working to stop the bleeding from the various punctures, scabs forming and slowly melting into new, tender patches of skin. Within the hour the piercings would feel unremarkable to him.
I did it. I can control the anger. She was right! It was habit, not instinct, all along.
He had a lot of rethinking to do.
He drew in an easier breath and grinned, with more tooth than humor, at Alyea’s anxious expression.
“You’re right,” he said. “Not so bad.” She let out a breath in a near-sob and shut her eyes, her face draining of all color. He shook her gently, mindful of the links between them. “Hey. No fainting. Not right now. Save it until they unhook us, if you don’t mind.”
She swallowed and steadied, her eyes opening; dilated, hazed. She wasn’t far from losing her own fight, he judged, and patted one of her shoulders reassuringly. The castrates had left the circle, taking the ceremonial chest with them. Thank the gods they weren’t going to try for any further links. There weren’t many viable symbolic places left.
“Almost done,” he said. “Right, Lord Evkit?” He didn’t look away from Alyea, not wanting to lose the visual contact. It wouldn’t take much for her to buckle and collapse right now.
“Almost,” the teyanain lord said. “We finish now.”
The drums took on a regular, surging rhythm, a powerful tempo. The athain chant changed along with it, becoming louder and more distinct—more commanding.
The heavy vibrations rattled the chains between them. Rattled the hoops the chains were linked to. Which light tugging set off certain inevitable reactions for Deiq.
Alyea yipped again, going up onto her toes, awkwardly bending in an effort not to strain the other chains.
Evkit yipped—laughter, from him, and it was quickly echoed around the room. Deiq’s face burned with fresh humiliation, and the anger surged again—how dare these damned tharr subject him to this idiocy?
The thought faded away without taking hold, as did the anger. He drew in a long breath and shut his eyes. Another. Another. Aqeyva: think of the breath. Nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing....
Alyea let out a whimpering breath of relief and settled square again.
“Gods,” she muttered, voice shaky.
“Good,” Evkit said. “Good. You can restrain, for the sake of your partner. It is enough.”
The athain broke into a warbling howl. Deiq felt every hair on his body stand straight out in response, a shivering prickle that made him wonder, for a moment, if he had just wet himself.
Then every piercing flared into bright, intense agony, as though someone had just yanked on them all at once. Alyea’s howl mingled with his bellow. The drums ran over each other in a frantic tumble, then stopped dead. At the same moment, the athain wail ended.
Along with the pain. All of it.
He gasped for breath, gathering Alyea against him without thinking what he did, and felt her arms wrap around him with similar desperation.
It took a moment to realize what was missing: the chains. The piercings. Not a single clink or rattle sounded. He put a hand up, tentatively, to explore his face, and found a slight bump, a tiny scar, where each ring had been.
“The bonds are inside you now,” Evkit said soberly. “This is the yin: no removal. Some things never leave you. Some bonds do not break.”
Alyea sagged against him, trembling violently. His own legs felt hardly any steadier.
“Ta-karne,” Deiq said. His hands shook as he stroked Alyea’s hair with what reassurance he had left to give. “You’re a damn ta-karne, Evkit. Sessii ta-karne, i shha.” But his voice lacked any heat; he could only summon an exhausted dullness.
“You go rest now,” Evkit said, voice surprisingly gentle. “You have earned it.”
“Damn gracious of you,” Deiq muttered, or thought he did.
A moment later, the world around him went hazed, then black in
a very solid sort of way.
Deiq woke, utterly clear-minded, to a precise knowledge of betrayal.
Bound.
He lay still, staring up at the rocky ceiling, breathing evenly, working it out little by little.
Equals. Not possible, unless they were closely matched in strength: and that left two options. He knew which one he’d been pushed into.
Beside him, Alyea stirred, then propped herself up on an elbow. Her sleepy smile faded at the expression on his face.
“What?” she said, with enough honest puzzlement that she—probably—didn’t yet understand the full scope of what she’d just done to him.
Not the place or time to discuss it. Losing his temper here would only see him stibik-hazed and penned in a prison. He’d ask the hard questions later. Away from the Horn.
“Nothing,” he said to her increasing distress, and offered a wholly false smile. “Good morning.”
She studied his face with a more perceptive stare than he’d expected to ever see from her, then said, “Are you all right?”
He shut his eyes, reaching a hand to touch—yes, the scars on his face were still there. As were hers. He sighed and let his hand fall from her face.
“No,” he said with unintended honesty. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“You made a choice,” she said, voice muted. He opened his eyes and gave her a hard stare that brought a faint flush to her cheeks. So she had some idea, after all; he read the lines of vague guilt clearly.
“Did I?” He resisted the impulse to reach for her mind, to see just how much she knew. He wouldn’t stop, if he began that search. She wouldn’t survive it; and in a fortress filled with tenuous allies, neither would he.
“Deiq,” she said, the flush fading into a cold to match the feeling in his own gut. “I didn’t twist your arm. You made a choice. Several choices. All on your own.”
Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) Page 39