Chapter 1 Fractured #2
By fucking my woman. Hate burns through my affection, leaving only ashes.
“Shall we? You are a queen whatever you wear, after all.”
“No, you shan’t,” I growl before she has a chance to move. “She’ll stay here until she looks at me.”
Chors smiles brightly as he turns to me, and my heart aches with how lovely he is. It’s a full moon tonight, and my beautiful son is at the peak of his power.
“And we’re back to the point I was making,” he says with a quiet confidence I rarely see him display.
He’s usually perplexed by the goings on of gods and men. When he’s certain, it’s time to listen.
“You can’t force her to do as you please anymore, Father. You could at some point, I’m sure. But don’t you see? She’s been through the worst that can happen. There’s nothing you can do that will top that.”
Jaga’s back is to me so I can’t see her face, but her shoulders are relaxed. I realize he’s right. Everything I’ve done was an exercise in futility.
“I just want her to look at me!” I grit out, the words unchecked as frustration spills over. “Is that too much to ask? Just a look. A word, for fuck’s sake!”
He snorts softly and shakes his head with a fond smile. “Haven’t you learned? You can’t break her, you can’t wear her down, you can’t bend her to your will anymore. She’s unbreakable now. You should know.”
I clench my jaw and look away. He’s referring to the centuries I spent chained to the roots of the Great Oak, right at my brother’s feet. When I broke free, I was changed, too. I bent to no one.
Until her.
“Fine. She can go. But I’m coming with.”
I glance at her back to see if she’ll react, but Jaga remains impassive, a waif of a woman with a spine of iron.
“And you’re right,” I say after a moment as if replying to Chors, but the words are meant for her. “I know what it’s like to rot buried in the ground without end in sight. I know how torment molds and reshapes one. I will learn from my past and find a way.”
My words make no impact. Jaga’s eyes slide over me briefly as she turns to take Chors’ arm, and I relish that moment of non-contact between us.
So this is what I’ve become: a man so besotted with a woman, he’ll greedily snatch her smiles meant for another. Pathetic.
“My father’s throne room is exquisite, of course.” Chors begins the tour, waving a graceful hand at the nearest wall that glitters and sparkles with fire reflected in the sharp, multifaceted edges of precious stones.
“He built this after he freed himself from the Great Oak’s roots.
The endeavor took years. He hunted down the most perfect stones, working each into a beautiful shape, and set them in the stone walls of this cavern.
There isn’t an inch of space between the gems. It’s a masterpiece, and he doesn’t let anyone but his chosen few inside to see it. ”
I wait for Jaga to ask a question, any question at all. How did I free myself from Perun’s curse? Why did I turn to workmanship after I was free? Why don’t I let others see this room, even though it’s one of my most delightful creations?
She’s silent.
Chors stops in front of the tall double doors made of wood so old and hard, it’s turned obsidian. There is no keyhole or knob. He flashes me a cheeky look over his shoulder and bends low to whisper in Jaga’s ear like a lover.
I wish to strike him. I don’t.
“Now, the trick to opening these doors is very simple. They only admit people who have been allowed in at least once, like a dog that only lets in those it’s smelled before. Try it. Just stroke the wood and ask it to open.”
She takes a small step forward and runs the pads of her bony fingers down the seam in the wood. Her command is quiet and certain. “Open.”
The doors swing outward with a soft creak, and she snorts under her breath, scornful and unimpressed.
“So easy. And so predictable.”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. In a fit of rage a few days ago, I screamed that I’d never let her out, that she’d be my prisoner for all eternity. It was a lie of sorts, because yes, she could have left any time. I just never told her.
The promise I made, vowing to never lie to her again, sits heavy in my chest. I’m trying, but it’s not good enough. Not that she cares.
“You remember the rebel base under Slawa, of course,” Chors says, guiding Jaga down a wide corridor lit with fires trapped in crystal globes.
It’s bejeweled, too, but not as densely. There are pockets of darkness between the cold flashes of wealth. Shadows to hide in, pieces of rough, ancient rock to run one’s fingers down in search of grounding.
“My father built the city and he built the tunnels underneath,” Chors continues. His steps land softly on the smooth, black flagstones that reflect the fires.
“But the rebel base, though well-made, is a poor reflection of Nawie’s splendor.
You’re in the heart of an underground empire that extends far and wide in every direction you can name.
There are thousands of tunnels and caves, all carefully hewed from the stone of the island, all airy and fresh thanks to the raw magic pulsing deep underneath us.
It brings in air and fresh water for those who need them. Most don’t, of course.”
Jaga stumbles, one small, out-of-rhythm step that makes her sway into him. I clench my jaw so hard, my tooth breaks. My magic fixes it at once, and when Chors helps her catch her balance, I’m as good as new.
“The island?” she asks with idle curiosity that might fool him, but not me. She’s planning an escape. Of course.
He looks back at me, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been locked up with her for a month. Haven’t you told her anything?”
“She’s an ungracious listener,” I snap.
Chors laughs under his breath and tugs on Jaga’s arm to hold it more securely as we reach wide, comfortable steps.
The staircase widens as we ascend, opening up to the large vista of the Hall of Fires that’s one level above my throne room.
The stairs are bejeweled like everything else, with tiny emeralds and golden ambers embedded in every riser. The light here shimmers with magic.
I love this space dearly. It’s my home, my masterpiece, my pride. I fantasized about showing it to Jaga for a long time, back when she still lived in her village, so when I offered and she ignored me, I raged.
It’s sickening that Chors is the one who gets to do that.
“Nawie is an island,” my son explains. “In the south, the Struzina River cuts it off from Slawa. It’s bordered by the sea on the other side.
Contrary to mortal belief, Nawie is not just underground.
There are thick, dark forests above us, little lakes, even a mountain.
The north coast is a series of high cliffs.
They are magnificent on stormy nights, when the waves beat against the rock. I’ll show you one day.”
No. My chest sinks with a horrid realization. Is that it? Is he planning for their future? Will my beloved and my son be… together now?
I won’t allow it. I can’t allow it. And yet, what can I do? She’s rendered me helpless.
If I force Jaga to be mine, she’ll only feed me more indifference until I go mad—and she’ll never trust me again.
If I play good, keep trying even though I can’t seem to go a day without a lie slipping out of my treacherous mouth, maybe, in a thousand years, she will forgive me.
But in the meantime, Chors will snatch her away.
I wish I knew which part of her is broken. I wish I’d done it all differently.
I wish she’d look at me just once.