Chapter 12
The heavy metal cuffs chafed on my wrists, reminding me a little too eerily of my time in captivity before I became a gladiator.
I could feel through our mate bond that Sirrax was feeling much the same, though here in this temple, the bond felt muted and vague.
I glanced over at him as the guards stopped before massive double doors carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in the torchlight, but his face was impassive, despite the churning anger and worry inside his mind.
One of the guards knocked, and a voice from within called for us to enter.
The chamber beyond was circular, with seats arranged in tiers around a central space where we were positioned.
Council members in dark robes filled most of the seats, their black eyes fixed on us with expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility.
A man with silver hair and sharp features stood near the centre, clearly the one who had ordered us brought here.
Malachar. Others sat around the chamber looking in, and at the highest point sat a woman with braided silver white hair and strings of dark and silver beads that fell down her front, her dark eyes calculating as they swept over us.
She wore robes more elaborate than the others, marking her as someone of significant authority within this council.
"Bring them forward," she commanded, her voice carrying easily in the acoustically perfect chamber.
The guards prodded us toward the centre, and I felt every gaze in the room like a physical weight.
These people had been fighting the Empire for generations, had watched their loved ones enslaved and broken by the very forces we had served.
That we stood here alive at all was probably more mercy than we deserved.
But it was the figure standing near the high seat that made my blood freeze in my veins once again.
The man who looked exactly like me.
Not similar. Not resembling. Exactly like me, as if someone had carved us from the same stone.
The same height, the same build, the same face that I saw in mirrors every morning.
The only differences were his longer hair and the silver markings that rippled under his skin like veins of starlight, fading in and out as he stared at me.
His eyes were white rather than black, but the shape, the expression, even the way he held his head—it was like staring at my own reflection.
I felt my knees buckle slightly, and only Sirrax's steadying presence beside me kept me upright.
This was impossible. People didn't just look like other people, not like this.
The man—my mirror image—stared back at me with equal shock, his pale eyes wide with something that might have been recognition.
For a moment, neither of us moved, the entire council chamber falling silent as they witnessed our mutual discovery.
"By all the gods," someone whispered.
"Malachar," the older woman's voice cut through the silence, sharp with displeasure. She rose from the high seat, her movements graceful despite her obvious age. "What is the meaning of this? I specifically said I would handle the prisoners privately."
The silver-haired man—Malachar—inclined his head slightly. "High Priestess, the resemblance is too striking to ignore. The council needs to see this."
“Fine,” she snapped. “But we will have words later, have no doubt about that.”
I glanced at Sirrax, dropping into our mate bond.
How can I understand them? They do not speak the common tongue here.
Mate bond allows access my knowledge, Sirrax returned. I understand, so you will.I nodded, and straightened up suddenly as the woman’s piercing gaze fell on me.
"State your names and purpose," she said, though something in her tone suggested she already knew the answers.
"I am Tarshi," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "This is Sirrax. We've come seeking the return of our mate, Livia, who was taken during the recent battle with the Empire.”
A murmur rippled through the assembled council members. Several leaned forward in their seats, studying us with renewed interest. I caught fragments of whispered conversations in the Talfen tongue, though the acoustics made it impossible to understand the words clearly.
"Your mate," Aytara repeated, her voice neutral. "And what makes you believe she is here?"
"We tracked the shadow mage who took her," Sirrax answered before I could speak, his speech fluent in his own tongue.
"A woman," one of the other council members said, his tone dripping with disdain. "You risk your lives, penetrate our most sacred defences, all for one Imperial female?"
I felt Sirrax tense beside me, his dragon instincts responding to the dismissive tone. Heat radiated from him despite his human form, and I could feel his barely restrained fury through our bond.
"She is not just any Imperial female," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. "She is our mate, claimed and bonded. She saved Sirrax from slavery, broke his collar with her own hands. She fought beside us against the Empire, not for it."
"Impossible," another council member scoffed. "No Imperial would willingly—"
"She is no more Imperial than I am," Sirrax snarled, his control finally snapping. "Born Imperial yet enslaved as a child. She is a warrior now, and she has bled for our people while you sat safe behind your mountain walls."
The chamber erupted in angry voices, but I barely heard them.
My attention was fixed on the man who wore my face, watching as his expression shifted from shock to something that might have been pain.
He stepped forward, his white eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
"She belongs to me now," he said, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself.
"By right of conquest and bond. Whatever claims you think you have are void. "
I felt rage explode through my chest like liquid fire.
The casual dismissal, the arrogant assumption that he could simply declare our bonds meaningless—it was everything I had feared about this moment.
"You know nothing about our bonds," I snarled, taking a step toward him despite the guards. "Nothing about what she means to us."
"I know she chose to come to my bed willingly," he replied, shadows writhing around his feet like living serpents. "I know she responds to my touch, cries out my name when I bring her pleasure. What more is there to know?"
“I know you forced the mate bond on her,” I snapped. “She may have gone to your bed willingly, but you claimed her as your mate without her consent.”
The shadow mage—my doppelganger—went completely still at my accusation.
The writhing darkness around his feet spread outward like spilled ink, and several council members shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Then the shadows exploded outward from him with enough force that several of the floating light orbs in the chamber flickered and died.
In the sudden dimness, his white eyes blazed like stars, and I could see silver veins pulsing beneath his skin in patterns that reminded me uncomfortably of infection.
"Taveth." The woman's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Control yourself."
Taveth. So that was his name. I filed the information away as I watched him struggle to rein in whatever power was threatening to consume him. The shadows slowly retreated, though they continued to writhe restlessly around his ankles.
"She is mine," he said finally, his voice barely controlled. "Mine by conquest, mine by choice, mine by the bonds of shadow and soul. You have no claim here."
"Enough," The woman's voice cut through our argument like a blade. "This is not a debate about mating customs. We clearly have much to discuss.”
I turned my gaze from Taveth to face the woman. “Indeed we do. We came here in peace, simply wishing to claim our mate back, and to bring you news from the resistance, instead we are treated like animals, herded into cells and insulted.”
Her hard stare burned into me for a moment, but I forced myself to meet it. This was no pushover, this was a warrior who had burned and suffered for her people. Well, so was I. At last, she nodded, and the tension seemed to ebb a little.
"I am Aytara," she said. “High Priestess of the Talfen. This is Malachar, our War Chief, and the High Council you see before you, save those leading our warriors near the borders.”
Sirrax bowed, and I followed suit, noting the flicker of approval in Aytara’s eyes.
“Sirrax Cedoun,” Sirrax growled. “Born here in this city, taken from a settlement in the south many years ago. My brother mate is correct, I was enslaved, but then our mate freed me from my captivity. As she did for him, and the other men we brought with us.”
“Sirrax, we thank the gods for your return. As for the other men, we shall discuss them later. For now…” Aytara looked back at me.
“Your true name?”
“Tarshi Redaxus.”
“Your father’s name?”
I shook my head. “I do not know my father. My mother told me he was a Talfen warrior, killed when I was young. I have very few memories of him, but she told me he was a good man.”
Aytara took a deep breath.
“Your mother was right. Sayven was a good man.” Taveth’s eyes snapped back around to my face at her words, and she nodded.
“It is true, Taveth. I have not been completely honest with you. Tarshi is indeed your brother. Your twin brother.”
The world stopped.
Twin brother. The words echoed in my mind, but they made no sense. I had no family, no brothers or sisters. My mother had told me my father was dead, killed by Imperial soldiers when I was too young to remember. There had never been any mention of a twin, of any siblings at all.