Fealty Sealed in a Soul-Splice

1. Summoned

Summoned

We rode through the night. The deer were fleet-footed and moved through the untamed underbrush with ease, but the pace was punishing for the fae on their backs.

Perhaps it wasn’t necessary—perhaps we could have left in the morning, and all would have been well—but I’d been roused from my bed in the dark of night when the messenger from the First Army had arrived, and I wasn’t inclined to take chances.

The messenger hadn’t told me much, save that the General of the First Army had need of me.

Me, specifically, which told me that what General Xilsatra needed was an allure mage, and he needed one as fast as possible.

If it had been merely my magic, he would have pulled a mage from the First Army.

I was in the Second Army, and I’d never trained my allure geas for war, only for control. I simply happened to be close.

Unlike most mages who wielded a geas, I affected mortals and fae almost equally, so I couldn’t even try to puzzle out what he wanted an allure mage for.

If I truly put my mind to it, I could even affect beasts, both animals and monsters alike.

I could tame horses and seduce men, but I much preferred to wield a sword than my allure geas.

Not that it truly mattered, I supposed. A weapon was a weapon.

I was a soldier first, and though I rode with the Second Army, I wasn’t about to deny the First General.

He was famous: brilliant, storied, dangerous.

If he needed an allure mage, even one from an army he didn’t control, he could have me.

We reached the encampment at about eight in the morning.

The wan sunlight filtering through the clouds made the shadows of the old-growth spruce forest murky instead of stygian, but breaking out of the trees into the open area where several squads of the First Army had pitched their tends still left me squinting, my eyes rough with denied sleep and used to the darkness of the dense forest.

The messenger rode us right into camp at a steady trot, only reining up when we reached an open pavilion tent held up by stakes so fresh that the wounds still bled sap.

She dismounted in a lithe vault; I slithered down with rather less vigor.

I’d been roused from my bed after only four hours of sleep, and after nearly seven hours of being on deerback, all my muscles were protesting.

A man looked up at me when I stepped into the pavilion, the messenger murmuring something to him in a low voice.

He was agelessly beautiful, even for a fae, with flawless smooth brown skin and a full mouth under a straight nose.

His dark brown hair, cut unfashionably short, curled around his ears and brushed the nape of his neck.

A lock of his hair bounced in the breeze that snuck past me into the tent, the sort of eye-catching movement that made my fingertips itch to smooth it back for him.

There were three other soldiers arrayed at the table, but I couldn’t look away from the first man, caught in his sharp hazel gaze like a dove in the claws of a falcon.

He looked at me like he could see straight through me, peeling away every layer of charismatic ease and appearance of competence to the imposter beneath it all.

I didn’t belong here, and I was sure he knew it.

I was new to command, a field soldier who’d somehow manage to impress his superiors enough to get promoted to officer.

I wasn’t even that good of a mage, all things considered; I was powerful, sure, but I was also a touch-range reflex caster, so it wasn’t as if I’d had to work for my abilities.

Most of my training had been focused on not geasing literally everyone I touched, not on actually using my allure for any particular purpose.

I swallowed as the other four people in the tent melted away, one casting an assessing look my way as he passed me. They dropped the flap of the tent behind me and left me standing there, sweaty and sleep-deprived, getting stared down by the General of the First Army.

Gods, he was attractive. Why was he so attractive? That was unfair. Nobody had warned me that he was beautiful, and after a hard ride through the night, I knew I was hardly the best sight in camp.

Then he smiled as if I was his friend, one he’d been hoping to see for a long time, the hawkish expression melting away.

His hazel eyes caught the light of the lamps for a moment, turning as golden as a field in high summer.

“You must be Lieutenant Ulahana,” he said.

His voice was mellow, with a slight rasp, the kind that loves to purr wicked things into the ears of lovers. “Well met.”

I swallowed, not quite sure what to do, but when General Xilsatra held out his hand, I walked over and grasped him by the forearm in greeting. His arm was muscled, like that of an archer. His long fingers gripped me with comfortable strength.

I pointedly did not think about either of those things.

“A pleasure, sir,” I said, glad for the long sleeves of our uniforms. I was off-balance enough that I would have struggled to control my allure geas if I had to touch him skin-to-skin.

Wouldn’t that have been a great first impression: “Ah, yes, General Xilsatra, here’s the allure mage you went through such great trouble to acquire.

Unfortunately, he can’t actually control his allure geas. Hope that’s alright.”

He let me go and gestured towards a second, smaller table in the space, about knee-height so that you could sit on the floor instead of needing to bring chairs. “Have you eaten?”

“Uh…no, actually,” I said, surprised at the question.

I resisted the urge to rub at the spot where he’d touched me.

I could feel the afterimage of his hand like a branding iron.

“We traveled quickly and light, sir. Your messenger stated that she’d ridden hard to find me, and I wasn’t inclined to linger, in case things were dire. ”

General Xilsatra’s expression went grim.

“They are,” he said, but he still walked over and sat down at the low table, taking a seat on a thin, wool-covered cushion.

“We have some time yet, though. Come. Sit. You’re of little use if you faint with hunger, no?

” he asked with a slight smile, arching one perfect brow at me.

I had no idea how to talk to him. Soldiers tended to leave rank at the door when we were off-duty, but General Xilsatra and I were very much on duty, and I couldn’t imagine ever being comfortable in a room with him even if we weren’t.

He was too…everything. Famous, self-composed, capable.

I felt like a gawky teenager next to him, and I was fourteen hundred years old, for fuck’s sake.

I still inclined my head to him with as much grace as I could exhume and came to take a seat across from him.

The thin cushion was surprisingly comfortable, and though the morning air was chill, the table itself radiated warmth.

Bespelled, I thought with surprised curiosity as General Xilsatra set two bowls on the table and pulled out a copper container about the size of a large stein.

It was bespelled, too, the clean lines of a talisman spell engraved in the metal, and when he uncapped it, steam came out.

As if it were a perfectly normal thing to do, General Xilsatra poured a measure of piping hot split pea soup into both of the bowls. The soup smelled incredible, the scent of ham making my stomach rumble, but…soup? At eight in the morning? Why the fuck did the general keep soup on standby?

He must have seen my utter bewilderment, because General Xilsatra gave me a faint smile before adding a spoon to each bowl and handing one to me.

“I set it aside last night,” he said mildly.

“I wasn’t sure when or if Mellaiya would reach you, but I thought it might be pleasant to have something hot to eat if she returned with you before the rain hit, and we generally run a cold camp in the morning. ”

I blinked at him. “And…you, sir?”

He lifted one shoulder. “It would be uncomfortable for me to stare you down as you ate, would it not?” the general asked, keeping his voice light.

He ate a spoonful of soup with casual ease.

“Go ahead, eat. Has your squad collaborated with the First Army before? I’d surely remember meeting you, but I’m not often near the border. ”

The words shouldn’t have made my heart rate pick up.

I had a memorable face. My coloration was unusual—wavy white hair, lilac eyes, porcelain skin—and people often remembered me.

General Xilsatra, well-known for his eidetic memory alongside his many other talents, certainly wouldn’t have forgotten my face.

Besides, I thought as I ate a spoonful of the soup, he’s probably just being polite. If he knew enough to send a solitary messenger on deerback to find my squad in the howling wilderness, he surely knows everything about my career.

The soup was slightly burned, but it was hot, salty, and otherwise delicious. My stomach clamored for more, and I was seized with deep gratitude for the general’s forethought.

“Yes, sir. I’ve collaborated with the First Army a number of times,” I said politely, digging into the soup. “Most recently my squad assisted with two harpy incursions along the eastern border. I’m not frequently hunting monsters, but I’m not unfamiliar.” Which I was certain he knew already.

General Xilsatra watched me for a moment before giving me a grave nod.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, the general keeping pace with me.

When I was scraping the remnants of the soup into the bottom of the bowl for one final spoonful, he set his own spoon down with a soft exhale.

“Lieutenant, do you know what a foxen is?”

My skin went cold a heartbeat after the words sank in. My ears started shifting to catch every sound in the camp and woods around us, an automatic response to the inherent danger in that word.

Of course I knew what a foxen was. There weren’t many creatures with allure magic, let alone the ability to wield an allure geas.

Most of them were malicious, or at least predatory—an association which had always made me uncomfortable about my own magic.

Someone under the effect of an allure geas was more than simply in love with or obsessed with the one who had lured them.

They were as under their command as a cultist to their beloved leader, willing to do anything they were told. Eager for it.

When that person was me, when I’d been asked to be someone’s drug of choice for the night, that eagerness generally ended in consequence-free orgasms. When it was a will-o-wisp, you faced all the dangers of being lost in the woods with a creature that fed off fear.

When it was a concubus, you woke exhausted, impotent, and infertile—sometimes forever. And when it was a foxen…

Well, when it was a foxen, the best you could hope for was to die quickly.

“I do, sir,” I said, the pea soup in my gut feeling like a leaden slug. “Soul-eaters. They take the shape of beautiful fae to lure their victims, and they develop allure magic as they age.” I let out a shaky breath. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You’re hunting one.”

General Xilsatra gave me a grave nod. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“We got damn lucky and have it hemmed in, but there’s a heavy storm coming in, and the rain will surely wash away its tracks, both magical and mundane.

” He exhaled slowly, almost a sigh, and gave me a level look.

“If it gets away, it may be years before we get a chance at it again. If I send men in without mages for support, it will surely be a slaughter, and I don’t have the people who can handle this close enough to reach us in time. I need…” He fell silent, jaw clenching.

I knew the answer. Saw the regret in his eyes.

“Bait,” I said.