Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
SERIN
Three days of Eletherian hospitality had worked wonders on both body and spirit.
Gone was the bone-deep weariness that had clung to me like sea salt during our voyage, replaced by the luxurious contentment that came from soft mattresses, abundant food, and walls that didn't sway with ocean swells.
My skin had lost its pallor from confinement belowdecks, warmed to gold by afternoon sunlight streaming through windows that opened onto paradise itself.
Even my thoughts felt clearer, no longer fogged by the constant anxiety that had plagued me since fleeing home. Here, surrounded by beauty that asked nothing of me save appreciation, I could almost forget the iron crown that waited across dark waters.
Almost.
Priest Myris met us at the entrance to Elyon's temple as the morning sun painted everything in shades of honey and cream.
He wore robes of palest blue that flowed around his lean frame like captured sky, and his smile held genuine warmth rather than the calculating courtesy I'd grown accustomed to at court.
"Your Highness, Master Rhazir," he greeted us with equal grace, as if a prince and his bodyguard deserved identical respect. "I trust your chambers have proven adequate?"
"More than adequate," I assured him, following as he led us deeper into the temple's cool embrace. "They surpass anything I might have hoped for."
The interior revealed itself in stages, corridors lined with frescoes that told stories of divine love, chambers where priests in training bent over scrolls of ancient wisdom, gardens where meditation pools reflected sky and stone in perfect symmetry.
Everything spoke of reverence, but reverence infused with joy rather than the grim duty I'd known in temples back home.
"You asked about our customs regarding bonds," Myris said as we walked, his voice carrying the cadence of someone accustomed to teaching.
"Elyon's order believes that love itself builds bridges between the mortal and divine realms. Each bond that forms, each connection that deepens between souls, creates another stone in the foundation that might one day span the gulf between earth and heaven. "
I felt my pulse quicken at his words, though whether from interest or something deeper, I couldn't say. "And the other orders? Do they share this belief?"
"Ah, that's where it grows complex." His smile held notes of gentle amusement.
"Aerius's scholars long maintained that bonds were merely tools for academic advancement, ways to focus the mind and channel energy toward higher learning.
But even they have begun to acknowledge, particularly after a recent bond of remarkable intensity, that there may be forces at work beyond simple intellectual partnership. "
We paused before a statue of Elyon himself, the god's marble features carved with such skill they seemed almost alive. Sunlight from the clerestory windows made shadows dance across his face, creating the illusion of breath, of thought, of divine awareness focused on mortal concerns.
"And the militants?" I found myself asking, though I wasn't certain why their opinion should matter.
"The soldiers of our order?" Myris's expression grew thoughtful.
"They've always viewed bonds as exercises in emotional discipline, methods of learning to master one's feelings rather than be mastered by them.
They accept the practice, but with... reluctance.
They fear that too much emphasis on love might weaken resolve when hard choices must be made. "
Something in his tone suggested he disagreed with this assessment, though he was too diplomatic to say so directly.
"The truth," he continued, "is that bonding is a tremendous emotional undertaking.
When partners complement each other well, the results can be transformative, a joining that elevates both beyond what either might achieve alone.
But when the match is poor..." He shook his head sadly.
"The cost can be devastating. We've seen bonds that broke their participants rather than completing them. "
His words stirred something deep in my chest, a recognition I couldn't quite name.
The Three Isles had their own traditions of bonding, though nothing like what Myris described.
Our bonds were forged in battle - soldiers who fought as paired units, nobles and their sworn swords who shared the brotherhood of blade and blood.
Practical partnerships born of necessity rather than. ..
A pulse of something, awareness, recognition, longing, thrummed through the air like a plucked harp string.
Before I could question the sensation, I found myself turning toward Rhazir.
He was already looking at me, his dark eyes unguarded for just a heartbeat before he caught himself and resumed the neutral mask of professional vigilance.
But in that unguarded moment, I'd seen something that made my breath catch. Hunger. Devotion. A depth of feeling that went far beyond duty or friendship. How had I never noticed the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching?
"Your Highness?" Myris's voice seemed to come from very far away.
I blinked, forcing my attention back to the present. "Forgive me. Your words gave me much to consider."
"Of course. These are weighty matters, not to be taken lightly." He gestured toward the temple's main hall, where afternoon light streamed through windows set with colored glass. "Please, explore at your leisure. The priests are always happy to answer questions about our practices and beliefs."
He paused, head tilting as if remembering something important. "Oh, and you must both join us for tonight's feast. We're celebrating the completion of a new translation, poetry from the outer islands that speaks of love's various forms. It should prove quite enlightening."
Rhazir cleared his throat, the sound carefully deferential. "Begging your pardon, Priest, but I am merely a bodyguard. Such gatherings are not meant for—"
"There is no such thing as 'merely' anything, dear friend," Myris interrupted with gentle firmness. "All are equal in the eyes of the gods. Scholar and soldier, prince and peasant, we all sit at the same great table when it comes to matters of the heart."
The priest's words carried conviction that brooked no argument, and after a moment Rhazir bowed acceptance. When Myris had departed with flowing robes and knowing smiles, I found myself alone with Rhazir in the temple's echoing vastness.
My attention was drawn to a fresco that dominated the chamber's eastern wall, a masterwork of color and form that told the story of two lovers lost in passion's embrace.
The detail was exquisite, almost overwhelming in its frank sensuality.
Every muscle, every curve, every expression of ecstasy had been rendered with artistic skill that bordered on divine inspiration.
Heat crept up my neck as I studied the intertwined figures, their faces painted with such perfect clarity that I could read the love and desire written in their features.
There was no shame in their joining, no furtive hiding of bodies or feelings.
They reached for each other with the desperate hunger of souls finding their missing halves, and the artist had captured that moment of recognition with breathtaking honesty.
This was what Myris spoke of, love as bridge between mortal and divine, passion as prayer, the joining of bodies as celebration rather than sin.
"You will accompany me to the feast," I said suddenly, the decision crystallizing as I spoke. “As you would have if we were home.”
Rhazir's reflection appeared beside mine in the polished marble at the fresco's base. "The customs are different back home, Your Highness."
I considered this, memories rising unbidden.
At court, sworn swords and their charges often shared meals, the bonds between them acknowledged and honored.
But when traveling, the relationships became more formal, bodyguards took their meals separately, maintained careful distance, transformed themselves into servants rather than companions.
"Then perhaps," I said slowly, "we would be wise to embrace the customs of our hosts rather than cling to those that serve no purpose here."
In the marble's reflection, I watched his face cycle through a dozen emotions before settling on resigned acceptance. "As you command, Your Highness."
Something in his tone made me turn to face him directly. We stood close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, could smell the subtle scent of weapon oil and leather that always clung to him. For a moment, the careful distance he maintained seemed as fragile as spun glass.
"Not as I command," I corrected quietly. "As I request. We are far from the Three Isles, old friend. Perhaps we might set aside some of the barriers that court life requires of us."
His breath caught, so softly I might have imagined it. "Your Highness..."
"Serin," I said, as I had before. "When we're alone, just... Serin."
The name hung between us like an offering, and for a heartbeat I thought he might reach for it. Then his training reasserted itself, armor sliding back into place with almost audible finality.
"As you wish," he said, but he didn't repeat my name.
I turned back to the fresco, studying the painted lovers with new eyes. They had found something worth celebrating, worth immortalizing in stone and pigment. What would it feel like to be looked at the way they looked at each other? To reach for someone and know they would reach back?
The pulse I'd felt earlier returned, stronger now, thrumming in the space between us like a held breath.
I didn't turn around, but I was suddenly, acutely aware of Rhazir behind me - the steadiness of his presence, the careful way he breathed, the warmth that seemed to radiate from his skin despite the marble chamber's coolness.
Eight years he'd stood at my side. Eight years of faithful service, of protection offered without question or complaint. How many times had I taken that devotion for granted? How many times had I failed to see what was right before me?
The painted lovers seemed to smile down at me with knowing eyes, as if they could read the confusion and dawning recognition written in my heart.
Perhaps Priest Myris was right about bonds being bridges to the divine.
Perhaps some connections transcended the merely mortal, reaching toward something larger than the sum of their parts.
I thought of tonight's feast, of sitting beside Rhazir as an equal rather than maintaining the careful hierarchy that had defined us for so long. The prospect filled me with anticipation and terror in equal measure.
What truths might surface when the barriers came down?
The frescoed lovers offered no answers, only their eternal embrace and the promise that some risks were worth taking, no matter the cost.