Chapter 8 #2
“Thank you. It was my mother’s. It’s the only thing I have left of her.”
“I’m sorry. I’d heard the sickness took her as well.”
“Yes.” Her fingers brushed the white jewel. “I’d just received my piercing when she died. My father didn’t know what to do with himself. I think he worries… knowing I’m in here. I tried to send him notes, but I haven’t had a reply.”
I hesitated. “A day after you were taken, I noticed your house boarded up. It looked abandoned. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
“Hmm.” She forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe… let’s not linger on it. I’ll ask Marcus. Now hurry or you’ll be late!”
Dressed and ready, I followed her through the corridors and Atrium as the Ludaryn woke around us.
Servants moved with quiet efficiency. Guards stood where they always stood.
Nothing deviated from its prescribed place.
The blood was gone—as if nothing had happened, as if I hadn’t stood in it only hours ago.
She opened a door off the Atrium, and we stepped into a library.
The space stole my breath. The room stretched wide, shelves rising toward the ceiling, ladders fixed to rails beside them.
Long tables lay scattered with scrolls of every size.
The scent of parchment and ink filled the air. I inhaled deeply, letting it settle.
A stern-looking woman cleared her throat from the central table. Her hair was iron-gray, pulled back tight, her expression severe. She didn’t rise as we approached. Something in her stillness made me straighten instinctively, as if I were already being measured—and found wanting.
“Bondward Valentina,” she said. “I am Archivist Teralis.”
She didn’t seem like a woman of many words, so I offered a short greeting. “Hello.”
“Sit.” She gestured to the chair opposite her.
I did, though not before glancing at Livia. She hid a smile behind her hand, then slipped out. The door clicked behind her, and the room seemed to settle into a heavier silence.
I sighed. This would be a long day.
Teralis began a lecture that stretched on and on—more sermon than instruction. She reminded me of the Lunara fanatics, though she wore a silver piercing. Even that was dull, a small dot at her chin that made her seem even more severe.
I stifled a yawn.
She spoke of the hierarchy within the Ludaryn, of what a Bondward was and what she would never be. I forced myself to listen, though each word grated more than the last.
“You exist to serve the bond, not yourself.”
The words settled like a weight. Not yourself. I kept my expression still, but something in me resisted the idea outright.
When she finished, she rose and grabbed a massive book from the table beside us.
“Every saber and warrior will judge you in the coming days. You will observe and assist the other Bondwards when they ask it of you. You will not be formally bonded until necessity demands it.”
“And if it doesn’t? Can I leave?”
Her expression hardened.
“The Ludaryn always demands. Next time, girl, mind your tongue—or you will end up like that other Bondward last night.”
Nexra’s lifeless stare flashed. My fingers tightened on the edge of the table as I forced myself to hold Teralis’s gaze. I swallowed before nodding.
She slid the book toward me. “You will read the codex, memorize it, and learn to live by it.”
Her voice turned cold. “It is not guidance. It is the law.”
She returned to her desk without another word, leaving me alone with the rules of my captivity laid neatly before me. For a moment, I didn’t touch it. This wasn’t instruction. It was control. Still, I reached for it. Refusing it would change nothing.
The volume was heavy, its text almost too small to read. I opened it at random, and revulsion curled low at the first lines.
A Bondward exists to serve the bond, never themselves.
Only if the warrior and saber deem the Bondward worthy will they be brought to the Temple of Lunarion to perform the ceremony.
The process is classified. Once learned, it must never be shared.
Any Bondward who attempts to describe, speculate upon, or reveal the ritual will face immediate discipline.
My grip tightened. I turned the page.
Respect is not optional. A Bondward earns standing through conduct. Speech, posture, and discipline reflect directly upon the warrior and his saber. Failure invites scrutiny and correction.
I scoffed. Submission, dressed as discipline.
Within the walls of Caelora, the Ludaryn maintains its own enclosed grounds, a forested expanse cultivated to mirror the Lornwild.
Hidden deep within stand multiple Bondward Shrines.
Once a month, under the full moon, Bondwards and their warriors take part in the Moonbound Rite.
The strength of the bond determines the result.
A strong bond yields powerful restoratives, heightening a saber’s endurance in the Maw.
A weak connection, or a Bondward with insufficient magic, produces inferior work.
A page near the middle was more worn than the others.
A Bondward is bound to fang and steel—fail, and die by Lunara’s will.
Any sign of discord or lack of cohesion is grounds for review and may result in dismissal.
In cases of severe disobedience, the Bondward will be stripped of rank, issued a secondary iron piercing, and reassigned to low labor within Valystria.
I stared at the page, unblinking. As if trust could be manufactured.
How was I supposed to align myself with a warrior who stood for everything I despised?
Lucina’s face surfaced in my mind. She was many things, but meek and submissive wasn’t one of them.
Either the rules were more flexible than they pretended to be…
or she had learned to move within them without breaking.
And if that was true, then submission wasn’t the only way to survive the Ludaryn. It was simply the most obvious one.
Could I learn to adapt without losing myself—like she seemed to? Or had she already lost something to this place? I pushed the thought aside and returned to the page. The final section was brief.
It is forbidden for a Bondward to engage in intimate relations with his or her bonded warrior. The consequences are severe. Both Bondward and warrior will be disciplined equally, in accordance with the violation.
My thoughts drifted, uninvited and traitorous, to Thanor’s stare at the Aediles’ gathering—to the heat that had flared in me. I shut the book and stood abruptly, exhaling slowly as I forced my temper back under control.
“It’s time.”
Livia’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. She was light on her feet, perhaps because she was so small.
“You’re expected at the courtyard.”
Nerves flared. “Already?”
She flicked a glance at Teralis, still absorbed in her reading.
“You’ll be allowed to observe and meet the warriors and their sabers.” Her voice lowered. “Unfortunately, I can’t join you. Servants aren’t allowed.”
Then she smirked. “But I noticed last night you seemed to be getting along with Jorius?”
I let out a faint breath of amusement, my tension easing a fraction. “He’s difficult to ignore.”
She nodded. “He’s charming. Kind, too—especially with the servants. It helps to have someone like him nearby.”
“You and him are the only ones I trust,” I said.
The admission slipped out more easily than I expected, surprising even me.
Trust wasn’t something I gave lightly, and perhaps I had spoken too soon.
Yet in the short time I’d been in the Ludaryn, I already knew I’d go mad if I refused to let anyone in.
She clasped my arm, beaming, and guided me toward the door. I slowed, a smile tugging at my lips.
“Archivist Teralis, it was an absolute honor to meet you. I feel enlightened by your wisdom. Have an amazing day!”
Her expression flickered—something between shock and disbelief.
Satisfaction curled briefly through me. I bowed and saluted before quickly pulling Livia after me out of the library. Our laughter rang through the halls as we hurried down the corridors.
“I haven’t laughed like that in ages.” Livia slapped my shoulder as we slowed, both half expecting the archivist to follow. “You’re the boldest woman I’ve ever met! She scares most of us, and you dare taunt her like that.”
“She bored me to death. She has a stick up her ass.” I lowered my voice. “Before I have to adjust my behavior completely, I figured I was allowed one moment of mischief. Don’t you agree?”
I smirked, and she laughed. The moment lingered for a heartbeat longer—light, almost normal. Then it faded as we moved deeper into the Ludaryn.
The air grew cooler with every flight of stairs as we descended beneath the Bondward wing.
Our footsteps echoed against the stone. Each step carried me closer to violence and uncertainty.
We stopped before a massive door reinforced with iron bands, heavy chains looped across its surface.
A lock the size of my fist sat at its center.
“Name,” a guard beside it asked, boredom plain in his voice.
“Greenwillow.”
He frowned.
“Uhm… Bondward Valentina.”
His mouth twitched as he studied me for a moment. Then he reached for the lock. Metal scraped as he worked the mechanism. The chains loosened one by one, and the door creaked open, releasing a rush of heat and sound from beyond. My palms dampened, and I flexed my fingers as Livia caught my arm.
“This is as far as I go.”
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.
“Good luck,” she murmured. “I’ll be waiting for you after you return.”
The guard watched me with open impatience. I swallowed my nerves, straightened my shoulders, and stepped across the threshold. The door swung shut behind me, the chains dragging back into place with a final, iron clang.