Chapter 15
Steel rang against steel, dragging my attention from my work with a harsh, jarring crack. I sighed, wiping the sweat from my brow as black tufts of fur drifted through the air behind me. Kharos gave a slow yawn as I stepped out of his enclosure, blinking lazily at me. I shut the gate behind me.
The days had settled into an uneasy rhythm. Nearly another week had passed since the ritual, each sunrise bringing me one day closer to the Praetor’s return. Now the wait was over. I’d dreaded this morning all week, even as I planned for it.
I had thrown myself into caring for Kharos, grateful for the excuse to spend my hours with him.
The rest of the time, I kept to the Atrium with Jorius, learning the names, tempers, and histories of the Bondwards and warriors alike.
Livia had been busier than ever, but whenever our paths crossed, her calm company remained a comfort.
I avoided Thanor like the plague. Whenever I spotted him across the courtyard or in the corridors, I slipped away before he could notice me. It was easier that way.
The sounds of sparring were relentless, heightening the tension within me.
I narrowed my eyes against the brutal morning sun, its light reflecting off the pale sand of the courtyard.
Sweat gathered at my brow again, even though I’d just wiped it away.
Bondwards were one with the moon. But in the Ludaryn there was no relief from the sun.
My skin burned, my freckles darkening beneath the heat. I wasn’t made for this.
With a quiet breath, I cleaned my hands on a cloth.
I clung to one small sense of relief—Kharos looked healthier than ever.
Not even a scar remained where he’d been struck.
I’d cured him just in time, before the poison could take hold.
Even his fur had grown back as though nothing had happened.
He was responding well to my elixirs. Even Doctore had commented on his speed.
It hadn’t been a compliment exactly, but anything other than commands felt like praise coming from him.
It was odd to tend to Kharos without Cassius.
Massaging him, mending him, even brushing and feeding him felt as though I’d been doing it for years.
The part I dreaded, though, was that my supply of salves was dwindling.
As were my strengthening elixirs. He would need them to remain agile and at peak performance for the Maw.
The thought of venturing into the Ludaryn forest grounds with Thanor to restock them unsettled me. Still, there’d be no avoiding it. Sooner or later, I would have to go. He’d been engaged in sparring sessions the entire morning. Even so, I had felt him watching me from the moment I entered.
The tension among the Bondwards was at an all-time high. One by one, we were called from the courtyard. The Praetor had arrived to continue the investigation Marcus had started. Annoyance pricked at my nape at the thought of our Lanista as well.
At dawn, he’d ordered us to be truthful—to comply with whatever Decimus might ask.
He wanted Nexra and Cassius’s murders resolved quickly.
He’d entered at breakfast and left just as fast. I’d hurried after him to ask about Elion, only to be dismissed with a wave of his hand, the guards stopping me before I could follow.
I’d spent the entire week trying to gain an audience with him, and every attempt had been turned aside.
He was deliberately avoiding me. I had no idea why. But I was out of time.
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Decimus again. But I couldn’t avoid him. Not now. I needed something from him. Waiting for permission would get me nowhere. I would have to find my own way to see Elion.
Ahead of me, two warriors sparred, and I slowed without meaning to.
Sevrak looked as brutal as ever. Last night, I’d asked Jorius about the scars carved across his face.
I’d wondered whether not every Saber Warrior possessed the same miraculous healing.
The truth was far worse. It was knowledge that wasn’t allowed to leave the Ludaryn.
A warrior’s only true weakness was saber saliva.
The same poison that killed an ordinary person within moments and could slowly bring down even a saber.
What Sevrak had done was worse. Jorius told me that, one day, he’d coated a blade with a thin layer of Voryx’s saliva and drawn the blade across his own face in the shape of an X, screaming through every cut.
The medicus had drawn the venom from his blood before it could kill him, but the damage had been done.
The scars remained exactly as he’d intended.
He’d wanted to look fearsome. Instead, he looked repulsive.
Thanor moved opposite him with lethal economy, drawing me from the horror of my thoughts, his twin one-handed axes flashing in precise arcs. Sevrak met every strike head-on, his massive hammer sweeping in punishing blows that sent tremors through the ground whenever it struck.
Power against precision.
Weight against speed.
I watched only Thanor now. His skin gleamed beneath the sun, his biceps tightening as he circled and struck. I kept my focus on the motions, telling myself that was all I was doing.
It wasn’t. Not even close.
His words from the ritual lingered. I’d turned and twisted restlessly every night. Even the cool night air drifting into my chamber offered no relief. The way my body had betrayed me—kept betraying me.
As if proving my thoughts, the sight of his hands now unsettled me, awakened something.
The memory of his grip on my chin sent goosebumps over my skin.
Sweat traced down his abdomen, disappearing beneath his armor, and my mouth went dry.
I’d seen what lay beneath it. I hated the way my mind kept pulling me toward him—the chord inside me straining with every movement.
I drew in a slow breath and straightened.
I would become indifferent to him. I had to.
And yet, standing here now, watching him move—
Doubt slipped in before I could stop it. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe I was lying to myself.
Their movements were faster now, cleaner. No wasted motion, no hesitation. He gave Sevrak nothing for free. They dropped their weapons and turned to fists.
As I watched, caught in their rhythm, Jorius stepped up beside me, close enough that I caught his familiar scent—citrus and clean linen.
Across the grounds, Lucina studied them as well, her eyes fixed on the sparring with an intensity that mirrored my own.
I couldn’t tell who she was rooting for.
She wasn’t over Thanor, but there was something more between her and Sevrak too. I was sure of it.
Doctore’s voice rose above everything else, barking corrections and snapping orders as he paced the perimeter. Each command rang in my ears, compounding the heat, the noise, the strain of refusing myself.
Jorius spoke without looking at me. “So… we haven’t really talked about the cleansing ritual this week. Was it as bad as you expected?”
“I survived. But I know now he’s not indifferent to me. Not in the least. I fear he wants to claim me as his Bondward. Formally.”
Jorius went still. Then he said, “I told you before—I saw something in the way he looks at you.” His eyes narrowed as he tracked Thanor’s every strike. “I don’t like it.”
I glanced at him, taking in the tension in his posture, the way he dragged a hand through his sun-kissed locks. Perhaps I shouldn’t be speaking to him about this. We fell silent, watching the warriors strike again and again. Bare fists meeting skin.
Talia entered the courtyard behind us, her interrogation apparently finished.
She didn’t look shaken. My shoulders loosened slightly.
I hadn’t had the time to give much thought to who might be killing the Bondwards—but I fervently hoped it wasn’t anyone I was growing close to.
Still, Talia’s easy stride told me she hadn’t endured Decimus the way I had.
Which meant he reserved his special attention for me. What a lucky woman I was.
“Bondward Valentina.”
My name rang out across the grounds. I jolted. I wasn’t ready for what I’d planned.
The guard stood rigid at the entrance, his voice carrying with ease.
“You’re next. The Praetor requests your presence in the library.”
Lucina’s gaze snapped toward me, searching my face. But it wasn’t hers that unsettled me. She was an annoyance at best. Something easily dismissed.
No. It was Thanor. Across the courtyard, he’d gone still.
His jaw tightened as he locked onto me, something in his expression shifting—something darker.
It settled on me like a hand I couldn’t shake.
I faced him without flinching, letting my hatred show.
Then I turned my back on him—just as Kharos had done to me that first day.
“I’ll likely return shortly,” I murmured to Jorius. “But if I don’t… give it half an hour. Then please come find me. I may need your help.”
“Be careful,” he said, concern flickering across his features before he ran to Talia, who was waving him over.
I followed the guard into the library, my steps growing heavier with every turn. The memory of my nightmare stirred—faint, insistent—a warning not to let the Praetor dictate the terms of this encounter. I intended to maneuver him. Make him give me access to Elion.
Decimus wanted to own me. In that regard, he and Thanor seemed disturbingly alike.
But where Thanor remained unreadable, dangerous in his restraint, the Praetor was familiar terrain.
A man shaped by entitlement. Predictable in his appetites.
Someone I could manipulate. I whispered a brief prayer to Lunara before pushing the door open.
She owed me something, after the path she had woven for me.
The archivist was absent from her desk to the right. We were alone.