Chapter 18 #3
The thought seemed to strike Sevrak too. He glanced over his shoulder, taking in Kharos as he paced the length of his enclosure, his massive frame rolling beneath dark fur, muscles coiling with measured intent. Those green eyes never left us. Never left me.
Sevrak clicked his tongue and stepped back, irritation flashing across his face. He turned—
But he didn’t get very far.
I barely had time to register it before I stumbled back, Thanor’s hand closing around Sevrak’s throat as he brought him to a violent halt. He pushed me behind him without looking.
Sevrak snarled, clawing at the grip, but it didn’t yield. Thanor’s fingers tightened with deliberate pressure, cutting off his air, forcing the giant upward onto his toes.
His face flushed dark as the first edge of panic set in.
In the distance, I saw the guards freeze, caught between instinct and hesitation—wanting to intervene, but unwilling to face the warriors.
“Stay away from her.”
The tone of his voice shocked me, carrying a lethal edge I’d never heard from him before. It struck the same way Kharos’s growl did.
The courtyard stilled, steel halting mid-swing as voices died in throats. Every warrior and Bondward turned, attention snapping to where Thanor held Sevrak suspended.
If looks could kill, Lucina’s would have put me in the ground twice over. Iris and Mira were barely holding her back, as if she might lunge for me and claw my face open.
“If you come near her again,” Thanor continued, tightening his grip. “I will kill you myself.”
His gaze flicked toward Kharos.
“And if I don’t feel like getting my hands dirty… I’ll let him do it slowly.”
He released him without warning. Sevrak staggered back, coughing hard, fury blazing—but he said nothing.
His grip tightened around the dagger until his knuckles blanched.
Then he turned and walked away. Iris and Mira released Lucina, and she went after him at once.
They disappeared inside together. No doubt plotting my demise.
Marcus should be looking at them. They had to be the ones undermining Thanor. Killing his Bondwards.
Around me the courtyard resumed as if nothing had happened, discipline snapping everything back into motion. Warriors returned to their drills, Bondwards to their charges, attention dispersing with ease. As if this were nothing. As if it happened every day.
Jorius glanced at me across the sand, concern evident on his face. I gave a small nod, meaning to reassure him I was fine. Then he noticed Thanor approaching and, with visible reluctance, turned away.
Thanor stepped closer, near enough that his shadow swallowed mine, his voice low.
“I will not lose another Bondward.”
I could only nod as I willed my hammering heart to calm.
“A threat to you,” he said, “is an insult to me.”
The words hit deeper than they should have.
“And here I was thinking you protected me out of the goodness of your heart. But I was mistaken. I’m merely an inconvenience to you. An object you don’t want anyone else to break.”
“Hmm.” He caught a loose strand of my hair. “No one touches you. Pain or pleasure… you’ll only receive it by my hands.”
I exhaled slowly, the same careful breath I used with Kharos when his muscles tightened beneath my hands, offering calm rather than resistance. I leaned in, enough that my words would belong only to him.
“Then I’ll learn to make do without either… Thank you for protecting me.” I straightened, composed once more, and left him alone with my words.
The medicus chamber was nothing like I had expected. It felt less like a place of healing and more like a space that had simply learned how to keep bodies alive long enough to remain useful.
The stone walls closed in around a narrow room lined with iron tables, their surfaces darkened by old blood.
Some stains had been scraped thin. Others remained layered and ingrained, as though no one had ever bothered to pretend that cleanliness mattered here.
The air carried the scent of crushed herbs, barely masking the underlying reek of iron and decay that clung to the back of my throat with every breath.
A man waited near the far wall. He was old—weathered in the way stone was weathered, worn down rather than softened by time. His hair was gray and tied back without care, his skin lined and rough, his robes stained and threadbare at the cuffs. His hands were scarred, steady but not gentle-looking.
He didn’t resemble any medicus I had known. He looked like a man who knew exactly how much pain the body could endure before it failed. If Sevrak’s dagger had struck me, I would have found out. But as Lunara willed it, I was here for something else.
“The name’s Vibius,” he said, studying me openly. “Medicus of this hellhole.”
I offered a small, practiced smile despite the smell, the blood, and the unease still coiled beneath my skin. “Bondward Valentina,” I replied. “It’s a pleasure.”
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, perhaps, or disuse—before it settled back into neutrality.
Behind me, Thanor leaned against one of the tables with careless ease, as if the dark stains beneath his hand were of no consequence at all. He crossed his arms, his presence imposing as he watched the room, including me, with unwavering attention.
Vibius folded his hands together, fingers stained green from herbs I didn’t recognize. “This is your monthly inspection,” he said, as though announcing the weather. “Of the bond. And the strain it places on your body and mind.”
He looked between us.
“You are the champion’s Bondward, which means your well-being is no longer a private concern. Tell me how you are faring.”
The question wasn’t born of interest. It was procedural, and I would answer it in kind.
“I am well. I am eating, sleeping, and performing my duties as expected. This place has not interfered with my skill, and I have found my footing more quickly than I anticipated.”
For a moment, I almost believed it myself. Never mind that I was only alive because of Livia’s perceptiveness and because of the metal the Empire had pierced me with. I swallowed my temper. I’d offer him exactly what he’d ask for, and nothing more.
He nodded, but didn’t look away. It was the look of someone studying a hastily covered wound. He expected more than the surface I’d given him.
“And the bond itself?” he asked. “Between you and Vayren.”
I felt the faintest pull, an echo of awareness, but gave nothing away. “We’re not bonded. This is temporary. Being assigned to the champion of the Ludaryn is an honor. I am adapting as expected.”
A low rumble came from behind me, unmistakably amused. My nails dug into my palms.
Vibius watched me before tilting his head. “And the tether? You haven’t undergone the bonding ritual. Still—sometimes the string between a warrior and his Bondward begins to form on its own. Can you feel it?”
“No. I don’t know what you mean.”
The lie slipped out cleanly. He studied me, a frown forming between his brows, then hummed and made a note in his ledger.
“And—ah—Vayren… the tether. From your side.” He cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the edge of his ledger. “You were previously bonded to Cassius. I’d like to know whether this connection feels comparable. Whether it is proving as effective.”
The room seemed to still around the question. He swallowed before continuing, “Do you feel the tether forming?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Even the medicus measured his words around Thanor, adjusting his tone, his posture—everything. Was there no one he didn’t control?
Thanor shifted behind me, sharpening my awareness of him. A prickle rose between my shoulders, as though his gaze was intent upon me. As though my presence factored into his answer whether I wished it to or not.
“Yes,” he said at last.
Vibius exhaled, something easing in his posture, but Thanor continued before he could speak again. “Kharos responds to her. She’s skilled. They are… compatible.”