Chapter 8 #2
"Will heal. Or it won't. Either way, we continue."
She followed him from the conservatory, leaving drops of blood in a trail on the floor. Behind them, tiny flowers sprouted from each drop, red as rubies.
The library defied physics more than any room yet. Shelves curved up walls and across ceilings, connected by bridges that might or might not support weight. Books flew between sections. Some volumes were chained to desks, growling when approached.
"Can you read?" he asked, guiding her to a section that seemed marginally less hostile.
"Of course I can read."
"Can you read this?"
He pulled a volume from the shelf, opened it to a random page. The symbols swam before her eyes, almost familiar but not quite.
"It's... I don't know what this is."
"Old tongue. The language of contracts. Of binding." He set the book on a podium that grew from the floor to meet it. "You'll learn. Every marked human must understand the exact words of their bondage."
"Why?"
"So you can appreciate the completeness of it." He opened another book, this one filled with illustrations that moved. "So you understand there is no loophole. No escape clause. No clever interpretation that sets you free."
The pictures showed humans in various states of transformation. A woman becoming a tree. A man frozen in crystal. Children turned to flowers.
"This is what happens to those who break their bargains?" she asked, voice smaller than intended.
"This is what happens to those who try." He turned the page.
The new page showed a familiar scene: a twisted car, a woman crawling from wreckage and a figure watching from the trees. Waiting.
“My mother…”
"She promised anything for her life. For yours." His finger traced the illustration, and it moved in response. "But 'anything' is a dangerous word. It echoes. It compounds. It transfers."
In the picture, the shadow figure reached out, touched the woman's belly. Light passed between them.
"There is something I don’t understand," Briar said quietly, watching the light pass between the figures. "My mother thought she promised her life… but she didn’t did she? It was mine.”
Eliam stayed silent, watching her. “If she already promised my life to you. You could have come for me at any time." She looked up at him. "Why did you wait? Why agree to help Allegra at all?"
His expression shifted and something flickered behind his eyes. Annoyance perhaps? Discomfort? "Raising children is tedious. All that crying and need. Better to let humans do the messy work."
"That's not—"
"Besides," he continued, cutting her off, "a bond made by proxy is weak.
Diluted. Your mother promised you, yes, but you had no say in it.
" He closed the book with deliberate precision.
"When you came to me yourself, when you offered your life for your sister's, that created something far stronger.
A chain forged by your own hands rather than inherited. "
"So you manipulated everything? You made Allegra sick?"
"I manipulated nothing. You chose to enter my forest. You chose to make a bargain." His smile was sharp. "The fact that you were already mine by rights simply made the claiming... neater. Two debts where there had been one. Your mother's promise and your own."
He selected another volume. "Now. Let's see how quickly you learn, your survival depends on it."
The lesson that followed was its own kind of torture. He made her trace symbols until her eyes burned, repeat words in the old tongue until her throat went raw, all while he watched, evaluated, and found her lacking.
By the time he finally called a stop, the fingers on her wounded hand had grown stiff and her head felt stuffed with cotton.
"Adequate," he pronounced. "Barely. We'll continue tomorrow."
"Can't wait," she muttered.
"Good. Enthusiasm will serve you well." He was either oblivious to sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. "Now, it is time for court."
"I'd rather go back to my room."
"I'm sure you would." He moved toward the door, clearly expecting her to follow. "But what you'd rather do is irrelevant. You go where I go. Do what I say. Exist as I allow. The sooner you accept that, the easier this becomes for all those involved."
Briar followed, of course. But something in her chest, that warmth that wasn't the mark, pulsed with what felt like defiance.
And for just a moment, she could have sworn she saw him stumble.
But then he was walking again, all predator grace, and she must have imagined it.
Must have.
They were halfway to court when he stopped abruptly, turning back to her. His gaze dropped to her injured hand, which she'd been cradling against her chest.
"Show me."
She reluctantly extended it, grimacing as the pain burned up her wrist towards her elbow. The puncture wounds had swollen angry red, blood still seeping sluggishly. The skin around them looked wrong, too dark, with fine black lines spreading outward.
"The roses here carry toxins," he said, as casually. "In a few hours, your hand will be quite useless. In a day, the poison will reach your heart."
Fear shot through her veins. "What?"
"I told you, everything here has a price." He caught her wrist, careful to avoid the wounds. "Did you think I'd let you bleed out on your first day? How disappointing that would be."
"Then heal it!"
"So demanding," his thumb traced the edge of her palm, making her shiver. "Ask nicely."
"I shouldn't have to ask at all! You made me take it!"
"Yes. To teach you a valuable lesson." He pulled her closer, until barely inches separated them. "And now I'll unmake the damage. But everything—"
"Has a price. I get it." She tried to pull away, but his grip simply tightened, refusing to yield. "What do you want? More groveling? Should I kneel?"
"Tempting." His free hand came up to cup her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. "But no. The price for this is simpler. You'll stand very still. You'll make no sound. And you'll let me work without resistance."
"Work how—"
He lifted her palm to his mouth.
Shock rippled through her at the first touch of his lips against the wounds. Heat bloomed from the contact, spreading up her arm in waves. His tongue traced one puncture, and the sensation shot straight through her core causing her to gasp.
"I said," he murmured against her skin, "no sound."
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, staying silent as he continued his ministrations. His mouth was fever-hot against her skin, tongue probing each wound with deliberate care. Need pooled low in her belly when his teeth scraped the sensitive skin, her knees threatening to buckle.
The black lines began to recede. She could see them retreating as he worked, pulling back from their spread toward her wrist. But with each sweep of his tongue, each press of his lips, that warmth in her chest pulsed stronger.
He noticed. She saw the moment he felt it, in the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the pause in his movements. His eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze as he drew one punctured finger between his teeth and sucked.
The warmth flared. Just for an instant, but bright enough that she swore she saw gold flicker in his green eyes.
He released her hand abruptly, stepping back. The wounds were now closed, pink new skin where the punctures had been. No sign of the spreading poison.
"There." His voice was rougher than before. "Adequately healed."
She cradled her hand against her chest, skin still tingling from his mouth. "That was..."
"Necessary." He turned away, but she caught the tension in his shoulders. "Come. We're late."
"Eliam—"
"Move." The command cracked sharply. "Unless you'd prefer I demonstrate other healing methods? The next one involves significantly less clothing."
Briar followed in silence, but her palm burned with phantom sensation, and that warmth in her chest had settled into a steady glow.
She couldn’t help but notice the way he flexed his hand as they walked, or how he touched his lips briefly, as if tasting something unexpected.
The great hall was worse than the throne room.
Where that had been empty grandeur, this thrummed with life.
Creatures filled the vast space in clusters and hierarchies she couldn't parse.
Beings with antlers dripping moss. Females whose skin shifted between bark and flesh.
Things that might have been human once but had stayed too long, twisted into new shapes by proximity to power.
All of them turned when Eliam entered. All of them looked at her.
Hunger and curiosity pressed against her skin from their collective attention. She fought not to shrink closer to Eliam, hating that he felt safer in comparison. But at least his danger was familiar. These creatures watched her with predatory calculation.
"Eyes down," Eliam said quietly, for her ears alone. "You're not their equal. Don't invite challenge by pretending otherwise."
She dropped her gaze to the living wood floor, tracking his movement by the sound of his steps.
He led her to the raised dais where his throne waited, not the root-twisted seat from last night but something worse.
This throne was made of carved wood and bones, though from what creatures she couldn't guess.
They'd been polished white, woven together with dark vines that pulsed with their own heartbeat.
"Kneel," he said.
Heat flooded her face. "What?"
"Beside the throne. Kneel." His voice carried that particular tone that meant any argument would end badly. "Unless you'd prefer to stand for the next four hours?"
A ripple went through the watching crowd, amusement mixed with anticipation in the charged air.
She knelt.
The position was immediately uncomfortable, the wooden floor hard against her knees despite the dress's fabric. But worse was the symbolism. Everyone could see exactly what she was: property displayed at his feet.
Eliam settled into his throne with casual grace, one hand dropping to rest near her head. Not touching. Just there. A reminder.