Chapter 7 Mihalis
MIHALIS
The Praexa meeting had been a waste of three hours—politicians posturing over simple things that could have been settled with half the words and twice the spine.
By the time I escaped their endless circular arguments, the pinching sensation in my chest had grown from an irritation to something approaching genuine discomfort.
The bond. This ridiculous twist of fate that's apparently tied my life to a human thief with stormy eyes and a mouth that could cut glass.
Jelle's temple offers no more relief than the political theater. The Nashai greets me with the same mixture of sympathy and amusement she's worn since yesterday, her violet eyes bright with knowledge I wish she didn't possess.
"Still fighting it, I see." She doesn't look up from the ceremonial herbs she's grinding, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
"I'm not fighting anything. I'm looking for solutions." I pace the length of her sanctum, wings shifting restlessly against my back. The confined space makes them itch, but folding them completely feels too much like surrender.
"Ah yes, solutions." Now she does look up, setting her mortar aside to give me her full attention. "Such as having someone else kill her since you cannot?"
The words hit something dark and protective in my chest, making my jaw clench hard enough that my teeth ache. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't need to. It's written across your face like scripture." She rises from her cushion with fluid grace, moving to the altar where sacred flames dance without fuel. "Tell me, Mihalis—when you imagine her death, how does it feel?"
Wrong. The answer comes immediately, unbidden and unwelcome. The thought of Heidi's light going out, those gray-blue eyes closing forever, sends something violent and possessive surging through my veins. Something that wants to burn down anyone who would dare touch what's apparently mine.
"It feels like a solution to an impossible problem."
Jelle's laugh is soft and knowing. "Liar."
I stop pacing to glare at her, but she's unmoved by my displeasure. She’s someone who answers only to the gods, which means she's immune to my intimidation tactics.
"The bond is already taking root," she continues, turning to face me fully. "Fighting it will only make the process more painful. And more dangerous."
"You said staying near each other would buy us time."
"Time to accept what cannot be changed, yes.
Not time to find some magical escape route that doesn't exist." She crosses her arms, suddenly looking less like a mystical priestess and more like someone's exasperated aunt.
"This is a gift, you stubborn fool. Most xaphan spend their entire lives hoping for a connection this strong. "
"Most xaphan don't get soul-bonded to human thieves who want nothing more than to slit their throats and run."
"Most xaphan don't need to be dragged kicking and screaming toward their own happiness."
The accusation hangs in the air between us, sharp enough to draw blood. I want to argue, to list all the very rational reasons why this situation is a disaster rather than a gift. Instead, the pinching in my chest grows stronger, as if my own body is disagreeing with my protests.
"There has to be another way."
Jelle shakes her head, violet eyes soft with something that might be pity. "The only way forward is through acceptance. Bond with her willingly, or watch the magic tear you both apart slowly. Those are your choices."
I leave the temple with those words echoing in my skull and the uncomfortable truth settling in my bones like an infection. By the time I reach home, the winter sun has disappeared behind the mountains, and the pinching sensation has spread from my chest into my shoulders and down my arms.
The house feels different when I enter through the kitchen door—warmer somehow, though not in any way I can quantify. Thera looks up from her prep work with the expression she wears when she's trying very hard not to say something I won't want to hear.
"Long day?" she asks, continuing to chop vegetables with mechanical precision.
"Pointless day." I slump against the counter, suddenly feeling every one of my years. "The Praexa are useless, Jelle is unhelpful, and I still have a human locked in my guest room who would rather die than accept what fate has apparently decided for both of us."
Not that I'm making much progress on that, either.
"Hmm." Thera's knife pauses in its rhythm. "About that."
Something in her tone makes my spine straighten. "About what?"
"Your human. She's not exactly locked in the guest room anymore."
The temperature in the kitchen drops several degrees as my magic responds to the spike of alarm in my chest. "What do you mean, not locked in the guest room?"
"I mean she's in the back garden with your daughter, building snow creatures and laughing loud enough to wake the dead.
" Thera sets down her knife and turns to face me fully, hands on her hips in a posture I remember from childhood lectures.
"And before you get that look on your face, it was Irida's idea. "
"My daughter is playing with a dangerous criminal." The words come out flat, deadly quiet in the way that usually sends grown men scrambling for cover.
Thera, having helped raise me from a temperamental child into a temperamental adult, is entirely unmoved. "Your daughter is playing with a young woman who's been nothing but gentle with her. Rhegan and Ilyra are watching from the terrace, and Varos is positioned where he can intervene if needed."
The kitchen suddenly feels too small, the walls pressing in as my protective instincts clash with something else—something that whispers that if Heidi wanted to hurt Irida, she would have done it by now.
The logical part of my mind knows Thera wouldn't have allowed this if there was any real danger, but logic has very little power when it comes to my daughter's safety.
"This is unacceptable."
"Is it?" Thera crosses her arms, fixing me with the look that means she's about to say something I definitely don't want to hear. "Because from where I'm standing, this might be exactly what both of them need."
"Irida doesn't need to be forming attachments to someone who won't be staying."
"And how do you know she won't be staying?"
The question catches me off guard, mainly because I don't have a good answer. The bond ensures Heidi will have to stay close, at least until it's completed or we both die from the separation. But beyond that immediate necessity...
"She hates me," I say finally. "She's made that abundantly clear."
"She's terrified of you," Thera corrects, resuming her chopping with renewed vigor. "There's a difference. Fear can change into other things, given time and patience."
"I don't have time for patience."
"Then you'd better develop some, because that girl isn't going anywhere. And neither are you, if that pinched look on your face is any indication." She gestures toward my chest with her knife. "The bond's getting stronger, isn't it?"
I don't answer, but the way my hand involuntarily moves to rub at the ache gives me away.
"If you and the girl are attached by fate, maybe you should try getting to know her instead of treating her like a prisoner," Thera continues with the relentless logic of someone who's never met a problem she couldn't solve through pure common sense.
"You might discover she's more than just a pretty thief with a smart mouth. "
"I don't want to get to know her."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. The truth is that I've been thinking about Heidi since the moment she walked into Vestige—the way she moved through the crowd like dangerous water, the flash of defiance in her eyes when I caught her, the soft sound she made when I carried her out of the temple.
Even now, knowing she's somewhere in my house, breathing my air and wearing clothes I provided, sends something possessive and hungry coiling through my chest.
But wanting her and trusting her are entirely different things. And Irida's safety comes before any desires I might have developed for storm-colored eyes and a mouth that promises either salvation or destruction.
Thera smirks like she can read every thought in my head. "Well, Irida does. Want to get to know her, that is. She's been asking about her new friend all afternoon."
My blood turns to ice. "Her what?"
Instead of answering, Thera points toward the windows that overlook the back garden. Through the glass, I can see the terrace where Rhegan and Ilyra stand watch, and beyond that...
Beyond that, my daughter is laughing with pure, uninhibited joy as she and Heidi roll a massive snowball across the dark sand.
Even from this distance, I can see the bright flush of excitement in Irida's cheeks, the way her wings flutter with happiness as she directs their construction project with the imperious authority of a six-year-old architect.
And Heidi—Heidi is smiling. Not the sharp, defensive expression I've seen her wear like armor, but something soft and genuine as she follows Irida's increasingly elaborate instructions.
She's wearing the practical clothes we provided, dark trousers and boots that let her move freely, and her hair has escaped whatever restraint she'd used earlier to fall in dark waves around her shoulders.
She looks... young. Happy. Like someone who might actually enjoy building snow creatures with an enthusiastic child instead of plotting escape routes and nursing grudges.
"This is unacceptable," I repeat, but the words lack conviction.
"Why? Because your daughter is having fun?
Because she's finally found someone who doesn't treat her like spun glass or talk to her in that careful way adults use when they're afraid of saying the wrong thing?
" Thera's voice carries thirty years of exasperation.
"Or because you're discovering that your thief isn't quite the monster you wanted her to be? "