Chapter 36 #3
“Of course. This is important, so we need to be properly equipped. We’ll need ropes, chains, shackles, collars, leashes, some paddle and a whipping cane—that one’s always fun—maybe some clamps, and some nice outfits to go with it.”
“Stop.”
“And I’ll get myself some recovery ointments, so all my holes are always fully prepared for every punishment session. Can’t go halfway with it.”
“Luna.”
“Come to think of it, two weeks are a bare minimum. I’ll also get more aphrodisiacs. For both of us.”
“I’m leaving.” He moved to stand.
Her hand caught his right arm. Not hard, not restraining. Just contact. “Alsen.”
He paused.
She looked up at him. The grin had softened into something smaller, more private. Still amused, still Luna, but with an almost malicious undercurrent that screamed got you. “I’ll have the menu ready to start tomorrow night. It’s your duty to the dragon, and really, the dragonkind itself.”
He rubbed his face with his palm. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossibly dedicated to ensuring you fulfill your diplomatic obligations.”
He slipped from her grasp. “I need to go before Arleria gets back.”
“Run along then.” Luna lay back on the bed, stretching with feline satisfaction. “Make sure to be well rested for tomorrow.”
He flew out through the window. A tactical retreat was the only option now.
The flight back to Arleria’s was quieter. He kept low, skimming the rooftops, staying below the sightlines of the main streets. Not that it mattered much. Anyone who’d seen him fly east twenty minutes ago would now see him fly west.
He landed in Arleria’s apartment back through the window, and sat in the padded chair. His arm settled into a slightly less agonizing position. The apartment was still empty.
He stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation.
He had walked into a bear trap without realizing. Now, he had to figure out a way to get out of it. Or how to dispel her curse, so he could go through it.
Arleria returned an hour later, carrying a satchel heavy with alchemical components. She found him in the chair where she’d left him, which seemed to count as a minor victory.
“The sling stayed on?” she asked.
“The sling stayed on.”
“Good.” She set the satchel down, shrugged off her shawl. Some of the morning’s sharpness had worn away, replaced by the quieter steadiness she usually carried. Shopping for components seemed to function as a restorative for her the way meditation functioned for him.
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked. “As an apology.”
She looked at him for a moment, scanning for the angle. When she didn’t find one, her expression softened. “You can.”
They spent the afternoon in a careful truce. Arleria examined both of Luna’s drug pouches, identifying the compounds. By her expression, she didn’t get much from the scans. In the end, those were just mixtures of herbs.
Arleria ran a treatment session through the rest of the afternoon, her pink light working through his forearm with renewed precision.
The session was longer than usual, her attention sharper, as if the morning’s revelation had reminded her how fragile her work was against Alsen’s capacity for self-sabotage.
When it ended, the arm hurt less. Not much, but enough to notice. Progress, however incremental.
By evening, they walked to the restaurant together. She picked a smaller place on a quiet street that Alsen had spotted during one of his flights over the city. Stone walls, candlelight, a menu chalked onto a slate board.
They ordered food that arrived hot and tasted better than it had any right to. Alsen kept the conversation away from drugs, spiritual planes, and anything that could reignite the morning’s argument. Arleria seemed happy with the arrangement.
Instead, they talked about magic. About her analysis methodology, the resonance scanning technique she’d developed over years of dungeon work.
He told her about the external energy manipulation skill he’d unlocked, and she leaned forward with the same intensity she’d shown the first time they met at the guild hall, when he’d commented on her mana-spectrum analysis.
He loved that, because she listened not just because he spoke, but also because she wanted to understand. Because she could understand.
They lingered over the meal. The candles burned lower.
The restaurant thinned out around them as other patrons finished and left.
They talked about the broader structures of magical theory, about the differences between what Arleria had learned through formal study and what Alsen had pieced together through decades of solitary experimentation with a mana pool so small it barely qualified as a puddle.
She held his gaze. The candlelight caught the edge of her jaw, the line of her neck where it met the collar of her dress. For moments, neither of them spoke, and the silence was comfortable.
He wanted to tell her about Luna’s punishment plan. The absurdity of it, the theatrical escalation, the militarized scheduling. Arleria would either find it horrifying or hilarious, and either reaction would make for a good story.
But his wiser parts told him to shut up. No use dragging Luna’s name into this evening.
They left the restaurant two hours before midnight.
The streets had emptied to their nighttime population, the drunks, the workers heading home from late shifts, the occasional stray cat conducting important business in an alley.
The air had cooled, carrying the faint smoky warmth that drifted from Verathras’s distant hoard.
They walked close, their shoulders nearly touching. At one point, Arleria’s hand brushed his, and neither of them pulled away.
The apartment was warm when they returned. Arleria lit two candles while Alsen settled back into the padded chair. The familiar equipment of his earlier sessions waited around him, the crystal rods, the vials, the cushion that his body had memorized.
Arleria changed behind the partition, emerging in her sleeping blouse. She paused by the bed, looking at him.
“Will you go dreamwalking again tonight?”
He studied her face for any trace of the morning’s anger. He found none. Resignation, perhaps. Or acceptance, the distinction between the two blurred by fatigue and candlelight. “I’d like to,” he said. “If that’s all right.”
“Kiss me for good luck?”
He stepped in, caught her by the waist, pulled her closer, leaned down, and closed his eyes.
She kissed him, making his mind go blank for a moment.
They made out for quite a while. She tasted of roses and peace.
When she finally detached, she blushed, rearranging her hair. “Anyway, good luck with the dream walk. Unless you want to do something else tonight.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, sat down, pulled the table closer, and started forming a line from the other pouch. That was the stronger drug, so it would allow him to stay in the magical planes for longer.
He had a pellicle to visit, and an archmage to talk to.