Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
ANDREIEN
I watched Anah dance for the fifth night in a row. Night was a loose term; she’d barely stopped dancing except to eat or collapse into our bed since I’d brought her home. I understood the anger spurring her, the fear, the rage, and the helplessness.
The need to exert utter control over something, if only this.
So I stepped back. We all did. I didn't intervene except to ask her if she wished to eat, or rest, or bathe. Or let me brush her hair or color her nails or rub creams into her skin—which she endured for my sake, a part of her still attuned to the bonding instincts driving my behavior.
Realms, I prayed to the Dark this lash would ease soon. I enjoyed taking care of her, but I wasn’t insane; I understood I was being overbearing. She endured me, as she always had, her thoughts on some distant stage while she submitted her body to my ministrations.
Her divided attention should annoy me, but I was practical. Once the rut eased I’d be happy she had something to occupy her time since my duties required focus. The last irritant I needed was a clingy bonded; we were in full agreement on that score.
And besides, her true master would always be ballet.
She allowed me to lead her into the kitchen where Con watched until she ate, allowed me to lead her to the bedroom and run her a hot bath or cold shower according to her preference, and after bundle her into bed for a few hours.
But only for a few hours.
Then she was up again, a slave to a whip wielded by no hand other than her own.
“It will run its course,” my mother advised on the third night. “Give her time.”
“But—”
“Give her time. She is facing a few undesirable truths, as well as pain. When intervention is desired, you will know.”
Anah looked up, finally noting where I stood in the shadows of the courtyard. Tonight, her gaze focused, hardened, the look in her eyes hauntingly familiar. The look of a warrior who’d just emerged from the battleground of their own mind after witnessing their first true war.
The look of lost innocence.
Stony, accepting, pained. Determined to find a way to live with it, incensed at the insult of being made to do so.
The male who loved her mourned; the High Lord accepted it with more pragmatism, and walked towards her. My mother had been correct. Anah was now ready to be talked off the plank of her own mind.
What would I tell her to offer comfort? Perhaps that because she wasn’t dead or disfunctionally insane she therefore was stronger. Our enemy was destroyed, his wealth confiscated and House Casakraine’s reputation strengthened.
A desirable outcome to any battle.
And I was old enough to know time healed most wounds, or at least scabbed them over enough to be set aside in the mental graveyard reserved for memories one didn’t care to let live.
I brushed her mind with mine. She accepted the merge, the edges of our awareness joining.
“When does it cease to be a joy and becomes a punishment, Lady Hasannah?” I asked, keeping the edge from my voice.
She gave me a humorless smile. “You don’t think I deserve punishment?”
“No.”
She stared at me.
I shrugged. “I am the law in Casakraine. And I say you have done nothing wrong.”
Exasperation bled into her expression. “Just because something is legal, doesn’t make it right. Human history is littered with examples of that,” she added under her breath. “Damn colonizers.”
I held her gaze. After a moment, she sighed, looking away. “It's all I have left of me someone hasn't taken,” she said. “And he tried to control that too.” Her mouth tightened, expression darkening, a new light in her eyes that wasn’t tears. “He did, for a time.”
I was nothing but a puppet dancing to the string of his magic.
“Do you think I’ve never faced an enemy who was stronger?” I spoke as gently as I could, controlling my impatience. “Do you think I’ve never failed? Never killed in vengeance for that failure? Very, very few of us escapes life without some kind of scar, Anah. Either the scars given us by others, or those we inflict.”
“So you’re telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself?”
“No.” I chose my words carefully. “I am telling you, you aren’t the monster. Were you. . .” I shrugged and gave her my sweetest smile. “Take comfort, I'm still the better one.”
She exhaled. “I feel empty, Andrei. I’m not dancing to punish myself. I'm dancing because it doesn't feel the same. There's something missing now.” The tears dampening her eyes stung me. “I feel selfish for saying I feel empty. I know I have you. I know I have Mathen and Constin and your luudthen. I know I have House Casakraine, in a fashion.”
“More than a fashion, Lady.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. This isn't about my support system. It's about what comes from within.” She looked down. “I don’t want to feel like this. Like the flavor has gone out of living.”
I sighed, relaxing, and stepped closer, enclosing her in my arms, tucking her head against my chest. “You're healing, Anah. It’ll take time. Did you think you could go through what you did and wake up the next morning and. . .go right back to the studio?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice.
“Of course you did. I forget to whom I speak.” I shook my head. “If dance is what you need, I certainly won't stop you. I have no right to stop you. But, please, don't use dance to punish yourself. If it comes to it, I’d rather you used me.”
She gave me a look, then lifted her hands, digging her fingers into my shirt. “What if I deserve the punishment?” Her expression hardened in a smooth, cold mask. “It wasn't rape, Andrei. Dartanyon didn't rape me. I executed him anyway.”
I didn't move, not to grimace or roll my eyes. Darkness, she was young. She believed what she was saying. I wouldn’t mock her for it. “What do you mean, Hasannah?”
“I don't think you understand how the power works for me. It only works because I believe it. Because I feel it. I controlled him, softened his will, used. . .myself. . .as bait. But I can only do that because I loved him. Because I wanted him. The succubus doesn't rise when those two emotions are absent. It—what happened between us wasn't rape. I used sex against him so I could kill him and get away. I’m just as guilty.”
I tightened my arms when she made to push away. If she wanted to escape me, I’d let her go—well, a few feet—but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted me to be another whip, and this I'd refuse. Not for Dartanyon.
“Hasannah. Look at me.”
She laughed, the sound broken and bitter. “You know, you all have been tiptoeing around me like I was a victim. And I wasn't. Dartanyon was.”
I waited until I could speak without anger. In her current state, even with our minds melding, she would mistake it for anger at her.
“Dartanyon tried to break you,” I said. “To take your life. To overpower your will. You responded with the weapons you had at hand, and you defeated him. He fucked around, Anah, and he found out.”
She stared at me.
I bared my teeth. “Would you find fault with an individual who defended themselves with a knife, or a gun?”
“. . .no.”
“And if they flattered and cajoled their abuser until in a position to flee, or until aid arrived? Would you tell them their chosen strategy, their act of self-defense, made them culpable to the crime committed against them?”
Her bottom lip turned down. “Of course not.”
“Then why do you hold yourself at fault? Even if in that moment your only weapon was to fall so deeply in love with him that our soulbond broke—” I lowered my head “—it would still be an act of self-defense against an aggressor. You did nothing wrong. You were wronged, not Dartanyon.”
I slid fingers under her chin, lifting her head so she couldn’t escape my gaze.
“You showed strength, strategic thinking, and ruthlessness. Everything I could wish for in my consort. I won’t allow you to denigrate yourself with guilt or self-loathing. Not over that piece of shit. You could seduce and kill him a hundred times over and we would all toast your victory. Each and every time.” I paused. “My mother is pleased.”
Her eyes widened. She sputtered. “Oh, well, in that case.”
“Yes. In that case. She can tell the Courts you killed the man who offended you, and you walked away without a bruise to mar your skin. She can tell them any others who try will meet the same fate, and she needn’t stir herself on your behalf. Don’t you understand, Anah?” I shook her, gently, though it was hard. “They have a reason to fear you now. To fear your threat, not mine, not the High Lord’s. Yours. You turned what would have been a humiliation into a demonstration of Sahakian-Casakraine power. You upheld our honor. Even Mia is. . .well, not impressed. But more convinced of your mettle.”
A long moment of silence. “And all I had to do was get a little murdery.”
I kissed her forehead. “Yes. And killing isn’t so bad, is it? Next time will be much easier.”
She looked up at me, her expression odd. “Jesus. I can’t make this stuff up.”
Her infant deity again. I had no idea what she meant, so I set it aside. “Will you come inside now? Rest?” I lowered my voice into a croon. “I have dark chocolate squares and blackberries to drizzle with that. . .male’s. . .honey.” The insult of him sending my bonded a personal gift still rankled. But we were supposed to be allies, so I couldn’t kill him without appearing rash. “And popped corn. All your favorite treats.”
Other than my cock—Mathen was wrong, I was her favorite—but she wasn’t ready to eat that yet.
Her lips curved, though her eyes remained shadowed. But it was enough for now. Enough that she gave me her hand and followed me into the living room and let us coddle her. Con let her braid his hair—I should cut it off, but he would only avenge himself, and we desperately needed a few quiet weeks. Math discussed a reasonable schedule with her while Philea demanded details on how Anah weaponized her nature against a Lord.
I listened to the recounting, pleased. She would grow into a threat of her own merit, and in such a way my mother was now firmly on Hasannah’s side rather than considering her quiet execution.
I smiled. Yes, next time will be much easier, my love. As easy as breathing.