Chapter thirty-one
Chapter thirty
His lips and nose are in my hair, breathing me in deeply; we are at peace. I am almost flush against him, but he pulls me tighter still, lifting me like I weigh nothing. I fit neatly in his lap, as he sits on his throne,
My head is tucked into his shoulder, where his natural chill permeates through his shirt. As he smells me, I smell him. I like smelling him. He smells fresh. He smells like the word fierce . How someone can smell like a word, I can’t explain, but there it is.
I shift slightly, peeking around Aris. His servants stand dutifully, some smiling contentedly, happy to be in his presence. Others smile, too, but they look more like smirks. What they’re laughing at is me, I know; they think I am vapid and a little ridiculous. They’re right, and I am unoffended; I love being ridiculous.
I know how silly it is to sit in the lap of a king while he conducts court. But Aris likes me on him like this, and I like it, too. I like smelling him. I like his arms around me. What else matters?
With a final sniff, he pulls his nose from my hair, regarding the individual before him. “And?” says Aris. He tugs me closer, his hold like steel.
There is a man before us kneeling. I don’t know him or his purpose, and it is likely that he doesn’t have one; Aris just likes seeing people on their knees. And yet, the man is speaking. Reporting.
He’s reporting something about peace restored somewhere. I am uninterested. I don’t know why we should care. I know that there is a world beyond Aris, that there is more than me and him, but that is out there , and we are in here .
What I do care about is returning to our bedroom, Aris shoving me onto silk sheets, tearing my clothes off of me while nipping at my skin, thrusting in and out of me, the two of us becoming one with parting lips and rushing gasps.
That is the only thing I care about, but, for whatever reason, Aris likes this. Holding court, he calls it, where he flaunts me and shows them all that I’m his. I always sit placidly; I know I will get my attention later.
“Several leaders are requesting an audience,” continues the man. He is a sweaty, gaunt thing, with clothes that hardly fit. He looks simultaneously terrified and blessedly happy, the mix resulting in his mouth hanging open for too long, his speech delayed, his eyes fixed so wide that they’re all whites. “Jaegen has started—”
“Enough.”
The single word silences the man. Everyone listens to Aris—especially when he is angry.
I’m confused; I don’t know what upset him. I consider what the man said. People want to meet with Aris, and Jaegen is…
My brain stutters on that word: Jaegen. That… name? A thought forms, then unwinds, and soon I have no clue what I was trying to think about.
Shrugging, I snuggle into Aris’ side. He’s tense, which makes for an uncomfortable pillow, but I don’t mind. He will settle, soon enough. Once this man leaves.
What is it he’s even going on about?
“Apologies, Great One,” says the thin man, looking more terrified now. “I did not mean to offend.”
Aris sighs, and I rise and fall with his chest. “Yes, yes. Get to the point.”
There is a pause, and Aris goes taut.
“Say that out loud,” Aris orders.
“Of course…” The man pulls at his loose shirt nervously, unsure what to expect but unwilling to disobey. “There is a military unit coming in this direction.”
“Why did you not start with that?” Silva erupts from beside Aris’ throne. He sounds furious. “How far away are they? How many?”
A military unit, I think, twitching in surprise. Enemies coming.
I see Silva is pacing, angry and red-faced, but, then again, he is always angry. Ryan stands with his biceps bulging from the tight grip on his ax, the goth girl, Elizabeth, beside him. They are very familiar with one another. Both look a little tense .
The remaining crowd has a different reaction. In dark cloaks, they turn to those beside them, whispering so vehemently that their cowls fall back, revealing pasty, excited faces.
My eyes return to Aris, seeking his response to this news, but he is just stroking my hair. Unconcerned. Unafraid. I realize, suddenly: there’s no need to worry the way that Silva is worrying.
I nuzzle against him, breathing him in, basking in the feel of his hand on my head. I almost groan when his fingertips scratch my scalp.
“Let them come,” says Aris distractedly.
Another pause, this one longer, and then the same, thin man says, “As you wish.”
“Clear the room,” he says. He picks up a strand of my hair, inspects it for a moment, then resumes petting me. “Except for Ryan. You stay.”
The behemoth grunts in acquiescence.
Soon, footsteps and the sound of shuffling bodies fill the room as Aris’ servants obey his order. Soon, it is just the three of us in the hall, Ryan closer to us now. Though he is massive, his presence does not penetrate the space that exists for me and Aris alone. He stands as still as a suit of armor, perpendicular to Aris’ throne.
A fire crackles in the corner of the room, its mantle laden with trinkets and offerings: human eyes in a jar of formaldehyde, rat skulls painted with an oily sheen, glistening red and black gems, old, rare coins. Knives with dried blood layered so thick it looks like rust.
“Why do you want them here?” I ask.
He sighs, but not in annoyance; he does not mind if I challenge him, so long as it is earnest and within reason. I have reason: Why allow enemies into his home? He can handle them with ease, but why allow them in at all? It interferes with our time together.
“How long has it been since we left this place?” he murmurs, sticking his fingers through the holes in my lace sleeve, stroking the skin beneath.
I shiver in delight, murmuring, “I don’t remember.”
“Mm. For a while now, I’ve been busy with you.” I hear a smile in his voice, one that makes me grin. “Having fun with you. ”
“Lots of fun,” I agree.
“Because of that,” he continues with humor, “I’ve left the outside world alone.”
Time is a strange thing, one which largely evades my notice. Every day is the same, so it’s difficult to tell them apart. How long have I been here, I wonder, at peace with Aris? It’s almost impossible to say. Pointless, really, to consider.
“The humans of the world are curious about me,” he goes on. “Frightened. They want answers. Where have I been? What am I up to?”
I pause, wondering why he cares what they think.
“Humans are fickle and stupid. If I let them be any longer, they’ll do something drastic. Send armies. Explode my castle.” He continues stroking, playing with my sleeve. “And I like this castle. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I tell him.
“So, you see, I will allow them to bother us, if only to remind them how scary I am,” says Aris. He burrows his face in my neck, and, like this, he does not seem so frightening.
His smirk grows; he likes that silly thought.
We resume touching one another. Most of what we do is touch, but it never gets old. It doesn’t sour. Even the smallest of touches, the pad of a finger on a wrist, lights me up like a Christmas tree, until I’m panting and desperate just from my hand being held.
I feel no shame; it feels so right.
The only time I question things—what am I doing here? Why do his servants look at me unkindly?—are the rare moments when I’m not with Aris. I don’t like those moments—when I am showering and I stare at tile blankly, when I see myself in the mirror and feel nothing at all.
Aris presses me close, kissing my neck. I crane my head to give him better access, and he smirks against my skin before licking a cool trail up my jugular. His teeth, sharper than a human’s, pleasurably scrape against my dermis.
I shift, so worked up that I’m in discomfort. I need release and don’t want to wait for this military unit. Aris explained why he wants to confront them, but the reasons are unimportant in comparison to my needs .
He nips at my ear. “Later, Mary.”
He returns to my neck.
By the time the doors swing open, I’ve almost fallen asleep. My desire lays latent, dying embers needing fuel to burn. I want hard friction, but this is nice, too; I enjoy just being held. I enjoy the simple comfort.
He’s scratching my scalp perfectly. Every time another area needs itching, he shifts right to it and pets it in the best way. It’s heaven.
My eyes blink open slowly, relaxedly at the sound of heavy footsteps. The military unit must be here. Those people have guns. They are trained to kill and have come with hate and distrust in their hearts. And yet, I am unafraid. Aris would never let anything happen to me.
Indeed, Aris rumbles beneath me, voice simultaneously casual and threatening, “Do not come near us.”
The approaching footsteps stop at once.
There are about thirty of them, weighed down with armor and weaponry. Some have covered faces, others with features obscured by hats and sunglasses. They’re standing in a formation like geese flying south, with one, tall man in front of all the rest. Their leader? I can’t tell yet if they defer to him or not.
There is a pause, and then, “We appreciate you allowing us entry,” the man says. “We don’t want trouble.”
He is speaking for them. Yes, he must be their leader.
“No trouble,” Aris agrees, winking at me. I smile and lean back against him. I hadn’t realized I’d inched forward, that my interest was piqued.
The same one in front catches our interaction, his jaw setting. He begins, “Mary—”
Aris’ hand stills on my head, my scalp stinging as something sharp scrapes against it, as if his fingernails suddenly turned to claws. It hurts, a little; my eyes mist. “Do not speak to her,” he snaps. “Do not look at or even think of her.”
“Yes, of course,” the leader says quickly. “We are here only to negotiate, to converse. ”
There is a brief, tense moment where the claws stay out and Ryan shifts in anticipation. If Aris were to twitch, even the slightest, I’d be scalped.
Finally, Aris lets out a breathy laugh. When he presses down again, he has smooth, human fingers, and he resumes playing with my hair. The pain is already forgotten. His tone is playful when he says, “Negotiate, you claim. Elaborate.”
Aris already knows their purpose. He knows what he wants and what he will do with them. He is toying.
The leader begins again, more reluctantly, “We want to discuss peace terms on behalf of… essentially, the world.”
It is appropriate, what the man is saying. Aris is a powerful being, and everyone would die should he wish. The fate of the world is subject to the whims of the man holding me.
How interesting: I am partaking in a conversation concerning an entire world. I wonder how this is my life, then stutter at the thought.
My… life? Something stirs in me. What is my life?
Aris, most obviously. This place. That is it. But was there something else once? A man with blue eyes, a school—magic? It feels like I’m trying to remember a dream, one where I learned important things, but it stays just out of my grasp.
Frustrated, I look at Aris, thinking he might provide the answer to this sudden and elusive problem, but he is staring at the men. I focus back on them again, and soon don’t remember what was bothering me at all.
“You say peace, and yet you come here with weapons,” remarks Aris.
“We both know bullets won’t do anything,” says the leader, and Aris’ hand possessively flexes on my thigh. The man follows the movement and swallows. “It isn’t a threat to—”
“I told you not to speak about her.”
He bows his head. “Of course.”
I will admit that the guns make me a little nervous. I know I’m safe, but these people look capable, and angry. It would take only one bullet.
I glance at Ryan, who is scowling and creeping closer. Soon, his invincible mass will be in front of me. I’ll admit, the sight of him is a comfort. Nothing can kill him or Aris .
Impenetrable, invincible, immortal. They protect me because I am none of those things; I can die, and I don’t want that. I want to stay here.
My eyes return to the militiamen, who grip their guns tightly. Maybe if I’m friendly, they’ll put them down?
“What’s your name?” I ask, ignoring the irritated look Aris sends me.
The leader’s eyes dart between the two of us, obviously conflicted on what to do. On one hand, he was told not to address me. On the other, would it offend Aris even more to ignore me?
“She asked for your name,” Aris mutters grumpily.
“Riggs,” the man replies. “I’m a former Navy SEAL and worked for twenty years as a hostage negotiator. It’s good to meet you both.”
“‘Good to meet us?’ Don’t lie now, Riggs! You were doing so well.” Aris looks at me with a smile. “Now, Mary, isn’t a seal an animal?”
Riggs straightens. “It stands for—”
“I don’t actually care, and I believe we’ve gotten off track with pleasantries and talk of marine life.” Aris jostles me before nodding at Riggs. “You are here for a peace discussion, on behalf of the world. Get on with it.”
“Well, yes…” The man swallows. He looks like he had a script, one Aris refuses to stick to; he is pivoting and doesn’t know where to go next. He says, eventually, “My team and I have been asked to gauge your intentions. To barter, if we can. Are there requests you have, anything we could get for you?”
“Anything that I want, I get for myself,” Aris says, drumming his fingers on my thigh. “I would not receive anything from a human, and you know this. Speak plainly.”
Another brief silence. Weighted and awkward.
“You haven’t acted for the past six months,” Riggs says, voice strained. “If that means you’re willing to coexist, we can reach some kind of agreement.”
Coexist.
I stand slowly, Aris reluctantly letting me slip away. He lets out a faint sound to express his disagreement with the action, but he does not pull me back to him .
“Mary,” he says when I begin to approach the group, a warning in his voice. I ignore him, as I so rarely do, because there is something…
“What you’re doing…” My mind clouds, a memory, half of a memory, lingering on the edges of a scattered mind. “It won’t work,” I finally say.
Get out of here, idiots. Morons. You’re all going to die.
The rush of anger surprises me—enough that I stumble and almost miss the movement of one of the men raising his weapon, aiming it in my direction.
Fear overrides frustration, and I still halfway on my descent of the dais.
“She’s right there!” says the one with the gun. My eyes catch on the barrel and his hand on the trigger. “ Screw you, whore!”
The word—
Whore .
Why does it stun me? Why does it pierce me so cleanly?
Before I can respond or try to understand the escalating situation, he fires.
Aris is suddenly in front of me, catching the bullet inches from my heart. We share a look as he grips it between his index finger and thumb, face dark, and I know I’ll be in trouble later. I should not have gotten up; I should not have spoken at all.
Why did I?
What was it that caused me to act?
I don’t remember, and now Aris is frustrated with me. My face gets hot with anger and embarrassment. Why did I have to displease him?
Aris turns away from me, facing the men. He stares at them cooly, flicking the bullet off of his thumb. It shoots across the room, embedding itself in the wall behind the man who fired at me. Inches from his skull.
There is a single pause, and then, the guns turn to ash in the men’s hands. The one who fired becomes ash, too, with a final, gasping breath.
“You will all die now,” Aris states as Ryan comes forward to join the two of us .
“That was a mistake! He fired as a mistake!” says Riggs desperately, looking between the behemoth and the god. His men twitch behind him, their fingers flexing, yearning for weapons.
Aris raises a hand to halt Ryan. “He is mine,” Aris speaks.
Ryan stops abruptly. He stays back, but he is itching for a fight; his entire body is tense and pulsing, humongous arms itching to rip something apart.
“Unfortunately, you’ve worn out your welcome,” says Aris, returning his attention to Riggs.
“But we came to discuss—”
“Terms? Conditions?” Aris looks at me. “What do you think, Mary? They come speaking of peace, and yet they try to kill you. Unprovoked .”
My frown is enough of an answer, and, when Aris turns back around, Riggs has good enough instincts to predict what’s coming. He pulls a knife from his belt in a lightning-quick move and lunges at me, only to freeze midair.
Darkness descends in a flash, shadows darting from the corners of the room to Aris’ side, where they tremble, begging to be used. The skylight goes black, the sun covered, and I taste Aris in the air. His power is indescribable, a paralytic.
It isn’t until now that I understand how much he mutes himself around me. Maybe even for me.
When the shadows retreat back to their corners, the sun shining into the room once more, Riggs is the only one standing. His team litters the ground by virtue of white bones, as if decades of decomposition have passed. Aris walks closer to Riggs, crushing a skull beneath his heel. Riggs is still frozen with his hand raised, knife aimed in my direction, fear flashing in his eyes.
Aris’ hands drop to Riggs’ chin, and he promptly tear his jaw off.
With a spurt of blood and crunch of bone, the bottom half of the man’s face shoots across the room, splatting against the wall. But he isn’t yet dead. He falls to the ground, eyes wide, tongue flicking in his open mouth as he tries to plead, to speak.
Aris raises his foot again, this time higher, and brings it down, caving in what remains of Riggs’ head. Now, the man is still .
“Talks too much,” Aris murmurs unhappily, shaking gore off of his shoe.
The air still tastes of him—and there it is again, that word: Fierce .
I approach Aris hesitantly, mindful of the blood and bones on the ground. Undoubtedly, he senses my every move, but it’s only when I’m a foot away that he shoots me a cursory glance.
“It is not wise to be in my company right now,” says Aris.
“You’re angry with me.”
His eyes narrow. “Yes. You are mine and that was not your decision to make. I am cross with you.”
“Walking toward them?”
“Endangering yourself. Healing is one of my only shortcomings.”
“I’m sorry.” I raise my hand out, wanting to touch him, but he wounds me by turning away.
“Leave now,” Aris commands.
For a terrible moment, I think he’s speaking to me, but I let out a sigh of relief when I hear Ryan lumber past, exiting. Soon, he shuts the door behind him, and the two of us are alone.
I look at Aris as he turns his back to me to return to his throne. “Are you still angry?” The thought brings tears to my eyes. I can’t stand his anger. I want him to touch me again; I want to be touching him again.
Aris sighs, low and long, then opens his arms for my embrace.
Instantly, I grin, run up the steps, and jump toward him. He catches me cleverly, so none of the force from my rush stuns or impacts me. It is Aris whose head smacks against the back of his throne, but he doesn’t feel the pain and is just looking at me.
“Do you forgive me?” I ask.
His hand rises to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. “Yes,” he murmurs.
I smile, and he gives me a soft look in return. “I could have lost you,” says Aris. “My most precious.”
I stroke his cheek, and Aris nuzzles his face into my palm, mollified. “You will never lose me,” I tell him.
His eyes close. “Never. ”
The word is a promise. The sentiment is something I’ve always known—we will never be apart—but assurances are welcome. His certainty and power ground me when I feel like I’m floating away.
I look away from him for a moment, staring at the carnage on the ground, and I wonder why that man wanted to kill me. I did nothing to him, but he was furious. He looked insulted by the very sight of me.
The thought makes me almost… sad, but I don’t know why.
Suddenly, a shadow moves in the corner, and I sit up straighter. Aris’ hold tightens around me, his eyes opening from the movement.
“What a mess,” a woman murmurs, the words echoing around the chamber, bouncing off the walls.
There is something about this voice that prickles my skin and makes my brain buzz and bubble. My blood is the rat; she is the piper. I look away from Aris and scan the hall, eyes skipping over the blood and bones as I seek out the speaker.
Aris shifts, irritated. “I said to leave us be,” he grunts. “Go. Now.”
But the stranger disobeys.
She steps into the light, revealing an ethereal face and a voluptuous, full body. Dark, ringlet curls fall to the floor and trail behind her as she prowls forward. Her bright purple eyes, framed by thick, black lashes, are fixed on the two of us, the look in them complimenting her small smile. Her skin is tan and flawless, coated in thin, golden chains that catch in the sunlight and enhance her already otherworldly beauty. She wears a long gown that shimmers, as if woven with liquid silver, with gemstones and trinkets woven into it—I see a locket and a brass key covered over by sheer, metallic netting.
Unwittingly, I lean forward in Aris’ lap, wanting instinctively to be closer to her. Why do I feel like I know this woman?
Or, like I should know her?
I’m so enamored that I hardly notice how still Aris goes beneath me .
“I’m afraid you can’t order me,” she says. Her plump, lilac lips, coated with a silver sheen, curve higher.
Aris lurches forward in sudden animation, and I barely make it to my feet as he lurches toward her, taking the stairs two at a time, demanding with incredulity and rage, “ Sem ? ”