Chapter 19
Torin
“That’s not dream walking,” the Bondsmith stated in a dry voice, her curly blonde head propped up against one of her fists as she leaned against the plush arm of her chair.
She, like Peytor, took kindly to the months of recovery and respite.
Her hair had strengthened, the gold a vibrant hue once again, the patch of baldness from the strands I ripped from her scalp no longer visible.
The skin around her eyes that had peeled away with the blindfold when I pulled it from her face was pink and shiny, but healing.
The Bondsmith had waved my concerns away on multiple occasions whenever I tried to discuss her time imprisoned by the Matriarch and apologize for my role in her capture and containment.
Her lack of reaction was alarming, and I’d had her watched closely for signs of mental and emotional distress.
That was until she barked at me that I had “no idea” the “horrors” she experienced at the hands of her siblings and to “please leave her the fuck alone.”
Ever since that day, I’d given the Bondsmith a separate room in Lord d’Leocopus’ manor, away from prying eyes and ears.
The rebellion knew we’d taken one of the Matriarch’s prisoners with us, but I refused to tell them her true identity—the last thing she needed was wide-eyed sycophants begging for healing and professing undying love at all hours of the day.
I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t actually hex them inadvertently with some sort of rune no one knew about.
“Not dream walking?” I replied, puzzled, as the Bondsmith shook her head.
“Nope.” She seemed completely nonplussed by the revelation I brought to her.
“Then what is it?” I asked, and the Bondsmith rolled her eyes.
What a human expression for a goddess.
“You’re not asking the right question,” she admonished with a flick of her wrist. The Bondsmith unfolded herself from the chair, striding on bare feet to the far wall where a loaded bar cart stood.
The room, like every other room in the d’Leocopus manor, was decorated with a particular ostentatious gaudiness.
The crown molding was painted gold, the walls a deep blood-red.
Even the furniture was overstuffed, the fabric a heavy velvet that matched the walls and curtains.
Each of the bedrooms in the manor was one large space, a long couch acting as a divider between the formal sitting area and the sleeping area.
The Bondsmith’s bed was overly large, full of red and gold brocade pillows, and it looked like it hadn’t been slept in. Maybe ever.
“Such interesting taste in design, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice devoid of emotion. The Bondsmith often talked like that, and it made it difficult to ascertain when she was joking and when she was completely serious.
So unnerving.
She took a small sip from her nearly full whiskey glass, the amber liquid sparkling in the sunlight, before resuming her position in the armchair.
The Bondsmith wore simple pants and a shirt, blending in with the thousands of rebels we’d brought with us to Lishahl.
I watched as she tucked her feet—her muddy, dirty feet—under herself.
Her movements reminded me of a cat, and I narrowed my eyes at her feet.
“You’ve been walking outside.” It came out more of an accusation than I intended, but the Bondsmith barely raised her eyebrows, her expression one of wry disbelief.
“Am I a prisoner?” she questioned dryly, and when I shook my head, she simply shrugged her shoulders. “Then there is your answer, Lord of Iluul.”
I sighed, running a hand through my blond hair.
“You’re more unruffled than I’ve seen you,” she remarked, taking another healthy sip of her whiskey, bright-green eyes trained on me.
I barked a dry laugh.
“You’re avoiding my question,” I countered.
“No”—she tilted her head at me—“I said you’re asking the wrong question. Try again.”
“Where am I dream walking?” I tried, and the Bondsmith jutted out her bottom lip, moving her head side to side as if considering my inquiry.
“That is better. Not great nor really the question you should be asking, but better.”
“Are you going to answer it?” My nails bit into my palms as I gritted my teeth, frustrated and tired.
Were all gods this . . . annoying? My thoughts instantly flicked to Fate, and I stifled a groan.
“Sit”—the Bondsmith gestured to the couch—“and I will tell you a story.”
Reluctantly, I sank onto the edge of the couch.
“The gods once walked Elyria, free and without burden. They each mated with a human and created descendants—mortals who possessed the same powers as their sires. These became Solace’s and Kaos’ direct lines—the Matriarchs of the Keepers and the Patriarchs of the Truthsayers.
A Matriarch was always paired with a Patriarch—one to give visions of the future and the other to weed through the mess of images to discern the truth.
Balance”—she paused to take another sip of whiskey—“the humans worshiped the gods and, by default, trusted their direct descendants implicitly. But the gods grew jealous, wanting human affection for just themselves. The Sundering started because of their wrath, and they plunged Elyria into chaos and death for years. Eventually, Fate imprisoned Solace and Kaos on Meru, the home of the gods. No one can visit there except those with a god’s blood.
Blood is the most powerful and ancient magic, after all. ”
The Bondsmith ended her tale suddenly, her voice abruptly cutting off, and I frowned in concentration.
Her cheeks were flushed and sadness and anger flashed across her face before she schooled her expression once more.
For a while, I simply sat in silence, absorbing the Bondsmith’s story, and I became certain there was more to her tale than just the surface-level information she provided.
At some point during her tale, I’d sunk back against the couch as I let her words wash over me. Something about her tale seemed so familiar, yet wrong at the same time—like it was incomplete, missing vital information.
“There’s more you’re not telling me,” I hazard a guess, and was surprised when the Bondsmith’s eyes grew soft and distant.
“There’s much I cannot say as it is not my tale to tell. Nor am I able to tell it,” she answered cryptically, and I sighed, exhaustion weighing heavy on my mind.
“The answers you seek to the questions you have are within that story. You just need to know the questions to ask,” she added quietly.
“I am sorry I cannot be more help. Back when I was much younger, I made a bargain and am unable to speak of certain things. There are always loopholes to these deals, but this one is fairly ironclad.”
My lips thinned at the sadness in her voice.
“Was it worth it?” I asked, surprised by my own question. If the Bondsmith was intrigued by my interest, she masked it well.
“It was,” she whispered.
We sat in silence then, each lost to our own thoughts.
“Is it possible to pull someone into . . . Meru with me?” I hedged a bet that the dream walking I thought I was doing was actually a variation of my body—corporeal or otherwise—visiting the home of the gods.
But why?
The smile that lit her face was like the force of a thousand suns.
“I knew you’d be intelligent. My Faylinn would like you, if given the chance,” she said as her smile dimmed a notch at the mention of Faylinn.
Faylinn? From the village? My eyes widened in sudden understanding, and the Bondsmith’s smile turned sad.
“There are many sins I have to atone for, none heavier than what I owe my daughter,” she explained, and I blanched.
“Faylinn is a key to this puzzle.” It wasn’t a question, but something I knew with utter conviction.
Of course she’s important—the Matriarch wanted her for a reason.
Suddenly, I shook with energy, a thousand thoughts whirring through my mind.
“Yes, it is possible,” the Bondsmith stated, drawing me from my spiraling thoughts. “You would simply need to tether your soul to whoever you wanted to bring with you.”
She said it so simply, but something about it filled me with dread.
“Tether my . . . soul? Like a Bond?”
The Bondsmith shook her head. “In a way, but not the type of Bonds you’re thinking. No, a tether is more of a string that connects one soul to another. Almost like a leash. Each side can yank on it and pull the other’s soul into their mind.”
“Sounds . . . dangerous.” I wrinkled my nose slightly, thinking of the horrific things a tether could do if given the chance.
The Bondsmith cackled loudly. “Oh, you have no idea, Lord d’Eshu.”
I chewed my lip in thought. “You can create the tether.”
She stopped laughing and sighed, twirling the empty glass between her palms. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can create the tether.”
“But?”
“But it comes with a cost. As do all actions of a goddess.”
“I’ll pay anything.”
“I imagine you would, Lord d’Eshu. We would do anything for what we love.
I suppose the gods and mortals are similar in that way,” her voice was soft and distant again.
“You have to know that whoever you tether is bound to you for life. There is no removing a tether—your soul is tied to their soul for eternity.”
Her gaze bored into my own, and I pulled at the edge of my collar as I grew uncomfortable.
“What happens if one of us dies?”
“The ghost’s soul will remain on this plane until the other passes. Unable to communicate, unable to interact, doomed to pine their soul’s craving until the other eventually dies.”
“That sounds . . .”
“Harsh? Barbaric?” The Bondsmith barked another laugh.
I rubbed a hand over my beard, thinking of Peytor.
Could I doom him to that fate?
“I’ll do it.”
I jumped at the voice that interrupted our conversation and saw the Bondsmith try to hide a smile.
“How long have you been listening?” I barked as I saw Peytor step into my line of sight. He must have hovered in the doorway while the Bondsmith roped me in with her tale of the gods and Meru.
Peytor shrugged. “Long enough. And I’ll do it.”
“Even if you’re a ghost for years? Lonely and unable to speak to me or anyone else?”
Peytor nodded his head once.
“What if I’m fucking your sister and you’re forced to watch? What then?”
Peytor wrinkled his nose in disgust before turning to the Bondsmith. “Can I close my ghostly eyes and ears?”
Her laugh was loud and echoed through the space. “I don’t think I’ve had this much humor in my life since I met my husband. But yes, Peytor. There are ways to turn off your ‘ghostly eyes and ears.’” She chortled again, and Peytor grinned at me.
“Then I’m in. Let’s do it.”
I gaped at him, touched by his loyalty and conviction.
“I have my own cost as well, Lord d’Eshu,” the Bondsmith said, pulling me from my thoughts.
I raised my eyebrows at her to continue.
“When you get to the Academy, I need you to seek out my daughter. She is important to all of this and will be an invaluable help to you as you attempt to rescue Ellowyn.”
“Do the gods know everything?” I muttered, and she smiled slyly at me, a sharp intelligence in her gaze.
“Only those that are fathered by Fate.”
I filed that information away to dissect later—there was much more to the Bondsmith than reached the eye.
“Do we have an agreement?”
I looked at Peytor once more, only seeing conviction in his eyes, before I nodded my head. “We do.”
I felt something coil around my soul, a small thread binding me to the goddess in the chair across from me.
“The bargain is struck,” she said simply with a shrug of her shoulders. “You’ll know when and how to complete your end of it. The bargain will pull you to the right place at the right time. It’s all quite easy, actually.”
I sighed as I rubbed my hands down my face.
“Fucking gods,” I muttered, much to the Bondsmith’s amusement.
“Indeed, Lord d’Eshu. Now, shall I fulfill my end of the bargain?”
I pushed up from the couch and clapped Peytor on the shoulder before answering her.
“Yes, Bondsmith. Create my tether.”