Chapter 26
Days pass. Nor and Avreen make infrequent appearances. Avreen doesn’t say much, but her anger seems duller, like she’s more wary of me than furious. I catch her watching me a few times, once from the top of the courtyard wall.
Nobody offers to take me back down to the village, and I don’t ask. I have no right to intrude on those people’s lives.
They’re right to view me as a monster. How many deaths are on my hands? I have to find a way to end this war. The Enchanted shouldn’t be dying for this.
Each day I break my morning fast with Roiven, then work on removing his enchantment.
Every time I summon the crystal from him it leaves me weak and shaking.
Nor quietly asks permission to join and learn.
I show them how to do it for Hevrin’s sake, but while Nor can sense the hum of the magic coming off Roiven, they have trouble getting it to listen and the feel of connecting to the power makes them faint cold on the floor, even before they try pulling on it.
Roiven insists they stop, but I give them enough instructions so they can try again later.
When I offer to alternate Hevrin and Roiven, Nor refuses.
“Without him, she won’t be safe. None of us will,” they tell me softly.
Maybe that’s why I no longer want to kill Roiven. Not because I hate him any less, but because I don’t want to watch this village fall to the sword.
I’m glad to take away Roiven’s pain rings, and his eyes look brighter after, his movements more graceful and the corners of his mouth softer. I don’t mind giving back his ability to run from me, either.
Next, though, are the marks that stop him from attacking the Empire. I hesitate, staring at the lines running down his right arm as Roiven sits shirtless on the edge of the bed in the room we’ve taken to using.
“If you got to keep living in your lands, would you negotiate?” I whisper as I run a finger down the lines and circles, intersecting pale, shiny scars where the pain rings used to sit.
Roiven’s arm twitches beneath my touch as the magic begins to hum bright blue.
His neck is stiff as he stares straight ahead of him.
“What do you offer?”
“Join the Empire. Bow before the God-Emperor in exchange for—”
“Fuck no,” Roiven says. He turns to look at me directly. My finger stops near his shoulder as our eyes meet. “That, I’ll never do.”
“People will die.”
“They’ll die if I surrender, too. Or do you really think your War-Father won’t just move on to the next land to conquer? It’s what that thing is, Cai.”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
Roiven raises his eyebrows.
“I saw it. I met it. When I was captured. I looked into that thing’s eyes and I heard it speak. Whatever’s left in that body…. humans aren’t witches, Cai. They aren’t supposed to live hundreds of years like we will.”
Like we will. Because I’m like him.
“Did you have to bring that up?” I grimace, jaw tight as pain barrels into me. With a sigh, Roiven reaches over and traces his finger across my forehead again. The pain softens, but not before a tear escapes my eye.
My breath hitches as Roiven catches my chin. The Witch King tilts it up, until my eyes meet his.
“I won’t surrender. If you want an end to this, join me. Bond with me and fight.”
Roiven said if he died, his dragon would be free to choose somebody else.
If I refuse, will he have Sava kill me so the kraken can choose somebody new?
A chill runs down my back, but I’ve spent my life fighting at the command of men.
I’m choosing my own battles from here on.
If I fight, it won’t be because he told me to.
“I can’t do that.”
“Then you still take their side,” he says coldly, and drops my chin. “You’d still rather destroy villages like this one, and kill the people in them, than…”
“No. That’s not what I said. I don’t want any more fighting.”
I grew up on Hellions. I’ve known sailors who were drafted onto ships when they just wanted to stay home, watched Enchanted who’d been consecrated led on board and then thrown over.
They’ve all died in Roiven’s storms and Sava’s flames.
And even those who were eager to kill witches, well…
so was I. I didn’t know witches. I only knew the lies we were told about them.
I can't blame Roiven for protecting these lands anymore. I know he had no choice. But can't I find a better way? Most of the Empire’s casualties aren't eager to be at war, and they die just the same as those who are.
There’s no good in killing every innocent on the Empire’s side just to atone for the deaths on Roiven’s.
“Bond with me,” Roiven urges. “There’s so much you don’t understand yet. I could—”
I shake my head.
“Let’s just get this part over with,” I tell him, and rip the lines of enchantment out through his skin before he can say anything more.
I sleep, and find Roiven gone. I exercise and I stare at the flowers and wonder why I was so quick to believe so many lies.
Then the fourth day dawns, warm and blue-skied, and I step outside my room to find Roiven waiting. The witch sits on top of the stone table in armor, his boots resting on one of the benches. Is he expecting combat?
As I open the door his eyes quickly find mine.
I’m wearing the pink dress again. I know it doesn’t suit me. I belong in armor, with grime on my face. I’m far too broken to look pretty, or to wear pretty things, but the dress is comfortable, and it feels nice to pretend I have a use other than killing.
Maybe it’s just dreaming, to think this war could end in any way other than bloodshed.
Roiven hasn’t brought a tray of food with him like he has been each morning. But he’s holding my sword. My gorgeous, gold-washed, grotesque, imperial sword.
It doesn’t look as beautiful as it used to.
“A report came. A pack of four Hellions have crossed into our lands, heading for the rest of their navy,” he says grimly.
I stop a few feet from him and fold my arms as I study him.
His leather armor covers his chest and shoulders, but his arms are mostly bare.
The black lines of remaining enchantment twine around pale white scars from the magic I’ve removed.
All the enchantment marks on his face are still there, restraining his ability to lie.
He’s still achingly handsome.
“How long do we have?”
“Days,” he says.
“They’re coming here?”
“No. The Gray Tower. It’s time I returned.”
Roiven stands up and hops down from the bench.
Another step, and he’s only inches in front of me, standing too close.
My heart jumps and I draw a ragged breath, feeling my face flush with unfamiliar heat.
Everytime I remove the enchantment my hands are pressed to his flesh, but that’s different; there's necessity involved.
There's no reason he needs to stand so close now. So close I can feel his heat and smell the stormy, smoky scent of his skin.
“Negotiate with me.” His voice is low.
“You’ve changed your mind?” My heart squeezes.
“Form a bond with me.”
“Roiven…”
He holds the sword between us, balanced on both hands. I reach for it, and Roiven’s fists close around the sheath, not letting me take it.
“Bond with me, and come with me to the tower. Not as a prisoner. I’ll give you your sword back. And… I’ll think about accepting a deal. One where we get to keep our lands.”
If it weren’t for the bond, my answer would be easy. And immediate. But it’s one thing to realize the witches aren’t evil, to realize I’ve been on the wrong side of this war.
It’s another to give in and accept one of their spells, after a lifetime of fear and hatred. Especially a spell that connects me to him.
“I need to think about it.”
“You don’t have long,” Roiven warns. “I need to leave soon.”
“Can’t you take me either way?” I don’t know how likely it is I can get Roiven to agree to a deal, or the War-Father to accept it. But if he goes to face the Hellions without me there, the odds drop quickly to zero.
“No. I won’t take you to the stronghold if you aren’t bonded to me.”
“You’ll leave me here?”
He shakes his head in a quick no, his expression tight.
“Avreen left for the Tower at dawn, and if you don’t bond, I can’t risk leaving you here without a guard. Savasaeirn will take you somewhere with enough food and water for you to survive.”
My cheeks heat. I can’t exactly say why. What does he think I’m going to do, destroy this entire mountain? He isn’t even going to give me my sword if I say no.
He’s trying to back me into a corner, and I think we both know it. Why does he want to bond so badly? Why not just kill me, now that the worst of the enchantment is gone?
“This bond. What will it do to me?”
“It’s a connection. We’ll know each other’s minds—”
“You want to read my thoughts?” I squawk. He quickly throws his hands up.
“No, not thoughts. Broad strokes. Emotions. It will mean we both know where the other is, and if they’re in danger… or causing it.”
I take a step back from him, my heart pounding. I can’t imagine giving him that big a view into myself. There will be no running for either of us if the other can feel where we are.
And yet. It doesn’t sound as bad as I could have expected. Certainly not as bad as the enchantment Harfor put on him.
“It won’t force me to obey you?” I ask quietly. Roiven’s jaw clenches tight.
“Witchcraft can’t be used to take away free will. Only enchantment does that.”
“Still. You’re asking me to give you power over me…”
“Bonds aren’t about control.”
“I’m pretty certain you can manipulate someone with emotion far more easily than you can with words.”
Roiven shakes his head, looking frustrated.
“It’s not about that. It’s trust, and connection. Just like I can’t command Savasaeirn, and she can’t force me. Just like you’ve chosen to push away your own bond.”
That sick, familiar feeling of loss squeezes around my heart.
“And if I want to break it…” I start. Roiven is already shaking his head before I’ve finished.
“A bond can grow stronger or weaker, but it can’t go away. Not once it’s been made.”