16. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
“ N ow, when I hand this to you, you will touch it to the band. Don’t exert force or push too hard.” The jewelry smith demonstrated by pressing the thin rod to the gap. “Make haste, as you do. It’s quite hot.”
Sainte sat with a chain wrapped around his neck. Two fingers fit between his throat and the metal links, but it was tight enough that removal would be impossible. A matching set of lynx heads adorned the ends, their mouths frozen in a silent hiss. Between their teeth lay a single silver loop with a gap in the center. Once it was filled, the chain would be sealed forever.
A thick leather strip shielded his neck and chest from the molten silver I prepared to apply.
I took a deep breath as the jeweler heated the metal in a small kiln, its end burning with a heated orange glow. Sainte’s battered face remained emotionless—the left side was a swollen, bruised mess. A sickening tightness churned in my gut as I examined his injuries, imagining the countless gashes and fresh wounds from the flogging.
Its power felt terrible, like a dark beast born from fear. It started small, with Adastrus’ cold gaze—the dread he instilled gave it breath. His abuse, forcing me to punish Sainte, fed the creature. The worst of it, the act that turned it into a monster, was my brother beating Sainte to torment me.
Now, that monstrous feeling coiled inside, angry and helpless and bitter.
“Are you ready?” the jeweler asked.
I chewed my lip, peering at Sainte below my lashes. “Are you sure?” I whispered.
He held my gaze and gave the smallest of nods. I tried to smile, but my nerves made it impossible. It wavered, then fell away. I stood on the brink of taking a man’s life, future, and freedom .
“Make haste.”
My movements were careful as I grasped the small rod, its end glowing with molten metal. Sainte sat straighter, and I hesitated.
Could I do this to him?
He already gave so much to me. I never asked for this. As a child, he offered hope and a glimmer of happiness in an otherwise dull world. Sainte was always there, my star in the night sky, constant despite clouds or circumstances.
“Princess—”
I took a sharp breath as he pushed his chest to me.
“—this is my choice.”
My teeth sank deeper into my lip at those words. Hand trembling, I eased it forward and dabbed the glowing metal to the band.
“Here now,” the jeweler said.
I handed over the small rod, watching as the silver cooled before my eyes, turning a sooty black.
“Once it cools, you are free to go to Togamar’s temple,” he added, cleaning his workstation.
“Togamar? Goddess of Healing?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Sainte pulled the leather away from his neck. The chain clinked against his collarbone, firmly in place. I admired it—a small thing to bear for such a heavy weight of loyalty.
“Can’t we use Gilead?” I asked, assuming the jeweler mentioned the temple for Sainte’s sake.
“When we return, we can see her,” Sainte grunted, standing stiffly, “if you would like.”
“For your sake, I would,” I replied, skimming the empty shop. “But why do we need to go to the temple?”
“To finish the velebond.”
“Oh.” My voice carried a hint of surprise, though my expression remained neutral.
I assumed the bond was complete. No one told me there were additional steps. Anderz instructed me on how to ask for the Valahant, and demand the velebond, which I recognized as a type of necklace.
Apparently, crucial details were omitted.
We walked in silence through Wynterborne’s quiet streets. I matched his gait as he endeavored to mask a visible limp. People observed us with unabashed interest, acknowledging my presence with nods or graceful curtsies. No one approached, and most maintained a respectful distance as we passed by.
He flinched at a wrong movement and sucked in a hissing breath.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Anderz warned you–”
“You said it would be harsh. I thought you were speaking metaphorically, not literally,” I grumbled.
“Would that have swayed your decision?” he asked, scrutinizing my expression.
I returned his gaze with a furrowed brow. “Perhaps.”
“Hmm,” he grunted, limping forward.
“I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you, Sainte. It wasn’t easy for me either,” I confessed, anxiously twisting the folds of my dress. “I didn’t know what to do, or how to make it stop. And I hate it. I wish I could’ve–”
“Elspeth.” He stopped me, flinching when he tried to press his lips together. “Princess, you did what needed to be done. I knew what would happen. I was ready for it.”
With a scoff, I turned on my heel, continuing without him. His readiness to endure abuse didn’t mean I was fine with standing by and letting it happen. “You could’ve worn a steel plate beneath your tunic or something,” I muttered. “Prepare better next time.”
“Yes, Princess,” he replied, tone light.
I side-eyed him and scoffed, a small smile gracing my face for the first time since I approached Adastrus that morning.
He guided me through the streets, creating the illusion that we walked side by side rather than him leading the way. The slush underfoot squelched with every stride.
Our path took us down a broad street, spacious enough for several wagons. The road had been cleared of snow, unveiling the intricate patterns etched into the wet cobblestones. Few travelers ventured down its length, lending an essence of solitude to the scene. Large temples flanked our path, the ancient architecture casting long shadows in the fading light. The faint, rich scent of incense drifted along the breeze, blending with the crisp winter air. Ahead, a statue snared my notice. A girl with flowing hair, frozen in a spin within a shallow pool of ice.
Nellie.
“Suiting that you take note of that temple,” Sainte commented.
My gaze wandered over the structures, each adorned in intricate designs, possessing an ornate, distinct style. “You said she marked me as chosen. What does that mean?” I asked, pulling my cloak tighter to ward off the chill.
“The priests fashioned those circles using melted frost. They chanted their incantations over it and waited,” he explained. “It’s been observed in past rites that one combatant might endure longer than the other,” he broke off with a hiss, clutching his side for a moment before resuming his stride as if unaffected, “but only a few instances are documented with Nellium’s design within the ring. To her followers, her touch upon your ring signified you were chosen by the gods.”
“Or Nellie simply thought it was pretty.”
Sainte turned to study me, prompting me to clear my throat and glance down at the damp pavers. As if sensing my hesitation, he refrained from probing further.
As we neared, our pace slowed, bringing us to a temple hosting a statue of a woman in its courtyard. The statue portrayed a tall figure, clad in a flowing apron dress with pockets brimming with flowers and herbs. Atop her head sat a scarf, caught in an invisible breeze. Her gaze was fixed upwards, her expression filled with wonder and curiosity. One hand held the scarf in place against the wind, while the other gripped a sickle and a handful of freshly harvested herbs.
“The Temple of Togamar.” Sainte unlatched the clasp on the small iron gate. The metal squeaked as he eased the way open.
“She seems nice,” I said, stepping into the courtyard.
I ascended the steps alongside Sainte. Priests and priestesses wearing thick green wool nodded in acknowledgment as they moved about. This place seemed more active than the others I had visited, with a larger number of clergy present.
“Our Lost Princess!” a raspy voice greeted.
I offered a warm smile to the elderly woman, her gray hair peeking from beneath a vibrant green scarf. Despite her cloudy blue eyes, she observed me with a keen gaze that seemed to take in every detail. I curtsied to her, as I felt I should, and she laughed, delighted.
“She, who would rule, bows to me!”
A priest with dark hair approached her and gently quieted her. “Hush, Edne,” he murmured, placing a comforting hand on her shoulders. His irises, a striking emerald hue, sparkled with warmth as he smiled. “Not everyone holds the same sentiment,” he explained.
As I glanced around, I noticed a mix of reactions among those present. Some greeted us with warm smiles, their eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine welcome. On the other hand, a few wore furrowed brows, their disapproval evident in their tense expressions and clipped movements.
“Are you here for your wounds?” the man asked, reaching out to examine Sainte’s cheek.
Sainte pulled away before his touch could land and looked at me expectantly.
“I’ve taken him as my Valahant,” I said, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “We just sealed the velebond. ”
“Dead chain isn’t the velebond, my dear,” the old woman, Edne, remarked with a grin, her wrinkles deepening with the gesture. Despite missing several teeth, her smile remained radiant and welcoming.
I stole a glance at Sainte for help. He inclined his head to Edne, ignoring me.
“We have not had a royal take a Valahant in generations,” the priest said softly.
“Even I’ve never seen a velebond!” She spoke around her cackling laughter. “What a blessing! Togamar foretold that I would live to see this day.”
“Edne will show you to the chamber. She’s the oldest that has been schooled in the ritual,” he said with a nod, then hurried off, calling out to another priestess.
“Ritual?” I asked.
Sainte didn’t meet my eyes—definitely ignoring me.
“This way, Princess,” Edne beckoned, her voice echoing in the temple’s vastness.
With a turn, she hobbled through the ancient corridors, her weathered walking stick tapping against the mosaic floor. We trailed behind, drawn to the warmth emanating from the open doors ahead, leading us deeper into the temple’s heart.
My questions caught in my throat as she struggled down the worn stone steps. The staircase descended into a dimly lit cavern, bathed in a mystical blue glow that danced across the rough-hewn walls.
“Need a hand?” I offered, wincing as she faltered, her fingers clinging to the railing for support.
“Oh, if I fall down these stairs, I will gladly meet my death.”
I froze, horrified.
“Togamar has blessed my life indeed by bringing you to see me in my last days,” she continued.
“I should help you.” I stepped in front of Sainte and placed her hand on the crook of my elbow, our steps measured and deliberate as we descended the ancient staircase.
“She told me you would be fire and honey,” she remarked, joy lightening her tone. “Fire to purify the wound. Honey to soothe it.”
“How… how does she talk to you?” I asked, forming my words with an air of caution.
“I dream of her,” Edne stated, nodding along.
My shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, a dream,” I murmured.
Her thin hand tightened to a bruising grip, and I yelped. Her cloudy blue eyes were deathly serious as she pulled me down to her hunched height. “Some dreams,” she said, her voice eerily calm, “are not merely dreams, but messages from the gods. ”
I searched her gaze, unsure how to respond. Then she released me and descended the last of the stairs without my support. She hummed as she went, as if she hadn’t just pulled me down with a strength beyond her years to warn me. At least it seemed like a warning.
“Couldn’t have helped there?” I hissed, leaning close to Sainte. “You’re supposed to be my protector now.”
“Protect you from the little old priestess?” he asked, lifting a single eyebrow.
At the base of the stairs, the room opened into a vast natural cave beneath the temple. Dark yet warm, it featured a few lanterns along the rough stone walls. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, and the soft sound of dripping water echoed through the cavern.
At the center, a pool radiated an unearthly blue light. Its surface shimmered, casting delicate reflections, creating an ethereal atmosphere. I had seen clear shores before, but this was unique. Its glow was self-sustained, needing no sunlight to reveal its mesmerizing color.
I doubted it was safe.
Edne made her way to the shallow end of the pool, leaning on her cane as we trailed behind, her figure silhouetted against the radiance. I crouched beside her, peering into the depths. This close, it was clear the water itself wasn’t emitting the light, but something along the bottom—a strange, luminescent plant or… creature.
My nose wrinkled with dread. “Don’t tell me we have to drink it.”
“Oh, no dear!” Her mouth spread into a mirthful grin. “You two must bathe in it!”
I lost my balance and fell on my rear, gawking at the woman. She peered down at me, a twinkle in her eye. I glanced at Sainte, who promptly averted his gaze.
“You knew!”
“Here come the apprentices with the gowns,” Edne said.
I stood, brushing off my cloak. Several young people descended the stairs, led by an older priestess holding a lantern. They came with a hum of excitement, but a seriousness that indicated the gravity of the moment.
I cringed when a girl approached me, extending her arms.
“May I hold your garments, Princess?” she asked.
Her little face was so hopeful, and I dreaded disappointing her. Sainte was removing his tunic while a boy waited on him, features etched with awe.
“Sainte,” I hissed between my teeth.
It was one thing to get undressed in front of women, to lie naked in a bed, concealed by blankets and furs. But disrobing before an audience? That was too much .
His eyes found mine as he struggled out of his tunic, wincing from the pain of his bruises. He paused, studying me for a moment, trying to discern what could be wrong. Then realization dawned. “A robe,” he said.
A little girl ran up to him, offering a swath of thin white cloth. He accepted it with a nod and stepped closer to me. Spreading it wide, he held it out, a feeble wall of privacy.
“They study the body. Nudity is simply baring their canvas to heal,” he said, as if that was his reasoning for stripping before a meager crowd.
“Feel free to bare your goods,” I mumbled, unclasping my cloak behind the relative safety he provided. “But I’ll keep mine covered, if you don’t mind.”
When I held the garment out, a small hand grabbed it with a giggle. I hurried to undress. After the last of my things passed the fabric, the young priestess offered a silken white shift.
I stared at it, shook it out, then examined it again. “I’m bathing in this?”
“You’ll be covered,” Sainte said.
A slight strain edged his words, and I realized it must be taking a toll on him to hold the robe up for so long.
“This doesn’t cover any more than a bride’s veil!” I growled, pulling on the simple gown. The fabric sent a chill through me as it touched my skin. I crossed my arms over my chest and cursed in four languages.
Slowly, Sainte lowered the cover. His gaze traveled from my hair, down my frame, to my toes peeking out from beneath the hem. A faint smile flickered on his lips before he cleared his throat and turned, passing the robe to a small boy.
As Sainte openly disrobed, I wandered over to Edne, who watched us with a knowing grin.
“Have you led a velebond ritual before?” I asked, crouching to test the pool. It was surprisingly warm, and I jerked my hand away before dipping my fingertips back in.
“Never.”
“You’ve seen it done then?” I swirled my fingers in the liquid. It felt like water, but thicker. The trail I left along the surface lingered longer than it would in a drinking well.
“Nay.”
I looked up at her with a frown. “Have your teachers ever completed it?”
“No.”
Was this tradition so ancient that no living person witnessed it? My father never had a Valahant, but I assumed it wasn’t so far removed from history for Anderz to recommend it.
I pushed to stand, glaring at her mirthful countenance. “I assume, then, that you have records of this that you’ll be following? ”
“The velebond is not documented, because there are no established rules. The Valahant creates them.”
“Can I say I don’t want to get in?”
She chuckled and wagged her finger at me. “Dear princess, you will follow your Valahant until he chooses to let you lead.”
I scrunched up my face in a grimace. What was that supposed to mean?
Splashing sounds made me turn, and I choked on a breath. Sainte stepped into the pool wearing naught but thin silken trousers. The water’s glow illuminated the dark, angry wounds on his back and chest. My jaw clenched, memorizing every painful mark on his skin.
That monster within coiled tighter.
Sainte extended his hand to me, and I regarded the liquid with caution. The glowing things at the bottom swayed, moved by an unseen current. He seemed unfazed as he strode over them. In fact, they flared brighter beneath his feet.
Perhaps that was their self-defense.
Squashed by something? Glow brighter.
“Princess.”
I blinked, then, with a dramatic sigh, took his hand and eased into the pool.
I should have taken a piss before all this.
Shoving that thought aside, I pushed at my gown as it threatened to balloon around me. Sainte was patient, waiting with a stoic expression, and I glared at him in return.
He guided me to the center, where the warm water enveloped us, its gentle ripples lapping at my chest. I clung to him as my body threatened to float in a way I couldn’t control.
“I can’t swim.” My nails dug into his skin like tiny anchors.
He spun me to face away from him. “I remember.”
“Well, don’t let me drown this time,” I hissed.
The priests and priestesses encircled the shimmering pool, interlocked as a barrier of unity. Even Edne, usually reliant on her cane, clasped the hands of two young girls, forming an unbroken chain.
“Trust me,” Sainte whispered in my ear.
“I do–”
He dropped his weight, drawing me under the water with him. Panic surged through me, my heart pounding as I struggled against his hold. My limbs flailed, though he didn’t keep me submerged for long. We rose, and I gasped for air as his arms wrapped around my middle, holding me to his chest.
“Trust me, Elspeth.”
“Trust you?! You just– ”
Once more, he dragged me beneath the surface, and a string of curses spewed, muffled by the water. I thrashed my legs, aiming for a solid strike to his nether regions.
He resurfaced, bringing me with him, and I sucked in greedy lungfuls of air.
“Sainte, please!” I begged, my voice tinged with desperation.
At that moment, the crowd’s presence faded to insignificance. My heart thudded in my chest, a relentless drumbeat of terror. I didn’t want to drown. The water closed in around me, each passing second a cruel reminder of my vulnerability.
“Deep breath.”
I listened, sucking in a huge mouthful just before he submerged us. His weight pressed against my back, his arms encircling my chest, securing me in a tight embrace. My fingers dug into his skin as I trembled, panic coiling. Right as I was about to flail and demand release, he pushed upward. We broke the surface, and I gasped for air, blinking to clear the water from my eyes.
His touch glided along my arms, intertwining his fingers with mine. A shiver of warmth slid across my skin. The gentle hum of a melody reached my ears, drawing my gaze to the priests. Their features relaxed in serene concentration as they swayed in unison, their clasped hands creating a tangible bond of unity and peace.
“Elspeth–”
“What?”
Sainte stepped, pulling me with him, and I stumbled, gripping his fingers awkwardly.
“Move with me.”
His warm breath grazed my skin, sending a tingle down my spine. The closeness of his body became overpowering. His chest pressed close, our arms entwined. Our hips nestled against each other, and his leg hooked around mine, drawing me closer.
Stepping again, I mirrored the movement. A low rumble of approval escaped him, eliciting a delightful tightness low in my belly. His arm moved in a gentle motion, and I followed his lead, in sync with him.
I wondered if this was what those fancy ballroom dances were like. Sensing his subtle cues, I flowed with his movements rather than being directed or coerced. We spun together in a fluid dance, synchronized to the haunting melody crafted by the priests.
As time stretched, I began to grasp the ritual and the importance of moving as one. He was mine now, but more than that, I was his—in ways beyond his comprehension. I was his to safeguard, his to embrace and cherish. He served as my guardian, a shield and sword at my side .
We moved together, a seamless melding that blurred the lines of who led and who followed. As we glided through the water, the plants on the pool’s floor radiated a vibrant spectacle, glowing brighter with each graceful step.
As the song crescendoed, our pace quickened. Sainte’s movements became swifter, and I anticipated each step, moving in harmony. He mirrored me, without constraint or hindrance or confinement.
We were one.
He propelled me away, and a gasp escaped as our connection broke. The intensity of the moment dissipated with the priests’ final note, and Sainte drew me back into his embrace, tucking me against his chest. His breaths were ragged, as though he just finished a race, and I found myself mirroring his rapid inhales and exhales. My gaze drifted down to his water-dampened lips before returning to meet his hungry eyes.
The priests raised their voices as one. “ Vele Valahant! ”