Chapter 16 March of Entropy – Vexar
MARCH OF ENTROPY
VEXAR
IHOLD AMARA’S hand to my chest, where, just beneath the surface, one of my hearts beats in perfect synchrony with hers. It is a strange sensation, having two heartbeats when I have only ever had one. Strange and beautiful.
When I was young, I spent many afternoons dreaming that I might someday forge a Zhyrrak bond. That I might find the one person my heart would awaken for. It was a silly dream. An impossible one. But I was young and full of hope, and somehow, that hope was not nearly as foolish as I was told.
Amara’s eyes open, and I drink in her beauty. She looks so much like the Goddess Xelora that if her skin were any paler, I might mistake her for the statue I kneel before every morning. Small round nose, full lips that turn down at the corners, and an uncanny depth in her eyes.
Stunning.
Darkness has consumed the desert outside, but the winds still howl, pummeling the Coliseum with sand, slowly reclaiming bits of the structure and returning it to the barren wilds beyond. It is the never-ending march of entropy. The unseen hand that constantly moves us all towards predictable chaos.
These cycles have always been and always will be.
They are resolute and reliable. And perhaps that is the way of all things, coming and going in dependable waves of chaos and reorganization.
A pattern that only exists if you know what to look for.
Amara is chaos, and instinct tells me to trust her the way I trust these cycles.
“My people have two hearts,” I say slowly. “One here,” I move her hand to the left, “and the other, here,” I move her hand to the right. “But this heart is meant to be dormant. Under normal circumstances, it should only beat a handful of times each day.”
“But yours is…” Her eyes flick up to mine. “Is there something wrong? Did you lose too much blood?”
“There is nothing wrong.”
“Then why is it beating like that?” Her posture straightens. “It’s getting faster. Is that normal?”
“It is matching yours.”
Her mouth pinches, and her brows furrow. “Why would it do that?”
“Because you are the second half of my soul.”
She rips her hand from beneath mine and glares at me with unbridled irritation. “Fucking hell, Vexar. Really? The second half of your soul?”
“I… Do you not feel—”
“Feel what? Whatever weird alien wizardry you’re up to?” She shakes her hands out and takes another step back. “No, yeah. I feel it. I feel like my heart is going to break out of my chest. Like I’m losing my fucking mind!”
“Alien wizardry?” I ask.
“Yeah! Wizardry! Like you’ve put me under some sort of spell, or are dowsing me with alien pheromones.
Wooing me with those perfect green eyes, and your witty but somehow poetic banter, and those deceptively gentle hands, and …
and that fucking body!” She presses her palms over her eyes and starts to pace. “Oh my god!”
My heart warms at her many compliments.
“I can’t believe this!” she shouts, throwing her hands up. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?” She glances at me and shakes her head. “Soul mates. Kings. Jesus fuck. How did I fall for that?”
I press my lips together, but I cannot hide my smile.
“Why are you smiling?” she shouts, her voice reaching a much higher pitch than usual.
“Amara, I am not ‘dousing you in pheromones’ or trying to ‘scam you’. I am not doing anything.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to say that I’m doing this? Because—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head while a laugh plays at the edge of my teeth, “fate did this.”
“Fate?” Her face drops into an unamused expression. “You want me to believe that ‘fate’ is making your pants tent?”
I scrub a hand over my face. This is not going well, but she is all fire, and I love it.
Pressing my palms into my knees, I lean towards her, ignoring the pain in my side. “Do you really think the only thing happening here is me being aroused by you?”
“I…” she says, trailing off and biting her lower lip before throwing her hands up again. “I don’t know!”
“Let me show you something. Please.” I wave my hand, inviting her back towards me, but she stays firmly in place.
“How about you just tell me.”
“Right. Of course.” I bring a hand to my chest and start tapping out the beat of my bonded heart. “This,” I say, tapping out the beats, “is my heartbeat—my bonded heartbeat. Tap out your own.”
“I know it’s beating! I fucking felt it!”
When I continue tapping, she reluctantly raises her fingers to her neck, eyes burning with anger. A few seconds later, that anger turns to confusion.
She has finally realized I am tapping out her heartbeats. Not mine.
“You feel it?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head. “No,” she warns, “you said you could hear my heart.”
“I never said that. You suggested that as a possibility, and I did not correct you.” I point at my chest. “This is how I knew.”
She makes a grunting sound and throws her hands up again.
“You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?
Fucking infuriating.” For a moment, she just stares at me.
Then her jaw sets, and she steps forward as if she can’t control herself.
“Ok. Just for fun, let’s pretend I believe you. Why is my heart beating in your chest?”
“We are linked. Bonded by the Zhyrrak.”
She scoffs. “Zhyrrak? Is this another word for your weird alien magic?”
“It is not magic. It is physiology. We are bonded. Or, we are meant to be bonded.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Why are we bonded, or why is it not magic?”
“I don’t know! Both?”
“I do not know why it chose us,” I answer honestly.
“But the bond is science, not magic. It has something to do with our heart’s electromagnetic frequencies, and, evidently, a long-dormant gene within my DNA.
” I frown. “And possibly yours as well.” I hadn’t really considered that she might carry the gene, but it certainly makes sense.
From what I understand, humans and Vhorathis have common ancestry.
Albeit, very ancient common ancestry, but still.
She tilts her head before stepping back between my legs. The ease of her movements and her willingness to be so close is a confession of sorts that calms my nerves.
Her eyes ask permission, and I grant it with a slight raise of my chin. A moment later, her hand returns to my chest. Warmth and desire spread beneath her palm as I sink my fingers into my thighs, fighting the urge to touch her. The urge I’ve been fighting almost all day.
“So you’re not doing this?” she asks with a look of confused wonder.
“No, I cannot control my bonded heart. It follows yours.”
“And this is real,” she says, more as a statement than a question.
“It is.”
She’s silent for a long while, and I feel her mind working frantically. Then she asks, “Is that why my heart’s been acting so weird? Like the beginning of a panic-attack without the panic?”
“If the weirdness is a recent development, then yes.”
She looks unimpressed again. “Obviously, it’s a recent development, or I wouldn’t have—” She huffs.
“You know what? Never mind.” She drops her hand from my chest, and it lands on my thigh.
I do not think she is even aware of what she is doing, and it feels like another confession.
“So what does this all mean? If I have a panic attack, are you going to pass out? Or if you start running around, is my heart going to explode?” Her eyes lose their ferocity as she asks, “And what happens when the guards come and I’m executed? ”
Ice creeps through my veins at the reminder of our situation.
This feeling of being out of control is not one I enjoy.
I need information and options. If I could just speak to Gaius…
No, that will not solve the problem. He is the problem.
He is the reason I am wounded, and Amara’s life is in danger.
If the guards do come for her, I have very few options, and I do not like any of them.
The bond has changed our situation—my vow no longer matters—and if I want to take my rightful place as the head of this empire, I cannot kill Gaius’s guards, and I cannot let Amara kill Gaius.
I need time to think. Time to plan. But for now, I need to focus on her and our bond.
The sun has set, and no guards have come.
It is unlikely they will come before morning—Gaius wants as much assurance of my failure as possible—and if they do come, I will not let them take her, even if my actions cost me my throne.
She is more important than any title. She is the heartbeat of my people, a beacon of hope for a future once thought impossible.
I grip both of Amara’s hands in mine, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Your heart will not explode. I will not pass out if you do. And you will not be dying today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. You will be old and gray when your time comes. I promise.”
Her eyes drop to the bandage on my side, and a look of disappointment crosses her face. “I really want to believe you, but trust has to be built. You get that, right?”
I do not make idle promises. Ever. She will leave here alive.
“What I said is true. No matter what happens, you will not die here. You are the future. My future. Even if you do not trust me now, at least let me prove myself to you. Please.” Inside this cell, we have only words.
There is no test or action I can take that would show her I am worthy of her trust, and it only complicates our situation further.
I do not think bonds like this were meant to be forged in a cage.
Her eyes squint. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Very.” There’s a lingering question on her face, so I wait.