Catastrophe Jones

This is Issue #71 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

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“I tell you, Sollerti,” Nixus purred, leaning into the man who had her pushed against the stone wall in the bath of her Legio-provided apartments. “You and I will make merry sport of the next few hours, but then it’s all seriousness until we rout those murderous beasts.”

Her lover said nothing aloud, but kissed her with all the hunger he had had to keep pent over the last few days.

She laughed, and bit his lip, pulling at his clothes; she helped him peel her own away, and was half naked when the banging on her door interrupted them.

“For the love of–fuck,” Nixus sighed, leaning forward and laying her forehead to the other soldier’s chest.

He laughed, kissing the top of her head, saying, “Impiorum no requies.”

Nixus quirked one brow and hungrily groped Sollerti, hands squeezing him, not at all gently. “Then maybe neither of us will sleep at all tonight, hmm?” She worked her hand against him, tilting her head to kiss him once more, and then pulled back, sighing, “Hold that thought.”

Sollerti turned and leaned back against the wall, laughing resignedly, shaking his head.

She stalked away, raising her voice, calling out to the fool who dared interrupt her. “I’m going to open the damned door, te stultum irrumabo tricinus, and you’re going to be so delighted I am still not entirely sober, for if I were, I would peel your–”

The opened door revealed Coryphaeus, with a bloodied lip, and a heart too broken to hold. “I am, in fact, a stupid, miserable fuck–” When he saw the state his sister was in, he shook his head, mortified. “You’re busy. I’m sorry, I–”

“Shut up.” Nixus pulled him inside, walking him to her bedroom. “Go. Go in there,” she said. “Sit. No, you can move the horsewhip. I’ll be right back.” She immediately returned to Sollerti, and kissed him soundly, then said, “Out. Go. Don’t ask.”

Sollerti knew enough not to. He nodded, accepting orders easily, and grabbed up his clothing, headed for the door. “Nix?” he said, looking back.

“Mm?” she wondered, hand on the knob of her bedroom door.

His eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, he steadied his breath as though readying himself for something. In the end, he smiled tightly and shook his head, saying, “Videbo vos latum alterum, Summus.” See you on the other side, Summus.

Nixus’s smile spread; it was a golden thing, the beauty that suffused her when she cared to show joy. “Sol?”

“Yeah?”

“Non me retinere expectare nimium diu,” she said, lifting her chin. Don’t keep me waiting too long.

His eyebrows rose, almost in shock, and then a ridiculous sort of blush hit his face, and he cleared his throat and hurried off, nodding gruffly. “Aye, Summus.”

She shook her head, smiling as he left, but then let herself back into her bedroom.

Coryphaeus knelt on the floor, holding his head — he was whispering something to himself that Nixus could not quite hear. She knelt next to him, and pulled him close. “What?” she whispered. “Cory — what’s happened?”

“Sum stultus; qua stultus sum!” His voice was high, pained, hiccuping — almost panicked. He sounded nearly like the night their father had burst in. I’m a fool. What a fool I am!

“Cory,” Nixus said. “Stop this. Coryphaeus, prohibe este instanti!” Stop this instant! She cupped his face in her hands and then grabbed his shoulders and gave him a rough shake. “Frater!”

“I was such a fool,” he whispered. “Such a fool to think she could ever–”

“Shh–” Nixus shook her head and moved to fold him up in her arms. “Don’t, Corymea. Don’t. It’s all right. Shh,” she promised. She gathered him up while he wept, kissed his cheeks and petted his hair. “You’ll be all right,” she whispered, her dark eyes bright. “Tell me what happened, hmm? Tell me w-”

Cory pulled back, looking at Nixus, searching her face as though for answers. His lower lip trembled, and he shook his head. “She has a husband! He was the one who went over the cliff. He was the Westlander who killed the Prince. He saved my life,” Coryphaeus whispered.

“And?” Nixus said, looking expectant. “What, you think you owe a dead man?”

“But that’s just the thing.” Coryphaeus laughed as he spoke, a bitter, barking thing. “He’s alive, Nixus. He’s alive, and he’s with her, and they are together, and I am an idiot who believed he could be more than a placeholder for a dead man, a thief for love that never belonged to him–”

“He’s alive?” Nixus looked stunned. “But how could–” She spared the briefest of moments for her Prince; grief touched her face — she had loved him, had served him fearlessly, would have died for him. But her love for her brother was greater. The only thing greater. “Don’t–” Nixus said, shaking her head. “Don’t say such things.”

“And why not?” Coryphaeus sounded bitter, pulling away from Nixus, moving to stand up, to pace about the room, a caged Panther, miserable, aching. “Why not speak the truth, hmm?” He looked at Nixus, fury on his face, wishing he could demand some kind of an answer from someone, anyone, as to why this happened.

“Because all this, all you’re doing right now? Es quarentes enim dolorem,” Nixus said, petting his hair. Seeking pain. All you’re right right now, my beautiful brother, is seeking pain, for pain’s sake.

“You should have let him finish the job!” Cory clenched his hands into fists, dug his nails into his palms so fiercely he drew blood.

“Frater–” Nixus looked shocked, staring at him from where she remained crouched on the floor. She stood, and immediately moved to pull him into her arms and hold him, fiercely.

Coryphaeus looked at Nixus, his own eyes matched to hers, glittered with tears. “You were right,” he said, shaking his head. “You were right.”

“Normally that’s cause for celebration,” Nixus said, gently wiping away his tears with her hands. “It’s wonderful when I’m right, isn’t it? Makes you know there’s order in the world.”

Coryphaeus laughed and sobbed at once, great gasping sounds as though he could not catch his breath. “I cannot do this. I cannot breathe,” Coryphaeus pled. “My heart — how can a thing made of flesh break? I can feel it, Nixus. It is broken inside of me, all jagged and sharp.”

Nixus felt tears in her own eyes as she swayed with him, grinding her teeth. “Shhh, I know. I know, love — I know.” I’ll kill her for this. Her and her husband, both. They want to be together, they can be together forever, in the earth.

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This is Issue #70 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

For all her anger, Jules looked startled at the sudden violence. She stared at Coryphaeus, and then up at Nathan, and put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, the fury on her face dissipated as quickly as it came. “No, No! Nate, stop, please, he didn’t– it… it wasn’t… Faith’n’fuckall,” she said, striking his chest with her fist. “Quarter O’Malley, y’fuckin’stand down!”

Shaking off the sudden and overwhelming fury took more than a moment. Nathan staggered back, looking at Jules in confusion.

“Shitshitshit,” Jules breathed, moving to crouch near Coryphaeus. She reached out a hand to him, to offer him help getting up. “Oh, forgive him, Cory, I–”

“Don’t,” Coryphaeus said, flinching back from her. “Please,” he said, struggling to keep his expression from crumbling. “Please, just… just let me go.”

“I’m so sorry–” Jules blurted. “Coryphaeus, I didn’t… I didn’t mean a thing of it. I got no excuse,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Coryphaeus said, moving to stand up on his own. He looked at Nathan, who was looking at him curiously. “I never–” His voice was low, furious, wounded. “I. Never. Harmed her. I would’ve died on Venator’s sword to distract him from your escape. I came back–” And here, for a moment, the remembrance of climbing that damned wall, the feeling of his ribs going cold, of his whole body screaming for rest, the fire of the wounds he’d been given before they ever dropped him into the Hunt — all of it glassed his eyes. Nam propter Jules.

Nathan opened his mouth to apologize, knowing he was in the wrong.

Coryphaeus winced, shaking his head, turning away. “I came back, hoping the Guardian would honor the promise of freedom. I came back to find her. To keep her safe.” He looked to Jules, wiping blood from his lips with the back of his hand, tears glittering in his eyes. He pointed at her, with that bloody hand, shaking. “To keep you… safe. How could you — how could you ever think that I–” His voice broke, and he fled from his own home, running before he was even out the door.

“Paenitent mea,” Jules begged, reaching after him. “Cory — Cory, no, Coryphaeus, please don’t go, please, please–”

He was gone, having shrugged off her touch, having left his own home, fury and anguish on his face.

Jules watched the door bang wide, watched him run out the garden gate and keep going. She turned, looking up at Nathan, her heart in her throat.

“Mercy,” she pled, leaning against him, clinging to him, putting her cheek to his. “M’so sorry, Nate.”

“Oh, love.” Nathan’s voice was low, rough with emotion. “What’re you sorry t’me for?”

“Don’t even know,” Jules said, feeling lost.

“The Legatus,” Nathan prompted. “Y’sorry t’him?”

Jules held Nathan tighter, more fiercely, and twisted to kiss him, to try to drive away the thought of Coryphaeus and the agony on his face as he left. “No,” she lied against his mouth. “No,” she said, but she was nodding, the soft of her cheek rubbing against the rough scrape of his stubbled jaw. “I can’t.”

“F’there’s anything I’ve learned from bein married t’you–” Nathan said, cradling her carefully. “S’there isn’t a damned thing y’can’t do. N’you know it.”

“He’s–” She looked at Nathan, hardly knowing how to explain it — what she felt, why she felt it. She didn’t know how to explain it to herself, so how was she supposed to make it make sense to him?

“A man what loves you, clearly. N’one what you love, clearly.”

Jules pulled back, looking up at Nathan, hesitant, wary — frightened, even. “Y’make it sound so simple, Einin.” Her voice shook as she looked at him, sad and angry all at once. “Y’make it sound like there’ve never been such a thing as broken hearts.”

Nathan just grinned the grin he always had, the crooked, cocksure smirk that always tasted of whisky and wind. “Y’not just gonna let him get away that easy, are you, Jules?”

“I just got you back,” Jules whispered, looking up at him. Her eyes were wide, afraid, hopeful. “Just now. Y’were dead, and now you’re back. I’m t’leave you here, while I go chase a man I got no business loving? I love you, Nate. I love you.”

“And?” He shrugged as if to ask how that mattered in the face of loving someone else. “M’I gonna stand here n’rightly tell you how many people you’re allowed t’love? Y’think I got any designs on makin sure I can be the only person in your life? Y’know me better’n’that, Jules.”

“I can’t lose you again,” she said, quietly and simply, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Th’rest of the world could’ve burnt, Einin. I didn’t care. I tried to wait for you on the shores of the inland sea. I tried to lay on the floor and not get up. I tried t’drown in the bottom of every bottle of aetheris within arm’s reach,” she said, laughing bitterly, tears on her cheeks. “N’he wouldn’t give up on me. He wouldn’t give up on me, even when I pushed. I hurt him, and I hurt him, Einin, so he’d stay away. He let y’die. He let them all die,” she sobbed.

“And then what?” Nathan’s voice was patient, gentle. He held her, kissed her forehead, spoke quietly and gently as though they had all the time in the world, as though he’d never left, as though fire weren’t soon to fall from the sky.

“N’then I realized I gave a damn I was hurtin’im.” She hiccuped briefly, shaking her head. “I tried t’talk t’him but he wouldn’t have it. He went t’set me free. I wanted t’give him my heart, even if there wasn’t anything left of it without you. I tried to tell him, but that’s when he decided to let me go,” Jules whispered, closing her eyes and bowing her head.

“So what now?” Nathan never faltered, never flinched. “M’here.”

“I can’t lose you again,” she repeated.

“M’not going anywhere, Jules. Y’ve got me. You’ll always have me,” he promised, kissing her forehead. “Go,” he whispered, giving her a gentle urging toward the door.

She took a single step, then stopped, caught.

One hand stayed around her wrist. They both looked down at it, then back up at one another. “Just… come back,” he said quietly.

Jules stepped back, stepped close, threw her arms around Nathan and kissed him again, without hesitation. “I love you, y’stupid man,” she whispered, and bolted out the door.

* * *

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This is Issue #69 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

“Trócaire,” Jules breathed, and pressed her lips to Nathan’s. Mercy. “Not so little a bird anymore, are you?” she laughed giddily. “Is this real? Or did I die myself, drowned in aetheris, hmm? Did the Kriegs drop their fire, and I’m gone, and we’re together again?”

“Deonaithe,” he answered. Granted. He kissed her right back, holding her ever more tightly, sliding his hand against her, feeling her, assuring himself of her realness, erasing the idea of the poor chained thing in Lorem Tenuis’s cabinet. “Y’not dead,” Nathan promised. “The Kriegs are coming, but y’not dead yet.”

Coryphaeus still stood only paces away, watching the couple with growing unease. He had no idea of what to do, in those moments he watched Jules unfold, blossom, shine as she hadn’t over the last few months in his care. He remembered her kisses, her tears, her embraces, the scent and taste of her as she spread for him, crying out for him — and all of it paled against the way she held one hand to Nathan’s cheek, and looked up at him.

He shook himself out of his reverie and backed away, took himself away to his study. As he passed various rooms, he could not help but notice so many things out of place from where he’d left them. He knew he’d left them in a state of riot — but all the same, everything was back where it went, more or less.

As Jules let Nathan kiss away her tears, as she ran her hands over the newness of his arm, his wings, and the flesh she knew as intimately as her own, she heard the sudden thunder of Coryphaeus’s booted feet as he came stalking back in.

“Did you…Did… Did you clean my house in my absence?!” His voice was not raised overmuch, but it carried a definite edge of frustrated disbelief.

As Nathan stuttered, Jules slapped his arm, laughing aloud. “He’s a nervous cleaner, he is,” she answered, turning to look at Coryphaeus, laughing at the absurdity of it. Her eyes found his, but the change on his face was startling to her. She’d grown to see kindness there, gentleness, but the look on his face was far more the proud and foreign coldness it had been when they met on the battlefield. “Coryphaeus?”

“It seems you no longer have… need of my plans, Commander.” Coryphaeus kept his eyes away from Jules; he looked everywhere but her as he spoke. “You have the use of this house as long as you need it,” he said to Nathan. “It isn’t… I could never pay you back, for having saved my life.”

“Wait–” Jules felt her heart in her throat.

“Y’more than did,” Nathan said, in return. “She’s alive, Legatus. S’all I could’ve asked for.”

“I simply have to retrieve a few things, and then I shall install myself back at House Venustus. It is likely where I will–”

“Wait.” Both men stood still, paused by the urgency in Jules’s voice. She pulled away from Nathan, then, and went to Coryphaeus, reaching out her hands — they had danced only moments ago, hadn’t they?

Now it was Nathan’s turn to watch as Jules reached for another man. He didn’t seem to mind.

Coryphaeus looked to Jules, at her eyes, at her smile, and then looked at Nathan, and twisted away from her touch, reaching to take her hands, and gently keep them away. “Please,” he said, looking down, turning away. “Don’t.”

The sudden rebuff left Jules looking as though she’d been slapped in the face. “That’s a fine bit o’distance from the man who like as not would’ve fucked me on the dining table not a quarter of an hour ago.” Jules lifted her chin, crossing her arms.

“A quarter of an hour ago, you were a widow.” Coryphaeus looked pained. “A quarter of an hour ago, I had fooled myself into believing you had feelings for me. You don’t, of course — the man you love is here, now.”

“Just so we’re clear, are you telling me y’think I can’t love you, if I love him? Or is it that y’can’t love me unless y’have me all t’y’self?”

Coryphaeus spun, all flashing eyes and clenched fists. “Don’t you dare tell me the right way to love! Not after–”

“After — after what?” Jules advanced on him, her fists clenched, her teeth bared. “You think spending a night between my legs gave you some kind of claim? You think me pretendin’ I’m your slave means y’really do own me? Y’think cause I let you, cause I asked you for it a few times, that what — I owed you? Think you can have me whenever you want me?”

“You go too far,” Coryphaeus said, angrier, still. “You speak as though I have staked a claim.”

“You tell the world you own me!”

“It is a pretense! I might as well own the sun!” Coryphaeus looked exasperated, shaking his head. Under his breath he muttered, “I would be burned less, perhaps, if I tried that.”

“Don’t you play innocent in this,” Jules said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You, who own me. You who have ever advantage over me. You who press that, when I have no latitude to deny you–”

Coryphaeus’s eyes widened. He looked shocked. “I have never taken advantage of–”

“No? This whole arrangement was you taking advantage–”

“–you I was–this arrangement was your idea before we ever–”

As their voices ran over one another, as they ceased listening and simply began shouting at one another, Nate looked down at his hand, listening to the joints of metal creak as he clenched his fists.

“–of me because I had the sight, n’you promised you’d keep them all safe–”

“–I did my best–”

“–but apparently it was only because y’wanted in my trews. Should’ve known every Ilonan’s got a monster inside him, had to hold me down and–”

“That’s ENOUGH!” Coryphaeus shouted, the cords in his neck standing out as he leaned into her fury, matching her in stance and rage. “I never held you down but when you wanted me to! You fucking begged me for i–”

The punch that Nathan swung could’ve been lethal, had he used his metal fist. As it was, he dropped the Legatus with one strike, knocking him to the floor. He stood over Coryphaeus, menacing, chest heaving as he breathed raggedly through his teeth, snarling.

Coryphaeus rolled to get his hands under him, and pushed himself up enough to spit blood, gasping, turning to look up at Nathan in dumb shock.

One corner of Nathan’s lips peeled back, revealing his teeth fixed in a mad-dog snarl. “Stay. Down.”

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NEXT

This is Issue #68 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

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* * *

“Shh, y’pickled.” Jules sounded amused. Her voice was bubbly with joy; she was drunk, but not yet sloppily so. The amount of aetheris that kept the aftermath of the visions from getting too horrifying was a delicate balance.

“I’m not pickled, Jules,” Coryphaeus laughed. “I am only faintly in my cups. I think you’ve had more aetheris than I’ve had wine.”

Jules lifted her chin, looking stubborn. “Yeah, but f’me it’s medicinal. Yer just a lightweight.”

“I’m a lightweight, fine. You’re a drunk.”

“I’m not a drunk. I’m an adventurer.”

The voices were muffled, laughing — giggly and ridiculous. They came up the walk, stumbling over one another, and then they were bursting in the door, laughing all over again, holding one another up and lurching along in a comical walk.

Jules kicked the door shut behind them, and nearly fell; Coryphaeus swung her up and danced with her through the dark foyer, spinning her — for a moment, they were all grace and joy. Jules gave in, and felt the warmth of it, the sweetness, and when he reeled her back and and wrapped her up in his arms, she rested her head on his shoulder, for a moment, and simply breathed him in.

Death surrounded them. Death was coming for them. She had lost things too great to count — but she had to savor the moments that weren’t all pain — or she might as well have stayed in the palace after, and let that beast of a princess kill her.

She smiled up at Coryphaeus, and laughed at herself, lingering there in his arms, enjoying the moment of it.

“Time for bed, adventurer,” Coryphaeus said quietly, moving to guide her to one of the rooms. He knew his own home intimately — with no servants to light the house for him, he simply kept going in the dark.

“And if I’m not tired?” Jules stopped, no longer allowing herself to be led. She shifted, and her arms moved around him as she squared her hips to his, and slide one hand up through the dark of his hair, from the nape of his neck. “What then?”

A voice came out of the darkness, low and lazy and amused, and desperately familiar. “Then it’s bound t’get incredibly awkward, Mrs. O’Malley.”

An hairsbreadth from kissing Jules, Coryphaeus froze, one hand on her hip. His heart hammered in his chest. Did he recognize that voice?

Jules did. But she also know it couldn’t be true. In Coryphaeus’s arms, Jules looked stunned as if struck, and turned slowly around, her eyes widening. “Now that’s a dirty fucking trick,” she whispered, anger on her face as she searched the dark corners of the front hall. “Who’re you, and what right’ve you got to open wounds?”

“You know who I am.”

Without looking, Jules drew Coryphaeus’s sword from his hip, and lifted it, beckoning. “Come into the light, mac fraochan,” she whispered. There was a blaze of moonlight across the carpet; she pointed at it, almost imperious, demanding.

He did, but only barely. All six feet of him, the disguise abandoned. He was tanned and weathered, tattooed and scarred, and the rest of his… additions remained in the shadows.

“Legatus,” Jules said, tense. “Get the lights.”

Coryphaeus, feeling somewhat naked without a weapon, moved quickly to turn up the lamps.

As the sconces and chandeliers of the front hall flared into life, their visitor was finally revealed.

Jules stood before the intruder with her eyes narrowed, and a sword lifted toward him. She looked him over, taking in his eyes, his mouth, his tattoos, and the arm that was no longer flesh and blood, but a complex configuration of pieces and parts. “Th’fuck’s this?” she hissed, slapping the flat of the blade against the exposed metal of his arm.

It clanged against the pistons and gears, and both Coryphaeus and Jules winced — but the man simply looked down at the sword and lifted his arm up, twisting it this way and that. “Part of me,” he said, looking to Jules intently. “Just like these,” he said softly, nodding his head back briefly.

Jules’s eyes flashed open wide as he lifted his wings. They gave a brief rattle and chime, and then they spread, there in the entrance hall, lifting impossibly high and wide, stretching, shining, each metallic feather faintly sliding against the next. Fanned out, they reached past six feet on either side of him, bracketed him in competing auras of both grace and danger.

He lifted his other hand up, a hand that had held hers, had stroked her hair, had known her skin to skin, and showed it to her; the ring on it shone in the lamplight. “Just like this.” He offered out that hand, and dared to let his lips curve in the faintest of smiles.

Jules dropped the sword, and looked at her own hand, at the ring there. She stared at the man who wore her husband’s skin and walked toward him.

She got barely half a step before Coryphaeus snagged the back of her robes; she half shrugged out of them with barely thought or effort, and took another step, wearing little more than a shift.

Coryphaeus snagged her wrist, pulling her back to him, his heart thundering. He looked at her, incredulous. “What are you thinking?” he cried. “You don’t even know what that thing is–”

“Course I do,” Jules said, tears in her eyes. “S’my other half.” She twisted out of his grasp, pushing away from him, looking at him as though she couldn’t fathom why he would be stopping her. She turned and crossed the last few steps at a run.

Coryphaeus, already forgotten, watched as Jules flung herself against Nathan, and couldn’t help but turn away, his own heart aching dully with a sense of shame that he should even be witness to something so entirely unbelonging to him.

“Mo Einin,” Jules breathed, all but climbing Nathan to be in his arms. “Y’came back t’me.”

Nathan wrapped his arms around her, both flesh and crafted. He bowed his head and breathed her in, closing his eyes, daring to feel joy. “Told you when you married me, Jules. Not even death can stop me.”

* * *

NEXT

This is Issue #67 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!

Happy Reading!

PREVIOUS

* * *

After the goodbye pleasantries, as servants were cleaning up and family went back to their rooms, and guests were escorted out, Secta dared run after Jet, catching him as he went to get into the sleek autocarriage that would take him and Lucida back to the palace. He stood near trembling, clutching his hands, his face pale.

“Famulo,” Jet said, noticing him. “What are you doing out here?” He bid the carriage driver return with Lucida, who was drunk and happy — he would walk. He could always walk. He was safe, no matter. He returned to Secta’s side, watching him with concern.

“Master–” Secta struggled to keep his voice from breaking. “Master, I–”

“Do not worry,” Jet promised, trying to soothe him. “You will do well.” He led the young man back to the servants entrance, took him back inside the great manor, stood with him in an alcove in an unused kitchen.

“Yes!” Secta looked assured of that idea. “I will serve. I will serve well, only — what have I done that you would… that you would so quickly give me to this woman–”

Jet could see Secta’s face, ashen and shaken; he put his hands on the younger man’s shoulders and said, “Stand proud, famulo. I am giving you a great gift. I am giving us both a great gift.”

“Please–” Secta reached for Jet, clasped one hand against his forearm.

Carefully, Jet detached the young man’s fingers. “Secta–”

“What gift?!”

The desperation of his voice made Jet’s blood crawl. He could not stand the notion of Secta so debased, of so little value that he had been bought, sold, handed over, even as a bright young man with a future. “Your freedom!”

“I do not want to be free,” Secta begged. “How do you not believe me after all this time? Only a day ago, I had thought we–”

“That was a mistake. I never should have allowed it to happen,” Jet said darkly.

Secta stopped, taken aback. He stared at Jet, blinking his eyes wide, slow. “I… I see? You don’t… you don’t want–”

“Not like that, Secta.” Jet’s expression was miserable, exhausted. “I don’t want you hobbled, made to be mine. You know the only reason Immanis accepted me… his power did not work on me. He could not compel me. He knew I could love him on my own.”

“My Lord, I–”

Jet breathed, shaking. “I do not know if it is fair to tell you this — I do not know if I can love you the way you deserve. My heart… it is not my own. I have so little to give you.” The words came tumbling out, stricken.

Secta begged, babbling. “It is enough — it would be enough. I would receive anything you would give. I would give you everything I am. Please, Master–”

“But what I do know, Sectamea,” Jet continued, reaching to cup the younger man’s face in his hands, to slide his thumb over Secta’s cheek, to wipe away a tear that dared fall. “What I do know is that you cannot love me the way I need. Not yet.”

Agonized, Secta felt his face flush in shame for that rebellious tear. “Forgive me,” he breathed. “It was foolishness to think I could ever be enough for you–”

“No, Secta. You are more than enough, only you do not know it. You bow and scrape, and it breaks my heart to see it. You cannot love me, truly, while you call me Master,” Jet said. He bowed his head, and kissed Secta once more, fiercely, and then released him. “Stay here. Serve Venustus. ”

Secta staggered back, staring after Jet, shaken, nodding. “Yes,” he said, and though his voice was sad, he lifted his chin, determined to see the duty through. “I serve.”

* * *

The walk back to the Palace was without incident; no one dared approach the Guardian — even as he purposefully walked through streets he knew were populated by those who ran with the Thieves’ Guild — no one challenged him. He sent servants to make certain Lucida was well-cared for, and then worked into the night with advisors from the publicity and communications details, within the palace. News had to come out; the various things he’d been told about the Kriegs hitting Ilonan targets could not be kept a secret. Already, they would have hit many smaller relay stations.

People had to know — and they would be worried, at best, if they heard from anyone other than their beloved Queen or Guardian.

Secta was gone for now, but once the words were ready, Jet knew he could dress and paint himself as necessary.

He had a duty, as well.

* * *

In her chambers, happily drunk, tangled in her sheets, wine on her tongue, Lucida left her telescreen on, soundless. She exhaled silverblue smoke and set her huqqa aside, then laid back in her pillows, with her hands between her legs, debating the effort of calling in a servant to please her. She had not yet brought new handmaidens in, after sending Gemma away, and setting the other ones in chains. She generally preferred her pleasures in the company of other women — something she’d learned she and Venustus had in common — but that evening, as she writhed in her sheets, she saw Jet on the screen, and something about him struck her.

She found she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

In his finery, in his paint, he was both commanding and beautiful. She watched him speak for a time, soundless, but then eventually stretched her long leg and prodded the screen into raising its volume, so she could listen to his voice. His sharp teeth flashed as he spoke of the treachery of the Kriegs and the cowering of the Westlanders.

Lucida licked her lips, remembering the feel of his teeth on her. Gemma had orchestrated unspeakable crimes against her, and yet in the dark of her own room, in the safety of her own hands, the idea of his touch was not at all frightening.

He spoke with radiance of his love for Ilona, and then he leaned in and promised the people his protection, his power.

Lucida lay before the screen, imagining he watched her, that he addressed her, powerful and hungry. She remembered the feel of him between her legs, hard, aching.

Blood was coming, he said, but they would be stronger for it.

Her heart thundered, and her breath grew tight as she laughed, imagining the glorious battle they’d wage against the world. She growled, her muscles tensed, her body trembling, her toes curling.

They would make the Westlanders and Kriegs pay for their crimes. He ended his telescreened address with a rallying cry. “Vivat Venator!”

Lucida joined in, biting her lip. She arched her back up off the bed, writhing in wanton, obvious need. “Ah, ah, Jet — Vivat, caromea!”

Jet shone, glorious between her thighs as he roared, “Vivat Ilona!”

Lucida collapsed with a sigh, panting in satisfaction. She laughed as she purred, “Vivat, Ilona, indeed.”

* * *

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