Even to his own ears, it sounded like he was only trying to convince himself. The rune harp was one of close to a dozen inventions of the Nameless Enchanter that Rachel had restored, not including the Soul Engine.
She’d risen in prominence that far outshone her humble beginnings. Technically, she was still Mythril’s slave, but Emperor Diya had favored her to an extent that meant that she could go and do as she pleased. Mythril had halfway expected her to be present at the Moon Ball, and the fact that she wasn’t brought him more relief than he cared to admit.
“You’re sulking again,” said Bloodrose. “Go mingle with people, Mythril. Enjoy your time back in Central Dominion. Find a girl with a tight body for us to play with later.”
“I’m in no mood,” said Mythril.
He took another sip of his wine and tried to keep his expression neutral instead of giving in to his disdain. He was in a corner of the ballroom, one of the few people paying attention to the harpist. Emperor Diya was on the other side of the room, seated at his table and laughing with a few of his guests while serving slaves cleared the plates from the evening’s dinner.
“Someone is trying to get your attention,” said Bloodrose. “You can pout, but at least don’t be rude, master.”
Mythril bit back a scowl and glanced over his shoulder. Xenith, Diya’s daughter, was watching him from the edge of one of the crowds of younger nobles. She glanced away as their eyes met. She was still just a girl, not yet even in her teenage years, and one of the youngest at the celebration.
“She isn’t trying to get my attention,” said Mythril. “She’s… oh, dammit.”
Xenith very cautiously started walking his way, as though to intentionally contradict Mythril’s conclusion. Her face was freckled, and she wore a green dress that perfectly complemented her brown hair. She was also incredibly shy, and even after she’d drawn near Mythril and made it clear that he had her attention, she still didn’t say anything.
“Hello Xenith,” said Mythril. “It’s good to see you again. Enjoying the party?”
Despite himself, he smiled at the tiny, reserved nod she gave in answer. There was something about her that he had always found endearing, sometimes to a degree that left him wondering if she was a more precocious child than he gave her credit for. It reminded him of how Diya would play up his confidence to the point of arrogance, except almost in reverse.
“Did your father send you?” asked Mythril. It was often the case when Xenith sought him out at social functions, or at least it had been back when he’d last been in Central Dominion.
Xenith nodded again, and shifted her gaze to look toward where Diya was across the room. He was still entertaining his guests, but as Mythril observed more closely, he noticed that his old friend was watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I’ll go see him.”
He’d barely started walking in Diya’s direction when he saw the other man excuse himself from the crowd and start toward him. It would have been just as easy for Diya to have confronted Mythril when he’d first arrived at the Moon Ball, but he understood why he hadn’t, and how much things had changed in the time he’d been gone.
He barely recognized the man who’d once been his best friend, which was saying something, given that he hadn’t aged a day since Mythril had last seen him. The Soul Engine was to thank for that, as the effects of bonding with it locked a person into however old they were when they first touched it, or in the case of children, arrested their development shortly after they reached early adulthood.
He drew to a stop next to the central fountain and pretended to admire the way the water extended upward from a triangle formed from the outstretched arms of the Trium, Lucia and Sarai clad in thin body-length sarongs, with Kresia wearing his iconic armor. Diya came up next to him and folded his arms behind his back.
“Lord Mythril,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. I’m surprised you chose this function to reveal that you’d returned to the capital. You were never much for the social scene.”
“Oh, if he only knew how I had to twist your arm to make it happen,” said Bloodrose. “But you deserve this, Mythril. It’s a glimpse of something that should be yours. Something that was stolen from you.”
“Very true,” said Mythril. “The only thing that made the old balls bearable was how much leeway Horace gave us to upholding expectations.”
The silence left in the wake of that comment almost made Mythril wish he’d kept it to himself. It wasn’t an accusation, though he did still blame Diya for the death of the former Emperor and their good friend. Maybe that was why he’d said it, to make sure Diya wouldn’t be allowed to forget how close the three of them had once been.
“Are you comfortable?” asked Diya. “I suspect I would have heard from Rachel if you’d chosen to stay at your old estate, given how she’s all but co-opted it for herself in your absence.”
“I rented out space in a boarding tower,” said Mythril.
Diya nodded, running a finger across his wine goblet.
“You could have gone to see her, you know,” said Diya. “You do have that option.”
“You have many options, Mythril,” whispered Bloodrose. “You’re still well-known and well-loved. Power comes to those who take it.”
“I’m aware,” said Mythril.
Diya let out a good-natured chuckle, and for an instant, Mythril felt a flash of nostalgia for the way things had once been.
“You should stay,” said Diya. “It’s been three years, Mythril. You left without telling anybody—not me, not Rachel, not even Evastria. If not for the few reported sightings of you sent by the settlements, we’d have thought you fallen, slain by the Weatherblight.”
Mythril let out a single, mirthless chuckle. The Weatherblight were treated as a much-larger threat by those who’d never spent time traveling through storms. The monsters spawned by weather were real enough, but much rarer than the fuss about them would make it seen. He’d only encountered a few during his time abroad, and Bloodrose had made short work of them.
“You should stay here in the city and settle down,” continued Diya. “Take a wife. We both know there are plenty of women in the city who would have you.”
“I’m not interested,” he said.
“You should be,” said Diya. “You’re still one of the most influential men and desired bachelors amongst the Sai. Trium blessed, if you were a little younger and Xenith were a bit older…”
“Please don’t finish that sentence,” said Mythril.
“Why would you need a wife when you have me?” purred Bloodrose.
“Look, I know how you feel about the Soul Engine,” said Diya. “Even after years of ruling over Central Dominion and watching more and more people join the ranks of the Bonded, I’m still grappling with the implications of it. If you don’t wish to take control of your mortality, Mythril, at least take control of your life. Start a dynasty. Mend up with Evastria, and Rachel, too, if you can stomach it. She’s still your slave, after all.”
“You should treat her like one,” said Bloodrose. “Find her and take out the frustration you’ve been harboring, master.”
“No,” said Mythril.
Diya glanced from side to side and then leaned a little closer. “I’m not asking just for your sake, Myth. You’re needed here, and I’m not just talking about how much I value your help as an advisor. Evastria… has been handling your absence poorly.”
Mythril scowled and took a long sip of his wine. Leaving Evastria behind had been the hardest part of his departure, and he’d spent far more time than he was willing to admit finding creative ways to keep his mind off the guilt he felt for never saying a proper goodbye. Now, it was as though he was staring that guilt in the face.
“She’s begun experimenting, if you could call it that,” said Diya. “Engaging in dalliances with some of the less-reputable young noblemen. A few noblewomen, too, if rumor is to be believed. Never for long before she
moves on, leaving a jilted lover in her wake. I know you’re the last person who probably wants to hear this, Mythril, but you need to.”
“She’s a grown woman now,” said Mythril. “I have no control over the decisions she makes.”
“She was jealous of us,” whispered Bloodrose. “Perfectly understandable for her to react in such a way. Think nothing of it.”
Diya scowled and shifted on his feet. His other guests were paying the two of them increasingly more attention, and it was clear that Mythril had spent more time with the Emperor than some of them deemed fair or appropriate.
“Myth…” he said. “Your hand keeps going up, like you’re reaching for the hilt of your sword.”
“And?”
“What reason did you even have to wear it here?” asked Diya. “None of my other guests arrived carrying their arms, and I know how your sword works. She could just as easily be present in an evening gown as in a sheath.”
“What use is a weapon in an evening gown or a sheath?” asked Bloodrose. “Use me, Mythril! Strike him down, along with anyone else who stands in the way of your greatness! You deserve so much more…”
Mythril shook his head, letting his hand fall from the ruby pommel stone.
“You should get back to your guests,” said Mythril. “I need some air.”
***
He found his way out onto one of the balconies and stared across Central Dominion, the jewel of the Saidican Empire. The other nearby towers pulsed with light from various runes in their interiors. Rune sleds with illumination wards traveled the night streets, like fireflies with a purpose. It was the city he’d grown up in, the city he’d once called home, yet he didn’t feel like he knew it anymore.
His entire reason for coming back had been to deliver a single warning, and he couldn’t even find the words to do that much. He’d tried to warn Diya about the Soul Engine, about what would happen if even a single ward in its construction failed. It had been on his mind during all of his travels, and he’d thought of ways not just for the rune wards to fail, but for them to be sabotaged, and the potential results.
The Soul Engine was the heart of Diya’s power now. He’d heard rumors of how Diya had used access to it as a way of ensuring Central Dominion’s dominance, only allowing those loyal to him from Farhaven and Westmoore to bond with it and become functional immortals. Diya had been smart and careful, and he’d all but founded a dynasty of gods.
Gods with a weakness that only Mythril could conceptualize.
A flash of silver-red light came from the sword as Bloodrose assumed her incarnate form. Her scarlet hair fluttered in the wind, and she wore a simple red dress of the same color with slits cut into the skirt to allow her full movement.
“You don’t need to say it,” said Bloodrose. “I can feel your emotions, Mythril. I’ll be here, when you’re ready.”
“The bond doesn’t work that way,” he said.
“For us it does,” said Bloodrose. “You made me to accomplish so much more than I think you understand.”
She pressed her body against him from the side, her breasts rubbing against his shoulder. She always did this, using sex and her mastery of it as a way of cementing her suggestions and ideas to him. She was poisonous, but she would never betray him. She wasn’t what he needed, but she was exactly what he wanted.
Mythril pulled her into an embrace and found her lips with his. One of Bloodrose’s legs slid up along his side, and she pulled his head down to briefly cradle in her bosom. Mythril kissed her again and cupped her cheek as it ended, staring into her eyes so he could really see her. She held his gaze, sticking her tongue out to lick, and then suck on, one of his fingers.
“Mythril…”
Evastria’s voice was only just louder than a whisper, but it carried to his ears like no other sound could. He pulled back from Bloodrose and turned to face his niece as she stepped out onto the balcony.
She looked older than he remembered, which was a relevant fact in the context of the Soul Engine. Her silver-blue hair hung in a neat braid, and the sharp angles of her face seemed tempered by a newfound confidence, or rather, independence. Her dress was white with blue embroidery, and it fit her in a way that made what Diya had said before about her promiscuity seem all too believable.
“Your uncle is busy right now, little girl,” said Bloodrose. “Come back when the situation calls for your presence.”
Evastria ignored her, along with a similar plea from her date, a handsome Sai man far closer to Mythril in age than he thought appropriate for her. She passed the man her wine glass, and he left with the immediacy of a dismissed slave.
“You didn’t tell me,” she said.
“Evastria…” said Mythril. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t tell me when you left,” said Evastria, shaking her head. “Now you don’t tell me when you’ve arrived back? Do you hate me so, uncle? What did I do wrong?”
“It was never about you,” said Mythril. “The situation here in the city… no longer called for my presence.”
“According to whom?” snapped Evastria. “Diya wanted you to stay and advise him. Rachel still cared for you. I loved you as my only family! Yet in the end, you chose… that!”
She pointed an accusatory finger at Bloodrose.
“She has nothing to do with this,” said Mythril.
“Do you say that because it’s the truth, or because you’d be inside her if not for my interruption?” said Evastria, voice bubbling with acid.
Mythril gritted his teeth. “And whose bed would you be warming tonight, Evastria? Do I even want to know? I’ve heard from Diya what you’ve been up to.”
“You…” Evastria’s cheeks colored, and she clenched her fists. “You have no right!”
Bloodrose let out a cackling laugh. “You can see the truth of it in her face. Your niece is vulgar now, Mythril. Or perhaps she was always this way and only now shows her true—"
Evastria surged forward, swinging her hand to slap Bloodrose across the face. Mythril caught her arm at the elbow, but she twisted, pulling free. One of her feet caught the hem of her dress, and she fell strangely.
The sound of her head hitting the balcony tile was wrong, as was the way blood immediately began to pool around the injury. Mythril fell to his knees, heedless of the stains that formed on his trousers. Evastria was blinking her eyes quickly, and her body moved with small, quickening seizures.
“Go!” he shouted at Bloodrose. “Get a healer!”
For an instant, Bloodrose hesitated. She’d never refused a direct command from him in the time they’d been bonded. Mythril was about to press the weight of his will into the order when she began moving, casually stepping over Evastria’s body and making her way back into the party in search of help.
***
Mythril sat next to Evastria’s bedside, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest as she took slow, pointless breaths. It had been close to a week since the Moon Ball. The healers had done everything within their power to help her. She was still alive, but asleep, and there was no indication if or when she would ever wake up.
“It isn’t your fault, Mythril,” said Rachel. “Truly. I know how you are. I know you fully intend on blaming yourself for this, but please…”
Rachel reached her hand over and set it on top of his. Her tanned face was pretty and rounded, still vital and youthful, given how she’d bonded with the Soul Engine during the peak of her fertile years. She’d forgiven him for not telling her and welcomed him back, as a friend and as a lover. He didn’t deserve her, and he certainly didn’t deserve to do anything but blame himself.
“She never bonded herself to the Soul Engine…” muttered Mythril. “Because of me. Because of what I told her about its faults.”
Rachel kept holding his hand. She was the last person who should have been capable of offering the sort of sympathy she was. She recognized the tragedy of his mistakes more clearly than anyone else could, as the true mastermind behind restoring
the Nameless Enchanter’s world-altering invention.
“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” whispered Rachel.
Mythril blinked, feeling the heat in his eyes. There were no tears left for him to cry, which only made him feel that much more helpless.
“She’s lying to you, and you know it,” whispered Bloodrose, through the bond. “It is your fault, Mythril, and you need to be the one to make it right. She’ll be better than she was before, stronger, faster, and most importantly, loyal.”
“Mythril…?” whispered Rachel. “Are you alright?”
Mythril shook his head.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”
***
Evastria was only covered by a thin sheet as Mythril carried her into his workshop. With each step forward he took came more hesitation, and more carefully crafted justifications from Bloodrose as she continued to whisper in his ear.
“She’ll thank you when it’s done,” said Bloodrose. “I promise she will. This is for the best, master.”
“I…” Mythril stopped and looked down at the specifically purposed enchanting altar he’d built for that very purpose. “I don’t know. She could still wake up.”
“She could die at any time!” snapped Bloodrose. “You’re risking her life by waiting.”
“There’s no undoing this,” he said. “She would be forever changed. Is it right for me… to make such a decision for her?”
Bloodrose flashed with light, and a woman stood next to Mythril in place of his sword.
“You would leave her to whatever fate your Emperor decides for her instead?” she asked. “He values her enough to bond her to the Soul Engine, even if it’s against your wishes.”
“No…” said Mythril. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Would you stay here indefinitely to stop him?”
The question sank into Mythril’s stomach like a heavy pit. No, he wouldn’t stay. He couldn’t stay. This time, leaving Evastria behind wasn’t an option. Except what would bringing her with him mean, in the end?
Reborn Raiders (The Weatherblight Saga Book 4) Page 23
