by K R Leikvoll
“Do you doubt my loyalty?” he asked becoming immediately serious.
The truth was, I was entranced. I was in love with his ideas of all serving me, not just those I was bound to. His words caused me to slip into a daze of intense desire. Not of mere freedom – no. It was the desire of total and utter devotion from all that existed. I wanted them to bleed. I wanted them to die – all in my name.
And so I sat, stunned between fear and want, so distraught by choices that I knew not what to do. Did I simply agree, that all ought to bow down to the one responsible for their justice? Or did I feign that I was still an innocent plaything of our Master? The silence was biting at us both as he waited for my answer. There was only one response I could give, and so I did what I needed to see the truth of his faith.
I snapped my fingers.
I watched for any notion that he might hesitate, but he was entirely calm. He removed the dagger from my side and pulled his sleeve above his elbow. With precision and force, he cut his right hand off on the table beside me. He let out a small exhale of pain, but otherwise, it appeared it was nothing more than a scratch to him.
“And I would commit a thousand more horrific, perverse acts to show the depth of my loyalty to you, prophet. No one comes before you.”
“Vince?”
“No one.”
I took the blade from the table and cut my wrist, truly convinced that Raven was devoted after his actions. He kneeled at my feet and drank my offering. The power that flowed through my veins was greater than what Raven had during my Dark Sacrament. I could tell it was a sedating, alluring experience for my companion. With a hint of vapor, his hand regrew, just as deeply scarred as before. He gave me a kiss of thanks, something I thought might turn into an impassioned session alone together, but we were interrupted. My sneak – my constant scopophiliac – had made the grave error of creaking the door to the southeast of our table.
We were on our intruder in a moment. We dragged them near our torch, revealing it to be Ophelia staring up at us in fury. She must have had some sort of magical affinity, as there were times I did not notice her there, such as that night. I knew by the look on her face that she had been the one spying on me for some time. It was a fearful expression, one full of lies. One that had seen perhaps my only secret.
“Why have you been spying on me?” I asked her with venom in my tone. I held my blade to her throat as a threat. Raven appeared slightly surprised by my statement and actions. I had not mentioned the spy, as it could have been anyone.
“The library is public. Maybe I should be asking why you both are so reluctant to use your own chambers for shady dealings and hidden affairs,” Ophelia hissed back at us. “Besides, I was not spying, I was sent to retrieve you by our Master.”
I was tempted to cut her throat on the spot. She knew I was seeing through her denial of being my recent shadow. There had to be a reason, whether she had been ordered to or if she was fulfilling her own personal agenda. Before I could question her further, Raven forced me to release her.
“I don’t think I need to tell you the consequences of talking about what you thought you saw. Am I correct?” he asked Ophelia with a vicious stare. She glanced between us both anxiously before nodding in agreement.
I did not believe that a simple threat would keep her at bay if she was working as Vince’s spy or had any reason to blackmail me, but with our Master waiting for my presence, I was not in the position to dispense punishment for her prying eyes. Raven waved toward the door to signal that I should leave them which I was content to oblige.
Vincent was in his room, taking a bath to wash the blood from his skin and hair. It was somewhat intimidating, as I had no idea of knowing his mood at first glance. His expression was too neutral to read; his eyes were glassy and far away. He had an empty goblet that he was twirling in his hand in my direction.
I retrieved his glass and returned it to him filled. He was content to sip silently, staring off into nothingness instead of socializing. I knew better than to dare annoy him, especially in his unreadable state. I cozied myself in front of the fire rather than fret about his emotions. My mind was bursting from my situation without adding his everyday dramatics to it.
“James has brought it to my attention that I may have a temper,” he finally said, interrupting the quiet. It roused me from my drowsiness. He was washing off the last bit of black blood dried to his face. It smelled of Guinevere; I thought he was long past torturing her, but he usually chose her as the victim of his frequent fits. “I know that you are unhappy with me. In fact, this is the first time in ages that you have graced this room with your presence.”
I was not sure what he expected me to say. All I could do was stare back at him and play through the awful memories of being buried beneath the earth. That action alone could make anyone treasonous. When he stood, I handed him a fresh towel and robes, all without response. If I dared to open my mouth on my feelings, there would be no turning back.
“I will admit I have been hard on you. It is not pleasing to be seen as less favored than a newcomer in the eyes of the Gods I have served for nearly ten thousand years. I suppose the chaos you have caused this coven is responsible for all my unwanted emotions,” Vince stated as he filled himself another glass of wine. It was as close to an apology as he was capable of saying. Placing the blame for the recent uncomfortable atmosphere of our coven on my shoulders was just another misdirection. Anything to keep the focus off of his possible future betrayal.
“But you must know, beloved, I am not placing the Zaarian and Lydris under you as a punishment. The right to create greater demons is a blessed gift that only you – the prophet – has the honor of doing as a second generation demon. Two compliant, loyal servants are the best protection I can give you while you fight your holy war. Why can’t you see that?” He took my grasp into his hands and pulled me to his side. I struggled to resist my urge to force him to reconsider. I wanted to do anything to make him understand the trauma he was set to put me through.
He knew nothing of pain. He knew nothing of suffering. He was the master of dispensing that on others, not experiencing it himself. James loved him unconditionally. Raven owed his life to him. I was devoted to serving him. He had a faithful coven. His position was so different from mine it was laughable.
“I was under the impression that our bond mattered – that being the Queen and Warden mattered. It has changed nothing. I am no closer to you now than I was before,” I could not stop myself from responding. “And to make matters worse, I have two new idiots to deal with while I destroy the planet I thought I loved. Perhaps you should have told me this before you rescued me from the flames. I would have rather died.”
“Oh, Lazarus, your hatred makes you beautiful. It brings out this… power in your being – something you would not have without knowing hardship,” he whispered viciously, holding me against my will. “You also fell in love with the idea of forever without realizing the price you have to pay. Our Gods sacrificed planets to step into the realm of Titans; do you think they cared about something as petty and small as a few blood bonds?”
“But you are refusing to listen to me! Lydris will betray us all, and that is something more than a ‘small blood bond’. What is so wrong with me wishing to keep my connection to you centerfold and sacred?”
My Master appeared truly pleased to hear that my discontent for bonding with Lydris had to do with him somewhat. It was still obvious, however, that he was choosing to disregard my accusations of his friend’s son’s character.
“What is wrong is that you are seeking romance while tasked with carrying out the Void’s will. I have been dealing in shadows for quite some time, and thinking with simple, mortal desires will defeat you. I don’t care if you hate Lydris, and I don’t care if you love him. All love is a lie, whether that is the overwhelming presence of it or lack thereof. Lydris undergoing the Dark Sacrament and turning into a demon is the perfect way to infiltrate the Luxian Empire. You may thi
nk of him as treacherous, but you have no proof to back your claim.”
My dreams of freedom and solitude with the only person I truly loved were considered simple and mortal to him, yet his own foolish desires to rule as a singular divine being without the interference of light or dark were not. It was like talking to a child convinced that everything belonged to them. A belligerent, insolent child.
Though, I could not argue with his logic. If Lydris, and Varnoc, being bound to me would make my takeover smoother, perhaps it did not matter if I endured an unpleasant mortal duration with them in this plane. Foolish that Vince was too consumed in himself to see that pushing me away only brought him his grave sooner.
“I have never heard a more heartless decree of unlove,” I whispered. “I thought as the prophet, you might finally see me. You spoke of eternity as a realm of love at your side, but it is as cold as Treachery to be bound to you.”
“Hurt not, beloved,” he murmured, wiping away the singular black tear I had allowed myself to expel. “I am good at pretending. Haven’t you believed me all of this time?”
The days before Duskwraith was set to lay siege to our western neighbors were filled with a constant buzzing commotion that kept everyone busy. Everyone besides myself, rather. I spent the time wandering the grounds, avoiding all that wished to speak unless absolutely necessary.
I avoided Varnoc and Lydris like a plague. I avoided Raven like a poor habit.
I avoided Vince like poison.
Only my wolf was allowed my company. I did not need to sleep yet, so I refused to. I walked through the Azmordian Grove, watching the fluctuation of soldiers filing in from the south on their way to Eidune from a distance. I was mildly worried about the upcoming battles, as I had hardly seen war before, but it was not near the dread I felt about my coming bindings. I suppose in many ways, my absence was spent grieving my future. Grieving my broken heart. Grieving my life. Grieving my mission. For how almighty the light was praised to me as a priestess, it never dared to show its face. Even the purity of Vynir could not sway the Void Lord in my soul.
The darkness did not relieve the feelings of discontent. Instead, it embedded those emotions in me like a stake to the heart. My powers, my abilities, my wrath-driven desire to murder for sacrifice was only intensified by my distraught, frantic thoughts. The meditation I used to reach Lord Nakarius ended with being told to nurture my hatred. With how consuming it was, I am surprised I maintained some semblance of sanity. I would not have made it very far if I let my horrible situation engulf my focus.
When Sendrys and Raven finally came to retrieve me from my isolation, I knew that the time had arrived for my second Dark Sacrament. It was written on their faces; they knew how upset the ordeal was making me and they thought I might react like our Master and take it out on the coven, but I was not like him. I would gain control over our demonic family through trust and loyalty, not fear.
While Varnoc was prepared by Guinevere, I had to undergo my own personal preparations. Guinevere was correct about the first sacrifice being selected by the Void. With the guidance of Sendrys, I was able to understand the proper way of selecting his mind’s sacrifice. Though I was forced to kill Illyswen, as my past was what I thought I held dearest, not every demon is directly tied to their first victim. It was simply the blood that was shed to seal the payment of one’s first sacrifice.
In Varnoc’s case, the Void was likely to choose his devotion to the Zaarian god Ortos based on my meditations. The blood Titan was a very demanding god – one that’s worship was never outlawed in Duskwraith. Only the chosen could truly bond themselves with the darkness, so our Master did not care for the religions of those that dwelled on his land. Whether he believed them to be false idols or lesser than Naazvaba, it was easier to be open to spiritual freedoms. Outlawing the worship of Ortos would have only caused more conflict in our country than there already was.
As far as Varnoc was concerned, it was the last shred of what he held dear. The Void blessed me with visions of his life as a slave cartographer, both in Zaar and Duskwraith. Only his god brought him any sort of salvation that his existence was not meaningless. Naturally, it meant that it would be the thing he would be forced to leave behind in his mortal life. Or at least that was what I assumed they would decree.
For the sacrifice? Naazvaba was generous as I was the prophet, granting me the honor of choosing who I wished for Varnoc to slaughter. It was a simple choice that was outside of even Vince’s jurisdiction.
Ophelia.
At the notion that she could blackmail me, that is exactly what she would attempt to do. Her possible malicious intent to reveal my meetings with Raven was not one I was willing to tolerate. Raven had spared her life, reassuring me that as long as she felt that she was not threatened, she would have no reason to speak of my secrets. What Raven failed to understand was that Ophelia’s motives came from a place of hatred. She was sickened with jealousy that I was the Queen – that I was the chosen of Naazvaba. She even despised that I was beloved by my demonic brothers, whom she had tried for many years to develop a relationship with. Her dislike for me began long before I was a demon, likely dating back to the first night I met her. She thought herself greater than me. Foolish, as none were greater than Lord Nakarius himself.
Though, perhaps it was all paranoia, as she never declared who ordered her to spy on me around the palace. I have had a long time to debate her innocence, and have come to no decent conclusions. Regardless, never have I felt pity for her fate. Getting rid of a possible thorn in my side was more important.
As it could be expected, my announcement to my demonic coven of the chosen sacrifice was met with much anger from my Master. By much anger, I mean a horrific temper tantrum that ended with Guinevere being beaten within an inch of her life because he could not show his disgust with Naazvaba’s will. Ophelia had been a loyal consort to Vince for hundreds of years. I am not sure how she survived that long in his grasp, but she was devoted to his every word. Even Raven and James were somewhat shocked by my decision. Did I care? Guess if you wish.
I sat with Varnoc as he ate his last meal. I had chosen a place near the Black Shore, where I could watch the sea rather than conversate. Thankfully, unlike Lydris, Varnoc knew better than to disrespect me. He seemed rather at peace with the ritual set to happen, instead of frightful as I had been. The biggest benefit he always had was his non-attachment to everything. I suppose never having anything to cling to made it easy to give up his mortal life. I was unsure though, for he hardly spoke of his own emotions.
“Is it painful?” he asked me while he sipped on the last of his wine. Azra and Asinea were growing darker as the evening descended on us. I almost missed his words, as I was gazing at the sky and hoping for a divine miracle to prevent the ritual. Alas, there was none.
“Shedding your skin is always a painful process,” I replied carefully. “The truth of the Vast Dark… the faith you will hold in the prophecies will make any amount of torture worth it.”
He nodded in agreement and set his empty bottle down, allowing Holly who had accompanied us, to clean our mess. Even the green drake was somewhat upset to know that Ophelia was set to die. Maybe they had grown close in their service to my Master, but I did not know. Had Holly told her companion to keep to her own business, she would be avoiding her fast approaching grave.
“And the ‘bond’... what does that feel like?” he asked as we made our way back to the palace. I was silent.
The question reminded me of the aching in my chest. The spellbinding power of blood bonds becomes more obvious when you start to despise who you are bonded to. I doubt anyone knew of my situation remotely. At least none besides Maundrell…
It felt like enough stress to kill me – refusing myself what my mind was telling me I wanted, being my Master. Nurturing hatred would have been easy if I wasn’t so fatally in love with him. At that moment, I was absolutely hopeless at handling the extremes of my emotions. I feared that if I was not detached and
calm on the outside at all times that something unfortunate might happen.
Like murdering my entire coven.
Into the ritual chambers we walked. I expected to be given privacy, not to stumble into Vince saying farewell to his long-term concubine. She was distraught, to say the least, and became overly hysterical when we entered.
“The Void is eternal, little lo. Believe in our Gods and we will meet again,” Vince told her while she sobbed at his feet. He lied without effort.
Varnoc was not told ahead of time who the sacrifice was, naturally. He was confused to see her there. He had likely had her company in the past as many of those in the inner circle had. I was too busy trying to anticipate my Master’s possible assault to care for Varnoc’s feelings.
Vince bent to give her a goodbye kiss on her cheek. She grasped at him, desperate to get him to stay, but he removed himself emotionlessly. I could see the loathing, vindictive emotions through his eyes when he turned to leave. I almost tried to avoid him when he wrapped his arm around mine.
“Anything for you my Queen, all in the hopes that you would do the same for me,” he whispered in my ear, repeating his words from when he first declared Varnoc and me to be bound. He pressed his lips to my neck on his favorite spot. I held my breath the entire time, waiting for him to react aggressively in some form, but he refrained. I could tell he was furious, and the calm, delicate attention was anything but loving in nature. He put the special ritual knife in my hands and left us alone to complete our first day of sacrifice.
