Soulbound

by Archer Kay Leah

Heat raced up Mayr's neck and flooded his cheeks. "Tell him no. Pick another day."

  "I can't," Tash said, clasping his hands before him. "Keeper Felensa has business elsewhere in Kattal for the next month, and he's leaving in three days. He requested we visit him now so he can search for answers while he's away. I've already sent word that we would."

  Mayr's fingers curled, his nails digging into his palms. This was not happening. "You agreed without talking to me? Didn't bother asking if I was even available to escort you—you just assumed, didn't you? Sure, it's fine to go traipsing wherever you want, whenever, consequences be damned. Your priestly needs are all that matter. Who cares if I can't be there—you'll just run headlong into stupidity!"

  Tash stepped back, the corners of his eyes tightened. "No, I considered it. I also considered the other options."

  "Other options? Because there's so bleeding many." Mayr pushed up from his desk. Blood-soaked images assaulted what was left of his clarity, set to the tortuous sounds of Tash's screams. Tash's last breath, ragged and painful, his last whisper, snagged on Mayr's name…

  Some days he wondered if Tash truly valued what they had. For each time he led Mayr to believe they loved to equal depths, there were just as many days Tash did something so foolish Mayr wanted to choke his idiot pride. Did Tash care he made himself a target? Did it ever occur to him that he nearly broke Mayr's heart every time he left? Did he want to get caught? He said he wanted to spend his life with Mayr, but all he seemed to offer was his eventual death.

  His promises to always take care of Mayr—were they that empty? All of the whispers in the dark about having a child—did they mean nothing? Words were easy illusions that said anything they had to, but actions were intent itself made real. If this was Tash fighting to stay, he was waving every flag that said otherwise.

  Control snapped in Mayr like frayed rope, the jagged ends tearing holes through his overwrought nerves. Agony gorged on his composure with barbs and talons, gnawing a tortuous path from headache to heartache. His back ached from having to keep his fist from going through the desk.

  "Real good timing, Halataldris," Mayr yelled, words bursting forth in an avalanche of hurt, "because forget the meeting I've got with Council—a meeting I told you about a hundred times—and forget the fact I can't miss it. Let's all just drop whatever we're doing to make some egotistical little priest happy."

  Anger clouded Tash's gaze. His fingers flexed, but his voice remained calm. "Dare I assume that Felensa's the so-called egotistical little priest?"

  "Who else would it be?"

  "Considering I'm the one who runs headlong in stupidity, perhaps you need to spell it out."

  "I don't need your condescension," Mayr snapped. "Not when you're running around like no one cares. You'll do me, play me, placate me when it suits you, but forget respect. Forget I have people to protect, including your targeted ass. Forget I'm trying to make things safer for you. You jump whenever the other priests tell you to. You're such a good boy, doing whatever they want, but forget that I'm the one trying to keep you alive."

  Softness returned to Tash's features as he let out a slow breath. "Mayr, what is this really about?"

  "I can't go with you, that's what!"

  "That's all right," Tash said quietly, "because I'll take other escorts. That's the other option."

  "Foolish, inferior escorts." Mayr growled. "Idiotic, gods-awful children, that's what they are." He smacked both palms on the desk, his knee ramming the drawer. "You going without me is unacceptable. You going anywhere is unacceptable. You're begging for death. The fight in Araveena won't be the last. Mark my words," he hissed, jabbing his finger at Tash. "Ress and Adren will drag your ass into everything you left behind. One of these days, the debt's coming due and you'll be skinned right alongside them."

  Tash moved forward, one hand raised. "Mayr—"

  "Don't!" Mayr flung out his arm, gesturing towards the main house. "It's bad enough that since your reunion with Ress, you're depressed and weepy on the most random days—all because Ress makes you feel like a useless little bitch of a rat. He isn't good for you, no matter what you think. He'll get you killed," he sneered, "and I'll beat him so far into the lowest realms of the blessed ugly dead he'll never get out."

  Mayr snorted. "Don't even get me started on Adren. You want death? Spend more time with cir and it'll come. Ce's a beacon for the Shar." He leaned forward, spitting out words between clenched teeth. "I can't keep dropping everything to play caretaker to some magical little felon, especially one I can't even begin to trust with your life. I don't care whose blood ce's got, ce's not my problem. Stop expecting me to help your nuisance of a pet."

  Flinching, Tash stepped back. Lips drawn in a tight line, his hands in fists, he glowered at Mayr. Emotions danced across his face in a shifting mask of shadows. Fury, disappointment, disgust—they flowed into each other, forging something deeper, darker. "Good to know where your superiority lies. I'll be sure to remember."

  Tash's lip curled as he continued. "Adren's not a nuisance, and ce's no one's pet. Don't you dare say that again," he snarled. "I used to be like Adren—I won't abandon cir. Ce needs all the friends ce can get." He took another step back, his chin lifted. "I'm still going. The other priests in my generation have never met a Goddess-touched, and it's been decades since our temple encountered any. I'm honoured to be entrusted with Adren's life, and I'll continue to protect cir—even from you. Ce wants a new life, so I'll help any way I can. If I ever consider wanting your opinion, I'll be sure not to ask for it."

  When Mayr opened his mouth to argue, Tash raised his hand. "It's just as well you can't come. If you're going to be moody and mean, I don't want you there. I won't have you ruining this for Adren or for me." He backed towards the door. "I'll take Pellon, assuming you can spare his inferior ass. At least he won't throw a fit."

  Tash flung open the door in an instant and slammed it shut the next. The doorframe shook from the force.

  Mayr kicked the desk hard enough to jam the bottom drawer.

  "Forget you and your morals," he seethed, slapping parchments off his desk. The tray from Arieve crashed to the floor. Forget the Goddess-touched, forget his stubbornness, and a huge forget this to his asinine loyalties!

  He fell into his chair and shoved his feet against the desk. The chair squealed backwards, slamming into the bookcase behind him. Knees bent with his feet on the desk, Mayr glared at the papers strewn across the floor, his hands tucked into the crooks of his arms. This was more like it, the pain he was used to. Not the longing pain of leaving a lover's bed. Not the sweet pain of hearing how much someone loved him. Not the exquisite pain of having everything and not knowing what to do with it. This was the deep ache, the hurt that froze the blood and spurned self-loathing. The kind of pain that injured and bruised and sucked joy from him until all that remained was a gaping hole dripping with disdain.

  And he goes on about us being soulbound. Ha! Soulbound this, you ass, and you can soulbound your arrogant servitude while you're at it. Because what is soulbound really?

  "A short chain calling us to heel," Mayr mumbled. Where Tash's duty went, Mayr's acceptance was expected to follow. His opinions mattered little when the treasures of divinity were waved in Tash's face. Anytime the priesthood demanded his obedience, Tash gave it without hesitation, sacrificing Mayr's hope.

  Tash swore he would take care of Mayr, but not once did Tash consider that protecting himself was part of it. Now there was Arieve to consider: her happiness, her safety, and the family they hoped for. An entire life waited to be held in their hands.

  It only works if you're alive to enjoy it.

  Mayr dug his annoyance into his desk with the heel of his boot. What was he thinking? His relationships never lasted. Tash and Arieve would be no different. Everything went away, love was always a casualty, and he was the one who stoked the pyre.

  Muttering half-formed curses, he pulled his chair back to the desk and gathered the documents from the floor.
Forget them. Tash and Arieve can do each other all night for all I care. Won't be able to get it up anyway, so what's the point? Mayr slammed the papers onto the desk. Forget everyone else, too. I'm too messed up to be around anything that breathes. So suck on that, Goddesses, and I'll get back to you when I'm ready to take your rubbish again.

  Chapter Ten

  Nothing eased the ache lodged in Tash's chest, regret seeping from his misery. Though considering he already had a lifetime of regrets, the additional guilt should not have weighed as heavily as it did.

  Especially when I know how his temper works. Tash folded one last robe before he packed it in the brown leather travel case on the bed. Mayr yells first and thinks later. Then the apologies follow, profuse and genuine.

  He also knew Mayr never attacked without reason. Mayr was not careless, dealing emotional damage because he derived pleasure from conflict. If anything, Mayr was too giving, too kindhearted, twisting himself in every direction to protect his loved ones from harm. Outbursts like the one that day indicated injury and fear more than pride and self-importance. For his anger to be directed at Tash with such ferocity suggested something haunted him, latched onto hidden wounds.

  Still, it hurt.

  Tash pressed the pile of robes further into the case and sighed. Bearing witness to Mayr's rants could be informative and darkly comical, but being on the receiving end stripped courage from his soul. Ten years in the Shar-denn had taught Tash to withstand confrontation and outrage with rigidity. He had adapted to being screamed at and derided by gang members, including those who had trained him to guard their faction boss, Colare. The cruelest castigations had been by Colare himself, who never spared compassion unless it was to test his guard's resolve or exact a harsher penalty. That same Colare had coerced Tash, Ress, Nimae, and Varen into swearing fealty to the Shar-denn. Shortly after threatening their adolescent lives, Colare had stabbed Ress and left him to bleed all over the tavern floor.

  Even after all that, Mayr's wrath hurt more. Instead of bleeding out, Tash's insides shattered into tiny fragments. Mayr's words had stung worse than his tone.

  A tone Tash returned at the end, punishing him.

  He never wanted angry words to be the final thing he said to Mayr. If the Shar-denn had taught him anything, it was the value of life. The preciousness of a single breath was worth a hundred lashes. The lasting impression of love was worth humility. Any moment could be the end. He never wanted Mayr's last memory of him to be one of contempt.

  With another weary sigh, Tash slipped the books he needed into the travel case: two leather-bound journals that contained what he knew of Goddess-touched and a raggedy volume of whimsical stories gifted to him by his parents, an artifact from his childhood. The book was a touch of them wherever he was, whenever he needed them.

  Now would be good. They could tell me their secret to staying together, even when fight gets in the way. Tash buckled the case shut and sank onto the bed. He gazed around the bedroom he shared with Mayr. Bathed in light from the hearth, the room looked the same as it always did, though its ambiance was empty and colder than the winter wind. The closed curtains hid the night sky but not the truth: Mayr was avoiding him.

  After the confrontation in the office, Tash had returned to the temple to finish preparations for the trip to the Sanctum. While his duties normally included training novice priests and tending to the altar rooms dedicated to Emeraliss, Kee had decided Tash was required elsewhere. More specifically, Kee had instructed him to help Adren and Ress acclimate to a new life. Most of Tash's days were to be spent with them, assisting them while they worked for the High Council and served their community service in the village. Together, the three of them helped villagers with mending their homes, tending their gardens, moving or fetching items, and being useful in whatever way they could.

  The most solemn of his responsibilities was to safeguard Ress and Adren with all the shrewdness he possessed. Kee did not trust the High Council's methods, nor did she trust Severn to abide by the conditions of amnesty. To deter the Councilmen from reneging on that amnesty, Kee placed the care of Ress and Adren in Tash's hands when she was not present. He had earned his role, Kee had told him, after the Temple of the Four gave him refuge at his time of greatest need. She expected him to be a paragon to those who sought redemption.

  That role ended at the boundary of priesthood and left a delicate man on the other side, one who had needed assurance once he returned to the estate, determined to make up with Mayr. Expecting to see him at dinner, Tash had practiced all manners of apology and soft words. He had intended to whisk Mayr into a walk through the moonlit conservatory, arm in arm as they discussed what truly worried Mayr, followed by the drawn-out kisses they savoured and another night with Arieve.

  Mayr never showed. He sent a message on a torn piece of parchment instead, saying he would miss dinner due to reasons.

  And that he was not to be bothered.

  By anyone.

  Crushed, Tash ate alone with Aeley, Lira, Ress, and Adren, picking at his food until they finished and went separate ways. Aeley and Lira retired to Aeley's study, alone and mischievous. Ress and Adren had settled down with cards and discs, gambling with Ress's earnings from whatever he crafted for the High Council, a confidential project kept in a room on one of the estate's lower levels.

  Reminding himself that he was always Mayr's exception to the rules just as Mayr was his, Tash had gone to Mayr's office. A hastily scribbled sign hung from cord on a nail in the door, practically shouting for visitors to leave. Inside, Mayr hummed and grumbled, and the floorboards creaked as feet shuffled. Tash had tapped on the door and tried the handle, only to find it locked. Worse still, his efforts were completely disregarded.

  Mayr never ignored him. Even when they were too angry to look at each other, Mayr never ignored him.

  Nevertheless, Tash had pressed his palm and forehead to the door, pleading to be let in.

  He never made it over the threshold.

  Eyes blurred with tears of resignation, Tash had run to Mayr's room. For all the talk of protecting him, for all the anger directed at people he insisted would hurt Tash, Mayr cared more about carrying on the fight than spending time together.

  Disgust at Mayr's hypocrisy burned in Tash. It left a foul taste on his tongue and abhorrence in his core. What a betrayal of the simplest emotions between them.

  Tash growled out his frustration and held his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Evening prayer had not soothed him. Packing only distracted him as long as there were things to pack—and he had exhausted the list, an easy feat given his few possessions. As for tears… those stopped and started, wetting his cheeks before he knew he was crying.

  "More of the weeping he hates so much," Tash sneered.

  No, it's not the weeping he hates, he corrected bitterly. Just Ress and Adren and everything to do with my priesthood.

  None of which he could separate from himself, not without losing pieces of who he was. They proved he still had value, that he was worth something, even if it was just a speck of dust in a bucket. Those pieces meant nothing to Mayr, but they were the price of life to Tash—his second chance.

  He was humbled by the faith others invested in him. His Uldana Trials had been a means to find absolution, but expectation had turned the universe on him. Like looking in a mirror, he saw truth reflected back in his actions, choices, and the care he showed others. By the time he started the Trials, the Goddesses had already determined his worth. Not only had Emeraliss claimed him as a servant, She watched over him through every step of his Trials, testing how much he treasured love and how deeply he desired Mayr.

  Prior to the third trial, Navara had weighed his soul on the ethereal plates of the Onamarre, a judgment Tash witnessed during the fourth trial. The scales of fate had tipped in his favour, despite his mortification and doubt.

  Even then he could not shake the need to prove himself. Since childhood, the itch to find his place plagued him. Worr
ied he would never fully belong, he had ached to feel equal to everyone else—to be like everyone else.

  For a time, he had found self-acceptance in the warmth of brotherhood. Ress had lifted him up when he stumbled and scraped his pride. Varen had taught him how to laugh at himself without slicing his confidence on the edges of self-deprecation. Nimae had made him feel safe, as though Tash was unique and special, no matter what he did with his life.

  Perhaps he would have been a tailor, clothing the wealthiest Grand Families in the latest fashions. Or he could have worked in the metal shop with Ress, courted Inesta like a gentleman, and married her. He would have spent his life showering her with gifts and teaching their children to make beautiful things.

  Maybe he would have been a collector of tales and song, performing at festivals and feasts as a bard, given his fair voice and passable skills with a harp and sifter's skin drum. Or he would have traveled Kattal in search of its mysteries, picking apart the universe one secret wonder at a time.

  Once the Shar-denn claimed him, self-acceptance faded into a dream. The gang harvested his pride in chunks and left him with a battered soul. It was prove himself or die, and he was too stubborn to give up. He had fought the Shar-denn for the right to be himself, foisting hate upon them with a vengeance.

  All he got back was approval. They wanted his rage. They valued his fury. They spelled out his worth in the language of violence and rewarded his hunger to survive.

  The price of that survival was one he would never live down, no matter who believed in him. The weight of the cost had never been on his back alone. Like a coward, he had allowed innocent lives to pass him by. He had allowed the possibilities to save them to slip through his hands, his heart closed to freedom no matter what he witnessed or how he felt beneath his hate.

  Like Ress, he could never forget their crimes. They were accomplices to horrors no one deserved. They had ruined too many families by giving into the Shar-denn. Not just their own, but those of the people who were taken from their homes, markets, alleys, and roadsides only to be broken and sold as slaves. To his shame, he had lost count of how many times he helped drag people to the sordid houses where the Breakers did everything possible to make them obedient. He bore witness to more violations than he could stomach: brutal beatings that left the floors soaked with blood, mind games that twisted and scorched even his mind, threats of rape and the vile act itself, and the death of the weakest member of a group to make the stronger ones comply.