Of the Abyss

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  No, politely questioning. Umber caught on first. “Umber,” the spawn said. “My bond is Hansa.”

  “Pleasure to meet you both,” Naples said. He didn’t offer to shake hands. Maybe he knew neither of them would want to accept. Lightly teasing, he said, “If you’re willing to follow the scary Abyssumancer upstairs, I’ll show you to a guest room and find you clean clothes as well.”

  Once again he didn’t wait for them to make up their minds, but turned and led the way.

  He was young, Hansa realized, or at least appeared to be—­twenty at most. The realization made Hansa’s stomach turn as he considered the way he had been staring a moment ago.

  As they followed Naples up a steep, winding staircase, Hansa made a point to keep his gaze anywhere but on the most obvious view. Umber had warned him that the bond might cause him to be attracted to others with Abyssal power, but he refused to let that be an excuse to be vulgar.

  He kept his focus on the places where the wall was recessed to accommodate orbs like the one that had illuminated the front door. These were smaller, each about the size of an egg, and varied in brightness and hue.

  “Who makes the foxfire?” Umber asked.

  “I do,” Naples replied. “Azo likes the colors.” When the Abyssumancer mentioned the woman who apparently owned this household, his voice lifted and his expression softened. The obvious fondness he held for her, whoever she was, made Hansa strengthen his resolve to keep Naples from noticing his irrepressible fascination.

  “That takes quite a bit of talent,” Umber said.

  Naples shrugged, then pushed open a doorway. Like the others, Hansa hadn’t seen the door before it opened; he wasn’t entirely convinced it had been there. It reminded him eerily of the way Abyssumancers were able to produce weapons from apparently nowhere, though of the two, he far preferred a door.

  They stepped into another parlor, this one comfortable, but holding an anonymous quality.

  “You may use these rooms as long as you’re here,” Naples said. “We chose this spot for the hot spring beneath it, so all the bathing rooms have hot running water. I’ll find you some fresh clothes and have one of the servants drop them off before I go wash up.”

  Water; clean clothes. That promise was sufficient to overcome Hansa’s hesitation to accept the Abyssumancer’s hospitality.

  It wasn’t enough to make him forget what he had told Umber. If we ever get somewhere where we’re alone—­

  At the time, that “if” had seemed impossibly far off. Now it was too close.

  Past the parlor was a bedroom, and then a washroom more luxurious than any Hansa had ever seen. After some fiddling, Umber located the lever that let in a stream of hot water that started to fill the deep marble tub. While the water was running, one of Naples’ servants dropped off cakes of soap, lavishly soft towels, and a pile of clothes.

  Then it was just Hansa and Umber again. Umber kept his back to Hansa as he stripped and bent to check the water. Hansa suspected the spawn was specifically not looking at him, the way one would try to avoid spooking a timid animal. Watching that golden body move, Hansa felt his mouth go dry, but he couldn’t make himself close the distance between them.

  He had accepted his bond to Umber as a reality, but that didn’t mean he was emotionally ready to embrace it—­or him—­fully. Knowing he was being an idiot and a coward, he backed away.

  When he reached the far wall, the stone faded away, turning into an open archway. He stepped into the hall, telling himself he wouldn’t go far. He just needed to be somewhere he couldn’t hear water splashing, couldn’t see Umber’s body—­so lithe and relaxed and confident—­couldn’t feel the bond between them pulsing, drawing him closer . . .

  He squeezed his eyes closed and drew a deep breath, berating himself mentally. Umber didn’t understand . . . Hansa couldn’t find the words to tell him . . . this wasn’t—­

  “Hansa? Do you need something?” He jumped, lifting his head to see Naples descending the stairs toward him.

  Naples had replaced the sweat-­slicked burgundy shirt with an indigo-­blue one. The neck was loosely laced, revealing a chain with an amethyst pendant beneath, and the bottom had been tucked into snug black pants. His waist was cinched in a wide belt that accented his narrow hips and flat stomach.

  Stop it, Hansa!

  “No, I’m—­” He lost track of what he was saying in the effort of not staring.

  This time, Naples noticed. Their eyes met for the first time, leaving Hansa momentarily disoriented by irises too bright to be called brown. Was that a natural color, or did his power lend the flame-­touched brightness to his gaze?

  “Exactly how long have you and Umber been bonded?” Naples asked.

  Hansa thought back, couldn’t come up with an exact span of time in his apparently addled mind, and said, “A ­couple days.”

  Naples nodded thoughtfully. “It’s overwhelming at first,” he said. “You’ll learn to manage it better over time.”

  Naples’ position in the household and the way he spoke of the woman who owned it came abruptly clear. “You and Azo?” Hansa asked.

  “For a very long time now.” Naples looked up and down the stairs with a grimace. “There are more comfortable places to have this conversation. Let’s step out on the balcony for a few minutes?”

  This time, when he pressed a hand to the wall, it didn’t mist away; there was a shimmer and shiver in the stone, perhaps as the Abyssumancer summoned the doorway he wanted instead of using one already in place.

  The casual example of power made Hansa hesitate, but given he was already alone with the man, moving to a different room didn’t seem any more stupid. The temptation to talk to someone who had been through what Hansa was now experiencing was overpowering.

  A moment later they were on a balcony overlooking the dried ocean. Night had fallen, so the balcony was lit only by two subtle orbs of lavender foxfire. The bleak sky was heavy like earth, while the luminescent creatures in the dried sea made it look like a vast, starry sky. Hansa fought a sudden sense of vertigo, brought on by the seeming inversion.

  Naples leaned against the railing. Hansa did the same, if only for the excuse to hold onto something—­one, to fight the disorientation, and two, to fight the urge to reach out and see if Naples’ hair was as soft as it looked. “Tell me about Umber?”

  “I don’t know him well,” Hansa admitted.

  “He’s mortal-­born?” At Hansa’s confused expression, Naples rephrased the question. “He was born on the mortal plane?”

  “I . . . don’t know. I don’t think he has been to the Abyss before,” Hansa answered. Then he remembered some of the things Umber had said since they arrived. “Maybe he has. He knows a lot about it.”

  “Spawn inherit memories from their parents,” Naples explained. “A mortal-­born spawn wouldn’t be able to make sense of all his Abyssi sire’s memories, but they’re there. He probably has some from his mother, too.” He suddenly frowned, and said with a more cautious tone, “I should have asked if he’s possessive before I asked you here alone.”

  Hansa shook his head, recalling the assurances Umber had given him. “He isn’t the jealous type.”

  “Good. Azo will be furious if I offend a guest, especially one brought to us by Alizarin. His patronage is one of the reasons Azo and I are able to have as fine a lifestyle as we do.” Hansa jumped as the Abyssumancer put a hand over his on the rail, slender fingers tapping along the back of Hansa’s knuckles, which were white from gripping so tightly. “Do you realize you’re leaking power?”

  “I don’t even know what that means.” His voice shook. With the Abyssumancer this close it was hard to draw a steady breath, but Hansa couldn’t make himself step away either.

  “I’m guessing an unfulfilled boon,” Naples said. “Is that what brings you to the Abyss?”

  Hansa nodded.
“You can tell?”

  “The moment I saw you. The boon . . . whispers? No, that isn’t the right word. It’s constantly reaching out and seeking fulfillment. No one who can feel Abyssal power could miss it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Did that response make any sense?

  “It’s okay,” Naples crooned, moving closer. He gently lifted Hansa’s hand from the balcony rail. “You’re bonded to the Abyss without any idea how to control it. You can’t help sweating magic, and you can’t help craving it. Luckily for you, I can help us both.”

  Freed of its death-­grip on the rail, Hansa’s hand inexorably sought the Abyssumancer. His palm on Naples’ chest, he could feel the other man’s heart pounding rapidly.

  “Azo,” Hansa said, invoking the other spawn’s name in an effort to make sense of a situation that had rapidly moved beyond his control.

  Naples flinched at the spawn’s name, but didn’t pull back. “She understands,” he said.

  Abyssumancer, the last of Hansa’s beleaguered common sense reminded him. He recalled Umber’s lesson on the four coins of the Abyss, flesh among them, and Alizarin’s first words to Naples: You’re hungry. You haven’t been hunting?

  Naples grabbed Hansa’s belt with his free hand and pulled him forward, clearly done talking. Hansa groaned, couldn’t help it, and couldn’t seem to turn his head away from a kiss that made Umber’s seem chaste and gentle. It was as if the last of his willpower had been exhausted when he ran away from Umber, and now his body had no intention of responding to the frantic yapping of his better judgement.

  “What—­” he managed to gasp as Naples pulled back, not going far but rather dragging Hansa with him away from the rail.

  “I don’t believe anyone is that naïve,” Naples answered. He leaned back, taking them both through another doorway and into a room lit only by a single, candle-­bright globe of flickering red foxfire. Bedroom, Hansa realized, as Naples shoved him against a post that seemed grown from the black stone floor, one of four delineating the massive, fur, and blanket-­piled bed that dominated the room. “You’ve been staring at me since we met.”

  “I didn’t mean—­”

  Once again Naples cut him off, this time with a finger across his lips that turned into a caress over his cheek, down his neck and to his chest. “Trust me,” the Abyssumancer said, “I don’t mind.” Deft hands untied the laces holding the neck of Hansa’s shirt closed, then dropped to slide under the bottom of it.

  “I mind,” Hansa managed to say.

  “You can’t mind much.” Naples’ voice was almost lost in cloth and skin as he pulled the shirt over Hansa’s head and tossed it away, then started licking and nibbling his way down Hansa’s chest. “You haven’t asked me to stop.”

  There was a flaw in that logic somewhere, but Hansa couldn’t put it into words as pale fingers slid down his skin and the world dissolved except for the feel of flesh on flesh.

  Then it was gone. Naples reeled back; in the absence of his heat, Hansa’s flesh raised in gooseflesh. He blinked eyes that didn’t seem to want to work correctly in the dim light and identified Umber, who had slammed the Abyssumancer against the wall.

  “Damn it,” Naples growled. “He told me you weren’t the jealous type.”

  “He probably also told you ‘no,’” Umber spat. “Not that I’d expect an Abyssumancer to give a damn about anyone’s preference but his own.”

  Hansa leaned against the bedpost, trying to get his spinning mind back under his control. This was worse than the constant, gnawing craving for Umber. Getting words out was difficult, but he managed to say, “My fault. I should have . . .” He lost the thought as his eyes finally focused on the two men, both dark-­haired and shirtless, Umber’s broader-­shouldered form pinning Naples’ leaner one against the wall.

  Umber glanced back when Hansa spoke, and Naples took that opportunity to shove him away.

  “Hear that? He didn’t—­”

  “Didn’t fight and protest?” Umber looked like he wanted to shake the Abyssumancer again but didn’t quite dare. “You know he’s a fleshbond. I’m sure you can read how new the bond is, and since you’re in one yourself, you know how overwhelming those first days can be. You can’t even make the excuse that you’re an adolescent mancer who’s helpless to resist the whims of the Abyss. You’re powerful enough that—­”

  “I’m powerful enough that, if I didn’t respect your complaint, I could have stopped your heart already. Consider that,” Naples growled. “I tried to confirm with him that you would not be upset. I apologize that I was mistaken.”

  “You don’t have the faintest idea why I’m upset, do you?”

  Naples looked Umber up and down as if the answer might be written somewhere on his body. Apparently he thought it was. He put a hand on Umber’s chest and said, “Oh, I see.” Umber growled and flinched away from the touch, but Naples’ expression was strangely gentle as he said, “You hide your power better than he does. I had no idea how dangerously starved you are. Have you been funneling raw power into him to sustain him? Why? You two are flesh-­bound. You should be—­”

  “That’s a rather personal question,” a soft, alto voice interrupted.

  Naples broke off, face going pale as he turned toward the new speaker. All the arrogance, fury, and even attempted kindness melted from his expression, replaced by despair so clear it broke through the druglike lust that had overwhelmed Hansa’s reason.

  It wasn’t Umber who had stolen Naples’ confidence, but a woman standing silently in the shadows at the far doorway.

  Umber shook his head, muttering a curse as he pulled away from Naples. “Don’t touch him. Or me. Ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I would never knowingly trespass on a guest’s property,” Naples said, the words sounding wooden as he kept his eyes locked on the other figure.

  “Well,” the woman said. At the single word, reverberating with irritation, Naples flinched.

  “I’m sorry,” Naples whispered.

  “Umber, go take care of yourself and your bond,” the woman said. “Take your time. When you’re ready, we’ll meet you downstairs to talk about your situation. I’m sure Naples will be anxious to help.” Her tone was one of command, not suggestion.

  “Thank you for your assistance locating my bond, Azo,” Umber answered formally. Without another look to the Abyssumancer, he said, “Hansa, let’s go.”

  On legs that felt like they might betray him any moment, Hansa followed Umber into the hall.

  “I should have listened to you,” he said as soon as they were alone in the stairwell. Umber had warned him that the bond might leave him especially vulnerable to Abyssumancers, but all he had heard was how his life was falling apart.

  “I knew what would happen if I let you walk out of the room on your own,” Umber said. “I could have stopped you. I felt it was important for you to . . . learn. I know it sounds cruel, but I preferred to have it happen here, in relative safety, than back in Kavet.”

  Hansa sighed. Just the way he hadn’t been able to look away from Naples would have gotten him in trouble if it had been someone in Kavet. So he also repeated himself: “I should have listened to you. I can’t even blame Naples. I practically threw myself at him.”

  Umber grimaced. “Would you blame yourself if you had been drugged, too? You might as well have been. Naples sensed the bond’s hunger and fed it. You were more vulnerable than you might have been if we’d had more privacy the last few days, but an Abyssumancer of Naples’ power . . .” He reached up to stroke the wall next to the sphere of teal foxfire Hansa remembered from in front of their rooms, and the door appeared. “There was nothing you could do. When we get back to Kavet, I’ll teach you how to shield yourself and hide from his kind.”

  “And for now?” Hansa asked. Umber had told him before that Abyssumancers were dangerous even to spawn, but Hansa hadn’t b
elieved it—­or at least, hadn’t believed they could be more dangerous to someone like Umber than they were to a soldier in the 126. Now he did.

  “As long as we’re here, Naples is on a short leash.” He growled, rumpling still-­damp hair with his fingers. “Most of the Abyssumancers you’ve met in the One-­Twenty-­Six are newly tied to the Abyss. Their Abyssi don’t understand the danger or don’t have the self-­control to protect their mancers, so they make stupid mistakes and get caught long before they master their power. They’re like kittens who can’t help swatting at pretty bouncing lights. Naples . . .” He shook his head. “Mortals don’t age in the Abyss, so I don’t know how old he really is, but he is long past the stage of being a helpless slave to his power. Azo and the Abyssi of the court won’t tolerate him unless he follows their rules.”

  “Don’t those rules include not stealing others’, um, property?” He chose and discarded a half-­dozen other words before deciding on the last one, none he liked better when referring to himself and several that were worse.

  “He could only abuse you because he could claim to believe—­or really did believe—­that I wouldn’t mind. He probably told himself I wouldn’t have let you go off on your own unless I was willing to share you.” He flashed a feral grin Hansa was certain had nothing to do with joy. “Though you’ll notice he was careful not to actually ask me.”

  “And he didn’t need to ask me,” Hansa grumbled. Both because the laws of the Abyss apparently said a human’s opinions didn’t count, and because Hansa lacked the ability to say no. That reminded him of something else important. “He said I was leaking power because of the unfulfilled boon. And you. He described you as starved.”

  Umber nodded. “I’ve been giving you as much power as I can risk losing to keep you coherent. Between that and the open boon, the two of us might as well put out a sign for Abyssumancers saying, Free Meal.” This time, his slow smile, ­coupled with a meaningful glance around the opulent room, looked more genuine. “Thankfully, we now have the opportunity to address one of those failings, and a plan for how to address the other. If nothing else, Azo will force Naples to help us to make up for his gaffe.”