Silver, Ash, and Bone

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/27683206.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer - All Media Types
Relationship: aeldari/drukhari, Drukhari | Dark Eldar Character(s) (Warhammer
40.000)/Original Character(s)
Character: Aurelia Malys, Aeldari | Eldar Character(s) (Warhammer 40.000),
Drukhari | Dark Eldar Character(s) (Warhammer 40.000)
Additional Tags: Aeldari | Eldar (Warhammer 40.000), Drukhari | Dark Eldar
(Warhammer 40.000), Master/Slave, Original Character(s), Howling
Banshees, Angst, Developing Relationship, So much trauma, Bisexual
Female Character, Sexual Assault, Slave Trade, Hurt/Comfort, Dead
Dove: Do Not Eat, Self-Destruction, Duelling, Elven Parties, Public
Humiliation, dark eldar culture, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse,
Vomiting, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Declarations Of Love, Sparring, Non-
Consensual Body Modification, Harm to Children, Child Murder, Slavery
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-11-23 Completed: 2022-07-16 Chapters: 21/21 Words:
156893

Silver, Ash, and Bone

by CleverMird

Summary

When a young Howling Banshee is purchased by the Kabal of the Ashen Rose, she finds
herself developing a relationship she never expected with its melancholy archon- and
becoming drawn into the dangerous world of Commorragh politics.

Will she be able to find happiness in her new life? Or will a millennia-old rivalry spell
doom for both her and the kabal?
 Masks
Chapter Notes

Note: All art in the story is the work of the author.

The great ship floats through the blackness of space on wraithbone wings, a serene testament to the
nobility of the aeldari and the well-oiled machine of craftworld society. Every member of the crew
walks their own path. Crew tends their stations, warriors train in the gyms, and the diplomatic
envoy that forms the core of their mission sits in a conference room near the helm discussing the
agenda at their next stop.

In one small cabin, however, the atmosphere is anything but peaceful. Jian paces nervously, eyes
constantly drifting back to the clock on the wall. Only five more minutes…

For the third time that afternoon, she returns to the mirror on the wall, running her fingers through
her long silver hair and touching up a stray spot of unblended eyeshadow. She hasn’t spoken to
Reena in nearly three months, and it could be much longer before the opportunity arises again. Her
time waiting in the que to access the thoughtportals when they were unneeded for more important
things will mean nothing if she is unable to reach her.

She’s late. Where is she? Has she forgotten? Had she- no, there it is.

Jian scrambles to the desk and presses a button on the small device that sits there, heart jumping
into her throat. “Hello?”

“Jian!”

Her lover’s voice sends a surge of relief through her. She’s alright. A part of Jian has known this,
but in the vastness of the galaxy, anything could happen and she would never find out until it was
too late. “Reena! How are you?”

A blurry image flickers into the air before her, little more than a flesh-toned smudge that slowly
resolves itself into the round face and upturned nose of a young aeldari girl with sparkling golden-
brown eyes. Reena, her darling. She looks a bit tired- she’s probably just finished a shift in the
halls of healing. She wears a soft, flowing white dress and the golden rings bound around her braid
pick up the color of her eyes and the highlights in her red hair. “Nothing much to report, really.
You know how it is. Nothing ever happens here. How about you? How’s the galactic traveler?”

“Gods, I’m bored. Since we stopped on Biel-tan three weeks ago, the most exciting thing has been
changes in the canteen menu.” She pauses. “It’s been nice to spend time with Mother, though.”

Reena nods. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“It is.” She smiles wistfully. “It’s different, you know, spending time with her as a grown woman,
than it was when I was younger.”

“Of course it is. Although,” Reena’s voice takes on an amused tone. “I’m not sure who the grown
woman is supposed to be.”
“Hey! That’s not- “

Reena cuts her off laughing. “I mean it, though. I’m really happy you’re having a good time. Just…
hurry back, okay? I worry.”

“Of course. I’m sure we'll be at the shrine for a while before they send us out again. I miss you
too.” She falls silent for a moment, considering, before a wicked grin spreads across her face.
“Would it help if I described all the things I’ll let you do to me when I get back?”

Reena matches the smile with one of her own. “Well… since you mention it… It’s been way too
long since I’ve seen your tits.”

“Oh? Is that what you want? I could be persuaded…” Jian sneaks a glance around the cabin. Her
bunkmate isn’t supposed to be back for nearly an hour, but it would be horrifically awkward if
someone walked in right now.

“Come on. Your shirt, off with it.”

She takes hold of the edge of the fabric, rolling it slowly up her torso, making sure Reena can catch
every last detail of her body as it’s revealed. Her girlfriend sighs appreciatively as Jian reaches
back to unfasten her undergarments.

“Unggghhh, those look good. Give them a nice squeeze for me.” She hears Reena shifting position
to get ready for what comes next.

“Wait a moment, let me lock the door before-“

A loud, shrieking, mechanical noise cuts her off. Jian’s heart jumps into her mouth. “Shit, that’s
the alarm. I have to leave.”

“What’s wrong?” Reena asks quickly.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing, just a rough patch in one of the warp corridors coming up or
something. I’ll call back as soon as I can.”

“Promise?” Jian can still hear the worry in her voice.

“I promise. I love you.” She blows a kiss to the screen and switches it off, already shifting
mindsets. She has a duty now.

Her armor is a work of art, nearly as easy to put on as normal clothing. Particularly when she’s only
half-dressed already. Less than two minutes later, she’s jogging down the corridors of the ship in
the fitted bodysuit and bone-white plates that already feel like a second skin. As she runs, she
places her Banshee’s mask over her face, and with it, the last of her jovial mood from a few
moments prior falls away.
 Jian, Howling Banshee of the Shrine of the Ever-Thirsting Blade

Despite what she said to reassure Reena, she isn’t sure what kind of threat the alarm that still blares
is warning of. It could be nothing- but it could be an attack by the orks or the mon’keigh or even-

She slows to a walk as she enters the bridge, keeping a watchful eye for any indications of what
might be wrong. Her path quickly becomes clear as she spots her exarch, Verynia, standing next to
her mother at the far end of the large room.

As she approaches, her heart sinks. Her mother stares at the bay of projected images that show
every detail of the ship and the warp surrounding them, face white and eyes distant.

“What is it?”

Her mother starts and turns to look at her, straightening her grey and orange captain’s robes as she
does so. Jian has always thought they make her look regal, and today is no exception, as she carries
a presence even as she wipes the worry from her face. Her voice is perfectly calm despite the
tightness in her posture. “The ship is under attack by drukhari raiders. Too many to fend off with
the troops we have. We will have to evacuate.”

No. How can she say that so calmly?

“What are we going to do?” Her voice comes out squeaky, like a small child’s. The drukhari are
nightmare creatures, the threat in the dark too frightening even for horror stories.

Verynia steps forward, tossing loose, thick red hair behind her shoulder. Unlike Jian’s mother, not
a single sign of worry breaks through her air of command. “You are going to join your squad and
escort our civilian officers to our escape ships, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jian runs towards her sisters, but can’t help looking back one more time. Her
mother and Verynia, the two women who form the foundations of her life, stand next to each other,
deep in conversation, paying her no more heed.

The quintet of her armor-clad Banshee sisters acknowledges her approach with a nod before
Kayna, the eldest in both years and experience, gestures to a cluster of aeldari that stand nearby to
follow them. Dehina and Elreth cover the sides and the twins, Aya and Lethe, bring up the rear.

Jian recognizes the civilians as part of the ship’s diplomatic envoy. They all look as terrified as she
feels. A stab of pain shoots up her arm and she realizes she’s been gripping the hilt of her sword
hard enough that her hand has begun to cramp.

It feels as though the ship itself has changed as she makes her way towards the nearest escape ship.
Hallways that appeared plain and boring only hours ago now have long shadows and too many
corners. Yet even still, she finds herself growing less and less afraid as she herds the diplomats
along, her own nerves nearly forgotten in the intensity of her focus. With her armor donned hastily
and no time for ritual, her warmask evades her, but the mindset is not far. It seems almost like no
time at all before the emergency hanger comes into sight.

One of the diplomats breathes an audible sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. A half dozen kabalite
warriors step into view, armored in crimson and white. They raise their splinter rifles towards the
group.

The last of Jian’s fear evaporates as she launches forward, drawing a shuriken pistol from her waist
and firing towards the enemy in rapid succession. Her first two shots go wild, but the last two
connect, striking the nearest drukahri in the shoulder and the side. She doesn’t hesitate, drawing
her power sword for a follow-up strike.

The warrior’s shot slices through the air where she was a second ago and she steps forward into a
wide swing that cuts him in half. Blood spatters her, the same color as the armor that failed to
protect him. A smile spreads across her face.

Spinning, she rounds on the next assailant, striking low at the legs to avoid his rifle shot. He, too,
crumples to the ground, leg sliced cleanly off. More blood flows onto the deck plating and howls of
pain join the shrieks from her sisters’ masks in a cacophony of sound that forms the music of her
death-dance.

Before long, the remaining drukhari lay dead on the ground.

She tosses her hair behind her shoulders and picks her way through the body parts to return to the
diplomats and the twins that remained behind to guard them. The former group looks a bit shell-
shocked.
“Jian,” Kayna orders sharply, gesturing to a blond man who stares blankly at the carnage.

Picking up on her meaning, Jian extends her hand towards him and he takes it without protest.
Half-leading, half dragging, she escorts him through the gory hallway and to the hanger, where he
seems to regain his wits and hurries onto the escape ship under his own power.

Her relief is short-lived, though. They still have two more groups to escort before the ship can be
considered evacuated.

The six Howling Banshees take an instant to regroup before they begin their trip back to the
bridge. There’s no holding back this time, no pacing themselves for the benefit of civilians. Every
moment they waste means more souls lost to She Who Thirsts.

They arrive back on the bridge and skid to a halt. The raiders have already arrived. Giant, twisted
hulks of flesh and metal swipe at her kin with rusted blades and hooked claws. With horror, Jian
realizes that these, too, were once eldar, tortured and altered to unbelievable degrees. One of the
things strikes a woman with the tip of a claw. It’s only a scratch, but she stumbles backwards,
shrieking in pain and a moment later she lies on the ground, twitching and moaning.

Frantically, she searches the melee for her mother as she readies her sword. She’s here, she has to
be-

“JIAN!” Verynia shouts. “You have your orders and you fucking follow them; do you hear me?”

Her head snaps around just in time to catch sight of the exarch before she disappears behind a
particularly large creature. She moves in a blur, her glaive striking over and over again and
bringing death with it each time. “Yes, m’am!” she yells in response, although she’s not sure if
Verynia can hear her.

The second phase of their evacuation is a team of engineers. After a few moments of anxious
searching, Jian hears a call from one of her sisters. “Over here!”

She and Kayna rush to the source of the shout and find Lethe standing over the five aeldari who’ve
huddled under a console. As she begins helping them to her feet, Kayna waves off the trio of
rangers who’ve been guarding the hiding place. Their job here is done for the moment.

The engineers prove more physically capable than the diplomats, and the second phase of the
evacuation is going even more quickly than the first.

A single level down, however, Kayna skids to a halt at the head of the group. A moment later, Jian
picks up on it too. Something is wrong.

Before they have time to react, the wall just in front of them caves in with a horrendous shriek of
twisting metal and clouds of foul-smelling smoke. The impact knocks one of the engineers from
his feet and he careens into Jian, throwing her off balance. With horror, she realizes that blood is
pooling onto his robes from a hole burned in his chest. She looks up.

Almost serenely, a Talos pain engine floats into the hallway, scorpion tail ready to fire its weapons
at the group once again.

Jian dives out of the way of the spray of black energy, rolling back to her feet and charging
forward. A woman screams behind her as a shot must find its home- one of the engineers? Aya?
Dehina?

Keyna and Elreth have darted under the Talos’ rounded body to carve at its underbelly, so she
charges straight for the strange head. It reaches out with crab-like claws, but she leaps out of the
way, using the momentum to run up the bare flesh of its arm and onto its back. If she can damage
its ranged weaponry, that will buy them time to deal with it without as much risk of civilian
casualties.

Her feet slide on the smooth metal armor and for a moment, she fears she will fall, but she manages
to right herself in time to slash at the tip of the Talos’ tail with her power sword. It shudders and
raises again, a hint more slowly, to turn towards her. She strikes again, and again, and again,
giving the guns no chance to aim at her until the entire end of the tail falls to the floor in a burst of
sickly greenish liquid.

Instinct tells her to dive out of the way and she throws herself to the ground. An instant later, the
entire left side of her body, shoulder to knee, is on fire and she stumbles forward, pawing at the
paneling of her armor and gasping for air. By the time the pain stops increasing and becomes a
steady throb of heat, her sisters have reduced the Talos to a smoldering heap of flesh and armor.

Jian straightens up and takes a deep breath as Aya lets out a wail of grief. Her blood-sister, Lethe,
lies on the ground, blood seeping from a trio of holes in her stomach and a steaming yellow fluid
leaking from the glassy eye visible through her shattered mask. Her body still twitches.

Sidestepping yet another body, which she realizes belongs to Dehina, Jian moves to help the four
remaining engineers forward as Elreth collects the waystones of the dead. The loss of two of her
sisters doesn’t register the way it should. One of Khaine’s blessings, she’s learned, is to save grief
and sorrow for another day. For now, fury is unchecked. The three kabalite warriors that attempt to
bar their way further on present no more than a momentary delay.

It’s only as she watches the last of the engineers make their way up the ramp onto the escape ship
that Jian has time to look down at her wounds. The acid has worn through both the wraithbone
plating and the underlying bodysuit, and the skin beneath is red and dotted with blisters.

She does her best to push down the pain, but now that battle no longer roars in her ears, she finds it
harder to ignore. She lags behind the other three as they begin the final stage of evacuation. We’re
going to retrieve my mother, she reminds herself. The thought gives her strength and although the
pain does not lessen, she finds herself able to push it once again to the back of her mind as they
approach the bridge.

As soon as the Banshees arrive, Jian’s wounds are forgotten. The tide of the battle has turned while
they were gone, and the craftworlders are hard-pressed. The bodies of her kin litter the floor as
dozens of drukhari warriors roam through the carnage. Jian even spots several incubi, clad in
flanged and spiked black armor and wielding massive hooked klaves. Where is Verynia?

What remains of the squad moves forward, cutting down their foes in a desperate bid to reach the
survivors. Through an instant’s break in the chaos that surrounds her, Jian sees her mother, a pair
of guardians at her side, wraithbone saber striking at any who come too close. Her face is entirely
free of distraction as she fights for her life.

If she’s going to rescue her, it has to be now. There’s no way she can hold out much longer. Jian
charges forward, sword in hand.

Something wraps around her legs and she falls, the impact of the deck plating stunning her
momentarily as a massive weight settles onto her back. Through her peripheral vision, she can see
at least half a dozen giant, serpentine creatures approaching her. Keyna’s body falls in front of her,
headless.
No. I have to keep fighting. Her sword is no longer in her hand and she scrambles around on the
floor for it. One of the creatures moves in front of her and she screams her frustration through her
mask. It, too falls, bleeding from its eyes and mouth.

Jian’s flash of triumph is short-lived. A second creature stands behind the first, a sword clenched in
two of its four muscular arms. It strikes at her head and her mask falls to the floor, split in two. The
weight on her back shifts forward, forcing her shoulders against the floor.

“JIAN!” Her mother’s scream rises above the noise of battle and Jian sees her turn in her
direction… providing just enough distraction that a shot of dark energy strikes her in the gut. She
falls to the floor.

“MOTHER!” Jian shrieks, before realizing her mistake and clamping her mouth shut.

The drukhari that have been closing in part and a woman steps through the space they form. She
wears no helmet, her skin a sickly pale and her unkempt hair a brilliant red. Blue-grey tattoos mark
her face. Jian doesn’t need to be told that she must be the archon of whatever kabal has attacked
them. The pride of her bearing, the intricacy of her armor, and the deference shown even by the
incubi are evidence enough. Her rifle pulses with the same dark energy that brought Jian's mother
to the ground.

Her mother pulls herself to her knees and raises a shuriken pistol. The pain and effort it takes is
written plain on her face. Almost casually, the archon raises her rifle and fires two shots, blowing
both arms off at the elbows.

Jian keeps struggling. She won’t give up, she can’t.

Twitching, her mother falls to the ground once again. The archon steps over to her and grabs a
fistful of hair, hauling her back to her knees. A wicked smile spreads across the drukhari's face.
“What do we have here, huh?”

Jian watches in horror as her mother is dragged across the deck plating, convulsing, eyes rolled
back in her head with pain. She can’t breathe, she can’t move, she can’t-

The archon stops in front of her. “Did I hear right? Is this pathetic carcass what’s left of your
mother?” Jian feels a pull at her own hair, forcing her head back to look up into that cruel face.
“Were you too slow and weak to save her?”

“Let. Her. Go,” Jian spits out. It’s less than nothing, but if she gives up, admits that it’s over-

The archon laughs. “No. I have plans for her.”

Shifting her grip to keep ahold of Jian’s mother, the drukhari pulls a strange dagger from her belt.
The blade seems almost to be made of a pitted, stained bone, shot through with channels of dirty
yellow liquid. Without hesitation, she plunges it into the other woman’s chest.

Her mother screams in a way Jian has never heard before, in a way she never thought any living
thing could scream. Her spasms increase and the sound grows more and more strained until it
suddenly turns to a rough, guttural roar and blood dribbles from her mouth. Still the noise
continues.

Jian can only watch in silent horror, transfixed, unable even to continue struggling. Everything in
her wants nothing more than to shut out what’s going on, but she can’t look away as her mother’s
body shrivels and twists and eventually stills, turning into a pale, dried husk that barely resembles
the woman it once held.
The archon pulls something else from her belt, a small pyramid of polished black stone. Jian has
never walked the Path of the Seer, but even still, she can feel unwholesome energy radiating from
it. Tapping the side, the archon raises it to the waystone at her mother’s chest and watches as the
gem, too, turns to an ashen white shadow of itself. The pyramid begins to glow an eerie purple.

Jian screams, matching the echoes of her mother’s cries that still reverberate through the room,
putting all her pain and rage into the sound to form a banshee’s wail of her own. Smiling even
wider, the archon squats down and blows a kiss at Jian in mocking gesture of farewell.

The forceful exhalation is too much for her mother’s corpse and it disintegrates into a cloud of ash.
Jian’s scream cuts off as the powder rolls over her, coating her face and her armor and BY KHAINE
IT’S IN HER MOUTH. She coughs and spits and chokes, writhing in her captors’ grip as she tries to
get it off her, get it off, get it off, getitoffgetitoff-

Once again, the archon laughs as she stands up, brushing ash from her armor. “And just think:
None of this would have happened if you’d been a real warrior. How pathetic.”

Jian’s eyes blur with tears. Each word falls on her like a blow. Please, Isha, just let me die now.

“But don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be able to find you a new home, one where you’ll never bring
suffering and death to your loved ones again. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll even manage to be
useful to someone.”

The words echo through Jian’s mind as the archon turns her back and walks away. One of the
incubi steps forward and aims an armored boot at Jian’s head. The world goes black.

****

The young Howling Banshee sags in the sslyth’s grip, unconscious. As the archon moves to inspect
the rest of her prizes, her crew swarms the girl, stripping her of everything that could be dangerous
or valuable and binding her hand and foot. Their work finished, they move on to the next captive,
leaving her lying helpless and insensate in a pile of white ash.
 Emptiness
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jian awakes in what she can only assume is the hold of the drukhari ship. Her head throbs and even
the dim light hurts her eyes. The rest of her body aches and burns and stings in so many ways she’s
not sure if she could pick them out individually. Darkness slips back over her and she lets it take
her into unawareness.

When she comes to a second time, little seems to have changed, although she can keep her eyes
open now. Her skin is dry and itchy and feels oddly gritty.

My mother is dead. The thought overwhelms everything else in her mind and it crushes her. Her
mother, dead, her waystone shattered. Her soul now the possession of the drukhari to feast on and
revel in the pain or to sell to someone else who will do the same. Jian tries to call to mind a
pleasant memory of her mother - her smile, the warmth of her embrace, the taste of the meat that
she enjoyed smoking and drying for her family. But all that she can see is her agonized death mask,
and all that she can taste is the bitter tang of her ashes. Sobs wrack Jian’s body, but her eyes remain
dry.

She feels a sharp sting in her leg, followed an instant later by a horrific, formless pain that races
over her entire body in a wave and breaks, leaving her weak. Her cry of alarm only brings another
sting, on her shoulder, followed by the same agony. So she holds in her emotions and does her best
to remain quiet as, for the first time, she ventures outside her own head.

Her armor and weapons are gone, leaving her clad in only the tight shorts and sleeveless top she
had been wearing underneath the body glove. Her hands are cuffed above her head and her feet
chained together and attached to a ring in the deck plating, forcing her into a hunched sitting
position. Although she can’t tell exactly what’s at her back, it feels like some kind of pole or
support beam.

From her position, she can see others of her kin from the ship, perhaps two dozen of them. All
bound, all wounded to some degree, all looking as defeated and exhausted as she feels, although
not all have been attached to anything solid like she has been. Many she recognizes, although there
is no one she knows as more than a name or a face. None of them seem to want to look at her. They
blame her, she’s certain. The protector who failed to protect them.

Some dim part of her brain that’s still capable of thought realizes that there are probably more
survivors that she can’t see from her position, but her efforts to look around only bring another
whiplash from the man that stands nearby.

As time stretches on, Jian grows used to her new situation. She’s lost all sense of time, but it must
be days, weeks at least she sits in the dark. Although she’s never fed or given anything to drink, she
doesn’t feel the effects of hunger or thirst as acutely as she might. She wonders if that’s the
purpose of the injections that the prisoners are repeatedly given. At first, she tries to count how
many she receives, but gives up when she realizes she doesn’t know how much time there is
between them, or even if it’s the same interval each time.

Besides, there can be only one destination. What does it matter how long it takes to get there?

She and the others nearby are guarded by a rotating roster of what she surmises by appearance and
comments to be low-ranking warriors of the kabal. They rarely speak to each other and never to the
craftworlders, but are quick to strike out with their green-glowing whips any time someone makes a
sound, or if they judge that someone has moved too much. So she stays still and silent, and in the
stillness, she thinks of Reena and of her father. By now they must know that something is wrong.
She tries to keep from imagining their grief and wonders what happened to Verynia, and to the rest
of her sisters. The line of thought is full of sorrow, but when she lets her mind drift from the losses,
she is instead forced to consider what will befall her when they reach Commeragh. Will it be a
slow, torturous death, or centuries endless toil and a slow grinding into dust?

Yet even these ugly fears are preferable to remembering her mother’s death, a scene that
nonetheless torments her over and over again throughout the long hours. She must sleep at some
point, but it’s little different than being awake, the dreams only slightly more vivid than her own
recollections.

One man, who wears tattered healer's robes, must lose his mind from fear and begins to babble and
wail incoherently. When kicks and whiplashes fail to quiet him, the guard on duty rips his tongue
from his mouth without hesitation. They drag him away a while later and Jian doesn’t see him
again.

Over the course of the journey, various drukhari visit the hold to slake their lusts on one or another
of the prisoners. Unlike the normal silence, the guards seem to welcome the screams and struggles
as their fellow raiders take their pleasure.

This, at least, she is spared, although she has no idea why. She certainly doesn’t escape the
attentions of her captors. Men and women both, she learns to silently accept their hands thrust
roughly down her shirt and pawing at her thighs and tugging on her ears, accompanied by crude
descriptions and threats that paint color to her starkest fears. Every word and touch builds a
cringing, sick feeling in her, but the pole and the chains leave her nowhere to escape but her own
head, where nightmares drive her back out and into sharp awareness of each moment.

After the healer has been gone for several injections, one of the guards approaches her. She doesn’t
look up. Why bother?

The guard grips her chin, forcing her to lift her head. She’s a drukhari girl, Jian’s own age or
maybe even younger, with long, shiny black hair and a wicked grin on her face.

“See? What did I tell you?” says her companion, a redhead in an off-duty outfit, but otherwise very
similar to the guard in appearance and mannerism.

“Hmm… I think you’re right.” They giggle to each other as the redhead hands the guard a small
silver bag. She goes to work, smearing Jian’s face with powders and liquids, twisting her head this
way and that, pausing to lean back and inspect her work. Finally, she holds up a hand mirror,
clearly expecting her work to be admired.

The makeup is garish, cheap products hastily applied, but even Jian can tell what it was meant to
imitate: the purple-haired, robed woman who often appears at the archon’s side, an attendant or
courtesan of some sort. For a moment she stares at her reflection, searching for the source of
amusement.

It’s only then that she realizes with horror why her own face looks so strange to her. Under the
heavy eyeliner and smears of red shadow, the blood-colored lips and drawn on eyebrows, her skin
is coated in pale grey powder that matches the other woman’s white skin. Her mother’s ashes.

She turns her head in sorrow and revulsion and the drukhari girl steps away, laughing raucously
with her friend. Jian has no idea what the joke is, but they apparently find it intensely funny. So do
the next few shifts of guards.

The other slaves look at her even less after that.

Still more endless time passes, much the same as before, but with the addition of the humiliating
laughter that makes her long to tear away her skin to be free of her the constant, agonizing presence
of her mother’s pain. But at some point, she feels something, perhaps some slight change in the air
currents of the hold or the tiny vibrations of the deck plating. The ship has stopped.

Not long after, a large group of kabalite warriors appear, carrying a mass of chains and shackles.
They drag about half of those present into a line, binding them together and forcing them to their
feet and out of Jian’s sight. Perhaps a few hours later, they return and drag off four more, all of
whom appear to have been minor ship’s officers. This process is repeated again and again, the
groups growing smaller each time, until Jian sits alone, watched over still by the ever-present
guard.

Finally, it’s her turn. It might be the same warriors that came at first, or it may have been different
ones each time, she has no way of knowing. They unfasten her bindings and push her to the floor,
several of the men pinning her limbs to keep her from moving, but she doesn’t fight. There’s no
point. There’s only enduring as they tear the remaining clothing from her body, leaving her naked
and exposed to their hungry gazes.

In a way, it would almost be a relief for her fears to finally realize. But instead, the same black-
haired girl from before steps forward and slides her into a pair of tiny black lace panties, barely
enough to cover her. Jian finds herself roughly hauled to her feet, one drukhari clasping each arm
as they carry her through the ship and outside.

Commoragh.

The city of her darkest nightmares overwhelms her with sound and smell and movement. Bruised
sky spreads above them, stabbed with twisted spires and buildings larger than she’s ever seen. The
streets bustle with drukhari and their slaves of every race she knows of and many she doesn’t.
Above their head swarm flying vehicles and flocks of some kind of eldar-sized bird. The air is cold
on her bare skin and heavy with the odors of death and decay.

Before she can process the sudden onslaught of sensations, her captors move off, half-carrying, half
dragging her through the twisted streets. They make casual conversation as they go, as though this
is the most normal thing in the galaxy. And, indeed, it seems as though very few pay them more
than passing attention. Jian watches their progress wide-eyed, grateful even for the horrific sights
in front of her as any kind of distraction from her own situation.

They reach their destination quickly, however, and even that slight reprieve ends. The archon and
her female companion stand waiting inside the building they enter, next to a small platform. As
they set her on it, a pair of shackles automatically wrapping around her ankles to hold her in place,
Jian can feel the soles of her feet pierced with dozens of tiny needles. She cries out and for once, no
one strikes her. Instead, they haul her arms above her head and the man holding her up steps away
as an identical set of restraints encircle her wrists, keeping her roughly in a standing position. More
needles pierce her palms and she sags, unable to hold herself up, as clear walls rise around her,
locking her in a glass tube barely wider than she is.

The slavers fiddle with the exterior of the cage for a few minutes and Jian’s eyes close. She’s so
tired, so weak, so overwhelmed by her pain and grief that she can’t bring herself to care about
what’s going to happen to her next. The world around her shudders and through her closed eyes she
notices a change in the light outside.

A moment later, music begins to play, loud and strangely upbeat. A shock of electricity races
through her body, making her jerk involuntarily, followed an instant later by another one, and
another. She drags her eyes open to see a slowly rotating view of the street outside, the music
attracting onlookers. The electrical pulses continue, matching the beat of the music to create a
twisted mockery of a sensual dance.

Yet again, time loses its meaning. An endless stream of passerby continues unslowed. Some stop to
watch her humiliation, others walk past without so much as a second glance. A stitch grows in her
side, becoming more and more painful until it, too, disappears. One of the kabalites that guards the
cage begins to pleasure himself to the performance until his companions force him to stop. It seems
to her that it’s more because they find it annoying than anything else. A deep flush of shame heats
her cheeks and ears and her head bows again. Hair falls into her face and she welcomes its
presence to cover her.

The music stops and the walls slide down. A severe-looking woman in tiny scraps of fitted black
leather approaches her, lips pursed. She examines Jian critically, prodding her like a cut of meat,
opening her mouth, and even sliding down the underwear to inspect what little they had covered.
Apparently, she doesn’t like what she sees, as she steps away shaking her head. The walls rise
again and the dance resumes.

She hardly registers this latest indignity. Her body barely seems like her own, anymore. Just a
damaged, soiled puppet carrying her to whatever doom lies at the end of her journey.

Not long after, the music stops again. She looks up. The redheaded archon stands in front of her
cage, talking to another drukhari, a man in bone-white and green armor that exceeds even the
archon’s in quality and detail. Jian drags her mind back into her body as the archon gestures
excitedly. “Don’t worry, Lord Aire, the girl is top quality. Ex-banshee, she’ll make a great trophy
with just enough fight left in her to give you some fun later. Almost sorry I’m not keeping her for
myself.”

The other man says nothing, simply holding out what Jian assumes to be money. The archon takes
it and shakes his hand.

Before the significance of this can penetrate the fog in Jian’s mind, the bands around her wrists and
ankles retract, the bottom slides away from the cage, and she falls to the ground. A jolt of pain
races up her body as her knees slam down on the cobbled street with a crack. She tumbles forward
into a heap. The archon is still speaking, apparently unwilling to leave her sales pitch incomplete.
“… told my men to leave her untouched, my scanners picked up on her virginity.” She snorts and
pokes Jian roughly with the tip of her boot to urge her up. “Typical banshee. She’s probably a
pussy-only girl, but I’m sure she’ll learn to take dick just as well with proper training.”

Shakily, Jian raises herself on her hands. As she does, something wraps around her neck, cold and
smooth. A collar. She looks up, along the silver chain attached to it, into the face of the man who
holds her fate now.

He’s older than she is, she judges, but not old, with the same pale skin as all of the dark ones and
long hair, silver-white like her own, worn loose. Stark black tattoos mark his skin, lines radiating
from his forehead down his face and coloring his upper lip. He looks almost bored with the
situation. “I suppose you’ll have to do,” he says. “Are you ready to leave?”

Jian blinks in surprise before nodding automatically. It’s not as though she has any choice.
 “Well then, get up.” He tugs at the leash. “And try to make it look as though you actually want to
be at my side as we depart, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Get up? Jian can barely imagine sitting without her arms to prop herself up with, but the memory of
the whiplashes and the knowledge that this new, unknown drukhari will do far worse if she doesn’t
obey forces her to try. It takes several attempts, but she finally rises. Her legs shake and her feet
throb and sting as she puts weight on torn soles, but she is indeed standing.

The man in front of her remains silent, watching her almost expectantly. She feels the stares of the
crowd that’s gathered to watch and her head spins, black gathering at the edges of her vison. She
wraps her arms around her chest, as much an effort to physically hold herself together as an attempt
at modesty, and does her best to form her face into a smile.

This proves an even harder task. Eventually, however, the man nods, apparently satisfied. He steps
closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The contact knocks her off balance and she
finds herself leaning on him for support. An instant later, he scoops her up into his arms, cradling
her, and begins to carry her away to whatever home he plans for her. Jian can only hope that it
won’t take too long for her to die.

****

Cheers and whoops erupt from the crowd as the drukhari walks off with his prize, studiously
ignoring the attention. The battered, filthy slave girl in his arms is frozen, staring up at him with
glassy eyes and trembling with cold and exhaustion. Still, he pays her no more mind than it takes to
occasionally keep her from slipping from his grasp and his expression remains carefully neutral.

Chapter End Notes

This might be a good time to talk a bit about eldar sexuality, or at least how I
headcanon it for the purposes of this fic.

In writing this, I'm working from the premise that sexualities are distributed
approximately the same as they are among humans in real life. For craftworld eldar,
that's all there is to it. However, in drukhari society, sex has become almost completely
divorced from love, affection, or even really pleasure or attraction. This has been
coupled with the well-known psychological fact that sexual assault and rape are much
more about power and/or sadism than they are about sex to wind up with a situation in
which most dark eldar are *functionally* bisexual, even if the majority of them would
strongly prefer an opposite-sex pairing if they were looking to have sex purely for fun
(and some would strongly prefer same-sex).

While we're at it, despite the archon's assumptions to the contrary, Jian is actually
bisexual (as is Lord Aire) although Reena is exclusively attracted to women.
 Possession
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The man carrying Jian- her owner, she realizes dismally- stays silent for the rest of their journey.
Once they’re away from the crowd, people seem to pay them little attention. Small mercies. Her
side throbs as her acid burns rub against the ridges and curves of his armor.

Before long, he steps through a small arch and she can instantly feel a slight change in the
atmosphere. The air is warmer and the wind stronger and coming from a different direction. They
stand on a small landing platform, a vehicle of similar make to those she saw on her arrival in
Commorragh parked nearby. She notices that it’s painted in the same bone white and muted green
color scheme as the man’s armor.

A kabalite warrior in matching livery approaches them, bowing as he does. “Greetings, my lord.
Would you like me to fly you to your quarters, or-“

“Yes,” the man cuts him off. The archon, she realizes. The thought fills her with a renewed sense
of dread. Only the powerful and ruthless rise to lead their own kabal, she knows this. And to be his
trophy, his plaything-

She begins to shake again.

This trip is longer, despite the increased speed of their movement. Whatever subspace of the dark
city they’ve entered must be quite large. Still, the archon says nothing, and still Jian remains
motionless in his arms.

When they finally touch down, he exits the flyer without a word to the pilot and carries her
indoors. The building is an empty, nearly silent place, all soaring ceilings with curved beams and
pale grey walls. The few drukhari who move around the space are nearly all women, most wearing
long braids and elaborate robes. They, too, pay him deference.

At the top of a long spiral staircase, he enters a room. Jian hears the door slide shut and lock
behind them.

A moment later, the archon lets out a long sigh and sets her down. The movement catches her off-
guard and she stumbles, throwing out a hand for support and landing on his arm. He waits for her
to steady herself before stepping away, tossing her leash over the back of a nearby chair and
heading towards a doorway at the far end of the room. A raised hand signals for her to remain
where she is, but Jian has no intention of moving. She’s not even sure whether she can stand much
longer.

She looks around. The room appears to be the living area of a bedroom suite, more richly decorated
than anything she’s ever seen before. Again, her heart sinks. If he’s brought her to his bedroom,
that can mean only one thing. She wraps her arms around herself, wishing desperately for
something more to cover her than the single scrap of lace and silk. Her entire skin crawls and
something clenches at her throat.

After a few minutes, the archon reappears. His armor is gone, replaced with a heavy, embroidered
robe left open over a simple shirt and pants. His feet, Jian notices, are bare, and he carries
something she can’t quite make out.
He approaches her and she tries not to back away. She can’t breathe. Just let it happen, there’s
nothing you can do.

Something soft wraps around her. A short, thin robe in rich emerald green. “Here you are,” he says,
guiding her arms into the sleeves and tying the belt around her waist. The smooth satin feels wrong
against her damaged skin. Marks are already appearing where the sweat and grime that cake her
have started to contaminate the fabric.

He steps away again to take a seat at a table nearby. With a start, she realizes that it’s loaded with
food: fruit and bread and honey and cream. A light dinner for two. She didn’t even notice it earlier.

“Come, you must be hungry.” The archon pours himself a glass of wine. Jian looks down at
herself, at the robe and her bare legs below it. Her leash drags on the ground.

She looks up again. A second chair sits on the other side of the small table, but the archon hasn’t
pulled his chair in at all. He remains facing her. Watching her. The expectation is clear.

For the first time in weeks- or has it been months? - she has a choice. Take a seat on the other
chair… or on him… The thought overwhelms her. She tries and fails to steady her breathing and
lurches forward.

The archon reaches out to help guide her into his lap as she approaches. It wasn’t a choice. She’s
on autopilot, the thought of trying to resist too much to contemplate. For a moment, her attention is
taken up by settling into a balanced position, and then she’s there and free to look at the food.

Food. How long has it been since she’s had anything to eat at all? Her hand reaches out
involuntarily and she pauses, realizing she was never given permission to take anything. But only
for an instant. The lure of having something to fill her empty stomach after so long is too strong.
She picks up a piece of fruit and raises it to her mouth.

Something touches her head and she flinches. A hand stroking slowly, almost gently. “That’s a
good girl.” The archon’s voice is low in her ear.

She takes a bite. Color explodes in her mouth and she gasps as the juice washes over her cracked
lips and dry mouth. A sting that’s somehow the sweetest thing she’s ever felt. She chews quickly,
biting her tongue in her haste to eat until the entire thing is gone and reaches for a piece of bread.
The archon still caresses her hair.

A ghost of a thought darts across her mind. The survival training that all craftworld children
receive, repeated and expanded upon during her time with the Banshees. The worst you can do
after not eating for a long time is to gorge yourself. She tries to take smaller bites, to chew slowly
and savor each piece and watch for signs that she’s being poisoned or drugged. That’s probably his
plan, to dose her with chemicals that will cloud her mind and fill her body with pain.

But no signs of it appear. She finishes the bread and picks up another slice, taking the time to
drizzle this one with honey.

The archon shifts his position slightly. “My name is Lord Valthiel Aire, and I am the archon of the
Kabal of the Ashen Rose.” His voice is still soft, and, she realizes, accented differently than the
other drukhari she’s met. She turns to look up at him, bread still in her hand, and nods. She
understands.

He sighs. “Which is your cue to introduce yourself as well, my dear. Who are you? What’s your
name?”
Introduce herself? To him? A sudden, violent disgust seizes her, the revulsion and fear she’s felt
ever since the first hand claimed her as a thing becoming an iron-clad line. She swallows. When
she manages to get words out, she barely recognizes her own voice. It’s the first time she’s spoken
since her mother died. “I don’t want to tell you.” She readies herself for a blow.

It never comes. The archon tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

She takes a deep breath. “Because I do not want to hear the name used by my mother and my lover
polluted by your lips. Give me whatever name you like and I will answer to it. But let my old life
die with my sisters and- “ Another choke of emotion seizes her and she finds herself unable to keep
speaking. It’s probably for the best. Every bit of herself that she lets slip into this place is another
way he’ll make her suffer later. Best to forget it and accept her new path, however short it may be.

“I see. You mean I will pollute your name by saying it? That I am unworthy of it?”

Looking down, Jian tries to figure out what to say that won’t trigger his wrath. “You- you will
pollute the memories of my old life. They’re the only thing I have now. My life belongs to you
from this point forward. Please, do not take my past as well.”

The archon begins to stroke her thigh. Pinpricks race across her skin and she holds still, waiting.
“Is that a request? Or a demand?” Still, he speaks calmly, but Jian detects a dangerous undertone.

“I am not in a position to make demands. But I will not give it to you willingly.”

Another silence stretches out as her terror grows.

His arm moves up and wraps around her waist, pulling her against his chest. “Very well. I will
honor your wish.” He plays idly with the ties of her robe. “How about Vixen? Does that name suit
you?”

“Alright.” It doesn’t matter, really. The defiance has left her and it once again feels as though even
the thought of resisting him is too much. He could have picked something worse. “Thank you…
my lord.” It seems as though this is the proper way to address him. If he doesn’t like it, she’ll find
out.

It seems acceptable, however, as he smiles and reaches out to place a delicate glass goblet of clear
liquid in her hands. “You are welcome, Vixen. Now, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

She raises the glass and takes a sip. Wine. Her filthy hands leave smudges of blood on the glass
where the cage tore at them. “I- I was a warrior. Of the Howling Banshees aspect.” Not that it had
mattered in the end. “I was captured while attempting to evacuate the crew of the naval vessel- “

The archon cuts her off with a gesture. “That is bound to be a sad and tragic tale, though. Tell me
about something happier. What was your life like on the craftworld where you grew up?”

This is worse. Tears spring to Jian’s eyes and she pushes them back down fiercely. She will not
give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. “I am from the craftworld Yme-loc. And I followed
the path of the warrior. Please, my lord. Do not ruin my memories of better times by forcing me to
bring them here.” Her soul aches with the realization that this, too, is completely dependent on her
master’s whim.

“Very well. What about hobbies? What do you like to do besides fighting?”

She looks up. “Why do you care?” Perhaps it might be worse to know, but she can’t help but ask.
“What do you plan to do with me?”
Sighing, the archon readjusts his grip around her. “I simply want to see if I can facilitate some of
said interests. It might make your stay here more pleasant.” His hand resumes its slow traverse up
and down her naked thigh.

“I like to sing. And to play chess.” She can’t find it in herself to fight him anymore. He will take
what he wants from her mind just as he will take it from her body. It will be best to get it over with.

He smiles. “I’ll have to have you sing for me one day soon. But I’m sure you are too tired for that
tonight, yes?”

Before she has a chance to respond, he kisses her. His lips are cold and send a wave of the same icy
crawling feeling washing over her. She feels herself tense, her body trying to shrink itself to
nothing to escape from his touch, but she is as trapped here as she was on the ship.

A moment later, he pulls away. His face is still very close to hers and his breath is hot on her
forehead.

She looks up. For the first time that night, she forces herself to meet his gaze. Golden eyes, more
concerned than predatory. She realizes that he’s waiting for her to speak. Does he want her to fight
back? The other archon had promised him something of the sort. “I cannot stop you from taking
what you want, Lord.”

It seems to be the only invitation he needs. He kisses her again. Hands slide along her waist, up to
caress her breasts and around, pulling her closer. The flimsy robe begins to slide off her shoulders
and the archon’s breathing is loud in her ears. She closes her eyes. Waves of sickness and horror
wash over her, and when they break, they leave room for a curious excitement as she can’t help but
respond physically to a man who seems to know exactly which parts of her body to explore.

And then the kiss ends abruptly. She still wears the thin, lacy panties and the robe is still half-
wrapped around her. The archon reaches up to brush a ratted strand of hair away from her face and
smiles again. “It’s been a long day, and you have more than earned your rest. We can continue
later. Do you want me to call someone to show you to your room, or would you prefer to finish
your dinner first?”

Jian stares, shocked. “I would like to go to my room now, yes.” Her room? This, too, is an
unknown, but even chains and cold stone would mean getting away from him for a bit. It means a
brief reprieve before the agony starts.

Lord Aire taps a bracelet on his wrist. A moment later, the door opens and a drukhari woman steps
through. Tall and slim, dressed in black and grey robes similar to the other women she’s seen here,
she wears her brilliant blue-green hair in the same long braid as well. “You called, Valthiel?”

“Yes. This is Vixen, and she is ready to be shown to her room.” He begins to maneuver Jian off his
lap. Her legs buckle and he helps her regain her footing before he speaks again. “Vixen, this is
Lynx, another one of my… subordinates. You have no need to be afraid of her, she is here to help
you.”

Jian eyes the other girl nervously, but nods in acceptance and begins to walk shakily towards her
before stopping, confused. She should say something before she leaves. Turning to face him once
again, she bows, a formal, businesslike gesture that she’s seen used before and after meetings on
Yme-loc. “Thank you for your kindness, my lord.” The leash drags on the floor as she bends.

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do, to say. She doesn’t know anymore. She doesn’t know if
anyone cares.

The archon says nothing, watching as Lynx picks up the leash and leads her out of the room. They
walk a way down the hallway and begin to descend a staircase before her guide speaks. “You stink
and your makeup is atrocious.”

Her face heats up in shame as mocking laughter and her mother’s screams echo in her mind. “I
didn’t do it myself.”

“Well, we’ll have to fix it.” The woman- Lynx, she supposes- stops in front of a door, unlocking it
before leading Jian in. Inside is dimly lit and surprisingly large, but Jian catches a glimpse of a bed
and a massive, heart-shaped bathtub. Lynx shuts the door behind her and unhooks the chain from
Jian’s collar. “There we go. Now, why don’t you run a bath while I fetch some things. We’ll need
to work on that hair of yours.”

A bath. For the first time in what must be weeks, genuine excitement fills her and she runs toward
the tub, stumbling on the way. Reaching it, she turns on the water and holds her hands under the
stream. Her legs buckle and she leans against the rim for support. It almost doesn’t feel real. A
scent of flowers wafts up from the water and she stares mesmerized as pink and purple bubbles rise
and pop. She can lose herself in their movements and not think about anything else…

Jian shakes herself from her reverie and turns the tap off before it can overflow. Lynx isn’t back
yet, but she can’t bear to wait any longer.

The water stings in her cuts as she climbs in and she gasps with a pleasant shock of the heat. Dark
clouds of filth float off her skin. Dried sweat and blood, Commorragh street grit, smoke, and grime
all rub away, leaving pale skin below. Too pale.

Her mother’s ashes.

She scrubs harder. Her skin remains nearly white. Oh, Isha, please say it’s not permanent! She
draws in a shuddering breath that does nothing; she’s breathing faster and faster but she’s still
choking. It has to come off, it has to. Digging her nails into her flesh, she tears at it, trying to pull
away the layers that have been stained to uncover her real skin. Please, it can’t-

“Hey! What are you doing?” Lynx grabs at her arms.

In her weakened state, Jian can’t hope to fight her off and she falls limp. “They won’t come off,”
she sobs.

“What won’t come off?”

“The ashes, they did something to them.”

Lynx sighs. “Calm down. I said I would help you, did I not?” She begins to scrub her with a cloth.
“See?”

Jian watches her progress. With the addition of soap, the white is beginning to come off. Still, her
own tawny skin seems to have lightened a shade or two. “What did I tell you?” Lynx looks
annoyed.

Somehow, the question is enough to collapse the thin wall of numbness she has left holding her
together. The world crumples into a blurred mess as she begins to cry.

Arms wrap around her and pull her to the edge of the tub. Jian can’t help but hug back as Lynx
presses her against her shoulder. Something, anything to hold on to in order to keep from flying to
pieces.

How long she cries, she has no idea, but eventually she can breathe without it catching in her throat.
The tears stopped long ago. “I should finish this,” she murmurs, picking up the discarded cloth.
“Let you do your other duties.” If nothing else, the archon will likely want company in his bed
tonight. Perhaps she should have stayed, to spare Lynx, but the thought is performative. Her turn
will come soon enough in any case.

“I have nowhere else to be for the moment.” Lynx begins to brush her hair, slowly and carefully
untangling the matted knots that Jian has barely noticed until now.

“Thank you.” She swallows. “Is he- is he very cruel? To you?”

“No, not at all. Why do you ask?”

She doesn’t seem to be lying, but the answer does nothing to make Jian feel better. “I just want to
know what to expect.”

“Well, he is quite domineering, but gentle. I usually enjoy myself when we sleep together.”

“That’s something, at least.” Jian looks down at the water, which is turning an ugly grey-brown
color with dirt. “Did he buy you from the raiders too?”

“No.” She hesitates. “I was, erm, already associated with the Ashen Rose when he took over. Not
working directly for them, but for another kabal and its archon via a contract. I… did not enjoy the
assignment at all, and our lord was kind enough to purchase said contract, provided I work for him
instead.”

“I see. I’m glad you are happier here.”

“I’m sure you will be too. You just need to give it time.”

“Maybe… I just… I want to go home.”

“Hey,” Lynx’s voice turns harsher and she tugs at Jian’s hair. “You could try to be a bit more
appreciative. Unless you want him to sell you to someone else. This is Commorragh, after all.”

She doesn’t respond. Perhaps Lynx is right. Perhaps she should be grateful for whatever spots of
comfort remain in her life. “Okay. What else am I expected to do around here?”

“I’m not sure. You have been purchased as a concubine primarily, but the rest is between you and
the lord. I use my spare time in the alchemy lab, developing some of the poisons and drugs for
which we're famed.”

“I see.”

“So, I mean, it was lucky he saw you there in your cage, no? You could have met a far worse fate,
bleeding out on the arena floor or sold to the covens. Almost like it was meant to be, right?” Lynx
sets down the brush and holds out her hand to help Jian out of the bathtub.

“I’ll try to see it that way.” She accepts the hand and wraps herself in a towel. “Thank you for your
help. I really mean that, and I’ll tell him how nice you were.”

“No trouble at all.” The other woman offers her a nightgown, another piece of thin, shiny silk.
“Now let’s get you to bed.”

Jian allows herself to be led to the bed and tucked in like a small child. Lynx departs, promising to
return in the morning and leaving her in darkness.

For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, she is alone. The bed is soft, piled with pillows of
all shapes and sizes and warm, fluffy blankets. Jian can’t remember the last time she felt this
comfortable, that she felt comfortable at all. With the cold finally seeped out of her limbs and the
sharp pinch of hunger gone from her stomach, all her other aches and pains return, stinging cuts
and deep bruises and a throb in her head that won’t go away. Every movement is an acute reminder
of the body that no longer belongs to her.

She reaches up to touch the collar around her neck. The archon’s property. All this, the food, the
bath, the soft bed, it’s an indulgence from him. Something to make her more attractive when he
holds her down and violates her, or to take away if she fails to satisfy him. And when she does fail,
just as she has failed to follow Verynia’s orders and to save her mother, he will take the only other
thing she has to give him.

There are no tears left in her body, but still, she cries, her grief and fear erupting in muffled sobs
until exhaustion overcomes her and she falls into the embrace of her nightmares.

When she wakes, she can’t tell how much time has passed. The room looks no different, the same
dim light and heavy shadows. She turns on a lamp and looks around. The bed in which she sits is
on one end of the room, next to floor-length curtains that she assumes cover a window. A
bookshelf next to a plush chair holds a few books, but stands mostly empty. Jian can see the
bathtub she used last night and a vanity, as well as a pair of doors that most likely lead to a
washroom and closet. It's certainly no prison cell. In fact, it looks rather comfortable

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp rap at the door, followed by Lynx entering the room.
“Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” She lies. “The bed is very comfortable.” That, at least, is true.

Lynx disappears through one of the doors and reemerges a moment later carrying what Jian quickly
realizes is clothing. “Now let’s get you dressed.”

Climbing reluctantly from the warmth of the blankets, Jian allows Lynx to help her into the outfit
she’s picked. She soon realizes that the term might be a bit generous for the bits of metal and
leather connected by straps. She’s not even sure if she could have figured out how to put it on
without assistance.

Apparently satisfied, Lynx steers her towards the mirror. “It looks absolutely amazing on you.”
She smiles. “I knew it would.”

Sure enough, the dress- if it can be called that- leaves little to the imagination. Her stomach, back,
and most of her chest and thighs are exposed and the sheer gloves and stockings tease at the shape
of her arms and legs. It seems to Jian that the entire design is meant to draw attention to the collar
around her neck, a slim silver band engraved with roses that might almost be mistaken for a
necklace if it didn’t have a loop at the front to connect a leash.

“It’s pretty.” Jian hates it. It reminds her of the cage and of the ship, of the fact that she exists for
others’ pleasure. But she’s not Jian anymore. She’s Vixen, the archon’s concubine, and this is how
Vixen dresses. She will get used to it. “Does he want to see me right away?”
“If you are ready. Do you think you are?”

She runs her fingers along the collar. “I don’t think I’ll be more ready by waiting longer.”

So Lynx leads her back to the archon’s quarters and guides her inside. At least there’s no leash this
time, but she almost wishes there were. It would remove the temptation to run that grows with
every passing second. Not that she’d be able to get far. Her shoes have high spike heels that put
horrible pressure on her cuts and it’s all she can do not to stumble over every step.

The room looks much the same as it did last night, still lit softly, the table piled high with a fresh
load of food. The archon is already seated, dressed in a white silk shirt and black leather pants. He
looks up as she enters.

“Good morning, my lord.” She bows her head and waits for a signal that more deference is
required. Behind her, she can hear Lynx departing.

“Good morning, my sweet Vixen,” he replies warmly. “Please, help yourself. I’m sure dinner last
night was not enough to slake your hunger.”

She takes a seat across from him and begins to serve herself a pile of fruit and small cuts of meat.
A stolen glance at him reveals that he looks somewhat surprised. Perhaps he wanted her to sit on
his lap again. Should she move? Or will that make things worse?

“So… how are you feeling, all things considered?”

“Much better than yesterday. Thank you for asking.” She barely thinks about what she says. Her
mind is on the food, on trying to hold back for a bit longer. It’s difficult. Not only is the archon
right about how starved she is, but even through her hunger, she can tell that everything at the table
is of the absolute highest quality. The kind of food meant to be eaten for the sole pleasure of
consuming it.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He pours what looks like red wine from a carafe and takes a sip. “Does this
mean you are ready to resume your duties today?”

Jian swallows. She can’t bring herself to say ‘yes’. But Lynx is right. If she puts him off, he’ll toss
her aside for someone else, or worse. “If- if that is what my lord wishes.”

The archon nods slowly. “Well, you may consider them resumed, then.” Picking up his drink, he
carries it over to the massive desk piled high with papers and busies himself with one of the stacks.

This is some kind of test, Jian realizes. He wants to see what she will do. She stands and watches
him, thinking. She knows what he wants. What she needs to do. But to offer herself up like this…

She walks slowly to his side, wobbling a bit as her heels sink into the thick rug. “Can I be of
assistance?” Her voice catches in her throat and comes out very quiet.

He looks up and eyes her for a moment while she waits, breathless. Then he smiles. “My back is
somewhat stiff, so you could in fact give me a back rub if you would be so kind.”

A back rub? She reaches out and hesitantly touches his shoulder. There’s no reaction, so she moves
forward, kneading into his shoulder muscles and running her hands in circles along his back.
Unbidden, a memory forces its way into her brain. Reena, her soft hands on Jian’s own back as she
works out the knots from a hard day of sword training at the shrine. She swallows hard and
reminds herself to concentrate on the moment.
 The archon sighs and she can feel the tension fall away from his posture. “Mmm, that feels good.”
The scabs on her palms have cracked and her hands leave red smudges on the back of his shirt.
“Now, all you have to do is take care of my erection and after that you can resume your breakfast.”

So focused is she on the massage, that for a moment she doesn’t realize what he’s said. “Is that
why you bought me?”

He shrugs. “I bought you because you looked cute. And because I thought you deserved a far
better fate than being stuck in that cage, dancing for everyone’s pleasure and amusement. I am still
working on my long-term plans for you.”

“I see.” Lynx’s advice returns to her again. “Thank you. I hope I will not give you cause to be
disappointed in your purchase.”

“Well, you are off to a promising start.” He looks up, but she can’t quite see his face from her
angle. “As long as you don’t forget your new assignment to prove to me exactly how talented your
mouth is.”

Jian swallows hard. There can be no more stalling. “You want me to pleasure you? With my
mouth?”

“Unless you have a problem with that.”

She shakes her head.

****

The archon pulls out his chair to give his slave space to kneel in front of him. As he does, it affords
him a good look at her. Barely more than a child, with large green eyes made even more
prominent by how pinched with hunger her face and body are. She won’t look at him directly. The
revealing outfit shows off a patchwork of whip welts, burns, and bruises in all stages of healing and
the hand that reaches to undo his pants is marred with small cuts from the cage and wrists torn
from struggling against her bonds.

He leans back in his chair and sips from a goblet of wine, outfit flawless except for the bloodstains
left by the girl at his feet. His skin is soft and perfectly smooth and not a hair falls out of place as
he reaches down to pat her on the head. “That’s a good girl.”

She says nothing and goes to work with grim determination.

Chapter End Notes

I picture Jian as being about the eldar equivalent of late teens, probably 17-19. The
Path of the Warrior was her first.

Lord Aire is in the equivalent of his mid-20s by drukhari standards, as is Lynx.

 Skin

After what seems like a very long time, Jian pulls away. Her mouth is still filled with the thick,
sticky remnants of the archon’s semen, and she can feel some of it dribbling down her chin. It
didn’t taste as disgusting as she thought it would, but still her stomach seizes. She stares at the
carpet, trying not to be sick.

He leans down and kisses her on the top of her head. “Good girl. Now please, go enjoy the rest of
your breakfast. You have more than earned it.” His voice is soft and gentle, as though he speaks to
a lover.

Bile rises in her throat and she gags, hands flying to her mouth to keep from vomiting on his boots.
Blinking back the tears that fill her eyes, she wipes the cum from her face and nods. “Thank you,
my lord.”

Somehow, she’s at the table. Her thin, useless gloves are gone. She tries to remember standing and
walking there from the desk, but the time is completely blank. Sitting robotically, she struggles to
keep her face neutral and picks up the goblet that waits at her place. Wine. Like everything else
here, the taste is exquisite and the alcohol numbs her mouth.

She drains the entire glass before starting her breakfast.

The food is still delicious as well, and she tries to focus on the flavor. That wasn’t so bad, she tells
herself. You could do it again. And again. And again. A soft yellow fruit sticks in her throat. She
pours herself another glass of wine and begins to drink from it.

“You do realize you can tell me no, right?”

Jian looks up, uncomprehending.

“If there is something you don’t want to do. I mean, I might force the issue, depending, but I do
want to hear your thoughts and opinions.”

She takes another swallow of wine and keeps staring. What is he saying?

The archon breaks his own gaze with a shrug. “Why would I allow you to speak if I didn’t want
you to make use of it?”

Why she answers she can’t say. Perhaps the wine is emboldening her, or perhaps she just can’t let
the comment pass without some kind of response. “It’s hard to be honest when my life depends on
your happiness.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? That I will sell you to someone else?”

“Yes. Or that I will no longer please you and you will use me for… other things.”

“I see.” He gazes at his hand for a moment, then looks back at her, meeting her eyes with an
intensity that drills into her. “You have my word on my name and ancestors that I will not sell you
or send you off to another kabal and that you will always have a home here. Does that make you
feel more comfortable?”

“No.” Even through the food, she can still taste him in her mouth.
“You know, that doesn't surprise me. My word likely means little to you, after all. So let’s see how
creative you are. What could I do that would make you feel at home here with me?”

She blinks. It feels like her eyelids are moving through honey and the edges of her vision keep
turning grey. It takes her a moment to understand what he’s said. “I thank you from the bottom of
my soul for the mercies you have shown me and I pray that I will continue to satisfy your
expectations. But I am your slave, lord. You cannot erase that with pretty words or gifts.”

“I see.” If she didn’t know better, she might almost think that he sounded sad. “I suppose there's no
point in these sorts of conversations, then?”

Jian turns back to her food. Idly, she pushes a piece of meat across the plate with her fork. The only
sound is her own breath- in, out, in, out. Still, she’s uncomfortably aware of every square
centimeter of her body.

A rustling noise at her shoulder. She looks up. The archon stands there, holding out his hand.
“Come with me, dear.” She flinches as his skin touches her own, but allows him to lead her away.

She should have lied. Pretended to be seduced by the power he wields or the size of his cock or
whatever would have made him happy.

Jian’s dread grows as the archon takes her up several more staircases. They must be going to the
very top of the spire. After what seems like a long time walking in silence, her heart pounding, they
emerge into open space.

The breeze tugs at her hair and raises goosebumps on her bare skin as she looks around. He’s
brought her to a rooftop garden or arboretum of some kind. They stand on a stone-tiled square,
perhaps ten meters on each edge. A fountain runs softly in the center and benches and potted plants
have been set up nearer the sides. Beyond the patio, Jian can see trees and flower beds stretching to
what must be the edge of the building. And beyond that? Beyond that stretches the blue-purple sky,
punctuated by other lower spires, a few flyers, and, just visible, a bit of the ground. It almost looks
like there might be a forest down there.

“Come, sit,” the archon’s soft voice distracts her from the breathtaking skyline. He gestures
towards one of the nearby benches. More of a couch, really, it appears to have been grown rather
than made, still-living woody vines forming the frame with cushions placed to sit on.

She obeys instantly, and he sits next to her. Their knees touch, and only the greatest effort keeps
her from pulling hers away.

The archon takes both of her hands in his, inspecting them intently. Without a word of
commentary, he pulls a small silver container from one of his pockets. A heavy scent of herbs fills
her nostrils as he opens it, revealing a pale green cream. Scooping up a glob with the tips of his
fingers, he spreads it over her ruined palms and begins to rub it in with his thumbs.

Jian gasps. As the ointment absorbs into her skin, a tiny bit of the pain that has become the
background noise of her life subsides, replaced with a release of tension she didn’t realize she was
holding as her master massages her hands. She remains frozen, a strange mix of revulsion and
pleasure.

After some time, he straightens from his work and begins to dig in his pocket again. Jian stares at
her hands in disbelief. The innumerable cuts and needle pricks are gone, the skin flawlessly
smooth. Even her wrists, where blisters raised and burst with the endless friction of her forced
dance, have stopped weeping, although they still look raw. “Thank you, my lord,” she breathes.
He doesn’t respond, too focused on the contents of a small vial full of crimson liquid. Frowning, he
pours a drop onto his finger and reaches for her face where the incubus’ boot connected. Again,
that almost electric feeling as whatever he’s using soothes the pain and heals a fraction of the
damage her body has sustained. His fingers move over the skin around her eyes slowly.

It seems to her that his entire mannerism has changed. His fingers are hesitant, as though he fears
touching her skin almost as much as she dreads the contact. Despite the pressure on the deep
bruise, it barely hurts. Jian finds herself dizzy and realizes she’s been holding her breath.

Again he stops, tucking the bottle back into his pants’ pocket. She hadn’t realized how much her
black eye had swollen until now, when her vision feels strangely expansive, like her eye is open
too wide. Their knees still touch.

The archon bends down and grasps her ankles, pulling her feet into his lap with more of that same
soft, almost trembling touch. He takes off the heeled shoes and sets them to the side, then reaches
up and begins to roll the stockings down her thighs.

She should have known. Foolish of her, to think of this “kindness” as anything more than what it
was: a preparation to again claim her as his property. Her feet begin to bleed again as the stockings
take the dried blood that has permeated the fabric with them. I’m getting blood on his pants.

But he seems not to care. The silver jar reappears and again, he spreads herbal lotion over her
wounds. Jian relaxes just a bit. Her reprieve will last a little longer. And it feels so nice…

Although she’s certain that the job is done, her skin repaired, the archon continues to rub her feet.
The ache of standing in the shoes disappears, and so does some of the exhausted tension in her
calves. Still, he continues. Hair has fallen in front of his face as he leans forward in concentration,
keeping her from seeing his expression. She can only sit and tremblingly realize how long it’s been
since she’s felt anything like this.

After what she judges to be nearly an hour, he straightens and, for the first time since they left his
room, looks directly at her. Jian finds herself unable to look back through the tears that have filled
her eyes unnoticed. A hand reaches out to caress her hair. “Is there any other injury that you would
like me to look at?” All the persona and authority is gone from his voice. He almost sounds as
though he’s afraid she won’t answer.

The tears spill over and she begins to weep softly she holds out her left arm, the spot where the
burns are the worst. “If it’s not too much trouble, my lord?”

“What’s wrong?” He pulls her closer to him, arms wrapped around her in what most closely
approximates a hug. “Of course I can, but that’s not a reason to cry, is it?”

“I’m sorry, I-“ She can’t tell him the truth. That being near him, feeling his skin on hers, reminds
her of what happened not two hours ago. Of what will happen again. That she doesn’t understand
what’s going on or why he’s wasting his time trying to fix her. “I am unused to such kindness. I
know I have done little but inconvenience you.”

He stiffens and doesn’t respond for a moment. “I’m not sure I would call it kindness myself. But
thank you.” His shoulders heave with a deep breath and the heaviness is gone from his voice when
he speaks again. “And I do not find you inconvenient at all.”

She looks up, trying to gauge what might be behind the sudden change in mood. He smiles down at
her with what seems to be affection. “I mean, I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you this, but you
are remarkably pleasant company.”
“Someone has.” What would Reena think if she could see her now? The thought is too painful; she
pushes it away before it overwhelms her. “But thank you. I did not expect to ever hear it again.”

The archon’s arm tightens around her. “It’s the truth.” He holds her in the embrace for another
moment before releasing her.

She should make a gesture. Something to show that she appreciates the work he’s gone to on her
behalf. “Do you need me to do anything for you? I could give you another back or a hand
massage?” Her voice catches. “Or perhaps I could pleasure you again?”

He looks at her sadly for a moment before raising her hand to his lips and planting a gentle kiss on
her knuckles. “How about you bring us each a blanket from the box under that table over there and
you do me the honor of sharing this view?”

“Alright.” She stands and tentatively walks towards the table. The cool stone underfoot feels
surprisingly good when it’s not aggravating open wounds.

The table legs, like the couch, appear to have been grown of still-living vines rather than built. Jian
takes a moment to run her hand over the twisted surfaces before bending over to finish her task.

“I prefer to work with organic material whenever possible, you know” the archon says from behind
her.

She looks back, trying to figure out if this the beginning of some kind of come-on. “Why? If I am
allowed to ask.”

“Of course you can.” He smiles as she begins to walk back with a pair of blankets. “And what can I
say? I enjoy seeing things grow and feeling something alive on my skin.”

Jian holds out the blankets and he takes one, leaving her the other. Returning to her place at his
side, she wraps herself in it. Instantly, some small part of her fear evaporates. A shield between her
and the horrors of the dark city, however flimsy. “The vines remind me of my father’s garden in
his dwelling back home.”

“Oh really? What kind of garden?”

“He loved flowers, but herbs as well. We used to-“ She cuts herself off, cursing herself for
allowing the memories of her other self to make their way here and worse, to make it out of her
head.

“No, please, continue.” He wraps an arm around her, pressing their bodies together again. It’s not
quite as bad this time, with her shield protecting her. “I'll share something about myself in return.”

“We would walk there at sunset. Him and me, when I was a small child. We would pick herbs to
flavor the meal.” Tears are coming again and she swallows fiercely to keep them at bay.

His fingers tangle in her hair. “I’m afraid we don’t have a sunset here. Like the rest of
Commorragh, we live in eternal twilight. But tomorrow we could go for a stroll in the herb garden
to pick out something for dinner?”

“Maybe?”

“It sounds like a date, then.” The archon says warmly. He falls silent as he continues to play with
her hair. After a long time, he speaks again. “I never knew my parents. My first memory is of
serving the mistress of a star ship as we traveled the galaxy, seeking adventure and preying on the
weak.”

Jian looks up. “What did you do for her?”

“Initially I was a sort of cabin boy, preparing her bath and clothes, serving her meals, giving her
massages, and so on. The tasks were simple, but I learned quickly that there were severe
punishments for failing to satisfy her. As I grew, she placed me in charge of inspecting the engine
and weapons systems before I eventually earned a place in navigation.”

“I see.” Jian’s spark of interest is turning to annoyance. Such a transparent and needless attempt to
gain her sympathy. It’s likely not even true.

“It’s a lovely view, though, is it not?”

“It is. Is all this yours?” She adjusts her position to get a better look, breaking his embrace in the
process.

The archon nods. “I am the archon of this kabal, which makes me the lord of this entire pocket
dimension.”

“What do you do here?”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole… thing.” She gestures to the view. “What is the purpose of the group?” Perhaps she
can learn something about the life that is hers now and get a better sense of the man who holds her
chains.

He remains silent for a moment, seeming to be considering his next words. “How much do you
know about the Dark Muses of Commorragh?”

“Nothing. The craftworlds try not to think of Commorragh more than we- than they have to.”

“That makes sense. The Dark Muses are a group of exceptional individuals who led our kind
through the calamity of the birth of She Who Thirsts. Mortal aeldari who earned their godhood
through their own power and excellence. They helped us when our old gods didn’t, and so are still
worshiped throughout our civilization, even all these millennia later.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

He shrugs. “Legend says that at the height of our power, nothing was truly outside our grasp, so
why not?”

“I suppose.” She frowns, processing the new information. “So this is a temple, then?”

“A monastery, more like it.” Jian can hear the grin in his voice. “To one of the muses in specific:
Lhilitu, Consort of the Void and mistress of the night, the patron of seduction and pleasure and the
brewing of poisons.”

He hesitates. “I am her only living descendant, and thus her heir.”

Jian’s annoyance flares further, but she keeps her voice almost perfectly under control. “If you
didn’t want to tell me, you could have just said so.”

He sighs heavily. “Every word of what I just said was true, my dear.”
Frown deepening, she remains quiet. Upon further consideration, it probably is true, or at least he
believes it is. Not that it affects her. Goddess blood or no, he still holds her life in his manicured
hands. Her grip tightens a bit on his arm nonetheless.

Perhaps sensing the tension, he nuzzles close to kiss her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to
sprout wings or horns any time soon.”

“So the people here, they worship you?”

“They worship my ancestor, really, but they view my bloodline as divine.” His voice takes on a
practiced air, as though he’s reciting or making a speech. “I have been charged with sharing my
wisdom and insight with them as we carry out Lhilitu’s ancient traditions.”

“And what would those traditions be?”

“Poison brewing, assassination, and the training of women as Lhameanites to serve as consorts and
assassins to high-ranking archons.”

“I see.” She falls silent in contemplation.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks carefully, running a hand along her jawline.

“Just thinking about what you told me, and about Lynx. She said she made poisons and drugs for
your kabal. I take it she is one of your Lhameans?”

“She is.” He looks down at her with a soft smile. “Are you pleased with her as your hand maiden
and counselor?”

“She seems nice.”

The expression widens into a smirk. “You’re quite awful at being direct, aren’t you?”

“I am sorry, my lord. I will be more clear in the future. But yes, I am very pleased with her. She
made me feel much better last night.”

He nods and smiles, pulling her once again into a hug. “I’ll make sure that taking care of you is her
primary mission, then.”

Jian returns the gesture. It’s clearly what he wants right now. “Thank you, my lord. As I have said,
I cannot express my gratitude for your kindness enough.”

Again, that slight tension in his posture as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “Moments like this
more than make up for it,” he says softly. The tension is gone, though, by the time he straightens
up. “I planned to have dinner sent up to your room tonight. I’m sure you could use a bit of solitude
before Lynx arrives to help you with your bath. You have a long day in front of you tomorrow.”

“What for?” Jian can’t keep a bit of the fear that spikes up out of her voice.

“I planned to have Lynx escort you over to the elder sisters of the kabal so they can give you a full
examination and tend to your larger injuries, like those burns.”

“Thank you. Again.” She’s lived with them for so long, the thought of being rid of them is almost
too strange to contemplate. Dimly, she wonders what the price for all these mercies will be. “They
are the only wounds that have been causing me significant pain.”

“Yes, those don’t look like normal burns to me. How did you get them?”
“It was a Talos Pain Engine. During the raid where I was captured. My sisters and I destroyed it,
but it sprayed acid in its death throes and some of it burned through my armor.” As she speaks, a
void opens inside her and she can hear the emotion draining from her voice.

“Oh… yes…” He sounds genuinely horrified. “We are absolutely going to have to have that looked
at. Covenite wounds are quite difficult to treat, and they rarely heal without it.”

Jian can’t bring herself to reply. The memories are flooding back, threatening to overwhelm her.
Walls slick with blood and the horrific smell of dissolving flesh. Her sisters dying around her. The
red-haired archon laughing as she rips away everything Jian has and throws her into the darkness.
Hands tugging away at the bits of her until there’s nothing left…

“Hey, hey!” The archon’s voice shakes her from the waking dream. His hand grips her shoulder.
She jerks away from his touch, eyes wide and breathing ragged. She stares as he continues
speaking, trying to process the soothing tones. “We’ll fix you right up, you hear me? You’re safe
here. There is absolutely nothing to worry about. We will get you back into perfect condition in no
time, I promise.”

Jian takes a ragged breath. Her eyes dart from side to side, trying to reorient herself. She’s in
Commorragh. In the archon’s garden, sitting on a couch. He’s gripping her newly repaired hand
with an expression of concern on his face. She inhales again and nods. “Okay. Okay.”

He leans back in the couch and tugs her forward until she lies on top of him, cheek resting against
his chest. She wants to resist, to pull away, but she can’t. If she doesn’t have something to hold on
to, she might shatter, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend that the man she’s with is not her
lord and master, but someone who cares for her deeply.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. She can feel him begin to rub her back, up and down, up and down.
“You’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you here. What’s wrong?”

She can’t bring herself to respond.

“Alright. You’ll tell me when you’re ready, I’m sure.” He sighs deeply. The rise and fall of his
chest matches the movement of his hands on her back and she tries to sync her breathing to the
rhythm. It’s strangely comforting.

“Close your eyes,” he says in her ear. “Breathe in the scent of the flowers and herbs that surround
us. You’re in a safe place, a better place. All your fears and worries are far away.”

She wants so desperately to believe him.

“Focus on the scent and nothing but the scent… Nothing exists but the beautiful smells and the
sound of my voice.” The archon circles his hands on her back, skillfully avoiding the most
damaged areas. His voice is almost hypnotic. “You can feel your worries and concerns slowly
evaporating as you drift away… Surrounded by a garden wonderland, far detached from reality…”

The black hole in Jian’s chest is crushing her. She lies still for a long time, listening to the archon’s
voice to distract her from her own heartbeat. Gradually, her breathing slows and she finds herself
growing tired. He’s still holding her, still rubbing her back, and despite all the pain and fear and
revulsion, she doesn’t want him to let her go. She doesn’t want to be alone.

As the exhaustion overwhelms her and she drifts off into the darkness, the last thing she hears is
that velvet-smooth voice, almost quiet enough that might have imagined it. “I won’t hurt you
again.”
 ****

Cold breeze tugs at the trees in the rooftop garden and sends clear, musical tones from the crystal
wind chimes that hang in them. On a couch grown from living wood sits a silver-haired drukhari
holding a girl in his arms. For hours he sits and speaks soothing words as she twitches and
whimpers in her sleep until finally she lies still and he picks her up to carry her to her room. The
front of his silk shirt is damp with tears.
 Doll
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When Jian awakes, she finds herself on the bed in her room. She still wears the outfit she was in
last night, but someone has wrapped her in blankets and left a glass of water on the table next to the
bed. Sitting up, she takes it and sips slowly as she orients herself. The straps and metal plates of the
clothing have dug into her body and she sets about trying to figure out how to get the thing off.

By the time she’s extricated herself and finished the water, the previous day has come back to her.
The archon must have had someone bring her back here. They’d talked in his garden on the roof,
where he’d brought her from his office after -

After she had done her duty as his slave.

Jian’s knees are suddenly weak. She slides to the floor and sits, back against the bed and knees
pulled up to her chest. She may no longer have cuffs holding her in this position, but she’s still as
trapped as she was on the slavers’ ship. Her stomach cramps. Perhaps she should just kill herself
now. It would be difficult; she’d have to find some way to do it that drukhari medical technology
wouldn’t be able to save her. Maybe if she can find a way to slash her wrists after Lynx had left for
the night, so her spirit has a full night to leave her body?

But there would be no escape in death. Without a waystone, it would only deliver her into the
hands of She Who Thirsts. She buries her head in her knees. It wasn’t that bad, she tells herself.
There was no violence, no pain. Living here would be far preferable to death. Her master even
seems to care for her on some level. He hadn’t needed to spend that long rubbing her feet, to let her
eat his food or give her such a nice place to sleep. Lynx is right. She should take what she can get.

As though her thoughts have summoned her, Jian hears a noise at the door and hurries to adjust her
posture as the Lhamean enters. “Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning, Vixen,” Lynx replies pleasantly. “Ready for your bath?”

Jian nods and hurries over to help her get the various soaps and tonics in order. She’s grateful that
Lynx seems to be mainly focused on efficiency this morning. Jian isn’t in the mood for
conversation. Less than an hour later, she’s been washed and dried, dressed in another minimal
outfit, made up, and perfumed. A perfect little doll ready to be played with.

Apparently satisfied with her work, Lynx leads her out the door and down one of the seemingly
endless spiral staircases to an elevator. This carries them downward with what must be dizzying
speed, but Jian barely feels motion. Less than half a minute later, the doors slide open and she and
Lynx exit into a large foyer.

The ceiling soars dozens of meters above them and more people than she’s seen since her arrival
walk through it, headed in various directions. Many are women wearing the same long robes as
Lynx, cut to flatter intensely while still revealing only a small amount of bare skin. The Lhameans,
Jian realizes now. The rest are a more eclectic mix- warriors in the kabal’s bone white and dull
green livery, men and women in the dramatic and revealing outfits that she’s come to associate
with everyday wear in Commorragh, and a pair of massive snake creatures. Jian swallows and
forces herself to look away. They won’t attack her; they have no reason to. She’s no threat, nothing
more than another faceless slave in the vastness of the kabal.
Despite the number of people present, the room is eerily silent as Jian and Lynx make their way
towards a giant doorway at the far end. It’s not, Jian, realizes, that no one is making noise,
although there is indeed little conversation, but that something about the acoustics of the space is
designed to muffle sound. She finds it a bit unnerving.

They pass through the massive pair of double doors and into the outdoor space of the Ashen
Rose’s pocket dimension. Jian relaxes a bit as she leaves the giant, empty room and descends a
broad set of stairs into the labyrinth of gardens that surround the spire. By the time they’ve walked
ten minutes, she’s picked out dozens of varieties of flowers and trees that she recognizes and an
equal number that she can’t identify. She can’t imagine how much work it takes to keep all of it
weeded and pruned and trimmed.

Lynx offers a few friendly comments as they walk, but to Jian’s relief, still doesn’t seem eager to
keep up a conversation. After perhaps half an hour, they arrive at another building that stretches up
to the dark sky and enter.

Immediately, they’re met by a pair of Lhameans. Despite differences in their coloration, features,
and build, there’s something inexpressibly similar about them. Perhaps a way of carrying
themselves or some mannerism. It’s present in Lynx as well, she realizes, but to a lesser degree.
Without a word, one approaches Jian while the other speaks to Lynx. “In need of healing, I take
it?”

Jian takes a step back as the woman begins to get uncomfortably close. Lynx replies to the other
Lhamean. “Yes, this is the archon’s new concubine. He wants her restored to full health.”

“I see. You should have called.” This doesn’t appear to bother the woman overly much. Her tone is
unchanged.

The woman closer to Jian seizes her arm and inspects her burns. “How did you get these?” Before
Jian can answer, she bends down to probe at the bruises on her legs, lips pursed. Jian fights the
urge to bat her hands away. The beauty of the gardens had distracted her, but now she’s back to
being a piece of meat.

“Poor thing,” murmurs the woman. “You’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?” She nudges
Jian forward. “Come along, dear.” Lynx and the other woman are still speaking, although Jian
hasn’t been paying enough attention to follow their conversation.

The group arrives in a surprisingly familiar place. It could be any healer’s examination room back
on Yme-loc. Reena is probably in such a room right now, as a matter of fact. A sudden pang of loss
seizes in her throat, but she allows herself to be sat on the exam table as the sister who was
speaking with Lynx turns her attention in their direction.

“Now then, let’s see… malnourished for certain. A good number of bruises…” Her fingers press
into the discolored spots that mottle Jian's body. “Cracked kneecaps…” She speaks to Lynx, not
Jian, giving her the uncomfortable feeling of being a child waiting for the adults to tell her if she
needs an injection. “…withered muscles, and acid burns bearing the marks of covenite alchemy.”

Lynx nods. “That sounds correct.”

“I suppose you’ll want to stay with her.”

Jian looks up. There’s a bit of exasperation in the other Lhamean’s tone, some kind of tension
between the two women that she can’t place.
“I will.” The slight discordance is reflected in Lynx’s reply.

The other unknown lhamean, who’s been bent over the counter along the wall, approaches Jian
holding a cup. “Drink this.”

She reaches out and takes it, lifting it to her mouth to sip. Nearly half of the strangely sweet, purple
liquid has entered her mouth before she realizes what she’s doing. She stops and looks up
nervously. “What is it?”

“Just a sleep tonic, dear one. You need your rest while we work on your body. Now, drink up.”

It’s true… there’s a heaviness in her head that she didn’t feel a few minutes ago… “What are you
going to do?”

The Lhamean places her hand on top of Jian’s own and guides the cup back to her mouth. “Don’t
worry, it will be fine.”

Lynx is at her side as well. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Panic is rising in her- this is wrong, I can’t sleep, what will they do…- but her vision is already
starting to go dim.

She sways and remembers no more.

It feels like only an instant later that her eyes snap open. She can’t move, can barely focus on the
smooth gray ceiling above her, but somehow she feels calm. It takes a moment to realize what’s
changed.

The pain is gone. All of it, from the deep ache in her knees to the minor stiffness still in her
shoulders from holding the same position for too long, it has all disappeared. She closes her eyes,
inhales, opens them. She might be strong enough to move now?

“Look who’s awake.”

Turning her head in the direction of the voice, she finds her sitting in a chair near the examination
table, reading something from a dataslate. Jian raises her hand in front of her face. No trace of
damage remains. Even the small scar she picked up in a sparring accident has been removed. She
pushes herself up to a sitting position. Her clothes are gone and someone has wrapped her in a soft
grey robe. The rest of her body seems to be in the same condition as her hand. Even the shape is
different. Withered muscles have been restored and what little body fat she had to lose has been
returned. It is as though nothing had ever happened. “Wow.” Even her voice sounds different,
smoother and more melodic than it has before.

“I take it you’re pleased with the results?”

“I feel so… whole.” Physically, anyway. It’s harder to tell how she feels mentally.

“You certainly look great. Much happier, too.”

“If you say so.” She can’t stop looking at herself. I knew drukhari medical technology was
incredible… but not like this.

“I’ll tell the archon you liked it.”

“Thank you.” She wants to run, fly. If she can lose herself in the rush of exertion, perhaps she’ll be
able to clean her mind the way she has her body. “So… what now?”

Lynx puts down the dataslate. “Well, it’s early afternoon and you are free to spend the rest of the
day as you please. But,” her voice takes on a conspiratorial air. “I thought you might like to
surprise the archon.”

“Surprise him?” She sounds like an idiot, echoing Lynx like she’s unable to understand basic
speech.

“He’s in his throne room, going over some paperwork. I think he might like it if you were to, you
know… show him how good you look now.” Lynx grins.

No. She can’t do that, won’t. “Won’t he be angry that I intrude?”

“I’m sure he won’t. And if he’s busy, I’m sure there’s a comfortable place for you to wait.”

“Bu- alright.” There’s no point in arguing. She’s supposed to be cooperating, pleasing him so she
can delay the inevitable a bit longer.

If Lynx notices the hesitation, she doesn’t comment. “That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s get you
dressed and head over there.”

The walk back to the spire where the archon resides seems to take much less time than their earlier
journey did. Lynx leads her back to the same elevator they used before, but this time they emerge
in an entirely separate part of the palace, once Jian has never seen before. A pair of large double
doors stands at the opposite end of a richly carpeted room dotted with various seating. Although
the area doesn’t have nearly the traffic of the foyer downstairs, she can see a few Lhameans and a
trio of guards.

“Good luck.” Lynx smiles encouragingly and nudges her forward.

Balling up her fists, Jian walks towards the doors. A feeling of eerie familiarity overlays and adds
to her growing sense of dread. The way her heels sink into the carpet, the brush of chill air on the
broad swaths of her bare skin.

As she reaches the doors, she stops to look back at Lynx for support. She’s already gone. Jian sighs
and reaches up to knock. Maybe he won’t want to see her. Or would that be bad? But a moment
later, the doors swing open and she enters.

The archon is draped lazily over the large black chair at the far end of the room, one bare foot
resting on the floor and the other dangling over one of the arm rests. A pile of papers sits in his lap
and another one on the floor, next to some kind of glass vessel full of green smoke. He takes a long
drag from one of the tubes connected to it and looks up. A smile spreads across his face. “Hello,
my dear, how are you doing?”

Jian bows deeply. “I thank you from the bottom of my soul for the treatment, my lord. I did not
know it was possible to recover this quickly.” She may come to regret being prettier for him, but
for the moment, the chance to live without pain seems worth it.

“My pleasure.” His eyes travel slowly up and down her body and his smile remains. “You really
look quite well, I mean… wow.”

A cold feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. “Thank you.”

“Why are you here? Not that I complain, of course.”

“Lynx thought you might like to, erm, see me. See how I look now.”

“Well, I certainly don’t object.” He looks down at the stack of papers in his lap, then back to her,
hunger plain in his expression. His voice, however, is gentle and friendly. “How about if you keep
me company while I finish going over this file, and then after we can spar. You used to be a
warrior, right? I’m sure you long to hold a blade again.”

“I would love that!” she says without thinking. Remembering herself, her position, she forces her
face into a more neutral expression and bows again. “Thank you, my lord.”

To her surprise, he laughs. “You can call me Valthiel.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I asked, didn’t I?” He grins at her. “Unless you have a problem with that, of course.”

“No I don’t… Valthiel.” The name feels strange in her mouth, like a secret she shouldn’t be telling.

“Then it’s settled, Vixen dear.” He beckons her over with his hand and she approaches the throne.
“Perhaps you could help me with something.”

“Alright.” She has no idea what ‘something’ might entail.

He takes her hand, playing idly with her fingers as he thumbs through the papers with his other
hand. “So, I’ve been asked to participate in what I’d classify as a high-risk, high-reward realspace
raid. Apparently my corsair connections will allow the force to solidify a safe route to our target,
while my kabal’s expertise in poison brewing and highly skilled assassins can supplement the
attackers. What do you think I should ask for in terms of compensation for my time and
resources?”

His tone and posture are casual, almost indifferent, but Jian senses a test in his words. “What do
you know about the people that want your assistance?”

“They’re a larger kabal known as the Kabal of the Flayed Skull. Their craftsmanship is amazing,
the weapons they create have far greater range and accuracy than most and they design some of the
best reaver bikes in the dark city.”

Strategy was never her gift, and it’s hard to come up with anything solid when she knows so little
about this place. And what she does know isn’t really applicable to the situation. “I don’t know
exactly what you need… but it seems like a valuable alliance to cultivate? I might ask for a bit less
at the outset and negotiate it into a long-term relationship?”

“Interesting. Can you elaborate? And tell me what you’d ask for as payment for the job in
question?”

Jian chews on her lip. What is he playing at? “I don’t know exactly what you have need of. But
point out the differences in specializations between your two groups and how you compliment each
other. Ask for a permanent discount on equipment and imply you might be willing to enter into a
similar arrangement for your own kabal’s services in the future. Don’t commit to anything, though,
just offer the chance at forming a partnership. Ask for a token payment upfront, too, so they don’t
feel too much like you’re trying to trick them.”

He’s not laughing, at least. She takes a deep breath, then continues. “If they refuse, just have a long
list of the technology you want. It’ll make your first offer seem more realistic, but you’ll still be
satisfied if they go with that.”
The archon- Valthiel, she supposes- nods slowly. “Not bad… not bad at all.” He looks up and
smiles at her. “Thank you very much, you’ve been most helpful. Please, make yourself comfortable
with some wine and rest at the couch over there while I finish my work. It shouldn’t take long.”

She departs with a nod, grateful for a moment to herself before she’s called on to perform again. As
she begins to walk away, though, a horrific thought strikes her. It’s almost too much to contemplate
asking for fear of what he’ll say, but she has to know. “If I may ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Who is the raid against?”

“An ambush on a major trade station within the Imperium of Mankind. Our goal is to collect
working slaves for the dark city industrial complex as well as warriors for the arena and any
interesting technology we come across. Personally, I also hope to find biological samples from the
mutant psykers they use to make up for their inability to access the webway.”

“I see. Thank you.” Relief floods her. If she’d even inadvertently been helping plan a raid on her
fellow aeldari…

Putting the idea from her mind, she turns to leave again. The archon’s hand darts out to deliver a
playful slap on her ass and she starts, but holds herself from commenting as the all-too-familiar
cringing, sick feeling wells up in her again. It is his right, after all.

Seating herself on the couch, she pours some of the offered wine and sips at it as she looks around.
Like much of the rest of the fortress-palace, his throne room is cold and empty, with too much
space and too little furniture. What is there is heavily embellished in the drukhari fashion, carved
and gilded and richly embroidered. It makes a strange contrast. The archon himself remains
sprawled over his throne, shifting occasionally or inhaling the green smoke from his pipe. The only
sound is her own breathing.

After perhaps an hour, he unfolds himself from his position and walks over to her, stretching lazily.
“Alright, work’s done. How about that spar?”

“I would love that.” She may not be a warrior anymore, but still, she feels the call of Khaine,
urging her to lose herself in the death-dance of combat.

“Alright, let’s see what you got, then.” He flashes her a grin and reaches above her head to pull
down a pair of curved sabers hanging on the wall. Keeping one for himself, he hands the other to
her.

As soon as she takes the hilt in her hand, it feels as though a change comes over her. A missing
piece of herself slots into place and golden fire fills the pieces of her being that the drukhari have
chipped and beaten and fucked away from her. She smiles and swings the blade back and forth a
few times to test the balance. Satisfied with the weapon, she kicks off the heeled shoes and enters a
ready stance. The archon takes a few steps back and bows slightly, motioning for her to go first.

Jian sprints toward him. He’s almost certainly planning a counterattack as soon as she’s in range.
She focuses her intent on avoiding it when it comes. He sidesteps easily and brings up the expected
strike of his own…

… A strike that lands a firm smack on her ass with the flat of the blade. Jian feels anger stir. She
might be out of practice, but he doesn’t need to patronize her! Is the whole thing just going to lead
to another humiliation?
She kicks out, pivoting her momentum into a follow-up strike. He steps back, a bit of surprise
showing on his face, and she grins. Didn’t expect me to recover that fast, did you? If she had her
armor, she’d scream with her mask, throw him off balance to give her time for another attack.
Instead, she leaps forward, closing the gap between them in an instant.

Their blades meet with a clash and Jian finds herself on the ground. But she’s trained scenarios like
this hundreds of times. By the time he’s finished straightening from the low kick that caught her
off balance, she’s back on her feet and holding a defensive stance.

“You know,” he says with a grin. “I could get used to seeing you on your back.”

The comment fails to get a rise from her. The fire burns white hot and she waits, forcing him to
take the next offensive. Silence stretches for long heartbeats as she remains on a knife-edge of
alertness.

Suddenly, his relaxed demeanor explodes into motion. He’s on her in an instant, a flurry of blows
raining down on her. She blocks, parries, sidesteps. Khaine’s gifts are returning, the reflexes and
insight that allow her to direct her movements in the blur of motion her aspect is known for.
Momentum thrown off by one of her strikes, he’s suddenly wide open. She raises the blade to
swing at him, a shout of exhilaration bursting from her.

He stops. Takes two steps back, his hand going to his face in surprise. A thin line of blood wells up
from his cheek where the sword grazed him.

Cold water douses the fire. Jian’s sword clatters to the ground and she drops to her knees. “Forgive
me,” she says hoarsely, staring at the floor. Gods, how could she have been so stupid?

The archon begins to laugh. “For what? For taking advantage of a reckless and stupid attack that I
would never have committed to in a real fight? Nah.” He presses his sleeve to the wound. “I fucked
up and got what I deserved. You’re quite the fighter, though, I’m impressed.”

Jian stares up at him, confused. “It was what I had devoted myself to…” she responds lamely.

“And now you’ve drawn first blood against an archon. I’m sure most of your peers will never be
able to say the same. He reaches down for her hand and helps her to a standing position, pulling her
into a hug and a kiss.

She accepts the attention, still breathing heavily from exertion and adrenaline. She doesn’t
understand… what does he want from her?

Breaking the kiss, the archon grins at her again. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m not going to punish you,
okay?”

“Alright. Thank you. Valthiel.”

“Perhaps we should take a seat and try some more of that wine.”

“I should attend to your cut as well.” He doesn’t seem upset for the moment, but the more she
shows how sorry she is, the less likely he is to change his mind later.

“Oh?” he says as he leads her back to the couch. “I didn’t know you had any medical training.”

“I don’t.” She sits down next to him. “But I know how to deal with sparring accidents.” Bruises,
cuts, twisted ankles, they were all everyday occurrences when you spent your hours perfecting the
art of war. She uses one of the streamers dangling from the cuff-like bracelets she’s wearing to
wipe off most of the blood, then pours a bit of water on a clean corner to wash away the last
smudges. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she soaks another patch and daubs it onto the wound. The
alcohol content is high enough, it’ll probably work to disinfect reasonably well.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” she says as she pulls her hand away. “If you want a bandage, I can go
look for one…”

The archon dismisses the suggestion with a gesture. “Your presence and soothing touch is all I
need, dear.” He rests his free hand on her knee.

“I’m glad I was able to help.” Khaine’s fire is gone now and she’s back to herself. Just a pretty
little doll all dressed up for a man who very much wants her, a man who can and will take her to
play with until she breaks as soon as he gets bored with whatever game he’s playing.

“You most certainly have.” His arms wrap around her waist, pulling her over until she’s straddling
his lap. “You’re quite lethal with that blade of yours.” Even once she’s settled, his hands remain on
her hips, making small movements that remind her constantly of their presence.

“It’s what I devote myself to. Had devoted myself to.” Not that it had done much good in the end.

“Perhaps something you would like to continue doing?” He reaches around her and retrieves a
goblet of wine, taking a drink before offering it to her.

“Very much so.” Jian sips at the pale red liquid. It certainly is strong. She’ll be drunk fast if she
keeps drinking it.

“Then I will make sure your outfits come equipped with a dagger or two, then, in case you ever
need to defend me.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“Not particularly, but it is possible. This is Commorragh, after all. Does that please you? Or do you
have another idea?”

She shakes her head. “No, I am very grateful.” She doesn’t know what having a weapon near her
will actually do for her, but it will make her feel less helpless, and perhaps that’s all she’s hoping
for.

“Well, cheers for a step in the right direction, then.” Again, he reaches behind her, bringing their
bodies into even more contact. This time, he’s brought the entire crystal decanter of wine with him
when he straightens up. He tops up her glass and grins at her before starting to drink straight from
the container.

Jian takes another sip obediently. “What do you wish me to do now?”

“Well,” he says, free hand drifting further down to caress her thigh, “I would love to enjoy your
company for a far as you’re willing to go.”

“I am yours to command,” she responds. It’s becoming easy, automatic, even. “Would you- would
you like me to give you another massage?”

“That would be lovely.” He releases his hold and twists to allow her to kneel behind him and begin
to work on his shoulders. “While you do, could you please share something about yourself?
Nothing that you wish to remain secret, of course, but I want to know more about you.”
Jian begins her work as she thinks. “I had a lover.” Isha’s tits, why did she share that of all things?

But it’s too late to take it back. “I see.” The archon sighs and leans into her touch. “Tell me about
her.”

“We grew up together. Her parents were friends of my father’s. She walks the Path of the Healer,
and she was born to it. She has so much talent…” She trails off. The fragile semblance of being
alright that she’s managed to build up today is shaking and she’s not sure how much more she can
manage to say. Why did she have to bring up Reena?

“Mmm, she sounds wonderful. I see why you loved her. What was your childhood like, then? And
when did the two of you realize you had feelings for each other?”

“Just before I joined the Banshees.” She can barely force the words around the lump in her throat.

“What happened? An accidental kiss, or a drunken confession, or what?”

“She asked me, and I accepted. That’s it.” Why is he doing this? Is this how he intends to torture
her, forcing her to relive her happiest memories while he softens her up so that when the pain starts
,there will be nowhere left to escape, even in her mind?

“Awww! That sounds so cute.” The archon half-turns to look at her, smiling. “You’re a lucky
woman.”

“I was.”

He doesn’t respond for several minutes, apart from a few little sighs of pleasure as she works her
way down his back. Finally, he speaks, quietly enough that she has to pause to listen. “I hope to one
day make you as happy as she did.”

By all the gods, why? What is he trying to accomplish from this? Jian bites her tongue and
swallows hard as she resumes her kneading. A moment later, the archon takes one of her hands in
his, pulling it forward to plant a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

She breaks off. “I truly am glad you bought me.” It might be true. She doesn’t know anymore. But
it’s probably what he wants to hear.

“You deserved much better than that.” He pulls her closer, until she’s embracing him from behind,
and kisses her arm. “I hope this will feel like your home before long.”

“Maybe it will.”

Without another word, her master reaches back to take her other arm, swinging her around into his
lap and another passionate kiss. When he finally pulls away, he pushes a strand of hair away from
her face and stares into her eyes. “How about you accompany me to my bed tonight? Not for sex,
but to enjoy each other’s company and so we don’t have to spend the night alone.”

“Alright.” She’s not sure if it was a question.

He stands, still holding her in his arms. “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he whispers as he begins to
carry her away. His head leans down against hers, covering her face in a curtain of his hair.

Jian’s chest seizes. Lynx’s advice from the other day has come back to her yet again, reminding her
that her position here is as fragile as his interest in her. Her job is to satisfy all his needs, and it
seems that he somehow desires her permission to have his way with her. She could delay for
longer… but that will only make it worse when she does give in. And if he gets tired of waiting,
that will be even more painful. Yesterday morning will be nothing in comparison.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She hopes Reena will hear her. Understand.

Forgive her.

“For what?” the archon asks.

Jian closes her eyes. Breathes deeply. After a long time, she opens them again. “I know why you
bought me. And that you haven’t been getting it.” Her last chance to turn back. “You can have me.
If you want.”

The archon starts. “…are you sure?” He shifts her position, giving him a free hand to stroke her
ear.

She stiffens at the intimacy of the contact, but it actually feels rather nice. Again, her body betrays
her. “Yes.”

“Then in that case, I think you deserve a far better name than Vixen. One that you can pick out for
yourself.” He kisses her neck, and she can feel his teeth nip into her skin.

“Any name?”

“Any name you want. You can think about it for a while if you need to.” Jian nods into his
shoulder.

Time loses its meaning after that. At least a full day and night passes. She hits his bed at some
point, and by the time she does, he’s pulled the clothing from her body and the pins from her hair.
They roll over and over, twisting together in endless combinations until it seems as though her skin
will split and spill the pleasure that swells her to bursting. Time and again she screams his name as
he takes everything her body has to offer, bringing her to peaks and then pushing past them to new
horizons of sensation. A blurry unreality covers the entire experience. It’s as if she’s been
poisoned, or drugged, a haze of wrongness that taints her mind and leaves her desperate for an end
even as she climaxes again.

Finally, when pleasures have been exhausted and there’s only the sweaty bodies and tangled sheets,
she falls into the troubled darkness of sleep.

When she wakes, she does so still in her master’s arms. His naked body presses against her,
exhaling hot in her ear. Wordlessly, he strokes her breasts and runs his fingers along her collar,
building the warmth in her gut that must have woken her.

Jian lies still, too exhausted to think about anything beyond the here and now. Her body aches
deeply. Their fluids mix with sweat in a sticky mess that coats her thighs and dries on her chest and
sticks in her hair.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” the archon whispers in her ear. “I know it must have been
difficult for you.”

Her throat hurts and the voice that comes out of her mouth is rough. “And I… thank you… for
waiting until I was ready.”

“You were more than worth the wait, dear,” he replies, kissing her neck. “Why don’t we spend the
day in bed here together? We’ve had an intense few days.”
“Doing what?” How can he want more? All she wants is to sleep and try to forget.

“Just talking.” He rubs her stomach possessively. “Getting to know one another. Feasting on wine
and fruit and red meat on the bone.” She can hear the grin in his voice.

“I would very much like some food, my lord. Thank you.”

The archon flinches. “Whatever happened to calling me Valthiel?”

“I’m sorry, Valthiel. I’m still not quite used to it.” It hadn’t seemed appropriate.

He relaxes with a sigh, returning to his caresses. A few minutes later, he speaks again, shaking Jian
from her stupor. “What did you dream of for your life, before you came here?”

Tears prick at her eyes. Can’t she have her own mind, even for a moment? “All I wanted was to
continue exploring the galaxy with my mother and my lover and my sisters in arms at my side.”

“You love traveling and exploration, then?”

“I do. I had given a thought to taking up the Path of the Mariner, but Khaine's call was stronger.”

“I love- or, well, I loved to travel as well, as the captain of my own fleet of corsairs. Perhaps with
you at my side, I’ll do it again.” He begins to play with her hair.

“If you love it so much, why did you stop?” She’s speaking automatically, asking the obvious
questions so she doesn’t have to think or feel.

“I was always torn between worlds. My place is here, with the kabal I serve and the memories I
protect. But my life among the stars and the one I shared it with called me every moment I was in
Commorragh.” He laughs bitterly. “We made such an odd team, but when she was gone, it just
wasn’t the same.”

She processes this silently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he sighs. “Are you warm enough?”

Jian’s breath catches in her throat. “You can stop pretending now. Just tell me how and where you
want me and I’ll be there.” The longer this twisted parody of a romance goes on, the more she
loathes it, and herself for going along with it.

She can feel him flinch as though she’s struck him, but his voice is perfectly steady. “I know this is
difficult for you to understand and even harder to respond in kind to, but I do care about you for
more than just your body.”

“Alright.” She doesn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

“Perhaps one day you’ll believe me.” He sounds calm, resigned, but she can detect the hurt in his
tone underneath it all. She’s gone too far, shattered the illusion.

“Thank you for all you have done for me. It really was more than you had to.” And more than she
deserved, in a way.

“Don’t thank me,” he mutters. “Apparently it was all so you’d let me fuck you.”

“Well you have now, and may do so again. But I thank you for letting me have time to prepare
and- “
 “And I could have done it right away, couldn’t I? I could have claimed you right there on the
dinner table the first night. But I didn’t!” The charm and composure is gone from his voice,
matching the rawness of her own. “Could it be that I was after your company instead?”

“I don’t know, I- ”

He sits up and his voice rises in volume as he speaks, hurt and anger becoming more and more
plain. “When I saw you there in your cage, I thought I could bring you here and add some laughter
and a soothed heart to my long, empty nights in this miserable city. I thought I was doing
something good. But apparently I was mistaken.” Jumping from the bed, he wraps a robe around
himself as he stalks towards the door. “Fuck it all,” he mutters.

The door slams, leaving Jian alone in the dimly lit room. As the shock abates, cold fear fills her,
along with a sense of shame that she can’t place. Why couldn’t she have just kept nodding along?
Agreed to whatever he wanted her to do? It would have been a small price to pay for her life. All
the dark fears and imagined fates of the past weeks return to her mind.

What has she done?

****

The nameless slave remains alone for hours, wearing only the silver band that marks her property
of another. She sits on his bed, in his room. Eyes dry, trembling but afraid to touch even a blanket
to cover her nakedness, she steels herself for the tortures to come.

In another part of the spire, her master howls in frustration. Over and over his fist slams into the
wall, trying to blot out the pain of the girl’s rejection and the truth of her accusations in white hot
agony. And when it’s over and the hurt and anger have faded to a cold emptiness, he slides to the
ground, cradling the mess of blood and shattered bones that used to be his arm. Tears run down
his face as, like her, he resigns himself to his fate.

Chapter End Notes

Valthiel: *Rapes his new slave girl, parades her around in skimpy outfits, takes every
opportunity to put her in physical contact with him, is moody and unclear about his
intentions*

Jian: "I don't think you're serious when you say you care about me as more than a
fucktoy"

Valthiel: *Surprised Pikachu face*

 Tension

It must be hours later when something changes. A sound. Someone at the door.

Jian tenses, ready to bolt. There’s nowhere to run, she can’t hope to hide, but fear is irrational.
She’s not ready to die yet.

The door slides open and Lynx steps in, a disappointed expression on her face. “Hey, dear, how
about we get you dressed? It’s not like you can go back to your quarters like this.”

“My quarters?” Jian asks numbly.

“Yes, of course.” Lynx walks towards the archon’s closet. “You do know where they are, right?
I’d hope so, given that you’ve spent several nights there already.”

Jian still can’t take her eyes off her. “He’s not going to sell me?”

“He gave you his word he wouldn’t, did he not? For him that actually means something.” Her tone
is scolding, as though she’s talking to a particularly stubborn child. Jian wonders if she speaks this
way to everyone, or if it’s just because Jian is under her care.

“He’s so angry, though…” She can feel her body starting to uncoil, her crouched posture relaxing
just a bit. If Lynx isn’t worried or furious, than maybe everything is okay?

“Hurt, not angry. There’s a difference. And even if he was, he would still honor his word.” Lynx
reappears, carrying a dark grey bathrobe.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Jian isn’t sure why she feels guilty, but now that the initial
horror has settled, it’s there. Perhaps it’s only because Lynx seems to think she’s done wrong.

“Then why did you?”

“Because I don’t understand why he’s wasting time on me when he could have you or any other
girl in this place.”

Lynx rolls her eyes. “Obviously he wanted you instead. Even if you have managed to get him to
doubt himself by implying he only cares about your convenient bodily openings.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give him.” she says quietly. The acute terror of the archon’s
anger has faded, replaced with the dull ache that’s been there since she woke up in the hold. The
feeling of being worthless.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve managed to scare away someone who thinks you’re more than
that.” She sits down on the edge of the bed and places a hand on Jian’s shoulder. “And no, you’re
not getting sold, don’t worry about that. You just managed to get him to question himself.”

The words are the end of Jian’s fortitude. She falls into Lynx's arms and starts to cry.

“There, there.” Lynx strokes her hair. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Why not?” She’ll have to find some way to make it up to him or be reminded of her failure here
every day for the rest of her life. However long that is.

“I doubt he’ll ask for your company again unless you seek him out on your own,” Lynx replies
matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

Lynx sighs. “It’s nothing against you, I just don’t think he’ll be able to look at you without starting
to hate himself. But don’t worry, you’re not going to be sold and I’m not going anywhere.”

The embrace tightens and Jian closes her eyes, trying to untangle everything she feels. “I didn’t
want to hurt him.” She was trying to be a good slave. A useful one. One who would be worth
keeping around for a long, long time.

“Well, you did, and you cannot change that. You just have to decide how you want to move
forward.”

“But you said seeing me will make it worse.”

“If he’s the one who summons you, yes. But if you go of your own will, there is a different
dynamic. You will have to decide if that’s something you want to do, though, to decide what kind
of future you want and exactly why you don’t trust him.”

Jian nods into Lynx’s shoulder. “Can I go back to my room? I’ll think about it on the way, I
promise.”

“Of course.” Lynx helps her into a soft bathrobe and takes her by the hand to lead her away. Jian
follows, as quiet and compliant as she’s ever been.

In her room, she allows herself to be stripped and helped into a bath, replacing the smell of sex
with a pleasing floral scent and relaxing the tension from her tired muscles. Next, she puts on the
provided nightgown- another flimsy satin piece- and climbs into bed, where Lynx places a wide
leather belt around her waist. Jian flinches as a bed of needles pricks into her skin, remembering
involuntarily the glass tube and her agonized dance. But instead, a warm glow spreads over her.
The aches from the archon’s rough treatment melt away and she can feel a strange lightness to her
head. Maybe some kind of drug injected by the needles. It carries her away on the river of her own
thoughts and through the colorful clouds of her mind.

How long she lays there and drowses, she’s unsure, but when she finally opens her eyes, Lynx is
still sitting in a chair next to her bed, eyes closed, but lacking some of the stillness of real sleep.
She stirs and looks over as soon as Jian moves. “Is everything alright?”

“I wanted him to hurt me.”

“Why?”

“Because the longer I waited for it, the worse it would be. I just wanted him to get it over with,”
she’s whispers. Admitting that she has less than complete affection for the lord, even if it’s only to
Lynx, feels like a dangerous game.

“Sweetie, the chances that you’d be able to push him far enough that he’d want to bring you pain
while we’re in Commorragh are astronomically low.”

“Why?” Jian pushes herself up on her elbow and adjusts her position. The needles bite into her skin
again, but it’s not the worst sensation with all the pleasantness accompanying it.

She sighs. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s an incredibly powerful and sensitive empath, in
Commorragh. Do you really believe he’s in the mood to cause additional pain to the people in his
vicinity, or do you think he’d try to drown out the residual hurt any way he could?” She says this
like it’s obvious and Jian is very stupid for not figuring it out.

Jian can only stare back, confused. What is Lynx talking about? How was she supposed to have
known that?

Lynx bites her lip. “But you didn’t hear this from me. Seriously, you didn’t.”

“Not a word.”

“But no, he doesn’t plan to put you through some horrible torture to get his kicks.”

It’s as though she’s been stuck in a highly pressurized chamber since the moment the collar locked
around her neck and Lynx’s words have broken a hole to let the air rush out. “Really?”

“I promise. Was there something else on your mind?”

Jian doesn’t respond, staring at the dark grey folds of the curtains keeping the light out of the
room. Maybe this isn’t real. Maybe it’s all some elaborate lie to make her fear all the greater when
he turns on her. But surely this was far too much work to go to for such a plain ending? Surely
there would have been far better ways to terrorize her? A strange thought fills her mind.

What if he’s telling the truth about what he wants?

She’s never going home. She’s known that since the moment she saw the city. Really, since the
moment her mother had warned of raiders approaching. She belongs to the archon now, as she’s
been trying so hard to remember during their interactions. If she doesn’t serve him in his bedroom,
what is the alternative? He promised not to sell her, but she’ll have to work somehow. No one
would keep a slave that can’t do anything. There are likely a great deal of worse positions in the
kabal he could send her to. Even when he eventually grows bored of her, if she has connections
with others in the kabal, she might be able to find herself a more pleasant fate than simply being
cast into the gutter.

“Maybe I should try again.”

“If that’s what you want?” Lynx sounds excited, hopeful.

“I think it could be.” Eventually, she will get used to his attentions, she supposes. Some small,
traitorous part of her wonders if they might even become pleasant after long enough.

“Excellent.” As if she’s reading her mind, Lynx reaches out to place a supportive hand on her
shoulder. “You deserve the chance to be happy again, Vixen. Do you want to go right away? Or do
you want me to stay here and keep you company and you can try again in the morning?”

“Do you think he’d see me now?”

“Of course. Here, let’s find you something to wear.”

They work quickly to comb Jian’s hair, give her a light touch of makeup, and get her dressed in a
robe. It’s really the most comfortable and decent thing she’s been allowed to have since before her
capture. Although it still leaves a huge amount of her chest exposed and comes with yet another
pair of high, spiked heels, it feels like a slightly saucier version of something she could have worn
at home.

The work proceeds quickly. Jian is afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she delays too long, and Lynx
seems eager to smooth things over between her and the archon. They finish the job and Jian
follows Lynx out the door, back straight and hands clenched in the folds of her robe.

Unsurprisingly, they don’t return to the archon’s suite. Instead, they walk down several staircases
and along endless hallways to an elevator she doesn’t recognize, which lets out in the gardens that
surround the spire. Jian pauses. “Thank you for all the help, Lynx. Without you, I would have gone
insane here, I’m sure.”

“Don’t worry dear.” She smiles. “The archon is just over that hill, through the gate. It should be
unlocked, just go in.”

She follows the directions and, indeed, finds herself at a small wrought-metal gate. It opens at her
touch and she follows the path into a small grove. It’s beautiful. Surrounded by trees, with thick,
plush grass covering the ground and a sweet scent wafting through the air from more than a dozen
beds of golden and white roses. She’s painfully reminded of home.

The archon sits on a stone bench near the center. He doesn’t look up at Jian’s approach, so she
waits to be acknowledged, heart pounding. He wears the colorless outfit that seems to be the norm
for him, a loose white shirt with fitted black pants and high, armored boots. A coat is slung over
one shoulder and he stares sadly at the flowers. They seem to entirely consume his attention.

After nearly fifteen minutes of silence, he speaks without looking up. “Are you just going to stay
there all night, or do you want to come join me?” He sounds listless, as though he’s too tired even
to put emotion in his voice.

Jian braces herself, then begins to walk towards him. “I came to beg your forgiveness.”

He shrugs and a flash of something - pain? Annoyance? – crosses his face. “You have nothing to
apologize for, Vixen. You only spoke your mind. And the truth.”

“But I should not have said it. I let my fears convince me you were lying, despite the lack of
evidence.” Is what she’s saying true? Does she believe it? She doesn’t know anymore. All she
knows is that this is what needs to be said to keep a hold on this thin charade that’s the only thing
standing between her and centuries of torment.

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. And I know that my treatment of you may not have been the
best. But it is something I am prepared to work on.” He looks up and finally meets her eyes. “I’m
willing to do what it takes to earn your trust.”

She bows her head. “And I’m willing to let you try.”

“Just talk to me. And don’t invite me to sleep with you and then turn around and accuse me of
impropriety for sleeping with you, alright?”

“I can do that.” It wasn’t what she’d been trying to do, but it isn’t worth arguing over. At least he
doesn’t seem upset anymore. She should make some gesture to show that she’s willing to act on
her words. She closes the gap between the two of them and sits on the bench at his side. Silence
stretches for a few moments. “What would you like to talk about?”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I honestly don’t know what to say. I want to get to
know you, but you don’t seem to want to talk about your old life, your interests, your thoughts…”

“I’m sorry,” Jian replies. Perhaps it has been frustrating for him. “My old life, the memories, they
just bring me pain. We could talk about hobbies, though?”
“Sure. By all means…” He trails off, leaving them in silence. His right arm, Jian notices, is
hanging in a sling and the hand is completely covered in heavy bandages.

She frowns, then says experimentally “I told you I liked to sing… Do you sing at all?”

“Not really.” He wraps his free arm around her, and to her surprise, the gesture is a completely
chaste one. His hand remains still and light on her waist and he doesn’t even attempt to explore her
body or feel through the robe. “I am very fond of drawing, though. My time for it has been
extremely scarce since I ascended to the head of this kabal, but I still enjoy it when I get the
chance.”

“What kinds of things do you like to draw?”

“Anything, really, but I have a special fondness for flowers, and technical drawings of starships.”

“You seem rather fond of plants.”

For the first time that evening, she gets a real grin from him. “I do. Plants and reptiles both, they’re
one of my passions in life.” His voice matches his expression. “The fact that they both tend to have
interesting chemical interactions with other beings is just a bonus.”

“You mean like in the alchemy you do here?”

“Among other things, yes.” He sighs as he looks back at the flowers, good mood apparently gone.
“But more importantly I love the way they smell and move in the wind, even an artificial one like
this. It’s almost like they’re dancing with an invisible partner.”

“Flowers are pretty. But I’m not very good with them. Everything I tried to grow died.” Not for
lack of trying on Father’s part, she thinks with a bittersweet smile.

He moves his hand to her back and starts slowly rubbing it. “What about animals, then?”

“A bit better, I think. I’ve never had one die in my care. But it’s certainly not a gift of mine.”

“And not a significant interest, either?”

“I mean, I like cute, fuzzy things as much as the next aeldari. But I wouldn’t say so, no.”

“So my plan of seducing you in a gyrinx costume is doomed to failure?” he teases.

She grins through her snort of ridicule. “Please don’t.”

The conversation lulls for a moment before she speaks again. “Maybe you could tell me about
some of your plants sometime?” This whole thing feels strangely normal. For just a moment, she
could forget where she was. Who she was talking to. Even if it has all come back now.

“Of course! What would you like to know?”

“Um. I guess which ones are your favorites? And what they do?”

“Hmm…” After considering for a moment, the archon takes her by the hand and leads her out of
the grove, into the endless rows of garden beds and hedges. Jian is soon lost among the twisting
pathways, but he seems to know exactly where he’s going.

When they stop, it’s in a patch of what looks like some relative of a voidthistle, but with denser,
darker leaves and a purplish tinge to the stems. He produces a tiny silver knife and guides her
hands with his own as she cuts the leaves from their stems. She doesn’t need the help- she’s
perfectly familiar with cutting all sorts of things, including garden plants- but lets him instruct her
anyway. Carrying the results in his cupped hands, he leads her back to the rose garden, where she
finds a bowl of glowing coals sitting on the edge of the terrace, a teapot resting in its center and a
tray with a pair of black stone cups next to it.

Motioning for her to sit next to him on the grass, the archon bends over the pot for a moment
before joining her and instructing her on how best to crush the leaves for maximum flavor. When
they finish, he declares the water ready and pours it into the cup before using a mesh spoon to
strain the leaves. Jian watches intently, grateful for something to do or look at outside of herself
and her own situation. This, too, isn’t new information, tea has been a passion of hers for decades,
but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment by pointing this out.

She raises the cup to her lips to drink, but the archon’s hand on her arm arrests the movement. “No,
wait! Hand that to me.”

Curious, she passes it to him. He pulls yet another pair of small cylinders from his pocket. The first
contains a pile of parchment-like strips, one of which he dips into her tea, while the other is full of
swabs that he uses to wipe the rim of the cup before tapping it on the unused end of the strip. He
scrutinizes it for a moment before returning the drink to her. “There you are.”

Jian raises an eyebrow as he puts away the items. “Testing for poisons?”

“Yes. I check every bit of food and drink that I consume, and I’ve tested everything you’ve had
since you’ve been here as well.”

“Do you think someone might try to poison me?”

“More likely that they would be targeting me, but you never know. If there’s ever something
you’re unsure of, ask me or Lynx about it. I trust her with my life, and with yours too.”

She lets the comment stand as she takes an experimental sip of the tea. It’s delicious. The leaves
have a delicate, almost honey-like flavor and they’ve steeped the perfect amount, even if it’s nearly
scalding hot. As she drinks, she feels some slight relaxation spreading through her, a minor release
of the tension that’s filled her for as long as she can remember now.

She had thought she would never drink a cup of tea again.

The archon watches her expressions as he slowly drinks his own beverage. “It’s not a drug, you can
drink as much as you like without worrying about side effects, although repeat doses aren’t any
more calming than one. I know many craftworlds have their own traditional teas just as we do
here. I’ll have someone show you where anything you need is growing, and you should feel
absolutely free to take as much as you like.”

“Thank you.” She continues drinking, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she does. He
seems mostly focused on the cup in his hands, but will occasionally steal a glance of his own in her
direction. This was not, she suspects, his true favorite plant, but an opportunity to share the
experience and the tea with her. It’s curious, and hints perhaps at a sincere desire to follow through
on his words. Like his foot massages and his nice food, there was no need.

When she looks up again, he’s staring at her and his eyes have taken on a strange, glassy quality.
“Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all, quite the contrary,” he says quietly.

What does she say to that? “Well, I’m glad I could make you happy.” There’s something else that
needs to be said, while she’s here. “I meant it, you know. When I said I was sorry about what
happened to your friend.”

“Thank you.” He lets out his breath slowly. “And I am sorry for how much your life must have
changed since you came here. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you.”

Hasn’t been easy… And in that moment, the beginnings of calmness and peace that have started to
make their way into her heart are gone and she can feel her face collapsing. An instant later, the
archon has his arm wrapped around her, pulling her to him. Yet again, she notices the difference
from the many, many hours she’s spent in his embrace before. The hunger is still there, yes. She's
certain that he still desires her. But there is also a protective element that keeps his arm around her
shoulders and his lips away from her flesh.

The bandaged hand is pressed between them, and through her grief and confusion, she notices that
something feels odd about it. Too soft, perhaps. “Is your hand alright?” Her voice comes out
muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s fine.” The archon buries his face in her hair, where he remains still, his breathing ragged but
steady.

How long they stay like that, Jian has no idea. Much longer than she thought she would want to,
for certain. And when she pulls away, he puts up no resistance. “Thank you for giving me a second
chance,” he says.

Jian looks down. She’s not sure how to respond.

“What do you want to do now? Would you like to take a walk with me through the garden? Or to
be alone for a while?”

“I think… I think I’m tired. I would like to go to bed. If you don’t mind?”

“No, that’s just fine.” He holds out a hand to help her up. “It is rather late.”

She should say something, something to help him know she’s serious. “Perhaps I could see you
again tomorrow? We could have a meal together?”

“Then I will see you for dinner tomorrow night, sweet Vixen.”

The trip back to her room is uneventful and the archon leaves her to enter on her own with a brief
kiss on the lips. As soon as she enters, she finds Lynx waiting for her on the bed.

“Well? How did it go?”

“Good, I think?”

Lynx nods eagerly. “Go on.”

“I apologized for my behavior. We walked in the garden and he made me tea. We’re eating dinner
together tomorrow night.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like a bad evening to me.” She moves to help Jian out of her robes and
into bed. “After all, how could it have been much better under the circumstances?”

“You’re right. Thank you for all your help.” She’s growing more exhausted by the second, the
aches in her back and stomach and hips are starting to return, and the emotions of the day are too
overwhelming to do much more than agree automatically with everything said.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I promise. Should I wake you up with breakfast tomorrow?”

“Okay.” She should do something to show she means it here, too. “And if you ever need help with
your things as well, just ask me.”

“Interested in joining the sisterhood, are you?” Lynx teases as Jian takes her place in the bed.

“I don’t know. But I want to make your life easier. Like you’re making mine.”

“Do you enjoy games? I would love someone to play athlanan with and Vathiel prefers cards. I
play chess as well, if you’d prefer?”

“I love chess.” She manages a small smile. Another chance to engage her mind with something that
has nothing to do with her own body or situation. The gifts keep coming this evening.

“It’s settled then. I’ll see you the evening after next.” She pulls the blankets over Jian and gets
ready to depart. “Good night dear, I’ll see you in the morning.”

She turns out the light, leaving Jian in darkness.

****

The perpetual twilight of Commorragh remains unchanged through the long hours of artificial
night. The archon’s concubine lies awake for hours, alone in the huge, plush bed. When her
thoughts become too much to bear, she climbs from the bed and settles on the window seat, staring
out at the garden from a cocoon of blankets. There she stays until her handler returns, whispering
to herself and running her fingers along the smooth silver of the chains she has begun to accept.
 Relaxation
Chapter Notes

Many thanks to Ashilaa_A03 for being an awesome (and understanding) beta. The
story always makes sense in my mind, but I need other eyes to tell me if it *actually*
makes sense.

Also, I'll be going back through earlier chapters over the next few days and adding in a
few edits. Nothing major, just typo fixes and fleshing out Jian's psyche a bit more, but
if something seems different while you're backreading, you are not insane.

EDIT 2/11/21

Once again, an update is indeed coming soon. The next chapter is a doozy (over 10k
words) and both I and Ashilaa needed a bit more time with it than normal. Hopefully it
will be worth it!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jian stands in front of the door to the archon’s chambers, composing herself before she knocks.

The day has been a strange one. Lynx had found her on the window seat in the morning and offered
her another cup of tea, seeming annoyed that Jian hadn’t thought to tell her how much she loved it
before.

After breakfast she had been left to her own devices, so she had inspected every inch of her
quarters before curling up on the chair with one of the books supplied by whoever had furnished
the place. She’d had to put it down less than a chapter in. Reena always loved those awful romance
novels that the Harlequins put out as some kind of surreal joke, and reading them reminded Jian too
sharply of how much she misses her.

Her next attempt had proved more fruitful. The second book she’d picked up had been a translation
of an epic poem from before the old aeldari empire fell, and it had taken all her concentration just
to follow the archaic language. Jian has never been much of a reader, but for once she appreciated
having something to do.

Eventually, she had filled enough of the day that she had been able to start getting herself ready for
her “date” with the archon. This, too, had been a welcome diversion: putting her hair and makeup
in place and picking an outfit for herself for the first time since her capture.

She’d waited for someone to come fetch her for a bit before realizing she was meant to go on her
own and setting out. Which leaves her here. Standing outside his door. Dressed in the most
conservative thing she could find in the closet, a scarlet dress that still leaves her back and much of
her chest and legs exposed. Readying herself for whatever he has planned for her this evening.

She raises her hand and knocks.

“Come in, it’s open,” the archon says from inside.

Jian obeys his order, stepping inside to find the room softly lit with dozens of candles. The small
table from her previous visits has been replaced with a somewhat larger one, loaded down with
food. Jian can pick out loaves of bread, cheese, exotic seafood, bottles of wine and liquor, and a
large steaming bowl whose contents she can’t identify. As the door slides shut behind her, the
archon himself stands from his chair, gesturing toward her in greeting. He, too, looks somewhat
different, with his hair tied back and green and gold coat topping his usual leather pants and white
blouse.

His face brightens as she approaches him. “You look great.”

“So do you.” Jian can almost believe he was a corsair once, seeing him like that. “I’m sorry I’m
late.”

“It’s alright.” He leads her to the table and pulls out one of the chairs for her to sit. “Did you forget
the time?”

“No, I was, erm, waiting for someone to come get me. Then I realized that I was just supposed to
go, but it was later than I should have left.” She cuts off her stream of excuses. He’s not going to
torture you to get his kicks. Lynx’s words are comforting, calming.

“Oh… Isha’s tits, that was my fault. I see why you were confused.”

Jian takes the offered seat. “It’s no trouble, I managed to find my way here. Don’t worry about it.”

The archon moves to the other end of the table to sit in his own chair. “Alright. Shall we feast?”

“It looks delicious.” And it does. Most of the meals she’s been served since her arrival have been
on the light side, and while she’s never gone hungry, the thought of eating something richer sounds
amazing.

“I’m glad you think so. I’m not much of a cook.”

“You made all of this yourself?” The image of the archon bent over a counter, peeling vegetables,
is somewhat absurd.

“I did,” he replies. “It took me most of the day, but I think I managed to create an edible meal.” He
ladles something from the large bowl into a smaller one and passes it to her. Some kind of shellfish
soup, Jian judges by the smell.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says as she pours herself a glass of wine.

“I know. But I wanted to. I hoped it would lift your spirits a bit.”

“Well, you did beautiful work.”

“How does it taste?”

“Just fine.” The soup is quite salty, and she sips on the wine to counteract it. Not as good as most
of the things she’s had since she arrived, but not bad at all.

“I’m glad. The last thing I want to do is accidentally poison you.”

“I suppose that’s more likely here than many other places.” The banter is automatic. Almost
effortless. If she can block out all the parts of her mind that keep reminding her of how truly
horrifying this situation is, she can slide into a fantasy world where this is exactly the date that it
appears to be.
“Oh yes. Luckily, you’re also in one of the best places to get the appropriate antidote in time, so I
suppose it evens out in the end.”

“I guess I’ll have to hope I get poisoned here, then.”

“Well, no one knows what the future holds in store.” The archon serves himself from one of the
entrees on the table, taking a few bites in silence before looking up at her, suddenly serious. “Why
did you come back?”

“I don’t like leaving things unsaid.” It’s part of the truth, anyway.

Something the archon clearly picks up on. “What do you mean?”

“If I was going to apologize, I needed to do it right away and not risk something happening that
would keep it from ever being said.” There were so many things she’d meant to tell her mother…
to tell her father… Reena…

“But what made you think you had something to apologize for?”

Jian looks up and studies him before speaking. She can’t figure out his tone. “I saw how badly I
had hurt you. And I began to wonder if there was some truth in what you had been saying to me all
along.”

He speaks again after several bites, but his emotions are no clearer. “I meant what I said. I would
love to have you in my chambers and my bed at night, even if your presence is all there is. Just
your company is enough.”

“I’m not sure… maybe?” What is she supposed to think of his request?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready for that. But maybe someday?” Jian isn’t sure if that would be
better or worse than simply sending her away when he's done with her. It feels more intimate
somehow.

The archon is obviously disappointed and his voice carries just the edge of a sigh. “Let’s hope for
the best then.”

“I certainly do.” Jian makes a mental note to get herself used to the idea as fast as possible.

“I’m glad you’re here now, at least, sharing the evening with me.” He raises his wine as if to toast.
She responds in kind, unsure what exactly she’s toasting.

After draining the glass, he returns his gaze to her. “So, I doubt you’re interested in spending your
days locked away in your room. Is there anything you’d like to do to keep yourself busy while
you’re here?”

Jian considers. There’s only one thing that’s made her feel alive since she’s been here. “I know it’s
a lot to ask, but if I might be allowed to keep up my sword training while I’m here, I would very
much like that.”

“Interesting.” He rests his chin on his hand. “Would you prefer to train with me, or with my
bodyguard and his elite unit of cadets?”

“I don’t care, as long as I can hold a blade in my hand.”

“How about a combination, then? You can take part in their daily exercises, and then spar with me
when I have the time.”

“That sounds like it could work.” In the midst of the polite small talk, she finds a question that
actually interests her. “May I ask what you do? On a normal day, I mean.”

The archon eyes her curiously and Jian wonders if she’s asked something inappropriate. But after a
moment he sighs and gives his head a brief shake before starting to speak. “Nothing particularly
interesting, I’m afraid. I start each day working on private projects in my personal laboratory, and I
also schedule daily survival training to keep myself on my toes against the dangers of the dark city.
Exercising or weapons training, depending on the day. The rest of my day is taken up with reports
from my officers and the elder lhamean sisters, management of the kabal’s long-term projects,
inspecting the health of our working slave population, and occasionally meetings with
representatives from other groups within the city. After dinner, I spend time updating myself on
the long-distance communications from my spy network and agents throughout the city and the
galaxy at large and sometimes tutoring Lynx, before completing my personal health checks to
ensure I have not picked up any residual toxins or diseases before I go to bed.”

“It sounds very… busy.” And perhaps all the more surprising that he’s taken so much time out of
his schedule to play with her. Amusing, in a somewhat strange way, to think of herself as ruining
an archon’s vacation.

“I won’t lie, it gets intense sometimes. But moments like this make it all worth it.”

Jian bites her lip and looks down at her soup, unsure how to respond. After another bite, she clears
her throat. “This is very good.”

She looks up to see him smiling awkwardly, cheeks and ears flushed red. “Thank you, I- I wasn’t
sure that you would like it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

His blush deepens. “I mean, I know I’m not really a chef…”

“Neither am I. It’s still better than ship food, I promise.” Yet again, the conversation seems unreal.
Almost normal. She finds herself blushing too.

“Well, thank you.” The archon clears his throat. “So, what is your favorite food?”

“I like spicy food - there’s a five-spiced meat that they serve on Yme-loc that makes your mouth
burn in different ways over time after you’ve eaten it and I love it.”

“Oh, you should have told me, I could have made you something spicy tonight! There’s a version
of the soup you’re eating that will make you feel like you’re swallowing fire.” He sounds surprised
by the revelation. “I like spicy food too.”

“We’ll have to have it for dinner sometime.” He’s probably going to expect her to come up with
suggestions for how to spend their time together sooner or later; it seems like part of the
relationship he wants her to give him. Might as well start now.

“I will mark it down, then,” he grins.

They both fall quiet and Jian’s plate is almost empty before the archon breaks the silence. “Unless
you mind, I thought we could retreat to the couch for some entertainment before we enjoy dessert?
I have a recording of an opera that I thought you might like.”
“Alright.” Suddenly, she feels less confident. What would the subject matter even be for an opera
here in Commorragh of all places?

The archon takes her hand and leads her to the couch, where she takes a seat as indicated. A bowl
of fresh fruit sits on the table nearby, next to a smaller bowl of melted chocolate. After fiddling
with the recording, the archon sits next to her, pulling her into his arms as he brings the bowls into
their laps.

Despite Jian’s fear, the opera is familiar subject matter, a treatment of Eldranesh’s battles against
Khaine. She’s seen the story depicted in numerous forms before, and this one is quite enjoyable.
The archon maintains his embrace throughout, although he seems content to stroke her back and
run his fingers through her hair. She allows him to feed her fruit and, to her utter shock, finds
herself rather enjoying the evening. The food is delicious and the entertainment reasonably
diverting. She’s almost having fun. Almost.

****

She drags her eyes open. They feel crusty and her body is stiff from being contorted into a strange
position while she slept. Blinking in the sudden light, dim as it may be, Jian tries to figure out
where she is.

A table in front of her, her face pressed into something soft, a heaviness over her middle. The
archon’s arm. She must have fallen asleep on him last night. He’s sleeping as well, halfway under
her, leaning on his side against the arm of the couch. Strangely, she feels incredibly rested despite
the unusual location. Not even a nightmare that she can remember. Perhaps even stranger, her
clothing all seems to be in place. She has been left completely unmolested in her vulnerable state.
The archon hasn’t woken yet, so Jian remains where she is, content in a place with no expectations
or demands on her.

But all too soon, reality settles in. She’s here, in the arms of the man who owns her entire being.
How can she be alright with this? How can she even think about accepting the situation? She
should be kicking, screaming. Stabbing the archon in the chest with a steak knife. Not snuggling
up to him the moment her mother’s screams stop echoing in her brain. It feels like she’s going to be
sick.

He stirs under her and she can feel his hand caressing her back. Why does it have to feel so nice?

Sweat breaks out on Jian’s forehead as she tries to focus on… what exactly? What does she even
want from her life anymore? The archon tugs at her, still clearly asleep as he pulls her back into his
arms. Eyes closed, harmless like this, expression peaceful, he’s rather handsome. The fact that she
can’t help but notice is another kick in the stomach.

“Mmm… I love you…” he mumbles, pressing her even closer.

Oh gods, no. Jian finds herself moving numbly into the affection. He whimpers softly and nuzzles
against her cheek as her eyes fill with tears. She’d thought she’d been prepared for whatever he
would do or say on this ‘date’, whatever acts he would perform or get her to perform, but this… she
had never considered it.

Does he even know what love is?

She gets no answer to her question, however. She simply lies in his arms and stares at the wall as
he continues sleeping, a blissful expression on his face.
After what feels like hours, shame and confusion filling her to near bursting, Jian feels him stir
behind her. “Good morning, dear,” he murmurs in her ear, kissing the back of her neck.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, yes. With you at my side, I had my best night in ages. Thank you.”

Jian’s confusion deepens. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could be of service.”

“You most certainly were,” the archon replies.

“What would you like me to do now?”

“Just… stay here. Share this moment with me.” He twists, maneuvering their bodies so she winds
up facing him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The weight around Jian’s neck reminds her of the cold truth of her
words as she says them.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He kisses her again, lingering in the contact and Jian leans in to meet it.
A daydream of happiness… The kiss continues, pauses, resumes. The archon runs his hands along
her ears and down her jaw. His lips move to her neck and the bare skin on her chest, and she
responds, twining her fingers in his hair and letting her legs wrap around him.

Finally, after what must be close to an hour, Jian pulls herself away. He might not be satisfied yet,
but the tension in her gut has built to the point that she can’t ignore it any longer. Before they go
further, she needs to stop and clear her head. “I should go freshen up,” she says softly.

“Of course. Take your time, we have nowhere else to be today.”

She disentangles herself from his arms and hurries to the bathroom, trying to straighten her dress as
she does. At the washroom door, she hesitates and looks back. She shouldn’t assume that she is
allowed to use his amenities. The archon is watching her from the couch and smiles encouragingly.
So Jian enters, shutting the door behind her. All alone in the pristine, white emptiness of the
enormous space.

Immediately, she rushes for the sink. It’s too late. Her massive, rich dinner from last night comes
racing back, splattering across the counter and backsplash. Eventually, her stomach empties and
she finds herself braced against the marble vanity, face pale and tear-streaked, arms shaking. Her
stomach has quieted but she feels no better.

Running the water to disguise any additional sounds she might make, she takes one shuddering
breath, then another. This is survival, nothing more. Lynx is right, she can’t live the rest of her
days in misery. If she manages to not hate what her life has become for a few hours, surely no one
would blame her?

Regardless, she needs to get this cleaned up before he sees it. She washes the chunky mess down
the sink and wipes the splashes from the tiles and her face. Her dress looks alright, the smudged
makeup has been removed, and her hair is straightened easily enough with her fingers. Once again,
she is acceptable.

As she returns to the main bedroom, she finds that the archon has moved from the couch to the
massive bed that sits in the bedroom portion of his suite. His eyes follow her stride as she enters
and she can feel him taking in every detail of her appearance. Jian positions herself by the edge of
the bed and waits for him to speak.
“You don’t want to join me, do you?” He sighs.

“I don’t mind.” This sounds… almost like the truth? She’s certainly not sure what she’d rather do.

“Well then please, come sit with me.” He slides over to make room and she climbs onto the silk
covers next to him.

“Will everything be alright? If you take the day off?” she asks. Based on his description last night,
a lot of things currently demand his attention.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She can feel his gaze on her again and looks up to meet his eyes. “Okay. I had fun last night.”

“So did I. We should make it a regular habit.”

A regular habit? He wants to do this again? And he certainly won’t be satisfied with just a bit of
cuddling next time. “Not tonight, though. I promised Lynx I would spend the evening with her.”
Belatedly, Jian realizes she should have asked his permission before making such a commitment.
“If that’s alright with you?”

“Of course. I’m glad you’re starting to make friends here and plan things on your own. Please,
have fun for me. And the two of you are welcome to join me here when you’re done.”

“I’ll see what she thinks.” Her hopes for an evening to relax even slightly dashed, she falls silent as
the archon kisses her forehead. “So… what did you want to do today?”

“Just spend the day with you, in whatever capacity you feel comfortable spending it with me.”

He’s letting her choose? The idea seems ludicrous and Jian has no idea what she feels
‘comfortable’ doing with him. But to deny him flat out would almost certainly trigger another
outburst, one she might not be able to smooth over. “We could take a walk?”

“I like the sound of that.” The archon smiles, but not fast enough to hide the disappointment that
flickers across his face.

“What would you rather do?”

Seconds pass before he replies softly. “How about you take off that dress and come join me under
the covers… and then when we’re done we can take our walk in the garden?”

Jian’s heart seizes. She knew this was coming. There was no way she could have expected such a
pleasant evening without paying for it somehow. But still, she doesn’t want him inside her again,
claiming every part of her for his own. “Alright.” She begins to slide out of the flimsy red dress.

The archon catches her hand. “Are you sure?”

Her cheeks flame. “Not really. Just- be gentle? Please?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s go for a walk.”

Shit. “No, I can-“

“Don’t worry about it. A walk sounds great.”

“Alright.” She bites her lip, realizing she needs to ask for yet another concession. “May I return to
my room to change into something warmer?”

“There’s no need,” the archon says as he stands. “I’m sure there’s something in my closet that will
fit you. Take your pick.”

Following his gesture, Jian enters a small room hung with women’s clothing of every style she can
imagine. Automatically, she reaches for a set of armor that looks very much like wraithbone, but
forces herself to pick something more realistic for the situation. An embroidered tunic and
matching leggings, somewhat scratchy but otherwise comfortable, present themselves and she
changes quickly, folding her dress on a chair before she leaves.

The archon has also changed when she emerges, redressed in a soft grey shirt and fresh pants, and
he’s put on boots. He offers her his arm and leads her out of the room.

They use an elevator she’s not familiar with, but Jian quickly realizes it takes them to the bottom of
the spire and out into another segment of the gardens. For a long time, the only sound is their feet
crunching on the gravel path.

Jian breaks the silence first. “Thank you for indulging me. I promise I will join you in bed the next
time.”

He pulls her closer, moving his hand to rest on the small of her back. “Don’t worry about it, dear,
it’s what you needed.”

Her eyes burn and she’s not sure exactly why. “Thank you for buying me.”

“It was nothing. I just cannot believe my luck that I found you when I did.”

“The luck was all mine, I assure you.” In the moment, she’s speaking both truth and lies, feeling a
strange kinship with him even as she remembers the sick, empty feeling of lying at his side, too
exhausted and used up to move.

The archon doesn’t seem to notice any of her mixed feelings though, turning to face her and
running his hand along her jawline. “I know we are still in Commorragh, but I don’t want you to
feel unsafe at all, do you hear me? If there is anything or anyone that makes you afraid, just tell me
and I will take care of it.” Not giving her time to respond, he presses her to his chest, bending to
encircle as much of her in his embrace as possible.

Jian holds still, afraid to move. Unsure if she wants to.

“Thank you for giving me a chance, Vixen” he whispers. His lips brush the top of her head.

They stand like that for long minutes as Jian feels the wind tug at her clothes and hears the thin,
bone-white trees that surround the path rustling their leaves together. “Jian. My name was Jian.”

He starts. “That’s a very pretty name. Do you mind if I call you that instead of Vixen?”

Jian shakes her head. She’s not sure why she admitted it. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to be
Vixen, the helpless doll with no future. And now that she’s passed through that doorway, she’s
even less sure if it was the right decision. But now that she is here, there’s no more use pretending:
she is indeed Jian, the same girl who walked the path of a warrior, the one who was beaten and
held in the ship and forced to dance until she was nothing. The same girl who has a father and a
lover waiting for someone they’ll never see. “That would be acceptable,” she breathes.

“My real surname is Levrain, not Aire.”

She looks up at the archon, confused.

“I wanted to separate myself from the corsair life I once led, and to leave the door open to rejoining
it should the need arise. I just thought you should know.”

Jian nods. “You don’t want me to call you that, then?”

“It is private, yes. My Lord or Master will do in public, and Valthiel when we are alone, or Val if
you prefer something a bit more intimate.” He releases her from his grasp and resumes guiding her
along the garden path. “Is there anything else you would like to know about me?”

A chance to learn more about the man who will possess her for the foreseeable future seems too
rare to pass up. “You said you never knew your parents. So how did you know to come here, that
there was a throne waiting for you? If I may ask.”

“Of course. I originally came as an ordinary corsair, and while doing business in the city, I
encountered one of the elder sisters of the kabal. They had apparently been looking for the heir to
the throne for a while.”

Jian looks up at his expression. She’s impressed with his ability to tell such a story with a straight
face. Although she supposes it has little effect on whether it’s true or not. His position would be
difficult to maintain without the ability to lie seamlessly. “They let a mon’keigh travel here?”

He smiles indulgently. “No, by then I had worked my way up from my humble beginnings and
commanded a crew of our own people.”

“Oh, yes. You had mentioned that before. I’m sorry.” She’d forgotten in her analysis. When no
reprimand is forthcoming, she tries another question. “Have you ever been to a craftworld?”

“Hard as that may be to believe, I have, several times in fact.”

“Which ones?” It’s unlikely he’s ever seen Yme-loc, but still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“Saim-hann once, Ulthwe twice, and Kel’terath countless times. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if we had traveled to any of the same places. I haven’t though.”

The archon looks at her sidelong. “Would you like to?”

“I don’t know. I certainly dreamed of it once…” With a pang, she wonders what would have
happened if she had followed her impulse to join the Path of the Mariner. She would be at home
with her father and Reena, and perhaps with her fate in some other aeldari’s hands, her mother
might not have-

“Which one would you like to see first? Ulthwe or Saim-hann?”

“Either, I - “ Jian cuts herself off, realizing who she’s speaking to. She cannot, will not become a
participant in the doom of yet more of her people. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We will see where fate takes us, then.” He leans in to kiss her. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jian kisses back.

The rest of the afternoon is unremarkable. The pair wander through the gardens, which are more
extensive than Jian realized even on her trip to the other spire. She admires the beauty and
diversity of the species represented and the archon explains the uses of some of them at length, but
the conversation topics remain light. She’s grateful for this- nothing will make this new acceptance
of her fate worse than being forced to keep talking about it.

Eventually, she excuses herself to keep her meeting with Lynx and he escorts her back to her room,
leaving her at the door.

As she enters, she finds the other woman sprawled across her bed, reading a book. “Hello?” she
asks cautiously.

Lynx looks up with a smile. “Hello there. You took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.” The other woman waves dismissively. “Did you have fun at least?”

“I think I did actually?” At least as long as she doesn’t think about it too long.

“Ooooh? Please, do tell me while we walk over to my quarters.”

So Jian follows her back out and into the gardens, describing her day and evening with the archon
as she does. At first, she tries to keep her phrasing vague, to not dwell on the confusion that her
happiness still brings her, but Lynx keeps pressing for more details until she has explained nearly
everything. Except for her moments of agony over the sink, of course.

Lynx nods as she finishes. “This is very good, very good. Do you want me to use your name as
well? Or is that strictly for the archon’s ears only?”

Jian sighs. “It’s Jian. You may use it if you want.” If she has accepted the situation, there’s no
point in being coy.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jian. I hope that means you’re starting to feel a bit better about your time
here with us?”

Jian is saved from having to respond by the view that opens up as they round a corner in the tall
hedge they’ve been following for the last several minutes. A small stream flows over a bed of
stones and under a bridge of intricately latticed black metal and pale wood. Beyond, lush grass
covers the open center of a grove of heavy dark fallen trees, while a small cabin sits at the far end,
pressed against the encroaching forest. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you so much. I like to think so as well. And privacy is a valuable commodity, don’t you
think?”

“Very much so. Valthiel must value you greatly.” Jian says as she speeds up a bit to draw even
with Lynx as they finish crossing the bridge.

“I hope so, yes,” replies Lynx. Her ears are turning a bit pink.

“I think he does. Every time your name comes up, it’s clear he trusts you a lot.”

Lynx stops and bites her lip. “I wouldn’t know… I haven’t talked with him much lately.”

Impulsively, Jian grabs the drukhari and wraps her in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Just…” Lynx sighs. “Remind him that I still exist, will you?”

“He said he’d like to see you, when we’re done here. Both of us, actually.”

Jian doesn’t need to be a seer to notice the change in Lynx’s demeanor. “Oh? Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. He just said he was happy I was spending time with you and that we were welcome
to join him after.”

“It sounds like a plan, then.” Lynx resumes walking towards the cabin. “But for the moment, let’s
enjoy a game and some wine.”

Sitting across from Jian, Lynx hands her a goblet of liquid, such a brilliant red that it almost seems
orange. A bottle joins the chess pieces on the table and Lynx helps finish setting up the board with
deft fingers.

Jian takes a sip. “Gods, this is amazing.” It has a sweet, fruity note, but still somehow clear and
sharp, a cool knife on her tongue.

“Thank you. I like to wrap up the day with a glass or two.” Lynx moves a pawn forward.

Matching her, Jian replies. “That is one thing I can say about my time here: all of the food has been
amazing.”

“The Kabal of the Ashen Rose grows a lot of its own crops, and our connections with the corsairs
enable us to get things from off-world as well. One of the lesser benefits of having our own pocket
dimension in the city.”

“Commorragh is a lot larger than I thought it could be.”

Lynx pulls out an adjacent pawn. “I’ve heard that before. I suppose it proves the brilliance of our
technology at the height of the empire.”

“I can barely comprehend how large it is. Not that I got a proper look at it while I was outside.”
She shivers involuntarily at the reminder of what happened before she arrived here.

“You didn’t miss much, trust me. Commorragh is not a tourist friendly city.”

“I know.” Jian looks down at her lap. She’s certainly seen more of it than she ever thought in her
worst nightmares that she would.

Placing a hand on top of Jian’s, Lynx speaks quietly. “This place here isn’t too bad, though.
Especially not when you get a slice of it all your own.” She adjusts her position and tops up Jian’s
glass. “Not that it beats realspace.”

“Have you spent much time there?” Jian asks in surprise. As far as she knows, Lynx has lived her
entire life in Commorragh. Although, she reflects, she knows little of who she was before their
meeting.

“Oh, yes. When Valthiel still traveled with his corsair crew, I went with him. It was amazing.” She
smiles fondly.

“Do you have any stories you want to tell me?” Jian moves a knight over her line of pawns, into
the playing field of the board.

It seems as though Lynx was simply waiting for an invitation. She launches into a narrative,
painting a vivid picture of the Four Winds corsairs, of which the archon was a member. It becomes
clear to Jian that the eldar love for a tale well told has not been lost in their dark kin. Lynx recounts
a long and bloody campaign against a pack of mon’keigh aligned with She Who Thirsts, ending in
the death of one of the men who commands the eponymous four sections of the fleet, but the
ultimate victory of the corsairs. Despite the multiple glasses of wine she drinks while listening, Jian
notices that the descriptions of the chaos cultists and their mad deeds sound rather like the horror
stories she’s heard about Commorragh’s haemonculi covens. More interesting still is the almost
son-like relationship that the archon seems to have had with Jhovar, the so-called Iron General and
another of the four princes of the winds.

By the time Lynx has finished, they’ve long since abandoned their game and are well into a second
bottle of wine. The brew is strong and Jian finds that Lynx has curled herself onto the couch next to
her, Jian’s own head resting against her shoulder. The stream is barely visible from this far away,
but she can just make out a bit of silver near the edge of the grove. Another glass of wine is in her
hand- her fourth, she thinks.

Lynx hums in pleasure. “This is quite nice, actually. I’ll admit that I didn’t expect to enjoy your
company as much as I do.”

“I had fun too. Thank you for spending time with me.” Even in the pleasurable buzz of
intoxication, Jian can still remember her manners.

“Any time, sweetie.” Lynx runs her hands through Jian’s hair. “We have to do it again, soon.”

“Of course!” Everything feels warm and golden, a sort of rightness that she knows will disappear
as soon as the alcohol fades. Yet this doesn’t bother her. Her tongue moves without her asking. “I
like having a friend.” Friendship? Is that what this is? She doesn’t trust Lynx with her thoughts,
can’t imagine letting her into her pain or telling her about her home… but there is an undeniable
connection between them as well. An understanding, perhaps.

“I can’t imagine they’re in ample supply here, no. I’m happy to know you as well.” She pauses and
Jian can feel her attention wandering before she speaks again. “How about you? Do you have any
tales of adventure or excitement you want to share?”

“Not really, the -“ she stops. Her words tumble over one another and she forces herself to reorient.
“The trip where I was captured was my first expedition off world as an aspect warrior. I had been
in combat before, but only minor skirmishes.” She barely remembers her other battles, a blur of
movement and death locked in whatever part of her spirit holds her war mask now.

“I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll have to make sure Valthiel takes you with him on all his adventures
now, won’t we?” She leans her head against Jian’s.

“Okay. You’ll be there too, right?”

“Of course.” Jian can feel Lynx’s head move to look at her more directly. “You really don’t like
being alone, do you?”

“It gives me too much time to think.” Much as she hates the idea of being with the archon every
day for the rest of her life, the thought of spending endless hours in Commorragh with nothing but
her own mind is far worse.

“I understand.” She moves down to stroke Jian’s ear, an intimate contact that makes her stiffen
slightly even in the relaxed pleasantness the wine has brought on. “Would you like it if I set up a
cot in here so you could stay the night whenever you want?”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Her hand slides across Jian’s shoulders, stroking them.

“What are you doing?” The contact feels… nice. Too nice. But she’s too comfortable to really get
upset about it.

“Just… enjoying the moment.”

Jian falls silent for a while as her mind floats away, then back to herself. She could fall asleep like
this. “Why do you live here, by yourself?”

“Several reasons.” Lynx’s caresses are working their way down Jian’s body. “I like my
independence. And I don’t… mix well with the other sisters in the kabal. This way they stay out of
my way and I stay out of theirs. Win-win.”

This seems to make sense. “It’s beautiful. The archon must value you highly.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m sure he does, but we don’t really talk about such things.”

“He gave you this place, didn’t he? He must like you on some level,” Jian says as the pace of the
massage increases. She can feel herself growing almost aroused, something in her responding to
the gentle touch, but she can’t bring herself to bat the hand away.

“He’s one of the good ones for sure.”

“I don’t think he would do that if he didn’t like you.” She’s not conveying what she feels properly,
but she hopes Lynx understands. Suddenly, she blurts “He said he loved me.”

Instantly, she can feel Lynx tense. A few heartbeats pass before she speaks. “He did? When?”

“This morning. When we were sleeping on the couch. He wasn’t awake all the way.” Now that
Lynx has stopped stroking her, she finds herself drifting back towards sleep.

“I see…” The stiffness leaves Lynx’s posture and she sighs quietly. “You likely shouldn’t confront
him about it. It will only embarrass him.”

Jian nods. She has no intention of doing it. The thought of him feeling for her whatever passes for
love in this place is horrifying. To be even more dominated and possessed…

Her train of thought is interrupted as Lynx slides her hand into the front of her robe. “Hey! What
are you doing?” Her voice comes out less firm and defined than she’d like it too.

“Like I said, just enjoying the moment.” Lynx bends down and nibbles on her ear. “Do you mind?”

“Yeah…”

“Ah.” She removes her hand and pulls away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Is this better,
then?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She’s so tired.

“Very well.” Even in her half-asleep state, Jian can detect an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. A
moment later, a blanket drapes over her body and a pillow slides under her head. “Sleep well,
sweetie.”
 “Thank you,” Jian manages to mumble in response.

“Don’t worry. It’s my pl-“

Before she can finish her response, Jian is asleep.

****

The former Banshee lies on the couch in the pile of blankets and cushions as her slumber fills with
visions of her past failures and regrets, the painful memories that she tries so hard to ignore.

On the other side of the clearing, the lhamean sister curls up on the bridge, dangling her fingers in
the cool water of the stream until she too falls asleep under the sky, face pressed into the rough
boards.

And high above them both, in his richly appointed suite, the archon sits at his desk, rest eluding
him as he loses himself in the past.

Chapter End Notes

For those of you who are wondering, yes, there is more to the archon's apparent love
confession than meets the eye.
 Darkness
Chapter Notes

Whooo, that was a long one.

Thanks again to Ashilaa_A03, as well as to my roommate and my SO for all your guys'
work in making sure this chapter made sense and offering feedback on relationship
development, prose, and lore.

Jian stretches as she steps outside, onto the porch of Lynx’s cabin. She woke up a few minutes ago
and realized that the other woman was on the bridge they’d crossed last night, so she dressed
before coming out to see her. Her memories of the night before are covered in an alcoholic haze,
but she can’t help but feel like something had gone wrong just before she fell asleep.

Lynx still looks to be asleep, lying directly on the boards with her face only inches from the water.
Frowning, Jian returns inside to pick up some blankets and pillows before walking over.

Sure enough, Lynx’s breathing is slow and steady and her hand dangles in the stream, as though
she fell asleep staring at it. Jian places a blanket over her and sits down. She needs to return to her
room soon. The archon suggested that her first training session with his bodyguards be this
morning and she will need to change into the promised armor. But she has a few minutes to enjoy
the rare natural beauty and wait for Lynx to wake up. Without knowing what happened, she is
hesitant to hurry the process.

She doesn’t have to wait long before the other woman stirs and sits up with a slight groan. “Good
morning. You’re up, I see.”

“I am. How are you? Not too hung-over, I hope?”

Lynx shakes her head. “Not at all. You?” Her tone is stiff, polite and automatic rather than truly
wondering.

“Surprisingly, no.” A bit of an odd taste in the back of her throat is the only sign of her indulgence
last night. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” Lynx stands. “I should make you some breakfast. You can’t spar on an empty
stomach, after all.” She rearranges her dress before walking towards the house, not making eye
contact.

Jian grabs her hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I am fine.” Still, she avoids Jian’s eyes.

“If you’re certain. I am sorry I asked.”

With a sigh, Lynx pulls free. “As I said, it’s nothing. You made it clear last night what you want
our relationship to be and I am sorry that I overstepped your boundaries. It will not happen again.”
She grabs the pillows and blankets from Jian’s arms. “Will tea, bread, and cheese suffice for
breakfast?”
Jian blinks, confusion filling her. What happened last night? Was Lynx attempting to start a
relationship? How could she? Why would she? Surely the archon would kill them both if he found
them together in such a way. “Of course. That sounds delicious. Let me help you.”

“No, no.” Lynx continues toward the cabin. “I am the one tasked with looking after you, sweetie.
Just make yourself comfortable and I’ll have your breakfast ready in no time.”

For some reason, this annoys Jian. “I’m not a snowblossom, Lynx. You don’t need to take care of
me like a child.”

“Nevertheless, it is my role and place.” She smiles, and if Jian didn’t know to look for the hurt in
her expression, she would have missed it. “Please, make yourself comfortable while I finish.”

Tired of arguing, Jian takes a seat on the couch and passes the time looking around the room for
details she didn’t notice last night. The inside of the building is just as simple as the exterior,
decorated in the subdued color scheme the drukhari seem to favor to the exclusion of all else. A
pair of low couches face each other across a low table with the chessboard still in the middle of
their game. Heavy tapestries cover most of the walls and most of the furniture is of darker color,
but Lynx has brought in a few sprays of flowers and leaves to soften the look a bit.

Jian doesn’t have to wait long, however, before Lynx returns and places a plate of food in her lap.
She starts eating. At her invitation, Lynx sits next to her, but remains at arm’s length, staring down
at her lap.

“Don’t you want to eat?” Jian’s brief good mood from last night is rapidly vanishing with this new
standoffish attitude. She’s not sure if it’s sadness or anger she feels, but it hurts nonetheless.

“I don’t usually eat breakfast, I’m afraid. But thank you.”

Sighing, Jian stands. “Well, I should probably put my armor on. I had fun last night. Thank you for
inviting me.”

“And I should see that a spare bed is installed before I resume the rest of my duties.” This time,
there is no mistaking the pain in her voice.

“If you don’t want me around, just say so.”

“I do.”

“Did I say something last night?” Jian kneads at her temples. Perhaps she is a little hung over,
despite her statements to the contrary.

“Nothing out of order,” Lynx replies. “I overstepped my bounds and touched you in a way that was
obviously suitable for a closer relationship than you want ours to be. My offer of a spare bed
remains, though.”

It is as she suspected, then. It's tempting. It might be nice to be with a woman again. Although
Lynx is no slave and thus still more than capable of killing Jian with impunity, she somehow feels
less intimidated by her than she does by the archon.

But she can’t. Not when the shadow of the archon hangs over them. Jian can’t even let her mind
start down that pathway. “I see. I’m sorry if I got upset. Being touched like that brings up bad
memories. I would love to be your friend. But the archon… I’m really not ready.”

Lynx nods. “No need to explain, dear. I will be here if you need any help. I promise.”
Confused and upset, Jian leaves the cabin and walks back through the gloom to her quarters. A
mannequin has been placed in the center of the room, dressed in a set of armor. She walks around,
inspecting it. It’s certainly less protection than she’s used to wearing. A sleeveless, fitted top
overlayed in silver-painted darkmetal that cuts off above the bottom of her ribcage, leather pants
that she can tell will fit like a second skin, and heeled, armored boots that reach to mid-thigh. She
can only hope that it’s more flexible and protective than it looks.

Sighing, she peels off her dress and begins to put on the outfit. The pants slide on with no more
than the expected difficulty, but when she pulls the first boot on, she can tell that something is
wrong. It feels as though dozens of tiny hooks dig into her, sinking barbed claws through her skin
and sending an electric impulse through her nervous system. Jian gasps in alarm and tries to take
the shoe off, but it remains, stuck.

She swears under her breath as she walks lopsidedly over to the bed to get better leverage. Yet
somehow, as she does, she begins to feel… not exactly used to the sensation. But as the initial
shock of pain fades from the forefront of her awareness, she begins to realize that the armor is
responding to her movements in a manner similar to the way her wraithbone did. Perhaps the
stabbing sensation was it connecting to her nervous system somehow?

Biting her lip, she returns to the mannequin and picks up the other boot. The painful sensations
repeat themselves but these, too, becomes more of a coldness in the back of her mind as she adjusts
to the unfamiliar balance of the boots. She steels herself and pulls on the top half of the armor.

This moment is the worst yet as the armor sinks itself into the soft flesh of her breasts and the
muscles of her shoulders, but she pushes down the urge to cry out and turns her attention to
adjusting the belt and the fingerless gloves that came with it and to tying back her hair. She’s
running out of time.

A sword rests on a chair nearby and Jian unsheathes it before strapping it on. The design isn’t
identical to the power sword she wielded as a Banshee, but it is similar. She hopes the differences
will be quickly apparent and easy to adapt to.

Whoever dropped off the armor had the foresight to leave directions to her destination, so Jian
finds the gymnasium easily. Taking a deep breath, she straightens herself and steps inside, where
her heart nearly stops.

Seven incubi stare back at her, each well more than a head taller than she and much broader. Each
man wears a massive suit of black armor, flanged and spiked and glinting with a slight purple
iridescence, and carries a heavy, hooked klaive nearly as tall as Jian. Glinting in amongst the points
of their armor, she can see small bits of incongruous color. Shattered waystones, each one another
one of her people whom the bearer has killed and condemned to She Who Thirsts. Jian can’t help
but wonder if the rest of her shrine has met a similar fate.

Stupid. An archon’s bodyguards… what else had she expected? Perhaps this was his plan all along,
to humiliate her by letting his men savage her, confident that if she survives, she will never ask to
hold a blade again.

One of the men steps forward. His armor is more elaborate than the rest and the front of his mask
painted white, giving the effect of a bleached skull. Jian can feel the judgmental look he gives her,
even without being able to see it. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” he says in a deep,
gravelly voice.

“Yes.” What is the alternative, really? To give up, admit defeat, and accept that she will live the
rest of her life as a decoration?
He grunts. “And you have received basic instruction in swordsmanship?”

“I have, my lord.” She has no idea how to address him, but this seems safe.

“Very well.” He nods at two of the other men. They step forward, klaives at the ready. “You will
defend yourself against Trayvan and Kaldrath. I will tell you when the exercise is over. We believe
in full contact and I suggest you do the same.”

Two? He wants her to fight two of them? Incubi are renowned as some of the best swordsmen in
the galaxy, a match for the best Howling Banshees or Striking Scorpions. Jian isn’t sure if even
Verynia could fight two at once. “Begin,” the hierarch’s voice rings out.

Settling into a defensive stance, Jian glances back and forth, ready to move at an instant’s notice
and trying to stay alert for the direction of attack. She can’t hope to fight them head-on. The size
difference alone would spend her before she had time to make any progress. But if there’s one
thing she knows how to do, it’s move quickly. She just has to stay away from their strikes long
enough to find an opening.

The first incubus – Kaldrath, she thinks – makes the first move, aiming for her torso. Jian raises her
sword to block, hoping to turn it into a spinning dodge to impede follow-up attacks.

The klaive slams into her sword with a blow that sends sharp tension echoing through her whole
body. Jian’s wrist bends with the impact, sending a sudden deep ache up her arm. She has no time
to consider the injury, however. A wave, a pulse of some kind ripples into her stomach, hot and
thick. Her blood boils, searing her veins and lighting her nerves on fire. She screams.

A fist slams into her face, hard and spiked, and her nose gives way under the impact. Blood
streams into her mouth. Jian grits her teeth and blinks the tears from her eyes. His partner will try to
press the advantage. She can’t let the pain overwhelm her defenses.

The second incubus dashes toward her, aiming a slash toward her more open side. She’s learned
her lesson, though, and ducks forward to avoid the strike altogether. Her slash at his legs goes wide
as he easily jumps over it, but no blade bites into her back. A success.

Her blood is up now and despite herself, she smiles. A cold expression. Her connection to Khaine
is not lost, merely hidden. Kaldrath is going to strike at her back. A kick will do nothing with their
relative sizes and the weight of his armor. She dives backwards, channeling her momentum into a
roll that will bring her back to her feet.

A flash of pain shoots across her back, followed a second later by a diagonal line of warmth as
blood wells up in the wound. Before she has time to cry out, before she even has time to realize
what’s happened, another armored fist connects with her face, knocking her from her feet.

She can’t give up yet. She lashes out blindly at the hand as she falls, hoping to at least distract her
attackers long enough to keep them from finishing her off while she’s in the air. As soon as she hits
the ground, she’s scrambling backwards, trying to put distance between herself and them while she
gets to her feet.

One of the incubi stomps on her knee and she feels it give way with a snap.

Jian screams.

Her sword is slapped away even as she raises it. Something hard presses against her stomach and
again, the horrific heat, drying her throat and turning her shout to a hoarse croak.
Images rise in Jian’s mind. Her mother’s life draining away while the redheaded archon laughs.
Jian helpless and forced to watch. A man in the same armor standing at her side and ensuring it all
went smoothly.

They haven’t called the exercise yet. She claws out, blind, to show that she hasn’t given up.

Another cut, almost delicate this time, blossoms across her belly. The red haze turns to black and
she passes out.

The next time she’s aware of herself, she feels terrible. Like someone slashed her with a sword and
stomped on her face, she supposes. But she’s not dead, at least not yet.

Shifting her position, she feels bandages wrapped around her abdomen, a bed beneath her and a
light covering on her naked body. She drags her eyes open. The room is small, clinically white.

“Well, someone had fun.” Lynx’s voice.

Jian looks and finds her sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. “My head hurts.” Yet somehow,
she's not unhappy, exactly. The aches and stings fill her mind with a clarity that she hasn’t felt
since before.

“What were you THINKING!” says Lynx, her voice rising into a shout. She stands and walks to
the side of the bed.

Instantly, Jian feels defensive. “I can’t sit on my ass all day while the archon is busy. I need
something to do.”

“Yes…” Lynx rolls her eyes. “And you have no other options, and I’m sure that Valthiel will have
no problem with you showing up in his bed already carved up like a fresh steak.”

“I need a sword in my hand, Lynx. And he was the one suggested this.”

“And why do you need a sword?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

How to explain… how to get across the lack of purpose and the feeling of drifting that had plagued
her since the constant terror abated? “Because it’s the thing in the whole galaxy that makes me feel
the most alive,” she says softly.

Lynx's frown deepens. “You’re still making a mistake.”

“I’m sure I will improve with time. I’ll be fine.” Gods, does Lynx think that little of her? Going
back fills Jian with fear, but it’s not as though she’ll be doing this poorly forever.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I will deal with it then.”

“Fine,” Lynx snarls. “You keep doing that, and I’ll keep patching you up each time. But I’ll leave
it to you to explain to the archon why you look this way.”

Jian blinks, taken aback by the sudden venom. Lynx must still be upset from their conflict last
night and this morning. Whatever it was about.

“You are in functional condition. You’re free to leave whenever you desire and spend the day as
you see fit. I would recommend you take it easy, though.” She turns and leaves without another
word.
With yet another sigh, Jian makes up her mind to apologize to her later.

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? How can she even want to be friendly with people like this?
She should be ashamed of herself. What would Verynia think of her, training with incubi?

Closing her eyes, she lets the pain block out everything else and push the questions and fears from
her mind. She has no idea how long it takes her to calm herself, but eventually she finds herself
centered again.

She can do this. She can go back, learn everything they have to teach her, no matter how difficult
the lessons are. Feel just a bit less helpless in the wastelands of Commorragh.

For now, though, she should get dressed and return to her room. Her master may want her.

****

Weeks pass. The archon seems to accept her explanations of being out of practice to account for
her injuries, although she notices he brings it up repeatedly, as though it concerns him. Perhaps he
doesn’t find bruises attractive. He doesn’t order her to stop, though, so she continues attending her
training every time she’s healthy enough to attempt again.

It doesn’t get better. Even a dozen sessions in, Jian finds herself barely able to hold her own for a
few seconds before whichever incubus she’s fighting that day has her on the ground, pressing a
boot into her chest. Sometimes she manages to crawl out of the ring and bring herself back to her
room to lick her wounds, but more often her next thoughts are of waking up under the care of one
of the sisters. It becomes increasingly clear that the incubus captain – Bealfor Vrash, as she’s
learned is his name – has no intention of giving her any real instruction. At first Jian assumes that
this is on the archon’s directive, but she later concludes that it’s more likely the result of creative
interpretation on Lord Vrash’s part.

At least spending so much time unconscious makes the days pass quickly.

True to her word, Lynx helps tend her injuries, but remains aloof. Jian finds every attempt to
apologize for rejecting her or to bridge the sudden coldness that has remained between them
rebuffed with a polite deflection. Perhaps giving up on the sword training would improve Lynx’s
mood, but Jian can’t bring herself to do that. The pain grounds her and gives her strength. Like the
sword and the armor and the movements of combat itself, it makes her feel alive in a way little else
here does.

Life between sparring sessions takes on an oddly slow pace. The archon sends for her most days,
although often only for a short time late in the evening or first thing in the morning. Much of the
time, she is left alone in her room.

Unsurprisingly, her sexual services are requested regularly. Jian learns to please him in more
positions than she’d ever thought of attempting in her prior life, although he seems to particularly
enjoy it when, as on that first morning, she uses her mouth. None of her subsequent attempts are
quite as horrifying as the first, though. The knowledge that she can deny him on occasion makes it
easier to tell herself that it’s just this one time, that next time she can say no if she just does it this
once. Sex becomes pedestrian, a duty rather than something to be particularly anticipated or
dreaded. The archon is domineering and aggressive in bed, particularly during the frequent bouts
of vague sadness that seem to plague him, but never cruel. Any additional bruises their activities
generate seem to be accidental, and he at least keeps to his word of not pushing her to spend nights
in his bed as well.
Much stranger to her is how often he appears content to simply spend time with her. With
increasing frequency, Jian finds her master offering her walks in the garden, games of chess or
cards, meals and wine tastings, and even a place on his lap while he reads aloud from ancient
scrolls of the aeldari myths and legends or listens to a musical performance. The intimacy of these
hours spent in his presence frightens her, as does the message she reads in it – she is expected to
whore herself to him emotionally as well as physically. Yet at the same time, she can’t help but
find herself enjoying the contact. A reminder, perhaps, that she’s more than a piece of meat to be
kicked and stabbed and fucked for others’ amusement.

A reminder that would be welcome this afternoon, she thinks, as she lies, bent over the edge of the
bed. Her face presses into the soft blankets and metal cuffs are tight and cold around her wrists,
held together at her waist with a short chain. The archon’s nails dig into the skin of her back and
with each thrust he slams her hips into the bedframe again. Still she can’t help the tension building
in her stomach, ready to spill over into ecstasy. She wants this just as much as she doesn’t want it.

Jian’s moan turns to a cry of alarm as his fingers hook around her collar and into her hair, jerking
her toward him. The tension inside her explodes into a burst of dark light. Her knees go weak with
the rush of sensation that she’s experienced a hundred times at his hands yet is somehow new each
day.

A moment later, she feels the telltale release of tension as he finishes and pulls himself out of her.
Her job is done for the moment, even if the metal ring holding her mouth open and ready for him
still sends rhythmic, tingling pulses of electricity through her and he still holds her naked body
pressed against his.

Jian breathes a deep sigh and stares vaguely at the wall. Her mind is filled with warm, soft waves
of pleasure and desire that leave her weak and listless as he lowers her back onto the bed. Like a
drug that can’t help but have a biological effect even as she hates herself for injecting it again.

“Mmm…” the archon sighs happily and lays down behind her, adjusting her arms so they aren’t as
uncomfortably pinned between them. His soft fingers brush at her ears, sparking smaller flashes of
the same pleasure. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“Mhh-hmm-mmm” The gag distorts her speech to an primitive grunting and she falls silent. She
can feel the mix of semen and her own saliva dripping from her mouth and wetting the fabric at her
cheek.

“I see.” He keeps up his stroking of her ear. “How about we spend the rest of the afternoon here in
bed. You can sleep and I’ll order up some bread and tea.”

She shakes her head. The fog that fills her mind won’t be helped by staying here being fondled.
Adjusting their position so she faces him, the archon looks down into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
Jian nods in response.

“Well, then, why don’t you get yourself cleaned up while I finish a few things here? We’ll go for a
walk.”

It’s phrased like a question, but Jian knows there’s no real choice in his words, so she waits while
he removes her bindings before walking over to the washroom. By the time she’s cleaned up the
evidence of their activities, the intoxication has begun to fade and she’s thinking more clearly. She
splashes herself with cold water to finish the process and soothe the bite marks that dot her
shoulders before stepping back out into the main part of the suite

The archon beams at her as she enters. “Perfect. Now get dressed and we’ll take a walk.”
Jian obeys, considering as she slides into the bits of leather and silk and adjusts the straps of her
latest outfit. Something has changed while she was washing up, some subtle shift in his attitude.
She’s not sure what it means, but it doesn’t seem to be for the worse.

As she finishes, he appears behind her and wraps something around her shoulders. A cloak, she
realizes. He fastens it and takes her hand. “You’ll need this.”

“What for?” she replies, tugging at the soft purple fabric.

He leads her towards the door. “I thought I would take you on a tour of the kabal this afternoon.
This is your home now, and you might like to see a bit more of it than the gardens and the top
floors of the spire.”

“Alright.” Jian isn’t sure if it sounds like a good idea or not. She is starting to feel trapped in a very
small space, limited to a few rooms and supervised trips outside, and it might be nice to see more of
how the kabal functions. Anything to break up the monotony and give her mind something to do.
On the other hand, who knows what horrors he plans to show her? The archon may be shockingly
civilized, but she’s under no illusion that his pretty face and pretty rooms and pretty gardens aren’t
maintained by the suffering of thousands.

They emerge from the building on a small landing platform, where one of the many flying craft
that speed through the skies waits for them, driver at the ready. With a strange twinge, Jian realizes
that this is the same spot where they landed on her first evening here. It feels like much longer ago
than it really was. At least many of her fears have proven unfounded since then. Even if not all of
them.

Settling into his seat, the archon offers her his hand to enter and helps her arrange her cloak as the
flyer takes off. They sit in silence for several minutes before he speaks. “I hope you’re settling in
well. You seem a bit less tense these days.”

“Do I? I’m glad.” She likely does. Time has proved Lynx’s reassurances true; he does not seem to
be planning to torture her for his own amusement. This, coupled with the gradual inuring of her
mind to the atmosphere of Commorragh itself, has helped her relax a bit. She’s not sure if that’s a
good thing. Perhaps she’s just numbing to the horror and the next step will be participating.

“Sometimes I hear you singing in your room.” He twists his fingers into her hair, pressing her head
against his shoulder.

“You do?” She had assumed she was alone.

He nods. “Sometimes when I walk by. You have a beautiful voice.” His tone turns teasing. “And a
rather impressive volume. I can almost believe you didn’t need the mask to make those shrieks of
yours.”

Jian doesn’t respond. What exactly is she supposed to say to that?

With a sigh, the archon takes up the slack in the conversation. “Do you play any musical
instruments?”

“No. Singing was the only thing that interested me. And my voice was always with me, so there
was little incentive.” Why does she keep talking? Why does she keep letting herself get sucked into
his fantasies of relationship? She’s as complicit in her taming as he is.

“Is there anything else that would make your room more comfortable? More books, perhaps?”
“More books would be nice.” Reading is a good way to pass the time, and she’s gone through
everything that was on the shelf twice. She considers more. “Perhaps something to draw with?”

“Of course! I didn’t know you liked to draw.” The archon sounds excited.

Jian feels her face flame, remembering that it’s one of his hobbies as well. “I don’t. But I thought
perhaps I could learn.”

“Of course! I’ll teach you!” The archon slides his hand down to her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be
great at it.”

“Alright.” More time in his presence. Just what she needed.

A few minutes later, the flyer touches down and the archon helps her out. This landing platform is
atop a hill. The wind is stronger here, and it’s even colder than it was back at the palace. Jian pulls
her cloak around herself as she looks around. Fields stretch around them in every direction. She
doesn’t recognize any of the plants growing, although she’s too far away to see much detail.
Massive, long-limbed contraptions float above the rows, a being or two on top of each.

“We grow most of our own food,” the archon says. “Perhaps not the most efficient use of our
space, but anything that makes us less reliant on the rest of the city will benefit us in the long
term.”

Jian nods, without looking away from the fields. “Lynx mentioned something like that.” There’s
fewer people then she expected. “Is it mostly automated, then?”

The archon nods. “Here, let me show you.”

They spend the next hour wandering through the fields, the archon showing her all the different
crops the kabal grows and the vast barns that house rows upon rows of animals to feed the high-
ranking members alongside huge vats of artificial protein for the rank and file. Thick forest lies
beyond the fields, apparently stocked with beasts for the higher-ranking members of the kabal to
hunt for sport and additional meat. By the time they make it back to the flyer, Jian’s mind is filled
with images of animals trapped in tiny cages, pumped full of nutrients and artificial muscle
stimulation. She supposes it is indeed better than the alternative, which the archon claims is to
follow the path of the other kabals and rely on food won in realspace raids.

“We still need to buy or capture some of our supplies, but if need be, we could feed seventy percent
of our current numbers solely from these fields,” he says as he climbs back into the flyer. He offers
Jian his hand.

Their next stop is the barracks where the kabal’s foot soldiers spend most of their lives. Some train
in shooting ranges and sparring gyms, others eat in a massive cafeteria hung with banners in the
kabal’s heraldry: black with a stylized rose in bone white and dull, poisonous green. Rows of
bunks line long dormitories where warriors sleep or while away their off-duty hours with cards,
conversation, drinking, or sex. Jian spots a few engaged in some kind of game involving a row of
daggers laid out on the floor and sudden bursts of motion followed by shouts of jubilation and
frustration.

For some reason, the last of these scenes sends a pang of sadness through Jian. Not that she wishes
for their life any more than she wants her own. But there is some allure in being faceless, one of
many. Not suffocated by attention and expectations.

The archon moves them along fairly quickly, however. There’s something a bit unusual about his
mood today, Jian notices. The change in his mannerisms that she noticed earlier hasn’t disappeared.
He’s nervous, or possibly excited for something.

Another ride in the flyer lands them outside the second spire, where the lhamean sisters tended to
Jian’s wounds when she first arrived. A willowy sister with thick dark hair that curls softly around
her face arrives to greet them, bowing as she approaches. “Good afternoon, my lord. What can I do
for you?” She peers at Jian with pale amber eyes as she straightens.

“Miarya,” the archon replies. “This is –“ He pauses for an instant and his eyes slide over to look at
Jian. “This is Jian. I’m taking her on a tour of the kabal.”

“I see,” says Miarya. She turns to Jian with a movement so smooth it seems more like floating.
“Welcome to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose.”

“Mia is the head sister here, and the matriarch of both the temple of Lhilitu and the academy where
we train young girls to serve as lhameans.”

Miarya smiles politely, still speaking in a soft, lilting voice. “Would you like me to guide your
tour, Lord Aire?”

“Of course.” The archon wraps a shoulder around Jian and guides her forward as they follow
Miarya inside.

Despite her instinctive distrust of the woman, Jian can’t help but feel somewhat aroused by her
voice and mannerisms. She supposes that centuries of training and practice as a courtesan have
turned sensuality into an art as natural as breathing. In a way, the dark kin are as relentless in their
pursuit of perfection as her own people are. It’s an odd and disturbing thought.

They take a different path through the spire than they did on Jian’s previous visit, descending a
staircase into a web of sublevels. Each is packed with laboratories. Dozens of women bend over
benches and isolation cabinets, colorful liquids boiling in flasks and dripping through lattices of
delicate glass tubing. Most, according to Miarya’s narration, are poisons and antidotes with a
myriad of effects. Poisons to slow the heart and induce a death-like coma, to rot flesh to a necrotic
slime, or to send body temperature skyrocketing and boil their victim alive. The information is as
fascinating as it is horrifying and Jian finds herself with a new respect for the skill involved in
creating such substances.

Her head is spinning by the time the emerge at ground level, even the tiny bit of tainted air she’s
breathed setting something not quite right in her body. Or perhaps it’s simply the effects of poor
ventilation. Miarya leads them on, however, so she keeps pace with the archon and continues
nodding along and asking polite questions when it feels appropriate.

“That way is the medical bay,” the matriarch says, gesturing to her right. “But I’m sure you’re
already as familiar with it as you need to be.”

Jian remains silent. This, like several other comments, hits just slightly wrong. Miarya is obviously
trying to insult her by reminding her of her status and of her continued failures in the training
grounds, but couching it in such benign comments that it’s impossible to respond without seeming
prickly. So she remains silent and looks up at the archon. He smiles down at her. “Yes, let’s see
the school instead,” he says.

The lhamean school is perhaps Jian’s least favorite part of the tour. The layout itself is familiar and
expected – dormitories and sparring rooms, laboratories and classrooms. Sisters instruct lhamean
trainees in fighting with a variety of close-combat weapons, although slim knives, short swords,
and some kind of long, needle-like implement seem to be favored. There are classes in poison
brewing and etiquette and what looks to be the history of Commorragh and the known facets and
political status of various kabals. And of course, there is instruction in the arts of the bedroom, with
the trainees practicing postures and positions down to the smallest detail. The more advanced ones
move to hands-on work, either with each other or with what Jian assumes are male slaves brought
in for the purpose.

It would all be rather unremarkable if the girls hadn’t been so young. The youngest students still
have the round features and shortened ears of childhood, and even the oldest she sees have barely
finished puberty and still have the gawky look that she herself bore not long ago. It feels like an
insult to Isha, to put such things on them at that age. Worse, nearly every girl she sees is attentive
and even enthusiastic, as though this is exactly what she wants to be doing with her time.

If Miarya or the archon have any discomfort with the process, they don’t show it. It seems to be
perfectly normal to them. Which, Jian realizes, it is. The matriarch likely was one of these girls,
centuries ago, and the archon is simply so used to the idea that he no longer realizes how
disgusting it is, if he ever did.

She’s glad when they leave the school.

As they reenter the lobby, the archon checks the time. “Thank you for your company, Miarya, but
I’m afraid we have to leave.” He offers his arm to Jian again and she takes it.

“Of course. It was my pleasure.” Miarya smiles and looks at Jian. “It was wonderful to meet you.
I’m sure we will be seeing each other again soon.”

Jian ignores her and follows the archon out into the twilight of the outside and the garden pathways
between the two fortresses.

“What did you think?” the archon asks after a few minutes. He’s walking quickly and there’s a
slight spring to his step, as though he is still anticipating whatever it is that has his fancy.

What does she think? “It was very impressive.” That seems safe, and true. “Thank you for showing
me.”

He looks at her sideways, but apparently decides not to push further. “Thank you for spending the
afternoon with me. Next time, I can show you the armory, the slave training facility, and our
scourge flock.”

“Scourge flock?” The term is strange to her.

“A, erm, a type of winged aeldari. They often carry messages around the city, and we have an eyrie
of them here as part of our military forces.”

Jian frowns. Winged aeldari? She’s never heard of such a thing. But with the level of medical
technology present here, she wouldn’t be surprised if they could make such modifications. They
continue walking in silence. You should tell him, she thinks.

“Your offer to have me join you in your bed at night,” she says, sounding stiff even to her own
ears. “Is that still something you desire?” It’s in her own best interest to let him do it eventually,
and she has the courage for the moment.

He stops dead in his tracks. “Really?”

Jian nods. “I await your command.”

The smile is evident in the archon’s voice as he pulls her into a hug. “My door is always open for
you, Jian. I have a meeting with Lord Malidrach of the Flayed Skull to discuss the upcoming raid
this evening, but I would love to have you with me when I return. Will you be alright alone or with
Lynx until then?”

“Of course, Valthiel.” Perhaps she should go to see Lynx again, while she is taking risks. Perhaps
it would be easier to solve the problems between them if she makes a point of doing so, rather
tacking it onto her morning routine or some other task.

After a moment, the archon releases her and they continue on their way. The expectancy in his
posture grows as they approach the spire and take the elevator up to her quarters. As Jian unlocks
the door, he places his hand over hers. “Wait,” he says softly. “Let me.”

Puzzled, Jian allows him to open the door and lead her inside. He’s never been in her room before
to her knowledge. Why is he entering now?

“Close your eyes,” he says, grinning. “And keep holding onto my hand.”

Jian obeys, still confused. She takes hesitant steps after him, trying to orient herself by memory.
They stop. “Now open your eyes,” he says.

She does. She stands in a small, dark space, which she quickly realizes is her closet. The archon
slides behind her and turns on the lights.

Jian gasps. The clothes she’s been given to wear are still there – the variety of elaborate lingerie
and scanty bits of leather and metal and gossamer and silk that comprise her daywear, which only
leave slightly more to the imagination. But alongside them are dozens of other outfits, filling the
rails and shelves to bursting. Robes and tunics and pants, boots and soft shoes. A pair of
mannequins hold sparring armor very similar in design to her old wargear.

She steps over to the nearest rack in a daze and pulls out an item to examine it. Upon closer
inspection, it’s not craftworld clothing, not quite. A mix, maybe, of slightly more revealing seer’s
robes and a ranger’s coat. The rest of the clothes look to be of similar design.

“Where did you get these?” she asks.

“I have my sources, dear,” the archon smirks from his spot leaning against the doorway. “Do you
like them?”

“They’re beautiful!” Her vision blurs as she spots a stack of nightgowns in soft, fuzzy fabrics, but
clears with a few hard blinks. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, dear.” The archon breaks his gaze to look down at the floor and his voice drops to a
murmur. “I know you’re not fond of the way we dress here.”

“May I put one on?” Jian asks hesitantly.

“Of course!” The smile is back.

Jian sheds her clothes, wrapping herself in the new dress that she picked up first. It still ends just
above the knees, but the fabric is soft against her skin and it covers up to the neck and all the way
down her arms. The rich green seems coordinated to match her eyes with swirling silver floral
embroidery at the hems. By the gods, she’s missed this.

“You look amazing.” The archon’s voice. She’d almost forgotten he was there, watching her.
“Thank you again.” She should thank him. She walks barefoot to him and stretches up to give him
a kiss. He catches her in an embrace and holds her, but his hands remain at her waist. “I’ll – I can
still wear the old clothes when I come to see you. Or these ones.”

“Whichever makes you happiest, Jian. They are your clothes, and you can dress as you feel is
appropriate.” Now his hand drifts downward, squeezing her ass. A prickle of arousal races down
her spine in spite of herself.

But that is the limit of his use of her for the moment, it seems. He bestows a brief kiss on the top of
her head and releases her. “Alright, I need to prepare for my meeting. I will see you when I return?”

“Of course.” Jian watches him leave, then turns to stare in awe at the clothing once more. She
enjoyed dressing well on Yme-loc, but even then she’d never had such a rich selection of things to
wear. It’s a wonderful feeling, all the more so because of what she’s been forced into since her
arrival. She has come to realize as her enslavement stretches on that most of the outfits the archon
and Lynx have her wearing are fairly normal for Commorragh. But still she’s longed for something
to cover her, something that makes her feel beautiful, rather than simply desirable. The archon has
given her a rich gift.

He has also, she realizes, been planning this for some time. This is likely what he’s been grinning
about all day like a gyrinx that’s caught a bird. This strange bit of care churns in her stomach the
same way some of their less sexual activities do. Do the flashes of kindness indicate that he sees
her as more than his latest plaything? Or are they simply another way to amuse himself, the same
way one might buy a pet a new toy to enjoy watching its confusion and discovery?

She looks down at herself. Maybe she shouldn’t question. She should just enjoy the gift for what it
is and take a bit of pleasure wherever she can find it. Besides, she has a long night ahead of her.

The lights are on in Lynx’s cabin as she approaches, but Lynx herself sits on the bridge, which
seems to be a favorite spot of hers. A small bowl sits to one side of her, filled with what Jian hopes
are only dried animal parts. Resting across her lap is a board on which she chops a selection of
herbs. Her shoulders tighten as Jian approaches. “What do you want?”

Jian sighs. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure. Take a seat.”

“What are you working on?”

Lynx brushes some finely diced herbs into the bowl and starts on a different bundle of leaves. “An
infectious neurotoxin with an increased transmission rate,” she says casually. “I’m trying an
alternate formula to see if I can decrease the minimum dosage.”

“What will you use it for?” She probably doesn’t want to know.

“I will send it to the elder sisters and the archon for extensive testing.” Still, her defenses are up
and her posture closed off.

Jian sighs again. If she’s going to try one last time, she might as well start now. “I want to be your
friend, Lynx. I thought you wanted to be mine.”

“I di- I do. But it doesn’t seem like you want to be mine.”

“What did I do to give you that impression?”

Lynx pauses her work and for the first time actually looks at Jian. There are tears in her eyes.
“Because you don’t even want me to touch you. Even with all my attempts to be friendly – and
believe me, it doesn’t come easy – you still see me as just another drukhari. I’m not a person, I’m
an enemy, and that HURTS, Jian.”

She recoils from the sudden venom. “That’s not-“ she forces herself to calm down and breathe. “I
didn’t mean to make you feel rejected. I want to be your friend. But when you touch me like that,
that isn’t what I think you want. It makes me think you want me to do the same kinds of things for
you that I do for the archon.” Even if he would allow it, the thought of serving in yet another bed is
even more depressing than losing a chance at finding companionship.

“I didn’t try to do that.” In the time it took for Jian to make her statement, Lynx’s tears are gone.
“I’d hoped I found someone I could trust enough to –“ She waves her hand dismissively. “You
know what, forget it. I was obviously wrong.”

Jian stares at her for a moment. She still isn’t sure what is going through Lynx’s head, or why she
is acting this way. But at least what she has to do now is obvious. She reaches out to take her hand.
“It’s alright. It was just a misunderstanding. I forgive you.”

Lynx tenses under her touch. “… thank you.”

“I don’t even mind if you touch me. Just, not on the breasts, please. Or between the legs.”

“I understand.” Lynx stands, setting her work to the side. “Why don’t we go inside? I can get us
something to eat and maybe you can show me how you prefer to be touched.”

Jian follows her inside. It’s a strange request, but she’d rather that than simply walk away. She
settles on the couch and allows Lynx to sit beside her, guiding her to a proper position that doesn’t
feel too intimate, perhaps is even nice. For a long time they remain there, enjoying the silence.

“Thank you,” says Lynx. “I don’t have many friends. I’m glad I didn’t fuck up making one too
badly.”

Jian nods and smiles her acceptance. “It’s alright. The archon took me on a tour of the kabal
today,” she adds, eager to change from the awkward subject.

“Oh really?” Lynx straightens up and looks at her. “What did you think of it?”

“I forget how large this space is. We saw the fields and barns, as well as the barracks.” She pauses.
“And the school.”

“Ah, yes, the school. It’s an impressive place, is it not?”

“They’re so young…” Jian’s mind is filled with the image of classrooms of little girls learning the
arts of sex and death. Lynx must have been one of them at one point, she realizes. A bit of
understanding falls into place. It’s probably been a long time since she was allowed to express
affection and trust in any other way.

“Young minds learn better. And most are vatborn who have already seen their fair share of it in the
slums.” Lynx shrugs, but can’t quite mask a twinge of… is it pain in her expression? Regret?
“Those girls are the lucky ones, really. Beautiful and clever enough to catch the sisters’ attention.
The slower or plainer ones and the boys are still out there working the streets or praying not to get
caught stealing from their betters.”

“I just… They’re children.”

“There aren’t any children in Commorragh. Not really. But this is the way it’s been done for
thousands of years, and the way it probably will be done until the end.” She stands, obviously
eager to change the subject. “Would you like a glass of wine? I thought perhaps we could try
another game of chess.”

“Something without alcohol, please, but I would love a drink and a game.” Jian allows her to drop
the line of discussion. She’s right, there’s nothing to be done about it. Certainly not by her,
anyway. But the sight will haunt her, she’s certain.

The rest of the evening goes by quickly. Some tension lingers between them, Jian can tell, but
Lynx seems happy to let it go. By the time the game is over, they’re speaking easily. They finish
the evening back on the couch, curled up, enjoying the lack of need to carry on a conversation.
Eventually, Jian realizes that Lynx has fallen asleep.

She looks down at her. A few strands of green hair have come loose from her braid and hang in her
face. It looks lovely with her near-white skin and when she’s asleep, the sharp angles of her
features seem a bit softened. She really is quite beautiful, and she could see herself being attracted
to her in another life. But not in this one. There are too many things standing in the way. And she
can’t abandon Reena even more than she already has.

Reena… Not for the first time, Jian longs for a way to speak to her, to send her even a short
message telling her that she is alright. She’s not sure if she truly is, but this is certainly better than
what Reena is doubtless imagining.

How long she stays like that, thinking of all the things she should have said, she isn’t sure.
Eventually, however, she stands, careful to avoid waking Lynx, and gets ready to leave. The
archon will likely return from his meeting soon, and she has promised to attend to him this
evening. She writes a note to Lynx explaining her absence and sets off for the spire.

So filled is her mind with what has happened today and what will happen when she arrives that she
doesn’t make the realization until she is nearly to her destination. This is the first time she has been
outside unaccompanied since her arrival.

As if in response to her thought, a male voice speaks behind her. “I have nothing against the desire
for empowerment in freshly arrived slaves per se. But someone as poorly armed as you are, yet
equipped with your assets, should not be walking by herself.” He sounds amused, but Jian detects
the danger in his words.

“I am merely going to my lord the archon, sir,” she replies, putting all the deference she possesses
into her voice. There are benefits, she supposes, to being the property of someone powerful.

A man appears suddenly, almost as if he materialized from the shadows. He wears dark clothing,
blacks and greys and deep greens, and his shoulder length black hair is combed back from his face.
“But your lord archon isn’t here now, is he?”

“Not at the moment, no…” Jian forces herself to remain in place. She might be able to outrun him
if it comes to it, but he likely carries weapons that will incapacitate her before she gets the chance.

He takes a couple of steps closer, eyeing her up and down. “In fact, I don’t see anyone nearby at
all, do you? I wonder if anyone would hear you scream if the worst was about to happen.”

“I doubt they would.” There’s no point in lying. Her heart pounds.

“Indeed, I doubt they would.” He pulls a knife from somewhere behind his back. “Which is why
it’s lucky I’m here.” In an instant, his whole demeanor changes, even if it still retains the
condescending aspect. “Derfahn, head of security and threat management, at your service, my
lady.” He gives an elaborate bow that seems more designed to show off his own panache than to
convey respect.

Jian responds with a bow of her own. “A pleasure to meet you,” she lies.

“You really should be more mindful of your own safety and surroundings,” he says as he walks up
to her side. “Lord Aire has enough to worry about in regards to his own safety without having to
account for foolish risks on your part.”

He’s young, Jian realizes. Not a child, quite, but a good deal younger than herself. “My apologies. I
will be more careful in the future.”

“I doubt you will be, but I appreciate the sentiment. I take it you are returning to your lord’s
quarters?”

“I am.”

“Would you like me to escort you there, to make certain nothing unsavory happens to you?” The
emphasis is accompanied by an unpleasant grin.

“I would not object.” Derfahn is right, she probably shouldn’t be wandering around by herself, and
it’s not as though she could gracefully refuse.

“Good girl. Seems like there might be hope for you after all.”

He gestures for her to take the lead, taking up a position behind her as she starts to walk. Jian casts
a glance back over her shoulder. His arms rest lazily behind his back and he practically struts. She
ignores the lingering discomfort he brings her and continues on her way.

Outside the archon’s quarters, she feels his hand on her arm. “This is where I will leave you for
tonight. Just remember… mind your surroundings.”

“Understood. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be seeing you. Not that you’ll necessarily know it, in fact you most likely
won’t.” He bows a final time, the formality of the gesture again undercut by his words. Jian doesn’t
reply and he flashes another grin before walking down the stairs.

As soon as he’s gone, Jian turns and walks quickly to her room. If she is going to spend her night
with the archon, she should dress the part. Inside, she quickly disrobes and changes into a soft, lacy
chemise. A knee-length robe covers her enough to walk back to his suite and slippers protect her
feet.

Despite her increased paranoia from Derfahn’s intrusion, no one accosts her before she once again
finds herself outside the archon’s door. She knocks before she has time to lose her nerve.

“Come in, it’s open.” The archon’s voice is muffled, but intelligible.

Jian enters, looking around to judge his state of mind. The room is much as they left it. She can
even see the covers moved slightly out of place on the side of the bed they used earlier. The archon
himself half sits, half lies in an armchair, lazily sipping a glass of wine. He doesn’t seem out of
sorts in any way. This likely will be a relatively painless experience.
“Good evening,” she says. “Did your meeting go well?”

“Reasonably so. We have agreed to official terms for our deal; now just comes the part where we
each try to cheat the other to maximize our profits and minimize our expenses. Preferably while
damaging our so-called ally.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a spiteful smile.

“I would expect nothing less,” Jian replies with a wry look of her own. At his gesture, she seats
herself on a couch across from his chair and begins adjusting her clothing so it’s easier to remove.

“How about you?”

“I spent the evening with Lynx. We played chess and she told me about one of the poisons she has
been developing.” Jian is certain that he’s noticed the disconnect between his bed slave and his
handmaid, but he hasn’t commented on it, so she refrains from referencing it directly.

“I’m glad to hear you had a nice evening.” He eyes her curiously. “Are you ready to head to bed,
my dear?”

“If you are.”

“Then make yourself comfortable. I’ll be there in a moment.” He disappears into his closet.

Hesitantly, she walks over to the bed and looks at it. He isn’t acting as he normally does when he
wants sex. Does that mean he was being honest in only wanting a companion for the night? But
why? Or is he simply in the mood for something more romantic than their normal rutting? Either is
a hopeful sign.

She turns down the bedclothes, slips out of her robe, and lays herself out to wait for him.

The archon reappears a few minutes later, wearing only a pair of loose black silk pants. Jian
watches his progress across the room until he climbs into the bed next to her. A moment later, he
turns out the light, immersing them in darkness.

Jian hears him groan softly, feels his movements as he adjusts his position. He kisses her neck
softly, just above her collar. Almost tenderly. As she begins to roll over to respond in kind, she feels
him wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into an embrace.

“I’m thrilled beyond words that you’re here to chase away my empty nights, Jian.” A blanket
settles over them, bringing her even more into a cocoon.

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you –“ he hesitates. “Would you prefer if I caressed your hair, or your thighs to help you
sleep?”

“Whichever you would prefer.” Jian’s head spins. It’s not that this side of the archon is totally alien
to her. He seems to occasionally tire of treating her as a slave and will show bursts of deference and
perhaps even kindness. But this feels more vulnerable and intimate than anything that came before;
their bodies entwined, the dark hiding their faces, his hand caressing her thigh in a surprisingly
innocent manner. It’s both the relief she longed for and exactly what she feared would happen
tonight. Because as much as her spirit desperately needs the solace that he’s offering, it will only
drag her further into his web. And the next time she crawls under his desk to suck his cock while
he reads his intelligence reports, it will be that much harder to detach from herself.

“I met one of your employees earlier,” she says to distract from the line of thought.
“Mmm? Who?” With their faces so close and the room dark and quiet, he speaks very softly. It
accentuates the smoothness of his voice.

“Derfahn, he said his name was.”

“Ah, yes. My chief assassin,” he replies casually. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is?” Assassin? It is the best fit for the rather vague description he gave of his role.

Jian can feel the archon nod in the darkness. “Prideful and overly eager to prove himself, but a
good kid nonetheless.”

She isn’t sure she believes him, but once again decides it’s best to let the matter drop. “Did you
send him?”

“For you? No, I haven’t spoken with him since this morning. Where did you find him?”

“In the garden, on my way here. He told me not to wander around by myself.”

“He’s right. You should have asked Lynx to escort you back.”

His tone isn’t scolding, but she can’t help but defend herself, even as she knows he’s right. “She
was asleep, I didn’t want to wake her…”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself, in fact, I’m sure you can, but…” He swallows.
“I care for you, and your wellbeing and happiness are important to me.”

“Thank you.” She finds herself speaking around a lump in her throat.

“What for?”

“I didn’t think anyone would ever say that to me again.” Even if he doesn’t mean it, if it’s only
some kind of treat meant to reward her for good performance in a job that she still doesn’t
understand, it touches something deep inside her and brings a sweet ache. First the new wardrobe
and now this admission – what has she done to deserve such things now?

“Well, I do care,” replies the archon. “So you had better get used to hearing it.”

Jian doesn’t respond, turning her conflicting feelings over and over, trying to make sense of them.

“It’s alright, dear,” the archon says after a few minutes. “Go ahead and fall asleep. I’ll be here
when you wake up.”

They lie there for perhaps half an hour. The archon is still awake, she can tell by his breathing. “I
hate sleeping alone,” she whispers. The darkness and the kindnesses and the physical closeness
have built a pressure in her chest, the need to share something.

“How come?” He sounds alert, not like someone who was on the edge of slumber.

“It’s too quiet. I lived in a Howling Banshee shrine and I could always hear the other women
making noise in their sleep or getting up in the night. And when I wasn’t there, I was at my lover’s
house.”

“Making entirely different kinds of noises, I’m sure.” The archon chuckles.

“Mmm-hmm.” She falls silent, the tension relieved.

“I absolutely hate sleeping alone as well.”

“May I ask why?”

For nearly a minute, he remains quiet. Jian wonders if he plans to respond at all by the time he lets
out a sigh. “Because it leaves me with nowhere for my mind to go, nothing to hold onto but the
screaming and horrors of the city and the past.” He kisses her again, this time on the top of her
head. “Having an anchoring presence, someone sweet and pure like you, it helps to block it out.”

Sweet and pure… how far she is from that. “I started hating it when I was very young,” she says
before she can think about it.

“Any specific reason why?”

“I had nightmares. They were foolish children’s dreams, I thought She Who Thirsts would come
for me personally every time I enjoyed a piece of candy. But I was afraid to go to sleep because of
what it would bring. My mother would let me come join her in bed. It kept most of them away, and
when I did have one, there was someone there to help bring me back to myself.” Something else
beautiful and good that the drukahari have destroyed.

“My mistress would punish me by locking me in a closet when I fucked up. Likely because she
knew how much I hated it, alone in the dark where I couldn’t see or hear anything except what was
in my own head, and even there I couldn’t sense anything at all without someone else to connect
with.”

“I’m sorry.” And she genuinely is, surprising even herself.

“Mmm. It’s in the past, though, and you’re here now, in the present where it matters.” He speaks
quickly. Covering up his weakness, she realizes, with words and flattery. Distraction.

When she doesn’t respond, he resumes stroking her thigh, his breaths deep and warm on her
shoulder. Jian closes her eyes and tries to let go of the guilt and fear.

Maybe, for a little while, she can pretend that everything is alright.

****

The archon and the slave sleep in each other’s arms until morning comes.

When it does, the slave shakes herself from dreams of past hurts and present shame and returns to
the incubi to cleanse herself in euphoric agony.

The archon, meanwhile, stares after her as the emotional scent of their night together lingers on
him, a reminder of secrets breathed under the cover of darkness.
 Viciousness
Chapter Notes

Thanks again to Ashilaa_AO3 for her help in beta-ing. Any remaining mistakes are
my own. Also, you should check out her story Priming Effect for some fun Harry
Potter dark fic!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jian makes her way towards Lynx’s cabin, trying not to limp. Her ribs throb and her skin still feels
like it’s on fire. Although she’s learned that the device the incubi keep using on her is called a
bloodstone, she still has no idea how it works. And unlike every other wound they inflict, this one
still brings a fresh world of pain every time.

She finds Lynx outside, dressed in leather armor over her robes. She wields a pair of curved,
jagged blades as she dances through the forms of combat with an imaginary enemy, flowing like
water from pose to pose. It’s beautiful, elegant, and utterly unlike the brutish experience she just
endured, even if it has the same vicious undertones.

“You look good,” Jian says.

“Oh?” Lynx twirls around, delivering what would have been a killing blow. “Like what you see,
huh?”

“I do.” Jian smiles, ignoring the residual stiffness in her face where the sisters healed a broken
cheekbone. “We’ll have to spar sometime.”

Lynx transitions into a different set of stances. “So what will I get when I inevitably win, then?”

“Oh, you think it’s inevitable, huh?”

“Naturally. Don’t you?”

“Not at all.”

Spinning and twisting, Lynx finishes her maneuver with the point of one of the swords mere inches
from Jian’s face. “Sounds like we’ll have to find out soon, then.”

Proud of herself for not flinching away from the almost-certainly poisoned weapon, Jian rolls her
eyes at the display. “Tonight?”

Lynx sheaths the swords and purses her lips in mock contemplation. “Tempting… very tempting…
You’ll be busy tonight, though, so how about tomorrow?”

“What am I doing tonight?” This is the first Jian is hearing of it, but she rarely has more than a day
or two of notice for anything.

“Why don’t you come inside?” replies Lynx, turning and walking towards the cabin without
waiting for a response.
Jian follows, wondering what she plans to tell her that would require being inside. A month has
passed since the first night she spent with the archon, and little has changed in the meantime. The
rift between her and Lynx has mended, and though their relationship remains a fairly superficial
one, Jian is grateful for it. She needs someone to talk to who doesn’t expect things of her.

Her training sessions with the incubi still leave her unconscious more often than not, and the minor
injuries the lhamean sisters haven’t deemed worth healing after each encounter have started to
accumulate, leaving her with a constant edge of pain to her awareness. The archon has stopped
commenting on it.

He still asks for her nearly every day, but his sex drive seems to have cooled. He only uses her in
that way a few times a week now. Jian isn’t sure what to think of this. She hopes he isn’t losing
interest in her, preparing to toss her aside for another. The rest of their time is spent in more of the
same activities he seems to love – reading and music, food and wine, long walks and silent
closeness. Occasionally Lynx will join them for dinner or entertainment, but for the most part he
seems to prefer if it’s just the two of them.

True to his word, he’s also begun teaching her to draw. He’s an attentive and encouraging teacher,
even if Jian feels a bit smothered by his constant desire to instantly resolve any problems she might
have. Yet even so, she finds their lessons some of the most enjoyable times spent in his presence.

Lynx doesn’t stop in the main room of the house, instead leading Jian on, through the small
bedroom with its low bed and into the expansive bathroom at the back of the house. In place of its
usual tidiness, the space is filled with cosmetics, potions, and a huge case, nearly as tall as Jian, the
contents of which she can only guess at. “What’s all this?” she asks.

Stopping in the center of the bathroom, Lynx turns to her. “Valthiel is attending a party this
evening; a social gathering of the archons of some of the dark city’s elite kabals to celebrate the
collapse of our old society and the rise of the current system.” Her smile widens into a triumphant
smirk. “It’s traditional to arrive accompanied, and he’s chosen you to come with him.”

“Oh,” is all Jian can think to say.

“It’s quite an honor,” says Lynx.

“What am I expected to… do?” Does he expect her to defend him when she can’t even hold her
own in a training scenario? Or worse, is she to be passed around to all his friends like a bottle of
cheap wine?

“Oh, you know.” Lynx waves her hand dismissively. “Just look pretty at his side and act suitably
subservient. He’ll handle the rest.”

A trophy, then. “I understand. You’ll help me get ready, right?” Perhaps, given who will likely be
there, the array of bruises and half-healed wounds that dot her body will be considered a positive
feature, but even still, she has no idea what the archon expects her to look like.

“Of course I will, sweetie.” Lynx pulls Jian into a hug. “You’re going to need all the help you can
get to cover up this mess you’ve inflicted on yourself.”

Jian winces as the movement twists the arm that was just resocketed a few hours ago. “Do I get to
wear clothes?”

“Of course. When Valthiel told me about this yesterday, I had something made for you. We want
to show off your assets to full advantage now, don’t we?”
“That makes sense.” She’s trying to help, Jian reminds herself. And with her training and history,
she is probably a good resource. Perhaps Jian should ask her about ways to better please the archon
in bed. “What do we do first?”

“Well, we’re in a bit of a rush; only a few hours left now. So why don’t you run a bath while I get
some of my things together?”

Jian follows her instructions, watching as the massive tub set into the floor of the bathroom fills
with steaming hot water and Lynx pours in the contents of several flasks. One she recognizes as a
liniment meant to soothe tired muscles, but the rest are strange to her. After the mixture is ready,
Lynx helps her undress and ease herself down into the water.

“Alright, I’m going to clean you and see what I can do about getting you fixed up. You can help by
washing your hair.”

They work in tandem, Jian doing her best to twist herself into whatever position Lynx requires as
the lhamean looks over every inch of her body, rubbing her with herbal healing salves and
advanced chemical ointments. She also injects her with what she can only assume are some kind of
localized painkillers or muscle relaxants, as they drain some of the aches and pains from her limbs
and leave her feeling just a bit weaker than she did before.

For her part, Jian soaps and rinses her hair and treats it with the oils and tonics Lynx hands her.
Again, some are familiar from the regimen she’s already been given, but there are multiple
additions she doesn’t recognize. She also drinks several substances that Lynx assures her are meant
as preemptive antidotes to the poisons she’s more likely to encounter that evening.

Finally, the bath is done and Jian climbs out, feeling at least somewhat distracted from her nerves.
Lynx helps her dry her skin and hair and hands her a pot she recognizes – it’s the skin lotion from
her quarters, heavy with moisture and a floral scent that she assumes is appealing to the archon.
She applies the cream while Lynx prepares for the next step. Neither woman speaks. This is in a
way familiar territory for Jian, and her own nerves resonate off Lynx’s serious attitude. She’s
happier in silence than trying to force banter.

She finds herself staring absently at her own leg and the rather miraculously healed skin. Not a
sign remains of the green-brown patch where one of the incubi kicked her last week, nor of the
burn from a bloodstone several days after that. What would my mother think if she saw me now?
Would she applaud her doing whatever she could to survive? Or would she urge her to stop
delaying the inevitable and pretending she could cheat She Who Thirsts?

Lynx’s voice breaks through her melancholy. “Are you ready for me to make you up?”

Nodding, Jian takes a seat at a small table covered in cosmetics. Many of these too, she realizes,
have come from her room. “Now then,” says Lynx as she knots Jian’s hair at the nape of her neck.
“I’m going to start by bringing your skin up to a pristine white.”

“I guess that is what’s fashionable here, isn’t it?”

Lynx laughs. “What gave us away?”

Jian smiles wryly as Lynx covers her skin in a cool, lightweight cream. Apparently satisfied with
her work, she picks up a palette of colored powders and begins to work on Jian’s eyes. “So, what
does fashion look like on the craftworld where you grew up?”

“Yme-loc is a world of artisans, so it varies a great deal.” Jian thinks, trying to separate her
personal preferences from broader trends. “Fitted, wrapped robes were normal for formal
occasions, and our heraldry is grey and orange, so those colors appear a lot. Pleats and embroidered
trim as well. I always wanted to have a robe with fur around the edges, but it wasn’t in style for
certain, and the section of the craftworld we lived in was rarely cold enough to justify it.”

“Interesting. Here, it’s mainly visiting corsairs who wear fur, and perhaps a few of the hellion
gangs.” Lynx sets down the eyeshadow and picks up a small jar of black cream, brushing it
delicately around Jian’s eyes. “What about makeup? How did you style yourself for formal
events?”

“I would do silver and green around the eyes, to match my coloring, with dark wine –“ Jian breaks
off as she catches sight of her own face in the mirror. Her skin a pale grey white with red lips and
purple-smudged eyes. She screams as a horde of images assaults her, the pain and terror of weeks
in the hold of a slaver’s ship. Mocking laughter rings in her ears and she feels the twist in her
stomach of something inside her shriveling and dying as hands grab at her –

“JIAN!” Lynx’s voice breaks through the cacophony. “What’s the matter?”

She pulls in a ragged breath. She’s on the floor of Lynx’s bathroom, curled up on the tiles. Tears
she doesn’t remember crying drip from her nose. “I can’t go out like this.”

“Khaine’s flaming balls, I can take it off if you hate it that much. Just,” Lynx’s voice takes on a
commanding tone. “Calm down and get off the floor.”

“Please don’t tell the archon…” she manages as she tries to collect her thoughts. If he knows, he’ll
ask her what happened and she won’t be able to deny him gracefully.

“Of course.” Lynx gestures for her to sit down again and dips a cloth into a bowl of clear, sharp-
smelling liquid. “Just… tell me what’s wrong.”

Jian deposits herself in chair with a shuddering sigh. The image of her own face probably won’t be
as bad now that she expects it, but still she avoids looking in the mirror as Lynx wipes the color
from her cheeks. “It reminds me of what happened before I came here. Because it looks the way I
looked that night.”

Giving Jian’s shoulder a supportive squeeze, Lynx makes a disgusted face. “I’d like to think that
my work is a bit more professional than that garish abomination.” Jian doesn’t comment. After
Lynx finishes cleaning her lips, she sighs out again. “There must be something more to it than that,
though.”

“It’s not just that day. I looked like that for a long time before that.”

“But what about the makeup specifically?”

“Bad memories, that’s all,” Jian murmurs. “The kabal who brought me here was not kind.”

Lynx bristles. “You know, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but you can at least do me the
courtesy of not lying, okay?”

“It’s the truth! I just don’t want to tell you all the details of the worst days of my life.”

“Then you can tell me that. I won’t be angry, just… talk to me.”

“I’ve told you before I don’t want to talk about it. And I still don’t.”
“I hoped you’d changed your mind.” Lynx steps aside and presents Jian with her appearance in the
mirror. “See? All gone.”

“Thank you.” Jian looks up at her. “I don’t mind makeup just, you know. Not that design.”

Apparently not over her disappointment at having her work rejected, Lynx sighs again. “Let me try
something else.”

Jian sits quietly as her face is redone. In a way, she’s almost grateful to have a single thing to focus
her nerves on, rather than the great unknown darkness of the evening ahead. After a slightly longer
interval, Lynx once again steps away to allow Jian to inspect her own appearence.

This face is similar, and yet somehow completely different. Her skin has lightened a few shades
after a few months in the cold twilight of the dark city, but rather than continue in this direction,
Lynx has instead chosen to simply smooth out the tone with a cream that brings a shimmer of white
gold. Her eyelids have been darkened and brought out to increase their visual size, while by
contrast her lips are understated and her cheeks have just a hint of color to them. “It looks great,
Lynx.”

“Of course it does, I did it.” The smirk morphs into a softer expression. “I’m glad you like it,
though.”

“I do. I feel pretty again.”

“Any time dear.” Lynx strokes her chin. “I hadn’t quite decided how to do your hair. Do you have
any suggestions?”

“I don’t even know what I’ll be wearing…”

“Come on, you must have something you like. How did you do your hair back on Yme-loc?”

Jian sighs. “Maybe some flowers in my hair?”

“Perfect!” Lynx snaps her fingers and goes to work, leaving Jian’s silver-white hair mostly loose,
but pulling a bit back from her face and binding it with a few white lilies. A set of pins keeps the
style in place, each topped with a black or purple faceted jewel.

As she finishes, she looks at the clock. “Oh dear, we’re running out of time.” Offering her hand to
Jian, she helps her stand and directs her out of her robe before helping her into the bodice of her
dress – which is, Jian realizes, what was in the large case she noticed when she entered. The heavy
weight of a skirt settles around her hips and Lynx holds her hand to help her into shoes.

Jian looks at herself in the mirror as Lynx bends to fasten the ankle straps of her heels. She doesn’t
know what she expected, but the outfit is extraordinarily drukhari in styling. The top of her dress is
a stiff black velvet, cut to reveal her entire back and most of her sides, with a neckline that plunges
in the front to past her naval, leaving only the curves of her breasts and a strip of her stomach
covered. The skirt is an equally revealing affair, more of the same heavy fabric covered in black
feathers that glint with a green undertone. A bit hangs to her mid-thigh in the front, but most of the
bulk of the skirt lies behind the splits up the sides of her legs, where it slowly tapers into a short
train. Her shoes are teeteringly high, with spiked heels that leave her eye to eye with Lynx.

“Almost done,” says Lynx. “What do you think?”

“Isha’s tits...”
“She’s sadly not available at the moment, so we’ll have to make do with yours. You look beautiful,
though. You’re going to be the envy of many, even the archons, I promise.”

Her smile is genuine, but Jian can’t help but feel mocked. “Can I at least have some
undergarments?”

Lynx shakes her head as she pats Jian’s hip, left exposed from the daring slit. “They’d show, I
think. The corsetry field on the bodice should give you all the support you need, though.”

She has felt a bit of an odd compression since putting on the dress. Drukhari technology apparently
has uses outside the battlefield as well. “What else do I need to do before I go?” It’s futile to argue
out of this dress, or this evening. She’ll just have to endure whatever they have planned for her.

“Just a few little things…” Lynx bustles about, adding perfume in a heavy, musky floral scent, a
dusting of a powder that she promises will make Jian’s skin sparkle and taste heavenly, black nail
polish and eyedrops to accentuate her pupils. “There you go. Now put these on.” She holds out a
pair of gloves, fingerless.

Jian obeys, crying out in surprise as she feels the spikes of pain that she associates with putting on
her armor as the gloves send probes into her flesh. Lynx guides her arms behind her back and Jian
feels them begin to mesh together, the fabric knitting into a single closed sleeve that pins her arms
tight behind her back and twists her shoulders. “What is this?”

Lynx’s hand rests on her shoulder. “You’re the archon’s slave, dear. No matter how much he likes
you, people will have certain expectations. And if we fulfill them in this way, it has the bonus of
helping your figure out a bit. Which reminds me.” She steps away and returns with a pair of thin
rods, one in silver and the other in a blackened metal. Tapping them together, she holds them
against Jian’s collar as they spool out into threads, twining around her neck to form an elaborate,
interlaced fillagree neckpiece. They also, Jian realizes dismally, hold her head to a narrow range of
positions. She won’t be able to raise it all the way or turn it to the side until the neckpiece is
removed.

The soft click of a leash fastening to her collar isn’t a surprise, just a depressing confirmation of
what she’s suspected all afternoon. Whatever respect or care the archon has demonstrated is merely
an illusion, and one that will hold no sway over tonight.

“Hey.” Lynx kisses her on the lips, a gesture that feels less one of lust than of reassurance. “Spill it.
What are you worried about?”

For all the improvements in their relationship, Jian has never been able to speak frankly with Lynx
about this portion of her life. The way she can never feel quite clean no matter how much she
washes herself or how she can feel her own will slowly eroding in the face of living to cater to the
whims of another. So she picks out a more easily solved fear and presents it. “I’ve just never been
to one of these. I haven’t even left this dimension since I got here.”

“Look on the bright side.” Lynx readjusts one of Jian’s hairpins. “Everyone will be too
preoccupied trying to assassinate Valthiel to even think about coming up with a plan to kill you.”

Jian smiles lamely, unsure if it was supposed to be a joke. “I think I just need to get started.”

“Come along, then.” Lynx tugs at the leash and Jian follows her, focusing on steadying her
breathing. She will not arrive at the archon’s room in tears, she cannot.

However, there is no need to wait that long. He stands waiting for them on the front steps of his
palace, dressed in the most formal armor Jian has ever seen him in. Ash-white plates trimmed in
green and gold and engraved with delicate rose designs nearly hide the black bodysuit he wears
under them. A heavy green cloak hangs from his shoulders, shifting a bit in the breeze. Some of his
hair is pulled into a topknot, while the rest hangs free, decorated with small gold beads that glow
faintly with runes. His eyes connect with Jian’s and she can see him visibly start, opening his
mouth and blinking in surprise as she approaches.

Giving a proper curtsy with her arms pinned behind her back is nearly impossible, so she opts
instead for a subtle bow. It will be a good time to test how well the threads that Lynx calls a dress
remain in place with movement. “Good evening, my lord. Thank you for choosing me to
accompany you tonight.”

He doesn’t reply, however, as he closes the gap between them with rapid steps. Lifting her almost
effortlessly from her feet, he presses his lips to hers, kissing her. She can feel the hunger in the way
he wraps himself around her and taste it on his breath. The archon guides her legs around his waist
for support and holds her closer, seeming to almost drink her in as she tries to respond to his
passion. It’s not as hard as it might be. The archon is incredibly talented at arousing her by touch
alone, and she can feel some part of herself longing for him to take her right there on the steps.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against her own and steadying her grip around his
waist with his hand. “Of course I chose you; there was no contest.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid,” she whispers before she can stop herself.

“It will be fine.” He moves in to gently nibble on her lower lip. “I’ll be there to keep you safe. I
promise.”

“What do you want me to do while we’re there?”

“You’re coming as my servant, so just be of service however you deem fit. You likely will not need
to do much.”

“Alright.” Jian swallows and blinks the last of the tears from her eyes. She can do this.

The archon gives her butt a final squeeze and meets her eyes. For a long moment he simply stares,
seeming lost in thought and whatever he sees in the depths of her overlarge pupils. He kisses her
again and she kisses back.

“We should head out…” he murmurs when he finally breaks the contact.

“Where is this party, if I may ask?”

The archon shifts her weight around his hips as he begins to walk down the stairs. “In the district
of the prime kabals. Not far from the exit to our dimension, in fact.”

“And who is hosting?” The information is making her less afraid, and distracts from the pain that’s
beginning in her shoulders.

“An archon by the name of Aurelia Malys is the primary backer, although several of her associates
are the official hosts.”

“Thank you. Although,” Jian chuckles. “I don’t know why I asked. It’s not as though I’ll know any
of them by sight.”

The archon sets her down to allow her to climb into the flyer under her own power. “And I doubt
you’ll have to concern yourself with their identities either. I’m not even sure if we’ll meet them
tonight.” He watches her seat herself and reaches out to fondle her ear. “You really do look
beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She doesn’t feel beautiful. She feels cheap and trashy, dressed to show the galaxy
exactly who she is and what her uses are. But the approval makes it less painful than it might be.
Keeping the sigh of defeat from escaping, she turns her attention to making herself comfortable in
her seat.

It proves an impossible task, as no angle or position she can find avoids putting even more pressure
on her arms or bunching her skirt awkwardly around her. The shaping imbued in the top part of her
dress seems to extend even to parts the fabric doesn’t cover, forcing her to sit perfectly straight and
constraining her even further.

After a few minutes, the archon notices her squirming and pulls her sideways onto his lap. She
falls still as she leans against him, resigned to getting through the evening as quickly as possible.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, the flyer lands on a large platform, perfectly placed amongst a sea of
similar vehicles in a myriad of colors and stylistic variations. The archon vaults over the side with a
dramatic flourish of his cloak, then opens the door and urges Jian out with a tug on her leash. She
obeys, heart pounding, and tries to focus on managing her dress and shoes. Taking a fall in this
outfit could have disastrous consequences, for both herself and the archon.

A servant gestures for them to follow him along the catwalk that leads from the landing pad into
the spire itself. The archon leads her forward carelessly, the leash loosening and tightening as he
pays little attention to his movements. In the space between adjustments to her posture and attempts
to guess her master’s next move, she finds time to look around.

The pavilion they are about to enter is massive, big enough for the perhaps three hundred guests to
mingle freely without feeling crowded. A soaring roof covers the entire area, with a dozen lower
canopies forming implied rooms for conversations or dining. Although Jian doesn’t know enough
about the drukhari to identify those present, even by rank or title, she surmises that the guests
comprise the elite of Commoragh society. Men and women wear elaborate suits of darkmetal
armor or tight leather outfits cut away to show as much of their colorless skin as possible. A few
incubi wander through the crowd, towering over most of their fellows. Nearly everyone present
radiates power, poise, and a cruelty so intense that Jian can practically taste it in the air.

And their eyes. As the archon enters the room, she can feel the attention of those nearby turning
first to him, sliding along the silver chain that dangles from his hand, and coming to rest on her.
Many return to their conversations after, but some linger, ripping the clothes off her body in their
minds. In their gazes, she can feel the hunger, the desire to see her suffering and helpless at their
hands, and her heart seizes.

They have walked perhaps two dozen steps into the room when the archon stops. For a long, long
moment he surveys the room and the other guests. He turns to her and meets her eyes. “You know,
why don’t we le – “

He cuts off as a young aeldari man approaches him with a tray of delicate glasses filled with clear
liquid. Perhaps Jian’s own age, he’s obviously of craftworld origin and dressed in an outfit so
minimal that it might be more decent had he been fully nude. A tattoo of a snake wraps around his
shoulder and a heavy, spiked collar around his neck. The archon takes one of the drinks without a
second glance at the slave, who walks off.

Before the motion is completed, something grabs at Jian from behind and she sucks in her breath
sharply. Pointed nails press into the bare skin of her stomach and another cold, clammy hand slides
down her exposed thigh. “So…” hisses a rough voice in her ear. “The lord of whores decided to
show up with a spooked little kitten, just as pathetic as the rest of your so-called kabal.”

The unknown assailant drops her an instant later and as he steps back, she gets a clear look at him.
A thin, almost emaciated drukhari with dark red hair and narrow black eyes, skin more grey than
white and dressed in sleeveless armor that befits a much more muscular man. He’s still speaking,
directly to Jian now and audible even over the pounding in her ears. “Look at you; frail and scared,
it’s almost like a particularly mean glare might finish you off. How long do you think you’re really
going to last here in the dark city, girl?”

Jian looks to the archon, unsure if she’s allowed to speak or not. He grips the stem of his glass and
frowns, all softness gone from his expression. People are turning their attention towards the scene.
He turns to her only to offer the briefest of nods before he speaks. “Lord Venatorix, while I
sympathize with how long it’s been since anyone deemed you and your men worthy of joining a
realspace raid, and while I do understand how frustrating it must be to watch your supply of slaves
dwindling while your skin withers and your hair turns grey, I must say…” His voice walks the line
between polite and patronizing with a venom Jian has never heard from him before. “Surely
preying on the property of your peers and betters to savor just a few instants of stolen terror is still
beneath you? You are an archon, after all.”

Watching a vicious smile spread across her master’s face, Jian realizes with grim amusement how
predictable drukhari are. She knows exactly what to say. “I will last as long as my lord the archon
deems fit,” she chimes in. There was no need to fake the tremor in her voice, though.

Valthiel shakes his head sadly. “See? This so-called pathetic slave has still managed to show you
off in courage, wits, and propriety. Really, my good lord, this is not a good showing for you when
you desperately need one. I fear one day soon you’ll find yourself choking on your own frustration
and impotence, and while I won’t weep for your passing, I will still mourn the loss to the city.
However small it may be.” He pauses for an instant to allow his words to sink in before addressing
Jian. “Come along, sweetness, our presence is better spent elsewhere.”

Jian follows him as he moves deeper into the event. Despite what seems like a victory, she feels
hollower and more dejected than ever. Fear provided a distraction, but she’s been reduced once
again to a flesh doll on display for everyone else’s amusement. At least this time she won’t be
handed off to the highest bidder. She hopes.

A few minutes later, the archon stops again, tugging the leash to urge her closer to him. She
approaches, head bowed.

“Don’t mind him,” he says quietly. “He’s a little man with very large problems.”

“More so than most of the people here?” she replies with a wan smile. Perhaps she shouldn’t have
done that. Perhaps in this place, even the most innocuous statements are too much from her.

The archon chuckles. “Very much so. I’m genuinely glad you’re here by my side, though.”

She wants to lie, to make him happy, to tell him that she’s glad she’s there. But there’s no chance
she could make it sound convincing. “And I am glad that you are not regretting your choice of
date, my lord.”

“I promise, our next date will be better,” he murmurs, reaching up to caress her cheek.

“Alright.” She tries to meet his eyes, but is stopped by the press of the collar into the back of her
neck. Reminding her that it’s not her place.

He seems not to notice, however, as he leans in to kiss her, his hand sliding under her bound arms
and coming to rest on the bare skin of her back. It’s a surprisingly gentle kiss, one of affection
rather than domination, and she finds herself wanting to lose herself in it and forget the
circumstances that surround them.

“Awww, how cute!” The voice is a woman’s, with what Jian has come to recognize as an upper-
class Drukhari accent. “I must say, Valthiel, the two of you look absolutely adorable together.”

Breaking the kiss, the archon straightens up, although he keeps his arm around Jian. She follows
his gaze to see a woman approaching, tall and regal, with skin unusually pale even for
Commorragh and loose black curls arranged into an elaborate updo. Her armor is deep midnight
blue trimmed in bright green, cut to flatter her trim figure and with a matching mask to obscure the
upper half of her face.

“Lady Malys,” the archon says politely. “I’m pleased and honored beyond words that you deem it
worthwhile to spend your highly valuable time speaking with me this evening.”

Jian lowers her eyes as the other archon approaches. Beyond the deference she knows is expected
of her, some instinct warns her to be wary. More than anyone else here, she feels a sense of menace
from this woman – not the grasping cruelty of Lord Venatorix, but a cold darkness that she could
sink her psyche into forever without reaching the bottom.

She does not, however, escape notice. “And you, aren’t you the most precious thing I’ve seen in
the last century or two?” Lady Malys coos. She continues her approach until she’s uncomfortably
close to Jian and the archon. Her fingers drag through Jian’s hair.

Helpless to flee, unable to even push the lady’s hands away, Jian remains frozen and waits for what
comes next.

“So…” Lady Malys continues, her amused tone unabated. “How much would it cost me to enjoy
her company for a week, Valthy? Name me a price.”

Jian can feel her eyes widen. Some part of her knows this won’t happen, that the archon almost
certainly wants her all to himself. But if she’s wrong, or if, as she suspects, this is an offer that it
would be dangerous to refuse, there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Even speaking up in protest
will only make things worse. She trembles under the hands of both drukarhi.

Almost instantly, the archon shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Lady Malys, but this one isn’t for sale,
nor for rent; she stays with me,” he says quietly.

“What?” Somehow that undercurrent of amusement remains even in the shock of the other
woman’s tone. “Do you mean that your answer is simply ‘no’?”

“I’m afraid so. I would, however, be delighted to find you another girl to your taste from among my
kabal if you would grace us with a visit one day.”

Jian lets out her breath but can’t still her quivering. Heavy silence lingers between the archon and
Lady Malys, noticeable even with the background noise of the party going on around them.

And then the lady laughs, a beautiful, musical sound that Jian can’t believe comes out of the mouth
of someone so ominous. “You never cease to amaze me, Valthy. You know, I think I might do
that. I’ll be in touch. See you then.” She delivers a friendly, almost teasing slap to the archon’s
cheek and walks away quickly.
So great is Jian’s relief that she can’t even bring herself to thank the archon as he leads her away.

The rest of the party begins to blur together. Although no one else dares to touch another archon’s
property, Jian can still feel leers from many of guests, tracing the lines of her exposed skin and
enjoying the suggestion that she wears nothing under the elaborate gown. The discomfort of having
her arms pinned so tightly spreads up her neck and shoulders and down her back, every motion or
tug of the leash triggering a new ache. Her hair falls in front of her face and she can’t even toss her
head to move it aside.

For his part, the archon rarely stays in one location or conversation for long. He moves among the
fountains and caged dancers, the beast fights and the endless stream of slaves serving food and
drinks, sometimes stopping to watch a fight or converse with another guest, but never for long. This
is a business and political venture for him, Jian realizes. He forms connections, asserts power or
props up others, and hints at future alliances and exchange of goods. Sending one of his lhameans
to the other party as a companion seems to be his primary bargaining chip, and she gets the sense
that it’s considered a status symbol in Commorragh.

At least one of these offers is rejected on the basis that the other party has a different source she
prefers to use. The revelation surprises and annoys him, although Jian suspects that it’s not obvious
to those who aren’t as intimately familiar with his facial expressions as she is. Interesting. While
she doubts that the Kabal of the Ashen Rose is the only group that trains lhameans in city, he
apparently has records of who the others are contracted with. She wonders if this information was
freely shared or obtained via some kind of subterfuge, but suspects the later.

Finally, the evening seems to be winding down, at least a bit. The entertainment continues
unabated and if anything the crowd is thicker, but not as many people stop the archon as he leads
her towards one of the smaller canopies dotted throughout the space. A group of chairs has been
arranged around a burning brazier to ward off the chill of the rest of the city.

He stops before he reaches the circle and turns to Jian. Reaching behind her, he runs his hand along
the sleeve binding her arms and she feels it part, turning into a pair of long gloves once again. His
fingers trace up her spine before settling between her shoulder blades, pressing into the aching
muscle and relieving just a bit of the pain. He plants a kiss on her forehead and heads for his seat
without a word, bringing her along behind.

Jian resists the urge to stretch the knots away from her back as she finds herself standing
awkwardly at the archon’s side. In absence of any better options, she sits on the floor next to his
chair, careful to tuck the spiked heels to the side and to ensure that the skirt covers as much of her
as it reasonably can. Finished arranging herself, she leans against the side of the archon’s chair, just
under where his arm rests. Like the loyal pet I am, she thinks. The thought should probably bring
disgust, but it doesn’t, simply hollowness.

A moment later, she feels a brush against the top of her head. The archon strokes her hair, playing
idly with the loose strands and her hair pins as he talks with his companions. She tries her best to
follow the conversation, which covers raid routes and unprotected shipping lanes within the
Imperium of Mankind, eventually stretching into discussing other groups within the galaxy as
well. Some she recognizes from her father’s stories of his work as a thought-talker, others are
strange to her. Apparently an archon by the name of Lord Ordai has won a major victory and those
present are attempting to think of ways to show him up. Jian can feel the archon's fingers tense
slightly on her head at the mention of name, but just as quickly resume their normal course.

Her thoughts drift. The night is far from over, but for the moment, she has a reprieve. Despite all
the humiliations, it hasn’t been as terrible as she feared. And the archon hasn’t made it worse than
it needed to be. Giving her to Lady Malys would have won him favor with another powerful
archon. She should return the favor somehow.

I could suck his cock. Here in front of everyone.

She discards the thought, horrified and disgusted with herself for thinking of it. Even more so
because it took her a moment to decide against it. By Isha, she’s become such a slut. The feeling
intensifies as tingling pleasure races over her body. The archon has moved his hand down and
begun fondling her ear.

Bringing her mind back to the present, she sneaks a glance at the rest of the circle. They appear to
be a fairly representative group of the other party guests. Most have come accompanied as well,
although the choice of date seems more commonly to be other high-ranked drukhari or a lhamean
companion. No one else sitting nearby has a slave with them, and, she realizes, she’s seen very few
others in her position tonight.

If bringing her was an unusual decision, there must have been reasoning behind it. Something she
can play into to impress his fellows.

She’s almost returned to her original idea when a stray thought drifts across her mind. The second
evening she spent with the archon, when he brought her up to the roof. She knows what she can do.

Hoping he doesn’t misinterpret her actions and that there’s enough slack in her leash to allow for
them, she crawls forward to kneel in front of him. After an instant’s hesitation, she reaches for the
fastening of one of his armored boots.

The archon sighs happily and lifts his foot slightly, making her work easier. Jian relaxes a fraction
and eases the boot off. Massages have never been a particular talent of hers, but she’s had ample
opportunity to practice over the last few months and it gives her something to focus on other than
her own situation. He doesn’t miss a beat in his conversation as she eases his foot into her lap and
begins to work.

She has no idea how long she continues her work, but her hands have begun to throb with no sign
of a lull in the conversation above her head. She’s long since switched to the other leg and has now
started to work up his calves as well. To stop now, without prompting, would likely be worse than
to never have started. The rest of the group has noticed her and congratulated him on how well-
trained she is, so they would take note if she went back to her old position.

After perhaps another fifteen minutes, the archon leans down and rubs her head before lifting her
chin with a finger. She finds herself looking into a gentle smile. “Are you ready to return home, my
sweet thing?”

“If that is what you wish, my lord,” she breathes. Her aching hands pause. A commotion is
building in the on the other side of the gathering, although she can’t tell what the source is yet.

He looks over to the source of the noise, then turns his attention back to her. “Ah, yes, that is our
cue. Get ready.” He lifts his foot and Jian complies, putting his boots back on before accepting a
hand to get to her feet.

A crowd has grown around the disturbance by now, and as Jian follows the archon back through
the space, she realizes that someone is screaming. Cries of pain, terror, and orgasm have
punctuated the night, mostly from the various entertainment, but this is different. She cranes her
neck and rises to her toes in an attempt to see who or what is making the sound. It might be better
not to know, but her curiosity won’t allow her to leave without at least trying.
The party guests have clustered around a single figure hunched on the floor. It takes her a moment
to identify it as male or female, and another to realize that the man is Lord Venatorix, crawling
blindly on all fours as he bellows in pain. Blood drips from his mouth, his nose, his ears, and soaks
into his paits. His skin has turned ashen and shriveled on his frame, and his eyes… It takes Jian a
moment to realize that his eyes have melted and run down his face to mix with the blood.

She turns away from the disgusting sight, horror mixed with a strange triumph. He deserves it. So
does just about every other drukhari here tonight. But unlike them, she doesn’t need to be here to
savor his agony.

The archon looks back at her, and his face is one he’s never shown before. A self-satisfied
expression of vicious glee that she can imagine him wearing as he steps onto the bridge of a
helpless craftworld ship. She smiles back, face a halo of innocence as she follows him back to his
vehicle.

When they’ve taken off, Jian sinks into her seat with a suppressed sigh. It’s been a long night, and
likely will extend for much longer. The archon has been salivating over her all evening. She will
need to satisfy him before she can sleep, and she knows from experience that it often takes hours
for him to spend his lust fully. Sometimes all night. Perhaps there is some merit to his stories of
being descended from a sex goddess, or perhaps all drukhari are this jaded to pleasure. Or maybe
she’s simply not good in bed.

For the moment, however, he seems occupied. A series of movements she doesn’t catch opens a
hidden compartment filled with vials and jars. The archon pulls half a dozen out and proceeds to
consume the contents, pouring them down his throat one by one. Some glow in different colors,
others are powders that he washes down with wine.

“Are you alright?” asks Jian.

He smiles, all trace of sadism gone from his expression. “Oh yes, just a safety precaution. Broad
spectrum antidotes to the most fashionable toxins in the city at the moment, just in case there’s
something I haven’t picked up on.”

“Do I need to take anything?”

“I don’t think so.” He reaches over to caress her cheek before unhooking her leash and stuffing it
into a pouch on his belt. “I’ve kept an eye on you the entire time we’ve been out this evening, just
in case you started to develop symptoms. You’re fine.”

Jian isn’t sure how that can be true, when he spent so much time talking to others and otherwise
distracted, but she accepts his statement without complaint. “Thank you.”

Finished with his potions, the archon shoves the compartment closed and leans back in his seat,
sliding an arm behind her shoulders. “You did really well tonight, you know.”

“I’m glad.” The statement is a true one. Pleasing him, making her fear and humiliation not entirely
pointless, these are positive things.

“How about we finish up with a relaxing bath in one of my hot springs? I’m sure your muscles and
joints could use the chance to relax.”

“That sounds really nice.” The whole affair has given her an unclean feeling that she longs to wash
off, even if she suspects that, like everything else, it never will. At least it will be new and
different. They’ve never had sex in the bath before. “I didn’t know you had those.”
He smiles, apparently pleased with her reaction. “One of the advantages of being, well, someone
like me. There is very little that I don’t have, and very little that I don’t have that I cannot get.”

“Alright.” She falls quiet, unsure of how else to continue the conversation. After a few minutes,
she speaks up again. “I doubt anyone will miss Lord Venatorix.”

That gets a laugh from him. “The rest of his kabal might, as they squabble over whatever power
and resources he had left until it’s squandered or someone takes the throne and purges their
competition. But no, I agree with you.”

“I certainly won’t miss him.” Why she’s walking down this road, she’s not sure. She has known
that her master has killed hundreds, if not thousands of aeldari, in all manner of horrific and cruel
ways, throughout his life. And between the Ashen Rose and his corsair fleet, the blood of countless
more is on his hands. But tonight is the first time she has seen it happen.

“Neither will I.” He brings his hand up to stroke her hair, although oddly in a less intimate way
than he did earlier in the evening. “He should not have spoken to you that way. Even if we did get
the last laugh.”

Jian shrugs. “It was not unexpected. I was prepared. Wasn’t even that frightened, really.” Apart
from the initial spike of alarm when the man grabbed her, it was clear that he was no real threat to
her.

“You still deserve better, though.” The archon leans in and kisses the top of her head and Jian feels
a strange twisting in her stomach.

“Thank you,” she replies quietly. “And thank you for not letting Lady Malys… have me.”

His grip tightens on her. “I would be an incredibly poor master and unfit for my position if I did
that now, wouldn’t I?”

Has she misspoken? Is he offended that she doubts him? “I think most people there would have.
Especially for her,” she clarifies.

“Well, I am not most people, then; I would never. Especially not you.”

Especially not you… Again, the disquiet in her gut as he expresses what seems almost to be
affection. Whatever she feels is muted by exhaustion, though. She hopes she doesn’t fall asleep
while he’s using her. It would be an embarrassing end to an already ignominious day. “I’m glad to
hear that.”

They finish the trip in silence. When they land, the archon stirs. “Do you want me to carry you
over to the hot springs? Or can you walk?”

“I can walk just a bit further, I’m sure.” Whether she will be able to when he’s done with her is
anyone’s guess, but they will have to figure that out later.

“Does that mean you want to walk?”

She nods. She’ll feel less like nothing if she can at least move under her own power. She does,
however, accept his arm to guide her along the path.

This landing platform is in a part of the gardens she’s never been to before, more trees and fewer
small plants and shrubs. The spire is still close, she can see over the treetops, but it feels more
secluded and just a bit wilder. At least people are less likely to walk in on them. He’s never seemed
interested in making her perform in front of others for the sake of it, but several times someone has
arrived to speak with him while she’s working. It seems to be entirely unsurprising here, but she
would rather it not happen again. Not tonight.

Rounding a corner, the archon stops, letting her take in the sight before her. A pile of boulders sits
halfway embedded in the soil of a clearing, forming the edge of a pool, perhaps five meters across
at its widest point. The water is slightly cloudy and shifts with movement from a point at the far
edge, which Jian assumes is the actual spring. A thin haze rises slowly from the surface.

“Oh, this is beautiful,” she says. “I had no idea this was here.”

The archon smiles and detaches the cloak from the shoulders of his armor, folding it and placing it
on one of the rocks. A small stack of towels and robes are waiting nearby, she notices. “Well, now
you do. Feel free to visit as often as you like.”

“It might be nice to take a soak after training sometimes.” Jian follows suit. Time to make it easy
for him. The skirt detaches easily and she drapes it over one of the taller rocks. But then she stops
and her face heats.

She can’t remove the rest of her clothing. The gloves have sunk their hooks into her skin, the straps
of the ridiculous shoes are locked, and what fabric the top of her dress has in it has seamed itself
without visible fastening. He’ll have to rip it from her body. Which is probably the point.

Biting her lip, she looks up. “Can you help me undress?” she says in a small voice.

“Of course.” While she was fiddling with her outfit, the archon has pulled his armor off. Like her
own training garb, it leaves trails of blood where it detached from his nervous system. Jian knows
from experience that the process is painful as well, but he shows no sign of discomfort as he
approaches her, fully nude.

He runs his fingers along the top edge of the gloves and she lets out a sharp hiss as she feels the
miniscule claws retract before he taps something that makes the elaborate neckpiece coil itself into
two small balls, leaving only her normal collar. Next, he picks up a knife to slice the bodice up the
back and remove it before bending down to unfasten her shoes. Without a word, he straightens and
walks toward the spring.

Quickly peeling the gloves off, Jian steps out of her shoes and wiggles her toes in the grass.
There’s no feeling in them, but she’s certain it will return quickly enough. She takes a deep breath
and follows the archon into the water.

Warm water stings on the cuts that Lynx hadn’t managed to heal before they left and prickles of
heat and cold race up her skin as the steaming water contrasts with the crisp air. Her body aches
from the wide variety of mistreatment it’s received recently, but the heat pushes it from the surface
into the deeper muscles, where it’s easier to deal with. It’s wonderful.

The archon must be watching her expression as she lowers herself into the pool. “I knew you
would like it.” There’s a familiar grin in his voice. “Now come over her and make yourself
comfortable while I work on your hair and back.”

Jian stops her descent and looks at him in confusion. What does he want her to do?

“I mean…” The archon hesitates. “It must have been an exhausting evening for you, and I think
you deserve to be pampered a bit before we go to bed, don’t you?”

“That sounds really nice. Thank you.” Still discomforted, she half-walks, half-floats towards him.
The water isn’t deep, just over her head at its deepest point. She settles herself on a rock next to the
archon and waits for what he wants to do.

A moment later, she feels his fingers in her hair again, mixed with the coolness of soap. Without
speaking, he lathers her hair and rinses, turning the process into a slow, gentle scalp massage that
sends waves of pleasure down her body in a much different way that his touch normally does.
When the last handful of warm water has poured over her head, he moves down, pressing into the
tired, stiff muscles of her neck and shoulders and undoing the knots that have clustered in her upper
back.

Jian lets him work, remaining quiet except for the little moans of pleasure that occasionally escape.
The feeling of having someone simply care for her, after all that’s happened today, it feels far more
overwhelming than such a simple gesture warrants. It washes away just a bit of the hollowness and
makes her feel like a person again, even if it is only on his terms.

Finished with his work, the archon pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and
resting his chin on her shoulder. It feels oddly protective, with none of the possessive lust she’s
used to from him. At odds with the arousal that she can feel pressing into her thigh. She leans back
into his arms, trying to focus on the comfort and relaxation while she can. “That was wonderful.
Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replies. “We will have to do something like this again soon.”

“We will.” She’s unsure if he means the party, or this strangely peaceful interlude, but either way
it’s not her place to argue with him.

Jian closes her eyes as the archon’s fingers entwine with her own and he twists to kiss her on the
cheek. It’s such a strange contrast: the affectionate, almost reverent man in whose lap she sits now;
the passionate lover, insistent on wringing every ounce of pleasure that her body holds for either of
them; and the archon, with a malevolent smile and death at his fingertips. She wonders which one
is his real face, or if it’s none of them and the eldar he would most like to be is locked away from
her somewhere.

Not that it’s really her place to muse. What matters for now is that he seems to be in a good mood
and, for the moment, nothing is required of her. Or is it?

Turning in his embrace, she kisses him, putting as much passion as she can create into the gesture.
He responds in kind, pressing her to him and lingering for long minutes.

Something stirs in Jian. Not quite the same discomfort that she felt earlier, but a tug of something
she hasn’t felt in a long time, and never quite like this. Can she be… attracted to this man?

No sooner has the thought crossed her mind that a wave of violent emotion breaks over her.
Reena’s disappointed face mixes with Verynia’s mocking voice in her ear. "Look at you. Always
knew you were destined for She Who Thirsts, abandoning the healer to jump some drukhari's dick.
What about your loyalty?"

Nausea overcomes her and she breaks the contact, breathing hard to avoid vomiting on the archon.

“What’s wrong?” The archon grips her arms and looks her over rapidly, intense and clinical in his
scrutiny. “What happened? How do you feel?”

“Sick,” Jian replies faintly.

“Let me help you up.” He climbs out of the water and wraps himself in one of the robes before
bending down to scoop her up. A towel drapes over her to hide her nakedness. Still cradling her in
his arms, he begins walking towards the spire.

“I’m starting to feel better,” she says after a few minutes. “I think maybe I’m just dehydrated.”
She’s not sure if it’s the fresh air and the cool breeze on her face, or the loss of the intimacy she
was about to open herself to that’s brought the improvement.

The archon slows his pace somewhat and his breathing calms. “It’s possible. I’ll give you some
strengthening tonics when we’re back at my quarters, and after that I think it’s time for you to have
some much-earned rest, Jian.”

“That sounds nice.” She can’t suppress a sigh. “It’s been a long day…” She can barely remember
the beating she took this morning, even if the aftereffects are still there.

“It has. You’ve performed extraordinarily, though.” He sounds almost… sad. Regretful, even.

“What’s wrong?” Jian murmurs. The warm water has made her sleepy and now that the nausea has
worn off, her exhaustion has returned.

The archon shakes his head and forces a smile. “Nothing, I just- you should have received a
nutrition package as soon as we entered our sub-space.”

“I’m alright, really.”

“You’re obviously spent and possibly poisoned. I should have realized that and made sure you
were taken care of as soon as we returned home.” He sighs.

“You did, though. It was really, really nice.” She’s not sure what exactly is bothering him, but it
seems to be related to her, so she should try to fix it. And a few moments of quiet, undemanding
affection have done more for her than a king’s feast would have, she’s certain.

He smiles down at her, but doesn’t speak again until they’re in his quarters. By then, Jian has half
fallen asleep in spite of herself. Motion startles her and she returns to full alertness to find herself
wearing a white silk shirt, somewhat oversized on her frame, propped up in his bed with pillows.
She adjusts the blankets on her lap and watches as the archon busies himself at the table, unsure of
what she’s meant to do next.

A few minutes later, he returns with a cup of tea and three miniature glasses, containing liquids
which he tells her will boost her immune system, rebalance her salt levels, and increase the
vitamins and minerals in her body. Obediently, she consumes all three and the tea before accepting
the offer to lean back in bed and sink into darkness.

The last thing she sees before she falls asleep is the archon, sitting in a chair next to her bed. Her
hand is held in both of his.

****

The girl lies still throughout the night, exhaustion of the body and spirit keeping her from even the
normal movements of sleep. Only an occasional gasp reveals the tumult of her dreamscape.

The man, meanwhile, sits at his own bedside for hours, checking and rechecking the girl's
temperature, her pulse, her breathing, until he’s satisfied that her illness is one of the soul and not
of the body, just as he has known. Only then does he allow himself to crawl under the blankets and
fall asleep at her side.
Chapter End Notes

I'm sure Aurelia will forget being snubbed like that and Valthiel's decision will have
no future negative consequences whatsoever.
 Pain
Chapter Notes

First off, thanks again to Ashilaa for editing, as well as to my finacee and to Warrax
for all the help editing.

Sorry for the delays posting. This was a big chapter, and I wound up having to do a lot
of edits before I was satisfied. Still not sure if I am, but onward nonetheless!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jian’s sword moves like lightning, bringing her old Banshee skills to bear on the equally quick
movements of her opponent. As the archon grins at her over their crossed blades, a strand of his
silver hair comes loose from its tie and falls into his face. He shifts his weight for another avenue
of attack, which she parries.

By Isha, this is hard. The archon is almost as quick as she is and more skilled, while her speed is
impaired by the state of her body. Every movement she makes, the impact of a blocked blow, even
simply the weight of her sword, it all triggers some kind of pain. Most of it she barely notices, but
occasionally something is sharp enough to slow her reactions and give the archon an advantage he
doesn’t need.

Leaping out of the way of yet another swing of the archon’s sword, she barely avoids having her
own weapon knocked from her hands by his follow-up strike. One of her cracked ribs throbs out a
response and she grunts before pressing forward. If she can’t end this soon, she’ll make some kind
of mistake that will draw attention to her injuries, and that would be even worse than losing.

After having her on the defensive for the last few seconds, the archon seems surprised at the
intensity of her assault. He takes a few quick steps back and Jian smiles. He’s backing into a tree,
one of the many that surround the grove they’re using for their match. While it might be a smart
move on a real battlefield, reducing the potential avenues by which others can take advantage of
his distraction, in this one-on-one environment it will merely limit his movements and allow her to
take the advantage.

The archon, however, has other plans. As she closes in on him, he retreats even faster until he’s
almost touching the tree. Then, before she can complete another strike, he launches himself off the
trunk, coming straight for her.

Jian steps aside to let him pass by her. But as she does, her knee buckles and she can’t move fast
enough to avoid the archon as he tackles her.

She lands in the soft dirt with an impact that causes her to inhale sharply. The archon straddles her,
panting as he raises the point of his sword to her neck. “I win.”

“Indeed you do,” she gasps out, still struggling to regain her wind and cursing herself for her
slowness. The sisters healed her severed tendons well enough yesterday that she can walk without
limping, but her knee is still not ready for this kind of use.

“And what may I claim for my victory?” The archon stands and offers her his hand.
The archon’s tone is clearly teasing, but Jian can’t bring herself to share his humor as she accepts
the help up. “Anything you wish,” she replies seriously.

He pretends to consider. “Hmm… how about I let you off easily with a kiss and some company
while I return to my quarters to get ready to leave?”

Jian nods and they begin to wind their way through the garden paths, carrying their swords. It’s
been three weeks since the party, and while the memories of the event and what happened
afterword haven’t faded from her mind, they emotions they bring up are less acute. Her routine has
resumed.

The archon still calls for her nearly every day, and has become increasingly elaborate and
demonstrative in the entertainment he dictates for their dates. Last week, he even brought her on an
overnight hunting expedition to the forests at the lower rim of the kabal, where they and their
entourage spent hours stalking the massive predators that lived there and glorying in the exultation
of bringing them down with nets and barbed hunting spears.

Yet even sitting next to the fire, warm in the archon’s embrace and full on the roasted flesh of their
kill, the emptiness and fear inside Jian had remained, just as it gnaws at her now. No matter what
she does, no matter how hard she’s pretended to be a perfect, adoring little thing with no greater
desire than to fulfil his every fantasy and whim, she’s still losing him.

Since the party, he hasn’t asked to use her once.

But what is she doing wrong? She hasn’t become wholly unappealing, she knows that. After she
realized what was happening, she began to offer herself to him, arriving in his bed each night
wearing the most seductive lingerie in her closet and consulting with Lynx to learn the secrets of
pleasing a man. He seems happy enough to take her when she does, but still he does not initiate.
His attitude has changed, too; the weariness she noticed some evenings becoming near constant
despite his continued show of good humor.

The threat of being cast aside, left in the gutter for some other member of his kabal to pick up and
claim, is beginning to overwhelm her. She’s started to lose weight, and when she can sleep at all,
her nightmares are near constant. It must be disturbing the archon, as he has taken to offering her
drugs to quiet her rest. Although she accepts them, she still wakes each morning tired and drained.

“… you alright, Jian?” His voice interrupts her worries, making them less clear, but even more
urgent.

“I am quite well,” she replies with a smile. “Just lost in thought, I suppose.”

“I asked if you’ll be alright on your own for a day or two? I need to visit my ship and see to a few
things before we leave, and I don’t know that there is much you could be involved with.”

Ah, yes. The raid on the mon’keigh world. Despite the amount of effort and planning being
invested into it, her mind has been so full of her own problems that she forgets whenever
something isn’t directly reminding her. “No, I will be just fine.” She reaches up to give him a kiss.
“I’ll miss you, though.”

The archon hesitates, then takes her hand and continues walking. “What do you plan to do in my
absence?”

“I will likely spend the afternoon in my room, reading and improving my drawing skills.” Another
pile of books arrived in her room a few days ago, and she has managed to find a few that she
enjoys. “And then Lynx has invited me to join her for dinner. Tomorrow I will spar with your
guards and I have no plans after.” It depends on how long she’s unconscious.

“It sounds like a rather nice day, all told.” Again, a hesitation. “Are you enjoying your lessons with
them?”

“Of course! Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… I’m starting to wonder what Bealfor is actually teaching you.”

“What do you mean?” Panic starts to rise in Jian.

The archon stops on the path and takes her other hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m
not sure that you have improved all that much since you arrived in Commorragh. Now, you were
already quite skilled, but I still would have expected a bit more progress by now.”

“I must be having an off day,” she replies with a careless shrug. She has learned things from her
training, even if they have nothing to do with the sword. “One day, I’ll beat you.”

“And what will you ask for as a reward when that happens?” He seems to accept her excuse and
begins walking again.

“Hmmm…” Jian purses her lips and thinks. “I would demand that you let me teach you to sing.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Because you said you didn’t know how. And I’m certain you would have a beautiful singing
voice.” His speaking voice is so smooth and rich, she can just imagine how wonderful it would
sound carrying a melody. And unlike many things they could do together, singing doesn’t involve
giving more of her body or soul to him. Perhaps that’s why she was never tempted to devote
herself to it as her Path – it was always a diversion, not an integral part of herself.

“You know, you don’t have to beat me in a duel to do that. If you want to teach me, I would love
to be your student.”

“We’ll start as soon as you return, then.” Jian kisses him again. If it keeps him interested for a bit
longer…

“I look forward to it.” The archon lets her hand go. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you here; I
need to be on my ship soon and I have a few things I need to do first.” He finishes with another kiss
on her forehead. “I’ll see you soon, Jian.”

“Be safe, Valthiel.”

He walks away from her with a hand raised in farewell. Jian watches until he’s disappeared around
a corner before returning to her room to make a vain attempt to enjoy her relative comfort while it
lasts.

****

Yet again, awareness brings only pain. Throbbing in her stomach, her arms, her legs, her head.
Each a memory of another blow from the incubi before she passed out. There is also a sharper,
more insistent pain between her shoulder blades and another in her breasts, although she doesn’t
remember taking any hits in either location.
Fuck Lord Vrash, and fuck every single one of them. This stupid dance will keep going until they
get bored or go too far and actually kill her, and all she gets from it is a chance to distract from the
downward spiral that she’s trapped in, even as it feeds it. She knows she should stop, but giving up
will just make her feel worse about herself.

And yet continuing to play this game isn’t helping her either. She’s come to appreciate the bursts
of pain from her opponents on the rare occasions when her sword connects, and even more so
when they damage each other during the matches she sometimes has the chance to observe before
her own turn comes. Like the pleasure she feels from the archon’s touch, it lingers on her skin in
way that never quite washes off. The city is corrupting her, she knows.

As she lies there, trying to center herself and let her body heal, she feels something moving along
her back. Fingers, slim and soft, but pressing insistently into every painful place. Why does it have
to hurt so much? She can hear sounds from outside as well, voices. Angry shouting, although she
can’t make out the words.

Someone else speaks, just next to her, blocking out the argument. A woman’s voice, not one Jian
recognizes, but sultry and heavy with spite. A lhamean, almost certainly. “It’s beautiful, downright
marvelous. I’ve really outdone myself this time.”

“What?” Jian mutters in confusion.

“Your back, dear. It looks beautiful, a real piece of art if I dare say so. I’m sure the archon will be
thrilled.”

Jian’s mind is clearing as panic rises in her. “What did you do to it?” She tries to sit up, finds her
arms too weak, and slides back down into a prone position.

The sister laughs, still more to herself than Jian. “Just elaborated on your naked canvas, dear.
Would you like to see?”

Still a bit disoriented, Jian accepts the offered hand to guide her out of her bed and across the room
to a mirror.

Her body is dotted with bruises and cuts, including a particularly livid mark on her left shoulder,
and bandages are scattered about her arms and legs. What catches her attention, however, are a pair
of tiny silver rings at her chest, each adorned with a green gemstone. Pierced straight through her
nipples with a fine chain connecting them. Jian feels her face heat.

It takes most of her remaining willpower to twist around to view her back, but curiosity wins over
fear and she manages to get a look. Here, too, she has been ‘decorated’, a large tattoo in the shape
of a rose. A white rose, detailed enough to almost look real. It’s incredibly well done, even if the
sight of it makes her feel ill. “What in Morai-heg’s name is this?”

“A tattoo, dear, surely you have those in the dull and lifeless places you call craftworlds. It’s
magnificent, isn’t it?”

“You put it on me?” A foolish question, but she’s still trying to make sense of it. Intelligent
thoughts will come later.

“Of course. You belong to the kabal, after all, shouldn’t your body reflect that? And I’m sure the
archon will get plenty of use out of these.” She reaches over to tug on the chain connecting the
piercings, causing Jian to wince.

“It’s very well done,” she replies vaguely. In a way, the pain is a blessing. If she can keep her mind
on that, she can avoid thinking about any of the real problems bearing down on her.

Something changes in the atmosphere, and it takes her a moment to realize that the voices outside
have stopped. The only sound is the faint background noise of the room and the movements of the
lhamean next to her as she shifts her position to continue crowing over her work. Jian ignores her
and searches for a robe or something else to cover herself with. She can’t be walking back to her
room naked, after all. Much as this woman might want her to.

The door opens and Lynx strides in, heading straight for Jian’s side. “Come on, let’s get you
home,” she says quietly, wrapping a robe around Jian’s shoulders.

Jian looks up. Something is wrong. Lynx’s expression and voice are stiff. Her lipstick, usually as
immaculate as the rest of her appearance, is smudged and her lip bleeds a bit. “What’s wrong?”
Jian asks.

“It’s nothing, dear.” Lynx smiles, although the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you
want to go to your place, or mine?”

Although Jian has become far more comfortable with her own public nudity in the last few months,
the urge to cover up the latest symbols of her enslavement is overpowering. She wraps the robe
tightly around herself and relishes the sting as it presses against the wounds. “Mine, please?”
Surprising even herself, her eyes are completely dry.

“Very well.” Lynx takes her hand and leads her from the room. “Would you like some company?”

“No, I think I just want to be alone.”

“Of course. Let me just make sure you get back safe,” Lynx replies with a glance behind her.

“This shouldn’t upset me this much.”

Lynx shakes her head. “Trust me, I was livid when I found out. And that’s nothing compared to
what will happen when Valthiel is informed…”

“You mean he didn’t ask for this?” It hadn’t sounded like he had. But there is some small comfort
in knowing that it wasn’t by his request.

“No, and I’m sure he’ll have words with Miarya when he gets back.”

“Please don’t tell him how upset I am.” By his orders or not, if he gets the inkling that she’s less
than thrilled with being his property, it will only bring more trouble.

“He’ll be able to tell, though.”

“I’m sure I’ll be better by the time he returns.” She’ll have to be. “I’m tired of being pitied.”

For a moment, Jian thinks Lynx will say no. But she sighs and nods. “Fine, I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you.” Jian hugs her. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Lynx flinches slightly before hugging back. “There, there, sweetie. I’m here to help you.”

“Are sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Just had a… disagreement… with the grand matron.” Forcing a stiff smile, Lynx breaks the
embrace and continues walking.
“Disagreement?” Jian realizes with a sinking feeling that she already knows what Lynx will say.

“I decided to voice my displeasure with what happened to you. She thought I was out of bounds
and was ready to go to considerable lengths to make me realize the error of my ways.”

“I’m sorry you had to go to such trouble on my behalf” She was right. Just another thing that’s her
fault. “Do you want to come have a drink with me?”

“I would love to. But I thought you wanted to be alone for the rest of the afternoon?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I didn’t appreciate it, though. I’m not that much of an ungrateful
bitch,” Jian replies with a cynical smile.

“Nah, you’re just my kind of bitch.” Lynx replies with equal wryness as she rests a hand on Jian’s
shoulder. “Everything will be fine, dear.”

Jian sighs, wishing she could believe her.

The rest of their walk is spent in silence, Jian too tired and heartsick to carry on a conversation and
Lynx seemingly content with unspeaking companionship. She hovers in the doorway as Jian enters
the bedroom that has begun to feel something like home, watching as she washes her face and
hands and sets herself down on the bed with a deep exhalation.

“I’m fine, Lynx, really. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jian waves and is gratified when Lynx actually
leaves.

As soon as the door shuts, despair crashes back over her. Everything is falling apart, and she has no
idea how to fix any of it. And can she really in good conscience try? What kind of pathetic excuse
for an aeldari is she, dancing around on a leash for the amusement of an archon? But the
alternative to domestication is to serve as a reservoir of pain and suffering, or worse. No matter
how much she hates herself for it, she can’t accept that fate either.

Perhaps she should just give in. Become the woman the city is trying to mold her into. Jian, who
worships at the archon’s feet and at his phallus and takes pleasure in the suffering of others as the
only release from her own powerlessness. Just like everyone else here. At least she wouldn’t have
to think anymore.

Shaking herself from her melancholy, Jian stands up. She needs to do something to distract herself
before she gives into the siren song. Something to eat will help, and she requests her dinner. A pad
of drawing paper catches her eye and she curls up in the armchair to do a bit of practice. Lit by a
single light in the dimness of the room, she tries to lose herself in the flow of the lines and the soft
scratches of her pen on the paper.

Yet the image of Reena keeps filling her mind. Memories of their nights together, their naked
bodies entwined in passion and affection. What would she say if she could see what Jian looks like
now? Drukhari tattoos don’t go away, she’s been here long enough to know that. Even if her entire
back was flayed and new skin grafted on, it would still heal with a perfect ashen rose. If by some
miracle, she returned to Yme-loc now, would Reena still desire her?

An angry splash of ink destroys the abstract patterns she was creating. Jian balls up the paper in
disgust and throws it to the floor. The blank white of the sheet below it taunts her to create
something else.

She’s being ridiculous. Of course Reena would still love her. So would her father. They would be
so grateful to have her back that it wouldn’t matter what she looked like.
For the first time that evening, tears prick her eyes. She’s never going to be able to speak to them
again. She didn’t get to say a proper goodbye, or tell them how much she loved them. Unbidden,
her fingers start to move again, covering the paper with runes. She pours out the story of what’s
happened to her, sparing no details. But her account has barely reached the last, horrific trip to the
bridge when she gives up. This will bring them no comfort or peace.

Jian starts again, this time painting a portrait of her life now. It’s perhaps overly flattering and
leaves out the dark places her mind lingers when she lets it, but at least it would be reassuring.

Again, the paper hits the floor in a crumpled ball. However much her pain would horrify them, this
isn’t a letter from the Jian they know. These are the words of a woman who has accepted her place
and allied herself with their enemies. It would be worse than the first.

Half a dozen more attempts join the first two as she tries endless approaches before discarding
each. Her food has long since arrived and been consumed, along with a bottle of wine. The latter, at
least, takes some of the edge off all of her emotions, making them just a bit more manageable.

She calls for more.

While she waits for the wine to arrive, she gathers the results of her afternoon’s work into a pile of
ruined paper and puts away the rest of the art supplies in the lacquered box they arrived in. Her
stomach is starting to rebel at having food while she’s in this state. She walks into the washroom
and slides her fingers down her throat. A few minutes later, she feels better. Or at least less
nauseated.

The rest of the wine has arrived by the time she returns to the bedroom. Grabbing the first bottle
she can get her hands on, she drinks directly from it, barely tasting what is probably an excellent
vintage as she swallows gulps.

Writing letters was a stupid idea. The archon will never let her send them. Even if he does, he
probably doesn’t have a way to get them there. And even if he does, she’s not about to give him
enough information to hurt the people she cares about the most. Just the thought of Reena in the
hands of the drukhari is enough to make her feel sick again.

Back in the bathroom, she tears each paper into miniscule shreds and soaks it in water, adding
more and more until the thin sludge washes down the sink. Gone. All gone now.

She needs a bath. It won’t truly clean her, but bubbles are nice. The second bottle of wine is done
by the time the tub fills, and she climbs in. Hot enough to hurt, but it lets her forget about her back,
which lets her forget about the archon and what he’ll do to her when he returns. What he has done
to her. What she’ll let him do to her to keep his attention. What she wants him to do to her.

Jian stays in the bath until the water is cold, staring blankly at the ceiling and trying desperately
not to feel. When she finally crawls from the tub and into bed, all the wine bottles are empty and
the room swims in front of her. The pain is gone, but the nothing in its place is almost as bad.

She wakes with a power sword ramming into her skull. How could I have been so stupid? She can’t
even remember the last time she was this hung over. She climbs out of bed with a groan. Unlike the
rest of the injuries that dot her body, this pain does nothing to distract from her troubles.

The blankets on her bed blur and the room spins. Jian finds herself on her hands and knees, fighting
back her urge to vomit. Slowly, painfully, she crawls her way towards the bathroom.

Lying on the cold tiles calms her somewhat. It cools the heat in her body and grounds and centers
her. After a few minutes, she drags herself upright. The room spins again, but she manages to keep
her grip on the edge of the sink long enough to vomit up what little is left in her stomach. Then, not
trusting herself with a glass, she drinks as much water as she can from the sink. The rest splashes
on her face, loosening the crusts around her eyes and soothing the pounding if only for a moment.

She should probably cancel her sparring session today. There’s no way she can fight well like this.
But that will mean being conscious all morning, left to think about everything she’s done and
everything that’s been done to her. Besides, it’s not as though she can normally last longer than a
few seconds. She doubts her condition will make much difference.

So she lowers herself back to the floor and returns to the bedroom at a crawl. It’s a bit easier this
time, with fewer points where she has to stop and wait for waves of dizziness to pass. Over the next
hour, she cleans up the empty bottles and other detritus of last night, make her bed, and dress
herself in her armor.

Her head still hurts when the time comes to go downstairs, but the nausea is almost gone and she
can walk without stumbling, at least.

Lord Vrash and the rest of his men are waiting for her when she gets there. No matter how early
she comes, she’s never managed to avoid being the last to arrive. They must practically live in
here. As always, they are dressed in their armor and klaives with helmets covering their faces,
although she knows them well enough now to distinguish by body type.

As always, Jian bows upon entering the practice area, although it brings back the sick feeling and
the dizziness and it takes considerable effort not to shake as she straightens herself.

Lord Vrash steps forward. “Your form is inadequate and poorly balanced. You are in no condition
to fight. If you ever were. Go home.”

Go home? She would like nothing more. But that will never happen now. “Why do you care?” she
snaps. “Am I less entertaining this way?”

“That would imply you were entertaining to begin with. Go back to your master, you are a disgrace
to your armor and your blade. Don’t come back until you’re ready to use them properly.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Jian says quietly.

“Go home and come back when you are ready to fully commit to the way of the blade, little girl.”
He sounds annoyed at having to repeat himself.

She can’t leave now. Can’t have yet another failure piled onto her stack of humiliations. “No. Let
me fight.”

He snorts and mutters a string of curses under his breath as he walks away, toward the edge of the
training ring. There, he gestures to his men. All six of them draw their swords and approach Jian,
surrounding her in a ring of spiked armor and glaring helmets.

This was a bad idea. But backing down would have been even worse. Her self-respect is long gone,
but at least she hasn’t given up on herself completely yet. She draws her sword and gets ready to
move.

Lord Vrash’s voice rings out, almost casual. “Begin.”

Immediately, she feels some slight movement behind her that signals a blow from her rear.
Someone will hit her from the direction she now faces as soon as she turns to block it, but what
choice does she have? She ducks and pivots, trying to stay out of the way of the blade while
keeping in constant motion to deter follow-up strikes. They can’t hit her if they can’t predict her
movements.

A rush of air blows past her head where the klaive misses her. But as she twists through the air, she
runs straight into another incubus’ armored kneecap. Jian can feel her nose give way under the
impact and the spiked plate drags across the side of her face as she rebounds. Blood fills her
awareness. Blood and pain.

Pain has lost some of its meaning over the last few months. She sucks in the breath that has
suddenly left her and strikes out to the man she can feel approaching from her right. It slams into
something solid. If she can just –

Two blades strike her back simultaneously, knocking her to the floor. No additional blows follow,
but she can feel the painful tingle across her shoulders as the armor plate that protected them
detaches and falls to the floor. They must have damaged it badly enough to render it useless. She
lashes out again at whatever she hit the first time and tries to roll onto her back so she can see hits
coming as she tries to get to her feet.

Although her blade connects again, her desperate thrust is overpowered and her grip falters. An
armored glove closes around her wrist hard enough to make her drop the sword and drags her to her
feet. The incubus – Bordrikis, she thinks – slams his armored helmet into her face. More blood
flows down, obscuring her eyes.

Something slides between her legs, an armored hand holding something hard. An instant later,
horrific burning pain blossoms from her groin, the bloodstone superheating every drop of water in
her body. This has never been a pain she’s learned to tolerate. She screams, cursing herself
internally for her own weakness.

Bordrikis brings his knee up into her chest with a sickening crunch that she knows from repeated
experience is ribs cracking. The knives… she still has the knives that came with her armor… In her
flailing, she manages to grab the hilt of one and ram it into his armor.

Thank Khaine, the knife finds purchase, lodging itself into the gap between two armor plates. Jian
can’t be sure who they belong to, but she can feel the knife tearing through muscle and grating on
bone. Whoever it is twists away, bellowing in surprise and rage and leaving her without a weapon
again.

She’s falling, slamming into the floor as Bordikis drops her. Through the constant, high-pitched
whine in her ears, Jian can hear deep, mocking laughter. They’re laughing at her. Lord Vrash is
too. This is a joke to them.

Someone else rushes in. A boot connects with her stomach, sending her rolling across the training
ring like a thrown doll. Another note added to the melody of pain, this one low and thrumming.
The breath is gone from her lungs, but still she struggles on. To give up now would be a disgrace to
her name and her shrine.

Somehow, she’s back on her feet as the incubi approach. In the split second that she realizes she
has nothing left with which to defend herself, another razor-sharp strike lances across her back. She
falls to the ground and it rushes up to meet her as horror fills her entire being.

Her legs.

She can’t feel her legs.

No… No, this can’t be happening. She can’t become even more helpless. A waste of space, sitting
in a chair or bed all day, unable to even – the archon will –

If I can’t feel him inside me, what use am I to him?

A tear slides down her cheek even as she scrambles backwards with her hands. She should just die
here; it would be best for everyone.

But she doesn’t want to. Not like this, at the hands of a pack of drukhari who even now are
chuckling over her helplessness. The men raise their blades for a killing blow and she blinks,
determined at least to not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

“CEASE!”

The voice cuts through the room, stopping the incubi in their tracks. The archon’s voice, she
realizes, but not as she’s heard it before. This is the voice with which he commands armies and
orders death: forceful, cold, and completely devoid of mercy.

But… the archon isn’t here? He’s on his ship? Jian tries to look through the mass of blood and
tears to see what’s going on.

Is she dying?

The archon walks calmly across the practice arena, dressed in the same ceremonial armor he wore
to the party weeks ago and a pair of curved sabers in his hands. To Jian’s eyes, he seems almost to
glow, not brightly, but with a paleness that chills her even from here.

She probably is dying. For some reason, that thought is less frightening that it was a moment ago.

Reaching the spot where she half-sits, half-lies, the archon kneels in front of her, pushing a stray
lock of hair away from her face. His thumb lingers on the inside of her wrist as he searches her
face. “You’re alright,” he says. “I’ll be right back, just hang on.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his
eyes, which are still alight with bloodlust.

Jian watches as he leaves her side and walks over to Lord Vrash. The room is starting to spin, but
adrenaline still provides her with enough residual strength to stay conscious for a little while
longer. Although the two men talk, she can’t make out their voices over the ringing in her ears. The
archon seems angry, jabbing an accusing finger at Lord Vrash, then pointing at her. After a
moment, Lord Vrash stiffens and takes a step back. His head turns towards his men, who have
remained where they are, and he motions to them.

The archon steps away from the lord and instantly his men – his own bodyguards – surround him,
swords raised.

By Isha, they’re going to kill him too.

She reaches uselessly towards him, trying to tell him to go and leave her, there’s no need for them
both to die, but her mouth isn’t working properly either. Her jaw might be broken. The incubi circle
him slowly, edging closer and closer to their prey.

And then the archon disappears in a burst of blinding light. When the afterglow clears from Jian’s
vision, three of him stand in the center of the ring of warriors, each moving slightly out of sync
with the others, merging and separating until she’s not sure which one is the real archon and which
are the duplicates. The miasma that fills her brain thickens and she has to turn away to push back
the blackness at the edges of her vision.
A loud snap brings her attention rushing back as a spray of tiny fireballs bursts out from near the
archon’s feet. They fly at the incubi to his left, curving their way around to bury themselves in the
shimmering dark armor and Jian is pleased to hear several of them cry out in pain.

The archon darts to his right, the illusory doubles still distracting from his exact position. One of
his blades stabs into a drukhari’s knee, then the other. The leg buckles and the archon takes a step
back, only to close in again and shove his saber into the unprotected area under his opponent’s arm.
The man falls and the archon pivots and disappears again, this time into a roiling cloud of thick
purple smoke. The air shimmers around him, containing the cloud and stopping the two incubi still
on their feet from approaching him.

A few seconds later, the field disappears, just as a klaive comes hurtling from somewhere inside
the smoke. It strikes a man in the chest and he stumbles, wounded. The archon flies behind it,
stabbing his own weapons into the same man’s chest. He falls.

The incubi who were hit with the fireballs are starting to recover themselves now, one getting to
his knees and the other almost up. Jian tries to call a warning, but she can’t be sure if the words
make it out of her mind or not.

Still moving with astonishing speed, the archon turns to the final uninjured incubus. Although his
strike is instantly blocked, his face breaks into a spiteful smile and something sprays from the
handle of his sword. Steam rises from the incubus’ helmet and Jian watches with mixed horror and
triumph as it begins to melt into his flesh. To the man’s credit, he doesn’t scream, simply pressing
a follow-up attack with a roar, but wounded and half blind, the attempt is doomed to failure. The
archon sidesteps and allows him to stumble and fall, where he lies as the horrific smell of melting
flesh reaches Jian.

The archon turns to the three incubi he hit with his first attack. One is on his feet now, another
trying to reach them, while the third still lies on the floor, reaching for his sword but unable to rise.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he tosses a handful of tiny knives into the air. The incubi collapse
as the cluster of needle-like blades find exposed, burnt flesh and whatever toxins that coat them
begin to work.

He’s safe. Everything will be alright.

Jian crumples. Her arms are too tired to hold her weight anymore and the light and noise and the
movement of the room pound into her brain, keeping her from regaining her balance. It will be
good to rest now.

In the dim awareness she still has left, she watches the archon stalk over to Lord Vrash and say
something to him, posture still tense. If the hierarch responds, neither man reacts physically. Jian
closes her eyes.

Gently, ever so gently, a set of arms scoops her up. “It’s alright, Jian.” The archon’s voice. “You’re
safe, I’ve got you now…” Her legs feel like blocks of wood attached to her body as he cradles her.

She blubbers out apologies and reassurances, trying her best to thank him and promise she’ll be
alright and he doesn’t need to worry, but he shushes her with a kiss on the forehead. “It’s alright,
we’ll talk later. Just rest now.”

Jian drags her eyes open and tries to look into his face, but everything is a blurred mass of color.
She reaches up – for what, exactly, she’s not sure – but doesn’t make it to her destination. Her hand
falls limp and she passes out.
 ****

Another darkness. Another pain. Another awakening in a strange bed with ringing in her ears and
an ache in every part of her body.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she finds herself in a strange room. It’s not part of the lhamean
temple, of that she’s certain, but it looks similar. Deep grey walls, a soft bed, cabinets and a
workbench on the other side of the space. Her armor is gone and in its place, she wears a loose
grey tunic and baggy pants. A blanket covers her.

“Good morning,” says the archon. “You’ve been unconscious for quite a while.”

Jian turns her head to see him sitting in a chair near her bed. He looks unhappy. And why shouldn’t
he be? Her actions have caused him considerable trouble and deprived him of his bodyguards,
maybe permanently, in addition to making her unfit for his use. “How long?” she asks.

“Two days.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He looks terrible. Skin ashen and dry with dark
rings around his eyes, hair more grey than silver.

She closes her eyes and inhales. Her legs, she notices, have feeling in them again, even if she
doesn’t think she could move them more than a few centimeters. “You fought them all… are you
alright?”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” It’s likely too late to fix this, but she has to try.

“What choice did I have?” His voice remains calm, but she can feel the anger in it as he grips the
arms of his chair. “You actively try to destroy yourself and you want me to simply sit by?”

“I’m sorry…” Jian whispers.

The archon doesn’t seem to be listening. He springs from his chair and stalks towards the door, but
stops before he reaches it. She watches as he remains, facing away from her. His fists clench and
unclench.

When he turns back, his face is wet with tears. Jian shrinks back, unsure of what this means, as he
begins to speak. “I – I don’t know what to do with you. No matter how hard I try to make you
happy here, you just keep getting worse… I love you, but that clearly isn’t enough…”

I love you. He said it once before, months ago, but she’s long since realized that it was not meant
for her ears. A dream or a fantasy, something he didn’t realize was spoken aloud in a half-asleep
daze. But now he’s awake, looking directly at her as he says the words.

Is she still dying?

The archon sits back in his chair, wiping away the tears even as more fill his eyes. “Is death what
you want? Do you want me to find you a place with our kabalite troopers, or in one of the wytch
cults to seek your end in glorious battle? Please, I’m at my wits’ end…”

It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Jian tries to formulate an answer, but
his words still echo in her ears. I love you. The room blurs with tears of her own. “I’ve just been
trying to make you happy. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I –” It feels inadequate to explain,
to make up for it. She has no doubt that he’s a master of deception, but his sadness is genuine,
she’s certain.
“You what?”

“Do you mean it?”

The archon nods.

The tears that fill her eyes spill over and she cries, waves of pain shooting through her as sobs
shake her still-broken body. It’s the last thing she expected to hear again. Even with all the care he
has given her, the idea that she might mean more to someone, to anyone has been so far from her
mind… Someone loves her. Not someone distant and unreachable, but a man who sits in the room
with her right now.

But at the same time, the revelation is like cold iron weighing in the pit of her stomach. This is no
ordinary man, but a high-ranking drukhari noble. If he can find it in himself to love her… what
does that say about how far she’s fallen?

All this passes through her mind in an instant as astonishment lets her give voice to one of her
deepest fears. “You mean you’re not disappointed with me? I still please you?”

His face falls even further as he stands from his chair. Climbing into the bed beside her, he wraps
his arms around her, pulling her into an embrace where she can feel his ragged breaths in his chest
and exhaled onto her cheeks. “Sweetheart… I’m not disappointed or sorry I bought you. I couldn’t
be. And I will do anything to make you happier here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you… I thought you would make me stop and I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because the pain makes it stop hurting.” Why is she speaking so freely? Things she’s meant to
keep locked inside keep coming out of her mouth without her meaning to. Maybe the injuries to her
head have loosened her tongue.

The archon caresses her hair as he speaks. “Makes what stop hurting?”

Everything. The way it felt when you took me the first time. The way I let you. Everyone I’ll never
see again and the way so many of them are suffering at the hands of your own kin. That I am a
slave who bears your marks and depends her entire being on your whims. How your love changes
none of this, and yet I still desire it. “My mother, I – she followed the Path of the Mariner. Naval
captain. She was never home long, I never got to spend enough time with her.” As Jian speaks, she
once again finds the words falling out unbidden.

“My shrine was supposed to guard her vessel and I was so happy, we could see each other. But
then the raiders attacked.” She talks faster now, tripping over herself in her desperation to get the
whole story out. “They killed her. They killed her and they made me watch. She kept screaming
and screaming and then they took her soul and did something with it, and I thought her ashes would
never come off, and they just made it a joke.”

The archon’s arms have tightened around her as she speaks, and now he lowers his head to encircle
her with his body even further. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know. I suspected, but…”

“I couldn’t get her off the bridge fast enough. It was my fault. I should have been faster. And then
on the ship they kept touching me over and over and I prayed for death and it never came. And
then you found me and –“ she cuts herself off with a final statement. “I told Reena it was probably
nothing. She’ll be waiting for me to come home forever.”
“I –“ The archon takes another shuddering breath before falling quiet. It’s full minutes before he
speaks again and his voice is choked. “I am so sorry…”

She should comfort him. Wipe the tears from his eyes and reassure him that she’s just fine and this
is all in the past now. But she’s sunk too far into the black hole of her own grief to be able to move
any further or to form any words but those that are on her heart. “When it hurts, I don’t have to
remember.”

“I understand. But what you’re doing, it’s going to kill you. And I can’t condone that.” He sighs. “I
won’t make you stop if you don’t want to. But I would rather help you find something different.”

“I don’t want to feel like this. I want to be happy again. But…” But what does happiness even look
like for her here now?

“But what?”

“Verynia would hate me for this.”

“Who is that?”

“My exarch, the head of our shrine and the woman who trained me. She would say I’m betraying
my home and everyone I cared about there. She’s dead now, she wasn’t like me, she would have
fought. But now I have to keep her spirit alive because there’s no one else to do it.”

“Why would your being happy make her hate you?” the archon asks carefully.

Again, Jian speaks without thinking. Each time is easier, each truth breaking down the walls for
the next one. “If I was happy here, in Commorragh? It would mean I was –“ she takes a deep
breath, trying to steady herself mentally. “It would mean I had given up on my home. And that I
was ready to kill them or take them as slaves if I had to.”

Another long silence stretches out with the archon’s hand moving soothingly along her back.
Despite everything, Jian finds herself feeling a sense of relief. No longer does what she’s said lie
secret in the dark of her soul. Even if he can do nothing to change it and so much remains hidden
inside, she still feels lighter.

When the archon speaks again, there’s a change in his voice. Still gentle and reassuring, but with a
slight edge to it of… not anger. Resolve, perhaps. “Jian, look at me.” She does. “I will never, ever,
no matter the situation, ask you to raise a hand against your own people. I give you my word.”

“I would rather die.”

“I know.” Drawing her back into his embrace, he sighs again. “I want to do whatever is in my
power to let you live here happily with me. I don’t know how to do that, but if you’re willing to
work with me, I’m sure we can arrange something, right?”

“I’m sure we can. I really am sorry about all of this.” This, she’s certain, is the right thing to say
now.

“As long as we both learned something and can try to do better in the future.”

“I promise.” Jian laughs, and can hear the edge of hysteria in her voice. “You love me… I had no
idea…”

“Well, now you do. And I promise, I’ll find you another sparring partner if you want to keep going,
 one who will actually teach you.”

“Thank you.” Now that the wave of emotion has started to slow, everything hurts again and she’s
so, so tired.

“And you do know that you only have to join me in my chambers when you want to, right? You
never tell me no, but I want you to feel free to do so.”

Jian nods into his chest. She’s been too afraid of his waning interest in her to risk it, but maybe she
will now. Sometimes, at least. She isn’t under the illusion that she has suddenly become a free
woman.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about or tell me?”

“Will you take me with you on the raid?” The thought of being alone here for weeks or months is
worse than the fear of what she might witness or do.

“Of course.”

“I really can fight, I promise…”

“I know you can. And I’ll make sure you’re properly equipped and armored to do so.”

They lapse into silence and Jian can feel his breathing steady as he calms. Her body longs to sleep,
but she’s not sure if she should. The ghosts of those she’s lost will surely plague her as soon as she
does.

“It’s alright, Jian,” the archon whispers. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She closes her eyes.

****

The broken girl rests haunted by failures real and perceived as she tries to make sense of the
revelation given to her and what it means for her past and future. As the hours pass, the wounds of
her body begin to heal, but not those of her mind.

In the small bed, the man who is her salvation and damnation lies twined around her, reassured by
her heartbeat against his chest. Sleep eludes him as he watches her, tormented by the waves of
pain that radiate from her and the knowledge that the woman he loves must surely hate him almost
as much as she hates the city in which he keeps her.

Chapter End Notes

For those of you worried that the archon is too "soft" or wondering how he's capable
of loving, that will be (somewhat) addressed in a few chapters and dealt with further
later on.

As always, I welcome feedback and concrit, so let me know what you think!
 Gifts
Chapter Notes

Honestly, at this point, I should probably abandon any pretense of having a regular
update schedule. Between work and trying to plan an overseas move, my time to write
is fairly slim.

Rest assured, however, I am still working on this story and I still plan to finish it. I
have a detailed outline/scratch draft through the end of c15 and a rougher outline of
the rest of the fic, so it's just a matter of getting there.

As always, thanks to Ashilaa_A03, my fiancee, and my roommate for the help, and
feedback, comments, and concrit are always welcome!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

True to his word, the archon is still in Jian’s hospital bed the next morning, dozing with her in his
arms. The slight movement of her awakening startles him to alertness and for a few minutes they
simply sit quietly, Jian allowing herself to enjoy just a bit of affection as they cuddle. It feels nice
to be cared for without needing to make immediate repayment. Even if she should think about
ways to prove to him that his emotions aren’t a mistake before long.

All too soon, however, he eases her back onto the mattress and climbs from the bed. “Do you think
you could eat a bit?”

Jian shakes her head. Whatever damage her abdomen took, she can tell it’s not all healed yet, at
least not enough to let her eat without pain.

“Alright,” he replies, placing a hand on her forehead. “I have a few things I need to see to this
morning. Will you be alright by yourself while I go? Or do you want me to bring my work back
here?”

“No, go ahead. I’ll be fine.” It will be good to not have to put on a strong face for a little while.

He leaves, and Jian settles back onto her pillows to stare up at the ceiling and focus on recovery.
She breathes slowly, keeping the pain contained but not suppressing it entirely. Her mind floats,
calmer now than she has been in months, letting herself relax and not worry about her future for the
first time in nearly as long. Pain, she has learned since she arrived, is clarifying and purifying. Even
once she finishes healing, she doubts she’ll be short on experiences that give her the same focus for
long. Idly, she wonders who the archon plans to enlist as a replacement for Lord Vrash and his
incubi in her sword training.

A knock on the door startles her from her thoughts. She freezes, unsure if this is the archon
returning from his business or someone else come to finish her off while she’s helpless. Or worse.
This is Commorragh, after all, and she’s certain she has more than a few enemies simply by reason
of existing.

It seems as though her acknowledgement is irrelevant, however. The door opens and a man walks
into the room.
At first, she doesn’t recognize him. He’s tall, much taller than the archon, and solid muscle, with
long black hair pulled into a messy tail. Like nearly everyone else she’s met in Commorragh, his
skin is without color and the humorless line of his mouth is echoed in his dark eyes.

This must be Lord Vrash, Jian realizes. Even outside of the armor, he has the same bearing. She
presses back into her bed, fear gripping her, before she forces herself to relax. He is almost
certainly not here to kill her. And even if he were, she would face her death like a warrior, not a
cringing slave. “What do you want?” she asks.

He lowers his head in a nod that she realizes actually contains some level of respect as he walks to
her bedside. “I came to look in on your recovery, as it has come to my attention that you feel you
were unfairly treated. And considering how our last session went, I felt it appropriate to audit my
behavior as a teacher.” He looks her over clinically. Jian finds her eyes drawn to his chest, left bare
by the loose, pleated pants and open-front robe he wears. Innumerable scars crisscross the skin,
some merely thin lines, others jagged, twisted ridges that must have come from horrific injuries.

Inspection finished, he looks back at her, maintaining full eye contact as he speaks. “After careful
consideration and introspection, I have decided that my approach to your tutelage was far from
ideal.” He stops and Jian almost thinks he’s finished before he finally speaks again. “And for that I
am sorry.”

Jian blinks. What.

“I accept your apology,” she replies frostily. He is not sorry he did it, she’s almost certain, merely
for the fact that it has annoyed the archon.

He nods again. “And for that I am grateful. It may be cold comfort, but I do wish to make it clear
that you were never in any danger of dying. You are a member of this kabal and of Lord Aire’s
court, and thus under my protection. Killing you would violate my duties, not to mention be
incredibly wasteful.”

Jian frowns. She doesn’t believe him, but decides not to start an argument. “Was there anything
else you wanted to say?”

“I am not a physician, so I cannot give you anything for the pain, as I have never needed it myself.
But I hope this will help you nonetheless.” He places a large ball, perhaps two of her handspans in
diameter and made of polished metal, in her lap, then turns to leave without another word.

After he’s gone, Jian examines the object. It’s much lighter than it looks, and she can tell as she
picks it up that it’s hollow inside. A container for something rather than an object in itself. She
hesitates for a moment before opening it, wondering if she should be wary of some kind of a trick.

Curiosity wins out, however, and she presses down the latch and swings the top off. A soft
whirring sound comes from inside as she does, and Jian finds herself staring at a miniature replica
of Yme-loc, held above her lap by some kind of antigrav technology. She watches tiny ships dart in
and out of the domes and quickly finds herself lost in examining the fine details of the piece, which
is excellently made. Not, she thinks, by one who has devoted their life and path to such things, but
a skilled amateur at least. She can find the dome where she had lived with her parents, the one that
had housed the Shrine of the Ever-thirsting Blade, the faint glimmer of the pink-sanded beach that
she and Reena had spent hours walking along and the white expanse of the Crystal Snow Plains
where she had gone when she needed to be alone. This is beautiful.

Running her fingers along the edge of the model, she stops as she encounters an imperfection.
Some kind of scratches in the paint, perhaps? No, an artist’s mark. Bealfor Vrash.
The revelation is both surprising and completely expected – if she were to present some sort of
item as the peace offering this was clearly meant to be, she would prefer to use one she had created
herself. Perhaps the part that is strangest to her is that he has some interest outside of fighting and
killing.

Despite her dislike for the giver, Jian finds her heart warmed with painful nostalgia at the gift. It
makes home feel much further away, but the familiar lines help her to hold on to memories she has
feared will disappear without anything to remind her.

She lies down to rest again, watching the model craftworld through half-closed eyes.

****

Jian makes her way down the hallway to one of the numerous training rooms that the archon’s
flagship boasts. The Ashen Rose, he tells her, is not primarily a raiding or military kabal, and thus
their naval capacity is limited to the Death’s Grace and its accompanying tenders. They’ve been
underway for a week now, and Jian has finally recovered to the point where she feels ready to
attempt another lesson. In this time, she’s seen surprisingly little of the archon. Although he makes
a point of checking on her every day, he seems to have even more demands on his time than he did
in Commorragh, and his visits are often brief.

Leaving her with little information about the woman who will be taking over her instruction in the
arts of war. All the archon has said is that she is of craftworld origin, is nearly as skilled as Bealfor,
and not to worry, as she stays with the kabal and teaches Jian of her own free will. The last
statement in particular concerns Jian as she stops outside the door to the practice room that has
been designated for her use on this journey.

The door slides open at her touch and familiarity washes over her. The styling of the room isn’t
perfectly familiar, but she recognizes what it’s meant to emulate immediately. This is a miniature
aspect shrine, a microcosm of one of Khaine’s temples.

On the opposite side of the room sits a woman, cross-legged on the floor behind a low table. She
looks up from her book as Jian enters. “Greetings and well met,” the woman says. “You must be
Jian, of House Levrain, my recently appointed student?”

“I am,” Jian replies with a formal, respectful bow. The kind of gesture she would have used when
meeting someone important on Yme-loc.

“Is something the matter?” The woman asks. “You look surprised.”

She’d thought she was better at hiding her emotions after all this time. “I just did not expect to be
reminded so strongly of – of my craftworld.” She successfully keeps herself from referring to it as
‘home’. Commorragh is her home now.

“Ah. That’s easily explained, then. But first, why don’t you go change into something more
comfortable? I don’t think you’ll need your armor today, and I have a spare tunic that should fit
you.” She gestures to a folding screen in the corner and Jian hastens to obey.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” the woman calls as Jian removes her armor.

“Yes, of course.” Reemerging, she seats herself at the table and eyes the woman critically while
she waits. She’s tall and buxom – likely a good twenty centimeters taller than Jian – with a
powerful build and blonde hair tied in a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Like Jian, she wears a
long tunic, split up the legs to allow for easy movement, with leggings and armored boots.
“To answer your question,” the woman says as she sits across from Jian. “I grew up among our
craftworld kin as well. And even if it’s somewhat unavoidable that Commorragh is my home these
days, I saw no reason that I had to fully leave my past behind.” She hands Jian a cup of tea.

“May I ask your name?” The rich, herbal steam fills her nostrils as she takes an experimental sip.
Hot, but not quite hot enough to burn.

“Of course. My name is Ayslinn Vrash, the wife of Hierarch Bealfor Vrash. I understand he was
your previous instructor, although I have been informed that he did not do the title justice.”

Lord Vrash’s… wife? He’s married? Isha’s tits, what must the man be like as a husband? And
given that the woman in front of her is a craftworlder herself… “I’m sorry,” she blurts out before
she can stop herself.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jian feels herself blush. This isn’t a subject to be mentioned in polite company. She certainly would
not like her own position discussed in such a manner. “I didn’t know he was married, I – “ She
stumbles, searching for a way to extricate herself from the situation.

Ayslinn smirks. “Let us hope your sword is quicker than your tongue.” Her face grows more
serious. “I understand what you mean, though. He is a disciplined man who goes to great lengths to
keep his public and private personas separate. I will not pretend that our relationship has been
simple, but trust me when I say there are nuances. Not to mention a few interesting secrets about
him on the rare occasions he is out of his armor.” The last is said with a sly smile.

Jian’s blush deepens. “I will take your word for it. I suppose I’m in no place to judge.” Despite the
pain that her relationship with the archon brings her, it is certainly a far cry from what any
craftworlder would envision were she to describe the facts of the situation.

“Another very accurate statement.” Ayslinn sips her own tea. “Now that introductions are out of
the way, let’s start with the fundamentals: why did you request these lessons to begin with? What
do you wish to accomplish with them?”

“At first, I just wanted something to do besides sitting in my room and waiting on the archon. And
now…” She can’t bring herself to say that even when the incubi are beating her into the ground,
it’s the only time she doesn’t feel completely powerless. “It lets me relieve stress and exercise my
body, and gives me something to focus on mastering and a way to protect myself against the
dangers of the dark city.”

Jian thinks it sounds convincing, but Ayslinn frowns. “So, you wish me to give you a way to pass
the time and teach you self-defense against the street ruffians of Commorragh?”

“No, no! It’s more that –“ Jian struggles to figure out what she does mean. “I want something I
don’t have to rely on others for.”

“Meaning?”

She looks down at her lap and the cup of pale hazel tea that rests there. Answering the question is
more than just words. It forces Jian to push into herself, to look at the reality of what she is and
what has happened to her. Is she still the same person she was when she arrived in the city? When
she left Yme-loc? Moreover, it forces her to speak these things and bring them into her being.

But there’s no point in hiding. Anyone with eyes can guess most of what she will say. “I once
walked the Path of the Warrior. I defended the civilians of my craftworld and they supported me
and my sisters. But now I depend on the archon for everything I have. Even the one talent I thought
I had is useless against the kinds of people I spend my time around now. I want to be able to protect
myself even a little bit. To not feel totally useless.” Her voice catches on the last sentence.

Ayslinn reaches across the table to take her hand. “You want to reaffirm that you are still a warrior
at heart?”

“And to continue down that path, not simply stagnate and become nothing more than a…
decoration.”

“Very well, I can certainly help you with that. You were a Howling Banshee, yes? What was it that
called you to that aspect of Khaine specifically?”

“My reasons were rather mundane, really. I wanted to strike at my foes with something in my hand,
not merely shoot from a distance and hope my aim was true. I admired their mobility and grace and
knew that I lacked the physical strength for an aspect more focused on direct force.” It sounds so
trite now. She’s been a child, with a child’s logic.

Again, Ayslinn nods. “I think I have enough to move forward, then. Are you familiar with the
range of drukhari close-combat weapons?”

“Not in detail.”

“Well, given your status, I think we can disregard venom blades. They are usually issued to
trueborn nobility only, and someone of your status wielding one would send the wrong message, no
matter how much Lord Aire favors you. Similarly, a klaivex, punisher, or Shaimeshi blade is off
the table as you do not belong to one of the appropriate orders to receive one. That leaves us with
many options, however.”

Sipping her tea, she continues. “Which is why I want to go back to the beginning, here. To seek the
real you in your soul and mind and find the perfect way to express your connection to Khaine.
That’s what my husband never seemed to understand; he viewed you as simply another incubi
recruit, and if you failed, the fault lay with you and not with his order’s training methods. But I do
not think that it will benefit either of us to make you as much of a Banshee as you can be, either. It
would never be quite the same. And I doubt you are the same aeldari who made the choice to
become one, either?”

“I am not,” Jian replies with another pang.

Ayslinn places her hand over Jian’s. “Different does not necessarily mean worse, though.”

Fighting her urge to remind her that it doesn’t mean better, either, Jian nods and smiles. “Thank
you. Did you have other questions for me?”

“Not at the moment. I believe a set of vambrace blades would be a natural fit to your speed and the
bloodthirsty nature of your previous aspect. Is that acceptable? I’m certain that Lord Aire would
have a set custom fitted to you.”

Jian takes the weapon that Ayslinn hands her and examines it, trying to envision how it would look
on her arm, how it would move. “I think this could work.”

“Excellent. Then we will begin.” Standing, the other woman gestures for Jian to follow her to the
practice floor.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in slow, careful practice, returning to the earliest foundations of
swordcraft. Ayslinn guides her through a series of stances and breathing exercises and despite the
gentleness compared to her husband, Jian still finds herself drenched in sweat. Although there are
similarities to the beginnings of her training with Verynia at the Shrine of the Ever-Thirsting Blade,
the subtleties of the postures and rhythms forces her to pay close attention throughout the entire
session.

When they’ve finished, Jian hurries to change back into her armor, but Ayslinn shakes her head in
dismissal. “Keep the outfit; I have several, and you can wear it the next time we meet.”

“Thank you,” Jian replies, bowing her head. She hesitates before asking the question that’s been
growing on her mind since she met the other woman. “If it’s not too intrusive… which aspect did
you follow?”

“I was a Striking Scorpion, of the Shrine of the Fatal Sting on Biel’tan. Like you, I found myself in
the dark city after being on the wrong end of a drukhari raid, albeit in somewhat different
circumstances.”

If Jian had been forced to guess, she would have been correct. Although she’d never been close to
anyone of the aspect, the Scorpions had been in a bit of an unspoken rivalry with the Banshees. At
least according to Verynia. The exarch had gone on to explain that the aspect was dour and gloomy
and viewed the Banshees ways of relating to Khaine as mania and a refusal to take the defense of
their craftworlds seriously enough.

But none of that mattered now. “I truly am sorry. I was on Biel’tan shortly before I came here; it is
a beautiful place.”

For the first time, a flicker of sadness shows on Ayslinn’s face. “I would very much like to hear
about it someday.”

“I wasn’t there long, but I will tell you what I remember.”

“But for the moment, I have other things to attend to; you likely do as well.”

“I do indeed.”

After saying her goodbyes, Jian is left with the choice of where to go now. Her first thought is of
the small cabin the archon has set up for her adjacent to his own. The exercises have worn her out
and some of her wounds are starting to hurt again. But she still has some energy left, so she should
pay him a visit. She needs to start trying to prove to him that his love is worth the time, that
whatever he’s seen in her is still present.

As always, she knocks before entering. The archon’s voice invites her in and she enters to find him
sitting across a small table from Derfahn, deep in a card game. Piles of coins and bits of jewelry are
stacked on the table, although she can’t help noticing that the archon’s horde is much larger. He
waves her to his side.

Taking a seat on the arm of his chair, Jian wraps her arm around his shoulder and leans in to watch
the game. She’s not familiar with the rules, but it seems to involve a lot of bluffing and rapidly
changing bet pools. The two men trade sharp-edged banter between what seems to be the tail end
of a discussion about the Kabal of the Flayed Skull’s raiding strategies and how that relates to
Derfahn’s mission to keep tabs on them during the upcoming raid.

After only a few minutes, however, the archon lays down his cards at the end of a hand and waves
his hand in dismissal. “It seems as though I’ve put you into your place well enough for now; we
can continue next time.”

Derfahn stands with a nod, sweeping his winnings into a small bag. “Of course, my lord. I’m sure
soon enough I’ll learn to read you properly and then you won’t be quite so eager to try parting me
from my pay.”

“Whatever keeps you trying,” the archon replies with a laugh. His attention turns to Jian. “How
was your lesson, dear?”

“It was wonderful, thank you. I like her very much.” This happiness, at least, is genuine. “But you
don’t have to stop on my account. I can wait.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though.”

His arm wraps around her waist and she slides into his lap, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Perhaps she should have returned to her room first. She probably stinks of sweat and the outfit
Ayslinn gave her isn’t particularly flattering. “So what am I no longer waiting for?” she teases.

“My attention, of course,” he replies in the same tone.

That seems clear enough. She reaches up and runs her fingers along his jawline, willing herself into
the right mindset. Out here, away from the horrific psychic background noise of Commorragh, she
is reminded more acutely that the archon hasn’t yet cut himself off from his warp presence
entirely. Jian is no seer, and she’s fairly certain he isn’t either, but his mind resonates off hers in a
way that she hasn’t experienced since she left her mother’s ship. Although she can’t glean nearly as
much from the contact as she would from another asuryani, so closed-off is he, she can often pick
up his most surface moods and inclinations. He’s enjoying this very much. She stretches up to kiss
him.

He responds in kind, pulling her closer into his embrace and the back of her head in his hands. His
tongue presses against her lips and she opens her mouth to allow him deeper.

The signal is unmistakeable. Pulling her arms free, she loosens the sash of her robe and lets the
fabric fall from her shoulders before reaching down to unfasten his pants.

Before she can, however, she feels his hand on her wrist, pulling her away. The kiss breaks. “You
do know that you don’t have to do that, right, Jian?”

“I know. But it’s what you want, and I don’t mind.”

He shakes his head. “Not like this; not tonight. Put your clothes back on and we’ll do something
that you want to do.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Jian stands to straighten her clothing. Again, the archon stops her.
“Wait – what’s that on your back?”

“It’s nothing,” she replies reflexively. There’s no point in trying to hide it, if he hasn’t noticed
already, he certainly will the next time he takes her from behind, but still she feels compelled to
downplay.

He shakes his head and reaches for the back of the robe’s collar, pulling it down to investigate. A
moment later, he tenses, growling low in his throat. “Who did this?”

Jian feels her cheeks heat. Her voice comes out quieter than she intended. “One of the sisters, I
don’t know her name. Lynx tried to stop her, but Miarya overruled her. I think she punished her for
it, too.” Another thing that’s her fault. “I thought you knew already.”

“I did not. Trust me, I am going to have a serious talk with Lady Miarya when we return to the
kabal, on that you have my word.”

“There’s no need. She’s right, I belong to you and my body should – “ Her throat tightens and she
can’t bring herself to continue.

The archon’s arms encircle her, pulling her to his chest. “You are allowed to be sad and cry, Jian.
It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “This shouldn’t upset me this much.” Not after everything else.

Releasing his hold on her, he takes a step back and grabs her hand. “Listen to me: I don’t need your
body to reflect anything. You are a beautiful woman, but it’s not what I love about you. What I
love about you is here – “ he places her hand on the side of her head “ – and here.” He moves their
hands to her chest, over her heart.

She shakes her head. “Then why is that how you show me off?”

The archon releases her hand and sits back down with a sigh. “Jian, that party, I – I wasn’t
thinking. I was so excited to have you with me for the night that I didn’t think about how different
the role you would have to play would be from the one I did until it was too late to leave. I know it
was frightening and demeaning and that was not how I wanted you to feel. It was a mistake, and
I’m sorry.”

He’s… sorry? Jian feels herself start to shake as guilt and frustration fill her. How has she managed
to fail so hard? She wanted to show him how grateful she was and instead she’s making him take
care of her. Again. She steps away, covering her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have
said that. I wanted this to be a nice, relaxing evening for you…”

Standing, he approaches her again. “We are not focusing on me right now, though. This is about
how you feel.”

Jian looks up through tear-filled eyes. “But that’s why I’m here; to make you happy.” How is she
supposed to keep his interest if he won’t even let her break out of the role of a victim?

He stiffens, and when he speaks again, his voice cracks with exhaustion. “Jian, I love you. I have
told you this. Continuing to do… this, this spending every hour of every day trying to please me,
it’s destroying you, and I feel like I keep pounding my head against a wall trying to show you that
you don’t have to.”

“Is that why you stopped asking for- for me? After the party?”

“Yes. And why I keep telling you that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy here
with me.” He looks down at the floor and falls silent. She almost thinks that she needs to say
something now when he inhales deeply and looks up, although he still won’t meet her eyes. “Is that
even something you want?”

“Of course I do, I – “

He cuts her off. “Because if you don’t, if this is something you’re unwilling or unable to try, then I
will have to live with that. I cannot and will not force you to love me. You can move in with Lynx
as her assistant or I can find you another job in the kabal, somewhere comfortable and secluded
where no one will harm you and you can be at peace.”
It feels as though something has cracked inside Jian, a ray of light bursting into some of the dark
places inside her even as a line of fire shoots through her stomach. Hope that she hasn’t felt in
months. “Really?”

The archon swallows and nods.

Jian blinks, unsure if what she’s hearing is real. Unsure if she wants to know if it isn’t. “I’m sorry,
I – I don’t – “ She cuts off again, finding herself out of breath.

“It’s alright. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want…” Her mind seizes on the first thing she can think of. “I want to take a bath.”

He nods vaguely and returns to his chair while she enters the washroom. As soon as the door is
closed, she collapses against it, trying to stifle her sobs into silence. This is good, she reminds
herself. You have a choice.

But what to do with it? Her first instinct is to take the freedom he offers. Even if she would still be
a slave, the thought of having space to truly breathe is seductive. If she could have a little cabin of
her own, somewhere where no one would ever demand her body or soul again…

A memory floats to the surface. She kneels in front of the archon yet again, doing her best to give
him the pleasure he desires with her lips and tongue as he sits on his throne with a stack of
paperwork. A sound of a door opening at the far end of the room. Jian pulls away as footsteps
approach, but his hand catches the back of her head, pressing her face between his legs and holding
her there as he speaks to whoever has arrived, until her mouth is long since filled with the results of
her work and the woman’s voice and presence have disappeared.

It’s seductive, the idea of never having to experience that again. If she said no to him, she might be
able to forget everything that’s happened. She could convince herself that it was all a bad dream
and become…

Become what?

Standing on shaky legs, she starts the water flowing into the huge tub set into the floor and strips
off the sweat-stained practice outfit. As soon as she finishes, she lowers herself into the shallow
pool and waits, eyes closed as the steaming water rises around her.

Another memory. They sit on a bench in his rooftop garden as he tries to instruct her in the basics
of shading in monochrome. She sinks deeper into concentration, trying to get the tones just right on
a sketch of one of the nearby trees. When she finally shakes herself from her reverie, her neck is
stiff and her back sore. The archon watches her, a smile teasing at his lips, before showing her his
own paper. A portrait of her, face furrowed in concentration and smudges of charcoal on her chin.
She hurries to apologize for forgetting him, but he shakes his head and tucks a stray piece of hair
behind her ear as he beams at her, thanking her for holding so still for him.

Seen through a lens in which she doesn’t have to fight to keep his attention, where she wouldn’t
have to be constantly afraid of being cast aside if she spares a moment to herself, she would have
enjoyed the moment. It brings a kind of happiness even now. There are many other scenes that do
the same. In another life, perhaps she could have loved him. But with everything that has passed
between them already, she doesn’t know if it’s possible anymore.

Jian stays in the bath for over an hour, staring at the water and trying to process. After so long, the
idea of having control is overwhelming.
He said he loves me.

Another memory, this one blurred by a haze of pain and fear. The archon cradles her, face twisted
with worry as he speaks reassuring words that she can’t understand. He was afraid to lose her,
desperate to ease her suffering. Is it wrong that she desires to matter to someone? If she has
someone who cares whether she lives or dies, can she really throw it away?

She climbs out of the tub and dries herself before donning a robe. She’s still not certain if this is
what she wants, or if she’s only staying because it’s his will. But her mind is made up in either
case.

The archon is still in his chair when she emerges, although he seems to have fallen asleep. A wine
glass and an empty bottle sit on the table next to him. Jian stands over him, watching. A handsome
face, the tattoos enhancing its shape and drawing attention to his eyes. He looks exhausted, and his
hair is still somewhat flat and dull. Valthiel. She could get used to calling him that, couldn’t she?
That is his name, after all.

Pulling a blanket from his bed, she drapes it over him and finds herself once again paralyzed. What
do I do now? He stirs, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, but doesn’t wake. She could
perhaps make them a pot of tea.

The process of heating water and steeping leaves occupies her for a few minutes, but soon she has a
pair of cups full of hot green liquid. She sets his on the table, then takes a seat in the chair that
Derfahn was using earlier and waits for her drink to cool. Maybe she should have done something
else, sat on his lap again or the floor at his feet, but it will be hard to drink that way. This is alright.

Again, Valthiel stirs, but this time he straightens, blinking. “How was the bath?” he asks.

“It was very nice. Are you doing alright? You don’t usually fall asleep this early.”

“I’m fine, just worried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“What would you like me to do now?”

“Jian – “ He stops, takes a deep breath. “This evening is about you and your pleasure. What do you
want to do?”

“I want…” Speaking it will make it real. “I want to stay with you? I want you to… teach me that
game you were playing earlier?”

Valthiel’s face collapses into happiness as he swallows hard. “Are you sure?”

Jian nods. Their hands brush as she reaches out to accept the deck of cards.

****

The archon and his slave spend several more hours together, cautiously exploring her desires as
mixed feelings war in them both. As time passes, they draw closer, their bodies coming nearer until
she again sits in his lap, resting her frayed emotions in the steadiness of his breathing.

When they part to sleep in their own beds, each has calmed slightly, a thin layer of peace gilding
 over all their fears. For the moment, they are content.

Chapter End Notes

It's probably a good thing that Jian was all dosed up on painkillers and distracted by
her own thoughts when Bealfor visited her. Otherwise, she might have realized that he
most likely went out and found some other slave from Yme-loc to torture into
revealing what the craftworld looks like in order to make her apology gift.

I've given some thought to writing a short spinoff fic about Ayslinn and Bealfor's
relationship. Still not sure if I will, but I keep coming back to it, so maybe I will some
day.
 Lust
Chapter Notes

A bit of a warning- this chapter contains depiction of child death that some readers
might find disturbing. While technically still covered under the tags I've already used,
it's a lot more graphic than it has been and thought it deserved a heads-up.

Only other thing I have to say about this chapter beforehand is "by the Emperor, I hate
writing speeches"

Thanks again to everyone who helped with this chapter, especially Ashilaa_AO3 and
TheLadyNovelist

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jian enters Valthiel’s cabin, bearing the new weapons and armor that his armorers have made for
her. Excitement and fear stir into a cocktail of emotion that makes it difficult to sit still. The Kabal
of the Ashen Rose has been in orbit around whatever world this is for several days, now, their
forces joining with those of the Kabal of the Flayed Skull to break the mon’keigh’s will and shatter
their defenses with a series of hit-and-run attacks.

Valthiel, however, has remained here, overseeing the operation from a distance, as has most of his
retinue, including Jian. Tonight, however, Lord Malidrach of the Flayed Skull will make landfall to
take part in the final fighting himself, and so will Lord Aire.

She finds him standing before the artificial window in a grey satin bathrobe, staring at the
projected image of the planet below with a glass of wine in his hand. He turns to her as she enters,
inviting her with a gesture to stand by his side. “You look excited.”

Jian smiles. “It will be good to test myself in real combat again.” Even the few weeks of lessons
she’s had with Ayslinn have begun to rebuild her confidence and she can feel the gifts of Khaine
and Morai Heg singing in her blood – a call to do battle.

He returns the expression and kisses the top of her head. “And you are still certain you want to join
us?”

“Of course.” Jian looks up, instinct compelling her to offer some form of assistance and support.
“Do you need help with your armor?”

“That depends,” he replies lightly. “Are you offering?”

“I am.” The longer she thinks about it, the more enjoyable it sounds.

“Well in that case, how could I refuse?”

The process is somewhat strange to her, but she is experienced enough putting on her own that she
quickly figures out how to help him attach the plates. Although the green and white panels are
simpler than the armor he wore to the party, with no gilding or engraving, the armor itself is the
high quality she has come to expect from everything Valthiel owns, with the overlapping plates
shaped to add visual bulk to his lithe frame while still allowing freedom of movement. The edges of
his gauntlets and boots and the tips of his gloves form bone-colored spikes and talons and his
pauldrons curve into crescent horns.

With a slight pang, she realizes that it was the armor he wore the day he bought her.

“I thought of something you could do. To make me happier here,” Jian says as she helps adjust the
positioning of his belt, laden with grenades and devices whose uses she can only guess at.

“Oh? What might that be?”

She swallows, reminding herself that this is alright, that he has asked for this. “Can I have
somewhere that is just mine? It – it doesn’t have to be large. A closet will do just fine. Or even a
box to put things in if that’s too much to ask. But I want a place where people will only be able to
come in if I let them.”

Any slight tension that might have been in his posture as she asked her question relaxes. “Consider
it done. As soon as we return to the city, I will work on a space for you that not even I can enter.
And no, it will not be a box or a closet; you deserve your own room, at least.”

“Thank you,” she replies quietly as she picks up a heavy black cloak and fastens it to the back of
his armor. “It is difficult to fully relax when someone could walk in at any moment.” And often
does. Lynx, in particular, seems to have little understanding of the concept of privacy.

“Of course, I understand.” Catching her arm as she returns to his front, he pulls her into a kiss. “I
love you.”

“Be careful out there.” It’s not just the fear of what would happen to her if he died that makes her
worried for his safety.

“Of course I will. You too; I don’t want to see you in a hospital bed again so soon.” The
seriousness of his statement is undercut by his hand, which wanders down to pinch the flesh of her
thigh between the armor plates. “Do you want to join my strike team, or is there another part of the
battle where you would prefer to fight?”

“Is that where I’ll be the most useful?”

“You are an accomplished warrior, my dear, I’m sure wherever you join will be useful to us.” The
tingling excitement of the pinch lingers as he traces the shape of her backside with his fingers.

Jian makes a face. She’s asking for advice, not flattery. “Very well, I’ll join your strike team. Just
tell me the objective and I will win it for you.”

“The most important thing to remember is not to kill unless you have to. Every life extinguished on
the battlefield is a resource squandered. And… try to keep up, will you?” Another squeeze of her
ass as he pulls away to pick up his sabers.

“You might regret asking that,” she replies as she reaches for her helm.

“And why is that?” Valthiel shoves her playfully.

He’s egging her on deliberately, she realizes. Trying to get her excited for the combat to come so
her bloodlust will match that of the rest of his troops and any fear will be extinguished. It’s
working, too. “You’re asking someone trained by the Howling Banshees, an aspect known for its
speed and ferocity, to keep up with you?”
“I don’t know… Banshees always seemed kind of slow to me.” He delivers another swat, this one
across her breasts.

Jian lets herself respond in kind, tackling him into a chair. He puts up no resistance and falls into
the seat laughing. “Alright. Are you ready to go?”

“What do you think?” she replies.

Offering her his hand, he leads her out of the cabin and toward the waiting dropships. As they
approach, he releases her and she drops back to a respectful distance, slipping unobtrusively into
the groups waiting in their seats on the ship that will bear them down to the surface.

Valthiel strides to the front of the passenger compartment, commanding the attention of the
assorted drukhari with his motions. He turns to face them with a dramatic sweep of his cloak just as
Jian feels the telltale shuddering of the ship. They’re on their way down to the surface.

The lights dim and Valthiel motions for the team to be quiet. Silence instantly falls. For a moment,
his eyes sweep back and forth over the crowd. Then he speaks.

“Warriors of the Ashen Rose. Below us waits a world of the mon’keigh, cowering in fear and
begging for their corpse emperor to save them. But there will be no escape and there will be no
respite. We will fall upon them and feast upon their screams as they watch our forces overwhelm
their defenses. Their souls will sustain us and their treasures enrich us, gifts that they were too
weak to protect and thus never deserved. A fundamental truth that we will remind them of tonight.
Tonight, when we prove ourselves superior to the pitiful humans who think that their breeding rate
entitles them to own the galaxy that has always belonged to us.

“But will not just be us down there. Today, we seal our alliance with the Kabal of the Flayed Skull,
an alliance that will enable us to purchase weapons and hoverbikes to further our military might
and rare components to make us even more competitive against the technological arms race of the
other kabals.

“And yet this raid is more than that. Since my earliest memory, I have stalked the stars, carrying on
the legacy of our people and of my bloodline as I proved myself superior at the point of a poisoned
blade. Even now, my place is not on a throne, but here, at the razor's edge of destiny, mastering
and shaping my fate by a design thoroughly my own! And that is why you are here; because, like
me, there is nothing that makes you feel more alive than to waltz like gods through the realm of
mortals, laughing, dancing and celebrating to song of our enemies’ screams!”

He pauses as the seated drukhari cheer, pounding their boots on the floor and shoving each other in
enthusiasm. Jian finds herself cheering with them. The words he says are irrelevant. The emotions
they represent resonate in her, a tide that swells to carry her away in a thirst for victory and action.

Valthiel picks up a decanter that sits on a nearby table and pours himself a drink. “So go forth my
brothers and sisters. Plunder, feed, ravage and raid but most importantly – “ He drains the glass in
a single gulp and throws it at the nearby wall where it shatters, the remains of the wine dribbling
down the paneling like blood. “ – have fun.”

His wicked smile is the last thing Jian sees of him before the rest of the room leaps to their feet,
crowding toward the shuttle door as it opens. She follows the current to the edge and leaps with
only an instant’s hesitation.

Old instinct takes over. She twists in the air to land on her feet, letting her momentum carry her
forward into a roll. As she stands again, she takes in the landscape around her. The shuttle has
dropped them in the middle of a city. The invaders spread out from their landing point down the
street and into the surrounding buildings that stretch up hundreds of meters to what looks more like
a roof than sky. The ground around her is damaged in places, leaving holes where she can see
another level far below.

This must be a hive city. She’s never been in one, but her father has told her about them – lightless,
poisoned places where the mon’keigh scrabble around like rats, the lower classes never seeing
natural light or feeling fresh air on their faces. Jian can’t imagine what that must be like.

Smoke covers everything in a black, oily haze as she runs toward the nearest building. Venom
transports and reaver bikes swoop through the air over her head, harrying drably armored defenders
from above as kabalite warriors push the same troops back. Most bear the red and black coloring
and skull sigil of their allies, but Jian spots several Ashen Rose vehicles as well. A cluster of
scantily clad wyches falls upon a group near her, laughing as their knives carve the men and
women in front of them to ribbons.

There is no question in her mind how this battle will end. The defenders outnumber them, but they
are tired and forced to stay and defend their positions, while the attacking kabals are free to strike
at any point they chose, cycle their forces, and pull back if they decide a particular target is too
much trouble. Their technology is superior and their forces sustained by the Ashen Rose’s combat
drugs and their own aggression.

Jian fixes her blades into place. A half-dozen mon’keigh are charging at her, heavy maces at the
ready and faces hidden behind shielded helmets. She rushes forward to meet them, dodging and
twisting to deter anyone who tries to fire at her. A hail of dark energy fire spurts from behind her as
one of the sybarites who jumped next to her provides cover for her charge.

Three of the men fall as she runs and a forth drops to the ground. Jian hurtles toward one of the
ones still standing, jamming her blades into the vulnerable fabric at his neck. Blood gushes from
the wound, flowing over her hands and spraying across her armor. He gurgles and falls. She’s
already moving forward, dispatching his companion equally quickly. It’s elegant, the direct
simplicity of mowing them down like this.

A third man approaches her, raising the maul to crush her skull. But before he can reach the apex
of his swing, she dives forward, striking at the backs of his knees to bring him to the ground. She
doesn’t have the weaponry to slice them clean off, but as he falls, she can already see the poisons
that Valthiel has stocked her with eating away at his flesh.

He screams on the ground as she steps away.

The drukhari assault has blown a hole into the huge structure directly in front of her, a black stone
building decorated with gilded turrets, massive, winged statues, and heavy columns. The thrust of
the attack seems to be moving in that direction. Kicking the weapon out of the reach of the man
next to her, Jian joins the current.

Perhaps she should have stayed to finish the man off. It would have been a kindness, compared to
what awaits him should he survive. She wasn’t thinking, just acting on the combat instincts that
first Verynia and now Ayslinn have drilled into her – do not waste time with non-threats or remain
stationary for too long. And Valthiel did order her to leave as many alive as possible. Is she brave
enough to defy him, even if he will never know the difference?

She climbs through the field of rubble and larger chunks of stone that the blast has left and finds
herself inside a large estate or noble’s house of some kind. Heavy tapestry hangs from the walls
and rich, gaudy features adorn everything. A few defenders linger, but most have already been
incapacitated or killed. Whatever action there is to be had is deeper into the building.

As she looks around, she spots Valthiel, running toward a staircase. Bealfor and several other
kabalites that she vaguely recognizes are with him. She follows.

Merging with the group as they ascend to the next level, Jian finds herself in another hallway, this
one narrower, with lower ceilings and more doors leading off it. Bealfor kicks open the nearest one
to reveal a bedroom. Empty, as far as she can tell, but after an instant he lunges for the bed and
drives his klaive through the mattress. Someone shrieks and the incubus reaches down to drag a
man from the space underneath before kicking him into a nearby wall. The man shudders and lies
still and Jian feels a flare of sympathetic pain in her own stomach.

But her mission is clear. Jian opens another door, scanning for anyone who might be lying in wait.
A whimper sounds from a door at the far end. She hesitates for just a moment before throwing it
open, her pistol in one hand and blade at the ready to deal with any threat that might be inside.

There’s no need. The door leads to a small room, clothes hanging from hooks and railings. A
woman crouches at the back, dressed in plain civilian garb. She cradles a baby in her arms and
another, slightly older child presses against her side, making the noise that alerted her to their
presence. They stare up at her with round eyes.

Mon’keigh children look so strange…

Jian’s bloodlust evaporates. She knows that fear, the horror that’s written across the woman’s face.
How often has she felt the same emotion as she lies at Valthiel’s side, wondering if even then his
child was growing inside her? The idea of someone young, vulnerable, and innocent being brought
into her world…

Her hands shake as she approaches the woman, the poison-filled pistol still pointed at her. She
can’t just let her go, and it will be obvious she killed them on purpose if she shoots them. The rest
of the kabal is right there.

A set of syringes hangs from her belt, filled with drugs to render her victims unconscious or
paralyzed. She fumbles them out and slides down on one knee, pressing the muzzle of her gun to
the woman’s forehead.

Only when she hears footsteps behind her as other members of Valthiel’s retinue enter the room
does she realize how long she’s hesitated. But she has to do something. Jamming a pair of syringes
into the baby’s neck, she presses both of the autoinjectors. Hopefully, it will overdose, she thinks as
she moves on to the older child.

Something rushes past Jian’s head and her vision fills with red. Hot blood and chunks of flesh and
bone splatter her and the woman who now sits, blank-faced in shock, clutching her headless
children. Jian can only blink back, too stunned to react.

Behind her, Valthiel chuckles. “There’s something special about the pain of a grieving mother,
isn’t there?”

The rest of the drukhari laugh as she turns to stare at him, desperately pushing down her own
revulsion so they can’t see her weakness. He has always been capable of this, she knows it. This is
but one in a long line of cruelties that the man to whom she has given her life has perpetuated. She
chose to stay with full knowledge that this was who she was offering her soul to.

And what does that make me?

Valthiel beckons her to him, but she notices his gaze linger on the woman and the remains of her
children. Is that regret in his eyes? Did he grant them a quick death to spare them the city and a
childhood in slavery, a horror she knows he remembers? Or is it simply wishful thinking on her
part, a way to rationalize the affection she still feels for him in the face of abject evil?

A question she will wrestle with later.

Her legs shake as she stands, but by the time she has reached his side, her movements are smooth
and steady again. She follows him and the rest of the drukhari back into the hallway and up
another set of stairs. The resistance they encounter is token, a few guards quickly dispatched.

Something is a bit off, though. Valthiel is hanging back a bit, his usually dramatic movements a bit
subdued, letting his subordinates do the work. Jian leaves yet another woman on the floor and
drifts toward him in the chaos. She doesn’t want to undermine his authority by asking if he’s
alright, but if he’s been poisoned or injured….

He smiles at her, an expression incongruous with the battle around them. “I’m alright dear.”

A burst of laser fire from the top of the stairway brings her attention back to the moment. The
drukhari at the front return shots. Several fall, injured or killed. Jian realizes she can’t hope to shoot
over the heads of those in front of her, or to get through the press to attack close-up.

Pulling away from Valthiel, she runs back to a landing and knocks out one of the windows. This
building is so embellished, it can’t be that hard to climb up the outside, right?

As she pulls herself through the opening, something ice-cold brushes her foot. She looks down to
see a quartet of creatures climbing after her, aeldari-shaped, but seeming almost to be made of
living shadow. Runes painted on their skin pulse with an eerie green light and their white hair is
stiff and dry, like a corpse.

Jian freezes, eyes wide as they crawl onto the stonework that surrounds the window. Her foot still
tingles where one of the things touched her, as though something has been sapped from it. They
continue past, however, without so much as turning their featureless faces toward her. Of course,
they must be allies of the Ashen Rose, perhaps even members. She has seen many strange things in
Commorragh, and it would be an odd moment for an enemy to suddenly appear. She follows them,
keeping a watchful eye out in case her estimation was incorrect.

The walls of the palace do prove easy enough to scale and she quickly finds herself perched atop a
golden statue of a winged mon’keigh woman, staring through a massive window at the sides of
several dozen troops. They’re dressed differently than the soldiers she’s run into so far, and better
equipped. Perhaps from off-world?

On the other side of the room, the Ashen Rose warriors have formed a gun line of their own, set up
along the stairs and behind the piles of debris nearby. She can’t see Valthiel, although Bealfor is
hard to miss as he cleaves anyone bold enough to approach in half.

And then, as she waits for the best moment to strike, holding motionless to avoid catching the
defenders’ attention, she spots something. A group of reinforcements is arriving from upstairs, a
cluster of hairy, almost bestial-looking creatures, nearly human but not quite. They carry large,
heavy swords. Jian looks toward the shadow-aeldari and one of them nods at her.

Despite the armor that protects her, she still tenses a bit as she breaks through the window, sending
shards of glass flying everywhere. The guards look up in surprise but their attention is quickly
drawn back to the fire from the kabalites on the stairs. Neither she nor her allies pause, crashing
straight down into the beast-men and plunging their weapons into the thick hides.

Gore spatters her again as she strikes with her knives, aiming for the lower spine when she
remembers to. Incapacitate, not kill. She’s not sure if she manages to do it. Taking advantage of the
distraction, Valthiel, Bealfor, and the rest of the incubi and lhameans in the group charge forward,
covered by their ranged troops.

And then the action is over and she stands, panting, in a room full of dead and dying. The floor is
slick with blood and their opponents lie scattered with all manner of horrific injuries – limbs
chopped off and bones crushed, flesh melting away from poisoned wounds and burning with
sticky, caustic liquids. Jian can see the effect it has on the drukhari, all the pain that practically
forms a miasma, but she herself feels no joy or sorrow, only the burning need to move on to her
next task and destroy her foes once again.

Instead, the strike force pauses. At first, she thinks they’re only collecting themselves, but soon
realizes that the lhameans are moving throughout the room, restraining their defeated opponents
with disposable cuffs and injecting them with something from small vials that they seem to be
carrying. If the substance has any immediate effects, Jian can’t see them. She hovers at the edge of
the room, restless with the desire to do something to help, nervousness clawing at some part of her
mind. Whatever Valthiel’s plan is, she doesn’t think she will like it.

Before long, however, he jerks his head and curses under his breath. “It seems that reinforcements
are incoming; time to finish this,” he calls out. Gesturing first to the leader of the sybarite troops,
then to one of the shadow-creatures, he continues. “Sarothrax, take half your people and sweep the
rest of the estate for anything we missed on our way in with Alpha.”

They hurry to obey as he turns his attention to another of the officers. “Begin preparing our slaves
for extraction, I want them all to be ready as soon as I’m done here.”

Finished, he turns to the remainder, which appears to be mostly lhameans and incubi, and begins
consulting with them in hushed tones. Jian approaches and he acknowledges her with a nod.
“Where would you like me?” she asks quietly.

“Go help move the slaves.”

No. No, this is too much like things she doesn’t want to remember, will remind her of how much
she is party to all the horror that they have brought onto this place. She can’t do it. But she can’t
say it, either. “Whatever happened to ‘keep up with me’?” she asks, putting as much swagger into
her voice as she can.

She almost thinks he might refuse her before he sighs and curses again. “Very well.”

Despite the order to prepare the slaves, the lhameans wave the sybarites away from the group they
just defeated, sending them back down the stairs. Again, a creeping feeling of dread seizes hold of
Jian. She follows Valthiel and the newly shrunken group to the door at the far end of the massive
room.

Another line of defenders waits for them inside, faces and forms obscured by masks and long coats.
The room is much smaller than the one they just left, and she can see several individuals in the
center of the ring of troops, although their features are obscured by those in front of them. They are
likely the goal Valthiel is pursuing, or the keepers of it.

“Filthy hell-spawned xenos!” A woman’s voice, shouting as the drukhari pour through the door.
The words sound strange to Jian. Her father taught her one of the various tongues the mon’keigh
speak when she was a child, but she’s never heard it from a native speaker before. “Your arrogance
and blind servitude to your own sins has failed you. The God Emperor’s chosen are already on
their way and they will – “

Valthiel waves his hand dismissively as he steps forward and looks around the room. His
camouflage field is up, copies of himself darting in and out to obscure his position. “Is this all? I
thought there would be more of you. Disappointing, really.” He, too, is speaking the language of
men, reminding Jian that he grew up among them.

“Disappointed?!”

Jian can see the speaker now, a woman at the center of the group wearing a tall, brimmed cap and a
long coat. The armored men that surround her keep their rifles trained on the Ashen Rose warriors,
who respond in kind. Behind the woman stands what she thinks must be a human, or at least was,
but of absolutely massive size and bulk, head shaved and clad in an armored vest. A glitter from
the far corner of the room draws her attention to a darkly clothed sniper crouched atop a makeshift
nest of furniture.

“Yes, no need to feign shock. This is likely where you plan to tell me that I’ve walked into your
trap, that there will be no escape and that your righteous flame will purge my degeneracy in the
glory of the rotting corpse you call a god. I’ve heard it all before, and likely better stated.”

Jian edges toward the wall, eyes darting everywhere, but always coming to rest on that sniper in the
corner. Like her, the mon’keigh hang in a balance, itching to destroy their foes but unwilling to fire
the first shot.

Valthiel continues to speak. “Now, you may well be correct. We are short on time and energy, and
you are in your native environment and expecting reinforcements. Really, you have every
advantage. Except one.”

“And what would that be?” replies the woman irritably. She raises her hand and Jian senses rather
than consciously knows that she is about to order her men to fire.

But Valthiel obviously picks up on the same signals. A smile spreads across his face as he holds
out his arms. Some kind of remote or device is held in his hand and Jian notices a flare of psychic
energy as he speaks – from the device or from him, she isn’t sure. “Souls.”

Pain.

Pure, unfiltered pain, worse than any agony Jian has felt in her life. It rolls over her in a wave from
the slaves in the room they just left, dousing every nerve with ice-cold acid. Yet more than that,
she feels it in her spirit, filling her mind and swelling her chest and roiling in her gut. The
experience is… transcendent.

Through the awful sensation, she can feel energy pouring into her, filling her with white-hot light
and searing away her exhaustion. Everything in her seems to vibrate and hum. She’s ready to move,
to run to hunt and kill.

The room erupts into a blur of motion. Jian dashes forward with the rest of the kabal, avoiding
shots instinctively. The man in the sniper’s nest turns to fire on her, but his shot, too, goes wide as
she slams into him. The points of her knives slide between his armor plates, over and over as he
moves in slow motion. Blood sprays in her face and his grunts of pain barely penetrate the rush in
her ears.
Kill him, destroy him, make him suffer.

His gun falls to the floor, mangled into a useless lump of metal, followed by his arms. Still, she
keeps attacking, staccato strikes carving chunks from the flesh of his torso.

And then she stops, breathing hard, her foe an unrecognizable pile of gore in front of her. By Isha,
what is she doing?

She is given no time to contemplate, however, as she turns back toward the rest of the battle. The
ugly giant has noticed her, lumbering in her direction as he raises a heavy tube and fires.

Before she has time to react, another blur of metal and blade rushes into her field of view, striking
the grenade as it hurtles through the air. It falls in two and Jian’s rescuer charges toward the man,
klaive raised for another blow.

Bealfor just saved my life. It’s so unexpected that she laughs aloud. Ordering her death one day,
bringing salvation the next. She shakes her head and pushes the thought from her brain with all
other unneeded complications, diving back into the swirl of combat.

None of the other men she tackles have the same satisfaction as the first, but still she fights on,
buoyed by the eddies of pain that still swirl through the room. She hasn’t felt this good since –
since her mother died, really. Her blades bite over and over again and men and women fall, injured
or killed, she doesn’t care.

And then it’s over. She stands over the body of another mon’keigh, dead or too wounded to fight
on. Around her, the rest of the kabal slows their own fighting. Her breath comes in short bursts.
The surges of energy in her chest still push her on to more violence, but there are no enemies left.
Bealfor and his incubi stalk through the gore, delivering sharp kicks or stabs to the few who still
dare to move, while the lhamians begin to secure them with restraints that flash with red energy.

Valthiel crouches atop the woman who spoke earlier, pressing down on her chest with the pointed,
armored knee of his boot. It doesn’t seem to be needed. She lies still, far too still even for one who
has given up the fight. Jian almost wonders if she’s dead or unconscious, but then she speaks.
Shouts, rather. “Xeno scum! If you think – “

He shakes his head. “My dear Louvenia, surely you knew I would win the day. Or perhaps you
didn’t: arrogance has always been a shackle on the thinking of your kind.”

“How did you – “

“How did I know your name? Well, that’s quite easy. I know a lot of things about you, Louvenia.”
Even from several meters away, Jian can feel the outright loathing in the look the human woman
gives him. “Such as, for example, your interest in human mutation and your research on the
navigation gene and the ways the various houses breed and refine it."

He rips her jacket open and Jian turns away in disgust. She has no desire to watch what’s next,
busying herself instead with helping the sisters place cuffs on the prisoners. She can’t help hearing
their voices, however, as they continue to speak. “How did you know that?” Louvenia growls.

“I told you; I know many things. Trust me, your research notes and genetic samples will both be
used to their full potential. I’m afraid I’ll need some further insight into your methods, though, to
know what you haven’t decided to write down. So I’m sure we’ll be having extensive and
thorough talks in the future.”

Movement catches Jian’s eye and she looks over involuntarily to see him stand. Relief fills her as
she realizes that both his and the woman’s clothing are still in place. Perhaps it was ungrateful of
her to think he would do such a thing. He holds a small silver case and a notebook, likely removed
from some internal pocket of her coat. Louvenia is still sputtering insults and curses, rolling her
head back and forth helplessly. “Bealfor, get her prepared for extraction,” Valthiel says, ignoring
her. “Remove her clothes and equipment and burn them; you can pull the armor off one of the
guardsmen’s corpses. A throne agent is a valuable prize and we cannot reveal to our so-called
allies that we have one in our possession.” The hierarch nods.

“You won’t get away with this!” Louvenia spits, loud enough to be heard over the general din.

“Really? I would have thought you’d come up with something more original than that.” He strokes
his chin in mock contemplation. “Although, I suppose your people might realize that Commorragh
was responsible for this raid. They aren’t as incompetent as some like to think. But even so, it was
the Kabal of the Flayed Skull that led this raid, not mine. We were barely a footnote, really. No,
Louvenia, no one is coming to avenge you. But over the next few months, I want you to remember
something: you would have done the same to me if you’d won, and had just as much fun doing it.”

He turns away pointedly and approaches Jian, tucking the notebook and case into a pouch at his
waist. A smirk is still plastered across his face as he leans in to kiss her. “Are you ready to leave,
dear? I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Jian nods. She’s starting to come down from the high of combat, the energy fading to a
comfortable background hum and the world beginning to resume its normal pace. Discomfort is
creeping in. She is uncomfortably aware of the fact that she stands among piles of bodies destined
for a drukhari ship, to be stripped and bound and sold off to die slowly. A fate she had a hand in
creating.

But it’s nothing, right? It’s only mon’keigh. Just the spoils of war. Everything is fine.

Valthiel takes her hand and leads her down the stairs and through the mansion, out into the
cavernous tunnels of the hive world. The scene is hellish. Even more wreckage litters the streets
than before, much of it burning with red and green fire or melted to slag by the kabalites’ acidic
weaponry. Bodies lie twisted and bloody, stabbed or burned or poisoned. Low-ranked warriors
roam through the chaos, searching for any who hope to escape by feigning death.

All that pales, however, in comparison to the prisoners. Men, women, children, shackled together
and driven by the whips and spears and shouts of their captors, toward the gaping holds of the
ships that have landed in a relatively clear spot. Some cry or scream in frustration or anger or fear,
but most simply walk, faces blank in numb despair, seemingly oblivious to their circumstances.

Worse still are those too injured to walk, those missing limbs or limp with blood loss or simply too
exhausted and hopeless to move. These have been hooked to the back of the kabal’s flyers and
dragged along, battered and ground down by the rough landscape as they leave trails of blood in
their wake. Their wails pound into Jian’s mind, forcing her to pay attention to the scene before her.

It keeps getting worse. In the screams, she can hear her mother’s voice, and her own, echoing from
a thousand throats. A whip cracks nearby and she flinches, trying not to cry out in harmony with
the recipient of the blow. Why is it so hard to breathe?

Something bumps her leg and she looks down. A mon’keigh has fallen at her feet, more girl than
woman, with pale yellow hair matted with blood and dirt and a torn black robe trimmed in gold –
some kind of priestess or acolyte, Jian thinks, in the faith followed by the human empire. Welts
cross her back, raw and red through the slashes in her clothing and her chains rattle as she struggles
to rise to her feet.
Their eyes lock and the girl’s mouth opens in a silent cry for help. Jian’s chest tightens. “I can’t
help you…” she breathes.

Valthiel’s arm wraps around her shoulders. “Of course you can, dear.” He gestures to one of the
drukhari who dart around the area on small gliders, watching for trouble. The man flies over. “I
want this girl cleaned up and any wounds and potential infections treated before she is transferred
to my consort’s quarters on my flagship.”

“Of course, my lord.” The man smiles unpleasantly and brings his flyer down to hover just above
the ground. He grabs the girl by the collar and hauls her to her feet before dragging her onto the
platform and flying away. She puts up no resistance.

Trying to clear the fog from her eyes and the confusion from her mind, Jian looks up at Valthiel.
Still glowing with the cruel light of his enemies’ pain, it’s not the most comforting sight, but better
than the horrors around her. Her panic is receding, but not enough that she feels like she could
speak without her voice shaking.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve a reward for your excellent work today, and
a share in the spoils of this world. She will be your responsibility and I expect you to break her in
and make sure she understands her role here. A rebellious slave reflects poorly on both of us, so
whatever you do in private, make sure she behaves in front of others.”

“Thank you.” Her first instinct is to reject the gift. The memory of her early days in Commorragh,
terrified that any wrong move will bring more suffering than she can imagine, helpless to resist
anything her new master might wish to do to her, is too raw. How can she participate in such a
thing and take up the mantle of the owner? Bathing in another being’s suffering, a constant
reminder of her own position, will be as much a slow poison on her soul as anything else in the
city. Worse still, what if she grows to appreciate it? Having even a small bit of control over
something in her life could easily enslave her just as much as the drukhari have.

But can she reject it, either? Such a thing would certainly offend Valthiel, and even if it didn’t,
what would happen to the girl? She’d be thrown back in with the rest of the prisoners, where the
kabal would laugh as they destroyed her, bit by bit until she lost her mind and her life. Maybe this
is the best thing that could happen to her. Maybe Jian can hold onto one good deed to keep herself
from drowning in all this awfulness.

Valthiel searches her face and frowns, but shakes his head, apparently deciding not to comment on
whatever he reads there. “I only wish I could do more for you.”

“Do you need me to help you with anything here?”

“No, I just need to oversee the cleanup to make sure there is no trace of our presence when the
reinforcements arrive. I doubt there is much you could do. Go back to the ship and enjoy some
food and a bath; you’ve more than earned it. I will be back in an hour or two if you want to join me
after, otherwise I will see you when you feel ready.”

It takes more effort than Jian would like for her to pry her fingers from his armor and stand under
her own power. Her legs and shoulders ache from tension and she has to take a moment to steady
herself before she can begin walking back toward the ship. But she does, seeing herself off with a
light kiss on his lips. His men might talk, after all, if she does not.

The trip back is uneventful, although she barely remembers it. There is blood and bones exposed to
the air, screams and the rattle of chains, fire and smoke and the stink of death, but Jian focuses on
managing herself. One foot in front of the other, breaths in and breaths out. There is no one here
who would dare hurt her now. And if they try, she will crush them.

As soon as she enters the ship, she goes directly to her cabin, locking the door behind her. There,
slowly, she can peel the armor off, attend to the scratches and bruises she has suffered, and stretch
her aching muscles. Focusing on the work takes her mind from the battlefield somewhat. It saves
her from having to remember the joy she took in destruction and slaughter and the consequences
laid plain for her afterword, even though both still fill her mind.

When she has calmed somewhat, her heartbeat slowed through repetition of the poses and stances
Ayslinn taught her, she runs herself a bath and sets to work cleaning the sweat and blood and
battle-grime from her body. A meal has arrived by the time she’s done and she eats it quickly,
surprised at how hungry she is. Not that it should be surprising. She has been busy today.

Exhaustion pools in her limbs, but she doesn’t feel like resting quite yet. A disquiet still lies over
her, elation mixed with horror that won’t allow her to sit still. After a few minutes of pacing, she
pulls a robe over her nightdress and makes her way to Valthiel’s room.

He answers her knock with a faint invitation inside and she enters. The room is deserted, but she
can see a light on in the bathroom. A moment later, he emerges, barefoot and bare-chested, drying
his long white hair with a towel.

Something slams into Jian, a wall of formless thoughts that leaves her momentarily paralyzed. She
finds herself uncomfortably aware of everything in the room: the soft lights, the way his muscles
stand out on his slim torso, the scent of the meat that he must have had for dinner, the lines of his
jaw and how the towel rests so precariously on his hips…

She needs him. She needs him on her, in her, making each second last a lifetime as pain and
pleasure mix into a cocktail of emotion and hormones that leave her a helpless, whimpering mess.
His mess.

Before she has time to think about what that means, she’s in his arms, kissing him desperately,
afraid that the desire will wear off before she has time to satisfy it. His wraps his arms around her,
pulling her down into a chair.

Still, the feeling swells into her throat. She finds herself tugging at his robe. It slides off his
shoulders and catches near his waist and he twists for a moment to free himself. Jian takes his
distraction to run her kisses down his neck and onto his chest, shedding her own clothing as she
does.

“Someone is assertive tonight,” Valthiel chuckles.

Jian looks up, a bit of uncertainty making its way in. Is she doing something inappropriate? “I just
really want you right now.”

His smile widens and he licks his lips. “Well then, I am at your mercy. Come and get me.”

She needs no more encouragement.

****

Lilithu’s son and Khaine’s daughter crash to the ground, skin on naked skin. He effortlessly takes
the lead, pressing her to the floor and holding her pinned as he enters her, and she responds in
kind, wrapping her legs around his waist and meeting his every movement. They remain entwined
for hours, exploring every detail of each other’s bodies and reveling in the victory they have just
won until at last, sweaty and exhausted once again, they make their way to the bed to sleep.
Chapter End Notes

As we're getting further into the story, I'm curious as to what you guys think of the
relationship between Jian and Valthiel. Are you rooting for them to work out their
differences and get together? Or does he still need to do more to win your support? Or
perhaps you don't think he ever will?
 Loss
Chapter Notes

As always, thanks to Ashilaa_AO3 and TheLadyNovelist for all the reading and
insightful commentary.

This chapter was really hard to write for a variety of reasons, but I'm quite pleased with
the finished product.

Random side note, apparently a jian is a kind of double-edged straight sword,

traditional in China. This was unintentional, but I'm amused by the connection,
especially given that Jian herself wielded a doubled-edged straight sword as a Howling
Banshee.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jian awakes slowly. She’s lying on her stomach, still naked, with Valthiel’s arm draped over her
shoulders. She can tell by his breathing that he’s still asleep. For a few minutes, she lies still,
drowsing in the warm, soft cocoon of the bed. Her body aches, but with a pain that comes from
exertion rather than abuse. Still, it feels like something is missing. She searches her mind for what
the strange absence might be until it hits her.

I’m happy.

She can’t remember the last time she felt this way, simply existing in a pleasant moment without an
undercurrent of pain or fear or hopelessness souring it. It feels like if she moves, the spell will
break and she’ll be back to the same mire she’s been struggling through for the last few months.

So she waits, eyes closed, floating in and out of sleep. She doesn’t know how long it is before he
stirs. He yawns and stretches luxuriously before pulling her into an embrace. “Good morning,
dear.”

“Is it morning?”

He shrugs. “It might be. It feels like it, though.” Another yawn. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Very good.” It’s hard to articulate exactly what has changed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for what?”

“For… that.” She waves her hand vaguely. “The evening. I really enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed it, huh?” He nibbles playfully on her ear. “I see my reputation has been significantly
blown out of proportion, then, if you merely enjoyed it.”

She scrambles to reassure him, but reminds herself that it’s only a joke; she doesn’t need to worry.
“I mean, it was good. I just don’t know that I’ve had enough experience to compare yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean – “ She swallows, suddenly nervous. “You’re the first man I’ve ever been with. It’s
different. I don’t know what I like yet.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to figure it out together, won’t we?” He tenses a bit, then resumes
stroking her shoulder. “I didn’t know that,” he says carefully. “The archon said something about it,
but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“There were a few boys I liked when I was a girl, but none of them were ever interested.” Back on
Yme-loc, where life had seemed so simple and ordered. Before she’d made the mistake of trying to
be a hero. “And then Reena confessed her feelings and it didn’t matter anymore.”

“I see. I’m sorry that – “

Jian cuts him off before he can go further. “What about you? Have you ever been with a man
before?” This line of conversation is too close to things she’d rather not think about: the early days
of their relationship and all the pain that will bring her tiny refuge crashing in if she were to
acknowledge it. Even if he has realized how much it still hurts her, she will never hear about it. An
archon cannot afford to feel regret, especially not for something so mundane as putting a slave to
the use for which she was purchased.

“I have.” His tone is light again and she relaxes. “In fact, when I first struck out on my own, I was
so happy to be free from my former mistress’s control that I had sex with men exclusively for
several years.”

“I… see.” Not for the first time, Jian wonders what other pains lie behind Valthiel’s casual
demeanor. But if she doesn’t want her wounds examined, she will leave his as well. “Did you leave
right away after her death, then? Or did you stay on with the crew?”

“No, I left. It didn’t make sense to explore the suddenly opened galaxy surrounded by the shadows
of the past.”

“Ah, I see.” She falls silent, unsure what to say next or what subject to bring up instead.

His hand slides down to her arm, where he begins working at the muscles there. “Did you have
another question?”

“How did you fall into the care of a mon’keigh in the first place?” Any craftworld would have
done anything to avoid losing one of their scarce children to the dubious care of another race. And
although she doubts that the dark kin have particularly much affection for their offspring, there are
a myriad of reasons why they would never hand one over to a lesser species, particularly a trueborn
as he seems to be.

Valthiel sighs heavily. “I do not remember anything before the human pirate queen’s ship. Some
days, when I have focused, I find images and impressions of an older woman with enough of a
resemblance that I believe she was my mother. She was saying something to me, trying to cheer me
up, I think, but she was crying and bleeding from the mouth and I couldn’t understand her. There
was a spear in her gut. Then someone picked me up and took me away and I can’t remember
anything else of her. I have always assumed she was killed by the crew of the same ship where I
was raised.”

Jian swallows past a lump in her throat as she twists to face him, offering the only real comfort she
can in a gentle hand run along his jawline. “I suppose it’s fortunate for both of us that she decided
she’d had her fill of violence for the day. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
He hums in response. “It’s alright. I’m alright now.”

“No, it’s not. I know it was hard, and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“If you ever need to talk about it, I won’t tell anyone.” That, at least, she can offer.

“Thank you.” Valthiel takes a shuddering breath. “I don’t think I will, but I appreciate it from the
bottom of my heart.”

For a long time they remain together. Valthiel plays with Jian’s hair and she runs her hand in
soothing circles on his chest. It’s funny, she thinks. The story he told is no different than the one he
told her on the roof on their first afternoon together, albeit in slightly more detail. But rather than
annoyance and fear, this time it only evokes sadness and regret on his behalf. Not for the first time,
she wonders who he might have become had things been different.

Screams echo through her mind and echoes of remembered pain radiate through her soul. Her own
mother, dying alone and in agony.

No, stop. She can’t think about this now. Please, let me be alright for just a few more minutes. She
will deal with the guilt and the questions later.

“Thank you,” she says to distract herself. It’s become one of her automatic statements when she
isn’t sure what else to say, a theme of the path she now walks.

“For what?”

She thinks for a moment, trying to decide what prompted her words this time. There is something
she’s grateful for, she realizes. “For earlier. It really was quite lovely. I feel great.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I don’t know what happened. I should be exhausted, but I haven’t felt this clear in months.”

She expects another reassuring or happy comment, but instead, Valthiel clears his throat. “How
much do you actually know about – you know what, scratch that, it isn’t really important. You
have heard about how my kind feeds on the pain and suffering of our victims, yes?”

“I have. It’s why we fear you so much.”

“That is true for the Kabal of the Ashen Rose as much as any other. My people attend the gladiator
games and engage in the local… pain economy… As do I, to some extent.”

Jian nods. “It’s how you keep She Who Thirsts at bay, yes?”

“It is. Replacing the holes in our souls with the life of another.” He sighs. “Since you’ve arrived,
your essence has been ebbing away, but without anything to replace it, you’ve just been slowly
weakening.”

“But… I follow a path. The ordering of my thoughts to a specific purpose is supposed to prevent
that.” Even as she says it, Jian knows that she’s wrong. Her mind is far from the single-minded
dedication of a craftworld, and without rituals or prayers, she has nowhere to lock Khaine’s call
when she’s not in combat. Even now, she can feel the desire to hunt and kill gnawing at the back of
her mind, mixing with a longing for pleasures and sensations and experience. Some small, guilty
part of her even wants to feel the energy and the rush of the mon’keigh’s anguish and defeat
washing over her. She sighs.

“Regardless, you’ve been fading ever since you got here. It’s slow, you’re young yet, but the city
eats at you just like everyone else.” He hesitates, then continues. “And I’m afraid I have not been
helping.”

“It’s fine, really.” She isn’t sure what he means.

He shakes his head and his chin brushes her hair. “No, it isn’t. I… don’t always enjoy experiencing
the pain of others, and I’ve found that I can gain some energy through other methods, at least
enough to space out the pain. Methods such as sex and pleasure.”

“You… fed from me?”

“Only a few times, I – “ He stops and collects himself, chest moving up and down in short bursts.
“I had started to care for you and I could feel how much damage it was causing with no way for
you to replace the losses. I didn’t want to make you suffer like that.”

She sighs. “That makes sense. I understand.” It had been what she was expecting when she arrived
in the city, and if she was being perfectly honest with herself, what she had assumed was going on
anyway. Pressing closer, she speaks muffled by his chest. “Regardless, I feel wonderful now.”

“I’m glad.” He runs his hands slowly, rhythmically, through her hair. “I’d hoped that you’d have a
chance to feed on the raid, but I couldn’t be sure it would work.” Falling silent, he ceases his
motion and pulls her closer to him.

After perhaps half an hour, she stirs. “I should go. I’m sure you have things to do, and the girl you
gave me is probably ready.”

“Mmmm…” Valthiel mutters before sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I probably
do. Would you like to join me for a meal later, though?”

“Of course I will.” She needs time to think and process, but seeing him later would be… nice.
“And thank you again for the girl.”

“Of course; you deserve her, and much more. Be warned, though, she’ll likely be a fighter. You are
going to have to watch her to ensure she stays under control.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

He laughs. “Didn’t you notice? The girl is a Black Priest. Not a very experienced one, probably a
trainee, but a rare and valuable prize all the same. My guess is that she was part of dear Louvenia’s
entourage.”

Apparently noticing Jian’s confusion, he continues in a more serious tone. “It’s one of the rarer
orders of the cult that the mon’keigh follow. Like many such groups, they have a militaristic bent
and in this case, they focus on finding and destroying the corruption of the neverborn.”

“She could be an asset, then.”

“She could indeed. And I trust you to figure out how best to make use of her.” He reaches out to
take her hand and grins like a small boy. “Have fun, dear.”

She smiles back as she wraps a robe around herself and returns to her own quarters.
Yet by the time she’s walked the short distance, the smile has fallen from her face. What am I
supposed to do with a slave? Does he expect her to break the girl and batter her into submission?
But she doesn’t want to wind up stabbed while she sleeps, either. As she enters the room, she finds
herself acutely aware that she has nothing with which to defend herself.

She needn’t have worried. The human girl sits huddled in the corner of Jian’s room. Whoever
delivered her took care to bind her hands behind her back and her ankles are in cuffs with a chain
between them. A collar has already been placed around her neck as well, a heavy-looking band of
black metal with the Ashen Rose’s heraldry inlaid in enamel. She stares at Jian as she enters, eyes
huge in a face stretched oddly by the complex frame of metal inserted in her mouth to keep her
quiet. It looks quite painful.

As she enters, Jian notices another addition: a tray of implements, the uses of many of which she
can only guess at. Others, she can identify as sex toys more exotic even than what Valthiel has used
on her, as well as knives, miniature agonizers, and a set of syringes next to bottles labeled in tiny,
neat print.

She walks past the tools to stand in front of the human, whose eyes follow her every move. By
Isha, what do I do now? With no one thought making its way through the competing demands, she
decides to follow her instincts. She squats down to be on a level with her. “I won’t hurt you if you
don’t do anything stupid, do you understand?”

The harsh, clumsy tones of the language feel odd in her mouth, and she’s certain her accent must
be terrible, but the girl must understand. She nods and makes a muffled noise that sounds vaguely
like an assent. Jian points at herself. “My name is Jian. You may call me ‘my lady’.” The phrase is
spoken in her own language. “And you serve me now. I have no interest in hurting you, or in
allowing anyone else to hurt you. But if you test me, or try to escape, you will fail. And you will
regret it.”

Her words certainly sound less impressive in unfamiliar tongue, and for a moment Jian is certain
that the girl will laugh in her face. But she nods again and to Jian’s surprise, she can see tears
gathering in the oddly-shaped eyes. Stay strong, Jian. Don’t collapse now. She’s not sure why this
is so important to her, but it feels absolutely essential to succeed at this task. Whatever it is.

She successfully manages to keep from hesitating as she reaches out and removes the gag.
Immediately, a bit of tension falls from the girl’s posture and she works her jaw to loosen the
stiffness that must be in it. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Don’t thank me,” Jian replies coldly. Killing her would have been a mercy. Valthiel has made
living here bearable, but she doubts such things extend to her own servant. “What is your name?”
she asks to distract from the questions and doubts that are threatening to destroy her poise.

The girl looks down and for a moment Jian thinks she won’t answer before she speaks quietly.
“Jaeden Delamonte. Jaeden, if you are being more familiar.”

Jian nods. “I am speaking your mon’keigh language for the moment, but I expect you to learn
mine, and to speak it when you do.” Isha’s tits, she’s going about this all wrong. Of course the girl
is terrified, and Jian hasn’t said a single word to calm her except a brief and vaguely threatening
reassurance that she’ll be unharmed if she cooperates.

She looks back at Jaeden. She’s dressed, after a fashion, but in clothing that more resembles the
skimpier outfits from the early days of Jian’s own stay here than anything else. A thin, gauzy,
near-transparent dress that reveals every line of her body and dramatic, sensual makeup. “Follow
me,” Jian says. She turns to walk over to her closet. With some difficulty, Jaeden gets to her feet
and shuffles after her.

A problem immediately presents itself. All her clothes are sized for her, of course, and will be
awkward and overlarge on a human’s child-like frame. It will have to do, she decides as she selects
a knee-length robe with sleeves that come to her elbows. It will be better than nothing. But as she
turns to offer it, she realizes that Jaeden’s limbs are still bound. How is she supposed to release
her?

Their eyes both drift toward the tray of tools and Jian approaches the table. “Stay there,” she says,
trying to avoid sounding either wavering or too aggressive. She’s not sure if it works. Jaeden
watches her. Panic flares in her eyes, but she remains perfectly still. Jian is impressed. Her self-
control is impeccable.

Quickly, Jian searches the implements for something that might be a key. Amongst the shackles
and remote controls, she finds a likely item and brings it back to unlock Jaeden’s restraints. To her
relief, it works. She hands her the robe and gestures toward the bathroom. “You can start your new
duties right away,” she says. “By running me a hot bath.” They do have bathtubs on whatever
strange mon’keigh planet she’s from, right?

Jaeden obeys without a word, leaving Jian with a moment to think. This path troubles her. What if
she becomes accustomed to having a girl to fill her baths and bring her food and begins asking for
more? And what does Jaeden herself think? She’s still terrified, she must be, and Jian has no idea
how to calm her without being far more familiar than is wise.

It’s not that she’s not grateful for the gift, but for the moment, it seems to have created more
problems that it has solved.

Food, food might help a bit. Jaeden likely hasn’t had anything to eat since her capture, at least, and
Jian is somewhat hungry herself. She calls for two meals to be sent up and enters the bathroom,
carrying a glass of water. The girl has done as she was told, and filled a tub of steaming hot water
and soap bubbles. It looks wonderful. “This is for you,” she says as she hands over the drink.

Jaeden looks at it dubiously. “What is this?”

“Water. You’re thirsty, are you not?”

She looks up and Jian is surprised to see anger filling her expression. “You can stop playing
games, xeno. Just hurry up and fuck me already.” When Jian doesn’t immediately respond, she
continues. “That’s why I’m here, right? To be raped and abused before you torture me?”

“No, that’s not why you’re here.” Jian stiffens as the words bring back a surge of bad memories.
Things that should stay buried.

“They why am I here?” Jaeden’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s stuck her chin out
defiantly.

“To be my maid and companion. Run my baths, do my hair and clothing, generally assist me.” She
removes her robe and climbs into the bathtub, sighing involuntarily as the warm water sends a
wave of sensation over her bare skin. “Talk with me.”

Jaeden frowns. She doesn’t seem particularly interested in the naked woman in front of her, Jian
notes, but her stance is a bit less tense. “I have no experience with any of that.”

“You can learn.” Jian looks up from the water, brow furrowed. “Would you rather I raped and
tortured you?”
“It would be more straightforward, at least,” Jaeden mutters, but she picks up a cloth and steps
forward to help Jian wash.

“If that genuinely is what you want, there’s no shortage of people who would be willing. But I had
hoped to give you another opportunity.” She doesn’t think the mon’keigh wants that, not really.
But some part of her does understand the desire for a simple, uncomplicated relationship, even if it
must be a painful one.

“No! I am very grateful for your mercy.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I did ask for it, after all.”

“You’re welcome.” Jian feels a surge of relief. She didn’t know what she was going to do if the girl
decided to put up a fight.

They work in silence for a few more minutes, until a knock at the door signalss that food has
arrived. Jian indicates with her head for Jaeden to get it. She returns a moment later with the plates.

“The other one is for you,” Jian says.

“Thank you, my lady.” She already sounds somewhat cowed, and Jian watches her through her
eyelashes as she eats. She devours the food eagerly, although she takes only a bite of the frinol
grain before moving on, coughing. Apparently it’s not a dish that appeals to the mon’keigh palette.

She finishes her bath and eats her own food without taking time to savor it. Jaeden has set her plate
down and moves to take Jian’s from her. “Thank you. Set it on the table in the hall and someone
will clear it later.”

She obeys without a word, giving Jian a moment to compose herself. She has done what she can,
right? She has given the human girl a clear explanation of what will be expected of her, done her
best to prove the truth of her words, ignored the knowledge that she could do anything and no one
would bat an eye. Now she needs to decide how to proceed.

A moment later, Jaeden returns. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes showing even
though the heavy makeup and a slump to her shoulders. Jian stands. “You must be tired.” Time on
her own, to think through what has happened and release some of the tension that must have been
building in her since her capture, that is likely what the girl wants.

Jaeden nods shyly and Jian finds herself wondering where exactly she should put her. There is only
one bed in her cabin, and she can’t exactly ask the drukhari for a cot for her slave. She’ll have to
sleep on the floor. But where? The human girl seems calm and fairly compliant for now, but it
might be an act as well, getting Jian to lower her guard so she can try to strike back at her. Letting
her sleep unrestrained in the same room seems unwise.

She realizes that Jaeden is still waiting for her to tell her what to do. “Follow me.”

The closet in her cabin is much smaller than the one she has in Commorragh, but it should be large
enough for someone to lie on the floor. She gestures for Jaeden to step in, then returns to her bed to
retrieve some blankets and pillows. If she’s going to lock her in the closet, she should probably
temper it with a bit of kindness.

Not that she’ll have to do without her own comfort in any case. Valthiel has seen to it that her bed
is piled high with more plush bedding than she could use on the coldest of nights, along with a
dozen stuffed animals of various species. She picks out two blankets and a pillow, then, after a
moment’s consideration, adds a gyrinx to the pile.

Jaeden looks at the toy in confusion as she takes the items, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she steps
back into the small room, pressing against the racks of Jian’s clothing.

“You can sleep here,” Jian says stiffly. “Goodnight.”

“Looks a lot better than how I assumed I’d be sleeping this cycle.” Jaeden shrugs and starts to lay
out the blankets.

Eager to get away from the situation, Jian goes to shut the door, but stops when Jaeden looks up.
“My lady,” she says, doing her best to avoid eye contact. “Please, can you leave the light on?”

Jian nods and shuts the door, shoving a chair in front of it to deter her from trying to break out in
the middle of the night. Just in case.

She has no desire to sleep, but still she climbs onto the bed. She needs to unwind from the constant
pounding of sensation and emotion. She picks up a book and tries to focus.

From the closet comes a muffled sound of sobbing.

Jian puts the book down and dresses quickly. She’s should go for a walk, get out of here. Her
stomach churns as the noise follows her down the deserted passage.

The return to Commorragh passes relatively quickly. Valthiel has fewer demands on his time than
he did on the journey out, so he and Jian spend nearly every evening together. The time is hesitant
at first, almost as though they are once again meeting for the first time. In a way, Jian feels that
they are. They discuss territory they have already covered, unraveling the other’s interests like a
knot of fine thread before eventually settling into a routine. Dinners, music, art, reading.
Sometimes they spar or he tells her tales of his corsair days. Always, however, there is a sense of
holding back. However much he claims to love her, and perhaps even means it, there is some facet
of himself that he can’t bring himself to share.

For her part, Jian slowly forces herself to loosen the knots of her spirit and let him know her, but
each step, each moment of relaxation or trust, brings with it new waves of fear. She wants to trust
him and feel that connection with someone again, but if he were to abuse the faith she’s putting in
him…

Not that any of this has much effect on their time in the bedroom. While Jian feels more in control,
more confident in her ability to refuse his affections, as soon as their clothing comes off, she finds
herself swept away in the current of his passion. The teeth marks and scratches, the bruises left by
his hands and the various equipment he so loves to use in rendering her helpless and open, they all
dot her body with the same frequency they always have. But part of Jian doesn’t mind. The
adrenaline rush calls to mind the feeling of being in combat, the high of pain and pleasure mixed
into a frenetic pace that overwhelms her nerves into a pleasant blur. She could get used to this.

The rest of her time is spent in relative peace compared to her experiences in Commorragh. Jaeden
proves to be an intelligent and reasonably compliant maid, picking up the aeldari language quickly
and doing as she’s told with a minimum of snark. Jian finds she rather likes the spirit and only
reprimands her when it gets especially flagrant.

Her training sessions with Ayslinn continue. At first, Jian grows frustrated quickly with the need to
go back to the basic principles, feeling like a raw trainee again with her new weapons. But her
progress is rapid as her body and mind learn to adapt old instincts to new techniques. As she grows
accustomed to the flow of the movements, she has to admit that Ayslinn chose well. The vambrace
blades keep much of the best features of her old Banshee power sword, while being even faster and
lighter and allowing her to strike with both hands simultaneously.
She sees little of Lynx on the trip back. She seems to be secreted away in one of Valthiel’s
laboratories, helping him with some kind of project related to the samples he collected in the raid.
Jian is unsure of the details and doesn’t want to intrude by asking.

All too soon, however, they return to Commorragh. The rush of physical and psychic noise is
almost overwhelming, filling Jian’s mind with the cacophony of pain and lust and hatred that she
has never quite become used to. Unlike her first arrival, however, she finds a curious sense as she
steps off the gangway of Death’s Grace on Valthiel’s arm. Not of belonging, exactly, but
perhaps… familiarity. The kabal is a place that she knows, where the boundaries and the turns of
hallway are known, and similar faces appear in her life frequently, even if she can’t possibly hope
to keep track of the tens or hundreds of thousands of beings that make up the population of their
little corner of the webway.

Her life has continued at its slow, measured pace for perhaps a week when she wakes up in the
middle of the night to an urgent knocking. Valthiel sits up beside her with a speed and coordination
that makes her suspect he was already awake. Pulling on a robe, he walks swiftly to the door of his
quarters and, after a brief hesitation, opens it. Hushed conversation follows before he returns to the
bedroom and turns on the light.

“I need to attend a meeting,” he says as he begins to dress in his armor. “I’m not sure when I will
return.”

“What kind of meeting?” Something that rouses him in the middle of the night is likely urgent,
dangerous, or both.

“One of the lhamean sisters has been murdered.”

“Surely that’s not uncommon?”

“It isn’t, but the circumstances surrounding her death give us cause to be suspicious that this
wasn’t just a jealous lover or petty power play. Miarya and I are supervising an autopsy.”

“Right now?”

He nods. “The longer we wait, the more chance any evidence degrades.”

Jian frowns, considering. She has no inherent desire to see whatever gruesome remains there are of
the lhamean. But it could be an educational experience, especially in light of what she has been
meaning to speak with Lynx about ever since they returned from the raid. “May I come?”

Her statement stops Valthiel in his tracks. “Why?”

He just wants to know, she reminds herself. “Because I wish to learn more about the workings of
the kabal. It is my home, after all.”

His face softens into a fond smile. “Of course you can, sweetheart. Be ready in five minutes.”

When they reach their destination, Jian finds herself seated in a small operating theater. A body lies
on the table in the center of the room, a white shroud obscuring its features. More than just
procedures, the place is clearly set up for an audience. At least a hundred drukhari could fill the
seats that surround them, although only about a tenth of that do so now. She tries not to wonder if
this is because it is normally a teaching establishment, or an entertainment venue.

Some of those she recognizes. Miarya stands at the head of the table, a long white smock with the
Ashen Rose’s insignia covering her clothing. Nonetheless, her hair is still perfectly coifed and held
in place with silver combs, and her facepaint is immaculate. It may be a truism, Jian reflects, but
the woman does manage to look sexy in anything. A sister in a similar garment, worn far less
impressively, stands at her side, arranging a tray of tools.

Lynx and Bealfor are also present in the seats, along with several lhamean sisters that she vaguely
recognizes. She thinks she notices Derfahn lurking in the shadows as she enters as well.

After a few moments of quiet consultation with Miarya, Valthiel joins her. The other sister pulls
the sheet off the body and Jian stifles a noise. Although the skin of the dead woman’s body is still
intact, it hangs loosely from her frame, forming wrinkles and closed pockets that appear to be filled
with some kind of liquid. Her features are misshapen and discolored, mottled in purples and greens
and even stranger hues.

Miarya steps forward, scalpel in hand, and the other sister retreats and picks up a quill and
parchment. Jian watches in mixed horror and fascination as the blade slices into the bloated tissue.

“Subject’s skin appears to be unaltered in texture,” Miarya begins. A flow of thick, foul-smelling
liquid dribbles from the wound. “Significant edema and hemorrhage.” Her assistant begins to
write.

The autopsy continues. As it does, it becomes clear that the dead lhamean’s skeletal muscles and
fat have liquified, leaving her organs floating in a sea of bloody pulp. The process likely took
hours, according to Miarya, and the woman would have remained alive until fairly late, when her
diaphragm finally disintegrated.

“Disease, or poison?” asks Valthiel, in a tone that indicates he already knows the answer.

“Poison, although the degree of damage makes it difficult to determine the method of delivery.
Contact, I suspect, injection would not have gone unnoticed and she does not have food in her
stomach.”

Jian remains silent, wanting to ask a question but hesitant to speak up for fear that it will be
unwarranted. Fortunately, Bealfor saves her the trouble. Leaning forward in his seat, he makes an
unimpressed grunt and says “And are you sure that this wasn’t her doing? Poison is your order’s
specialty; she could have been – “

“Of course not.” Miarya says shortly, managing to convey outrage with little change in tone.
“Syrinas was one of my best students. She would not have made such a mistake, nor would she
have created something so clumsy.”

Bealfor returns to his previous position, apparently satisfied. Valthiel, however, is not. “Clumsy
how?” he asks.

The high priestess gestures to the lhamean holding her notes, who steps forward. “We have not
isolated the chemical yet, but its action was irregular, doing its damage more slowly in some places
than others and leaving entire sections of the thighs and neck untouched. Although it is similar to
many of the poisons we employ, no member of our order would use such an inferior product.”

Bealfor looks as though he’s going to speak again, but Valthiel doesn’t give him the chance. “No,
you are correct, Mia. The responsibility for Syrinas’ death does not lie at the feet of the Kabal of
the Ashen Rose, or anyone inside it. This was the work of someone seeking to undermine our work
and the lhamean order, and to strike at the foundation of our organization.”

“You speak as though you have someone in mind,” Miarya says.

He nods. “There are several kabals devoted to the cult of Lhamea, to Lilitru, or to both, but most
have established markets already. No, if there is another drukhari responsible for this, it will be
Lord Urkdreth.”

Jian notices Lynx react at the name, but no one comments. Valthiel continues. “The Kabal of the
Dying Wish has been making soft attacks against me for months, poaching our clients and
besmirching our reputation as the finest source of courtesans in the dark city. I have no doubts that
it is they who have chosen to strike at us in such a violent manner.”

“And what is to be our response?” says another drukhari that Jian doesn’t recognize.

“Simple.” A wicked smile spreads across Valthiel’s face. “We attack the Dying Wish, and we
completely, utterly destroy them, turning each and every one of them into an example of our
superiority. After all, we are the heirs of a Dark Muse… it’s time we reminded the city of the terror
that my ancestor once brought.”

The meeting concludes quickly after that. A war council is arranged for the next morning and
Derfahn is dispatched to eliminate a succubus that Lord Urkdreth appears to be courting as an ally.
The various high-ranking kabalites in attendance are ordered to begin preparing their divisions for
war and mention is made about purchasing weapons from the Kabal of the Flayed Skull. Lynx is
named as lead consultant on the war plans, a development that seems to surprise everyone except
Miarya and Lynx herself. Jian makes a mental note to ask about this as soon as she gets the
opportunity.

Her chance comes as soon as the assembled eldar stand to leave. Valthiel stays behind to discuss
the assassination bid with Derfahn, promising to meet her back in his chambers when he’s finished.

Walking quickly, she catches up to Lynx. “How are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” She doesn’t sound fine. Lynx’s emotions have always been difficult to read, but Jian
can tell that she’s upset.

“Are you sure?” Jian frowns, trying to guess. “Was Syrinas a friend?” This is almost certainly not
the case, but it’s the best place she can think of to start.

“What? No, I barely knew her.” Lynx’s expression grows stormier. “I said I didn’t want to talk
about it.”

“Alright. Do you want to take a meal with me? There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Lynx
might well prefer to be alone right now, but Valthiel has been even more cautious about her
traveling alone since he returned, and she still has more she wishes to say.

Nodding without a word, Lynx falls into step with her as they return to Jian’s chambers. When they
arrive, she settles on the small couch while Jian goes to get herself something to drink.

“I knew him,” Lynx says before she has time to finish.

Jian turns back to her, drink in hand. “Who?”

“Lord Urkdreth. Back when he was just Haradrach. Or Drach to me.”

She pauses and Jian nods. “Do you need a drink?”

“Something strong.” As Jian pours more liquor, she continues. “I don’t know where I came from.
My first memory is of the slums around the bottom of one of the lower spires. It’s an awful place,
Jian. I’ve killed over a piece of rotten fruit that fell from a passing Venom.” Her eyes flash with
sudden pride. “I wasn’t like them, though. I’ve tested my genetics, I’m no half-born.”

Jian nods and hands her a beverage, taking a seat again with her own. To be born naturally is a
status symbol here, a sign that you are nobility above the vat-grown that make up the vast majority
of Commorragh’s population, who are barely better than the slaves in many cases. As horrific as
her life seemed in the early days, there are much worse things outside the gleaming upper floors of
Valthiel’s kabal.

Taking a gulp of her drink, Lynx pulls her legs onto the couch. “Drach and I were… friends, I
guess you could call it. He’d play lookout while I broke into flyers and helped me fight off the
older children. And when we got old enough that the kabalites started to find us attractive, we’d
hire out as a pair sometimes.”

It takes all of Jian’s willpower not to let her horror and disgust show. None of this is unexpected,
but to hear about it so casually is infuriating. Lynx was a child. They were both children.

“There was an older girl in our block who went by Ahrina. She killed most of the others her age
and organized the younger ones into her personal army. What she said, we did, and if we didn’t
she’d carve chunks from our flesh or worse. She forced one of the girls to drink the fuel from a
raider until she vomited blood and cut off another boy’s penis.”

Lynx’s previously detached expression twists with hatred and disgust. “Drach and I decided to kill
her. I provoked her into beating me, and while she was distracted, Drach poisoned her drink.” She
laughs cynically. “I should have known better than to expect things to improve.”

Jian can tell where this is going. “Did he try to take her place?”

“And succeeded. Did everything she did and more.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lynx shrugs. “Not to me, though, I left before he got the chance.”

Jian suspects she’s lying, but knows better than to push her. “And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No. I thought about going back to finish him off, but Miarya found me before that happened. I
only found out he’d become an archon a few months ago.” Putting down her empty glass, she
stands. “But now you know why I’m involved.”

“I do.” She watches Lynx stalk toward the door. Her mannerisms are curt, abrupt, as though she
resents Jian for listening to her tale. This wasn’t easy for her, Jian realizes. Like all drukhari, she
hates looking weak. “Wait!” she calls. “I still haven’t asked my question.”

Lynx’s hand stops on the door handle, but doesn’t turn around. “What is it?”

She’s been waiting to ask for weeks, but now that the time has come, she feels oddly bashful.
“Would you… take me on as an apprentice? I want to learn what you know.”

Frozen in her position, Lynx remains silent for what feels like an eternity before slowly facing
Jian. “You want me, to teach you the arts of seduction and poison?”

Jian nods.

“Why?”
She takes a deep breath. “Because I am done being merely a decoration on Valthiel’s arm. If I’m
going to stay here, I need to be useful, to him and to the kabal, when he is too busy for
lovemaking.”

“That makes sense. But,” she begins carefully. “That explains why you wish to do something. Why
this, in particular?”

“You know that fighting brings me joy. But we don’t go on raids every day, and Valthiel has
perfectly good bodyguards already.” She smiles sadly. “I won’t pretend that I could do much
against a serious threat to him anyway. It’s not that I don’t feel Khaine’s call anymore, but it’s
different. I need to find my place here.”

Lynx nods. “And you think it might be Lhilitu and Shaimesh who hold it?”

“It seems as good a place to start as any.” If she’s being honest, she’s not even sure if it’s Khaine
that she feels driving her forward anymore, or if She Who Thirsts is starting to lay claim to her
soul.

“Well, then, I would be glad to help you. At the very least – “ Lynx flashes a grin. “ – It gives us an
excuse to spend more time together. Start tomorrow morning?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

Jian watches as Lynx leaves the room before lying back, suddenly exhausted. It feels like she’s
spinning, rudderless, without a path to guide her. If she’s not simply waiting for Valthiel to grow
bored with her, then what is she doing? Hopefully, this will help Lynx, at least.

She has no idea how long she lies there, perhaps half an hour, before someone knocks at the door.
“Jian?” Valthiel’s voice.

“Come in.” She sits up.

He enters, smiling at her. “How are you doing?”

“Just fine. Tired.”

“Do you have the energy for a short trip?” He extends his hand.

She takes it. “Of course, but… where?”

“You’ll see.” He looks sideways at her. “Did you walk back by yourself?”

“No, Lynx brought me.”

He nods in approval and falls silent. Jian speaks up after a moment. “Do you really think that the
Kabal of the Dying Wish was responsible for that lhamean’s death?”

Valthiel shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“It would certainly be convenient if they are.”

“Indeed.” He flashes her a grin. “Indeed it would be. And who knows. Maybe they are.” He stops
in front of a small, unassuming door. “Right now, though, I have something to show you.”

“Show me?” What does he have for her now? Not another wardrobe, surely.
 The grin disappears. “I’d hoped to have a bit more time to put the finishing touches on it, but with
war on the horizon, I doubt I’ll have spare time for months. You shouldn’t have to wait that long.”

He hands her a small, hexagonal metal bar. “This is the only key that exists for this room, and it is
yours. No one will enter without your permission, not even me. If there is anything that it lacks,
tell me and I will provide.”

Jian looks down at the key. “Thank you. I – I do want to stay with you. I just need a place to be
alone, sometimes.”

“I understand.” He kisses her on the forehead. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here for you
when you are ready.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly nervous, she opens the door and steps through.

The door slides shut behind her, but she barely hears it. Rather than a room, she stands in a small
garden, enclosed by high hedges and pale blue sky. A crisp breeze blows gently on her face,
bringing a scent of flowers from the groomed beds separated by gravel paths. At the center is a
small pond and as Jian approaches, she feels the heat radiating from it. Another hot spring.

A small building sits on the far end of the space. The door opens at her touch, sliding soundlessly
back to reveal a single room, sparsely furnished. A bed, a low table with cushions for seating on
wood floors. A shrine bearing the images of the aeldari gods as they once were, before their race
became the broken shell that it is now, fills the far end of the structure. A tiny pocket dimension of
her own to escape from Commorragh.

Jian’s knees go weak and she sits to stop the room spinning. I’m alone. For the first time in more
than a year, there is no one to give her orders, no need to please or danger of her thoughts being the
fuel that drives another’s cruelty and hatred.

She curls into a ball, shaking with sobs. If the tears are sadness or joy, she has no idea.

****

The lost girl hides in her tiny refuge, finally free to experience the pain that she has done her best
to hide as her grief erupts in song. For days, she sings a lament for her mother, for Verynia and the
rest of the Banshees, for Reena and herself, melodies wrapping over each other until her voice is
horse and her lips cracked. Then, she simply sits, immersing herself in the silence until the demons
in her mind fall quiet. Only then does she reemerge to face the city and its horrors, ready to
become a woman.

Chapter End Notes

Part of me feels like Jaeden should have put up a stronger fight, but I keep reminding
myself that she's young and inexperienced and has already been through the trauma of
being captured by xenos (and you can bet that Val's people weren't nice while they
were getting her cleaned and patched up, either). Not to mention that she's no fool and
has realized that staying calm and escaping later is a better shot than putting up a fuss.

I realized on the reread just how sad this chapter is. Pretty much everyone gets their
woobie moment. I'm finding that denial is becoming a big theme throughout the story,
which is something I didn't originally set out to do, but is kind of interesting.

I'm not actually sure if it's canonically possible for drukhari to feed off sex like Val is
suggesting, but from what I can tell about canon and what's actually taking place, it
should work. After all, you're essentially just feeding Slaanesh with the energy of
another instead of your own, and Slaanesh is the god of other things besides simply
pain. In my headcanon, it's monumentally less efficient, but the kinkier the sex, the
better it works.
 Birth
Chapter Notes

Another heads up, this chapter includes a lot of disturbing content.

I should probably just stop putting these, it's a master/slave romance set in
Commorragh, everybody knows what they're in for, but still. Escalation occurs in this
chapter.

A few other notes before starting:

1. I was never happy with the sex scene in chapter 8, so I've rewritten that and added in
the updated version

2. I've also started drawing pictures of some of the major characters in the story and
integrating them at the appropriate places. The first one (Jian in her Howling Banshee
armor) is done, and is up in Chapter 1

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“No, Jian, higher up.” Lynx takes Jian’s hand and slides it along her thigh. “Right there. Try that.”

Keeping her finger on the exact point Lynx showed her, Jian presses the tip of her nail into the
skin, feeling the tiny flutters of movement that indicate a blood vessel nearby.

Instantly, Lynx’s eyes lose focus and her already pale skin seems to lose even more color. “Stop,”
she grunts through clenched teeth.

Jian obeys. “I found it, I take it?” Lynx nods vaguely as she retches over the edge of the porch.
“Are you alright?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, then straightens, all signs of distress gone. “Just fine. I forget
how quick that one works sometimes. It’s not the most useful pressure point, if you’re close
enough that you can get to it, you have dozens of better options, but situations do come up where
it’s invaluable.”

“Like when you need to break off sex in a hurry?”

“Yeah, like that.” Lynx makes a face. “Just be careful if you ever use it on a woman. If she’s
pregnant and you do it for longer than a few seconds, it can cause serious damage to the fetus, even
miscarriage. Although that’s sometimes an end in itself.”

“Don’t you have abortifacient drugs you can manufacture?” Jian leans forward to glance inside at
the time. She needs to leave soon; Valthiel has asked to talk with her this afternoon and she wants
to freshen up a bit first.

“Of course we do, but there are some kabals that prohibit such things. Trueborn are rare enough as
it is. Sometimes you need to be able to play innocent, especially if the mother isn’t aware of what’s
about to happen.” The idea doesn’t seem to bother Lynx, and Jian finds herself unsure what to say
next. This is the reality of the path she has chosen.
Fortunately, she’s saved from having to respond by further comment from her teacher. “Now, then,
I think we have time for one more pressure point before you have to leave.”

The lesson finishes uneventfully, with Lynx explaining the best places to jab male genetalia for
maximum pain, although it remains limited to a diagram. “I’ll get someone out here for you to
practice on next time. I doubt Valthiel would appreciate being your dummy for this particular
phase of instruction.”

Jian laughs as she says her goodbyes, trying to ignore the fact that her next lesson will mean
torturing some hapless slave. It’s not as though she can avoid it if she continues this line of study,
and this is relatively harmless in comparison to many of the things she could be attempting. And
likely will be attempting before long.

Contrary to Jian’s expectations, her lessons with Lynx have not yet touched either a sexual position
or a poison vial. Instead, the first few months have taken the form of extensive and detailed
anatomy lessons, coupled with posture and body-control exercises that Lynx says are designed to
work in tandem to grant her complete understanding of the eldar physiology. “Sex and death are
two sides of the same coin, really,” she said on their first day together. “A million ways to achieve
each, a billion scenarios to lead to it, but eventually all that remains is that one perfect moment
where your soul touches your victim’s.”

Jian hasn’t found any noticeable changes to her life from the lessons, but having something to
occupy her mind when she’s not working with Ayslinn or spending time with Valthiel has been
invaluable. Besides, the other demands on her and Lynx’s schedules have made it so they can only
move at a fraction of the pace that typical lhamean instruction proceeds. She’s not worried, though.
It’s not as though she is going anywhere.

Jaeden is in her room, bent, as she often is, over a small notebook full of what Jian knows are her
notes on the aeldari language. The girl seems to spend most of her time either studying the speech
of her captors or scribbling in a second notebook in a language that Jian is unfamiliar with. She
stands as Jian enters. “Hello, my lady,” she says, her speech broken but surprisingly intelligible.

“Hard at work, I see.”

“Much so.”

She looks nervous and Jian frowns. She’s still not sure how to make her feel more comfortable
without giving her a longer leash than would be wise at this point. She’s still not entirely
convinced that the mon’keigh isn’t just waiting until Jian lets her guard down to make a violent
escape attempt. She collapses into an armchair with a sigh. “Would you order up some food? I’m
starving.” Lynx’s lessons always leave her exhausted and hungry.

“I immediately will. What you feeling for?”

“Something with meat in it. Spicy, if possible.” Jian looks at Jaeden, trying to figure out what kind
of gesture she can offer. “Have you had anything yet today?”

Her maid shakes her head, although this fact doesn’t appear to overly bother her. “Well, get
something for yourself as well, then,” Jian adds. “You can do that any time, you know.”

“Alright.” She disappears and Jian takes the time to slip out of her clothes and into a bath. The fact
that her bathtub is shaped like a heart and in the center of the bedroom barely strikes her as an
oddity anymore.
Jaeden returns a few minutes later, while Jian is still washing her hair. The human girl pulls a small
table over to the side of the tub and sets her tray of food on it before backing away without a word.
Jian notices with some amusement that she keeps her eyes averted the entire time. As she’s grown
less visibly frightened of her situation, Jaeden’s modesty seems to have increased, and the sight of
her mistress nude is clearly one she doesn’t relish.

“Thank you,” Jian says before immersing herself quickly to rinse the last of the soap from her hair.
Blinking the water from her eyes, she reaches for a bottle of tonic that she begins to work into the
strands. “I’ll need you to help me get ready for the evening when I’m done here, but apart from
that, you should have some time to yourself.” When she gets done with whatever Valthiel has
planned, she’s probably going to want to just go to bed. With all her various lessons on top of
spending time with him, she’s been waking up exhausted every morning. It will be good to get a
few extra hours of rest.

A part of her knows that there’s likely more to it than that. If she includes the time they spent
returning to Commorragh, it’s been several months since the raid, and she hasn’t done anything to
replace the bits of her soul that have been lost to She Who Thirsts since then. It isn’t as bad as it got
last time – it helps that she’s not taking a constant physical and emotional beating – but she has no
doubt that it contributes somewhat to the tiredness that seems to be a near-constant companion
these days. Not that Valthiel wouldn’t give her someone to torture instantly if she asked, but it’s not
a solution she’s willing to accept. She can only hope her resolve holds.

“Are you entertaining your husband this evening?” Jaeden’s voice startles Jian from her reverie.

“My husband?” she replies, too distracted to think about what Jaeden is saying.

“Yes… he is not your husband, then, you are…” Her eyes widen and she blinks in surprise, as
though she has just made a connection. “You are his possession,” she says quietly. “As I am
yours.”

Jian nods. The details differ, but the outcome is the same. It feels curiously hard to admit, despite
the overwhelming obviousness of it to everyone else around her.

“Is that the reason for your treatment of me?”

For a moment, she’s too surprised by Jaeden’s bluntness to answer properly. “What do you mean?”

“I am not blind. I have seen that you are much more civilized in your treatment of me than the rest
of your xeno race would be. Is it because you are in the same circumstance yourself?”

“No, it’s – “ Jian’s first instinct is to defend herself, explain the difference between her own people
and those of Commorragh. I’m not one of them. But what’s the point? She doubts Jaeden would
understand or care about the distinction. They’re all just ‘xenos’ in her mind, and the meaning of
the mon’keigh term is obvious even if it’s not a word Jian knows immediately. “Yes, I suppose it
is.”

“… I am sorry.”

“It’s alright. The gods have been good to me and I have found a good place for myself. The archon
treats me extraordinarily well and I have several others that I am friendly with. I am content.”

Jaeden frowns at this, but doesn’t say whatever is on her mind. What she does say, however,
sounds almost reluctant. “That is good. And you have been quite fair with me as well. Thank you.”

“Which reminds me. If there is anything here, any situation or person who tries to threaten or take
advantage of you. Tell me. I will end it.” Standing, Jian reaches for a towel to dry herself.

“I will. But I rarely leave your quarters.”

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe.”

Her voice is so listless and sad that it arrests Jian in the middle of her movement. “What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t want to wither away.”

Wither? Do the mon’keigh have to contend with She Who Thirsts as well? Jian isn’t aware of any
such thing, but there is a great deal that she doesn’t know about them, she is coming to realize.
“What do you mean?”

Jaeden’s eyes flash and when she speaks again, it’s in her own language. “I was a Black Priestess, a
servant of the God Emperor on Holy Terra. I fought the insidious workings of the ruinous powers
and protected the souls of the faithful. I was a warrior, not a – a bath girl!” Despite the ferocity of
her expression, her words cut off with a sound that’s close to a sob.

“I understand.” Not the words themselves, several of which are unfamiliar to Jian, and she will
never grasp the human devotion to the corpse they call a god, but the sentiment is painfully
familiar. “I’m sorry. This place has a way of eating your dreams.” She had been naïve enough once
to hope for a happy life.

“I don’t want to forget who I was,” Jaeden says, looking at the ground.

Jian doesn’t know how to respond. Nothing she says will be both true and comforting, and Jaeden
doesn’t strike her as someone who will appreciate blind optimism. “I would like to help you, but I
do not know how.”

When her maid looks up, the iron core has returned. “Does this palace have a library?”

“I believe it does.” The books that Valthiel keeps giving her must come from somewhere.

“May I have access to it? I want to see if there is anything that could help me further my research.”

“I don’t know if I have the power to grant your request, but if I can, I will. You have my word.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.” She does sound slightly better, although Jian isn’t sure how much is a
genuine improvement and how much is simply her regaining her composure.

“I do not know when I will return tonight, and I may spend the night with the archon. There’s no
need to wait up for me.”

Jaeden nods. “Thank you, I won’t.” They fall silent and Jian finishes dressing and doing her hair
and makeup without reopening the conversation. Jaeden assists, but offers no more than a brief
farewell as Jian leaves.

She arrives in Valthiel’s suite quickly and without difficultly. He sits at his desk as she enters and
rises to greet her, but doesn’t step forward. She’s relieved to see him looking alright. It’s been
nearly a day and a half since she left him last, and while she once might have welcomed the small
interval of relief, it now brings something more akin to worry.

Twice since they returned to Commorragh, someone has tried to kill him. Or at least twice that she
knows about. Both times were poisons, one of which merely made him ill when all was said and
done and the other of which he discovered before ingesting it at all. Valthiel has reassured her that
such things are common here, that he’s survived dozens of assassination attempts since he became
archon, but still it makes her uneasy.

He looks well today, though a bit distracted, smiling as she takes a seat in front of the desk. Old
instinct suggests she should perhaps crawl under it, but it doesn’t seem to be on his mind today and
she’s not in the mood to initiate.

“Hello, dearest. Would you like some wine?” he asks. Jian nods and he fills a cup from the half-
empty decanter at his elbow as he continues speaking. “I know you’re aware of the efforts we’ve
been making during the past few weeks, to answer the Kabal of the Dying Wish for the death of
one of our lhameans.”

“I am.”

“What we haven’t really talked about is where you fit into all of this.”

“Of course, I’m willing to help however you wish me to.” That’s why she’s been training with
Lynx, isn’t it? To be something more, to be a useful member of the kabal and someone with a
purpose of her own?

“Are you sure? I mean – “ He takes a sip of his wine. “The realspace raid was familiar ground, a
battlefield with rules and situations you were already acquainted with. This is a battle against
another kabal, and we will fight with tactics and weapons that you have little experience with and
might well find distasteful. And I do not want you to feel obligated to participate, or to join the
fighting directly. If you want to avoid this mission, or take a more supportive role, I won’t be upset
and I won’t pressure you. It’s your choice.”

“Distasteful how?”

“I plan to cheat. Turn their allies and confidants against them by appealing to their base impulses
and desires to convince them that a partnership with us will be more pleasurable.” His face twists
into a sneer of contempt as he continues to speak. “We might like to see ourselves as complex,
intricate individuals, but it’s rather frightening how few actually match that description. Most of us
are simple and painfully easy to manipulate.”

He's right, Jian thinks, reminded of the interactions she witnessed at the party he brought her to,
how even through her fear she knew exactly what to say and do. “Believe me, I’m under no
illusions about my own genius,” she replies wryly.

Instantly, his smile softens and he places his hand atop hers. “There's no illusions or deceptions to
be found around you, my love. It’s one of the things that I admire about you and it’s… something I
wish was possible for me to carry through in my own life.”

After a moment of silence, Valthiel staring wistfully at their entwined fingers and Jian wondering
how to respond, he speaks again, back to a more businesslike tone. “If you do want to help, I have
two ideas for the moment. You could accompany me to a meeting with an elder haemoncullus, the
Dying Wish’s current contact for the resurrection of their high-ranking members. But I will warn
you that meeting such a being or experiencing the covens first-hand is not something I wish to
force on you, or even recommend. The other option is to go along with Lynx to meet with a gang of
hellions allied with our enemy to convince them to contract with us instead.”

Hellions. Savage criminals, many of them fresh from the slums of Lynx’s upbringing, who scream
through the skies on their hoverboards, fighting the other gangs and any kabalite or slave foolish
enough to get in their way. The kabal that captured her seemed to have a great number of them as
allies, and Jian had gathered that their archon had been one of their number herself in younger days.
Going among them will not be pleasant, especially not with talk of ‘baser manipulation’. “I won’t
have to sleep with them, will I?” Not that she thinks he would ask such a thing, but it’s the first
place her mind goes when she thinks of the gangs.

Valthiel snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Merely your presence will be more than enough,
particularly with Lynx there. You can nearly get away with murder by implying things here,
playing to the fantasies of a few bloodthiristy lowlifes will take no effort at all.”

“I would rather go with you.” Regardless of how he frames it or what she actually has to do, the
idea of intentionally provoking the desire of a pack of slavering strangers is enough to nauseate
her. But she does want to contribute, too.

He blinks, looking somewhat shocked. “Are you sure?” he asks carefully. “I want to make certain
you understand who you’re asking to meet before you confirm your choice.”

“I want to help you! And I can stomach gore and death. I would rather that than be viewed as a – as
a whore.”

“Jian…” Shaking his head, Valthiel sets down his wine glass and wraps his other hand around hers.
“It’s not a matter of gore. It’s… You know your craftworld kin, and how much they fear my people
and our raids?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then trust me when I say that the residents of Commorragh fear falling into the hands of the
haemonculli covens even more than that. The things you’ll experience in their labyrinths, the things
you will hear and see and smell, they stay with you. It’s an experience I would like to spare you
from.”

“Then why ask at all?” Jian replies petulantly. His words have given her pause, but now that her
mind is made up, she doesn’t want to change it. And what is the alternative, really? To stay here
and contribute nothing?

“Because I didn’t want to decide for you. If you stay here, I will find something else for you to
help with soon, I’m sure. I won’t be angry and I won’t find myself unprotected. Bealfor and his
men will be guarding my every moment in any case.”

Jian shakes her head. “I stand by my choice.” She may come to regret it, probably will come to
regret it, but it will be her decision, made of her own will. A luxury that has been all too scarce
these days, and, she hopes, well worth the minutes or hours of horror she will have to endure to
claim it.

“Very well. We leave in an hour; I would recommend changing into something you do not mind
ruining.” He stands and offers her his arm to rise from the chair before planting a light kiss on her
lips. “I will be grateful to have your supporting presence at my side, Jian.”

He's afraid, she realizes. The thought is a cold worm in her stomach, but rather than doubt, it steels
her resolve. The incubi may be powerful warriors, but they’re as unyielding as marble. If her
support will help him face their would-be partners, then she will be there to give it.

Nevertheless, she feels a tremor in her legs as she steps away from Valthiel’s embrace.
An hour later, Jian arrives at one of the landing platforms on the exterior of the spire, dressed in
one of her suits of armor, a practical design that doesn’t show too much skin. Her vambrace blades,
a selection of knives, and a stinger pistol all wait in their appropriate places. She doubts Valthiel
would have let her come if they were likely to be attacked directly, but she wants to be prepared.
There is no question about if such things will be allowed at their destination. In Commorragh, to
arrive without weapons is akin to arriving naked, and perhaps even more unusual.

He is there already, dressed in the gilded, engraved armor that she knows he reserves for formal
occasions. A pair of long blades cross at his back and pistols hang at his waist. Jian bows from the
waist. “I am at your service, my lord.” The pageantry seems appropriate. It has been so easy, the
last few weeks, to forget at whose side she stands and in whose arms she sleeps but now, seeing
him arrayed in the death-white armor and with a quintet of incubi warriors at his back, there is no
ignoring it.

Extending his hand to allow her to rise, Valthiel smiles at her. “In that case, I would be delighted to
have you along. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind?”

“Not yet.” The fear has been slowly growing since she first agreed to do this, but she can’t leave
him to do it alone.

They board the flyer and Valthiel helps her settle in her seat, placing an arm around her shoulders
protectively. “If one of our guards gives you an order, I want you to obey it as if it came directly
from me, do you understand?”

Jian nods.

“They will only do so if it has to do with your or my immediate safety.” His hand moves up to
entwine with her hair. “And no matter what you see or hear, or what might happen, remember that
we will return to our own quarters at the end of the day. Just stay with us and do not speak unless
you are spoken to.”

“I understand.”

They ride in silence for most of the trip. Valthiel seems eager for physical contact and Jian finds
herself craving it as well. She wonders what the incubi are thinking, watching them from behind
those expressionless helmets, but they give no sign.

The flyer sets down on an isolated landing pad. A single set of stairs leads downward, into a wide
tunnel that Jian can see rapidly branches off into a half-dozen separate routes, the walls stained and
pitted from centuries of use and lit by a dim, colorless glow. Leading the way, Valthiel walks
confidently into the warren. Jian follows close behind him and their guards bring up the rear, near
enough that she can feel their movements with every step.

Almost as soon as they enter, a creeping sense of darkness, of wrong envelops her, pressing in on
her from all sides. It feels as though cold, damp fur brushes against her skin, every hair in sharp
focus, but when she looks down, she sees nothing. Something evil lives here.

They walk for perhaps five minutes. Valthiel leads them with apparent certainty through half a
dozen choices of route and past a score of doors set into the walls before stopping in front of one, a
black, circular slab of metal, large enough for three drukhari to walk abreast through it. On either
side stands a pair of creatures, although they barely deserve the title. Both are taller than Bealfor
and muscled to the point of grotesquerie, with helms fitted over their heads to obscure their
features. A variety of metal devices sprout from their bodies, some seamlessly, others looking like
fresh implants with inflamed skin weeping fluid around them. One of the creatures has a second
pair of arms and the other has had its hands replaced by massive, serrated hooks.

Jian fights to keep from cringing away as one of them leans to open the door. They are expected, it
seems, as Valthiel made no introduction.

The tunnel beyond the door is darker still, and cold enough to condense a thick mist that swirls
around their knees. It almost feels to Jian as though the cold is the darkness itself, reaching out to
suck what little warmth and light they have to offer. She tries to shake away the feeling – it’s only a
dark room, after all, nothing for a grown woman to be frightened of – but she can’t shed the
impression that the area they are about to enter is alive with malevolence.

As the last incubus walks through the door, it slides shut behind them with a clang. The guards
remain where they are and the Ashen Rose party continues down the tunnel alone. They walk
forward in the pitch darkness, all sounds seemingly muffled by the atmosphere.

A moment later, it hits her. A wave of noise, not physical but spiritual, silent screams of horror and
panic, desperation and, above all, pain. So many voices in so many tones form a wall of psychic
sound, yet still Jian can hear fragments of individual souls crying out. Begging, pleading, offering
anything in the galaxy and more, every request is the same. Kill me, please, make it stop, it hurts
so much, I want it to stop.

Jian clamps her hands over her ears in a vain effort to stem the tide, but still, the agonized
sensations continue, ever-shifting as the souls warp under their torment. It’s the impact of her first
entry to Commorragh, multiplied a thousand times, and she can feel it manifesting physically. Her
mouth is filled with the taste of blood and her ears with a rushing sound as though her body is
trying to make sense of what she feels.

Something brushes her shoulder and rests there. A hand. Valthiel’s hand. He squeezes gently, a
reminder that he is still there, that a world exists beyond the horror that assaults her, before urging
her forward. They have a purpose here.

Swallowing the blood, she keeps going, one foot in front of the other, her hand on Valthiel’s arm
for support. How is he able to remain so calm? With his strong empathic sense, this must be even
worse for him.

After a few more eternal moments, Jian realizes that she is starting to be able to see, just slightly.
There is a light somewhere in this place, far off or behind many twists and turns, but growing
brighter with every step. In another minute, she can discern the walls of the tunnel and the ground
beneath her feet. Both are made of cut stone, curiously archaic for such a technologically advanced
city as Commorragh, and covered in irregular crisscrossing patterns of lines. It's only when she
notices the blood spattered across the floor that she realizes what they are.

Scratch marks.

Gods, what sort of being must have passed through here to leave marks like that? A turn in the
corridor brings Jian closer to the walls and she can see that many of the scratches have things
lodged in them – bits of hair or fur, crusted blood, broken fingernails. Aeldari hands made these, at
least some of them, fighting with every ounce of strength they possessed to resist whatever was
dragging them toward the destination that Jian and Valthiel now approach.

The wave of psychic torment continues, combining with the reminders on the walls to worm its
way deep into Jian’s mind. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s not going to escape, that they’ll be
trapped in here and something horrible will happen to her, or to Valthiel. They have to run, before
they become another voice in the storm.
But as they keep walking, the screams begin to subside. At first, Jian thinks she’s merely becoming
used to them, but soon she realizes that the spiritual cacophony really is lessening, growing fainter
even than the normal background of Commorragh. In its place, it leaves a blank void, rendering
even Valthiel and the incubi invisible to her empathic sense.

The hallway widens into a room with walls that curve away to both sides – quite large, Jian thinks.
An icy white mist fills the space, prickling on her skin and so thick that she can barely see Valthiel
at her side. The silence and emptiness press down on her as a physical weight and vague shapes
float just at the edge of her vision, too obscured to make out the details.

Something hits her in the face. One of the shapes. Perhaps the size of her head and hanging from
the ceiling by a long chain, and almost the shape of a –

The thing reaches out an arm. A bony, damp, yet strangely soft hand clutches at her face. A tiny
hand, just like a –

No.

Jian cries out in alarm and stumbles backwards, away from it. With the revelation, she can start to
make out the shapes around her in more detail. Babies, dozens of them, maybe more if the room is
as large as she thinks it is, hanging from the ceiling from hooks and chains pierced through their
flesh. Their mouths are stretched wide by metallic apparatuses that hold tubes down their throats,
and their tiny bodies, brought past starvation into living death, twitch and tremble in their
suffering.

The little eldar boy closest to her reaches out a blood-covered hand again, back arching in a silent
scream. That’s what the tubes must be for, Jian realizes, to collect the sounds and funnel them
away for the pleasure of whoever created this room.

Jian vomits. How… why… what demon would create such a thing? The void that she now realizes
is the children’s utter despair offers no answer.

“Are you alright, Jian?” Valthiel’s voice, quiet even in the silence as he pulls her hair back from
her face. “Do you want to turn around?”

“No, no I’m alright.” She breathes deeply, trying to purge all weakness from her body and mind.
The cold, focus on how cold it is. She asked to come, and forcing him to leave now would ruin
whatever plans he had.

They continue through the room, avoiding getting close enough to any of the children to disturb
them more than needed. Still, Jian can feel their lifeless, dull eyes following her as they enter
another tunnel.

This one proves much shorter and before a minute has passed, they emerge into another room. The
mist is thinner, here, once again swirling around their ankles and leaving most of the space clearly
visible. Dozens of bodies lie on metal slabs, every kind of sentient being Jian knows of and many
she does not, in various stages of dismemberment. The one closest to her has had its eyes removed
and hung, nerves trailing, to force the still-living human woman to watch what has been done to
her.

Unlike the rest of the homunculus’ den, this room is alive with movement and sensation. More of
the giant creatures that guarded the door move in and out among the experiments, each different
from the rest and wrapped in patched, tattered robes spattered with gore. Moans and wails fill the
air, punctuated by the cracking of joints and bones and the low hum of the various mechanical
tools that the servant-creatures wield. The air stinks of rotten flesh and bodily fluids.

Jian closes her eyes, trying to find the serenity that filled her mind in her warrior days. The
countenance of Khaine has witnessed much worse horrors, and if she can embody his aspects once
again, she will be able to endure. She squares her shoulders and looks up again, noticing for the
first time the sarcophagai suspended above the entire scene. Is this what it takes to bring back the
dead? To bathe in endless suffering until you have satiated She Who Thirsts long enough to steal
away?

She gags, but manages to keep down what little bile she has left. This is hell. Finding Valthiel’s
arm, she grips as tightly as she can, heedless of any pain she might be causing him.

“Mmmm… cross the stars and brave the warp, who do we have here?” A woman’s voice speaks
behind them, smooth and high-pitched, almost like a child’s, but with an unnatural echo like no
child Jian has ever met. “It’s not every day we are blessed by the child of a muse, not at all.”

The woman laughs and Jian can feel warm breath on the back of her neck. Long, bony fingers with
razor-sharp nails trail down her spine in a way that feels exposing, as though the woman can read
her every memory and violate her innermost thoughts by touch alone. “And the pet that
accompanies him, uncommonly loyal and with such a radiant soul. Yes, yes, such a fine specimen,
so very fine, we could do such things with it.”

Everything that has happened since she left Yme-loc has given Jian many skills she has never
expected to possess, and one of them has been to remain absolutely still while strangers paw at her.
She waits, desperate for an end and willing herself to breathe normally. What does this woman
want with her?

Valthiel sighs, managing to sound almost bored. “Please, spare us the theatrics, Ezirmera. We are
not humble vat-born, dazzled by parlor tricks. We are here to parley, either hear our terms or walk
away from a once in a lifetime deal.”

The creature – the haemonculus, Jian realizes – cackles and her hand slides back up to Jian’s neck.
“The princeling has decided to play the role of his elders today, very nice. But I’m afraid that the
darkness of your cloak is rather see-through. One might even say watered-down.”

Valthiel turns to face the being behind them, not just strangely calm, but resolute and commanding.
“Be that as it may, do not, for one minute, presume to touch what is mine without my consent.”

The talons remove themselves from Jian’s neck, dragging across her skin as though reluctant to let
her go. “So,” the haemunculus hisses. “What is it you would ask of me, then? To hear about her,
perhaps?”

“No”

“Oh? The stories we could tell you about the nights when Lhilitu still walked our streets, even then
more of a concept and an ideal to come than a true drukhari woman… But still more than capable
of mothering offspring, I see.”

“You may be old, Ezirmera, but you are not that old,” Valthiel sneers. “Everything you could tell
me would be rumors and superstitions, no more than I have heard a thousand times in my own
halls. You might be able to ensnare gutter rats who fancy themselves archons this way, but we are
made of better stock.”

Jian turns around as he speaks, forcing herself to look at the creature behind her. The one
responsible for all of this.

The first thing she notices is the haemonculus’ skin. Far smoother and softer even than Jian’s,
which is already perfect from Lynx’s extensive beauty treatments, but instead of covering flesh and
muscle, it almost looks like it’s draped straight onto the bones, forming an elongated shape that
might once have been a drukhari. A quartet of jointed, insect-like limbs project from its – her? –
back, two waving about as if to punctuate her words. The other two are planted on the ground to
steady her as she rests in the air, held aloft by what looks like a spine that has been extended into a
long, spiked tail.

Looking up from the creature’s bare abdomen, which is at Jian’s eye level, she forces herself to
gaze directly at her face. It, too, has been altered, eyes round and pitch black and glittering and a
mouth full of jagged, razor-sharp teeth. It occurs to Jian that the woman’s skin cannot possibly be
her own.

The woman grins and reaches out those long, bony fingers toward Jian. But before she can touch
her, Valthiel speaks, his voice again cutting sharply through the din. “We are here to offer you a
deal. Nullify your contract with Lord Urkdreth and the Kabal of the Dying Wish, leaving him and
the upper ranks of his kabal as a feast for She Who Thirsts when the time comes. The meager
tribute he can offer is nothing compared to the coffers of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. Your petty
dalliance with those acting above their station has paid off, and you have my attention. Let us
negotiate.” He steps forward, interposing himself between Jian and the haemonculus.

“Mmmm… An intriguing offer, it is most certainly. Tempted I am, very tempted to accept… but
let us sweeten the deal, shall we?” The haemonculus takes Valthiel’s shoulder and, before the
incubi have even managed to draw their weapons, slides him from her path. A path that leads her
right back to Jian.

“Firstborn,” she hisses, sliding one of her clawed appendages across Jian’s stomach. “Fresh from
the womb, with seeds supplied by the noble archon. A fascinating child I could grow from such
stock, a rare treat for my collection.” The tail twists, lowering her until her feet are just above the
ground, and she stares into Jian’s eyes. Her hand extends. “Do we have a deal?”

No. The thought is too much. Not after everything. “No, we do not.” She might be ruining things
for Valthiel, she might be ruining things for herself. She doesn’t care. She can’t give this vile being
any more children to hurt.

The haemonculus recoils slightly in surprise and seems about to speak before Valthiel steps
forward again. “Nor is she able to make such a deal even if she would. If you seek an alliance with
the Ashen Rose, you speak to me or you do not succeed. Nor does the deal I propose require
sweetening, as unlike the pitiful rewards that the Dying Wish has to offer, we pay our collaborators
fairly.”

“And what, pray tell, is fair in this case?”

Valthiel pulls a small vial from inside his coat, holding it up to the harsh, diffused light of the
laboratory. It contains a thick, red-brown liquid that seems to Jian to slosh about with an almost
sentient intensity.

Ezirmera leans forward. “Is that – “

“Yes. An ichor sample from the long-extinct Sariesa race, preserved by the Order Xenos of the
Imperium of Mankind and brought directly from their vaults to my own. And then to your hands,
should you so desire. Merely the first of many timeless treasures we can offer your coven.”
She considers for a moment, but not nearly as long as Jian thought she would. She must want this
very badly. “Very well, you have an accord, young museling. And a prosperous one may it be.”

The negotiations proceed quickly from there. A great deal of the specifics fly over Jian’s head, but
it seems that Valthiel and Ezirmera come to an agreement with little trouble. She wonders if it’s
because what he offers her is so valuable, or if the Kabal of the Dying Wish was not a very reliable
ally.

After a few minutes, the two drukhari slice their hands to mark one side each of a pair of metallic
discs, a symbol, it seems, of their agreement. And then the meeting is over, and Valthiel turns to
leave without another word, gesturing for Jian and the incubi to follow him.

She barely registers the return journey. There is the screaming, the scratched walls echoing with
desperation, and the deathly silence of the room full of tortured children, but her senses are seared
to numbness. All she can think about are Ezirmera’s words, the claw brushing across her stomach.
Firstborn…

Lynx’s stories of her own childhood, and Valthiel’s, the thought of a tiny, helpless thing that she
created hanging from those chains, wishing only for death despite not even understanding what
that is. It brings back memories of her own hopelessness and pain, from the early days when she
wondered if she, too, would end up on a cold slab watching her own dismemberment.

They settle into the flyer and begin their trip back to the Ashen Rose’s pocket dimension. Valthiel
wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, and she clings to his armor, trying to lose
herself in the motions of his hand on her shoulders. You’re safe, now, Jian, she tells herself. He
doesn’t want to hurt her, he loves her. He wouldn’t make her do such a thing as was asked of her,
and the haemonculus is back in her lair, getting further away from her by the second.

No one speaks. Jian wonders if Bealfor and his men are as horrified as she is, or if they simply
don’t care. Ayslinn has assured her that there is more to the hierarch than a soulless killing
machine, but Jian has yet to see it.

Perhaps an hour later, the flyer sets down on the same landing platform from which they left.
Valthiel dismisses the incubi before helping Jian climb down. “Do you want me to walk you to
your room?” he asks quietly. She can only nod and let him lead her toward the safety and
familiarity of her quarters, quiet and compliant, just like she’s always been.

Jaeden is absent when they arrive, either running an errand or ensconced in her quarters, praying at
the little shrine she has set up or writing in that little notebook of hers. Or perhaps asleep already.
Jian realizes that she has no idea how long they were gone.

She lets Valthiel guide her to the bed and sits, taking a blanket to wrap around herself. “Will you
please stay with me?”

“Of course. Do you mind if I change my clothes?”

Jian shakes her head. He reappears after a few minutes, dressed as she has sometimes seen him,
loose brown pants and a bright blue shirt half-unbuttoned, hair tied back carelessly with a few
strands coming free to hang around his face. It’s not an archon’s look, but it is an improvement in
Jian’s opinion. It’s almost as if the lack of reminder of his position removes some of the hard lines
from his face. He takes a seat beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

“For what?”

“The baby, I – I couldn’t do it. Not after what I saw, I…” She trails off, unable to explain.

“I understand. And I want you to know that I didn’t expect you to, nor would I have condoned it if
you had.” He sighs. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Jian shakes her head, trying to make sense of her thoughts and the source of the ache that’s
growing in her chest. “I asked to come. It was my choice. And I’m glad that you didn’t have to face
it alone.”

Valthiel laughs humorlessly. “I would have had the incubi with me.”

“That’s not the same thing.” Jian looks up. “Are you alright?” He doesn’t seem upset, but it must
have been even more painful for him than for her.

“I should be asking you that.”

“I will live.” Jian has no idea what makes her keep talking, but the horrible weight of what she’s
seen keeps pressing her until she can stand it no longer. “It was one of the things I feared, when
you – when I came here. That I would have your child, and he would grow up here, in this city.”

Valthiel doesn’t answer for long seconds, but Jian can feel his chest and shoulders rising and
falling as he tries to steady his breathing. “Jian,” he finally says. “I know it didn’t seem like it then,
and likely still does not now, but I want you to know beyond the slightest doubt that if you ever
conceived our child, and if you decided to keep it, I would never, under any circumstances, force
you to deliver and raise them here in Commorragh. Ever. It is out of the question.”

His words should gratify her, but instead they just tear further at the gaping emptiness in her chest.
“I thought at first that it was what you wanted. I wondered why you were treating me so well and
thought that perhaps you wanted an heir.”

Tensing, Valthiel shakes his head. “That is a complicated question to answer, but I can assure you
that no, I am not all that interested in an heir and it has nothing to do with why I bought you or why
I’ve treated you the way I have.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And you still deserve far better.”

Now that there is no taking back her words, Jian is starting to remember herself. This isn’t a door
she can open, not if she wants to hold onto the thin thread of happiness that she’s started to find.
“It’s alright,” she says quickly. “Everything is alright now.”

Valthiel twitches, as though she’s stabbed him. “No it isn’t,” he croaks. His fingers slide under her
chin, gently lifting her gaze to meet his own. “Jian, when I first brought you here, to my kabal, the
way I treated you… the things I did to you and made you do, and the name that I gave you… I am
not proud of that, and I know it caused you a great deal of pain. I – I know that I cannot undo what
happened, and I likely can’t make it up to you either. But I swear, I will spend the rest of my life
trying. You didn’t deserve any of it, and for that, I am sorry.”

Jian stares at him, mouth open in shock. Her eyes fill with tears, but she barely knows why. What
is he saying? Things she wasn’t sure he felt, let alone would ever speak aloud to her. “Why?” she
breathes.

He twitches again. “I told myself a lot of things… That this is the way things work, here, and it
was your role and mine. That you would be fine as soon as you got used to the idea, and that even
if there were caveats attached, your life was still much better than it would be otherwise.” Sighing,
he shakes his head. “But they were all excuses, and I knew that at the time. I’m sorry, Jian. I’m
sorry for everything.” He pulls his hand away from her and sits, looking down at his lap as though
he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Neither does she. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to understand the pain that washes over
her in waves. All the emotions she’s been trying so hard to keep out of her mind flood back in. A
sob rips from her. Another.

How long she cries, she’s not sure. Her eyes burn and everything aches by the time she’s reduced
to sniffling quietly, curled in on herself on the bed. Through blurry vision, she sees Valthiel reach
his hand toward her, but then pull it back. He looks down again.

“Even after you told me I could say no, I was afraid to,” she whispers. “I thought you would hurt
me if I did. And I hated myself for being a coward and giving in. Everywhere I went, I could feel
you inside me, taste you. I wash and I wash and still I never feel clean.” Things she’s never
admitted, even to herself alone in the dead of night.

“Please.” He swallows. “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know…” Nothing will ever erase the memories or get rid of the
darkness that grows inside her with each passing day. It eats away at her as much as the slow
sapping of her energy does.

They remain quiet for hours. Eventually, her hand finds its way into his, then, slowly, she draws
closer until she is once again in his embrace, arms tight around his midsection. Anything to keep
from having to be alone with her thoughts. His hands work soothing circles into her shoulders and
back and run through her hair.

Jian runs through her memories, the way their relationship has progressed. So much that she
wishes had never happened. It hurts, oh, Isha, it hurts so much.

It's with a strange sadness that she realizes that she isn’t angry with him. She was, once. She
remembers how she used to hate herself for not even trying to kill him. But somewhere, the anger
has faded, replaced with only a dull, bitter regret.

She will never forget what happened. She’s certain of that. No matter how many years or decades
or centuries she lives, it will always be there. But maybe, with time, she can move past it. Cover
the bad memories with newer, better ones so that they only cause pain on rare occasions.

“I forgive you,” she says.

His grip on her tightens and she feels him draw a shuddering breath. “You… forgive me?”

Jian nods. There is nothing to be gained, anymore, by being angry.

A drop of something warm hit her head, then another. Tears. “Thank you,” he whispers.

****

The man and the woman sit entwined on the bed. Forgiveness granted, it is mere seconds before
she feels his touch on her mind. A blanket of psychic presence wraps her in its warmth and shields
her from the torment of the city that surrounds them, leaving his every thought and feeling open to
her should she choose to explore.

Not since she left the healer has she felt such intimacy and she longs to meet it with her own, but
she doubts she will ever be able to trust another so deeply again. Yet still, she tries, opening herself
 up just a crack and feeling him race to the edge to touch the fleeting piece of her exposed soul.

As Commorragh night passes into an identical day, they remain where they are, in the privacy of
their embrace, slowly forging a bond anew.

Chapter End Notes

THIS IS IT! This was the chapter that I've been looking forward to writing since I
started this story (well, one of them). It was so hard, but so, so much fun. Both the
horror show that was the haemonculus coven and the scene after.

I'm curious, what did you guys think of the coven? And what about Val's apology?
Did you expect it?

OOC, I can tell you that this is likely the first time in his life he's ever heard the phrase
"I forgive you" directed toward him.
 Desire
Chapter Notes

And I'm back again!

Thanks as always to my beta readers, and to anyone who's stuck with me this long (and
through all the delays!)

Also, apologies in advance for the lack of Val in this chapter, we will remedy that in
c16, I promise ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The troop transport rushes through the twisted corridors of the webway at a dizzying speed, tilting
and jerking with its movements. But not a single one of the kabalites that pack the interior is sitting
down, much less strapped in. Most seem to be making a contest of remaining upright with as little
assistance as possible.

Jian feels no such need to prove herself and sits in one of the seats built into the side of the
passenger compartment, mentally preparing herself for the battle ahead. For the first time since that
day, she is outside the safety of the Ashen Rose’s pocket dimension without Valthiel at her side. It
feels odd. But he’s with a team of his own, striking into the heart of the Kabal of the Dying Wish
while the bulk of their forces are away on a raid.

She, meanwhile, is joining the group that will ambush the raid team itself, a move meant to serve
as both a way to weaken their rivals further and a distraction to keep them from returning to
reenforce their fellow kabalites. It’s odd, Jian ponders. The more she grows to appreciate Valthiel’s
company, the less of it she gets. But that is a problem to solve when this mission is over.

The leader of the team, Lord Vrash, stands near her, arm wrapped around one of the support poles.
It’s hard not to think of him as “Bealfor” these days, Jian reflects. She sees far more of Ayslinn
than she does of him, and the former Scorpion refers to her husband exclusively by his first name.
Jian suspects that to do such a thing herself would result in instant death. With his helmet on, his
expression is unreadable.

Ayslinn stands next to him, holding onto the same support. Her blonde hair has been tied into a
tight topknot and she wears a set of heavy armor in a design that echoes Lord Vrash’s but is not,
Jian thinks, the traditional armor of an incubus. She carries her weapon, a long pole tipped with a
short, poisoned blade.

“Nervous?” The older woman asks, apparently noticing Jian’s scrutiny.

“I’ll live,” Jian replies. She is a bit uncomfortable with the unfamiliar setting and the fact that she
will be killing her fellow aeldari this time and she longs to hear word to ensure that Valthiel is
alright, but most of her energy is anticipation. She’s ready to hunt again.

“Of course you will. I haven’t taught you that poorly.” Ayslinn shifts her weight. “The forward
team will have established a webway portal by the time we arrive, where we should find the Dying
Wish completely engaged with their raid. The t’au gunline should be more than capable of keeping
them occupied while we attack from behind and ensure that both forces are wiped out. Any
questions?”

“Is there anyone that we specifically want captured instead of killed?”

“A valid question – “ Ayslinn begins.

“No it isn’t, it’s – “

“Hush, dear. Do not interrupt, it’s rude.” Ayslinn’s voice is polite, but with an edge that forces Jian
to hide her shock as the older woman turns to her husband. Even more surprising is that he
acknowledges her with a slight nod and remains silent.

Returning her attention to Jian, Ayslinn continues speaking. “As I was saying, it is a valid question,
and while we normally try to capture as many slaves as possible, today our objective is slightly
different. We want to eliminate our foes as quickly and with as few resources expended as possible,
to leave us free to disengage and return to Commorragh as reinforcements for Lord Aire’s forces if
we are needed. And unlike Lord Urkdreth, he isn’t foolish enough to underestimate the power of
the t’au. Our goal is simply to keep the Dying Wish pinned down so that they can do our work for
us.”

“So we aren’t attacking them directly?”

Lord Vrash attempts to butt in again, but once again, Ayslinn stops him with a hand on his chest.
“Don’t worry, there will be plenty of bloodshed. But targeted. Focus on vehicles and
communications equipment, any commanders that you can find. The t’au will mop up the kabalite
footsoldiers.”

“Understood.” Jian pulls her helmet on and finds herself grinning. “This will be fun.” It will be a
challenge, a chance to show off her skills and ability to remain focused even in the rush of battle.

After a moment’s pause, Lord Vrash sighs. “Yes, it will be.”

“See, I knew you had it in you, dear.” Ayslinn smiles and he wraps an affectionate arm around her
shoulders.

Jian can only stare in astonishment. Is it the same man under the armor as the Lord Vrash she
knows? While his behavior is a far cry from Valthiel’s constant shows of intimacy, nothing Jian
has seen from him before has indicated to her that there might be even a hint of softness there.
Could it be that Ayslinn is right, and they genuinely love each other behind closed doors?

She has no time to contemplate further, though. The transport careens to a halt, sending several of
the kabalites flying into bulkheads. A large circle appears on the wall on the opposite end of the
transport, swirling with dark energy that quickly resolves into an image of a rocky valley, baren of
vegetation or buildings, under a cloudless pink sky. The ridge opposite them is dotted with what
Jian assumes must be the t’au. She knows of the strange race by name, but this is her first time
getting a glimpse of them in person.

They are roughly the same shape as an aeldari, but shorter and stockier, more akin to mon’keigh.
Apart from that, their features are obscured by armor: smooth and sleek, but artless, as though it
were designed to make each wearer identical as quickly and easily as possible. Their movements
are slow and graceless as well, but it seems to matter little, as they avoid closing the gap to their
drukhari foes, preferring to hide behind the rocks and pepper the invaders with fire from some kind
of energy weapon that leaves a tang of ozone in the air.
Jian follows Ayslinn and Lord Vrash toward the portal and plunges through, drawing her knives as
she does so. Small, rounded rocks fly when her feet hit the ground, forming a loose footing that she
can tell will make maneuvering difficult. Some of the Dying Wish troopers have already noticed
their presence, but before moving forward, she takes an instant to finish coating her weapons in the
paralytic and incapacitating toxins that she has learned to make with Lynx.

Ayslinn places a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Bealfor and his men will take on the
Talos engines,” she says, gesturing toward the trio of floating biomechanical devices that hover
among the rest of the army, reenforcing the Dying Wish forces with heavy gunfire. “Our job is to
deal with the Wracks guarding them. Are you feeling up to the task?”

“If I’m not, I will be by the time we get there.” Her thoughts race, but she’s grateful at least to not
be facing another Talos. The details of the last time she fought one, on the craftworld ship, are lost
to her, buried under a flood of combat reflexes and strategy that filled her mind both then and now,
but the emotional resonance is clearly negative.

“Enough talk.” Lord Vrash’s words cut through her moment of reverie. He raises his klaive and
charges toward the Dying Wish warriors. His men and Ayslinn fall in behind him and Jian sprints
after them, scanning for any signs that their approach has been noticed.

But whether due to the overconfidence and poor training of the Kabal of the Dying Wish, or the
speed of their assault and the difficulty of noticing anything in the cluttered landscape, no one turns
to meet them as they approach. The incubi break over the nearest Talos like a wave, cutting off its
tail and arms with direct, powerful strokes before moving their focus to the creature’s body.

With a pang, Jian wonders how much different that final trip to the bridge of her mother’s ship
would have been if she had joined a shrine of Striking Scorpions or Fire Dragons instead. The kind
of Aspect warriors meant to take on heavy weaponry like this. But before that thought has time to
permeate or to remind her what went wrong the last time, she’s in motion again, hurling herself at
the nearest wrack.

Ayslinn glides in behind her, darting behind the creature – similar in overall look, if not in exact
form, to the ones that Jian saw at the haemonculus coven – to cut across the wires and tubes that
lace the creature’s back.

She had no idea that such creatures were capable of speech. She would have thought that the
haemonculi would prefer wordless servants, silently doing their bidding. But as the brilliantly-
colored liquids splatter across the wrack’s back and the wires spark, it screams wordlessly, loud
enough to be heard over the din of escalating battle. It lurches forward, bladed arms whirling and
slashing wildly.

Ducking below the assault, Jian closes the distance to impede its ability to swing at her while she
presses a follow-up attack. Not caring where she hits, she winds up getting a first blow near its
armpit. It reels to the side, howling, but Jian gives it no time to regroup. Her knives strike its
sinewed flesh over and over again until its stomach is in ruins and it lurches forward, too weakened
by the acids and poisons and Jian’s blows to keep going.

Ayslinn shouts from nearby and Jian turns to see her polishing off a second wrack, practically
whooping with delight. It’s such a change from both the normally dignified woman wielding the
glaive and from what Jian has come to expect from Striking Scorpions that she stops dead in her
tracks.

But only for a moment. The urgency of the actions surrounding her and the ambient bloodlust pull
her back into the maelstrom. She repeats her dance with the next wrack, turning it, too, into a
lifeless pile of flesh and metal. Blood spatters her face, hot and sharp-smelling and she wipes at it
as she looks around for the next target.

A high-pitched whine behind her turns to an oncoming roar as reaverbikes blow past her, dropping
chemical bombs that erupt with purple flame across the battlefield and cut the Dying Wish forces
in half. A trio of kabalite riflemen appear momentarily transfixed by the sight of the fires and Jian
races toward the nearest. Before he has time to recover his poise, she stabs him. To his credit, he
tries to fight back, raising his rifle in a vain attempt to fend her off, but it’s too late. She’s already
drawing him into a tight embrace, holding him pinned while she slides a knife into the weak point
between his armor and helmet. He collapses, paralyzed, but Jian doesn’t let him hit the ground.

A pair of shots flies past her. Keeping the man she just incapacitated in front of her as a shield, she
advances on his fellow kabalites. They raise their guns to fire and she shoves her first victim into
them, distracting them long enough to fall on them. She can feel the pain, the fear, as she plunges
her knives into the first woman’s eye sockets, killing her instantly before rounding on the other,
who falls just as quickly.

Their deaths are mere ripples in the currents of emotion that surround her, but Jian finds herself
able to focus on them, the strangely potent and not altogether unpleasant feeling of energy
crackling over her as their souls dissipate.

Ayslinn, Lord Vrash, and his incubi warriors have gotten a few dozen meters ahead of her, angling
for what Jian thinks is a sybarite commander of the Dying Wish forces. Jian sprints after them,
catching up just in time to get pulled into another melee.

How long the battle goes on, she isn’t sure. She kills, and kills, and kills, until her finely enameled
armor is covered in gore and her body filled with the life drawn from those she’s ended. Only a few
scenes stand out from the whirlwind.

Lord Vrash and his men charging at the main body of their enemies, working as though they were
one creature.

Ayslinn vaulting from her husband’s back into a nest of kabalite troopers and emerging covered in
the blood of a dozen strangers.

Tackling a scourge from the air and riding it down to the ground, stabbing at its wings and legs
until it lies helpless on the gravel. The thrill of her superiority buoys her, reminding her that she is
the victor and the winged woman the loser, she is strong and powerful and she never has to be
weak again. The cry of pain as the hollowed-out bones snap is a call to victory.

A woman racing toward a flyer at the top of the far ridge, dressed in elaborate armor that marks her
as a commander and surrounded by sslyths. A commander trying to escape.

Jian races after the woman, Ayslinn on her heels. The distance closes slowly – sslyths are faster
than they appear from their clumsy, snakelike bodies – but soon Jian can make out the woman’s
features. A succubus, clad in the armor of a wytch cult that Jian doesn’t recognize, smiles wickedly
back at her as she tosses a handful of grenades behind her. They spread into a cone as they fly
through the air, flashing in the dim light.

With a shout of warning, Jian dives backwards, shoving Ayslinn out of harm’s way. They land on
the ground in a heap. The grenades detonate in unison, a thunderclap that sprays a million tiny
needles in every direction, but only a few make it far enough to reach them and most bounce
harmlessly off their armor.
Pulling herself back to her feet, Jian looks up to see a spear hurtling in her direction, again
launched from the succubus’ hand. No time to dodge, she’ll have to –

And then it falls to the ground, the shaft struck in two by Lord Vrash’s klaive. Saving her life
again. He steps toward his wife and offers her a hand up as he turns his helmeted head toward Jian.
She can feel the scowl through the darkmetal faceplate.

Yet again, she returns to the rush and the blur and the manic dance.

When the world slows enough for her to make sense of it, she finds herself drenched in blood, with
bits of flayed skin clinging to her armor and the guts of a sslyth she killed coating her boots.
Screams in a dozen keys fill the air. One of her knives is buried in the skull of a wytch who dared
to challenge her, sending the woman to the ground convulsing in pain.

The noise that jarred her to awareness comes into focus and Jian looks up to see the succubus she
was chasing climbing into a flyer and take off at a breakneck pace, weaving expertly between the
t’au’s ion blasts.

She curses under her breath. She was too slow, unable to fight through the Dying Wish troops fast
enough to stop the woman from leaving.

At least the battle seems to be going well otherwise. The Kabal of the Ashen Rose has
overwhelmed their foes and the t’au have taken advantage of the break in the attack to regroup,
offering them a temporary reprieve before they have to deal with them as well.

Jian pulls a pair of cuffs off her belt and snaps them around the wytch’s wrists, immobilizing her
for the kabalites to pick up later. She’d better at least make a show of capturing some slaves for the
kabal. A high, mechanical whine races over her head as she does. She looks up.

A hellion turns back toward her for an attack, his long pink hair whipping around his face with the
change in momentum. Their eyes meet for an instant before he charges toward her, guns blazing.

She runs to meet him, dodging and zig-zagging to avoid his shots before pushing off the back of
one of the incubi as he approaches. Her landing rocks the skimmer and he struggles to keep it from
diving into the ground or one of his Dying Wish allies. Jian wraps her arms around him to keep her
balance, burying her knives into his hip and shoulder.

Unable to maintain his tenuous control, the hellion lurches to the side, crashing to the ground and
bringing Jian with him. His body takes most of the impact from the crash, but still she can feel a
wrench of pain as her ankle twists under her. That’s nothing, though. What matters is that she’s
here, alert and active, while her prey lies under her, twitching from the shock of his fall and the
damage she’s inflicted. It’s intoxicating.

Before he has time to recover, she finishes disabling him with quick, clinical strikes to other major
joints. He can thank Lynx for giving her that knowledge. Leaving her with a helpless drukhari boy,
no older than herself, staring up at her in wide-eyed horror. His eyes race from side to side and his
face strains as he tries to move, to strike at her, but realizes that he can’t. He is completely in the
power of the girl sitting on top of him, in her power.

She can do anything she wants.

Want overwhelms Jian, the desperate need to do something, anything to keep this high going
longer. To feel truly free and in control, like nothing in the universe can stop her, not even She
Who Thirsts.
“Let me go…” the hellion whimpers. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” The urge is so strong she can barely speak, but she still has no idea what it is that she
desires.

“Yes! Anything, I promise!” He swallows and looks up at her, fear and hope mixing.

Her emotions crash over her, leaving her room in the desperate pause after the wave to identify
what she feels.

Arousal.

The idea of having someone utterly at her mercy tightens and coils in her crotch and stirs in her
chest, an almost painful reminder of the heart pounding in her chest and the press of her nipples
against her armor. She could make him suffer, carve him away bit by bit and harvest every flicker
of his life to replenish what has been stolen from her, and it will feel as wonderful as her best nights
with Reena or Valthiel.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

“What?”

And in the terror and confusion that war in his face, Jian finds an anchor. She can’t do this. Can’t
become that, open that door. “Kiss me, and I will set you free,” she repeats, face heating as guilt
begins to pour in.

The hellion obeys slowly, raising his head toward her for a kiss. His lips tremble against her own as
she kisses him. It’s a good kiss, full and deep and electrified by his fear and wonder. Again, the
temptation.

Before she can fall prey to the siren song, she shoves her dagger into his skull, just behind the ear.
He twitches and falls limp in her arms.

Jian looks up, at the battle that has raged around her while she sat fixated by her victim. It had been
nearly over when she stopped paying attention, and it is truly over now. The Kabal of the Ashen
Rose is collecting their prisoners and preparing to retreat before the t’au decide to return. They are
not the drukhari’s purpose today.

She stands hesitantly, exhausted and uncertain now that the rush has faded. She can see Lord Vrash
and the other incubi standing in a cluster, supervising the loading of the prisoners. Ayslinn waits
alone nearby and Jian walks toward her with shaky steps.

The older woman is flushed with excitement and exertion, her hair matted with blood and a feral
smile dancing on her lips. The grin widens as Jian approaches. “That was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Jian echoes the expression lamely. The experience, the energy, the glory and
overwhelming sensation, it almost reminds her of an orgasm. But it’s over now, leaving her tired
and cold and weak with excess adrenaline. “What do we do now?”

The manic expression remains on Ayslinn’s face. “We go back to the ship and see how the other
prong of this attack is going. If it’s still going, we join them, if not, we celebrate!” She punctuates
her statement by gesturing with her glaive, which Jian notices still has bits of viscera hanging from
it.

Together, the two women make their way up the slope to the waiting ship. The Kabal of the Ashen
Rose doesn’t seem interested in lingering and many of the warriors are ahead of them. Ayslinn
licks the blood from her fingers in intense silence while Jian’s mind spins.

She wanted to kill the hellion. This was nothing new. She has killed hundreds before, including
aeldari. But more than that, she wanted him to suffer and to take joy in his suffering. The thought
frightens her. More worrisome still, she could have done it and no one here would have cared.

No, she corrects herself. Valthiel might have cared, some. Not a great deal, as he has surely done
the same and worse in his life, but she likes to think that he would notice such a change and that it
would concern him. Still, it’s little comfort when faced with the reality of how easy it was to
reduce another to a mere reservoir of pain. Is this the first step on the Path of the Damned?

Their arrival at the transport ship brings word that Valthiel and his forces have succeeded beyond
expectations, routing the Kabal of the Dying Wish in their own fortress. Lord Aire is returning
triumphant and unharmed to the kabal’s pocket dimension, bringing Lord Urkdreth as his captive.

Jian celebrates with the rest of the strike force on the return trip, cheering and taking some of the
sharp, acidic liquor that someone hands her, but soon excuses herself to sit at one end of the ship
and think. She needs to reorient, gather her wits and decide what she is going to do when the next
raid arrives.

It's only when she returns to her room that she realizes her lips are still scarlet with the hellion’s
blood.

****

Jian finds herself filling with excitement as she hurries down the hallways of Valthiel’s palace.
Two weeks have passed since the raid on the Kabal of the Dying wish, weeks filled with activity
and excitement. There have been three sorties into their former rival’s territory to search for
survivors and information. The time between has been filled with organization, meetings, and an
atmosphere of barely-contained excitement.

And now, with the Dying Wish finally destroyed, it is time for less dire matters.

Valthiel had pulled her aside when this had first come up, concerned. He had told her that he didn’t
want her forced to miss the victory party, but that if she were to appear at his side, there would be
expectations about her appearance and behavior. She would be his toy again, not someone who had
contributed to the kabal in any way.

This had been the compromise. Jian shakes out her hair as she walks, still distracted every time a
bit of it comes into her field of view. She’s dyed it black for the occasion, with streaks of red
facepaint obscuring her features and her collar is hidden under a spiked neckpiece. Tonight, she is
Ayslinn’s apprentice and nothing more.

Jian has never been to Lord Vrash and Ayslinn’s quarters before, but somehow she assumed that
they shared a simple suite of rooms, large ones, perhaps, but only a few of them. It seems she was
wrong – they have a whole floor of Valthiel’s spire to themselves, complete with training rooms,
kitchens, a mini-armory, and more.

She steps off the elevator into a foyer decorated in rich greens and golds and rings the bell.

No immediate answer comes and Jian finds herself a bit nervous. She hasn’t seen Ayslinn since the
raid, and she doesn’t know what to expect tonight. Will she attend this event with her calm,
practical tutor, or with the bloodthirsty huntress she met on the battlefield?
To her surprise, it’s Ayslinn herself who answers the door, dressed in a black and green robe over
formfitting armor. Her boots have high platform heels and her blonde hair is piled in an elaborate
version of her usual topknot, decorated with long jeweled pins. Overall, the outfit must add another
full head to her already impressive height.

“You look amazing,” Jian says. “I think I might have underdressed.”

“Thank you. And you look just fine, do not worry about it.”

Before she has time to continue, a noise comes from behind her and Ayslinn turns. “Baharmar!
Fahira! Stop it!”

A pair of light gray gyrinx kittens tumble between her legs, hissing in mock anger and batting paws
at each other. They come to a stop at Jian’s feet and look up in surprise at the newcomer. One
backs away slowly while the other begins rubbing itself around her ankles.

“Apologies,” Ayslinn says, recovering her dignity instantly and stepping forward to scoop up the
wayward kitten. “Bealfor was supposed to be keeping an eye on them this evening.”

“They’re yours?” Jian says as Ayslinn deposits the creature back in the hallway she just exited and
shuts the door.

Ayslinn leans forward conspiratorially. “More his than mine – if he’s in the room they won’t so
much as glance at me. And he won’t either.” She chuckles and begins to walk.

Jian remains silent, frowning as they make their way towards the grand hall that has been reserved
for the festivities. The more she learns about the Vrashes’ relationship, the more confused she gets.

Perhaps her discomfort is obvious, because Ayslinn stops a few moments later. “I understand that
you are probably still concerned about me. Given your experiences here in Commorragh, and with
my husband, that is understandable. But please, believe me when I say that I am happy. There are
very few things or people in this galaxy that Bealfor is capable of caring about, but I am one of
them. Your worry gains nothing for either of us.” She turns and continues without another word.

Still troubled, Jian is nonetheless reassured enough to put the problem from her mind and focus on
the evening to come. And as they approach the hall, she finds herself unable to do anything else.

The air crackles with energy of all kinds, a colorful miasma of emotions shot through with electric
sparks of psychic resonance. Music pounds and the ground thrums with the deep notes, but still it
can barely be heard over the rest of the sounds – conversation and shouting, jubilation and pain and
arousal.

Bodies hang from the ceiling, still wearing the damaged remnants of the Kabal of the Dying
Wish’s purple and grey armor. The hooks and wires fixing them in place flash with electric pulses
and thin tubes deliver all manner of agony-inducing substances from the tanks above their heads.
High-ranked members of the kabal, Jian knows, kept relatively intact to provide amusement for
tonight. Not that their suffering will end when the party does.

On the ground, a thick crowd of drukhari swirls through the room. Although the entertainments are
similar to the other party she attended with Valthiel – fighting and eating and drinking and all
manner of dramatic and visually striking tortures – the atmosphere is rawer, with less sense of
precision and refinement. The guests are not uncontrolled rabble, but they are not nearly as
exclusive a club as her prior experience.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. Already she feels tainted, dirtied. The energies in the room revive her,
but with them comes the desire to do wicked things and to have wicked things done to her. She
feels both guilty and excited, like a small child sneaking out of bed to pilfer sweets.

Dotted throughout the massive complex are daises and raised platforms of various heights,
although most average around shoulder-high on the revelers. As Jian follows Ayslinn into the press
of bodies, she realizes that many of them are spaces for key members of Valthiel’s court, giving
them a semi-private space while still allowing them to participate in the gathering.

She finds her eyes drawn toward Valthiel, who sits on the highest platform of them all, dressed in
his most elaborate armor under a flowing white robe. He practically radiates light and power, half-
slouched on his throne with a goblet in one hand and a bored expression on his face. Lust kindles in
her again and she licks her lips and shifts her weight to distract herself. Running to him would only
draw attention that neither of them want right now.

Ayslinn continues to lead them through the crowd, evidently with some destination in mind. Their
path brings them closer to Valthiel, who offers Jian a very slight nod as their eyes meet. She smiles
slightly to let him know that she’s seen him, and that she’s alright, but he offers no more
acknowledgement, retaining the cold, detached expression of an archon.

Pulling her eyes away, she notices Derfahn leaning against the support for a nearby platform,
clearly flirting the lhamean trainee at his side. She listens to whatever he has to say, then laughs
and flits away, leaving him alone. If Jian didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was
blushing.

It becomes clear that Ayslinn is leading them toward a platform that sports a small forest of poles,
beams, and cages in twisted black metal. The two dozen or so senior members of the Ashen Rose’s
scourge flock perch on the bars or rest on platforms that jut off the higher portions of the structure,
while inside the cages several of the Dying Wish’s lhameans cower, already bearing dozens of
wounds from their captors’ clawed feet and fingers. The matron of the flock, a woman who Jian
knows by sight, crouches at the highest point, every inch the hunter queen as she watches the
masses below.

Before they can reach the scourges, however, a quartet of drukhari women approach them. Similar
enough in appearance to be sisters, they all sport the layered robes and long braids of lhameans. A
seductive smile plays over the lips of the shortest one as she stops in front of Jian and Ayslinn.
“Lady Vrash. We are here to convey a message from Lady Miarya, who invites you and your
apprentice to join her this evening.” The other three lhameans stare directly at Jian.

Ayslinn frowns. “Well, I – “

The sister doesn’t give her time to finish. “Come, you know this is what you want. You belong at
the high table with the rest of us, regardless of if your mate is around or not.” Her smile remains,
but her voice takes on a venomous edge. “We do not want Mistress Miarya to think that she and her
presence are unwanted, do we?”

“When you phrase it like that, how can I possibly resist your matriarch’s most generous invitation.
Lead the way.”

Miarya and what Jian presumes are her favorite students have situated themselves on a platform
very near Valthiel’s, this one covered in thick rugs. Low tables dot the space with cushions, chairs,
and couches of matching height for seating. Food and wine are spread across the tables and more
Dying Wish prisoners hang suspended like macabre chandeliers overhead for the sisters to tease
and play with.
Jian walks carefully up the stairs behind Ayslinn, conscious of the envious stares that some of the
other drukhari are giving her. This is an honor, and everyone knows it.

The matriarch of the lhameans has taken center-stage among her subordinates, sprawled on a couch
with a drink in one hand and the nervous system of the tall, handsome drukhari at her feet wrapped
around the other. Her long fingers twist and tug at the cords, bringing groans of pain from her
victim. It takes a moment before Jian realizes that Miarya’s movements are deliberate, timed to
produce pain in different locations and variations to form a sadistic “song” in the energy of the air
around them. It’s both horrifying and impressive.

As they approach, Miarya puts down her goblet and smiles at the newcomers. Gods, the woman is
sex on legs, and Jian can’t even figure out why she finds her so attractive. Centuries, maybe even
millennia of training and practice has made it so subtle that it permeates her whole being as she
motions for Jian and Ayslinn to join her on the couch.

It probably isn’t a request, so Jian obeys and, after a slight hesitation, so does Ayslinn, both
accepting the wine that one of the lhameans is quick to offer them.

Jian sniffs at it experimentally before drinking, wary of potential poison. She’s certain that Miarya
doesn’t like her, although she isn’t sure if it’s because her tattoo led to embarrassment for Miarya,
or simply because she takes up too much of Valthiel’s attention. The drink is a red so intense that it
looks nearly magenta in the dim light and the smell is strange and not altogether pleasant. But she
feels the matron’s eyes on her, critical and heavy, and she realizes there is no graceful way to back
out. She takes a sip.

It's delicious. No, more than that, it’s the best wine she’s ever had in her life, and after nearly two
years in Valthiel’s care, she knows what good wine tastes like. It sends warm, soft waves of
sensation through her, not quite as intense as a sexual climax, but more akin to the buzz she gets
after a battle, just… with pleasure instead of pain. She fights the urge to gulp the whole thing. This
is Commorragh, after all, and even if the drink isn’t poisoned, there is probably some kind of dark
side to whatever the substance is.

Miarya smiles knowingly at her. “Delicious, is it not, child?” She twists her other hand, bringing
yet another shriek from the Dying Wish lieutenant and a wave of energy, sharp at first then
dropping in pitch to a low ache that remains, echoing.

“It is very nice, Matriarch, thank you.” She should say something else. “I trust you are having a
pleasant evening?”

“I am. But this night belongs to you.” She raises her goblet in gesture towards the two
craftworlders, although her eyes don’t leave Jian’s face. “The proud warriors who prove our
excellency not just in the bedroom and in the laboratory, but on the battlefield as well. You are the
ones we are celebrating tonight, I am just here to bask in the glory of your presence.” She breaks
the eye contact and turns to look at Ayslinn. “And that includes your husband, dear. We are truly
blessed to have someone of his caliber delivering pain and fear to anyone foolish enough to
question our reign. Please deliver my regards when you see him next.”

A slight pink flush creeps over Ayslinn’s face. “I most certainly will, my lady. I am sure he will
echo me in thanking you for the honor of your gratitude.”

Miarya cackles. “Ayslinn, you are too kind, but you may save your flattery. Bealfor, Arha bless
him, may be many things, but a man of social graces he is not. He would scoff at my gesture and
continue scowling from a dark corner, or he would take his place at our illustrious archon’s left
hand. No need to pretend otherwise.”
Regardless of her feelings about Miarya, the woman’s impression of Lord Vrash is accurate.
Flushed with the wine and the heady atmosphere, Jian giggles.

The sound must catch Miarya’s attention, as she turns to Jian with a twisted imitation of a motherly
smile. “And you, dearest one. Pardon my manners, I’m not even sure what to call you these days.
How is your training going? Neither of your tutors seem all that willing to share the details.”

Even through the buzz in her head, Jian senses some kind of trap. She needs to respond carefully,
but she has no idea what it is that the lhamean is playing at. “I’m sure if I was not living up to
expectations, Lady Vrash would not hesitate to inform me, so I must assume I am doing well.”

“Indeed, Ayslinn is a remarkably direct and honorable woman.” Miarya hesitates for just a half
beat too long before she continues. “A perfect match for our hirarch and champion, to be sure.”
She gestures for Jian to continue.

“As for the others at whose feet I learn, none have given me cause to suspect I am doing poorly.”

“Yes, at least one of them has nothing but effusive praise for you.” Miarya’s eyes slide towards the
high platform, where Valthiel watches the party, still seemingly completely detached from the
revelry. Lynx stands near him, she notices, waiting quietly in an unobtrusive position a bit behind
him. She holds a glass of something clear and takes periodic sips from it. “I will be watching your
development with great interest for sure.”

“Oh?” Anything else Jian might have been planning to say is lost as a sudden wave of feeling
overwhelms her. She can feel her stomach twisting, her body growing hot and a burning, itching
desire to have someone, anyone inside her.

What in the six hells of She Who Thirsts is this?

Miarya smirks. “Yes, you do not come as far as I have, through the trials that I have faced, without
cultivating an eye for potential in others. And once I was informed of the right perspective to use,
yours became quite evident.”

The urge to release her arousal is becoming overwhelming. It takes everything Jian has not to try
pleasuring herself right there. “Do tell.”

“Oh, if you aren’t aware of it now, I’m sure you will be soon enough. Either way, I look forward to
watching the show.”

Ayslinn rests her hand on Jian’s shoulder in what she can only assume is meant to be a supportive
gesture, but the touch is like an electric shock. She’s never desired Ayslinn sexually before, not in
the slightest, but now she wants to be pulled to her and kissed, to be held and possessed and
ravished by her.

Her face flushes and she shakes the hand off, disturbed. “Your statement is both ominous and
encouraging.”

“A microcosm of life, then,” Miarya laughs, then pauses, apparently for dramatic effect, before
continuing. “Risk and reward in equal measure.”

“Ideally, at least. Sometimes a great risk for a slim chance of reward is all there is.” Jian isn’t sure
what she means by that, but it seems true and she’s too distracted by the sudden lust to formulate a
more strategic response.

Before Miarya can respond, something catches her attention and she turns to the high dais.
Following her gaze, Jian sees Valthiel standing, gazing out over the room with an intense
expression.

His voice booms over the crowd as he begins to speak, instantly quieting them. “Members of the
Ashen Rose – warriors and lhameans, chemists and commanders and others. Tonight, we celebrate
our victory over those who thought they could claim what was ours, who thought that our position
as the foremost kabal keeping the traditions of Lhilitu was merely an accident, an unearned gift
that they could snatch on a whim. But thanks to our cunning and ferocity, our skills and the
blessings of our patron, today we show the rest of Commorragh, and the galaxy, that it is they who
were merely lucky. And today, that luck has deserted them!”

He pauses as the crowd roars with cheers and applause. Miarya and her company, however, remain
quiet, clapping politely but offering no more obvious sign of agreement. Jian watches curiously,
before concluding that the woman is pleased, despite her reservation. Her smile is broad and her
posture easy. She apparently simply feels it beneath her to engage in such demonstrations.

Her attention is quickly pulled back, however, as Valthiel continues. “I do not need to tell you how
we overwhelmed the Kabal of the Dying Wish; how we waited until they had foolishly divided
their forces and then struck while they were too focused on their own supposedly-assured victory –
“

He continues, but Jian barely pays attention as he continues to expand on their victory and the
crushing inevitability of the Dying Wish’s defeat at their hands. The lust that has inflamed her is
not limited to those within arm’s reach. His voice is so rich and smooth, but with the menace
underlying that makes her feel like prey, giving her a thrill of danger to flavor the seductive velvet
tones. Gesturing flamboyantly with his words, he flips the long fall of silver hair behind his back
where it ripples along with his robe in the air currents.

Although she sits transfixed for several minutes, the spell soon breaks. Valthiel stops talking and
steps back with a final wave of his hand. The ground beneath his feet parts and slowly, a black
sarcophagus rises from the gap, tilting until it stands vertically. The lid slides back in two parts,
revealing a dark-haired drukhari man, naked and bound in black chains. Although the angle is
wrong for Jian to see his face clearly, she knows it must be the former Lord Urkdreth. He collapses
forward to land at Valthiel’s feet, where he tries in vain to rise but is hampered by his bonds and
whatever drugs he’s been injected with to keep him under control.

Beckoning Lynx forward, Valthiel places a hand on her shoulder. “It is appropriate, then, as we
begin to punish the man who was once an archon, that the first blow be delivered by a true servant
of Lhilitu, one whose knowledge and skill played a key role in the defeat of this impostor.”

He gestures to a pair of assistants, who step in to drag the prisoner roughly to his feet, securing his
wrists to a pole that keeps him upright. He looks over the room with a defiant sneer on his face.

As relatively close as she is to Valthiel’s platform, Jian has a good view of the proceedings. Lynx
looks surprised, almost frightened by her position, but she walks toward Lord Urkdreth with back
straight and chin held high. Nearly the same height, it’s easy for them to lock eyes as she
approaches. “You can’t do it, can you?” he snarls. “You would never have gotten here without me.
I made you, I own you.”

Perhaps it might have worked once. The reminder of their ties, the reinforcement of how much
harder her already difficult life would have been without him. But the Lynx that Jian knows would
merely find his words insulting, twisted by decades of arrogance and cruelty into a mockery rather
than a manipulation. Her face remains coldly detached as she pulls a pin from her hair, sending
loose strands of green hair falling around her face. Even in her intense concentration, Jian can’t
help but noticing how well it frames her face, and how nice the color looks against her robes.

For a few heartbeats, she stares at the pin, then past it, to the face of her defeated foe. “No,” she
says, quietly enough that Jian more reads her words on her lips than actually hears them. “You
most certainly did not. But I did make you. And I can unmake you just as easily.” Flicking her
wrist, she draws the point of her hairpin across his neck. A thin like of red appears, but not enough
for it to have been a fatal blow.

Instantly, a change comes over Lord Urkdreth. The contemptuous expression on his face freezes,
then falls away as he stiffens in his bonds. Tremors and muscle bulges race over his body and he
twitches and writhes with spasms before falling limp. When he raises his head again, he seems
diminished. The definition is gone from his muscles, pushing him past the normal drukhari
leanness into emaciation, with ashy skin and limbs that seem a bit too long for his body. A
reflection of the insignificant street rat he once was.

Lynx doesn’t seem to notice or care as she readjusts her hair and walks away. Jian catches her
attention and she makes her way toward Miarya’s platform via the stairs that connect the two. She
angles for a cushion large enough for the two of them to sit on and Jian stands to meet here there.
Miarya and Ayslinn clearly note her departure, but continue trading polite barbs uninterrupted until
the lhameanite matron rises to take her place in the growing throng that surrounds Lord Urkdreth –
or what is left of him. It seems that each of Valthiel’s top lieutenants and key heroes of the invasion
have been invited to take their turns delivering cuts to his naked body.

By the time she’s reached the cushion, Lynx has settled down already, leaving Jian little space to
sit. She pushes her way in anyway, which proves to be a mistake. In her excited state, their
closeness and the feeling of Lynx’s thighs touching hers and her slim figure pressed against her
side is almost unbearable. To distract from the painful arousal, she tries to focus on what she
actually wanted out of this conversation. “How are you doing, Lynx?”

“I’ve had worse days, for sure.” The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to
want to elaborate further as she wraps an arm around Jian and begins caressing her shoulders idly.

“Are you sure?”

Lynx frowns. “Just stirs up a lot of old memories.” A desperate scream from Lord Urkdreth
punctuates her words.

Jian looks over in time to catch an especially wide smile from Valthiel at the carnage his
subordinates are causing. Lord Urkdreth is barely recognizable by now. “You’ve done well for
yourself, at least. Much better than him.”

“I guess so.” Her hand drifts down Jian’s arm, massaging more urgently now.

Further discussion is halted by a triumphant shout from the crowd below them. The Ashen Rose
elite have finished their initial prodding of Lord Urkdreth and retreated, leaving him fully on
display as a bloody, emasculated mess with the body of a malnourished adolescent and a face
missing lips and eyelids. Two scourges pluck him from his chains and raise him into the air with
his face level with Valthiel’s.

Valthiel motions for the kabal to be silent and, when they are, he speaks. “My friends, dear sons
and daughters: you are the true descendants of the greatest empire that this universe has ever
known. Others may seek to take the credit, but our ancestors are the ones who leave lesser races
trembling with primal fear at the mere mention of our race.”
“I may be a living descendant of gods, the embodiment of one of our Dark Muses that crafted this
reality for ourselves when the material realm proved insufficient, but never doubt that each and
every one of you is as much of a superior being compared to this street rabble” – here he gestures
to the various Dying Wish members strung up across the room – “who dare to call themselves
drukhari. So tonight, we live like gods, not squandering our days worrying about the future, but
shaping reality from moment to moment.”

He pauses, looking around the room and grinning with that boyish look that, in this emotional state,
makes her weak at the knees. “So to hell with tomorrow, we’ll craft our eternity today!”

The room rises in cheering and Jian joins them, although some small, rational part of her brain
wonders how much of the excitement is from his words and how much is simply the heat of the
moment and what’s about to happen.

Valthiel pulls a device from his belt pouch, about the size of his fist, and shoves it into Lord
Urkdreth’s face. The metallic object twists and writhes, sending appendages up the drukhari’s nose
and down his throat. Judging by the way he jerks, it must be painful. Stepping back, Valthiel waves
a mocking farewell to his defeated foe as the scourges carry him bleeding through the air.

They release their grip before long, sending him plunging toward a clear tank of transparent liquid.
Kabalites jump back as Lord Urkdreth falls, sending a splash over the vicinity. A lid slides shut
and he remains, trapped inside. Tiny air bubbles rise from his skin and he thrashes, but no sound
escapes the chamber. The fluid begins to turn pink with blood, but clears again as the filters cycle,
removing the contaminants and leaving the tank’s contents on full display for all to see.

After a brief, tense moment in which the entire kabal watches him start to slowly dissolve in the
acid, just strong enough to etch away at his skin without killing him too quickly, Jian feels
something begin. The already tense, stirred-up feeling that the wine has created in her grows. More
than just arousal, this is euphoria. The Dying Wish lieutenants twitch in time to the music and their
energy washes over the crowd, filling her with a sense of power and happiness. Around her, the
rest of the drukhari are just as affected as she is, descending on each other and their prisoners in a
rush of sensation.

Jian springs to her feet, overcome with the desperate need to do something. Where is Valthiel? She
needs him right now.

“By Lilitru, I’ve missed this,” cries Lynx, standing as well. A laugh escapes from her, purer and
happier than Jian has ever heard.

And then they’re kissing, arms wrapped desperately around each other, Jian’s fingers scrabbling to
open the front of Lynx’s dress while the other woman’s teeth bite into her neck.

Why shouldn’t I? Why can’t I let go, just this once? Breaking the kiss, she drags Lynx forward,
toward the platform where Valthiel waits.

“Wait, what are you – “ Lynx’s question cuts off as she hesitates and Jian slings her over her
shoulder, unwilling to delay long enough to explain. She has little trouble reaching Valthiel. The
rest of the kabal has found release in each other, or in continuing to torment their prisoners, and no
one blocks her approach. By now she acts more on instinct as she drops to one knee in front of him,
Lynx laid out like an offering.

He pauses, seemingly a bit surprised, but collects himself almost before she has time to notice.
Taking another sip of his wine, he smiles bemusedly. “My, my, it seems like you have an idea,
dearest one. By all means, tell me… what is it you desire?”
 Lynx, too, reacts in surprise, her entire body tensing. Jian presses a hand to her chest to keep her
from rising and she relaxes a bit, a grin spreading across her face.

Emotion and desire and the massive overload of every kind of sensation makes it difficult for Jian
to speak clearly, but she chokes out a response. “You. Me. Her. Together. Now.”

Valthiel eyes her, then his gaze drifts down toward Lynx, lingering there before he speaks. “Very
well, with such an eloquent proposal, how could I refuse?” The arrogant tone of command remains,
but she knows him well enough to tell that he’s just as eager as she is. He settles himself back on
his throne. “Begin.”

Before the words have reached her, Jian is on top of Lynx, their bodies twisting together in frantic
lust. Lynx tries to roll her over, to throw her to the ground and take control, but Jian is stronger,
pinning her to the floor and tearing her dress open. Her fingers dig into Lynx’s shoulders, eliciting a
moan of pleasure.

It feels good to finally be on top.

****

As the Kabal of the Ashen Rose continues its celebratory orgy of lust and violence, the two women
quickly lose awareness of everything except each other. Inhibitions lowered by drugs and vitality
enhanced by pain, they breathlessly search each other for pleasure and comfort. Soon, the man on
the throne can contain himself no longer and descends to join them, united in joyous frenzy.

Chapter End Notes

This was a bit of a transitional chapter in many ways, but I kind of like it. Also,
Ayslinn and Bealfor's relationship is so much fun to write.

Also, I chuckled as I wrote Derfahn getting shut down. The kid is a *disgustingly*
talented assassin, but getting girls to notice him takes an entirely different skillset that
he apparently has yet to develop.

What did you guys think of the look into the Vrashes' private life? And what about
Jian's choices in this chapter? Do you think she's going to continue her slow journey
into becoming a true drukhari? Or is she going to figure herself out and retreat from
Valthiel's world again? What do you think she *should* do?

It's all planned out already, but I'm interested to hear your predictions!
 Connection
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It must be midday when Jian awakes in Valthiel’s bed. The night before is a blur of passion and
pleasure and only a few images stand out clearly, but she doesn’t regret it for a second. She feels
warmer and stronger and more alert than she has since her days as a Howling Banshee. Every
muscle seems to move perfectly to her command as she stretches. Her skin is smooth and soft, and
her hair silken. It’s as though she’s been revitalized.

Another stretch of her arm is stopped by something firm and she twists to see a golden cuff
connected to a chain that runs to the nearest bedpost. Valthiel must not have removed it before they
all collapsed into sleep. As she sits up to look around, more tugs confirm that other chains connect
her collar and one of her ankles to the bed as well. Valthiel is nowhere to be seen, but Lynx lies
nearby, still deep in slumber with her hair loose around her face and her hands bound above her
head. She’s smiling.

Further exploration uncovers a key holding down note in Valthiel’s handwriting. The large,
looping runes explain that he was called away by the quartermaster to discuss the assimilation of
the Kabal of the Dying Wish’s remaining resources. She shouldn’t expect him until late tonight,
possibly even tomorrow morning.

A small cloud appears in the sunny morning of Jian’s mind, briefly reminding her that when the
highs fade and the excitement wanes, her collar is still there. But the melancholy is short-lived.
The key frees her from the cuffs and removes the leash, leaving her free to do as she wishes. Free
and with a whole day to spend as she pleases.

It looks as though the cuffs that bind Lynx to the bedpost use the same lock as her own. She could
let her loose and figure out what she wants to do from there…

Or she could take charge again. There’s some part of her that wants what she had last night, the
connection and the feeling of being desired, to continue longer. Setting the key carefully out of
Lynx’s reach – she might be nimble enough to pick it up with her toes – Jian crawls across the bed
to curl up next to her and pull her into an embrace. She presses the lhamean’s head against her
chest and caresses her hair, letting her other hand drift along her back and down to slide along her
thigh. Lynx sighs and cuddles closer. She’s beginning to wake up, but slowly, ever so slowly.

“Wake up, Lynx,” Jian says teasingly to hurry her up.

“Mmmm…” The other woman opens her eyes briefly, then closes them again. “M’wake…”

“Did you have fun last night?” She pokes her a bit to keep her from drifting off again.

Finally, Lynx blinks a few times and yawns. “I did.” Yawning again, she stretches in her bonds,
arching her back and thrusting her hips forward in a way that sends tingles racing across Jian’s
skin. By Isha… she can’t be doing this by accident, can she? “What about you?”

“I had a lovely time.” Jian’s grip tightens on Lynx’s thigh. “I’m still hungry, though.”

Lynx smiles a predator’s smile. “I see… why didn’t you say so?” Her legs tighten around Jian and
she twists, pushing her down so she can climb on top.
Instantly, Jian’s instincts kick in, telling her to relax, submit, let Lynx take over. It’s impressive
how she manages to convey such a presence while still cuffed to a bed post.

But no. Jian pushes back, using her own strength to fight the pressure and force Lynx back, down
onto her stomach with Jian straddling her back. A quick glance around the room finds some of the
cuffs Valthiel used on her last night. Another wrestling match ensues, but soon she finds her prey
completely immobilized and ready for her to take the lead.

“What are you doing?” Lynx says, straining against the chains.

“Eating myself to satiation,” breathes Jian. Her lips travel up Lynx’s neck, pausing to nibble on her
ear and breathe in the scent of her hair.

Lynx laughs. “Aww, that’s kind of cute, actually. But come on, sweetheart. Let me out of these
cuffs so we can have a real woman on top.”

“Oh?” A smile spreads across Jian’s face at the challenge. Lynx should know her better by now.
“And what does that make me?”

“You’re a – “

Whatever she was going to say next cuts off in a surprised yelp as Jian slides her hand in to twist
her nipple. Yes, this is just what she needed. Her fingers slip down her body, toward her thighs
again.

And stop as an erotic pain explodes in her head, pulling a gasp from her. Gods, did Lynx just bite
her ear? “You stop that,” she admonishes, but the words come out husky and quiet.

“You’re one of us now,” Lynx replies with equal excitement. “Don’t ask me, make me.”

She does.

Unlike last night, her passion runs out quickly. She finds herself curled in the hollows of Lynx’s
body, sweat and fluids making the warmth of the blankets feel close and heavy. Keeping one arm
wrapped around Jian, the taller woman reaches up with her other hand to remove the gag that went
into her mouth during their struggles. “Well that was certainly unexpected.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She’s not ready to talk yet. This is too nice.

“We should do it again some time.”

Jian looks up. Does she want to?

Perhaps noticing her hesitation, Lynx runs her fingers through Jian’s hair. “Come on. You know
you loved this.”

“I did… just…” She takes a deep breath before blurting out her fear. “I don’t want this to be more
than it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t take this to mean that I don’t like you, or I didn’t have fun last night. But I don’t have the
energy for another lover. Not the way I am with Valthiel. We can do this again, but can we keep it
– “ she searches for the word “ – casual?”

“Of course,” Lynx replies. “That’s all I wanted from the start, Jian.” She kisses her on the top of
the head and Jian feels herself relaxing into the embrace. The details of this new dynamic to their
relationship will come later. For now, she just wants to enjoy the company.

****

The campaign against the Kabal of the Dying Wish reaches its end less than a week later. Nearly
all their resources have been destroyed or absorbed into the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. All but two
of the key members of the kabal are accounted for – one has disappeared into the webway and the
other, the commander who escaped from the battle with the t’au, has sought refuge with the Kabal
of the Bloodied Fists, who Valthiel deems too dangerous to risk provoking over such a matter.

After all the excitement, Jian finds the return to normal life in the kabal somewhat boring. While
her lessons with Lynx and Ayslinn fill many hours, a sensation of sameness settles in. But the rest
isn’t entirely unwelcome, either. The routines are comforting, as is the chance to spend more time
silently meditating in her private garden or relaxing with Valthiel. Now that the active threat has
ended, he seems much less harried and has taken to eating dinner with her every night. Sometimes
they dine alone, sometimes with Lynx or Bealfor or Derfahn. After, Valthiel pours over his
intelligence reports while Jian studies or reads. Although the night frequently ends with sex, hard
and fast and intense enough to leave her screaming in pain and pleasure, almost as often they
simply retire together, Jian curling up in his arms in the nest of pillows and silken sheets to sleep
until morning.

So it surprises her, one day several weeks after the victory celebration, when she answers a knock
at the door of her chambers to find him standing outside. He rarely calls on her this early. “What’s
wrong?”

He smiles softly. “Nothing’s wrong, dear. I just wanted to tell you that we caught the man who
tried to poison you last week. He annihilated himself before we could interrogate him, but based on
several items we found on him, we believe he was connected to another kabal. Likely trying to
strike at you to send me a message. I promise, we won’t stop looking until we find who is
responsible.”

“Ah. I see.” Curiously, the thought doesn’t frighten her as much as it should. Perhaps because the
threat seems so abstract compared to a drukhari warband staring her in the face, or maybe she just
trusts that he has the situation well in hand. She suspects that he wouldn’t have mentioned it at all
if he didn’t.

Valthiel’s smile drops. “Unfortunately, I also came to say goodbye – “

Jian doesn’t hear the rest. Her head echoes with emptiness that pulses with her heartbeat. I failed. I
wasn’t pleasing enough and he’s decided to move on.

No, no, that isn’t right. Valthiel wouldn’t throw her away, not like that. She shakes her head to
clear the thoughts and forces herself to loosen her grip on the edge of the doorway. “I’m sorry,” she
says, pleased that only a slight tremor enters her voice. “I was distracted for a moment, could you
repeat that.”

His frown deepens and he reaches out affectionately, the leather of his glove soft against her cheek.
“I said that I had some business to attend to. I’ll only be gone for a few days, but I didn’t want you
to worry.”

“Of course,” Jian replies. The tension still fills her body, but it’s irrational, she knows it’s irrational.
She smiles and winks with a humor that she knows she would feel if this were a normal
conversation. “You’ll just have to make it up to me when you get back.”
“Of course I will, Treasure.” He smiles back and bows with an exaggerated flourish before kissing
her lightly on the cheek. “You will have me at your complete disposal when I return, I promise.
Was there anything you needed before I go?”

Jian shakes her head and watches him retreat down the corridor, wondering what she is going to do
with the next few days.

****

Despite her initial fears, Jian has little trouble filling Valthiel’s absence. Her lessons with Lynx and
Ayslinn continue, as do her mediation sessions. The extra time in the evenings is spent in her room,
creating music and artwork. Jaeden seems curious about the content of her songs, so she begins
telling her about some of the traditional mythology of the aeldari as well.

But still, the archon’s absence is keenly felt. After the first lonely night, Jian joins Lynx in her
cabin to sleep, but it’s not merely his warm body at night or his sexual attention that she misses.
She finds herself storing up things to tell him, questions she wants to ask, things she wants to do
together. The strength of her response surprises her, as does the intensity of the happiness that fills
her when, after nearly a week, Bealfor informs her that Valthiel will be returning that evening.

She waits in the antechamber of his suite for him to arrive, dressed in one of the outfits he gave her
the day of their first tour of the kabal. This particular piece is a heavy, embroidered robe in her
favorite brilliant blue, cut and wrapped tightly at the torso with a long, straight skirt and a deep
neckline that reveals her cleavage. In recent months, it has become one of her favorites, perfect for
tonight.

He enters perhaps a half hour after she sits down to wait, looking tired, but not unhappy. His eyes
light up when he sees her and he rushes to embrace her, pulling her from the ground in his
enthusiasm. “I didn’t expect to see you waiting for me here.”

“Mmmm.” Jian buries her face in his shoulder. His armor presses lines into her skin and under the
bright citrus scent of his cologne, she can pick up a faint sour smell, like vomit or rotten food,
mixed with a metallic tang of blood.

He doesn’t respond at first, simply hugging her tighter and sighing happily before releasing her.
Then he grins. “So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”

Jian looks up, trying to remain serious. She fails. A teasing smile of her own spreads across her
face. “I’m here to hold you to your word.”

“Oh?”

“You promised you would spend time with me when you arrived. ‘At my complete disposal’, you
said.”

“Indeed I did. So,” Valthiel says, extending his wrists in front of him as though waiting for her to
cuff them. “Show me your will.”

Taking him by the hand, Jian leads him further into his rooms. She’s spent most of the afternoon
getting ready for this evening, and she hopes her work won’t be for nothing.

She needn’t have worried. As they enter the seating area, he stops, pulling her up short and
drawing her back to him. “Did you do all this?” he asks quietly.

“I did.” Her ideas for decorating had turned out to be a great deal more involved than she thought,
resulting in several hours of stringing tiny lights across the ceiling, hanging drapes, moving and
setting chairs and tables, and finding the right music and lighting to complement the evening.
Perhaps she could have requested assistance, but that would have required explaining why she
needed Valthiel’s room redecorated and she suspects that would have ruined whatever shreds
remain of the illusion that she is nothing more than his hapless plaything.

In the end, though, she’s pleased with the effect. Gauzy curtains drift in the slight air currents of
the room, turning the light from dozens of candles into a dim haze. Flowers and herbs from the
gardens fill the air with a pleasant scent. Music plays from one corner, and Jian is proud of herself
for managing to track down a recording of a gentle craftworld tune that she’s always loved.

After a moment of apparent speechlessness, Valthiel kisses the top of her head. “It looks beautiful,
Jian.”

“I ordered dinner. It will be here in an hour.”

“Well, that gives us three thousand six hundred seconds to kill. I assume you have a plan for how
to use that time?”

For the first time, Jian hesitates. She’s not sure what it is that makes the blush rise to her cheeks,
but somehow her idea seems very silly to her now. “Would you – would you like to dance?”

He starts, again seeming at a loss for words. “Of course. Nothing would make me happier. Do you
mind if I change clothes first?”

Jian shakes her head. “Put on something nice for me.”

“Of course.” He disappears into his bedroom, leaving Jian to fidget with the music and readjust the
table settings and her hairpins a half dozen times. Isha’s tits, what’s wrong with me?

When Valthiel reappears, his appearance has completely changed. The coat and armor is gone,
replaced with a red and white robe, elaborately draped and layered with a sash tight around his
waist, a thing far too soft and delicate to have been made in Commorragh. Jian is reminded again
how small he really is, only a bit taller than herself and built slightly enough that he could probably
have been accepted to the Banshees, had he been born on a craftworld. His hair is pulled into a knot
decorated with what looks like the tooth of a large predator and he’s expanded the tattoos on his
face with complex designs in a matching black paint. “How do I look?” he asks.

“Very handsome,” replies Jian. Then, without thinking, she adds “And not at all like an archon.”

“You know, coming from you, I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he replies warmly as he
crosses the room. Taking her hand, he guides her up from her chair and to the center of the room.
“Are you ready to begin our first dance?”

“I should probably have asked you if you know how.”

“I’m sure I will manage somehow.” He allows Jian to guide one of his hands to her shoulder as she
wraps an arm around his waist, taking his other hand in hers.

“We should be reversing this, really, since you’re taller,” she says. “But I’ll lead tonight.”

Valthiel nods and lets her show him the steps, basic at first, but gradually adding more twirls and
dips and long sweeping steps until they’re spinning back and forth across his sitting room, floating
on the highs and lows of the music. When they stop, Jian closes her eyes and leans against his
chest. His arms slide down to wrap around her and they stand, swaying ever so slightly as though
pushed by the drafts in the room until the song ends.

Happy.

A moment of silence and stillness elapses before she speaks. “Alright, it’s your turn. Do you know
any dances?”

Releasing his hold on her, he grins mischievously and stretches his arms above his head. “I do. Be
warned, though, you might build up a bit of a sweat.”

“Oh?”

Instead of answering, he touches one of the bracelets around his wrist. The music changes to
something else, quickening in tempo and changing to a new beat. He pulls her to him and they
begin.

Although the steps are unfamiliar and quick, Jian is used to moving in unison with others. He casts
her out and back in to press his hips against hers, their legs crossing and uncrossing in unison.
Before she realizes what’s happening, he’s lifted her from the ground to swing her above his head
and bring her down into another turn.

The song ends. True to promise, Jian can feel sweat starting to break out on her back from the
exertion. Their faces are centimeters apart and his breath is warm on her face. Their eyes lock.

But the tension breaks before Jian can move forward. Valthiel pulls her back to her feet and
releases his hold on her, letting her stand under her own power. “How did you like it?”

“It was wonderful! I love a dance that gets your blood moving.” The movements remind her of the
elaborate forms and poses that Verynia and Ayslinn both use as part of their training regimes. “Is it
a corsair tradition?” She has a hard time believing that anything so beautiful and freeing could
come from Commorragh.

“It is. And judging by the look on your face, I’m going to have to show you more steps soon.”

“I would like that.” Jian pauses, unsure if she should ask the questions that come into her mind.
She’s wondered such things for a long time, but has been held back first by fear and then by the
worry of stirring up painful memories. Perhaps sensing her feelings, Valthiel squeezes her hand and
tugs her toward the couch. “What happened to the rest of the corsairs? The fleet you used to be a
part of. Are they still out there?”

A brief frown crosses his face as he settles down, but it passes quickly. “Yes and no. There were
originally four of us, hence the name Reavers of the Four Winds. One of them sadly was lost in
battle a decade before I left, and I brought many of my more loyal bladesworn and felarchs with
me when I took leadership of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. The other two are still alive as far as I
know, although one has retired to Alitoc.” He sighs pensively and Jian leans against him, playing
with the beaded edges of his robe. As she has become more relaxed around him, she’s begun to get
a finer sense of his emotional states as well. Some part of the situation with his former corsair
brethren pains him greatly, she’s sure.

The openness brings with it a desire to share something of her own. “The kabal that captured me
killed my mother, but my father and Reena still live on Yme-loc. He follows the Path of the
Thought-talker and she is a healer. Still training when I left, but the senior healers said she was
phenomenally talented and took to the path like breathing.”

“It sounds like you were surrounded by a lot of love and care. Did you have many other friends?”
Jian shakes her head. Since that last horrific day on her mother’s ship, her spirit may have
diminished, but her poise has grown exponentially. On Yme-loc, she was always nervous around
others that she didn’t know, hesitant to assert herself and content to spend her time with the same
few people. Here, she has learned to hide any sign of weakness lest it be exploited. Moreover, she’s
come to desire the company of others and a constant variety of experience. She wonders if these
traits were always there, dormant in her, or if something about her situation has invoked them.
“The only others I would say I was close with were the women in my shrine.”

He nods. “Would you like to tell me about them? Or would it be upsetting for you?”

“No, I would love to.” It does hurt; the memories are horribly painful. But there is a sweetness to
the pain, a kind of catharsis that comes with speaking of them and bringing their existence out of
her own mind.

So she sits and talks, telling him about her training as a Howling Banshee and her life on the
craftworld. She tells him about Aya and Lethe, the twins who somehow always seemed to wind up
on the same path at every turn of their lives, about Elreth, who had joined after her children were
grown, Dehina, who was considering the Path of Command, and Kayna, the woman who had
endured dozens of battles without losing herself to the call.

Finally, she tells him about Verynia, the exarch, seemingly barely older than Jian, who had led
them. Jian had often wondered what pain or rage had led Verynia to be so consumed by Khaine so
quickly. But despite her fierce temper, abrasive demeanor, and constant streams of invective, she
had been the one who’d taught Jian how to fight, to endure, and to control the restless irritability
that had plagued her adolescence. She had taught Jian how to hear Khaine’s whispers – and how to
ignore them.

But now they’re all gone. Dead or captured and sold away to someone who will make them suffer
until they beg for death, and then on longer. She sighs and falls silent, curling up closer to Valthiel
for reassurance.

He wraps himself around her and hums quietly. “Did they all die in the raid?” he asks after a
moment.

“I don’t know. I know that some of them did, but I didn’t see what happened to Elreth, Aya, or
Verynia.” She can’t keep the thickness out of her voice. “I hope they’re dead. I doubt the gods are
kind enough to make all of them as lucky as I was.”

“If you wanted, I could try to find out what has become of them and, if possible, purchase them for
you.”

“Of course!” Jian feels a blush creep over her face. “That wasn’t why I brought it up, though.”

“I know. But if I could manage it?”

“I would love that.” She’s terrified of what he will find, but she cannot let fear stop her from doing
this.

He kisses the top of her head. “Then I will start looking tomorrow.”

For long minutes they sit in silence again, enjoying the soft music that still plays in the
background, until Valthiel shifts his position. “I wish you could have met the other Princes of the
Winds. They would have liked you. Well, not Koi, I suppose, but truth be told, he never liked
anyone.”
“Oh?”

“He was not fond of company, far too focused on his own training and spiritual meditations in his
quest for perfection in his crafts. In fact, it’s arguable that his fleet was almost a cult in itself,
dedicated to his unique vision of battlefield superiority and of the perfect murder.”

“I don’t think any of my friends or family would have liked you,” Jian replies, more bluntly than
she means to. She’s too busy trying to imagine what Koi must have been like from the strange
description. “But I don’t think that comes as a surprise.”

“I take it they would merely need to hear that I am an archon and a denizen of Commorragh?”

“Exactly.” She laughs sadly just as a soft chime sounds from the door. “I think dinner is here.” She
hurries to retrieve it, eager to move from weighty topics and back to the simple enjoyment of each
other’s presence.

A moment later, Valthiel and Jian settle down for a luxurious meal and a rich selection of wines,
their conversation drifting back to the trivial and enjoyable as they drink and dine. The candles
burn low and the music stops, but the conversation continues late into the night until, at long last,
they exchange their clothing for loose, soft robes and crawl into bed. Sleep is slow in coming to
Jian, but she lies in a drowsy, comfortable warmth, a smile on her face.

This was just what she wanted.

****

Jian curls up on the chaise in her room, deep in concentration. The drawing taking shape on her
paper is going slowly, and no matter how hard she tries, she can never quite manage to capture the
landscape in her mind.

Only a few weeks have passed since Valthiel returned, weeks that have been rather unremarkable
by most standards. Her routine continues uninterrupted, although she has noticed that she’s finding
it more exhausting recently than previously. She’s not sure if this is because she’s once again
starting to lose vitality to She Who Thirsts, or if her life is merely becoming familiar and dull.
Either way, she decided to cancel her training with Lynx this morning and spend the early part of
her day alone.

“Beautiful.” Valthiel’s voice in her ear is so unexpected that she jumps, dropping her hand-easel on
the floor.

Giving him an annoyed look, she picks it up and shifts her position to face him. “Thank you,” she
says wryly. “What are you doing here?”

He flashes a boyish grin. “Visiting the most beautiful woman in the kabal, of course. You were too
lost in your work to hear me knocking, so Jaeden let me in.”

Jian looks in the direction of the door and sees Jaeden hovering nearby with a nervous expression.
She nods briefly to indicate that her actions were correct and the human maid retreats to her room.
“Ah, I see. Is there a reason for your visit, or are you just wanting to bask in the glory of my
presence this morning?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just heard that you had asked Lynx for the day off and wanted to make
sure that nothing was wrong.”

“No, just a bit tired.” She pats the couch beside her to invite him to take a seat.
He does. “Would you prefer I left you alone?”

“No, I don’t mind spending the time with you. I just don’t think I’m ready to insert more
knowledge into my head right now.”

“Alright.” He picks up her paper and inspects it. “This looks good.”

“I’ve done better. I think I need to start over. The mood was supposed to be one of rest and
contemplation, and instead it looks ominous.”

“Nonetheless, you’re coming along quite well. Who knows, you might be working on a portrait of
me before you know it!”

He’s right – in all the hundreds of drawings and paintings she’s created, she has never done one of
him. At first, she had no desire to devote even more of her thoughts to him. Later, other activities
filled their time together and it had never come up. “Would you like one?”

A sly smile cracks his fond expression and he reaches over to stroke one of her ears. “As long as it
follows your inspiration and vision, I would love one.”

“Well, then, go sit over there.” She gestures toward the armchair that she normally uses for
reading. “You can tell me about your day while you do.”

“You mean now?” He seems surprised, but not too surprised to pinch the tip of her ear, making her
squeal. Some days it feels like half of their interactions end with her needing to change her
undergarments. “Would you prefer me clothed or not?”

“Which would you prefer existing as a picture that others might see?” Jian replies. When she has
sat for him, he has varied the pose and style, drawing her in everything from formal craftworld
robes and his rose garden to nude and blindfolded, suspended from the ceiling by bindings of
intricately knotted rope.

Snickering, he continues to rub her ear for another moment before sauntering over to the armchair
she uses for reading. He removes his coat, then drapes himself over the chair in his ruffled shirt
and fitted pants. “Something like this?”

“Perfect.” She looks down to concentrate on laying out the basic lines of the picture. Something
hits her arm and she jerks instinctively, slashing a dark line across the page. She looks up, but
Valthiel is sitting quietly, smirking like a gyrinx that’s caught a bird.

She returns her attention to her work, but again, a light impact, this time on her leg. This time, she
looks up quickly enough to notice Valthiel’s arm moving back to position and the scrap of paper
scrunched into a small ball lying at her feet. “If you’re not going to behave, I won’t be able to
concentrate and you will wind up looking like Derfahn,” she says severely.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “That would be a travesty worthy of a lament equal to those describing our
fall.” Sighing dramatically, he settles back into his seat. “I will behave, I promise.”

So Jian resumes her work, listening to Valthiel speak about his activities and the day-to-day affairs
of the kabal, offering her own input and anecdotes as appropriate. Although her physical
exhaustion remains, she finds her mind growing lighter with the relaxation. It seems that starting
anew has improved her drawing form today as well, with the new picture taking shape much faster
and to far greater satisfaction.

“Are you doing anything this evening? Or are you free?”

The question takes Jian off guard and she pauses to consider. “I am meeting with Ayslinn to train
this afternoon, but after that I have no plans. Why do you ask?”

“I want to take you out. I secured prime seats for the gladiatorial games tonight, and I thought you
might like to come with me.”

“Gladiatorial games?” She knows what they are, of course – staged deathmatches held in massive
arenas for the entertainment of Commorragh’s populace. All manner of exotic beasts and slaves
from every corner of the galaxy lose their lives on the arena floors, either forced to fight each other
or killed by the gladiators of the wytch cults in flamboyant and vicious displays of skill.

“Yes, the Cult of Strife is hosting a festival to celebrate the ascension of a new succubus and to
honor her achievements. Several kabals have already donated exotic and valuable prizes from their
recent raids to spice up the games. It should be quite the show. And I would love it if you would
accompany me.”

“I would be happy to come.” Jian pauses, swallowing as she remembers the last event she attended
with him. “How will I be attending?”

“Lynx has arranged for a lhameanite robe to be made according to your measurements. That should
suit.”

Jian relaxes. This will be much less painful than the party. “Perfect. How long do I have to
prepare?”

“About two hours, how come?”

She stands abruptly. “Because I need to start getting ready now.” She normally saves her bath for
after training with Ayslinn, and between that, her hair, painting her face…

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me to leave and call Lynx to attend to you?” He eyes her
curiously.

“Between Jaeden and I, I’m sure I’ll manage. But two hours will barely be enough time. I can’t sit
here and keep flirting.” She smiles to soften her words.

“Fine, I can tell when I’m no longer wanted,” he replies with an exaggerated eye roll. “I’ll go play
cards with Derfahn while you get ready.”

He retreats and Jian calls Jaeden back in to help her. Swiftly and with minimal small talk, she
bathes, arranges her hair in a subtle updo, and does her face in a subdued echo of traditional
lhamean makeup. But no white base. She’s still not ready for that. And even if she was, Miarya
would use her entrails as corset strings were she to go that far without an official appointment to
the order.

Satisfied with her appearance, she dresses in a set of her most seductive lingerie, soft boots, and the
robe Lynx sent up. Fitted at the waist with a floor-length skirt and lightweight overdress, the collar
is also high enough to hide the band of metal that she still wears around her neck. A reminder that
the world she and Valthiel have created is simply a little pocket of joy in a wider realm of horrors.

But thoughts like that are too gloomy for the moment. There will be times when she can’t push
away the miasma of pain and malice and despair that permeates the essence of the city, but right
now she can. With only a few minutes remaining, she busies herself tucking a series of knives,
poisons, and other implements into the folds of her robe and the special pockets of her
undergarments. When she’s finished, she dismisses Jaeden with a warning that she likely won’t be
home until late and settles down to await Valthiel’s return.

She doesn’t have to wait long. He returns a few minutes later, wearing a suit of white and green
armor trimmed in deep crimson. It is, Jian realizes, the same set he was wearing the day he
purchased her, but it’s been made over and reworked somewhat, adding a different feel. “You look
different,” she says as she stands and offers him her arm.

“I felt like a change was needed.” He takes it and guides her out the door in an oddly tense silence.
“My life is different, and much improved, since the day you entered it.” Another moment of quiet.
“Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Jian replies quietly. The two reminders, one right after the other, fill
her with confusion and regret, but not entirely painfully so. She’s just glad that this is where she
ended up. She doesn’t want to think about what might have happened otherwise.

Valthiel’s expression is already changing, though, becoming lighter and more eager. “Shall we, my
love?” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alright.” Kissing him lightly on the lips, she follows him into the flyer and out into the wider city.

This journey is longer than the one they took to the party, but still not long. The massive, domed
arena looms over the skyline, spiked turrets and jagged edges reaching out to impale anyone
foolish enough to approach without respect. Below them, massive queues stretch for kilometers as
Commorragh’s poor and unimportant wait to see if they will be allowed in, or if they will have to
content themselves with whatever scraps of pain and fear make it beyond the arena walls.

As they slow to make their approach, a man appears, hovering toward them on a floating disk, his
long dark hair snapping in the wind of his movements. “Lord Aire of the Kabal of the Ashen
Rose,” he says. “We are honored by your visit.”

Jian remains silent, trying to strike the balance of aloof, yet superior that lhameans seem to be
known for. Her hand rests on Valthiel’s thigh suggestively.

He takes her cue and strokes her ear as he speaks to the man, starting slowly and increasing in
intensity until Jian is thoroughly aroused. “Of course. It’s always a pleasure to show my support for
Lady Hesperax while she shows off her protegees. By all means, relay my regret at not keeping in
better touch, but duties are endless, as I am sure she is well aware.”

She makes a show of straddling his lap and nibbling at his neck as the man uncertainly waves them
on. As soon as they’re out of sight, she relaxes a little, but still remains close to him. “I didn’t know
you knew Lady Hesperax.”

“I don’t. We’ve met, but my invitation was a formality, not a personal request. But I was invited,
and the difference means little to a doorman.”

“I see.” Another power play, an act just like hers. Now that her humiliation isn’t the focus, it’s
almost fun.

“Just focus on having fun, Jian. After all, tonight is for you.”

“For me?”

“Of course.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and helps her from the vehicle. “We’re
not on Yme-loc anymore, and we need to find some way to restore your soul and keep you healthy.
We can’t raid every day, and I want to help you find something that works for you.” His voice
drops quiet. “My desire is for you to enjoy yourself here, after all.”

“I do, though! I have a wonderful time when we’re together.”

Valthiel’s face lights up like a child’s, although his voice is still controlled. “It sounds like I am
doing alright so far, then.”

“I would say so.” Despite her light tone, Jian can’t help but feel touched by the care. To have him
notice something so subtle without her prompting is a welcome development.

An elevator carries them upwards before opening into a small but luxurious room. The entire front
half is made of clear panes, offering a full view of the arena and the crowds below, as well as a
glimpse of the other boxes. The inside is outfitted with wide, luxurious couches and a table full of
wines and liquors. Valthiel’s pipe sits on a small table, already filled with the green smoke that he
favors.

Remembering her role, Jian pours drinks – a sweet wine for her and a distilled one for him – before
sitting. Valthiel takes his glass and tugs her down with him, settling her with her head in his lap
where he can play with her hair as they wait for the games to begin.

Jian returns the affection by kneading his thigh as she looks around. Their box is located in the
center of dozens of similar ones, all presumably filled with high-ranking drukhari. In the ones that
have chosen to reveal themselves, she sees archons and their retinues, succubi of other cults, even a
haemonculus, twisted into a form barely recognizable as an aeldari, yet strangely beautiful.
Banners announcing the loyalties of those present flutter on the exterior of the structures and to
Jian’s surprise, she even recognizes a few of them.

A mix of emotions fills her. These are the monsters and demons of her childhood stories and fears,
guilty of acts of cruelty and hatred that are still beyond her conception. And she exists here, not as a
miserable victim, but as the lover and perhaps even a friend to one of their number. A man who,
whatever his private softnesses and secret pains, seems to exist comfortably among them.

What does it mean that she is now a part of his world as well?

Her musings are interrupted by a commotion from the crowded stands below. Turning her attention
to the arena, she spots a cluster of beastmasters guiding a pair of creatures toward the center of the
sand. But these creatures are like nothing she has seen before, a chaotic riot of colors and
mismatched limbs and spiked armor plating. Tentacles whip around something that might be a
mouth, flinging droplets of slime that smoke on the ground where they land. One of the beasts
rears and spits a gout of blue and purple flame at its handlers, who swiftly retreat to avoid the blast
before returning to regain control.

Jian sits up, watching with interest. She’s no zoologist, but she has never seen anything like this
before. She suspects they were brought straight in from the warp itself.

As the beastmasters approach the center of the ring with their charges, the challengers enter, three
women enter from the opposite side. Tall, lithe, impossibly graceful and beautiful, they are each
clad in a skin-tight suit of black leather, cut away to show off their physiques, and each wields a
different set of exotic and eye-catching weaponry.

For once, Jian feels no guilt at her interest in the violence that is about to ensue. The foul daemons
of the warp need to be exterminated anyway, and this is going to be a good show.

Her enjoyment is delayed, however, as another drukhari emerges, this one a tall, broad-shouldered
man of equally superlative looks. He begins to speak, amplified voice booming through the arena.
“Denizens of Commorragh – “

No sooner has the speech started than she feels Valthiel’s hand on her leg. He slides it up and
down, up and down, dragging the movement out to keep her perfectly aware of the pressure along
her thigh. Slowly, he begins to pull her skirt up and move his massage to the flesh under it.

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, leaning into the caresses as she tries to pay attention to the
announcements below. But by Isha, it’s hard. She can feel him brushing her neck with his lips,
moving her hair aside to give him access. An arm wraps firmly around her waist, holding her in
place as his other hand ranges further and further up her leg. His finger hooks around the edge of
her stocking and begins to slide it down.

“Stop…” She mutters through her arousal. “Can’t hear…”

“He is just flamboyantly and verbosely informing us of the champions’ names, their past
achievements, and their important victories, as well as glorifying the history of the Cult of Strife.”
He snorts. “As if it needed any embellishment. And telling us about all the fearsome qualities of
their opponents. You are not going to miss anything essential.”

Jian hums and allows him to continue, satisfied by the explanation. Valthiel kneads at her breast,
making her squirm in delight.

And then, in a moment that she might have anticipated if she’d been paying attention, the chains
holding back the warp creatures snap and they surge forward, toward the three women who seem
to be hopelessly small and fragile in comparison to their opponents. Jian knows better, though. She
sits up, eager to watch the grace and skill and the beautiful carnage.

The trio of succubi race toward the beats, one slightly ahead of the other two. Just before it seems
that they must stop or run headlong into the writhing tentacles, they part, diving and whirling
between them with weapons flashing and striking.

A cry rises from the audience as first blood is spilled and Jian leans forward to add her voice to the
sound.

Valthiel too, pushes ahead and keeps pushing until she tumbles forward. Her knees slam down on
the clear glass floor with an impact that makes her suck her breath in. The fight below continues,
the succubi slicing their foes to ribbons, seemingly with no more effort than it takes her to
transition between her sword forms. Each cut and stab and whiplash sends a new wave of pain
washing over the audience. Perhaps it’s merely a subtle hint to the jaded minds of those around her,
but to Jian, it’s a stream of energy that fills her with light and power. Valthiel’s hands fumble
around her waist, loosening her dress and pulling down her undergarments as though the euphoria
has infected him too.

She doesn’t resist as he enters her. The pain of the bloodshed below mixes with the pleasure above
and Jian can feel herself hungering for it, mixing the two and longing for both in equal measure. I
understand, now, why they crave torment. In the rush of the moment, the thought doesn’t disturb
her the way it should.

Again, the crowd whoops and cheers as the three succubi finish their performance, leaving both of
the warp beasts in a pile of brightly colored flesh and fluids. Valthiel lets her go as they make their
flourishes and exit the arena. Jian has finished their encounter on her hands and knees, drenched in
sweat and breathless with excitement.
A flush creeps into her cheeks as she stands, realizing that the drukhari in the surrounding seats
might well have been watching their performance. Although the thought doesn’t embarrass her as
much as it might once have, she puts extra effort into tidying herself in a calm and dignified fashion
– straightening her robe, replacing her hairpins, removing the panties shoved into her mouth –
before rejoining Valthiel on the couch. He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her to him,
resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Well, that was fun,” she says.

“It was,” he says, the impish expression obvious in his tone. “And it seems to have worked.”

“Worked?” Noticing what appears to be a program on the table next to them, she picks it up along
with her wine.

“Soul feeding can be uncomfortable if you’re not used to it. I wanted you to relax and have fun.”
His hands work at her shoulders. “You seem less strained now.”

She is, she supposes, but she’s not ready to give him an unchallenged win. “You’ve ruined my
undergarments, though,” she replies with mock severity.

Valthiel chuckles and squeezes her thigh. “Oh really now… And what could I do with you all
exposed like that, hmm?”

No further sexual advances follow, however. They content themselves with sipping their drinks
while arena hands clear away the bodies of the defeated warp beasts. Jian scans the parchment in
her hand, which is decorated with elaborate calligraphic flourishes and bears a crest that Jian
assumes belongs to the Cult of Strife.

Her eyes linger on the final attraction of the evening: an exarch of the Swooping Hawks,
accompanied by half a dozen additional warriors of the aspect, will be pitted against Lady
Hesperax herself. The minimal information present seems to indicate, however, that it is not a
complete shrine, but rather donations of unrelated slaves from some of the cult’s wealthier
benefactors.

Jian bites her lip as the wine loses its taste in her mouth. She’s not sure she’s strong enough for
that. Not yet.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She tells him and he sighs. “You won’t be able to escape the slaughter of craftworlders forever,
Jian,” he says sadly. “And this is a safe way to get used to it. I promise, we will leave as soon as
you feel you have to, but can you agree to at least try?”

“Alright.” Her good mood ruined, she looks back down at the arena, which seems to be ready for
the next act. Captured ork freebooters, the parchment tells her.

This introduction by the herald is as long-winded as the first, and she finds her attention wandering
back toward the stands and the drukhari they hold. A banner nearby catches her eye, dark blue with
a crimson hand clenched in victory. The Kabal of the Bloodied Fists must be in attendance. Jian
has heard of them several times; while they do not seem to be direct rivals to the Kabal of the
Ashen Rose, she gets the sense that Valthiel is not fond of them. Shifting her position, she tries idly
to catch a glimpse of who their archon might be.

It's difficult to judge age in Commorragh, but she would wager the man sitting in the thronelike
chair is centuries older than her or even Valthiel. His armor is a shimmering midnight blue,
unbroken except by the blood-red gauntlets, every piece fitted to perfection, while the man himself
is handsome by drukhari standards, tall, with shoulder length black hair and a pinched, angular
face. He looks out over the crowd and the goings-on below as though he is above them, separate
both from the rest of his kind and from the warriors at his back. A spear in his left hand, as straight
as his back, hammers home the image of a warlord and conqueror, the leader of a kabal far
different than Valthiel’s.

He gestures with his right hand and Jian sees that it holds a leash, attached to the collar of a woman
standing just behind him. She steps forward, and Jian finds herself looking into a mirror.

After her initial start, she realizes that the woman who now stands blankly at the archon’s side is
not actually identical to her – she’s older than Jian, with lighter skin and a more dramatic figure.
Nonetheless, she feels as though she’s looking at a sister, or perhaps an older version of herself –
one who has lost all hope and has nothing left but stoically waiting for the end. A pang of
sympathy races through her. She knows that feeling.

The man waves his hand impatiently and the woman holds out an arm, her face twisting in
unhappiness as she does. Without sparing her a glance, he slices her wrist with a knife and raises a
goblet to let the blood drip into it.

Jian turns away. Whoever she is, staring at her won’t help. But still, she finds her eyes drawn back
toward her. Something achingly familiar about her, her expression, her being keeps her sneaking
glances in the direction of the Bloodied Fists’ box.

The archon is apparently satisfied and has returned his attention to the games below, taking
periodic sips from the cup in his hands. At his side, the woman remains, dead-eyed.

Valthiel’s arms tighten around her and she feels his whole body stiffen. She looks up, suddenly
worried. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, voice strained and jaw set. “Are you enjoying the fights?”

Jian looks down. The ork fight has apparently started without her noticing. “I am… what about
you?”

He jerks his shoulders in what is probably supposed to be a shrug. “It’s orks. They can hardly be
considered sapient life, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.” Again, Jian finds herself looking at the woman, standing in her see-through dress that
shimmers in tiny glints of sparkling color. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Looking up, Jian follows the line of his gaze to see that he, too,
is watching the other archon and the woman. Again, his grip tightens before he finally tears
himself away. “So, how about we finish out this fight and then retire prematurely?” he says with a
smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Anything you want, dear.” Unsure of what to do, unsure even what exactly is wrong or why she
feels dread filling her, she reaches up to run her hands through his hair.

“I’m just… not that impressed with these succubi compared to some of Lelith’s previous cadets.”

“Then why don’t we leave right now? There will be other shows, other days.” The pressure that
envelops them is suffocating her.

A tear forms at the corner of Vathiel’s eye and starts to make its way down his cheek. “Are you
certain? I don’t want you to leave before you’ve had your fill.”

“Of course I am. I have enough to last for a bit, and you’re obviously not having fun.” Anything to
escape.

“We will have to do it again soon,” he replies automatically. He stands and leads her toward the
vehicle.

As they go, Jian takes one more look at the archon of the Bloodied Fists. He has the woman in his
lap now, caressing her hair in an intimate manner while her blood still drips into his cup. For her
part, she observes the fight below without a flicker of emotion. It’s then that Jian realizes her dress
is decorated with the broken remains of dozens of waystones.

Neither of them speaks as they return to the flyer. Valthiel spends a moment programing an
autopilot route, then settles back into his seat with his arm around Jian as they fly away. Still,
neither speaks. Valthiel rests his head on Jian’s shoulder and she can hear him swallowing hard.
For her part, she finds herself playing nervously with the edges of his armor plates. He won’t tell
her what’s bothering him until he’s ready, she knows from experience, but that doesn’t stop her
from wondering. A sinking feeling grows in her stomach as her suspicions intensify.

The flyer enters the Ashen Rose’s pocket dimension and keeps going, weaving through the spires
and on, until it finally comes to rest at the edge of a cliff on the far edge of the world, where the
dim color of the sky resolves into the hundreds of swirling colors of the webway. Valthiel switches
the vehicle off and hesitates. Then he speaks, still staring away from her into the infinity in front of
them.

“Her name is Illyria.”

“The woman at the arena?” Jian confirms.

He nods. “She was the partner I told you about, the one who I thought to spend the rest of my life
with, exploring the stars on my corsair ship. I spent years believing she was dead…”

“But she’s here,” Jian says, following the implication.

He nods. “Captured by Lord Ordai, her father and the archon of the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists.”

“That’s her father?” Disgust fills Jian at the memory of the man drinking his daughter’s blood and
holding her like a doll.

Again, Valthiel nods, a movement heavy with grief. “An autarch of the craftworld Kel’tereth, one
of the most talented they had known, until he lost his wife in a campaign that he blames on their
farseer council. The fury and hatred led him here, where he has made a name for himself as a fierce
warrior and strategist and an ally of Supreme Overlord Vect himself. He’s been obsessed with
reclaiming Illyria for centuries.”

“And now he has her…” Jian trails off as thoughts connect in her mind. Pity, yes, still, for the
woman trapped in such a horrific situation. But as she listens to Valthiel, she realizes with horror
that the dark implications she’s been resisting are true.

He must see her face and read her unasked questions there. “Yes,” he replies, staring at his lap.
“The primary reason I noticed you initially and decided to buy you was your resemblance to her. I
thought that if… if I could improve your life, help you and make a life for the two of us together, in
whatever fashion I envisioned at the time, that it would make up for my inability to help her.”
Looking up, he meets Jian’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. “But I swear that is no longer the case. I
love you for who you are, not what you look like or who you resemble, and Illyria plays no role in
the way I interact with you now. I will give my word on anything or anyone in the galaxy that I’m
telling the truth, submit to any test you want…” With a sigh, he breaks off and looks away. “I
understand if you don’t believe me, though.”

“I’m sorry,” whispers Jian. Both for the horror of his and Illyria’s situation, and for the fact that
she cannot believe him. Not yet. Unwilling to confront her own grief, she wraps her arms around
him, trying to bury herself in dealing with other losses.

Valthiel tenses as she touches him. “I’m sorry, Jian. I should have been honest and straightforward
with you from the start, and I certainly should not have waited this long before I told you.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Jian replies numbly.

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry this happened. To you, to her. It must be very painful. Do you want to talk about
it?”

He sighs. “To some extent, yes, but I want to save my current relationship with you even more.
Please, ask me anything and I will answer you honestly.” When she doesn’t respond, he repeats.
“Anything.”

“What happened?” She does want to know, now, something about the life that has shaped her own
so much without her knowledge.

“Jhovar and I assisted Kel’terath with an expedition to a crone world to recover artifacts. She was
the farseer responsible for guiding the operation and we grew close working together. I found
myself returning to visit until she eventually agreed to accompany me on my travels. It was the
first time in my life I can recall being truly happy, and I would give so much to – ” He breaks off,
perhaps remembering who he’s speaking to. “She was furious when I told her that I had chosen to
embrace my legacy and nurture what my ancestors built here. She left immediately and her father
intercepted her on her journey home. I found out what happened about twenty years ago, but this is
the first time I’ve seen her since that night.”

Jian nods into his chest. She can imagine the pain, the loneliness, the guilt. It must be rotting him
alive. “I’m sorry. It’s never easy to lose someone you love, and those sound like extremely painful
circumstances.”

She feels his arms around her, but his body is still rigid and his voice rough. “I love you, Jian.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I can drive you to your own private quarters now, if that is what you want.”

“Thank you.”

They ride back in silence, both staring straight ahead. Valthiel stops on the landing platform closest
to Jian’s room and stares after her as she climbs out of the flyer and enters the spire. She can’t bring
herself to kiss him goodnight.

Her room is quiet, dark, and empty. She completes the necessary security checks and collapses on
the window seat, forehead pressed against the cool glass.
The longer she thinks about the evening, the more things she understands. His reluctance to speak
about his corsair adventures in any way but very specific stories. The dozens of visits he mentioned
making to such a small, out-of-the-way craftworld as Kel’tereth. The emotional reaction to hearing
Lord Ordai’s name that he’s never been able to hide, no matter how passing or trivial the reference.
And the question that has lingered in the back of her mind for nearly the entirety of the two years
she has been here: why me?

A memory drifts into her mind. Lying in Valthiel’s arms, terrified and sick with the knowledge that
the lovely dinner and easy company she enjoyed the night before is about to vanish into pain and
violation. He had stirred and embraced her, whispering “I love you” with a tenderness she hadn’t
known he was capable of. Whispered it to her.

Jian sobs.

But after only a moment, she stops herself, biting her tongue and savoring the taste of her own
blood until her shoulders are still. If she keeps up like this, Jaeden will hear her, and then she will
have to confront the betrayal now. She should go to bed and think through things in the morning.

Her movements are slow as she removes her clothing and changes into a soft robe. Calling for
someone to bring hot water, she prepares a cup for her tea and washes her face to hide the tears.

A movement behind her startles her and she spins around, knife in hand, to find Jaeden waiting in
the door to her own room. She seems to have been in bed – her pale yellow hair is braided loosely
and she’s hastily fumbling with the ties of her wrap. “Mistress? What is wrong?”

Jian swallows the thickness in her throat. “I… received some bad news today. Things that bring
both the archon and me a great deal of pain. And I don’t know how to react.”

The human girl nods, crossing the room to retrieve the hot water that has arrived and begins testing
for any hidden toxins. “I am here, if you want to talk about it. I was a priestess in my prior life.
Listening to people was a part of my job.”

“Thank you,” Jian replies. She sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Jaeden to bring her a cup
before gesturing that she is allowed to make one for herself. “Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“Of course not.”

“I’d almost forgotten that I did not… enter my relationship with the archon willingly. Until today.”

Jaeden nods as she approaches the bed. “May I?”

“You may.” Jian waits for her to settle herself and continues. “I found out why he – why he bought
me. Because I look like a woman he used to love. And now I don’t know what to think or how to
feel. He still loves her, I know. And I can tell that it’s agonizing for him to know that she suffers
when he can’t help her, but it also hurts to know that I not… “ She struggles for words, for ways to
express the depth of what she feels. Empty. Lied to. Used.

“I thought he loved me,” she finally whispers.

Lips pursed, Jaeden watches her for a moment. “How do you know that he does not?” Even
through her grief, Jian has to admit that she seems to have picked up on the aeldari language and
nonverbal indicators phenomenally quickly.

“He admitted that I was supposed to replace her, and I think he used to pretend that I was her while
he was on top of me. Sometimes. And now I wonder if he ever stopped.” She’s being uncharitable,
she knows, but once again she is adrift in a sea of horrific possibilities.

“Well, that was definitely cruel of him.” Jaeden takes a sip of her tea and starts, as though it’s too
hot. “Has he given up on your relationship, then?”

“I don’t know… Today was the first time he has seen her since she was enslaved and I think it
reminded him.” She can feel tears starting again and pushes them down fiercely, but one runs
down her nose anyway. “I don’t want someone else to be in pain, but when he rescues her, I’ll be
nothing. Again.”

Frowning, Jaeden blows on the cup a bit before looking up at Jian. “Have you tried asking him?
How he feels and how he views your position in relation to his lost love? I know that it would not
be easy to ask for someone in your position, but if he loves you, then he owes you answers.”

“He says he loves me and that she has nothing to do with it anymore. But how am I supposed to
believe him? He’s hidden this for so long, what else has he not told me?”

She seems to consider a bit before answering. “Let me ask you this. Your race believe in gods, yes?
How do you know they exist and that they hear your prayers or listen when you call out to them?”

“Most of them don’t. Not anymore. They’re dead,” Jian replies bitterly. She knows where Jaeden
is going with this, and doubts it will help.

Her maid seems taken aback by this. “You have no gods that you pray to at all?”

“Only three escaped the birth of She Who Thirsts. Khaine’s essence has been shattered, but his
spirit rests in our great champions of the battlefield and champions our greatest needs. Isha was
captured by the Lord of Decay, held by his twisted affection and spending her life-giving power to
combat the plagues he feeds her. We’ve made dozens of efforts to rescue her, but none have even
caught so much as a glimpse of her. Only Ceggorach, the trickster, remains at his full power.”

“You still pray to Isha, though. I have heard you speaking her name at night. You say no one has
seen her since she was taken – how do you know that she is still alive?”

“I would know if she wasn’t. Every aeldari would know it, we would feel it as our bodies withered
and our crops died and we would see it when our children were stillborn.” Perhaps their neglect of
her is why her people created such a place as Commorragh, Jian wonders. A place where birth and
death, life and healing are all artificial, aeldari lives just another commodity.

“You have faith, yeah? You have not seen her, you do not speak with her, but you know she is there
by her effects, and you trust that she can hear you calling for the protection of your loved ones.”

“You’re saying I should just hope Valthiel is telling the truth this time?” She knows that’s not what
Jaeden means, but to have everything reduced to such a simple platitude feels inadequate to cover
the wound it has opened.

“I’m saying that you need to look at your relationship and decide what the effects of his supposed
love are – and if you can have faith in the relationship based on that or not.”

Jian sighs and looks down at her tea, which is growing cold. “I almost hope he can’t rescue her,”
she says quietly. Her face heats.

“I understand that. But remember, the question of if he loves you or not isn’t based on where she is.
If he really loves you, he won’t stop just because she is free, and if he doesn’t, then her being
imprisoned won’t change that.”
“I just don’t want to get thrown away when he has the real thing back.”

“Mistress,” Jaeden says sharply enough that Jian looks up. “I understand that you’re upset. But if I
may be crass, if all you were is a stand-in for another woman, he would not have kept you around
this long. I’m sure he would have found a better solution by now.”

“I suppose.” She feels better, now, than she did a few minutes ago. But still defeat weighs heavily
on her.

“Now, why don’t I take that cup from you and we’ll get you into bed? It’s late, and I’m sure things
will look better in the morning.” Jaeden hesitates. “Would you like a hug?”

Jian accepts, then lets herself curl up on the bed and wrap herself in blankets. Exhaustion overtakes
her quickly, but as she starts to fall into the grip of nightmares she’d hoped were behind her, she
can hear Jaeden in her room, a quiet voice chanting prayers in a strange tongue.

****

The next few days pass slowly, but thinking back, Jian barely remembers what happens in them.
Valthiel checks in on her several times, but their conversation is stilted and she holds herself at
arms’ length. Her lessons with Lynx and Ayslinn proceed and she is grateful for both the
distraction and for the fact that they seem to understand that she doesn’t wish to talk about what is
upsetting her. She suspects that Lynx, at least, knows what it is. Much of the rest of her time is
spent in the garden he built for her, where she can wait in the quiet and think.

On the third day since the arena, Jian has retreated to her room after her lessons. Her bath is done
and she wears a comfortable tunic and pants as she sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by
small bowls of a dozen exotic substances. She’s run low on the draughts that help her sleep, and
now is as good a time as any to prepare more. Jaeden hovers nearby, watching with interest.

A soft knock on the door startles her and she sends Jaeden to answer. “It is the lord archon,” she
says.

Jian sighs. “Send him in.”

He looks as though he hasn’t slept in days, with dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks.
“May I speak with you for a few minutes?” he asks.

“Alright.” She gestures for him to sit wherever he likes.

Valthiel remains standing. “So. How are you doing?” He looks down at the ingredients she’s
preparing and frowns.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected. How are you?” This isn’t what she wants to say, isn’t how
she wishes it could be. But where to start and how to open the conversations, what even to discuss
and how to begin moving forward from something like this?

“Not well,” he says bluntly. He sighs. “I know that you are afraid that I am not being genuine with
you, that I really only care about you because of your resemblance to Illyria. And I want to prove
that she has nothing to do with my feelings for you, not anymore. I have access to the best medical
knowledge in Commorragh, and if you want, I will speak to them. You can alter your appearance
however you wish, look like anything or anyone you desire. If you want to erase the similarities, I
will make it happen, and I will still love you no matter what alterations you undergo.”

“Thank you,” Jian says quietly, but inside, her heart sinks. However well-intentioned the offer, the
thought of losing her very appearance to the farseer who has unintentionally shaped her destiny
makes her sick to her stomach. Behind Valthiel, Jaeden’s expression echoes her own.

“Would you – “

Whatever he was going to say next is lost as a shadow pulls itself from the wall behind him. Jian
cries a warning and he spins around.

A mandrake, one of the shadow creatures that the drukhari sometimes employ as scouts and spies,
dives toward him. A sickle swings toward Valthiel, glistening with toxins. He blocks, but only just.
She can see him strain against the shadow’s unholy strength.

An instant later, they part again and Jian scrabbles for weapons of her own, cursing the
complacency that let her set them so far from her in the first place. Another clash of blades rings
loud in the otherwise quiet room. Jian looks up to see Valthiel kicking the mandrake away from
him.

It stumbles backwards, into her vanity. Cosmetics scatter everywhere, but the mandrake is
undaunted. As Jian’s fingers close around the handle of a knife, a nimbus of black flame forms
around the mandrake’s hand, seeming to suck light in rather than emit it.

It launches a blast at her.

Time slows as the sickly energy spirals toward her. She dives out of the way, but knows that she
doesn’t have time. Valthiel cries in alarm, moving in a blur toward her. An impact, and for an
instant, darkness.

Her breath returns a moment later and the spots clear from her vision. The mandrake’s head and
shoulders are gone and what is left is wreathed in fire, real fire this time. Jaeden stands over it, a
determined expression on her face and one of Jian’s pistols still trained on the corpse. Valthiel is on
top of her, breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” Jian asks as soon as she has wind. Something warm drips onto her chest. Blood.
“JAEDEN! Get a medic!”

“Don’t worry. I’m. alright,” he grunts. “Are– you– hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” She eases him off her and onto the floor so she can get a look at the wound.
“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to make sure. It’s…” He huffs as she probes at the wound. “It’s my fault for not being
more alert.”

Jian frowns. The hole in his shoulder is burned and twisted, but the skin around it is cold. She pulls
one of the pillows from the nearby bed and presses it to the wound to help with the bleeding. “I’m
sorry I distracted you. I… don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Despite his injury, he seems to catch the double meaning in her words. He reaches up to stroke her
cheek, with a level of effort that concerns her. “The feeling is mutual. And I have seen you in pain
for days now. I didn’t want to add to it with physical injury as well.”

“Well, I am unhurt.” She should give him some of her basic antidotes as well. She isn’t sure what
kind of warp sorcery the mandrake was using, but she doubts that its effects are limited to simple
burns. “And I do appreciate your offer.”
 “I just want you to feel as loved and cherished as you truly are, Jian. And if it would reassure you
of my feelings if you shed Illyria’s shadow…”

A commotion outside signals the end of their privacy. Lynx and Derfahn burst into the room,
Jaeden behind them. Jian shakes her head sadly at him as Lynx pushes her out of the way to begin
her inspection. Changing her appearance will only make it worse.

****

It’s hours later when the burst of frenzied activity dies down and the grave silence of the palace
returns.

When it does, the concubine returns to prepare anew the drugs that allow her to sleep. Her hands
tremble as she longs to visit her lover, but knows that it will only bring pain and disruption to his
much needed rest. When she finally crawls into bed, peace eludes her and she stares at the wall
until morning comes.

The archon, meanwhile, drags himself to his room to nurse wounds far more severe than he let on.
Propped in a chair to sweat out poison, he braces for another night in which both the women he
loves seem equally unreachable.

Chapter End Notes

Alternate chapter title: "Jaeden is smarter than she looks"

As we enter the final act of the story (only 5 chapters left!), I'd like to thank anyone
who's stuck with me through the ride. Longfics are a commitment for sure, especially
ongoing longfics, and I feel immense gratitude to anyone who's been willing to keep
reading my work. You guys make it all worth it. (And to anyone else reading this after
completion, I appreciate you as well and would love to hear your thoughts!)

For reference, I imagine the dance that Jian teaches Val as somewhat waltz-like, while
the one he teaches her is more like a paso doble or a fast tango.

What do you guys think of this new insight into Val's life and relationships? What do
you think he'll do to convince Jian that his feelings for her are genuine? Or *are* they
genuine?
 Fate
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jian and Lynx sit lazily next to the stream near her cabin, dangling their bare feet in the icy cold
water. Their lesson on sedatives has been cut short by the sudden discovery that Lynx is out of a
key ingredient for one of the drugs. Jian suspects that her own emotional state had something to do
with it as well. They could have sought out more or shifted topics slightly.

For perhaps a quarter of an hour, they simply sit in companionable silence. Lynx leans her head on
Jian’s shoulder. Yesterday, their lesson ended with them naked in bed, but Jian doubts that will
happen today. She’s not in the mood.

“Lynx,” she says quietly. “Did you know Illyria?”

Lynx starts a bit. “Some. Not well. Why do you ask?”

“I just…” She sighs. “I was wondering what she’s like.” The question has been bothering her for
days and she’s finally found the courage to speak up.

“And you don’t want to ask Valthiel about it.” Lynx nods in understanding. She squeezes Jian’s
hand. “Yes, he took over my contract when he initially made contact with the Ashen Rose. It was
several years before everything was finalized and he truly became the lord archon, and in that time
I traveled with him and the Reavers, albeit only as an alchemist. Illyria would have had my head
and his if she thought there was more between us, and he respected her wishes.”

“She was assertive, then?” A foolish question – Jian has never met a farseer who was not – but
Lynx’s words paint a picture.

“Very.” She snorts. “Valthiel let her get away with far too much.”

“Oh?”

“If my lover had ever spoken to me the way she did during some of their fights, I would have left
instantly. Or killed her.”

“You don’t think she loved him?”

“Oh, she did. And he loved her even more. But she was her father’s daughter – aggressive, direct,
and focused to an almost obsessive level on military strategy and battle in her predictions. I’ve
never met a farseer more in tune with Khaine, and it spilled over into her personal life.”

“I see.” Jian isn’t sure what to do with the information. She’s not sure what she expected Valthiel’s
first love to be, but certainly not this. And if Lynx’s description is accurate, it’s nothing she can
ever hope to live up to. Nor does she want to if she’s being honest.

“She did have her good points, though. I don’t think she liked me very much personally, but for all
her hatred of Commorragh and the drukhari in general, she was still more open minded that many
craftworlders I’ve met. I think it fed into that, really. She hates the place so much that she
automatically has compassion for anyone hurt here or wanting to get away.”

“He said they met while rescuing artifacts from a crone world?”
“I wasn’t present for that, but it’s my understanding, yeah. I think it started as a casual thing to
unwind and grew into something more over time. But I could be wrong.”

“And was she –“ Whatever Jian was going to say next breaks off abruptly. Valthiel is approaching,
coming from the trees that surround Lynx’s little clearing toward where the sit.

Lynx squeezes her hand as he reaches the footbridge.

He stops halfway across and waits for a moment, head slightly bowed. Jian assesses him as he
does. His hair is loose and somewhat unkempt and his posture closed off. It seems to her that the
wound the mandrake gave him is still causing him discomfort. As to the purpose of his visit, she
isn’t sure and his outfit – a simple grey and green coat over an armored vest and boots – gives her
no indication either.

“Hello, Jian, Lynx,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the stream. “Am I
interrupting something?”

Jian shakes her head before she has the chance to consider if she actually wants to talk to him or
not, but upon consideration, decides that she doesn’t mind anyway. “No, I think we were done for
today.”

“Then I would like you to accompany me, if you don’t mind.”

“Where?” Jian asks. Lynx seems to take this as her cue to leave, offering Jian a last squeeze on the
shoulder before she goes.

Instead of answering her question, Valthiel turns and begins to walk back down the path he arrived
on. Jian scrambles to put her shoes on and follow him, but his pace is slow enough to allow her to
catch up before he’s out of sight among the trees.

Neither of them speaks as they walk down the path, her following half a pace behind him. It soon
becomes obvious that he’s leading her back to the spire. But instead of entering one of the
numerous elevators or stairways that leads up to his quarters or her rooms, he leads her into a
narrow set of stairs that twists its way downward.

Jian’s wonders where they could possibly be going. She’s never been down here before and until
today had only had a vague awareness that sublevels of the palace existed at all. Her confusion
grows as they continue to descend. Valthiel leads her through a maze of passageways and
staircases until she realizes that she has no idea how to retrace their steps. They must be far
underground by now.

Eventually, he stops in front of a heavy door of plain metal. He stands over the console pad for a
few minutes, disabling whatever extensive security measures hold it shut, before it silently slides
back and he gestures for her to follow him into the darkened hallway.

Stark lights turn on at their approach and Jian sees that the corridor they’re walking down is lined
with doors. At first, most are unlabeled, but soon she sees that the later ones each bear a small,
black sign, although she’s too far away to read the runes carved on them. Psychic energy dances at
the edge of her awareness, auras of life and death twining together in a way that sends shivers
down her spine. This is far from the horrific despair of the haemonculus’s den, but something in
the air reminds her of that feeling.

As they continue to walk, their path drifts closer to the center of the hallway and Jian is able to
read the labels on the doors. Or rather, the nameplates. “Haradrach Urkdreth” says the one closest
to her. A bit later, she spots one labeled “Louvenia”.

For the first time, a sliver of fear pierces her. This is clearly Valthiel’s prison, a vault to bring his
most dangerous foes to have their secrets extracted with their souls until they have nothing left but
a long, slow death filled with torment.

She knows he wouldn’t do something like that to her, she knows. But he’s still an archon, one of
the vicious commanders of the side of their race devoted to following their darkest passions. And
she is a slave who continues to defy his advances. He must have a limit somewhere, and if she’s
the one to cross it… If it’s not to hurt me, then why has he brought me here?

Another door cuts off their advance and again Valthiel unlocks it before taking her hand to lead her
inside. His hands are shaking, she notices, and his posture is stiff.

She finds herself in a large, oval room with the same harsh lighting as the hallway outside. Shelves
and alcoves fill the walls near her, stuffed with jars and vials and containers of all sizes, some
opaque, others filled with colorful liquids or what she can only assume are the remains of alien
beings. Further into the room, the storage gives way to an array of cages and terrariums housing
creatures that Jian can’t make out from this distance. The floor of the room is filled with cluttered
workbenches and tables, as well as miniature greenhouses that glow a variety of colors to feed the
exotic-looking plants within.

Valthiel is looking through the piles of equipment and reagents on one of the workbenches, which
sits next to a heavy metal chair. He beckons her over. Jian realizes with another twinge of fear that
the chair is equipped with shackles for the occupant’s feet and ankles.

“Why have you brought me here?” she asks, her voice sounding small in the vast, silent space.

He doesn’t respond directly, but his face sets into an expression of resolve as he holds up a glass
vial. The thick, sludgy liquid inside appears black at first glance, but as it catches the light Jian
sees that it’s actually a very deep red. “The Curse of Lileath, a gene spliced poison,” he says as he
begins pulling the contents into a large syringe. “Always created for a specific host, and with a
mirror antidote containing the inverse sequence. It is also the most potent truth serum in the kabal,
possibly in the entire city.”

Setting the syringe on a tray table next to the chair, he picks up a second. The contents of this one
are a translucent blue that shimmers with a silvery opalescence. “And this is the Maiden’s Tears,
its counterpart. The only antidote for this particular formulation.” He holds it out and Jian accepts
it tentatively.

Valthiel hesitates for a moment, but then, just before Jian can speak up, he plunges the first syringe
into his neck, injecting the Curse into himself. Immediately, pain twists his face and he shudders,
stumbling his way back into the chair. The cuffs click shut automatically, holding him in place. He
sucks his breath in between his teeth and looks up at her. “Ask me anything you want.”

“What?” Jian replies, more from surprise than true lack of understanding.

“The poison compels both speech and truth,” he replies. “You may explore any secret I possess.”

Jian’s brain locks. What does she even want to know? “Why does it hurt so much?” she blurts as
the first thing that enters her mind.

“It is an aggressive poison that mixes genetic manipulation with chemical impulse control,
neurological subversion, and partial paralysis. None of those processes are painless.”
“Will it cause damage if I don’t give you the antidote quickly enough?”

“Yes.” Despite the obvious difficulty with which he speaks the words, his tone is annoyingly calm,
even as a fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead and his grip tightens on the armrests of the
chair.

“How long do I have until it starts?”

“It’s already doing damage.” Valthiel grunts and is silent for a moment before continuing. “I
estimate you have two minutes before noticeable permanent effects.”

Jian steps forward to administer the antidote and relieve the pain immediately, but stops herself
before the needle meets his flesh. She may never have another chance like this, to get complete
honesty without a possibility of doubt. Taking a deep breath, she asks another question: “Has there
ever been another girl like me? A companion, a – “

“Yes,” he cuts her off. “Illyria, a trusted companion and someone I thought of as my mate and a
future life partner. Just as I do with you. Albeit for different reasons, despite your visual
similarities.”

“What reasons?”

“Illyria made me believe I could be a better man. She was self-assured and had a sense of right and
wrong that I wish I could live up to. While with you, I…” He stops again, his fingers digging into
the metal of the chair until Jian could swear that he’s bending it. “I feel that there is something in
me that is worth saving already. That I can be forgiven, that – I love your spirit and your
compassion and your authenticity, I – “

Jian cuts him off with a gesture. She can feel her throat tightening and her eyes burning and she
needs to hold herself together long enough to take advantage of this poison. Her next words come
out far quieter than she intends. “Did you ever pretend that I was Illyria while we were together?”

Vathiel shudders and seems to be having difficulty with his thoughts before he bows his head. “I
had thought to originally. But it became impossible the moment you spoke to me and I caught a
glimpse of the brilliant soul in your eyes. I have done many things to you that I regret, but never
since that moment was I trying to convince myself you were someone else.”

The confirmation hits her like a blow from Lord Vrash’s sword. She clutches at the nearby bench
for support. For his part, Valthiel looks up at her, eyes unfocused and a thin stream of blood
trickling from his nose. “What… else… do you want to know?” he gasps out.

Jian hesitates. She’s never admitted the depth of her fears to him, and now that they’ve proven
baseless, bringing it up feels like needlessly opening wounds in both of them. But she has the
chance to know, to really know for certain even when her whole mind is working against her. It’s
too much. “Would you ever give me away? Or sell me?”

“Jian, I…” Valthiel’s face blurs in front of her as he struggles to respond. “I would rather throw
myself headfirst into the arms of She Who Thirsts than to ever again treat you as a – a bauble and a
plaything, rather than the blessing… of fate herself that you are. It is one of my deepest… regrets
that I was too blind… to see that gift for what it was until… until it was too late… From the
bottom… of my heart, I’m… sorry… I – ”

As she blinks away the tears, Jian sees that Valthiel has gone still. His fingers twitch and his jaw
clenches and unclenches convulsively. She’s out of time. Perhaps it’s already too late.
Her fingers tremble as she approaches the chair, cursing herself for her slowness. Swallowing the
lump in her throat, she plunges the needle into his neck and depresses the syringe. Her legs buckle
under her and she falls to her knees, weeping.

“The key to release me is on the workbench. If you want me free.” His voice grates, nothing like
his usual smooth tones, and he seems to run out of breath after every few words. She hurries to
open the cuffs and he crumples forward into her arms. A foul smell seems to be coming from the
oily liquid that has appeared on the back of his neck as the poison works its way out.

He stirs as she lowers him gingerly to the ground. His fingers wrap into the folds of her clothing
and tremors shake him. For long minutes she waits, stroking his hair and tunelessly humming in
what she hopes are soothing tones.

“I’m alright,” he says finally. His voice is so quiet that she can barely hear him as he points a shaky
hand toward the workbench. “Would you please get me those vials?”

Jian disentangles herself from him and scrambles to fulfill his request. When she turns back, she
sees that Valthiel has dragged himself to a nearby waste bin. Before she can ask if he needs help, he
begins to gag and she waits, holding his hair and watching in concern as the container fills with
blood-tinged vomit.

He finishes and wipes his mouth with his sleeve before leaning back against the cabinets and
closing his eyes. “Head hurts,” he groans, reaching out to take the potions she’s almost forgotten
she’s holding.

“What else can I do for you?” Jian asks worriedly.

“Just… stay near me, please,” he replies as he downs the contents of the bottles. His eyes close for
a moment, but when they open again, he seems… better somehow. His hand is firmer on her
shoulder and there’s strength in it as he tugs her to him in an embrace.

She can feel his tears on her hair as he wraps himself around her and when he speaks again, it
sounds as though the words bring even greater pain that his physical state. “Is that… did you think
I would do that to you?”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. The shame of her doubts fills her stomach like acid, and yet she can’t bring
herself to regret asking. “I don’t think that, I swear. And I know you said that you wouldn’t, but I
was so afraid, for so long, that I need to have your word for when I can’t talk myself out of it any
other way. Thank you for this, I’m sorry… “

“No, no. You were right to ask.” Valthiel sighs and begins to rub her back. “I am an archon and the
descendent of a dark muse. If you believed everything I said without question I would have to
doubt your sanity. You deserve any reassurances you need.”

Jian presses her eyes closed and lets him work, guilt still mixing with her relief. Her explanation
didn’t help, it seems. He’s still convinced she hates him; she can see it in his face. “But love means
nothing without trust,” she replies. “And I do love you.”

It wasn’t a simple moment, that knowledge. But in the long hours alone in her private garden,
tucked away from prying eyes with the time to simply think, she realized something. As she soaked
in the gentle sound of the water and the rustling of the leaves, she had found that the only way that
the discovery could have hurt her this badly was if she had cared about their relationship for its
own sake. From there, it had just been forcing herself to admit to it.
Valthiel doesn’t say anything in response, simply bending down to catch her lips in a kiss. It’s a
terrible kiss, tainted with blood and vomit and full of sweat and half-dried tears, but Jian barely
cares. She can’t believe how much she’s missed this. But there’s one more thing she needs to say
before she can fully put this behind her. “Just don’t ever lie to me again,” she says softly. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “I give you my word. And I should have been honest from the start, I know.
My only defense is that at first I didn’t know what I wanted from you or what I planned to do with
you. I was mostly making it up as I went along. And that is a coward’s defense for untruth.”

“I just want to feel safe with you, Valthiel. That’s all I’m asking.”

“And I will protect you with my life, I swear.”

Embracing her again, he falls silent. After a few minutes, he loosens his grip on her. “Would you
like me to carry you to your room? You must be exhausted.”

Speak for yourself. Even now, he looks as though he’s only a few minutes from death. “Could we
go to your room instead?” she replies.

“If you’re certain?”

Jian nods and he scoops her up and begins the long journey back to his chambers. The effort is
clearly all he can handle and several times she wonders if he’s going to drop her, but she knows
better than to insist on walking herself. It’s something he needs to do for his own peace of mind.

They reach his room and he sets her down on the bed as though she were made of glass before
collapsing beside her and falling instantly asleep. She stays awake longer, enjoying the closeness
and connection before emotional exhaustion guides her too into rest.

****

A month later, Jian sits at a desk in her room, thumbing through stacks of papers. Dozens of things
demand an archon’s attention every day, but only a few are actually worthy of his time. Today
she’s filling in for Lynx in trying to determine which stand out from the background noise as
possibly important or useful.

The past few weeks have been happily uneventful. Valthiel is effusively affectionate and seems
determined to keep her as close as possible. The effects of the truth poison still linger in the form of
pain and tremors, but gradually the symptoms seem to be decreasing.

Lynx has been sequestered in her cabin for the last few days, working on the final stages of a new
aphrodisiac. Miarya is apparently insisting on having it ready as soon as possible, so to avoid
angering her, Lynx and Jian agreed that pausing their lessons until the project was completed was
the best course of action.

Someone knocks on the door and Jian starts. Valthiel told her he would be in a security meeting
with Derfahn and Lord Vrash until well after dinner, Lynx is busy, and she can’t think who else
would visit her here. Signaling for Jaeden to hold off, she adjusts her dress, smooths down her hair,
and answers herself.

To her surprise, she finds Miarya herself standing in front of the door, accompanied by two
lhameans that Jian doesn’t recognize and a quartet of the snake-like sslyth warriors. She pushes a
frown from her face as she bows respectfully to the matron. “Lady Miarya. To what do I owe the
grace of your presence?”
Without waiting to be invited, Miarya steps into the room and flashes Jian a sultry smile. “Why,
what else than business, dear? No matter how much I would love a social call, the needs of the
kabal are never ending. The archon has been invited to a social gathering of considerable prestige,
and has made the somewhat daring choice to bring you as his courtesan. I take it you have already
been informed?”

“I have,” Jian replies stiffly. He asked her several days ago.

“Splendid.” Miarya takes a step to the side, inspecting Jian with pursed lips. She looks, if possible,
even more beautiful today than usual in a fitted coatdress of toxic green and brilliant blue. Her eyes
run up and down Jian’s body and she presses a manicured finger to her crimson lower lip, tugging
on it just slightly. “Have you considered what you wish to wear to an event of such great political
and social significance for the archon?”

The question takes Jian aback. “The party is still more than a month away, I hadn’t given it much
thought, no. I suppose if there is nothing else in my closet that suits, I will visit Valthiel’s tailor and
have him make over my black feathered dress.”

Miarya makes an exaggerated sigh and shakes her head in disappointment. “I knew it was a
mistake to let Valthiel place you under Lynx’s management. The girl is clever, but she still hasn’t
lost the coarseness of her slum origins and has all the social grace of a rampaging grotesque.
Fortunately, I was able to predict this situation and have arranged a suitable remedy.”

He face takes on an expression that Jian thinks might actually be genuine excitement as she takes
her by the shoulder and guides her toward the door. “I’ve arranged for an appointment with my
own personal designer. The man is artist with his blade and threads, I see him every time I need an
especially flattering piece.” She eyes Jian up and down in a manner that reminds Jian
uncomfortably of being back on a street corner, dancing nude for a crowd of drukhari to slaver
over. “I’m sure he’ll be able to perform miracles with, well, this, and bring forth sides and shapes
you didn’t even know you had.”

“I take it from the entourage that you wish to leave immediately?”

“Of course.” She starts down the hallway. “Try to keep up, dear.”

Jian follows, resolving to avoid conversation unless spoken to. She doesn’t like Miarya. Not that
she needs to say much. The journey down the spire, to the exit of the Ashen Rose’s pocket
dimension in a flyer, and then on foot to the nearby market district, is filled amply with the
matron’s comments. Most of these are aimed at Jian, critiquing her stride, posture, carriage, and
facial expressions. Rather than simply walking, Jian is to straighten her back, puff up her chest,
and glide with her legs and feet while somehow still swaying her hips.

It quickly becomes clear that her ability to perform this task is not up to Miarya’s standards, as one
of the lhameans hands her a short, flexible cane, which she carries with her as they step from the
flyer. The next time Jian’s face becomes a shade too emotional, she flicks her wrist and Jian barely
has time to tense up before a sharp pain shoots across her buttocks. The sting is much greater than
the motion should have produced – it’s probably poisoned or energized in some way – and it brings
with it a familiar arousal.

At first Jian is annoyed with herself. Have I really gotten to the point that all it takes is a smack on
the ass to get me worked up? Soon, however, she realizes that more likely the cane is having an
effect of its own. And as they enter the market, she doesn’t have time to contemplate anyway.

Little about the area surprises her in concept, yet in practice, she can’t help but be intrigued. Shops
line the streets, hawking exotic poisons and drugs to enhance the body and relax the mind, beasts
from a hundred worlds and even stranger creatures that look as though they bear the taint of the
neverborn about them. One offers yet more fantastic beings preserved in dozens of fashions. But
she doesn’t have time to do more than glance at the sheets of leather that still crawl and twitch as
though they were alive before Miarya delivers another firm blow with her cane.

“Do not ogle the merchandise, dear, it’s unseemly and a woman of your stature should know
better. Your expression at all times should be one of barely entertained indifference. Ah, here we
are.”

They’ve stopped outside a small shop with a window display featuring a pair of eldar dressed in
fabulous outfits of leathers and silks. Jian can’t make out if the models are slaves that have been
drugged or restrained in some fashion, corpses, or simply very detailed mannequins. She isn’t sure
she wants to know.

Inside is a riot of color and texture, with bolts of material filling the walls alongside more outfit
designs. The shop seems to specialize in leather. There must be dozens of varieties of it in place,
some smooth, some still covered with scales or hair from their former owners.

A man steps forward to greet them, thin even for a drukhari and with fiery red hair held in a knot
with a giant fang, similar to the style Valthiel favors. His outfit is green and orange scaled leather
and strikes a familiar chord in Jian. She can’t help but stare at it as he begins to speak. “Lady
Miarya. You honor me with your visit.”

“Ah, Cetriminus. It has been far too long. How are your wives?”

He smiles and leans on a chair. In Jian’s excited state, she can’t help but notice the tightness of his
pants. She looks away awkwardly. Cetriminus laughs and his smile widens. “They are doing
wonderfully, Lady. Thank you for your gift, by the way. We have been enjoying her services
greatly and I see the rumors about your kabal’s women were not exaggerated in the slightest.”

Miarya dignifies his thanks with a small smile of her own.

“May I interest you in any of my latest creations today?” he says.

“Sadly, I have been seized with a rare charitable mood, and I have decided to aid the less fortunate
by helping my lord’s favorite concubine to perform her role to maximum effectiveness.”

Cetriminus looks over the group, settling his eyes on Jian. At Miarya’s nod, he approaches her,
keen interest showing on his face. “I see… she’s certainly a beautiful specimen. Craftworlder, yes?
Not as thin as I’m usually accustomed to working with, but I can deal, I can deal. Tell me, girl,” he
says sharply. “What kind of clothing does your master normally dress you in? And what of that do
you find the most beautiful and comfortable?”

Jian frowns. “Most of my clothing is form fitting and cut to show off my breasts. Leather and silk
are both common, as is heavy brocade. The colors tend to be brighter than those typical of
Commorragh fashion. I am most comfortable in armor of various kinds.”

Miarya stops her from saying any more with another firm application of the cane. “No armor. She
is attending the celebration of the defense of Khaine’s Gate as a courtesan to the archon, not as a
warrior or champion of the arena.” She places a firm hand on Jian’s shoulder and the tips of her
fingers just brush the metal of her collar. “Remember your place, dear,” she says softly.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jian successfully keeps the annoyance out of her voice.
Cetriminus ignores them both, running his hands over Jian’s body and murmuring to himself. As he
circles her, she realizes what’s so familiar about his outfit – the leather comes from one of the giant
lizards that the eldar exodites ride. For some reason, the realization saddens her deeply and she
retreats into her own mind for the duration of the examination.

“Alright,” the designer says, beaming. “I’m thinking crimson diablodon skin under black carnosaur
scale leather to create a hidden flame effect when she moves. The outfit will be long and fitted to
increase her visual height, with hidden pockets worked into the skirt for blades and needles, of
course. I’ll slit both sides to the hips for further lengthening and sexual appeal, and then up top, a
corset to enhance your lovely breasts and a latticework of straps across the chest to draw further
attention. The gloves will be tipped with diablodon fangs, of course.” As he speaks, his hands rove
over Jian’s body to illustrate his plans, settling on her chest.

“That sounds acceptable,” Miarya says. Cetriminus looks to Jian.

“It sounds wonderful,” she says. She’s certain that the outfit will have some kind of unpleasant
twist, but for the moment, the description sounds intriguing and beautiful enough that she’s excited
to see what he creates.

“Very well. Remove your clothes and step into the waiting room in the back. My assistant is with
another customer right now, but I’m certain it will be only minutes before she is available for you.”

At first, Jian hesitates, but at a stern glance from Miarya, she removes her clothes and carries them
with her to the room that waits behind a shimmering curtain of multicolored satin. True to his
word, it’s a small place with rich, thick carpets and a trio of plush chairs. A pitcher of pale green
liquid sits next to crystal glasses on a small table, but Jian knows better than to accept a drink from
an unknown source. She sits down to wait, her clothing on her lap to hide her nakedness. She can
hear Miarya and Cetriminus talking in the front of the store.

It only takes a few minutes before the door at the far end of the room opens. Two women exit, one
a brunette in a leather outfit similar to the shop owner’s, the other tall with waves of familiar white
hair.

Illyria.

Jian freezes, unsure of what to do or how to react. It seems that the farseer recognizes her, too, or at
least their similar appearance. Her mouth opens and she draws in a little gasp. They stare at each
other, eyes locked.

Illyria recovers first. Drawing herself up to her full height, she turns to the shop attendant. “Leave
us,” she says. Even in her current state, collared and emaciated, she has the bearing of a queen and
Jian can’t help but feel jealous of her poise.

“You must be Illyria,” she says.

“I am.” Illyria is naked as well, showing off not only the heavy, close-fitted collar around her neck,
but dozens of metal rings pierced through every piece of her anatomy. It looks painful, but
somehow erotic in a way that Jian can’t put her finger on. Illyria doesn’t seem bothered by them,
however, and her tone remains haughty. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jian, of the Kabal of the Ashen Rose.” She can feel herself growing defensive. Here,
right in front of her, is the threat. The rival. The woman who can unseat her from the fragile sense
of peace and love that she’s managed to find in this hell. Her fingers close around the knife hidden
in the folds of the robe on her lap.
Eying her up and down, Illyria raises a brow. “I see. You must be Lord Aire’s latest conquest, then.
How unfortunate.”

“I suppose you think you know a great deal about him,” Jian snaps.

“It depends on your definition of ‘a great deal’, but I would like to think so, yes. More than you,
certainly.”

Jian jumps to her feet, letting the clothing tumble as she readies her knife. She’s not sure what she
intends to do, only that she’s not going to let this- this person take Valthiel’s love away from her.

But as she strides forward, another emotion flits across her mind. Pity. She’s been through far
worse than I have. It’s obvious in the thinness of her body and the way she holds herself that the
poise is simply a façade to hide her fear. Why didn’t she see it before? There’s no way she placed
those piercings herself.

Her arms drop to her sides and she curses herself internally for being so self-centered. ”I’m sorry.”

Illyria tenses, then the stiffness falls from her shoulders. “As am I,” she says sadly. “You must still
be new here, yes? The fear and horror of this place still cling to you.”

“Almost two years.”

“I thought as much. I’ve lost count myself. I- can you tell me, has Valthiel grown into a man yet,
or is he still the eager young one that I knew and loved?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. But he still misses you greatly. I can see it whenever he speaks
about you.” Her own heart aches with the powerful emotion brought on by forces too vast for her
to make even the slightest impact.

Illyria swallows hard.

“Is there… is there anything I can do for you?” Jian feels like she’s floundering, trying to navigate
her own mixed feelings in addition to those of Valthiel and Illyria.

“Could you – “ Illyria looks down at herself and when she looks back up, her face is flushed in
shame. “Could you hug me? I cannot remember the last time someone gave me a hug. I’m not sure
I remember what it feels like.”

Shocked and confused, at first Jian can only blink. But slowly, carefully, she walks toward Illyria,
arms extended. The knife remains in her hand, just in case, but Illyria does nothing as Jian wraps
her arms around her waist. Her body is warm and carries a faint floral scent, but something is off.
The skin, perhaps, is too hard and smooth to feel exactly like skin.

Slowly, Illyria raises a hand and places it on Jian’s shoulder. They stand in silent closeness for
minutes before Jian realizes that they’re running out of time. One of the drukhari in the shop will
certainly wonder what’s going on in here before long. “Is there anything you want me to tell him
for you?” she whispers.

“Tell him that I miss him,” Illyria replies in a broken voice. “And that I am sorry I left without
giving him a chance to explain himself. Even if I still think it was the wrong choice.”

Jian nods into the other woman’s chest. “I’m sure he would want me to tell you that he loves you,
and he’s doing everything he can to get to you. And I want you to know that I’m okay. He’s not
hurting me and I am happy with him.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Illyria say absently. “Do you know that Valthiel is an empath? Has he
ever tried to explore your mind, your memories or emotions?”

“He has.” Jian remembers the nights spent in each other’s arms, minds and spirits entwining in
silent closeness. A refuge from Commorragh and the darkness of the night.

“Well in that, case, please give him this for me.” Before Jian can react, Illyria kisses her. Her hand
wraps around the back of Jian’s head, holding her close as her tongue presses against her lips.

Shocked, Jian allows her in, suddenly very aware of the fact that they are both naked. Illyria’s body
forms itself around her, the piercings cold against her skin. She can feel the other woman’s nipples
brushing her chest and her hands on her waist. She can’t breathe.

But the kiss is brief, and just as quickly Illyria steps away, pushing her hair back with one hand.
She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, Cetriminus bustles in. “Now, then, what
are we waiting for?” he says. Turning to Illyria, he continues. “My assistant says your fitting has
finished – you can go ahead and dress, your fiancé should be along to collect you shortly.”

“Fiancé?” Jian can’t help asking.

“Yes,” Illyria says before the designer can interrupt. “I am to be married to Renthar, one of my
father’s raid commanders, at the turn of the year. Cetriminus is making my wedding dress.” A
single tear falls down her face as she turns away and exits the room.

By the time Jian is finished having every centimeter of her body measured and catalogued, Illyria
is gone.

The trip back to the Kabal of the Ashen Rose is uneventful. If Miarya knew who Illyria was or
realized that she and Jian had spoken, she doesn’t comment on it. The canings and lessons continue
– if anything, they increase as Jian’s distraction makes her a poor student – but she can’t bring
herself to care much. Miarya leaves her in her room, muttering something about the ungratefulness
of the young.

Jian passes the hours until Valthiel returns in a state of nervous frenzy. A dozen times, she attempts
to sit down, to calm herself and focus on her paperwork or a drawing or a batch of sleep medicine
or anything else, but each time she fails. Jaeden attempts to see what might be bothering her, but
fails to break through the agitation and seems to content herself with hovering nearby in case she’s
needed.

When Valthiel finally knocks on the door of Jian’s quarters, she practically runs to the door and
throws herself into his arms. He hesitates, then pulls her tight in an embrace, kissing the top of her
head. “What’s wrong, treasure?”

“Can we go somewhere private? I need to tell you something and I don’t think it will be short.”

“Of course.” Taking her by the hand, he leads her back to his suite, all the time casting worried
glances back at her.

The door shuts and she can’t wait any longer. “I saw Illyria again today.”

“What? Where?”

He still loves her. She has known this, of course, but the desperate pain in his eyes removes any
doubts she may have had. Her next words come out with a bittersweet taste. “Miarya took me to
have a new dress fitted. She was there, having a dress made. Her wedding dress.”
“She’s getting married?” Valthiel falls onto the couch, breathless.

“Yes. To someone named Renthar. I don’t think it was by choice. She sounds unhappy with it.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m certain Ordai is forcing her. He wants to pretend that he never lost
her, that his family was never destroyed, so he’ll tie her to him in any way he can. By Khaine, I
wish I could do something for her!” He pounds his fist on the arm of the couch as he shakes his
head in frustration.

“Is there anything you could offer him in trade?” What is she doing? How can she even think about
trying to bring the two of them back together? But her jealousy has faded since this morning.
Meeting Illyria, seeing her situation, she understands the need to free her from the situation.

“Ordai has always considered me an unworthy match for his daughter. I doubt he would even
entertain the thought of dealing with the Ashen Rose, never mind for something he values so
highly.”

“What about his enemies? Could you enlist one of them to help you?” Jian sighs as she takes a seat
next to him. “I’m sorry, you’ve probably already thought of all of this a dozen times over.”

Valthiel wraps his arm around her shoulders. “No, I don’t mind. But no, Ordai is the leader of one
of the most powerful kabals outside of Vect’s inner circle. Anyone who would be openly opposed
to him would also be an enemy of the supreme overlord and far too dangerous to get close to.”

“I see.” Jian leans against him, thinking. As she does, she remembers the other key event of her and
Illyria’s meeting. “She has a message for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She wants me to tell you that she’s sorry she didn’t let you explain, even if she still thinks
you’re wrong.”

“Yes, that sounds like her. I knew she would be upset from the moment I decided to follow this
path, but I suppose I didn’t think she would have been that angry. White roses are her favorite
flower, it almost seemed like fate, and I thought – “ He breaks off with a sad laugh. “In hindsight, I
shouldn’t have told her in a glass-walled greenhouse.”

“She broke it?”

A nostalgic smile still shows on his face as he nods. “Telekinetically threw me straight through
three walls. She always did have a temper.”

Jian remains silent, considering. “Can you… enter my mind? Right now? She sent me a – a
sensation, I guess you could call it, that she wanted me to share with you.”

“Of course…” With trepidation, he reaches out to cradle the side of her head in his hand. The
familiar brush of his mind appears and Jian struggles to bring to mind the feeling of Illyria’s body
wrapping around hers, the warmth of her tongue in her mouth and the strong, firm fingers digging
into her flesh. She loses herself in the sensations of the memory for as long as she can before
pulling back to herself.

It must have worked. Valthiel’s eyes shine with tears and he kisses her lightly on the lips. “Thank
you,” he says. “I know that was difficult for you. And I want you to know that even if, by some
miracle, I manage to save her, you are still my lover and partner. All I want to do is give her the
chance to go home, you have my word.”
 “I understand.” She frowns. “Is there that little hope?”

“Renthar is one of Ordai’s raid commanders – the captain of his flagship. Taking his bride would
be tantamount to declaring open war on the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists. And in addition to all that,
he is soon to leave on a massive raiding trip that will take him deep into the heart of ork territory.
He’ll be gone for years if he returns at all. Almost certainly bringing her with him.”

“Well, we have until the turn of the year to come up with something,” Jian says, even as she begins
to feel some of his pessimism.

“I suppose.”

“I’m here if you need to talk about it.”

“I appreciate that, and I will, just… not now? Why don’t you tell me about this dress that Mia is
buying you instead.”

****

For nearly an hour, the archon and his lover turn their thoughts to happier subjects. But
inevitably, their conversation returns to the afternoon’s events and they find themselves again
wondering how best to save a woman in such an impossible situation. By the time they break for
dinner, the archon has begun to wonder if he should simply ask his assassin to put her out of her
misery.

Meanwhile, in a faraway spire, the bride-to-be returns to her gilded cage, waiting helplessly for
the repulsive attention of her father to make another attempt in his endless, futile, brutal attempts
to heal the rift between them. And now, more painful even than her own bonds, is the knowledge
that an innocent young craftworlder suffers for the sole crime of looking like her.

Chapter End Notes

Whew! This chapter wrote fairly fast, but by Khaine, it needed a lot of editing. But
here we are - only 4 more chapters to go, and I think I can fairly safely say that
everything that's going to happen in the rest of the story has been set up, although
some things have much more obvious hints than others.

I'm curious if you guys have any ideas of where this story is headed or what the finale
is going to look like?
 Parting
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The next week is difficult. Although Valthiel’s spirits are higher at first, it only lasts for perhaps
two days after her encounter with Illyria. He doesn’t tell Jian what new information is troubling
him, but his mood is more disturbed than she’s ever seen it: alternately close to tears and far too
happy, making wild jokes and laughing at the slightest provocation.

Gradually, though, this too runs its course and Jian begins to relax a bit.

Today, she sits in an isolated grove of pines near the hot springs that Valthiel once brought her to.
She’s invited Lynx and Ayslinn to join her for tea this afternoon, and this seemed like a good spot
to set up, reasonably private yet still more interesting than the interior of her living quarters. Jaeden
hovers nearby, watching for anyone that might try to harm her and offering occasional questions or
input.

It’s funny, Jian thinks as she watches the water for the exact moment just before it starts to boil,
how many things have unexpected uses – and consequences. She loved tea at home, drinking
several cups a day and trying every new variety that the rangers and visiting corsairs brought back
from their travels. And now, with Lynx’s mentorship in crafting poisons and drugs, she can apply
what she’s learned here to create a perfect brew every single time. It’s become a game with herself,
to see how elaborate a service she can create and how delicate of herbs she can steep.

So absorbed is she in her work that she only notices the shadow behind her when it gets within
arm’s length. Cursing herself for her lack of awareness, she manages to remove the startled
expression from her face before she turns to face the intruder. “What is it, Derfahn?”

If he’s annoyed by her lack of reaction, he doesn’t show it, matching her casual tone with his own.
“I’m here for you, Princess. We have places to be and people to greet, so wrap up your brewery and
come with me. Although we might have the time to waste for you to change into something
more… impactful.”

“And what kind of impact will I be making?” Jian asks, now genuinely interested.

“The archon is meeting with a highly prioritized guest in his throne room as we speak. Your
presence has been requested by both parties, so I highly recommend that you don’t disappoint
them.”

Both parties? Who outside of the kabal knows her well enough to ask for her? Valthiel would
never welcome Ordai into his palace, surely. But the assassin seems to be unwilling to elaborate as
he leads her back toward her room, Jaeden trailing behind them with an expression of annoyance
on her face. She likely resents having someone sneak past her defenses.

In her room, Jian hesitates over her outfit choice. Should she appear as herself, in an elegant but
still sensual robe in one of her favorite blues or purples? Or should she dress to her status? After
brief consideration, she chooses the latter, slipping into the bathroom to change her dress for a few
patches of black leather, held together with straps.

She emerges to find Derfahn still lounging against the door frame and nods to signal that she’s
ready to meet Valthiel and his mysterious visitor. He looks her up and down, not with his usual
thinly-concealed attraction, but with concern. Jian’s lip twitches. If whoever is here is important
enough that Derfahn is willing to take it visibly seriously, they must be important indeed.

He leads her to Valthiel’s throne room and stops just outside, indicating to her that she should go
in. She does.

Valthiel sits at the far end of the room, not on his throne but on one of the small couches to the side
of the dais. He’s wearing his very best armor, with a glass of wine the color of blood in one hand
and his pipe in the other. Across from him lounges Lady Aurelia Malys.

Jian recognizes her instantly. It would be impossible for her to forget her, her curling dark hair and
the cynical twist of her lips and the deep, cold, blackness that pours off her in waves. Today, she
wears a set of armor in blue and green, decorated with a snake motif. Although very different in the
details, the quality and overall design reminds her of Valthiel’s formal set. She too has a drink in
her hand, although hers is clear with a yellow tinge.

Both archons turn to her as she enters the room. Aurelia speaks first. “Ah! There she is! Please,
come closer my pretty little thing, we’ve been waiting for you.” She smiles indulgently.

Jian approaches and curtsies. “A pleasure to see you again, my lady.” As she looks up, she casts a
glance at Valthiel, who smiles and pats the couch next to him. She sits and leans against him. A
matter of both appearance and comfort.

“So…” Lady Malys says, her face retaining its cat-like smile. “Would you like to tell her, or shall
I?”

Valthiel clears his throat. “I think I should, Lady, as befits the fact that she belongs to me.”

“Tell me what?” Jian asks, before remembering that she does, in fact, belong to him and as such
should remain silent until spoken to directly.

Instead of answering, Valthiel takes her hands in his and squeezes tightly before meeting her eyes.
She can see him struggling with his words.

“Jian, I have been thinking about this for a long time. I once promised you that I would take you to
see the galaxy, but due to my obligations here, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to leave Commorragh
next. Apart from brief raids, it will likely be centuries. And I want to keep my word. So I’ve
spoken with Lady Malys and she has agreed to let you travel with some of her harlequin contacts
for a while.”

“I don’t understand.” He’s sending her away? Why?

“The masque you’ll be traveling with has scheduled performances at several craftworlds, ones
we’ve talked about visiting. I know how much you hate it here, and you deserve a – a vacation. I
want you to be happy.”

Still, Jian struggles to process the information. What could possibly be behind this? Does he want
her out of the way because he somehow thinks she wouldn’t approve of his trying to rescue Illyria?
Or, worse, is he going to do something stupid and wants to ensure that she can escape any fallout
that results?

She opens her mouth to beg him to let her stay, to be a part of whatever he’s planning. But she
knows that if he truly believes she’s in danger, nothing she can say now will sway him. So instead,
she places a hand on his cheek and maintains the eye contact, hoping to impress on him how
serious she is. “I see. I love you, and I will look forward every day to seeing you when I return.”
“I will miss you too,” he replies, gripping her hands with enough force that she shifts
uncomfortably. “Every day until… I see you again. But your happiness is worth it. You’re worth
it.”

The reality of what’s about to happen is starting to sink in. I can see a craftworld again. Feel
something besides the endless suffering that’s seeped into the bones of this place. Speak with my
kin. Be free, if only for a few days.

“Thank you,” she whispers, flinging her arms around him. She can only imagine what he must have
had to offer Lady Malys in exchange for this gift.

Valthiel returns the embrace with equal intensity, pressing her close to him and burying his face in
her hair. When he finally speaks, his voice is husky. “You’re welcome, Jian.”

But after a few moments, he breaks the contact with a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry,
Lady Malys, I’m sure I’m taking up your valuable time, and I’m afraid my presence is required
elsewhere as well, so I leave Jian to you.”

He stands stiffly, his eyes already with the unfocused look of someone whose mind is far away.
Without leaving time for either Jian or Lady Malys to comment, he walks away.

After a few steps he stops and turns to Jian one final time. “Thank you,” he says, just loud enough
for her to hear.

Jian stares after him until he disappears through the doors at the far end of the throne room.
Despite his reassurance, she fears that whatever his plans are, they remain unchanged.

Lady Malys’ chuckle startles her from her daze and she turns to her.

“Well, that was an interesting little display,” the archon says.

“You found it amusing, I take it?” Jian says before remembering her manners. “My lady.”

“Of course!” Lady Malys laughs, and Jian is struck again by how beautiful the sound is. But as she
finishes, the sound echoes through the room, reverberating in a way that speech didn’t until it
sounds as though several people are laughing at once.

It chills Jian.

Lady Malys, however, seems not to notice. “I’ve never seen that sweet little boy so emotional and
raw. One could almost say naked. How could I not enjoy it?”

“I’m glad I have provided you with some enjoyment in your life, my lady.”

Leaning forward, Lady Malys reaches out to run cold fingers along Jian’s jawline. “Ah, my dear
Jian, I always knew you would. Now, tell me. Do you think you could feasibly pose as a harlequin?
Or do I need to find another excuse for why you are on board?”

Jian frowns, considering. She knows very little about them, apart from the few performances she
saw from masques that stopped on Yme-loc when she was a child. They were breathtaking, but
there is no chance she would be able to master such complicated disciplines. Simply standing in the
background and fighting if needed, though? “I think so, if I was not required to participate in one of
their shows.”

“SPLENDID!” Lady Malys practically squeals out the word. “That sounds like a wager to me. Of
course, I’ll give you plenty of time to practice and prepare with the rest of the masque. Do this, and
I’ll make sure you get out and back safely.”

Her face takes on a predatory smirk. “But should you perform badly, I will, of course, have to
collect a forfeit for damaging the reputation of one of my resources. And since you’re a slave and
have no property, I will be forced to take it from your lord archon instead. Don’t you agree?”

Jian can feel a flush darkening her cheeks. Gods, what has she gotten herself into?

“I will do your best to live up to your expectations, Lady.” It’s all she can think to say in the
moment.

“You are absolutely adorable, you know that, right?” Without waiting for a response, she stands
and heads for the doors, gesturing for Jian to follow her.

Instantly, Jian’s heart rate slows and the tension leaves her body somewhat as Lady Malys’ eyes no
longer rest on her face. Nonetheless, she feels compelled to respond as she hurries to catch up.
“Lord Aire certainly seems to think so. Although I find that such things are not always an
advantage.”

Lady Malys stops and turns to look at Jian. “How do you mean?”

“It’s often better to escape attention, than command it. Especially when I do not have the power to
control that interest.” Cursing herself internally for saying anything more than the bare minimum,
she clamps her mouth shut.

However, her comments seem to have intrigued the archon. She stares at Jian intensely, beckoning
for her to walk beside her as she continues. “And what do you believe you lack in order to take
advantage of other’s attention?”

Jian raises a questioning eyebrow, wondering if Lady Malys is joking. “As you just said, I am only
a slave in another’s house. I command no troops and have few connections and no wealth. And it
seems unwise to rely on someone else’s strength like it was my own.”

“Is that how you think the universe works, then? That one day you will be handed power and
wealth and can develop the skills to use them properly at your own discretion?”

“No,” replies Jian, more defensively than she meant to. “But future power isn’t power now. And I
don’t want to risk everything trading on the possibility of being able to back up my words at a later
date.”

“Or perhaps you could seek to use the attention granted by your appearance and your charisma to
secure advantages for yourself in the here and now, turning and twisting opportunities as they
come. All in the service of slowly building that wealth and political power you dream of?” She
wraps her arm around Jian’s shoulder, pulling her close exactly as Valthiel might.

Yet instead of comfort and safety, Jian simply feels dread. Again, she is helpless, a tiny,
insignificant slave at the mercy of the drukhari. “Perhaps,” she says in an effort to not appear
totally overwhelmed.

The lady seems not to notice the effect she is having as she twines her fingers in Jian’s hair. “All I
am suggesting is that instead of waiting for fate to come to you, step ahead of it. Use the tools at
your disposal now to secure your future success. After all, we’re all dealt hands of different values
but the way we use them is still up to us. Just because all you have is a pair of twos, that doesn’t
mean you can’t win against a flush if you bluff well enough.”
“You speak from personal experience.” It’s a guess, but one that stands a good chance of being
correct. The universe deals few eldar a good hand, and many of those that receive one still feel
cheated.

“I come from similar, albeit not identical circumstances.” Lady Malys nods approvingly at Jian’s
assumption. “I used to be the consort of the supreme overlord himself. It feels like almost a lifetime
ago . . . perhaps it was. Needless to say, it did not last.”

“You must have been quite clever to escape such a position with your life.” Jian feels the slightest
bit of respect growing for her. Assuming it’s true, of course.

Lady Malys shrugs with false casualness. “When he grew bored with me, he threw me out of his
palace and declared me unwelcome in Commorragh, to be hunted by most everyone in the city
who sought to make a name for themselves. It required all my guile, skills, and intelligence to
survive, but I was able to use the resources I had left to bring myself back to where I am today.”

A bit of amusement mixes with Jian’s fear and awe. Her false modesty fools no one. “That is quite
the accomplishment. You seem to have done quite well, considering.”

“Which is why I have taken a shine to you, my dear.” Lady Malys’ arm remains around her
shoulders as she guides her out onto the landing platform where a Venom transport waits for them,
painted in the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue’s blue and green heraldry.

“You have?”

“Of course. Do you think I would have done more than have my men drag you off to the harlequin
ship if I wasn’t at least somewhat intrigued? I want to help you, to guide you as you shed your
craftworld superstitions about right and wrong and your conceptions of what ought and ought not to
be, and to make you see the universe for what it is. Only then will you be the one who writes the
laws, instead of being bound by them.

“I see.” Unasked is the question Why me?

“So again,” Lady Malys says, a soft finger brushing Jian’s cheek as she settles them into the
Venom, “just because you lack the direct force of power at this point, that does not mean you do
not have certain assets of your own. And indirect coercion can be just as effective as a blade to the
throat.”

“I suppose.”

For the first time, Jian forces herself to meet Lady Malys’ eyes. They’re golden, like Valthiel’s, the
whites dark from the warp poisoning that most drukhari experience, and they stare back at her with
an expression of barely contained glee. But behind them, she can still feel the same, piercing, cold
otherness that so frightened her the first time they met. Her courage falters momentarily, but she
swallows and manages to get out what she meant to. “I can’t help but wonder what you get out of
it.”

“All I want is your ear, and a willingness to hear me out instead of dismissing me as nothing more
than an enemy to fear. That’s it.”

“I suppose I can give you that. Thank you.” Her assent costs nothing and will avoid what she
suspects will be a very nasty retaliation should she refuse.

“Any time, dear. Any time.”

Lady Malys says little during the lengthy ride in the transport and Jian does not attempt to start a
conversation. She contents herself with watching the city go by and trying not to think about the
archon’s gaze intent on her.

It takes well over an hour to reach their destination, a small ship that reminds Jian achingly of a
craftworld vessel, complete with solar fins reaching up and down and a polished wraithbone hull,
painted in brilliant reds and yellows and oranges.

Lady Malys leads her inside and orders her to sit down. She disappears, leaving Jian to observe her
surroundings. The room is furnished as a lounge, with a pair of small couches facing each other
and a quartet of chairs surrounding a square table where she can spot a chess game half-finished.
It’s similar in many ways to an officers’ recreation room on her mother’s ship.

My mother. Guilt twists in Jian’s stomach. It’s been days since she remembered her screaming and
dying while Jian did nothing. Weeks, maybe months since she woke up in the middle of the night
with the aching void in her chest where her mother’s soul had resonated off hers. But she hasn’t
forgotten. She hasn’t. She can’t, if she does, she’ll –

“Jian?”

She looks up, startled. A woman stands before her, tall and lithe in a way that reminds her
somewhat of Lynx, but taken to almost supernatural proportions. Clad in the same sunset colors as
the ship, she wears a blank-faced mask and a hood and carries a staff in one hand. Behind her, Jian
can see Lady Malys offering a gleeful smile and a little wave as she heads for the exit.

“That is me.” She finds herself pressing deeper into the upholstery. Harlequins are an enigma, the
servants of the mercurial Laughing God, Cegorach. She’s never spoken to one before, but knowing
that this group, at least, are allies of such a powerful drukhari… Harlequins have visited Yme-loc
before. We let them in.

“Lady Aurelia tells me that you’re going to be staying with us for a while. And joining our next
production, yes?”

“Yes.” Jian looks down at her lap. She has no idea how a stranger will react to this. Probably
badly; it’s quite the imposition, and she’s no one to them.

The harlequin leans forward, closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Oh? How come?”

“I mean, I know that you didn’t ask to have me aboard and that my presence will be a burden as
you rehearse your show with an unskilled performer.” Best to put aside any illusions right away. If
this woman is upset about her being here, Jian will find out now.

To her surprise, though, the woman sits down, turning in an impossibly smooth gliding motion to
place herself on the couch next to Jian. “My friend,” she says. “I give you my word, your presence
here is not an imposition.”

“It’s not?”

The woman gestures, and an illusion of two asuryani children playing appears on the floor in front
of them. “Not at all. Slipping an outsider into our performances with the craftworlders none the
wiser? That sounds like exactly the kind of shenanigans the Laughing One would approve of.”
Jian finds herself blushing in the embarrassment of how much relief this brings her. If she can stay
on the harlequins’ good side, this might not be too unpleasant of a trip. “Tha – thank you. Just let
me know what you want to do.”

Instead of answering, the other woman pulls off her helmet, revealing strands of wavey black hair
and a pretty face decorated with red tattoos. She frowns. “There is a lot of pain and lament in your
recent past, isn’t there?”

“No more than many others. Especially in Commorragh.” Time has brought perspective, and as
much as her heart still aches and her body still feels emptied and numb, she knows it could have
been far worse.

“Nonetheless, it seems to me that sorrow is a great deal of what makes you you. Am I wrong?”
Kaeandra smiles vaguely, an expression that reminds Jian of the few times she had spoken with
one of Yme-loc’s farseers.

“You’re not.”

“It’s quite beautiful in a way.” The smile quirks into a grin. “I think I know where we can use you
in the show. We’re going to perform the tale of the War in Heaven, and I think you would make a
wonderful Isha.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jian can’t hide her surprise – and her nerves. She had expected to stay in the
background, as a minor character, but Isha’s separation from the aeldari was the reason the war
started. Do they intend for her to fail and humiliate herself?

“You know the story, yes?”

“Of course.” It’s one of the most important tales of their old gods. “I’ve never seen a performance
of it, though.”

“I have seen it done many times, although never with this troupe. It is a story of fate, and of the
futility of escaping your own destiny, a theme that all aeldari need a reminder of at points –
craftworld and Commorragh alike. We will work with you to find your talents and skills to bring to
the role, as we all do. Just focus on your pain, your anguish, and your love. Those together will
form the heart of Isha in you.”

“I think I can do that…”

The harlequin gives her a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and her playful smile returns. “And if
Achadir gets too frisky as Kurnuos, just remember that he’s supposed to be your consort, not the
other way around. Don’t be afraid to show him his place if he acts up.”

“Thank you. I will.” Jian finds herself smiling back, set a bit at ease by the woman’s
straightforward manner. She can almost believe that every word doesn’t carry a lie or a hidden
agenda. Even if she knows that trusting a harlequin means putting herself at the mercy of
Cegorach’s ever-changing and inscrutable plans.

“And feel free to add a knee if he needs it.” The woman stands and holds out a hand. “Now let’s
get you settled. My name is Kaeandra, by the way.”

“Very nice to meet you.” Jian takes the hand and follows her deeper into the ship.

****
The next few weeks pass quickly. Kaeandra, Jian quickly learns, is the seer of the Masque of the
Bleeding Sun. Although she is by far the friendliest member of the group, none of the others seems
interested in actively antagonizing her. After brief introductions, most leave her to herself.

Long hours each day are spent rehearsing the show that the masque will perform during their
travels across the scattered remnants of the eldar. Based on fragments of conversation and oblique
references, Jian gathers that it has been centuries since they brought this legend to life, and the
makeup of the troupe has changed significantly since then.

Kaeandra and Delrain, the grim-faced drukhari man whom the others refer to as a “death jester”,
take the role of co-directors. Kaeandra narrates, while Delrain plays the part of Khaine. This means
that he spends a large chunk of the rehearsal time with Jian and Achadir, a young man constantly in
motion. Delrain drills them for hours, tolerating no flaw and putting Jian through her paces until he
has tuned the part to her talents.

To her joy, he decides to incorporate a solo aria for her near the beginning, an aching lament of
grief at being separated from her children, the aeldari, that builds to hope as her tears are forged
into the waystones that reunite them. The notes tumble over themselves, swelling and receding like
a heartbeat below the music, echoing the life that Isha gave them.

Her other scenes are less pleasant. Achadir seems determined to take full advantage of his role as
Kurnous and at first she finds his hands constantly on her, touching, exploring, his body too close
and his smile too wide. He calms down after several harsh words from both her and Kaeandra, but
their interactions retain the grimy, unclean discomfort that she associates with him now.

Distressing in a different way are her later scenes, most of which showcase Kurnous and Isha’s
suffering at the hands of Khaine when he discovered their disobedience against Asuryan in
contacting the aeldari. Delrain is quiet and removed when not in-character, which makes it all the
more frightening when he menaces and tortures her, even if only in pantomime. His pale face and
dark, expressionless eyes remind her too much of what she so narrowly escaped.

Despite these setbacks, though, Jian soon finds herself enjoying her residence on the harlequin
ship. Wherever it is docked after it leaves Commorragh, it is a place of psychic peace, free of the
chaos and oppressive cruelty of the dark city. Although she still feels on edge around the masque
when it gathers in groups, the harlequins themselves prove far less threatening than their
mysterious reputation has led her to fear. Each one may be capable of eviscerating her in half a
second, but she doesn’t think they will try unless provoked. She hopes they won’t try.

The play is nearing readiness when Jian receives a summons to Delrain’s office. She answers
nervously. She’s never spoken to him outside of rehearsals.

He waits for her behind his desk. The office is small and simple, with only the bare necessities
stored efficiently on plain shelves. To Jian’s surprise, instead of the simple clothing that members
of the masque have been wearing during their rehearsals, he wears his armor and mask, a leering
skull face that echoes the raw destruction that he is responsible for creating on the battlefield.

“Well met,” he says as she enters.

There is no second chair for her, and he gives her no indication of what to do, so Jian remains
standing. “And to you as well.”

“I have to admit that I am impressed by the speed with which you have begun to pick up our ways
and the enthusiasm you show for our lore keeping and storytelling. I was skeptical, but I now agree
with Kaeandra’s assessment that you should be allowed to join our troupe on our journey.”
“Thank you very much, both for the opportunity and for your hospitality to me, a stranger. You
have no idea how much this means to me.” Jian can’t help but sigh with relief. She’s been so
focused on learning her part, and on not disappointing Lady Malys and bringing harm to herself or
to Valthiel, that she hasn’t even had time to think about the substance of the visit itself.

It’s impossible to read Delrain’s expression behind his rictus mask, but she is certain that he looks
much like Lord Vrash as he speaks. “Hospitality that we are duty-bound to uphold, as the trade of
favors and boons has supported aeldari society since its inception. It is not kindness, but honor, that
has led to your acceptance.”

“Understood,” Jian replies, her warm mood dampened.

“And it is similar obligations that require me to check with you to ensure that you will not create
problems when we reach Yme-loc – “

Whatever he might say after that, she doesn’t hear. Yme-loc. They’re taking me home. But what –
Surely Valthiel must have known where they were going? He must have –

Oh.

Somehow, in all the hours they have spent together, in all the promises of love and loyalty and
sacrifice, it has never seemed possible that he might let her go back to Yme-loc. It was a dream she
put aside to avoid driving herself insane with hope, and he never gave her any sign that he was
thinking about it.

And yet even in the rush of happiness that fills her with an electric joy, a thread of hurt remains.
The cruel voice of her early fears, asking what she must have done for him to reject her like this.

“Jian?” Delrain’s harsh voice cuts into her thoughts. “Do you understand?”

“Understand what?” she breaths. I can see Reena again. Speak to my father, somehow make
amends for failing to save the rest of the ship…

“I asked if you understand the situation. We will perform, stay for the rest of the day to entertain
our audience, and then we will leave. And you will leave with us. Voluntarily. With no fuss. No
matter what other deals you may have made with your lord archon.”

The air leaves Jian’s lungs. Black spots gather in her vision as she opens and shuts her mouth
silently, trying to recover from the sudden reversal. “You mean I – “

But what can she say? What can she do? “Yes, I understand,” she says quietly. Perhaps she will
find a way to escape despite her promise. But she understands.

“Good.” Delrain stands abruptly. “The last thing we want to do is to bring further suffering and
death to our already embattled people before we inevitably arrive at the same conclusion.”

“Of course not. Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

“No, that will be everything.”

Jian leaves the death jester’s office in a daze, trying to keep the dozens of thoughts competing to
overwhelm her mind from burying her. To have the opportunity presented and suddenly snatched
away…

Perhaps she should just stay on the ship.

But no. Reena and her father believe her to be dead or suffering unknowable agony in the depths of
Commorragh. If she has the chance to tell them that she’s alright, and doesn’t, she doubts that she
can ever forgive herself. And her father will want to know that her mother is dead, if only to stop
the horrible, painful hope that she knows he must still be holding on to.

She encounters no one as she returns to the cabin the masque has assigned her, where she remains
in solitude, preparing the most important lie of her life.

****

Despite the countless hours of preparation leading up to it, and the even greater amount of time that
she has poured into dreaming of a day like this, the moment that Jian steps out of the harlequin ship
still catches her off-guard. How many times has she been here, in this very port, watching her
mother or her friends leave or waiting for their arrival from places she could only dream of seeing?
The familiarity washes over her as she follows the Masque of the Bleeding Sun through the space
port, accompanied by crowds of excited asuryani. She knows the graceful curves of the wraithbone
arches that support the space, the dozens of sculptures and murals by Yme-loc’s most
accomplished artisans, the relaxing sound of running water from the fountain-filled garden just
outside.

Yet there are differences, too. A new ship sits in the berth her mother’s once occupied. A painting
she’s never seen before hangs in the corridor that leads from the space port to the rest of the
craftworld. And as she steps outside, into the soaring, pale-blue sky and the lush greenery, she’s
struck by a vast emptiness.

Is this all there is?

How many times has she dreamed of this moment, imagined coming home over and over again,
wondered what it would be like to set foot on the wide, smooth streets and feel the whispers of the
infinity circuit singing in the back of her mind? But now that she’s here, her thoughts are far more
troubled. She has no idea why, but the perfect homecoming she envisioned feels hollow and
unsatisfying.

She’s grateful for the helmet on her borrowed motley. It hides the tear that trickles down her
cheek.

The procession moves down the pathways of the craftworld at a brisk pace, through gardens and
galleries and open patios. Jian catches glimpses of the market where she used to buy gifts for Reena
and jewel-toned robes for herself. They walk past the park where she began her journey to the
Shrine of the Ever-thirsting Blade for the first time.

Memories and questions tug at her as she walks, wondering if Verynia escaped, or if the shrine
stands empty and silent, waiting for a new exarch to find it. If the faces she catches glimpses of
belong to old acquaintances, or strangers. If she can do this, or if she will have to return to the ship
and let others carry her words for her.

They arrive after perhaps half an hour at one of the large squares that Jian knows are often used for
such events. If she’s not mistaken, it’s the one where the reception took place the last time a troupe
of harlequins visited. Long tables line the edges of the space, loaded with all the food she
remembers from her childhood, while the center of the courtyard is filled with the citizens of Yme-
loc, talking, laughing, and eating.

She looks to Kaeandra for direction and the shadowseer nods slightly. So she follows Achadir and
several of the other lower-ranking members of the Bleeding Sun to the tables, where she fills
several bowls with her favorites – soft brown grains and five-spiced meat in a warm orange sauce
and vegetables and sweet fried pastries seasoned with flower petals. Balancing the dishes on her
arms, she searches for a place to sit down.

It proves harder than she anticipated. She’ll have to remove her mask to eat, which runs the risk of
someone noticing her. She isn’t sure what will happen if the autarchs and the seer council discover
that she’s returned, but she doubts she’ll be able to talk her way into leaving against so many. And
every spot she thinks to sit seems to have someone nearby who sends a tingle of familiarity through
her.

She wanders further and further away from the feast, eventually finding a place to settle herself
under a tree in the garden across the street. For perhaps a quarter hour, she sits, eating and
watching the gathering from afar. It gives her time to think.

It hasn’t been as hard as she feared. The places all hold remnants of her life, and being here has
stirred those memories of better times, but they’re just that. Memories. Ones she’s already played
over in her head a thousand times in an effort to keep from forgetting.

It’s so quiet. At first, she appreciated it, loved the calm, ordered psychic landscape after the chaos
and pain of Commorragh. But as her spoon begins to scrape the bottom of the bowl, she finds
herself growing frustrated. It’s like listening to a song with the same notes playing over and over,
with each mind’s rigid path forming an unyielding pattern.

Was it always like this? Or is it a change in her, the compromises she’s made and the darker
thoughts that lick at the back of her mind now, the call of She Who Thirsts telling her that this isn’t
enough, that she needs more.

Perhaps she needs a drink.

It’s as she’s gathering her dishes to return to the feast that she sees her. Reena.

She’s not far away, on the edge of the square closest to Jian, leaning against a wall and talking to
the woman next to her. Jian’s eyes must have passed over her a dozen times as she sat, but it’s just
now that she recognizes her. Such a change has come over her that Jian still almost wonders if
she’s mistaken.

But as she approaches, mask back in place and hood pulled up to hide the distinctive silver-white
of her hair, her certainty increases. It’s Reena. Gods, what happened to her? It seems like she’s
aged decades in the two years Jian has been gone, with all the soft curves of her body and face lost
in hard muscle and sharp angles and her wavy red hair cut short and combed back in a severe,
practical style.

Another woman approaches as well, and Jian stops, held by sudden shyness, and watches. The
stranger is their own age, tall, with long, obsidian hair in an elaborately cascading braid. She wears
the robes of an officer on the Path of the Mariner, although Jian is too far away to pick out the
exact rank, and in her hands she carries two crystal goblets of wine.

Reena accepts one of the drinks and says something, likely a thanks. Even from this distance, Jian
can see the mariner’s face light up and she smiles as she replies. It must have been a joke of some
kind, as Reena flashes her a smile – still the same smile – before her stormy expression returns.

She could have stood there for hours, watching and bathing in the dozens of emotions the scene
brings her, but the mariner looks up and clearly notices her, drawing Reena’s attention to her as
well. Her stealth broken, Jian begins to approach slowly. Her heart seizes in her throat as the other
girl kisses Reena lightly on the cheek and offers her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before
darting away. Reena doesn’t respond, simply staring down at her wine as though it has personally
offended her.

Jian walks forward until she’s just in front of Reena, and still the other girl ignores her. She waits
for a few seconds, preparing, then reaches out to tap her on the shoulder. “Reena?”

“Go away,” she replies without looking up.

In the time she’s been away, with all that’s happened to her and all she’s done, Jian has become
very good at hiding her emotions. Here, in the psychically charged environment of the craftworld,
it’s more difficult, but she still manages to keep from bursting into tears. “Reena,” she says around
the lump in her throat. “It’s me.”

Reena’s head snaps up, face pale with shock. She watches transfixed, the dark circles under her
eyes standing out like bruises, as Jian removes her helmet.

“Jian… but – but how? It’s impossible!”

She shakes her head. “It’s me, I swear.”

“How?” Reena begins to tremble, hope and fear mixing plainly on her face.

“May I… may I sit?” All the words she planned are slipping away from her and her limbs feel
weak.

Reena nods and reaches out, seeming almost not to realize what she’s doing, to brush the edges of
Jian’s borrowed outfit with her fingers. Perhaps checking to see if she’s an illusion or a dream.

“I – “ Jian stops, takes another breath, closes her eyes. “The alarm was a drukhari raid, Reena. You
know that, I’m sure. Mother and the rest of the Shrine of the Ever-Thirsting Blade were killed. I
tried to fight back but they… I was captured instead.”

Reena continues nodding, her eyes fixed on Jian’s face.

“I almost despaired. I thought… “ Jian cuts herself off there. There will be no benefit to Reena
knowing what happened to her mother, or where her mind went in the depths of that hold. “You
know the stories. But that’s when the harlequins found me. Apparently the Laughing God has a
sense of humor. Who knew? They ransomed me from the raiders and offered me a place in their
masque. When Cegorach calls, you can’t exactly say ‘no’.”

But instead of relief, her story merely brings fear and confusion to Reena’s expression. “So the
harlequins saved you from the dark ones, only to enslave you themselves?”

“No! It was more like I found my true path. I would have felt the pull sooner or later, this was just
the moment and the way it happened.” Jian tries to smile, but she’s unsure if she succeeds.

Looking down at her lap, Reena is silent for a long time. When she does reply, her voice is barely
above a whisper and raw with pain. “Why didn’t you try to find me or send a message sooner?”

The accusation stings with truth and before she can stop herself, Jian flings her arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” she says as her tears spill over. “For a long time, I couldn’t. First I was on the raiders’
ship, and then I was sequestered for the first part of my harlequin training. Like when I joined the
Banshees, remember?”
“But later… when you finished?” Reena returns the hug, but gingerly, as though Jian might
disappear if she squeezes her too hard.

“By that time, I didn’t think you would believe me if I sent a message. Believe that it was me. Or
that I was alright. I wanted to tell you myself…”

The arms around her waist tighten and Reena trembles. Again, it takes her a long time to respond,
but when she does, her voice is firm. “Very well, then. Take me to the leader of your masque so
that I can join too.”

Oh no. She’d planned a dozen contingencies, but somehow the idea that Reena would try to follow
her hadn’t been one of them. Only the chosen join the ranks of Cegorach’s most loyal followers,
every aeldari knows this. A rejection is certain, they both know it is, but in the rejection, Kaeandra
or Delrain might reveal Jian’s lies and cause more harm than the simple truth would have.

“Of course,” she says. “But please, stay with me first… tell me how you are? What’s been
happening to you?” If it’s all going to come crashing down, she needs just a bit longer to hold her
and take in the presence that she’s missed so much.

Reena relaxes slightly, the tension of nearly standing up leaving her body. “Izantyr… your father…
he knew as soon as the first escape ships arrived that you and your mother were gone, but I kept
hoping. I waited at the space port every day until the last one arrived and I prayed every night that
somehow you had both escaped. But you never came… “

“I know, I know. I’m sorry Reena. I wanted to.”

“When the last ship came and they told me that they’d seen you going back to the bridge, I should
have been sad. I felt like I should have been sad, but I was just angry. They’d killed you, or were
going to kill you, and there was nothing I could do. And all Izantyr would do was cry about it when
he should have been doing something!”

“Reena? What happened to you?” This doesn’t sound like her – she’s never heard such hatred in
her voice before, never seen an expression of so much rage on her face. It’s like an entirely
different woman sits in front of her.

“I wanted to join the Howling Banshees. To – to honor you. And to eradicate the filth took you
away and pollute the universe with their savagery while they dare to wear our faces and call
themselves our people.” And then, as suddenly as it began, the darkness is gone and there is only
sadness. “I couldn’t get in. The door of every Banshee shrine I tried was closed to me. But I kept
wandering, for days, until I reached the Shrine of the Final End. And the door opened.”

“A Dark Reaper?” Jian breathes in horror. Reena – her Reena – clad in black armor, a painted skull
over her face as she annihilates everything in her path as the embodiment of Khaine’s most
destructive aspects. And it’s Jina’s fault for leaving such a hole in a loved one’s heart.

“Yes.”

The single word is enough to break down what’s left of her self-control and she hugs Reena tighter,
sobbing loud enough that those around them can surely hear. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t
want to leave you. I missed you so much, I miss you every day.”

Reena hugs back. The darkness of her mood still lingers cold around her, but in the embrace there
is a measure left of the old Reena. The healer who wanted nothing more than for everyone she
loved to be safe and happy. She kisses Jian’s neck. “At least we’re together again, right?”
“I don’t know… ”

Jian can hear her swallow hard. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t stay in one place, Reena. As soon as we finish our show this evening, we’re leaving for
Iybraesil. I don’t know when we plan to return. If we ever do.”

“Well, I’ll just have to join you, then. Simple as that.” Reena stands and holds her hand out for Jian
to take.

“I’ll take you to our shadowseer, then.” Replacing her borrowed mask, Jian takes the hand and
squeezes it tight. Every moment, every interaction, is precious now.

It doesn’t take long for her to spot Kaeandra sitting at a table, sipping on a glass of wine. Unlike
the other harlequins Jian can see, who all remain aloof from the craftworlders, the shadowseer is in
the middle of telling a story to a trio of wide-eyed asuryani children. Illusions and flamboyant
gestures accompany the tale and Jian can’t help smiling as she watches. Reena, too, seems
transfixed. That could have been them, once.

After only a few minutes, however, the story finishes and Kaeandra looks up. “What can I do for
you?”

“This is Reena. She would like to join the Masque of the Bleeding Sun.”

Kaeandra studies them both, and Jian shifts uncomfortably. She knows the woman is using her
gifts as a seer to determine what to do, and she doesn’t want to imagine what information she might
learn in her searching.

“Do you wish to vouch for her?”

“Yes.” What else can she say?

“Very well. I will let the rest of the masque know and we will deliberate together, after the show.
You will have our answer before we leave.”

“Of course.” Jian breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Now, with that arranged, would you like to join me for our next story?”

Jian shakes her head. “I’d love to, but I think there are a few people I need to see before the
show.”

She and Reena leave the party, wandering slowly down the streets of Yme-loc. After a few
minutes of charged silence, Jian finds that she’s been unconsciously walking toward the Shrine of
the Ever-Thirsting Blade. As she stops to plan another route, she realizes that she’s running out of
time to say everything she meant to say.

“Reena, where is my father?” Isha’s tits, she’s forgotten all about him in the rush of seeing her old
lover again.

Reena remains silent and Jian’s fear grows. If something has happened to him, if he’s done
something… “Is he alright?” she repeats.

“He’s alive.” Another pause. “Losing both you and your mother was too much to bear on the Path
of the Thought-talker. He is likely in the Halls of the Dead, letting his sorrow carry the burden of
grief for all our people’s troubles.”

Swallowing back tears, Jian nods. “I would like to see him… But not now. I want to spend as much
time as can with you now, before the show.” She’s not sure if she’s ready to see him like this, her
strong, wise father given over to pain and walking the Path of Grief, clad in white like a ghost.

The next few hours are interminable, yet also far too short. Every topic of conversation is a
minefield, every word needs to be second-guessed so that Reena doesn’t suspect the truth. Still,
Jian finds herself longing for more time, for days or weeks instead of only a few hours to wander
through the forests and beaches and tell each other everything they meant to say before it was too
late.

By the time she excuses herself to prepare for the harlequins’ show, Jian feels as though she’s gone
through every emotion she possesses, leaving her numb. She readies herself in silence, putting on
her costume and placing her mask, a stylized feminine face with a single jeweled tear, into
position.

The show passes in a blur. At first, she fears that her practice will fail her at a crucial moment,
leaving her and her loved ones to face Lady Malys’ wrath. But as she takes the stage, she finds the
music sweeping her away, Isha’s sadness and love consuming her until it feels less like she sings
and more like the goddess sings through her.

In the moments of relative calm that follow while she and Achadir wait to be released from
Khaine’s dungeons, off stage for many of the dramatic battles that she can hear Kaeandra
describing, she watches the crowd. He father is missing, as expected. Those on the Path of Grief
are supposed to separate themselves from the rest of the asuryani so that their emotions don’t
disrupt the serenity of the craftworld except at funerals.

Reena, however, is there, with the dark-haired mariner at her side. She looks slightly less
disinterested than she did earlier, Jian is happy to note, watching the show with wide eyes and
allowing the other woman to take her hand in the most dramatic battles. Despite the stab of
jealousy this brings her, Jian hopes that it means her visit has helped.

Her time to contemplate is short-lived. Before long, she returns to the stage as Vaul offers his
ransom of one hundred swords and guides Isha and Kurneuos to safety before their captor can
discover the single mortal blade hidden among them. And then her part is done, left backstage to
change into her borrowed motley and cool her parched throat with sweet craftworld wine while the
rest of the War in Heaven rages in song and dance and ritualized combat in the theater outside.

The Masque of the Bleeding Sun returns to their ship after the performance. They plan to depart
later that evening and apparently feel no need to interact with the craftworlders further. Jian goes
with them, unsure what she wants to do with the few hours left of her visit. She knows that before
long, she will have to face Reena, either with the fact that she can’t join the harlequins, or the
revelation of her own lies.

Barely half an hour later, someone knocks at the door to her cabin. She answers it to find Reena
there, eyes red and face haunted. Again, Jian throws her arms around her, knowing without asking
what Kaeandra’s answer was. In a way, the decision is a relief, even if some part of her has been
dreaming the impossible dream of the two of them traveling the stars together, leaving both
craftworld and Commorragh behind to join the harlequins.

Reena doesn’t return the gesture, but she doesn’t resist it either. Jian holds on for a few minutes
before she looks up. “Kaeandra already told me; I’m sorry.”
“I… “ Whatever Reena was going to say is lost as she slumps against Jian’s shoulder, muffled sobs
the only sound in the quiet cabin.

Jian guides her toward the bed and helps her sit. She knows from experience that this kind of pain
needs time to dull before Reena will be ready to say anything.

After perhaps half an hour, Reena looks up. “I don’t know what to do… “ she says in a broken
voice.

Smiling through her own tears, Jian strokes her hair. “I love you Reena. I always have and I always
will, and I want you to know that. Thinking about you, knowing that you were safe and could be
happy, it got me through the worst days of my life. I wish that fate had been kinder to us. I wish
that Mother and I would have stayed here, and we could have all lived on together. But you can’t
live the rest of your life chasing the shadow of times that will never be.”

Even if, by some miracle, she found a way to defy Lady Malys and return home, she’s a husk of
the girl she once was, a newer, sadder self filling in the empty spaces that the drukhari have carved
in her. And what about Valthiel? Leaving him behind forever would be just as painful as this
moment is now.

She sniffles, remembering the mariner who seemed so determined to make Reena smile, unafraid
of the simmering anger that seems to be the default emotion of her new path. “There are others
here who care for you. Don’t hold yourself back for my sake – you deserve a chance to be happy,
not to live your life struggling through a calling that isn’t yours.”

“No!” Reena grips Jian’s arm tighter. “There will never be someone other than you, there can’t!
And if you’re on a path that I can’t follow… “

“Reena, I love you. I want you to be happy. Even if that means being with someone else. You
don’t have to fall in love again, but I want you to know that you’re not betraying me if you do. The
thing that would make me the happiest is to know that you can smile again.” And Reena would say
the same to her, wouldn’t she?

“… I don’t know.”

She can see the darkness still flickering in Reena’s eyes, the bloodlust that has become both of their
constant companion howling to be unleashed. She grabs her roughly by the shoulders. “Reena, look
at me. I need to you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“That anger you feel right now? I need you to fight it. I know what it’s like. You want to put your
war mask on and never take it off so that you don’t have to feel the pain. But you can’t do that.”
She can feel tears starting to flow again. “I need you to promise me. I’ll never forgive myself if
you lose yourself on the path for my sake.”

Reena blinks, apparently taken aback by the sudden intensity, but after a moment, she nods ascent.
“I give you my word, Jian, that I will remain myself in case we ever meet again.”

“Thank you.” Guilt still gnaws at her for her own unfaithfulness, but at least Reena is free to make
her own way. “May I ask one more promise from you?”

“You always were a greedy one.” Reena’s smile, though still tinged with sadness, seems genuine
this time. “What is it?”
 Jian reaches over to her desk and picks up the piece of parchment that lies there. She spent hours
laboring over the words, but they still don’t feel like enough. “Can you give this to Father?”

“You’re not meeting him yourself?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve already had my heart broken once today. I can’t do it again.” It’s the
truth, but only in part. More than simply the sadness, she fears that someone who’s known her
since the day she was born will be able to see through her lies. She can’t bear to let that happen.
“I’m not strong enough.”

Reena places a hand on her shoulder. Her grip is surprisingly firm, reminding Jian just how much
she, too, has changed in the last few years. “Don’t worry, Jian. It’s my turn to carry a burden for
you, now. I’ll take it, and your love, to your father.”

“Thank you.”

Standing, Reena pulls Jian up into an embrace. Her face is set into hard lines and her back straight
and rigid, but her voice is the same soft, gentle tone hat Jian remembers from long nights together.
“I love you. I always will.”

“And I you. I’m so glad I got to see you again. And I promise, I am alright.”

“Which is all I care about for the moment.” She kisses her again, long and deep and full of
bittersweet affection.

To Jian’s surprise, Reena is the one who breaks the contact, leaving them both standing
uncomfortably at the doorway to the cabin. “I suppose I should go,” Reena says.

“I suppose so.” Jian tries to smile and fails. “They want to leave soon, I think. Goodbye, Reena.
May Khaine protect you, Cegorach smile on you, and Isha heal your heart.”

“And the same to you, my dearest Jian.”

****

The two girls who once shared everything part to their separate paths.

The warrior returns to her people, surer than ever of her place in the tranquility of the craftworld.
As she bears the letter of regrets and goodbyes towards it recipient, her grief and hatred harden
into resolve: this will not happen to anyone else. She will protect her people, no matter the cost.

The slave, meanwhile, remains in the darkness and quiet of her cabin, caught between worlds. The
pain of having freedom presented, only to be suddenly ripped away, is mixed with guilt and longing
as both her loves feel like betrayal of the other. Torn between the woman she is and the one she
wishes she could have been, she curls into herself and waits for the journey to pass, hoping in vain
for the refuge of sleep.

Chapter End Notes

I love writing Aurelia. I think about 80% of her dialogue and actions in this story are
just her trolling people.

Honestly, this whole chapter I'm really happy with. I love harlequins, so putting them
in there was fun, an exploration of aeldari mythology, the long-awaited reunification
of Jian with her (now ex? maybe? not sure what they are at this point) girlfriend... it
was a blast to work on.

What do you bet Jian has some kind of surprise waiting for her back at the Kabal of
the Ashen Rose?
 Restarting
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

In comparison to Yme-loc, the rest of the trip is uneventful. The Masque of the Bleeding Sun visits
Iybraesil, Saim-hann, and Tir-Val, performing their rendition of the War in Heaven a single time
on each craftworld before departing the same day. Jian sees little of their destinations, however.
When her presence isn’t needed on stage, she finds little interest in anything other than shutting
herself in her room to grieve and think and meditate alone. The harlequins give her space to do so,
although whether from understanding or indifference, she isn’t sure.

The sole exception is Kaeandra, who makes sure to check on her regularly and offers herself as a
willing ear should Jian want to talk. She doesn’t, not to someone she’s known for such a short time,
but the care is appreciated nonetheless. She suspects that Kaeandra already knows most of what
she would tell her anyway.

After so much time, returning to Commorragh is a shock. Being away from the city always has that
effect, but it’s even more pronounced this time, as spending so much of her trip in the resonant
wraithbone hallways of the craftworlds and the wilder, mercurial energy of the harlequin ship has
pricked her own senses and worn away at the callused exterior of her psychic insight. Now, the
pain and noise are again deafening, filling Jian’s awareness to the point that she can barely focus.

She’s grateful for Kaeandra’s offer to stay with her until she reaches the Kabal of the Ashen Rose
itself.

The guard looks suspiciously at the two of them as they reach the portal to the Ashen Rose’s
pocket dimension. Jian looks back at her, meeting the sybarite’s gaze, and the drukhari shifts
slightly. “You may enter,” she says stiffly.

“I should leave you here,” Kaeandra says softly. “If you’re certain that you’ll be alright from here.”

“I should be.” She wants the moment when she sees Valthiel again to be just the two of them. She
can imagine the look on his face when he realizes she’s back.

“Then go well.”

Jian bites her lip before speaking. She’s not sure if it’s too forward of her – she barely knows
Kaeandra, after all. “Thank you for being so kind to me while I was your guest,” she says. “I doubt
we will ever meet again, but I hope to.”

“A pleasure, Jian. But who knows? Perhaps fate will one day bring us together again.” She departs
with a wink, leaving Jian to wonder if the sentiment was a hope, or something she read in the
future.

Either way, she will see when it happens. For now, she just wants to see Valthiel again.

The shuttle ride to his spire seems endless, but finally, she finds herself standing on the landing
platform. The wind tugs at her hair and she shivers slightly. She’s almost forgotten how cold
Commorragh is, especially now that her borrowed harlequin’s motley has been returned and she
wears only the tiny leather outfit that she departed in.

The thought of changing into something more comfortable briefly crosses her mind, but she
decides against it. It will just delay the reunion.

Little seems different as she walks through the upper floors of the spire, and yet somehow, Jian
finds her heart pounding. Is it her imagination, or is it far too quiet here?

Valthiel’s suite unlocks at her touch. He must not have removed her biometrics yet.

The door slides back silently and Jian flinches as an overpowering stench hits her. Sweat, spoiled
food, and old liquor mix with the sickly-sweet scent of the smoke from Valthiel’s pipe to form a
smell that brings bile into the back of Jian’s throat. “Hello?” she says cautiously as she steps inside.

No one answers. The door shuts behind her, leaving her in the dusky suite with no sound but her
own heartbeat.

Putting her hand on the pommel of her knife, Jian steps further inside. A groan stops her in her
tracks.

With the sound to guide her, she notices a figure lying on the couch in the center of the living area.
It’s too dark to make out the details, but it’s the right size and shape to be Valthiel. “Hello?” she
calls out again.

“Who’s there?” he slurs.

When Jian doesn’t respond right away, his voice turns into a snarl, harsh and raspy. “Go away,
Lynx! I told you to leave me alone!”

She recoils as old, deeply buried instincts telling her to fear such a tone from him, but she recovers
herself quickly. Hurrying toward the couch, she speaks in calming tones. “Isha’s tits, what have
you done to yourself?”

He doesn’t respond at first, giving Jian time to get a good look at him as she turns on a light next to
the couch. He sprawls there, half-naked, with pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. His hair is
ratted and his eyes glazed and unfocused, like he’s staring at something only he can see. A pipe
dangles limply from one hand.

Fear grows in her chest every second. She rushes to his side, pushing a discarded syringe out of the
way. “Come on, now, Valthiel, wake up. Please, wake up. What did you take?” Does he need help?
Or would letting someone else see him weakened like this do too much damage to his reputation?

He stirs and blinks in the light, looking at her for a moment before falling back into the couch.
“Please, leave me alone. You’re just going to disappear like all the rest.”

“The rest of who?”

Valthiel fumbles around for the pipe that he dropped somewhere in his movement. “The rest of
you… always there, every time I think I’ve stopped missing you, you come to torment me again.”

Swallowing, she brushes the hair back from his face as she tries to formulate a response. “Valthiel
– It’s – It’s me, it’s Jian. I’m here, I’m real, I promise.“

He doesn’t seem to hear her, speaking so quietly that she barely catches the words. “I finally did
the right thing… Please, let me grieve in peace.”

Overcome by pain and an affection that presses into her chest, choking her, Jian pulls the pipe out
of his hand and leans in to kiss his forehead. “I’m right here, though. Your Jian. I’ve come home.”
Her voice cracks and she realizes that she’s crying.

“Jian?” The physicality of the kiss must break through whatever drugs are addling his brain, at
least a bit. “It’s really you?”

She nods.

“… by the void, what are you doing here?” Without waiting for her to respond, he grabs at her
arms, pulling her weakly towards him.

“I live here.”

“But I sent you home… Are you out of your mind, coming back to this shithole?”

His words are countered, however, by the way he clings to her and the faint light of hope that she
can hear in his voice. She swallows back the tears again and tries to give voice to the one thing that
made her hesitate to go, the thing that will make staying here for the rest of her life not only
bearable, but something she can look forward to. “But you’re not there.”

Instead of answering, Valthiel simply pulls her tighter to him, shaking from the drugs or from
silent sobbing, she isn’t sure. Someday, soon, she will have to tell him the truth, that Lady Malys
betrayed his trust. But not now. Not tonight.

“Are you alright?” she says.

“I will be.“ His voice is muffled by her chest. “Still cannot believe you’re back.”

“What – “ Her voice raises as anger replaces the worry. “What were you thinking?!”

He groans. “Not so loud.”

“Do you think you can give up like this? That you can just stop?”

“I wasn’t giving up!”

“Well that was what it looked like to me.”

“You weren’t meant to see it...”

“So you think it doesn’t matter as long as I can’t see it? Do you really think that little of my care
for you?” If she’d been an assassin, come to end his life so another could take his place, she could
have done it without breaking a sweat. And what if something happens to her? She Who Thirsts
will come to claim her someday, she knows, and what then?

Valthiel doesn’t answer, but she can feel his shoulders slump.

“I love you,” she says. “Please.”

“I love you too. I’m sorry.” His eyes still move restlessly, never looking her straight on, but he
takes her hand in both of his.

“I know what you did. For me. Thank you.” It truly was the greatest gift she could have asked for.
And despite all the pain of parting, the confused and bittersweet cast it gives her memories of
Yme-loc, she is glad she went.

“I just wanted to make you happy,” he murmurs. “To know that you were smiling and laughing,
safe among your friends and loved ones, it would have made it all worth it.”

“It was a wonderful gift.” Jian pulls Valthiel closer to her, feeling his back rise and fall with each
breath as she cradles him in her arms. It’s comforting, being close to him again, and yet also
strange to have such an inversion in the normal dynamic of their relationship.

He looks up at her. “You deserve all that and more. It was my pleasure.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. But tonight, she doesn’t have the will to confront him about it. She
can let it stand, let him try to hide his fear of being alone. And in so doing, perhaps she will be able
to leave behind some of her own apprehension about what she’s committing to. “And now I’m
back where I belong. With you.”

“Forever.”

“Yes,” she replies, the collar suddenly heavy around her neck. “Forever.”

He doesn’t speak again, simply hugs her tighter, painfully tight. After a few minutes, his breathing
grows regular and she can hear him snoring softly. Jian finds herself smiling in spite of everything
as love warms her.

Everything will be alright.

****

For the next several days, neither of them speaks of Jian’s trip. Valthiel tries to discuss what she
experienced, but she pushes him away each time and soon he stops asking. She’s not ready for that
yet. And the longer it takes for her to admit that she didn’t plan to return, the less she wants to.
Better to think of it as fate, telling her where she belongs.

And the days are good. Valthiel spends her entire first day back with her, lying in bed as they enjoy
each other’s quiet presence. Afterword, life resumes as normal, except, perhaps, that he is even
more eager to have her company. Their evening dinners and walks extend for hours, and every
night she falls asleep in an embrace so tight that she wakes up with sore ribs.

Perhaps a week after her return, he comes to her late in the afternoon, just after her lesson with
Ayslinn. Wrapping herself in a robe, she emerges from the bath and answers the door, concerned.
Another assassination attempt the day before yesterday was only stopped by quick action on
Derfahn’s part, and she fears that Valthiel brings bad news on that front.

Her worries only increase when she sees him standing there, dressed again in his formal armor and
seeming tense.

“Jian, I have a favor to ask,” he says.

“What’s wrong?”

“Lady Aurelia Malys is coming over again. I know you’re not fond of her, but would you
accompany me to the meeting?”

“Of course, but… why?”

“May I come in?” At her assent, he steps inside, shutting the door behind him. “There’s never a
time when I don’t desire your presence, Jian. I hope you know that. But the reason I want you
specifically here tonight is, well… “
He hesitates shifting his weight from side to side, then plunges on. “I think she might be able to
help us rescue Illyria. But negotiating will be touchy, and I think it might improve matters to make
a show of the kabal’s power. If you and Lynx sat in with me as my advisors and concubines, it
would help a great deal with the image. I don’t require you to do anything, but knowing Aurelia,
she might ask anyway.”

Jian nods, considering. “Do you think it would be more effective for me to wear robes, or
something more suitable for the bedroom?”

“Lynx will be wearing her lhamean robes, so something sensual but still restrained would be best. I
have no need for nudity or anything like that, much as I personally would enjoy it.” He gives her a
peck on the cheek to reenforce the joking nature of his words, then takes on a more serious air.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more notice, but as soon as I contacted her, she insisted on coming
immediately.”

“And what exactly are you asking her for?”

“I have a plan in mind for abducting Illyria from Ordai’s kabal directly, but it requires a way into
the palace that won’t raise any alarms. I think Aurelia might be able to provide one. I just hope her
price is something I’m able to pay.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then I will find another way.” He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, Jian. I won’t agree to anything
on the spot unless I have to. And if that becomes necessary, I want you to know that you have my
full trust. Anything amiss, anything you don’t think is a good idea, signal me and I’ll break off
negotiations right there.”

“Of course. I… I appreciate that. I want to rescue Illyria, I do, but I don’t like Lady Malys. I don’t
trust her.”

“I know. And I know that she’s going to exploit this glimpse at a weakness of mine in any way she
can. But I’ve been over every scenario I can think of and every one with a chance of succeeding
requires us to sneak into Ordai’s palace somehow. And I can’t do that unaided. Aurelia is at least
already interested in me, and I believe that her interest might lead to a less drastic bargain than we
might otherwise get, as well as reducing the likelihood of her simply betraying and killing us.”

Jian bites her lip. It’s now or never. He has to know about Lady Malys’ betrayal before he walks
into another bargain with her.

But before she can speak, he takes both her hands. “I’d love to discuss this more, and I’m sorry to
rush you, but time is very short. If you don’t want to take this course of action, if you’ve decided
that retrieving Illyria is too risky, or you won’t deal with Aurelia, then tell me, and I will send her
away empty-handed.”

Yes, do that, I don’t want to see her ever again.

An image of Illyria’s tear-stained face floats into Jian’s mind. A memory of her own self, huddled
naked and despairing on a bed, follows it quickly. “If you’re certain it’s the only way.”

He frowns in consideration. “I am not. But it’s the only idea I have, and I’m afraid of the damage
we’ll do by waiting longer.”

“Very well.”
“Thank you.” He kisses her forehead lightly. “I love you Jian. Will I see you in the throne room in
a few minutes?”

“Of course.”

With Jaeden’s help, Jian falls to dressing and making herself up as soon as Valthiel leaves. Since
Lynx will be in black and grey and green lhamean robes, she chooses a gown in dusky blue –
different enough to show that Jian is independent of the temple, but not strong enough to
overpower Lynx’s presentation. She leaves her hair loose and her makeup light, a decision born in
time constraints but ultimately leading her in what she hopes will be a productive direction. She is
to be innocent and willing, a contrast both to Valthiel’s authority and to Lynx’s dark, dangerous
sensuality. A pretty little thing for him to corrupt.

She takes one last look at herself in the mirror before she goes. A quick application of shimmering
powder has turned her hair to starlight and dilating drops have given her a doe-eyed look.
Scrutinizing herself this way, she can’t help but notice how pale she’s gotten, away from any
natural lighting, and the way the whites of her eyes are starting to darken with the first signs of
warp poisoning.

Turning from the sight, she hurries to Valthiel’s throne room.

He smiles as she enters and beckons her over. “You look wonderful, darling. Now, do you think it
would be better if you stand next to me like Lynx, or sit on my lap?”

“I think that Lady Malys has interacted with us both enough that she won’t be fooled by leaning
into the mindless devotion too hard.”

“The two of you on either side of the throne, then. I will try to keep her from involving you in this
in any way, but I can’t promise she won’t try. You have my permission to rebuff any attempts if
you need to.”

Jian nods and takes her position. A scant minute later, Lynx arrives and does the same. Then, there
is only waiting until one of the sybarite warriors announces the presence of Lady Aurelia Malys of
the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue.

She enters with a flourish, striding through the double doors at the far end of the throne room in a
sweep of armored gown and fur-trimmed cape. A long, slim sword hangs at her side and she walks
confidently down the length of the enormous space, the click of her heels on the floor the only
sound.

Stopping slightly more than the respectful distance out, she inclines her head in greeting. “Lord
Aire. I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice.”

“Absolutely, Lady Malys. Always a pleasure to see you and to strengthen the ties between our two
kabals.”

“Then why don’t we dispense with the pleasantries and get started? We both know the reason for
this meeting, and if it could wait, you would have given yourself more time to prepare.”

He shrugs. “I would hate to waste your time.” Standing, he offers Lady Malys an expansive gesture
before leading her towards the same pair of couches they used for their last meeting.

Jian and Lynx follow him a pace behind, then sit on either side of him. He wraps an arm around
Jian, pulling her closer, and she leans her head against his shoulder plate. It’s not just for show –
having someone she trusts nearby calms her nerves in the presence of Lady Malys and helps focus
her on the purpose of the meeting instead of her own anxieties.

The lady studies them for a moment before a smile plays across her lips. “So… you desire a way
into the deepest strongholds of the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists. A modest proposal, especially
given their reputation and the fact that doing so would be tantamount to declaring war on
Asdrubael Vect’s leadership of the city. I should reject your idea out of hand. But I’m in a good
mood, so I’ll hear you out. Why, Lord Aire, should I give you and your lovely ladies here the aid
you request?”

Even Jian can recognize the opening salvo is simply a feint, a way to downplay her interest in the
situation to make Valthiel feel like he has to offer more.

He seems to realize it as well, chuckling as he speaks. “You, of all people, caring what Vect thinks
of you is news to me. My plans once I am inside can be discussed if needed, provided we reach
that stage, but I would think that the opportunity to embarrass one of the supreme overlord’s raid
commanders would be more than enough to convince you to help for the right price.”

“Embarrass, eh? I wonder what might be so embarrassing for him, that you would be willing to risk
taking on such a hopelessly stronger opponent for the sake of it? So many possibilities, each one of
them intriguing.”

“As I said, you will know in due time, but you will have to forgive me if I don’t share my plans
with someone who has no need for them.”

Lady Malys pulls a metal fan from somewhere in the folds of her dress and waves it slowly in front
of her face. “Ah, but you see, I do have a need for them. I have a great need for all your secrets.
Which is why I plan to help you rescue your lost love, provided you’re willing to pay the price I
demand.”

Valthiel doesn’t miss a beat at the casual revelation of how much she knows. “And what is that
price, then, since you seem to have given this a great deal of thought. Enough, at least, to realize
what it is I seek with the Bloodied Fists.”

“Nothing, for the moment. I would provide this service free of any immediate charge, and in
exchange, you agree to give me the power to ask a single favor of you at some point in the future.
Just one action, piece of support or an item or the use of one of your resources for a single
maneuver of my own.”

It seems as though Lady Malys might plan to elaborate, but Valthiel doesn’t give her the chance.
“No.”

She moves to stand up. “You reject my offer, then?”

“No. I know from our previous interactions that you think better of me than to guess I would agree
to such a thing, but still you choose to meet with me. What is your real price, Lady?”

The grin returns to Lady Malys’ face as she sits back down. “Ah, good. If you were as smart as you
are handsome, your brains would resemble my own, but you are making a valiant effort
nonetheless.”

She winks. “My true price is this: I wish to deny or check any single action you or your kabal may
take in the future.”

She raises her hand, forestalling Valthiel’s response. “Now, now, I know that you are about to
protest, so let me put you at ease. The terms of our agreement will not allow me to command you
what to do instead, nor to turn on someone violently. I will simply, at some point when it suits my
designs, ask you to not support or trade with some group or person within Commorragh or the
galaxy at large, and you will decline them in whatever way seems most fitting and advantageous to
you. That is all.”

Jian frowns. She knows what Lady Malys is doing – offering an outrageous price at first, so her
second offer seems more reasonable even if it still asks too much. But it’s working. A single veto,
it doesn’t seem like such a horrible thing to offer, does it? Particularly not when they have the
freedom to work such a thing to their benefit as much as they can.

Calm down, Jian. This isn’t a gift; it will be used against you. What if she denies him the ability to
come to a craftworld’s aid, or orders him to abandon a key ally and ruin the relationship?

Apparently Valthiel is having some of the same thoughts. He caresses Jian’s shoulder thoughtfully
for a moment before nodding. “Your terms are tempting, but I am not ready to commit yet. I will
think on your offer and return an answer in three days’ time.”

Lady Malys considers for a long time, long enough that Jian almost wonders if she’s going to
refuse them outright for such a request, although part of her realizes that this, too, is another ploy.
If the lady can make Valthiel feel like his chance is slipping away before his eyes, she might force
him to agree on the spot when further consideration would have led him to turn her down.

But after a tense silence, she nods. “I accept. I will look forward to hearing from you in three days.
And now that I am here, there is another matter that I would like to address.”

“Oh?” Valthiel says. Even Jian isn’t sure if he’s genuinely caught off guard, or if he expected this.
It’s certainly caught her off guard.

“Yes. At my party last year, when I first met your lovely Jian there, you promised me a contract
with your kabal: the use of one of your lhamean sisters as a courtesan, after their typical fashion.
I’ve never collected on that promise, but today I would like to.”

Jian relaxes slightly as Lady Malys makes her statement. This is a request they can fulfil easily, and
might even benefit them in the long run.

“Of course,” Valthiel responds. “I’ll take you to meet with Miarya, the head of our lhamean
training school, and she can show you the best the kabal has to offer. I’m sure you’ll find a woman
to suit your taste there.”

“Oh, there’s no need. I’ve already chosen the one I want.” Lady Malys pauses to flip her curls over
her shoulder, then smiles. “The green-haired beauty you have at your side right now should do
nicely.”

No. Jian freezes, horrified at the thought of sending Lynx with someone like Lady Malys. Valthiel,
too, tenses, gripping Jian tighter. She can hear him swallow as he seems lost for words.

The only one who seems to know what to say is Lynx. She steps forward, curtseying deeply, and
when she straightens up, she’s smiling. Only the intimate familiarity Jian has with Lynx’s
expressions allows her to notice that the smile doesn’t quite make it to her eyes. “I accept. It will be
an honor, Lady Malys, to serve in your court.”

“Excellent! I will come to collect you when I hear your lord archon’s answer in three days.” She
stands, then casts a glance at Valthiel. “If there’s nothing else?”

“No, I think that was all.” His voice is steady, perfectly controlled. “My incubi guards will see you
safely back to your ship.”

At the statement, Bealfor nods and gestures to three of his men to escort Lady Malys out.

As soon as she’s gone, Jian jumps to her feet. “Lynx, what are you doing?” To her surprise, she
feels tears pricking at her eyes, although whether they’re tears of sorrow or anger, she isn’t sure.

“I’m making sure this plan goes off. Don’t worry, Jian, everything’s going to be fine.” Again, a
somewhat uncertain smile.

Jian reaches out to take her hand, swallowing her emotions. “But why?”

“She was going to take back her offer if Valthiel didn’t let me go, I could tell. It’s what needed to
happen.”

Before Jian can respond, Valthiel steps in. “Lynx… I don’t know what to say. Thank you. But also,
you didn’t have to do that for me. If I had an inkling of what she going to ask for, I would have – “

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” Lynx looks away from them, and Jian could swear she sees her
blushing a bit. “Can I talk to you in private for a bit, Valthiel?”

“Of course, anything you need. Jian, Bealfor can take you back to your room or mine, whichever
you prefer.” His hand brushes her cheek and he smiles at her, a promise to be there soon.

“Actually,” Lynx interjects before Jian can say anything. “Would you like to meet me in my cabin
after? It’s been a while since we’ve had an evening for just the two of us, and it might be a long
time before we can have another one. If that’s alright with you, of course, Valthiel.”

Jian smiles as Valthiel nods assent. “Of course! I would love that.” It will be a chance to get some
answers.

Lord Vrash silently escorts her to Lynx’s small dwelling and, after a brief but practiced check to
ensure no hidden assassins lurk in ambush, leaves her to wait. The space is a comfortable one for
her, now. Not as familiar, perhaps, as her own quarters or Valthiel’s, but she’s been here enough
times that she knows where things are, what to expect around every corner, and the noises the
building makes when no aeldari are there to obscure them.

It's perhaps two hours before Lynx appears from the trees that surround the glade, far longer than
Jian expected. She stands from her previous spot, which had allowed her to see the path across the
glade clearly, and rushes to the porch to greet Lynx. Her first instinct is to offer a hug, but
something holds her back. An uncertainty, perhaps, about what this sudden choice means for their
friendship.

Lynx takes her hand silently and leads her inside. Her expression is light, but she, too, seems to be
feeling some tension. She fixes herself a drink and then, without asking, pours one for Jian before
joining her back on the couch.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, leaning against each other and sipping their wine. Jian longs
to ask her what’s going on, tell her that she doesn’t have to throw herself into Lady Malys’ arms,
warn her against the woman’s treachery, but she keeps her mouth shut. Starting the conversation
feels overwhelming. Like speaking it will make it real, or perhaps that Lynx will somehow be
offended that she said something.

Finishing her drink, Lynx sets the glass down and pulls Jian closer against her. “I had to do that,
you know.”
“We would have found another way,” Jian says, even if she’s growing less sure of that by the
moment. “And even if we couldn’t, you still didn’t have to. It’s not fair for you to have to sell
yourself for Illyria’s happiness.”

“This is my job, Jian.”

The sharpness in Lynx’s voice takes her aback. “But – “

Lynx doesn’t let her finish. “I like you a lot, Jian. You and Valthiel both. These years I’ve spent
with him and with you have been the best of my life, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that. But
I have to think about the future. You’re not going to be my lifemate, and neither is he. And
eventually, I’m going to get bored of just sitting around doing nothing.”

“But to go with Lady Malys… “ She can’t argue with Lynx. As much as she cares about her, they
will never have that kind of bond.

“I don’t see how she’s worse than any other archon or succubus in Commorragh. And the Poisoned
Tongue is a powerful kabal with a very strong reputation. Doing well here will help my status in
the Ashen Rose a lot, and it’s just dropped in my lap like this. How can I say no?”

“I’m going to miss you.” It’s starting to seem inevitable, and Jian has to take a moment to focus on
her breathing. She’s said so many goodbyes recently, how can she say another one?

“It will only be ten years, at least if Miarya keeps to the standard contract length. And I’m sure I’ll
need to visit the kabal occasionally in the meantime, even if Lady Malys doesn’t bring me for her
other dealings with Valthiel.”

Lynx sighs and tugs at Jian’s ear. “I’ll miss you too. I’ve never really had a friend before. Just
Drach, and, well, you saw how that turned out.”

“Not even when you were training?” Jian asks, before realizing that it might not be something
Lynx is particularly keen to discuss. “But thank you. I… I really appreciate your friendship too.
I’ve said it before, but I would have gone mad without at least one person who didn’t expect me
to… I don’t know.”

“It’s all right, I understand. And no, I didn’t really talk to many of the girls at the school. For the
most part we were too busy trying to backstab each other for class ranking to become friends. And
Miarya saw to the rest.”

Finishing her own wine, Jian sets it down and stretches. “Why does she dislike you so much?”

Lynx shrugs, but doesn’t answer for a moment. When she does, it’s slowly, as though she’s trying
to piece together her own thoughts as she speaks. “I don’t think she does, any more than she
dislikes just about anyone that’s not her. But she’s been angry with me since I accepted Valthiel’s
offer of traveling with him. It wastes my potential, it brings nothing to the kabal, I’m lazy, and on
and on and on.” She waves her hand to emphasize her point.

“I see.” Jian frowns and looks up at Lynx. “And do you dislike her?”

Another long pause. “I don’t know. Some days I hate her. Some days I almost love her for giving
me a chance to be more than another gutter rat.”

Whatever introspective mood Lynx was in vanishes in an instant as she moves Jian off herself and
stands. “But regardless of how I feel, she’s there anyway and I just have to live with her. Now, how
about another drink?”
“Lynx… “

“I mean it; all this deep talk is making me sad, and I wanted to have fun tonight. After all, you want
to have good memories of me, right?”

“I suppose. Yes, another drink would be nice.” There’s some part of her that feels hurt, betrayed
even, at another abandonment. But she understands. Asking Lynx to give up her own life and
ambitions to preserve their friendship in its current form would be petty. Forcing her would be
cruel. She’ll have to accept it and grieve in her own time.

“That’s the spirit.” Lynx grins. “Now what do you say we try for one last game of chess before I
go?”

They spend the rest of the evening on light conversation and pleasant, unchallenging activities.
Jian’s mind soon clouds with the strong, fruity wines that Lynx prefers, but she does her best to
remember every detail of their time relaxing – and the frenzied, almost desperate sex that follows.
Never again will she make the mistake of thinking that another meeting is a sure promise.

The next two days are spent in preparation. Jian helps Lynx to pack what few of her things will be
coming with her to the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue – mostly chemistry equipment and weapons,
along with a dozen robes of varying formalities. Like all clients, Lady Malys is expected to provide
most of the wardrobe herself, according to her own tastes.

On the third day, Lady Malys returns. Jian isn’t invited to the meeting, so she waits in Valthiel’s
quarters, playing nervously with the hairpin Lynx gave her as a parting gift. It’s less than an hour
before he appears, confirming with a nod that both transactions have gone as expected. Lynx is
gone and the deal is confirmed.

Jian longs to have time to think and to process, to find comfort in Valthiel’s arms and a hot cup of
tea, easy companionship followed by violent sex that removes any need to think or feel. But they
have too much to do and plan, so instead, they spend the evening covering endless scenarios and
going over dozens of potential routes for reaching Illyria and liberating her from the Kabal of the
Bloodied Fists. By the time they collapse into bed, they’re too tired for anything but a few
affectionate whispers before sleep.

The morning is much like the night before, all meetings and strategizing, as are the next few days.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the rush of activity stops. Their plans are made, the pieces
in place. Now, nothing is left but waiting and hoping that dozens of individual components each
work perfectly.

About a week after Lynx’s departure, Jian decides to spend an afternoon meditating and resting in
the peace of the garden Valthiel made for her. With Lynx gone, her lessons in poison brewing and
sexual gratification have ceased, and Ayslinn is away on a mission with Lord Vrash. She feels that
the solitude and stillness will help ease her nerves about what’s coming.

At first, it doesn’t seem to be working. Her mind is too busy with everything that could go wrong
with the plan, everything she and Valthiel and the rest of those involved must do perfectly in order
to avoid dying in agony, alone and forgotten in Lord Ordai’s stronghold. The worry seems to race
through her body, forcing her to fidget and twitch just to relieve the tension.

But gradually, the soft sounds of the water and the rich floral scents have an effect, soothing her
nerves and letting her center herself on the gentle sensory input. Silent, peaceful meditation
eventually finds its way into a slow repetition of her combat forms, the motion easing her into an
almost trance-like state.
When she finally emerges from her refuge, she finds Jaeden waiting for her, a concerned
expression on her face. Jian quickly sweeps over the room with her eyes, but detects nothing amiss
and returns her attention to the handmaid. Despite the anxiety, her pistol hangs at her side and her
clothing and appearance are unrumpled.

“What’s wrong?” Jian says.

“A message arrived for you while you were gone, my lady, some hours ago. I did not see who
delivered it, but it bears the seal of the Ashen Rose.”

“I see.” Jian takes care to put on a pair of gloves before picking up the scroll. She doesn’t get the
feeling that this is some kind of trap, but she knows better than to let her guard down for even a
moment.

The letter is written on incredibly soft parchment, bleached to a pale gray. She doesn’t want to
think about where exactly the skin came from, choosing instead to focus on the words. There are
not many of them.

My dearest Jian, treasure above all I possess.

I hope this letter finds you rested and happy, and that your meditation has proven as calming and
focusing as you had hoped.

If it pleases you, I invite you to spend the evening with me, on the roof of the spire, in the garden
where we took our first, trembling steps from a relationship of fear and pain into something real.

I eagerly await your presence and the sight of your lovely smile.

Yours,

Valthiel

Jian puts the parchment down with an amused smile. What would his rivals say if they knew he
was such a romantic?

The happiness fades from her face, though, as she ponders his words. Why the rooftop? Why
remind her of such a painful night? Just reading the words has brought back some of the despair,
the fear and disgust that his touch brought, the pain of her wounds and the desperate longing to be
anywhere except in his arms.

The dark mood lingers as she dresses in a rich purple robe and pulls her hair up in a net of jewels,
so she decides to skip making herself up in favor of arriving faster. She needs to know what this is
about.

But any sadness she feels, any hesitation, vanishes instantly when she steps through the door onto
the terrace. A dozen globes of soft light float around the area, swaying slightly in the wind, and
hundreds of colorful flowers and vines festoon the already verdant planters and beds. The table in
the center of the space is loaded with food and bottles of alcohol and Jian can hear a gentle tinkling
from the chimes and crystals hanging in the trees.

Valthiel sits on a bench nearby, two glasses in hand. He stands at her approach and hurries to meet
her. Like her, he’s dressed in robes, although his are black with silver trim, simpler in overall
design than her outfit. His hair is loose and he wears several pieces of jewelry with charms and
pendants of exotic design. “I’m glad you came,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Of course I came,” she replies. Why wouldn’t I? “This is beautiful. But what’s the occasion?”

He offers her one of the drinks he carries and smiles faintly. “Just… Just wanted to celebrate you.
And to show my appreciation and my love for all the time that you’ve graced me with. It truly has
been a blessing beyond what I could have hoped for or deserved.”

“I see… “ Jian looks away, her face heating. This little celebration, the reminders of what has
happened between them and how much their relationship has changed since those first days…

To cover her embarrassment, she takes a sip from her cup. A slightly sweet liquid that nonetheless
contains the sharp taste of hard liquor. “I have to admit, I still don’t entirely know how it
happened.”

“Neither do I. But I know better than to waste time trying to understand or second-guess it.”

He leads her back towards the couch, waiting for her to settle in before raising his glass in a toast.
Their eyes lock. “To you, my dearest Jian. Thank you. For everything.”

Jian’s heart begins to pound. Yet again, she can tell that something significant is happening, but
isn’t sure what. But this time, she knows that rather than reflexively apologize or offer thoughtless
thanks, she must use her own voice. “And… no matter what else has happened, or what other
regrets I have… I am glad I met you, Valthiel.”

“And hearing you say that means the galaxy to me.”

He falls silent, gazing at the twilight colors of the sky in the distance. Jian waits as the pause
stretches out, at first enjoying the wordless companionship, then feeling the slowly growing
tension in the air as he hesitates over whatever he was going to say next.

Finally, Valthiel shakes himself from his reverie and downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp. “I
know, Jian.”

She starts and looks at him, confused. “Know what?”

He sighs. “I know it wasn’t your choice to leave your family and friends to return here. I know that
Aurelia was the one who made you stay.”

“I can’t lie. I wish I’d been able to stay longer.” Jian looks down at her lap, trying to sort out her
own emotions. She’d hoped in a way to never have this conversation, to be able to leave her pain in
the past where it belongs and focus on enjoying the life she has now. But now that it’s here, and
they’re talking about it, she has to decide how to articulate everything she thinks and feels.

“To only have a few hours with Reena, after so long, it was like smelling food when you’re
starving, but having it ripped away after the first bite. But if I’d actually gone back… I don’t think
I could have stayed. I’m not a craftworlder. Not anymore.”

“My dearest Jian,” Valthiel replies, and she can feel his hand trembling as he takes hers. “Do not
sell yourself short. You are free to be anything you want to be.”

He lifts her hand to his lips and she watches, oddly afraid to move, as he kisses her knuckles. “At
least, that is how it should be.”

The next moment seems to last for an eternity, even as it passes by so quickly that Jian can barely
understand what happens. Valthiel moves his free hand in a way she can’t quite see. A soft click is
followed a second later by the loud clatter of something falling to the ground. Her neck prickles
with a strange sensation.

Slowly, as though she’s moving through deep water, she drags her eyes away from Valthiel’s face
and down to the ground, to the broken circle of metal lying at her feet. She runs her fingers along
the skin of her neck. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” His thumb circles across the back of her hand in a
nervous gesture. “I’m setting you free.”

“Free?” Jian whispers. It’s not that she doesn’t understand. Of course she understands. She is a free
woman; no longer his slave. But in the past months, she’s barely remembered her status. The
shame and helplessness has existed, yes, but only sporadically, when a brush of his fingers on her
collar or the haughty eyes of a stranger in the street remind her that to the rest of the galaxy, she is
nothing more than a doll of flesh, living and dying at an archon’s pleasure.

And now, she’s been reminded of this reality by the one who has the most power to enforce it.
Then, just as quickly, that reality has vanished. It’s overwhelming.

“Of course.” Valthiel’s voice breaks through her reverie. “And I pray that one day you will forgive
me for not doing it ages ago, as I should have. There is a pilot standing by in my shuttle, ready to
take you anywhere in the galaxy you may wish to go, as soon as you are ready. Don’t worry about
Aurelia. I’ll handle her.”

“I can go anywhere,” Jian breathes, unsure if she’s asking a question or just repeating what she said
so she can perhaps start to believe it.

“Anywhere you want.”

Jian turns to look at the skyline, far away. Open to her, now. Where do I want to go?

Her first impulse is to go back to Yme-loc, reunite with Reena and with her father. Tell them the
truth and try to become who she was before. But it wouldn’t be the same. Her younger, happier self
died somewhere in the bowels of the slave ship, and no matter how hard she tried to resume the
naivety, it would always feel like a farce.

Perhaps another craftworld might take her. But what farseer or autarch would accept someone so
tainted by Commorragh? Who would even believe her tale? And deep in her heart of hearts, she
knows she will never be able to walk a path again, nor does she desire to. Similarly, the exodites
would be unlikely to allow her onto one of their maiden worlds, with the stink of what they tried so
hard to escape still clinging to her soul.

The harlequins as well are blocked to her. What she said to Reena was true: Cegorach only accepts
the chosen, and for all her playacting, she is not one of them.

I will go to another kabal, then, or to a corsair fleet. She could be happy as a corsair.

But no matter where she goes, what she does with her life, she’ll still be missing something. The
thing she found herself longing for while she was away, the thing she never realized had mattered
so much to her until she almost lost it.

“Can I stay here? With you?”

The empty glass drops from Valthiel’s hand, shattering on the stone with a crash that seems loud in
the peace of the garden. “. . . what?”
Jian tucks her foot up onto the bench to avoid the broken glass. She’s blushing, suddenly, and can’t
meet his eyes. “I want to stay with you. If you’ll have me.”

Valthiel dives toward her, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing, tight, tight, until she can
barely breathe. His lips press against hers in a passionate, hungry, desperate kiss as she finds
herself lifted up and spinning through the air. She kisses back, eyes closed as the electric energy of
his joy overwhelms her.

I love you. The thought might be hers; it might be his. She doesn’t know and she doesn’t care.

When the kiss finally ends, they are at the edge of the patio, under one of the trees. Valthiel holds
her, grinning from ear to ear, and her legs are wrapped around his waist. She sighs and leans
against his chest as he slides down to sit on the ground.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says. “If you don’t want me to.” There is likely little remaining of the
illusion for anyone high enough in the kabal to notice, but perhaps a few thin threads of respectable
sadism are better than none.

“No, no. I don’t want to add another deception or lie to our relationship or my life. I want everyone
here to know that you are mine, but free, my consort of your own will and as much a part of my
court as Mia or Bealfor.”

“You’re not really a very good archon, are you?” Jian says, affection swelling in her chest
nonetheless. Despite her offer, she is happy to be free even of the charade of slavery.

“I was always happier as a corsair, truth be told.”

“You could go back, you know.”

He makes a pained expression as he shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, although I wish it was. I
have obligations here, people and memories that rely on me.”

Caressing her hair, he leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead before slowly, sensually,
beginning to stroke one of her ears. “I promise, though, that I will make raids and exploration trips
outside of Commorragh as often as I can. And you will be at my side as often as you wish to
accompany me.”

“I would like that. I want to stay with you but the city… I hate it here. I feel like it’s rotting me
alive.”

“Then you have my word, Jian, that I will take you away from here as much as I possibly can.
Perhaps, even, I can manage to make it such that we can return to the stars full-time in a few
centuries.” His fingers continue making their way along her skin, down her naked neck and under
the edge of her robe, using his free hand to unfasten her top button so he can glide along her
shoulders.

“Thank you.” She responds in kind, pulling his robe from his shoulders and meeting him with a
kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

****

Chimes play through the flower-scented air of the rooftop as the archon and his consort twine
around each other. Hours pass, filled with slow, romantic lovemaking that nonetheless leaves them
 both exhausted from emotion. Finally, when passion runs its course, they dress and settle back on
the garden moss to lie in each other’s arms for as long as they can.

Whatever may come in Lord Ordai’s palace, tonight they are happy.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was a lot of fun to write, even as it was a struggle to get everything to
come out okay. Both the reunion scene and the little rooftop gathering just felt so great
to write after all this build-up.

A recurring theme for Val's character arc has been needing to accept and be willing to
live without what he wants in order to actually get it, which I find kind of intriguing.
This has been a long time coming, and like he himself said, he knew it needed to
happen and was just trying to build up the courage to do it.

I wonder if Lynx's attempt to get back into the lhamean courtesan game will work out
for her...

Only two more chapters after this...

 Blood
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jian hovers nervously in front of the door to the Vrashes’ apartments for several moments before
knocking. Ayslinn and Lord Vrash returned from their scouting expedition the day after Valthiel
freed her, but she’s just now getting to meet up with her tutor.

The mission itself was a success, obtaining the needed information about Lord Ordai’s daily
scheduling and leaving the area undetected. But as the team returned through the lowest levels of
the city, they were attacked by massive, horrific beasts of a form unknown to anyone in the kabal.
Perhaps they had escaped from the haemonculi covens or simply had been mutated by the toxins
and psychic energies that linger around the fringes of Commorragh. Regardless, the scouting party
returned with two dead incubi and Ayslinn barely alive in her husband’s arms.

Aislynn's servant opens the door. She welcomes Jian in almost immediately; all the servants know
her face by now. Jaeden follows her silently, peering at her surroundings as they wind through the
hallways and rooms.

Ayslinn waits for them in a circular parlor with a small fountain in the center. Her face is still
drawn and her leg propped up on a stack of pillows, but she seems alert and reasonably
comfortable.

“How are you feeling?” Jian says as she approaches the couch.

Adjusting her position and the lay of her white robe, Ayslinn appears to seriously consider the
question before answering. “I am not in any significant pain right now, although I will be if I try to
stand. I’m recovering, just not as fast as I hoped I would.”

A pot of tea sits on a small side table, along with two cups. “I see I was anticipated.”

“Valthiel told us when he came to distract Bealfor for the evening. My husband has been cajoled
into joining one of Valthiel and Derfahn’s gambling nights, I believe.”

“I almost wish I could be there to see it,” Jian giggles. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” Ayslinn gestures to indicate a nearby section of the circular couch that rings the
fountain. As Jian settles herself, Ayslinn reaches for the teapot, pauses, winces, and then returns to
her original position. “Would you mind pouring the tea for me?”

“Not at all,” Jian replies, rising again to fulfil the request. She briefly considers asking for another
cup for Jaeden, but decides against it. Her maid is standing quietly near the door they entered
through, head slowly pivoting back and forth as though she’s watching for a threat.

Ayslinn accepts her cup and takes a sip, waiting for Jian to reseat herself before speaking. “So. . .
What is it that you wanted to speak with me about?”

“I mainly wanted to see how your recovery is proceeding, and to check if you needed anything.”
She still feels oddly shy about discussing what happened on the roof that night. Maybe because her
mind is already trying to make her forget about her enslavement and all the horror that came
attached to it, or perhaps it simply seems too personal to speak aloud.
“And I appreciate that, truly. My leg is the only point that is a serious concern; it’s been injured
before and wasn’t given proper treatment at the time, so healing is taking longer than I would like.
The kabal’s medical staff believe I will regain full or nearly full use of it, but I doubt that I will be
back to active duty for some months.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Bealfor is taking excellent care of me in the meantime. I think he actually enjoys the excuse to
slow down a bit and spend more time together.” She settles herself back against the cushion and
watches Jian with a knowing smile, as if to say that she knows there’s more to the visit.

Fidgeting with her own dress for a few minutes, Jian is uncomfortably aware of both Ayslinn and
Jaeden’s eyes on her as she gathers her thoughts. “I wanted to tell you in person,” she finally blurts.
“Valthiel has decided that I will no longer serve him as a slave. I’m just… myself.”

Ayslinn’s eyebrows rise, her only sign of surprise, but enough of an indication on a usually stoic
woman that Jian knows the news was unexpected. “That – that is wonderful, yes?”

“It is. If someone had told me that this day would come when I arrived, I wouldn’t have believed
them. Much as I might have wanted to.” Again, she finds herself hesitating. “Even more surprising
is the fact that I’ve decided to stay here.”

Another pause as Ayslinn takes a slow, deliberate sip of her tea. “Jian. I don’t mean to cast doubt
over your relationship or your decision. But are you sure you’ve thought this through?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. . .” Ayslinn frowns as she searches for words. A rare thing for her, Jian realizes.
Normally, she is so direct and self-assured.

Finally, she sighs and shakes her head. “I’m not sure you’re actually doing yourself a favor by
squandering a chance to leave Commorragh forever.”

Jian looks down at her tea. She’s had similar thoughts of her own, and even though she is satisfied
with her conclusions, it doesn’t mean it was an easy choice. “I do hate it here. But I also love
Valthiel. And I don’t know where I could go that would be worth throwing that away.”

“. . . you really are smitten, aren’t you?”

“Don’t misunderstand.” Jian’s face burns with embarrassment and her eyes with unshed tears. “I
still wish that I’d never come here. But I did, and this is what I want for the woman that I’ve
become now.”

Ayslinn remains silent, but nods, an acknowledgement that she supports her, or at least
understands.

Jian decides to brave a question she’s had for a long time. “Why did you decide to stay?” She
pauses, worried. “Did you?”

“Yes, it was my choice. Don’t worry. And I made it for very similar reasons to yours, I think. I had
a life here and someone I loved. And I knew that none of it would be acknowledged or understood
by those I had left behind on Biel-tan. I couldn’t bring myself to euthanize everything I had
become, so here I am.”

“I had to lie,” Jian confesses. “When I went back and saw Reena. I knew she wouldn’t understand,
probably wouldn’t even believe me. So I told her that I had become a harlequin instead.”

Ayslinn’s brow furrows in concern. “And she accepted that?”

“I think so.” She looks down again before finding the heart of what she’d originally meant to say.
“She would hate him.”

“I mean. . . You have to admit, she would have every reason to. In many ways, it’s harder to
forgive something done to our loved ones that to ourselves.”

“But I couldn’t stand it if she did!” Jian can hear the self-assurance vanish from her voice as she
says it and for a moment, she can see her darkest days flickering through.

A part of her wonders if Ayslinn hates Valthiel too, for what he’s done.

“Jian,” Ayslinn says patiently. “Just because she comes to a different conclusion than you do, that
doesn’t automatically make her right and you wrong. She doesn’t have the same experiences and
perspective on it. And ultimately, yours are the ones that matter the most. After all, it’s your life
and your relationship.”

“But the thought of two people that I love hating each other, it doesn’t feel right.” Out of the corner
of her eye, Jian sees Jaeden shift her weight, as though she wants to interject. But she continues on,
making a mental note to ask about it later. “And if she were to think that I was suffering and
miserable here, it would break her heart.”

Ayslinn nods again. “Both things meaning that you probably did the best thing for her by lying.
But my point here is that even if she does find out some day, I don’t want you to doubt yourself and
what you think and feel, just because someone else doesn’t approve.”

“Thank you,” Jian says.

“Do you want to keep talking about this? Or would you like to move on now?”

Jian nods eagerly. “Yes, let’s talk about something else. You mentioned that you were planning on
adding some improvements to your armor?”

“More leg plating for one,” she laughs, pointing to her injured limb. “But yes, Bealfor had some
ideas about increasing the point-pressure resistance without adding to the weight . . . “

Jian stays with Ayslinn for nearly an hour. Most of the rest of their conversation is spent on lighter
topics, the combat theory and palace gossip that they usually discuss on the rare occasions when
they spend time together outside of the training room. For Jian, at least, it’s a welcome distraction
from the questions and unknowns looming over her in Ordai’s palace.

When Jian finally stands to leave, she offers Ayslinn one last smile. “Thank you again, for all the
support. Your wisdom and patience have been an enormous comfort to me as I’ve tried to – to
adjust.” She doubts she’ll visit again before the raid, and never again will she make the mistake of
leaving a goodbye unsaid or a relationship unresolved.

“Of course, Jian.” Ayslinn returns the smile, but with a hint of sadness to the expression. “I just
wish I could be healthy again in time to join you on the mission. It sounds like fun.”

“I’ll be sure to tell you all about it when I return,” Jian replies, nodding at Jaeden to follow her out.

A part of her knows that such a promise is just another self-deception. In all likelihood, she and
Valthiel will die in Ordai’s palace and Illyria will remain a prisoner forever. But admitting that
feels like defeat, so she will cling to the illusion that this is possible for as long as she can.

They are nearly back at Jian’s room when Jaeden speaks. “Mistress, I – I have not said it yet. But I
am glad you decided to stay here.”

“You are?” It’s not a strange sentiment, not really, but Jian is taken aback nonetheless.

After a moment’s consideration, she realizes what the truth behind Jaeden’s words likely was.
“Even if I left, I would have brought you with me. I wouldn’t leave you alone with these people.”
The poor girl was probably horrified at the thought of what would befall her, alone and adrift. A
fear Jian knows all too well. She has no idea how she would have managed to convince the farseer
council to accept a mon’keigh, but she would have figured out something.

Jaeden stops in her tracks. “ . . . you wouldn’t?”

“Of course not.” She bites her lip, realizing that there’s little to back up her claim. “The only reason
I didn’t last time was because I had no warning before I left.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jaeden blinks rapidly a few times before walking over to wrap her
arms around Jian. Unsure of how to react, she stands awkwardly, letting herself be hugged and
hoping that no one sees them. She’s not sure how she would explain what’s happening.

“Thank you,” Jaeden whispers. “I know you might not be able to keep your promise, but thank you
for making it anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

“For what it’s worth, your… lover did treat me extremely well while you were gone.”

“Oh?” Jian says as she disentangles herself from the embrace.

“When you left, no one told me where you’d gone, and I waited for you for days. When he finally
came, it was terrifying. I know he’s a xeno lord and capable of . . . “

She trails off, face pale with remembered horrors, but shakes herself and continues. “Of things like
the battle on Ignas VIII. But he was always so gentle with you. When he came to me he was
completely different. Angry, cold. He told me to follow him and I thought he was going to kill me,
but instead, he brought me to what I guess must have been his library and told me I could spend as
much time there as I liked. He said it was what you would have wanted.”

Jian smiles, a bit touched in spite of herself. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, yes, it was wonderful!” Jaeden’s face re-lights with enthusiasm. “I could only have dreamed
of having access to that kind of information about the warp before then. Your heathen dabblings
gave me so much to work with, Lady Louvinia could have written volumes just based on one book
alone.”

Cutting off the enthusiastic tangent with a gesture, Jian resumes walking. “I would have had to
have words with Valthiel if he hadn’t taken care of you, as well.”

“And what kind of words would they have been?” Jaeden replies with a hint of humor.

“I would have told him that it was unacceptable and that I was disappointed in him.”
The words are earnest, but somehow, Jaeden seems to find them hilarious. “Wow, you already
have him that whipped?”

“Whipped?” The word is familiar, but the usage is odd. Perhaps her maid’s rudimentary grasp of
the language caused a mistake?

“It means that you already have such… emotional dominance, I suppose? Over him, that you can
order him around.”

“Ah. I see.” Jian frowns as she continues to walk back towards her room. It’s not something she’s
ever considered before. It brings to mind her discussion with Lady Malys about cultivating power
and following. But thinking of her relationship with Valthiel in such a way makes her
uncomfortable, as though she’s just exploiting him for her own comfort. It’s something she’ll have
to sort out later, after the next mission ends and she has a bit more time to think.

For now, she has more important things to worry about.

Three days pass, days of frantic activity and of tense stillness. Jian does her best to help with the
preparations, but most of them involve authority and knowledge she doesn’t have. Much of the
time is spent waiting, frustrated, for something to do.

And then, suddenly, it is time.

Jian stands in a small, unmarked transport, racing at breakneck speed through the warpspider's web
of towers and walkways that makes up Commorragh. She’s dressed for war: armored, with her
daggers at her sides and a shuriken pistol strapped to her hip. Everything she carries conceals
poisons, from the vial hidden in her boot to the dose smeared over the pin in her hair. Nothing will
truly prepare her for this, but she is as close to ready as she can be.

Valthiel is next to her, staring at the projected image of the scenery they pass with a troubled
expression. The others with them have divided into two groups, Lady Malys' trio of harlequins on
one side of the small space, and Bealfor, Derfahn, the incubi, and a pair of shadowy mandrakes on
the other.

Both parties seem willing to give them a bit of privacy, so she places a comforting hand on his
shoulder. “Are you sure that you’re ready for this?”

He snorts. “If I’m not, it’s a bit late to change my mind now, isn’t it?”

After a moment’s silence, though, he sighs and takes a sip from the glass of wine in his hand. “It’s
just… whether we succeed or fail, I still bear the blame for Illyria’s life being the hell that it is. I
may not have been the one to hurt her directly, but by being here, by living the life that I live, I am
still part of the power that made her suffering possible. And yours.”

Jian takes a moment to consider. She wants to answer honestly, not provide a trite reassurance or an
impulsive emotional response. “Maybe you are. But this wasn’t your fault. If Lord Ordai was
looking for his daughter as actively as you say, he would have found her eventually. And he might
have killed you when he did it, leaving her with no one.” She doesn’t want to think about what
would have happened to her if that had been the case.

Valthiel, however, looks unconvinced, his free hand moving down to stroke the pistol at his belt. “I
suppose.”

“We, of all people, should know that you can’t change the past. All you can do is be part of the
solution in the future.”
Instead of responding directly, he holds up the pistol. “Each dart carries a soul eating neurotoxin
that Lynx and I developed together. It kills the target in moments, while they experience the
illusion of seeing their deepest dreams come true.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to use it,” Jian replies, using her own hand to gently move the weapon
back to his side. Not that hope has ever counted for much.

“I do. But one way or another, her nightmare ends tonight.”

The thought stops Jian in her tracks, reminding her of something that she’s been considering in the
days leading up to this evening. “Valthiel, I– If they catch me, and you don’t think you can- I don’t
want to be his prisoner. Please.”

“That won’t happen. Don’t worry about it.”

Jian frowns, put off by the sharpness in his voice, but the way he grips her hand tighter as he says it
reassures her that the message has been delivered. She smiles wanly. “I try not to.”

He relaxes a bit and pulls her close. They stand there together for a few minutes, enjoying a last bit
of comfort and intimacy before they begin the fight.

The transport pulls to a stop and Valthiel releases her. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She smiles as the surge of oncoming battle starts to build and kisses him
lightly. “Let’s go play heroes.”

He kisses her back, deepening the gesture to a passionate moment of intimacy. “Side by side, now
and forever?”

“Of course.”

They join the rest of Valthiel’s men and the harlequins at the front of the transport. Jian had hoped
that the Masque of the Bleeding Sun might join them, but these three are strangers to her, their
motley a mix of acidic greens and yellows contrasted with dark gray. Their shadowseer leads the
group out of the transport, into an alleyway.

Jian has no idea where they are, but her surroundings remind her of the area near the haemonculus
den that she visited. Even now, months later, the memories still chill and horrify her. The
shadowseer leads them between walls, slick with a shimmering substance that Jian thinks might be
fuel, until the passage abruptly terminates. The distance between the walls narrows sharply and
between them is only a flickering void, pale gray with lighting-flashes of every color imaginable
and more that Jian has never seen.

Two of the harlequins step into the gap and instantly vanish.

After the initial jolt of alarm, Jian relaxes. Commorragh is made up of innumerable pocket
dimensions, like the one that holds Valthiel’s domain, all smashed together. It’s no surprise that
some of them have cracks at the edges where it’s possible to slip into the webway. Taking
Valthiel’s hand, she joins him in following Bealfor into the swirling energy.

She’s known her entire life that it was possible to travel through the webway on foot – impractical
for all but the shortest journeys, and dangerous even for a few minutes, with the neverborn and
worse lurking in forgotten corners of the twisted labyrinth, but possible. But this is her first time
entering the tunnels outside of real space without a ship protecting her.
It’s beautiful.

The swirling colors and the fuzzy effect that makes her eyes ache are both still there, but somehow
they seem . . . resolved. As though whatever filter was making her unable to process them has been
removed from her mind, enabling her to perceive the whole spectrum of color and light and energy
that permeates the immaterial. Her body feels like she’s walking through deep water, at once
weightless and very, very heavy. Where once she saw only a riot of visual stimuli, she can now see
threads and sinews overlapping to form the walls that bring order to the chaos of the immaterial
plane. They give slightly as she treads on them.

She turns to Valthiel to comment on the scene, but her words are lost as the energy of the place
steals the sounds she makes. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

How long they keep walking, she isn’t sure. Other paths branch out from theirs, but their harlequin
guides seem to have no trouble navigating. Eventually, the tunnel narrows to a fine point that ends
in a black void, a direct mirror to what she saw back in the alley. This must be the way out.

They emerge in an area much like the one they left: dank, glistening walls and dim light and an
overpowering stench. Jian takes a moment to get her bearings and realizes that they’re in some kind
of maintenance tunnel. The portal has spat them out onto a metal walkway above a quick-flowing
stream of liquid. She guesses that this is the source of the smell.

As the last of the mandrakes exits the webway, the shadowseer gestures and the hole in reality
vanishes. One of the other harlequins speaks. “Here is where – “

Before he can finish, the sound of footsteps makes everyone spin around. A pair of creatures is
making its way down the walkway. They’re not a race Jian recognizes, stooped and hunched with
pale skin and eyes that shine red in the utility lighting. A dozen weapons draw in unison, firing a
volley and stopping the creatures in their tracks. One of the incubi strides forward and nudges the
corpses into the flowing water.

“As I was saying,” the harlequin continues. “Here is where we leave you. We have our own
mission for Lady Malys to fulfil, which will conclude in three hours’ time. If you are not here at
that point, we will depart and you will have to make your own way out. May fate smile on your
endeavor.”

“And yours as well,” replies Valthiel. He once again takes Jian’s hand, gripping it tightly as he
leads their small force forward.

No one else bothers them as they walk quickly down the maintenance tunnel. For perhaps ten
minutes, the only sound is the rush of water below them and the clatter of their feet on the
walkway.

A door bars their way and Derfahn steps forward, bending over the lock. Seconds stretch to
minutes and he begins to mutter curses, but eventually, he straightens and the door slides back.

Derfahn steps through first and hurries off, casting a grin back at the rest of the Ashen Rose
warriors before he disappears around a corner. “Remember to take your antidotes!”

They continue more slowly in the opposite direction. Jian and Valthiel’s armor has been painted
dark blue with blood-red gauntlets, and incubi are a common enough sight in any kabal, but still
Jian is on edge. There are so many things that could give them away, so many minute signs that
they might not be aware of that could instantly alert their enemies to outsiders.
The first few kabalites they pass barely give them a second glance. Jian can’t bring herself to relax
yet, but her heart’s pounding slows a little.

A sybarite warrior with her helmet off stops as they pass her. “Hey, Ralinach, are you ever gonna
come down to my barracks for a drink? Or did my reputation scare you off?” She winks.

For a long moment, the group pauses in tense silence. Then Valthiel speaks up, his voice taking on
a rougher cadence than his usual smooth tones. “Sorry, but I’ve got no idea who the fuck that is.”

The woman shrugs and walks away.

It was nothing, just a chance encounter that could have happened to anyone at any time, but still,
Jian’s nerves are back. She tries to focus on breathing steadily and not letting the anxiety show in
her body language, but she’s not sure how well she’s doing.

The Kabal of the Bloodied Fists is huge, dwarfing the Ashen Rose in both population and physical
size. The harlequins have let them into the main spire, but even still, it will take them most of the
allotted three hours just to travel to Illyria and return. They slowly climb levels, taking a circuitous
route to avoid looking like they’re marching directly to Lord Ordai’s stronghold. As they do, Jian
notices that the corridors are becoming more populated and many of those they pass give them
long, questioning looks before passing by. It’s only a matter of time before they’re stopped.

And then, the kabal bursts into life.

It’s not clear what’s happening at first. One moment, the Ashen Rose infiltrators are walking down
another hallway; the next, a dozen sybarites run past them, weapons drawn. Another group follows
a minute later. To avoid standing out, the incubi draw their weapons and the pace quickens.

The walls on either side of them end, turning the hall into a catwalk above what looks like a
barracks mess hall, swarming with activity as dining kabalites leap up from their meals and ready
themselves to find the intruders.

“That will be Derfahn’s distraction kicking in,” Valthiel mutters to Jian.

She nods, but inside, she’s still not sure if this part of the plan was a good idea. It’s a double-edged
sword. It will draw their enemies to the wrong places, guarding the wrong targets, yes. But it will
also put everyone in the fortress on high alert, and in her opinion, will lead to their being
discovered sooner.

For the moment, though, nobody seems to be paying them much heed as they continue their slow
upward journey.

They must be nearing the top of the spire when someone finally stops to challenge them. An
incubus bars their way, sword drawn. “State your names and your business approaching Lord
Ordai’s quarters.”

There’s no lie they can give that will satisfy him, so instead, Bealfor steps forward with his own
sword drawn. Sword strikes ring through the air as the rest of the Ashen Rose incubi join him, but
there is no contest. Outnumbered massively, the man falls to the floor within a minute.

“Someone will have heard that,” one of the mandrakes says, voice eerily sibilant.

“If he did not already call for reinforcements,” adds Bealfor.

As if his words are a prophecy, Jian can pick up the distant noise of running footsteps. Lots of
them. This isn’t a new sound, but this time, she’s certain they’re coming directly for them.

“Take him,” Valthiel says, pointing at the dead incubus on the floor. Bealfor seizes him by one of
his armor spikes and follows Valthiel down the hallway.

Whoever it is, they’re getting closer. After only a few seconds, Jian knows that they won’t be able
to get out of the long, straight corridor before someone arrives.

She tries a door. Locked. So is the next one.

The third opens at a touch and she drags Valthiel inside, hoping the rest of the party figures out
what she’s doing and follows suit. They do, and within seconds, all of them are crammed into the
small conference room. Jian closes the door as softly as she can and locks it.

They wait. The footsteps grow nearer.

A soft cry of alarm sounds from deeper in the room, and Jian spins around to see what it is.

A young aeldari woman stands in the opposite doorway, dressed in a plain outfit with a heavy
metal collar around her neck. She cringes back, obviously expecting a blow for interrupting
whatever is taking place.

Before she has a chance to really think about what she’s doing, Jian is in motion. The girl holds up
her arms in a futile attempt to defend herself with whatever small items she’s holding, but Jian is
far faster and likely better trained. Blood and foam pour from a slash in the slave girl’s throat and
her eyes roll back as the poison on the blades takes effect. One of the incubi catches her as she falls
and lowers her to the ground gently to keep the noise from alerting their pursuers outside.

The footsteps pause, but continue on with an even greater speed. Still, no one speaks or moves.

Jian finds herself looking at the dead slave, and at the pool of blood that’s slowly growing larger
around her. She was a bit older than Jian, with light brown hair and a pair of goggles dangling from
her neck. The items she was carrying have scattered around her and Jian can now see that they
were shaping tools for wraithbone. She couldn’t be a bonesinger, even Ordai wouldn’t risk having
such a thing here in Comorragh, but perhaps a weaponsmith on the Path of the Artisan?

As the tense waiting stretches on, she finds other things catching her attention. The sunken eyes.
The bruise on her cheek and what looks like a whip welt just visible at the edge of her clothing, the
edges burned from whatever “enhancement” its user had installed. The way that, even in death, she
seems to curl in on herself, as though she’s afraid of taking up too much space.

She reaches for Valthiel’s hand, and he squeezes it reassuringly.

After perhaps five minutes, Lord Vrash gestures and the group files quietly out of the room. One of
the mandrakes moves the dead slave and the dead incubus to lie side by side under the table as they
do.

No one is in the hall as they exit and they resume their progress towards the top of the spire
unimpeded. Jian tries to focus on the task at hand, but instead finds her mind drifting back to the
slave she killed. Not her emotion, but her lack of emotion. It was easy. Automatic. She barely feels
guilt, only the barest hint of sorrow. Part of this, she knows, is circumstantial. She has no
connection to the girl, didn’t even speak to her before killing her. And it’s almost certain that death
would be a welcome release from life as Ordai’s property.

But still, the kill leaves her feeling cold and empty. It was easy, mechanical, with no thought
attached to it before and little now. Even a thrill at the taking of a life wouldn’t disturb her this
much.

The background noise of the kabal grows louder, and Jian can hear screams and shooting mixed in
with the rest. Defahn’s work must be having its desired effect.

Getting to the top floors of Ordai’s palace was easier than expected. Almost too easy. Before long,
they find themselves standing in front of a massive vault door of bronze and brass, engraved with
scenes from the heyday of the old aeldari empire. A group of eight sslyths stands in front of it,
weapons drawn.

Jian runs forward next to Valthiel. Her knives are in her hands and she brings them up to strike in
unison at the nearest creature. It blocks and she strikes again, only to again be stymied.

Of course. This close to their target, Ordai will surely have his most skilled and vicious troops
guarding himself and his precious daughter.

The ssylth brings its swords up for a blow of its own, and Jian feels the weight of the blow
staggering into her. It reminds her of fighting Lord Vrash’s men, barely able to stand before being
knocked down and kicked away and broken. This time, she has others to help, but she knows better
than to count on their being there in time.

She dances away, letting the sslyth’s next blow slice through empty air. She comes in low, tricking
it into a high swing to slice down at her back, but instead she rolls to the side, clipping its tail as it
gathers itself back from overcommitting.

It was an obvious feint and the sslyth recovers quickly, but it was the opportunity that Jian needed.
She’s thinking faster now and her body is responding to the pace of her thoughts. The next few
blows they trade are light, glancing, her foe hindered from using its full strength by the need to
keep up with her lightning movements.

Another blow. Heavier, this time. It might be lucky, or it might be catching on to her style of
fighting and adapting. Either way, she has to end this quickly. She makes another feint, but this
time uses it to move closer, closer, bringing herself right against the sslyth’s body to eliminate its
reach and restrict its swings.

She’s too slow. Another slice of the swords catches her off guard and she only just manages to
avoid what would have been a killing blow. The impact races along her arm and she can feel a
stuttering crack in her wrist that blossoms into sharp, burning pain. But she can’t let go. Can’t
falter with the pain or she’ll die.

The sslyth is the first to break the pressure. It brings both swords back, trying to press its own
advantage into more strikes. In a haze of adrenaline and instinct, Jian stabs with both blades. This
is far too reckless an attack. She’s leaving herself open.

It doesn’t matter. Her knives sink deeply into the ssylth’s gut, staggering it. Bright teal blood
covers her hands as she rips the blades from its flesh, stabbing again and again until it falls.

She looks up. The rest of the sslyths are dead or dying with a horrific stench that far surpasses most
corpses. The mandrakes surround Valthiel as he approaches the vault door. The beauty and
showiness of its design indicates that someone of importance lives within, but the impression is
counteracted by the elaborate locks and clear signs of an alarm system.

An incubus passes Valthiel the welding equipment they’ve brought along and he begins to work on
the doors. Jian shifts uncomfortably. Someone is likely already on their way to investigate what’s
happening.

Only a few sybarites show themselves, though, and are quickly dispatched before Valthiel
straightens. Lord Vrash and another incubus pull the doors aside and the group charges through.

The room inside is an elegantly furnished boudoir, painfully craftworld in its design and
furnishing. Organic curves and warm, soft colors predominate, with the walls in a pale material
clearly made to replicate the look, if not the psychic imprint, of wraithbone.

A man, handsome by drukhari standards and shirtless, lies sprawled on the chaise lounge opposite
the door. He leaps up to reach for his weapons as they enter, dropping a glass of pleasure wine
which shatters on the floor.

To the side of the door, hidden from view until Jian fully entered the room, is the ‘entertainment’
that he must have been watching. Illyria is there, once again fully nude. Her head lolls to one side
as she twists and spins and leaps in an intricate, if somewhat jerky dance. She looks barely
conscious and her feet are black with bruises and leave trails of blood where she steps. Her knee
buckles under her as she lands a pirouetting jump and she struggles to right herself.

The cause of all this, Jian realizes, is a set of wires, barely visible at this distance, that snake
around her body and connect to each of the dozens of piercings set into her body. In addition to
decoration, they must also function as some kind of neural jack.

Before she has the chance to process the scene any further, her mind is bowled over by a wave of
sheer hatred and fury as Valthiel pushes past her. He runs toward the man, blades drawn, moving
so fast that Jian barely sees him as more than a blur. The other man howls and his shots go wide as
the whirlwind of emotional energy turned physical savages him.

Jian wastes no time in taking advantage of the distraction. Much as she would like to watch the
swirling chaos that is the man she loves, this is neither the time nor the place for it. They came
with a mission, and time is growing ever shorter to accomplish it. At least, if they hope to escape
alive afterword.

At first, her task seems daunting. Illyria’s movements make any fine motion around her difficult
and Jian is afraid that if she cuts the wrong wire, that she will disrupt some kind of important
muscle function. She isn’t sure how exactly the apparatus that Lord Ordai’s people have put her in
works.

A spatter of blood from Valthiel’s frenzied assault falls across Illyria’s face.

But after a few minutes of awkwardly moving around the dancing woman, holding a knife and
trying to figure out where to start, one of the incubi approaches. With a curt “let me”, he steps in
and wraps his arms around Illyria, holding her as she spasms and writhes at the whim of the wires.
It’s painful to watch, but it does keep her still enough that Jian can cut some of the equipment off
her. Only a bit of damage is necessary before the forced, jerking movements slow and then stop
altogether.

Jian examines her, worried that it’s already too late and the man has been playing with her corpse.
But her chest still rises and falls and a heartbeat flutters at her neck. As Jian helps guide her to the
floor, she stirs and murmurs something unintelligible before her eyes again roll back in her head.

They’re going to have to carry her. There’s no way she can walk, much less run or hide. But this
was anticipated. It’s alright. If she can stay alive until they escape, then all the resources of the
Ashen Rose will be available to put her right. Jian would offer to do so herself, but Illyria is much
taller and heavier than she is and she doubts she could get far.

Lord Vrash appears to have the same thought. “Razhik, pick up the woman, we are leaving.”

The incubus that was helping Jian shifts to pick Illyria back up and Jian stands as well. She looks
over at Valthiel, to see if he’s ready to leave and feels a turn in her stomach.

Her lover is covered in blood, standing in the midst of a pile of gore and shattered bone that only
her previous knowledge allows her to recognize as the body of a drukhari man. Valthiel has long
since reached the point where the man is no longer capable of taking his fury, so he’s turned to
destroying the room instead – the bed with its sheets still muddled from the rutting of its
occupants, the bottles of pleasure wine, and the scanty silken garments scattered about the room.

Perhaps sensing the eyes of the rest of the group on him, he stops and looks back at them. Lord
Vrash speaks first. “The door was certainly alarmed, Valthiel. Derfahn’s distractions have bought
us time, but Ordai will still be on his way. We need to leave.”

Valthiel nods, seeming almost numb, as though the release of so much rage and hatred has sucked
the life from him. Jian goes to him, reaching out to take a gore-covered hand and lead him out of
the room with the rest of the group. As they pass the threshold, he pulls her to him, hugging her
tightly and breathing out a heavy sigh, audible even through his helmet. “I’m sorry.”

She isn’t sure who or what he’s aiming the apology at, but she doesn’t need to be. The emotions
connect. “I understand.”

“Valthiel… “ Lord Vrash’s voice interrupts them.

“Yes, you’re right,” Valthiel replies. “We should be going.”

He doesn’t let go of Jian’s hand as they start back the way they came.

The chaos seems only to have increased as they make their way down the hallways and staircases
of the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists. Fights break out for no apparent reason, blood stains and broken
furniture bear mute testimony to previous violence, and they are repeatedly attacked by half-crazed
kabalites who throw themselves at the Ashen Rose strike team with no thought for their own
safety. Jian has known, of course, what Derfahn’s distractions entail. But seeing them in person is
far more unsettling than hearing them discussed over a table back in the relative safety of Valthiel’s
fortress.

Still more stark is the view she has as the group exits the tower they had been in and makes their
way across the catwalk connecting it to the one where they will meet the harlequins for their
escape. Hanging from the top of the highest spire of the palace by spikes driven through their
wrists are three drukhari, each dressed in the clothing of high-ranking nobles of the kabal. Only
one, a haemonculus, shows any signs of life. Although they are hundreds of meters away from her,
Jian can see every detail in the massive images projected onto the sides of various buildings in the
kabal, making what has happened clear to every drukhari inside.

This is the first time she has truly seen Derfahn’s work, and she has to admit, she is impressed. For
all his childish antics and posturing, if he didn’t have some skill, Valthiel would never have
employed him. Now she, too, is convinced that he is worth his pay, whatever it might be.

Still, there is little time to contemplate. Her attention is quickly pulled away by Illyria’s whimpers
from just in front of her, followed by a soft, anguished cry that resonates deep in Jian’s heart.
Valthiel quickens his pace to overtake Razhik and see to Illyria himself, but stops himself before
reaching them. It will only slow them down.

Perhaps Illyria was merely having a fevered nightmare. But a part of Jian wonders if, instead, her
ability to read the threads of fate in the warp is not completely blocked by whatever her father has
done to her. For no sooner has the farseer slipped back into her stupor then a group of drukhari
appear at the far end of the catwalk. Their leader is a tall man, dressed from the neck down in
spiked armor, deep blue with blood-red gloves.

Although he is still a dozen meters away, Jian recognizes him instantly. Lord Ordai.

He carries a curved sword in one hand, balanced to move like it weighs nothing and flickering with
the same greenish energy as a succubus’ agonizer whip. In the other hand he holds a twin-barreled
gun that he points at the Ashen Rose team. The four drukhari behind him are similarly armored,
but carry massive glaives that pulse with crimson light.

Jian knows that her own weapons will be useless. Large, heavily armored foes are a weakness in
the Howling Banshees’ fighting style, and her further training has only increased the lopsidedness
of her technique. But she readies her knives nonetheless. With the others at her side, perhaps she
can be of some use anyway. And if she cannot, then she will die trying.

“You haven’t changed, Valthiel,” Lord Ordai calls out. “Still weak and spineless, so you drive my
men mad with your drugs and send your killers after my lieutenants instead of facing me head on
like a man worthy of my daughter should.”

“The hallucinogen only brought out what was already there,” Valthiel replies evenly, but Jian can
feel him grip her hand tighter. “The same poison of hatred that you are killing Illyria with.”

Ordai sneers. “You lie so much, I wonder if you are even capable of knowing the truth anymore,
much less speaking it.”

Jian pulls her eyes away from the scene to look around. This scenario came up in their planning,
but the location couldn’t be worse.

Valthiel pulls a grenade from his belt, a small orb filled with swirls of blue and green liquid.

Her heart pounds faster. She always knew that this was a suicidal venture, but somehow, it didn’t
seem quite so insane when they discussed it back in the Kabal of the Ashen Rose. If only they’d
gotten to the other spire first, this would all have been so much easier.

“Planning to take the coward’s way out?” Ordai calls as he and his soldiers advance towards them.
“Or are you trying to attempt some kind of last stand? Either way, I will give you one chance to
escape with your life: hand over the girls to me, and I will let you leave. The shame of your
cowardice and the knowledge of what I will do to your pet will be more than enough penalty for
trying to steal what is rightfully mine.”

The offer is so blatantly bad, such a transparent attempt to rile them up, that Jian actually feels
calmer than before. There’s no way that Valthiel would do such a thing, and everyone there knows
it. And Ordai’s posturing has bought them more seconds of precious time.

“You know… “ Valthiel replies, drawing the words out as much as possible. “You are right on rare
occasions. The most efficient route between two points is a straight line, regardless of what stands
in your way.”

Even before he’s finished speaking, he hurls the grenade toward the floor just behind them. It
detonates with a cloud of acrid smoke. Bursts of energy fire lance through the cover and Jian dives
to the ground to avoid being hit. When the smoke clears, the desired effect is obvious – a thick
green sludge rapidly eats away at the material of the catwalk and the transparent shell that
surrounds it.

But not rapidly enough. The Bloodied Fist troops are closing in ahead of them, and a prickling of
the hairs on the back of Jian’s neck warns her that danger is approaching from behind as well.
There’s no way that the hole will be large enough for them to jump through before one or both
groups are close enough to overwhelm them in deadly melee.

Lord Vrash steps forward, putting himself between Ordai and the rest of the group. “Valthiel,” he
says in a voice somehow both more formal and more casual than she has ever heard from him
before. “It has been an honor.”

Gesturing to two of the incubi to follow him, he starts towards Ordai, at first slowly, but gaining
momentum as he swings his klaive forward to meet the archon’s strike. One of the incubi loses his
head in the first onslaught. It bounces and rolls back toward Jian, half falling out of the helmet as it
does. It’s the first time she’s seen the face of any of them apart from Lord Vrash himself.

Despite the loss, the attack was effective, depriving two of Ordai’s troops of their weapons. Jian
can tell by the change in Ordai’s posture that he’s furious, now, not just with the situation as a
whole, but with Lord Vrash personally. She risks a glance backwards and sees that the soldiers
behind them are starting to close in. They’ll be in range in a few more seconds.

Valthiel’s shout breaks through her sluggish thoughts. “Everyone, through the hole, NOW!”

Her head snaps around to see that the acid has finally done its job. Two of the sybarites have
already gone through, and Razhik is shifting Illyria’s weight to go next. Jian tries to focus herself
and ready her descent line, but the fighting in front of her and the encroaching enemies behind keep
pulling her attention away from the task.

Focus, she tells herself. Reach for the inner peace that Ayslinn and Verynia taught you. Finally,
she manages to secure her dropline and she jumps through the hole with one last glance at the
fighting she’s leaving behind.

Only Lord Vrash, Ordai, and one of the Bloodied Fist soldiers remain standing. Ordai’s face is in
ruins, most of his nose gone and the shape distorted with bones shattered by a sword blow, but as
she watches, he rallies and knocks Lord Vrash’s klaive from his hands. The incubus blocks the
next blow with his armored gauntlet and reaches for a backup weapon, but too slowly. Ordai shoots
him in the gut. Blood and chunks of flesh spatter onto the glass above her head as she falls.

I should be the one to tell Ayslinn, she thinks in an instant of serene freefall.

And then her line arrests her, at first merely resisting her descent before stopping her entirely. She
hangs suspended in the air below the catwalk, guided away from the others by weak grav-thrusters
attached to her belt.

Isha’s tits, this was a bad place to get stuck. They’d planned an escape like this, of course, but it
was impossible to predict where they might need one. She looks down, trying to see what Valthiel
is doing, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She’s dizzyingly far above the next solid object, held
only by a thin line of monofilament, invisible against the multi-colored sky.

She does get a glimpse of him, though, talking urgently into a wrist communicator. Her heart sinks.
If they’re reduced to begging the harlequins to pick them up, that doesn’t bode well for the future.
Even if they do make it out. Why couldn’t Ordai have found them a few hundred meters further
on? She begins twisting around, trying to see if there’s a surface closer to them that they could
somehow jump to. The gentle swinging of her body is a constant reminder of the peril above, and a
few shots float down from the hole above them.

Jian’s heart begins to pound as she realizes that all it will take for the Bloodied Fists to kill them is
to cut the wires and let them fall to their deaths. But they won’t do that, right? Surely Ordai would
be too afraid of losing his daughter to condone such an action?

The thought is little comfort as another shot hits one of the mandrakes, causing it to screech in
pain.

A high-pitched whine, audible even over the rush of wind in her ears, startles her from the search.
A vehicle approaching. Instantly, her sidearm is trained on it, as are everyone else’s. Not that it
will do any good. If the vehicle is an enemy, they can’t hope to damage it with handheld
weaponry.

“That’s the harlequins!” Valthiel calls out. Even on comms, he has to shout to be heard over the
rushing wind.

Despite his reassurance, Jian’s heart pounds as the ship approaches Razhik where he dangles, still
holding Illyria over his shoulder. The sight of one of the harlequins that guided them in reaching
out to help pass the weakened farseer inside only relaxes her slightly. This is taking too long.

Above her, the visual commotion of Bloodied Fists at the edge of the hole increases. Something
jerks at her line and she starts to rise toward the waiting kabalites above.

Shit. She twists herself, looking to see if there’s a way she can swing over to the harlequin ship, but
it’s too far. Another jerk pulls her further up.

Perhaps noticing her ascent, the ship angles towards her. Jian rocks herself back and forth, using
her stabilizing equipment to enhance her swings. Just another moment, and they’ll be close
enough…

And then she’s falling.

Every fraction of a second seems stretched out as she plumets, giving her thoughts time to fully
come to fruition. Another figure is falling after her, far behind. She has sideways momentum as she
falls, the stabilizers pushing her in the direction she was last moving, towards the side of the
nearest building.

I’m going to crash, she thinks and reaches for the stabilizers. Perhaps she can at least use them to
slow herself before she impacts.

Whether it works or not, she’s not sure. She feels the first hit as her body slams into the plate glass
of the spire before breaking through. Another, as she crashes into a large object, sending smaller
items flying around her and tumbling to the ground.

Then the pain starts. Groaning, Jian pulls herself to her feet. There’s a sharp hurt in her shoulder
and a duller ache in one of her knees as well as a broad, ringing echo of disorientation that makes
her head throb.

But there’s no time to think about it. She’s in a storeroom of some sort, and the shelf she crashed
into had been full of what looks like disassembled pieces of larger devices.
That’s all the time she has to observe, though. A thud from the outside of the building is followed a
moment later by a figure climbing through the hole Jian made and starting to walk toward her,
spear in hand. She tenses and reaches for her knives, ready for an attack at any moment. Whoever
this is, they are certainly not a friend. Not here.

Yet instantly, all that is forgotten as the figure steps from the shadows, into the dim beam of one of
the overhead lights. “Verynia?” Jian breathes.

Her exarch looks nothing like the powerful, confidant warrior that Jian once knew. Her long,
brilliant red hair has been patchily shaved off, with cybernetic implants installed in the bald
patches. She wears armor in the heraldry of the Kabal of the Bloodied Fists, decorated with flayed
pieces of skin and dried eyeballs. She stares at Jian with wide eyes. Eyes full of hatred.

“I thought you were dead… “ Jian says. Alive, and in the hands of Lord Ordai. The nightmares she
must have lived through….

“If only I could be so lucky,” Verynia snarls back as she takes a step closer. “That way I wouldn’t
had to see what a cocksucking little slut you turned out to be. Tell me, how long did it take for you
to start soaking your panties every time your master came for you? A week? Two?”

Jian recoils as though she’s been struck. Everything she’s feared, every shame-filled moment as
she lies awake at night, repeated from someone she had thought she loved and trusted.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder, sorry I didn’t look for
you longer, sorry I failed.

But she’s not sorry, is she? Not for letting herself find love and happiness or for surviving when
she wanted nothing more than to give up. So rather than apologize, she opens her mouth to rectify
the regret she does have. “Come with me, Verynia. We can escape together, there’s still time before
they close the portal.”

She snorts. “A whore and a coward. Of all the cadets I’ve trained, all the craftworld girls I’ve
known, I’d never expected you to be the one throwing away everything for the first corsair who
flashes you a charming smile.”

“What in the six hells do you want from me!” Jian steps backwards as Verynia advances, confusion
and horror and anger warring in her. Ordai must have filled her with a mix of lies and truths,
driving Verynia with hatred towards his enemies that eclipsed her loathing of him and his people.
Her voice breaks and she feels tears starting to gather as she speaks again. “I am not your enemy.”

“I want you in the position where you apparently do your best work nowadays,” Verynia replies.
She continues walking forward until the two of them are close enough to touch. Her eyes are red-
rimmed, unblinking. Lidless, Jian realizes, the flesh around them cut or burned away to force the
former exarch to stare always at her foes. “On your knees in front of your betters.”

“No.” Her voice shakes, feeling still like she’s betraying someone with her choices. But this is
right.

Verynia’s grip on the spear tightens. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Neither am I. I’m not a Howling Banshee. Not anymore. Neither are you. You have no authority
over me.”

“Too bad.”
Before Jian has time to react, before she even has time to think, Verynia’s knee connects with her
side. Pain blossoms from the impact and she can feel her ribs give way under the force of the blow.
Is Verynia that much stronger than she was? Or has Jian simply never been on the receiving end of
her full power before?

She stumbles back, trying to adjust her grip on her blades and ready herself for action. Red spots
fill her vision and a memory flashes across her awareness. The same pain bursting from her side. A
man in black-bladed armor standing over her, laughing.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Forcing herself to stand straight and take a defensive stance, she tries one last time. ”By Khaine,
Verynia. . . don’t you want to leave this? Don’t you want to get away from the pain, the fear, the –
“ She swallows. “The hands, always touching you?”

“I feel nothing.” Verynia slashes at Jian with her spear, fast, so, so fast. “Not anymore.”

Jian vaults away, but not quickly enough. The point of the weapon drags along her cheek, splitting
flesh and scraping across bone, opening a wound that drives deeper into her face as it goes. Fire
explodes in her eye and as she pulls away, she realizes with horror that she can’t see. Not just blood
pouring into her eyes or the shock making her too upset to process what’s in front of her.

My eye is gone.

She screams.

And then, through the blur, her training kicks in. She has to get close, close enough that the spear
will be unwieldy. She runs forward.

Verynia speaks again, still apparently in response to Jian’s last statement. “And now no one
touches me anymore. Not unless I make it so!”

A punch flies past Jian’s face in slow motion, time seeming to dilate as she moves out of the way
and into a strike.

Her knife connects with Verynia’s gut. Hot blood rushes over her hand. The spear is coming back
around as Verynia tries to maneuver it into position and Jian backs away, twisting the knife out to
enlarge the hole.

Too slow again.

Swinging the shaft of the spear around, Verynia slams it into Jian’s neck, knocking her to the
ground.

She can’t breathe. Every try burns in her throat as the air struggles to get past the massive lump
that suddenly fills it. One of her blades is gone, broken or knocked off in the assault. She scrambles
to pull another knife off her belt as she tries to get back on her feet.

And then, more pain, an unfathomable amount of pain. It starts in her shoulder but soon
overwhelms every sense, ripping and tearing through her nerves. Just as the first wash of agony
ends, another joins it. Verynia has pulled the spear out and is readying it for another thrust.

Half-blind, Jian stabs the knife down in front of her. It sinks into Verynia’s foot and she yelps.
Then, her cry turns to laughter, manic and bitter.
 Jian scrabbles around, trying to find purchase on the blood-slick floor to pull herself up. Her hand
closes around a long, thin object. Her hairpin.

Before she has time to do more than pick it up, the spear is back, whistling through the air to slam
into her stomach. But this time, it doesn’t hurt at all. Only a strange, stuttering sensation as it
pushes its way through her organs and a thick wetness seeping into her armor. Blood, bile, and
what else she doesn’t want to know.

Verynia tugs on the spear, dragging her upward until their faces are nearly touching. “You should
have knelt, slut.”

Acting more on instinct than logic, Jian brings up the hairpin still wrapped in her fist, stabbing it
into the first available piece of Verynia’s flesh. Her remaining eye won’t focus to tell her what it is.

For a moment, it seems as though nothing happened, and then she’s falling, her knees impacting
the floor with a weight that shudders her. The room sways and she tries to keep herself awake, keep
from passing out, get back to her feet, get back in the fight…

Verynia collapses to the ground in front of her. Her shoulder and one arm are gone, reduced to a
thick red liquid that drips down the side of her armor. She reaches weakly for the spear that still
protrudes from Jian’s gut, but misses. The arm falls limply and she doesn’t try again.

It hurts, now. A roaring, burning cry that consumes everything in Jian’s mind. Her vision dances
with black and red that pulse with her heartbeat as the sable slowly consumes the crimson.

In the silence just before everything stops, she hears Verynia’s voice one last time. “Thank you,
Jian.”

****

The two former Banshees lie dying at each other’s side. As the older surrenders herself to oblivion,
free at last from the hell that has been her life, her flesh and bone dissolve into poisoned, necrotic
slime that creeps toward the younger, ready to bring them into the arms of She Who Thirsts
together.

A man arrives.

He surveys the scene for a moment, then lifts the younger girl over his shoulder, carrying her away
from her rejected past and into an unknown future.

Chapter End Notes

RIP Verynia and Bealfor :(

To the couple of commenters across various platforms who have been predicting that
one of the other Howling Banshees from Jian's shrine would reappear, you were right!
It's just a bit later than you thought it would be ;)

With only one chapter left, I've found myself both happy and sad at the ending. It's a
huge project and I'm *this* close to finishing, one of the creative projects I'm most
proud of in my life. But at the same time, I find myself wondering what I'll do with my
idle thoughts and free time when I'm not writing about my trash children. I've given
some thought to what my next project will be but haven't yet decided. I'd also like to
repost some of my old fics from other sites, probably with some editing.

Can't wait to show you guys the last chapter!

 Stars
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Jian has no idea how long she drifts through unconsciousness. At times, it feels like she could
wake up if she wanted, as easily as getting up in the morning. Other times, she seems to sink
through endless black tunnels, a laugh both sinister and beautiful echoing endlessly through her
mind. Come to me. The moments stack on top of each other in a strange and confusing swirl that
might take hours or years.

And then, all at once, she is awake. Lying in a bed in a small, white room. A hospital bed. Relief
and fear fill her. Someone has rescued her, carried her away from the storeroom where she fought
the hollow, broken shell of what used to be Verynia and healed her wounds. But who?

With a great effort, she looks around, moves a bit, then stops, fear gripping her. Both wrists are
encircled by shackles, attached by chains to the rails of her bed. There is enough slack for her to
move around, perhaps even to stand up at the bedside if she had the strength for it, but leaving will
be impossible.

Which means that whoever has her here is not an ally of the Ashen Rose.

For several hours, she simply lies there, too weak and in too much pain to do more than stare at the
ceiling and try to keep herself from imagining who might have her or what they might be planning
to do with her. Wondering what happened to Valthiel and Illyria.

Eventually, however, she hears someone outside. She feels slightly better than before, but there’s
still no use in trying to run or fight, so she waits to see who the visitor is.

To Jian’s surprise and relief, it’s Lynx who steps through the door, dressed in her lhamean robes
and with a somber expression on her face.

“Lynx!” Jian cries, realizing her mistake as soon as she does. Talking too loudly sends sharp pains
across her stomach.

Lynx’s face brightens a bit as she hurries to the side of the bed. “Jian! I’m so glad to see you. I
knew you were recovering, of course, but that’s not the same as seeing it for myself.”

“What happened?” She can’t remember anything after Verynia’s thanks. Her last words, most
likely. Another pang shoots through her, in her heart this time.

Lynx pauses, and Jian knows her well enough to know that she’s considering her words very
carefully. “You’re on Lady Malys’ flagship, in the medical center of her private wing. I am not
sure how you got here from Lord Ordai’s palace – Lady Malys has not chosen to share that
information with me. But I do know that you were well more than half-dead when you arrived and
Valthiel convinced the lady to help you. You’ve been under for the better part of a week.”

Nodding, Jian does her best to parse this information. “And Illyria?”

Another hesitation, this one shorter. “She is alive as well. Her wounds were less severe, but
undoing some of the alterations her father made has taken several days as well. I believe they just
finished this morning.”
It’s blatantly obvious that there’s something Lynx isn’t telling her, and Jian isn’t in the mood to
wait and see what it is. “If we’re on Lady Malys’ vessel, then why am I chained to the bed? And
where is Valthiel?”

Lynx sighs and pushes a loose strand of green hair away from her face. “You know the terms of
the deal. The harlequins were only there to let you in and out, no more. When Valthiel called for
them to pick him up, he broke the terms of the agreement and canceled it.”

She suspected as much at the time, but Jian’s fear returns nonetheless. With even the worthless
word of an archon now voided, anything could happen.

“Lady Malys offered new terms, based on what she felt the help she had wound up providing was
worth,” Lynx continues. “Valthiel didn’t want to accept, but with the Bloodied Fists howling for
revenge, he didn’t have much choice.”

“And what were those terms?” Jian almost doesn’t want to know. It’s clear that Lynx is trying to
be diplomatic, a rarity for her. And while that might simply be an attempt to avoid speaking badly
of Lady Malys, Jian wonders if it’s because Lynx thinks she’s not strong enough to hear the news
right now.

Lynx pauses again, the longest uncomfortable silence yet. “In exchange for extracting the team
from the Bloodied Fists’ pocket dimension, and her continued protection from Lord Ordai, Lady
Malys demanded that the Kabal of the Ashen Rose join themselves to her. The kabal still exists and
as far as the rest of Commorragh is concerned, nothing has changed, but she has the power to
override any of Valthiel’s decisions in regard to the kabal if she sees fit.”

Jian can only sink back into her pillows, appalled. He’s sold us back into slavery. She remembers
the darkness in the woman’s eyes and her cold fingers on the back of Jian’s neck and shivers.

Sighing, Lynx places a reassuring hand on Jian’s shoulder. “I know that it probably doesn’t help
much. But Lady Malys isn’t that bad. I mean, she’s just as cruel and power-hungry as the next
archon, but from what I’ve seen so far, she’s smart, too. If all she wanted was to torment Valthiel,
she wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of making him enter her service willingly. She plans to use
his talents and resources, and that should mean that he’s safe as long as he doesn’t try to fight back
too hard. Him, and anyone he’s close to. And at least you might get to see me more often.”

Although Lynx is clearly trying to encourage her, Jian doesn’t feel any better. It’s too much, too
unknown. Too close to the memories of long days spent in desperation and fear as she tried to meet
every whim of someone who held absolute power over her life. And unlike last time, she doubts
that there’s any secret affection or chance for love to bloom here.

Lynx wraps her in a hug. “I can’t promise that it will be alright, but I think it will be.”

“So what happens now?”

“Your treatments are almost done. The medics estimated that you should be up and around
tomorrow morning at the latest, and Lady Malys has asked to see you as soon as that happens.”

“She wants to see me? Why?” Jian can’t help remembering that terrible night at the party Valthiel
brought her to. Her first meeting with Lady Malys. How much to borrow her?

Lynx straightens from the embrace and moves to the chair where she set her bag. “She didn’t say.
All I know is why she sent me here.”

Jian’s heart sinks further. “You mean she sent you purposefully?”
“Yes… it’s the only reason I was allowed to see you at all.” Her back turns as she rummages
through the bag. “Jian, Lady Malys has ordered that the tattoo on your back be expanded.”

“No,” Jian breathes.

“I’m sorry. If I thought arguing would do any good, I would have tried, but it would have just
meant I’d lose the chance to see you. It’s going to hurt, but I’ll try not to make it worse than it
needs to be.”

“Alright.” She sinks back into the bed, eyes closed. Lynx is right; arguing will only make it worse.
Part of her wants to ask what Lady Malys wants on her skin so badly, but there’s no point, is there?

“Are you ready to start now? Or do you want a few more minutes?”

“No.” Jian feels a tear slide out of her eye and curses herself for her weakness. It’s only some lines,
some colors. “There’s no reason to wait.”

It takes several minutes to get her in position. First, Lynx helps her to remove the loose clothing
that the medics dressed her in and flip onto her stomach. As she settles, Jian sends a silent thanks to
the lhamean sisters under Miarya’s tutelage. Despite all the pain she endured after her lessons with
Lord Vrash, she now realizes how many painkillers they must have given her to ease her recovery.

When that is done, Lynx adjusts the chains until Jian has almost no slack to move. “I’m sorry,”
Lynx says. “But I need to keep you from moving around or it’s going to ruin it.”

Before Jian can respond, something white-hot touches her back and she sucks her breath in through
her teeth. Rather than stopping, the sensation continues, never ending, never increasing or
lessening. Slowly, painfully slowly, it starts to drift along her back, from the approximate center up
towards her shoulder blades.

“Do you need something to bite down on?”

Jian can only nod and accept the folded piece of cloth between her teeth. On and on it continues,
ranging all over her back and creeping around the edges of her ribcage. As Lynx works, she talks,
telling Jian about the laboratories in the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue, the alchemical creations
she’s made, and the strange and deadly tasks that she’s carried out for Lady Malys. Even through
the pain, Jian can’t help but think that she actually sounds . . . not happy, but content, at least. It’s
something good to hold on to in this mess.

At some point, the endless ice-cold heat blurs into nothing. Maybe she’s getting used to it, or
maybe her nerves are just so overwhelmed that she can’t pay attention to what they tell her
anymore. She drifts into something that feels almost like sleep, or at least unawareness.

Finally, after many hours, she hears Lynx shifting behind her. A moment later, the cuffs open. She
sags further into the bed, what little strength she had left in her sapped away. She doesn’t even have
the energy to cry.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Lynx says.

“Yes, please.”

Jian feels Lynx’s hand wrap around hers as sleep or unconsciousness takes her.

When she wakes, she feels somewhat better. The burning, stinging discomfort across her back
eclipses the rest of what is wrong with her, and some of the weakness is gone. She could stand, she
thinks, even if walking more than a short distance would exhaust her.

Lynx sits in a chair next to the bed, her head bowed in sleep and her fingers still entwined with
Jian’s. She watches her for a few minutes, happy for the silent company of a friend and not
wanting to leave this bed and enter into the unknown that is her meeting with Lady Malys.

Her chance for peace is short-lived, however. The door opens, startling Lynx awake. Jian shifts her
position to see who the new visitor is, but before she can manage it, the woman speaks.

“Good morning, Jian. I see that your new adornment is in place, and I must say, they look
wonderful on you.”

Lady Malys.

She continues. “Lynx, you’ve done a very good job, I’m quite impressed. You may return to your
other duties now.”

Standing, Lynx gives Jian’s hand one last squeeze. “I’ll see you soon, Jian.”

Lynx leaves, shutting the door behind her.

“Come, Jian, sit up and look me in the eye.”

She obeys and looks around, trying to ignore the burning of her gut muscles as she does. The
archon is dressed in a beautiful gown of green and black silk, wrapped to show off flashes of her
white legs and to draw attention to how narrow her waist is. Jian blinks the last tears from her eyes.
“Lynx said you wanted to see me this morning?”

“Yes, yes. I heard her telling you while she was working on your back.” She holds out a dress of
brilliant blue. “Now get dressed and follow me.”

Getting out of bed takes Jian some time, but she feels better when she stands. Even if her hands do
shake while she puts the dress on. Under other circumstances, she might have thought it was quite
beautiful. Right now, she’s just grateful that its backless design doesn’t put pressure on her
sensitive skin.

Lady Malys gestures imperiously for Jian to follow her and leaves the room without another word.
The floors are cold under Jian’s bare feet and she finds herself annoyed and disoriented by her
vision. She can see out of both eyes - they must have cloned her a replacement for the one Verinya
destroyed - but something about it is wrong. Maybe she can see a bit better or a bit worse through
it, or perhaps it doesn’t rest quite as perfectly in her eye socket.

Regardless of the reasoning, it distracts her long enough for them to reach their destination. Lady
Malys enters a room and Jian follows her in. The trip was shorter than she expected.

The room they enter is massive, probably twice the size of Valthiel’s suite in Commorragh.
Tapestries hang from the walls, plush carpets cover the floors, and furniture is arranged into
clusters to permit groups of various sizes to converse. Art is displayed prominently throughout the
space, a wide variety of styles and forms that Jian realizes all likely come from different species.
Likely things that Lady Malys has taken as souvenirs of her conquests. If she wasn’t so distracted
by her own situation, she might have been interested in examining some of them more closely.

The lady leads her to a long, narrow couch with a high back and gestures for her to sit before taking
her own spot on the other end. A slave hurries forward, carrying a tray with two goblets and a
crystal decanter engraved with runes. Lady Malys pours an amber liquid into each goblet, then
hands one to Jian. “For the pain,” she says.

Jian hesitates, but quickly decides that if Lady Malys wanted to kill her, she would have had any
number of less-convoluted opportunities to do so. Still, she feels the woman’s eyes intent on her as
she sips at the liquid. It smells wonderful, with a spicy sharpness mixed with sweet, fruity scents,
and the taste is even better.

After a moment, she lowers the glass and waits politely for her captor to speak. Whatever she
wants, Jian doubts she will wait long to get started.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Lady Malys’ voice is softer now, less mocking than her usual
tone.

“I do not.” She’s certain she’s about to be told, though.

Lady Malys studies her for a moment before placing a hand on Jian’s shoulder. “What do you think
would have happened if Valthiel had allowed me to have you for the night after the party where we
first met?”

“I can’t pretend to know what was in your mind. But whatever you desired, you would have done.”
She has kept herself from imagining the horrors she would have endured, and isn’t about to start
now. Yet here I am, at your mercy anyway.

Lady Malys chuckles, her laughter once again echoing despite the lack of any other sounds in the
room doing so. “Yes, I would have. And I would have for the same reason I’ve brought you here
now: because I have power.”

“I don’t understand.”

She pulls herself closer to Jian. “Good and evil, right and wrong, diplomacy and war. . . they’re all
just words without meaning or purpose without power. The kind of power we possess and the
amount you have relative to others is what shapes our lives from the moment we are born. Which
is what you need to answer now, Jian. At end of all things, would you like to be the one holding the
whip? Or the one under the lash?”

“You are one of the former, I take it.” She’s starting to feel the effects of the drink, now. It doesn’t
take the pain away; she still feels everything just as sharply as she did before. But the sensation
clouds her mind less and she is able to block it out to focus on what is going on around her.

Lady Malys nods. “That was not always the case, though. I had to choose to be the mistress of my
own fate instead of merely being abused and controlled by the fancies of those around me.”

Her hand slides down Jian’s arm in a manner that can’t help but make Jian shiver. Looking deep
into Jian’s eyes, Lady Malys continues, so softly that even in the quiet room, Jian has to strain to
hear her. “And before long, I believe you will find yourself at the same crossroads. You may be
nothing more than prey now, but I believe that there’s a predator inside you, just waiting to surface
and take control.”

“I. . . see.” She’s not entirely wrong. Jian can feel a desperate need within her to never have to
kneel again, no matter how illogical or unlikely such a wish is. And the need was there before
Lady Malys brought it to the forefront of her awareness, even if she is only now identifying it as
such.

Gesturing to the slave standing in the background, Lady Malys waits until he has retrieved an
object from a nearby side table to continue. “This is a gift, for you to use when you are ready to
control the direction of your life for the first time.”

Jian takes it. A box made of what feels like bone, elaborately carved with abstract, angular designs,
as long as her forearm and perhaps twice as wide. An unfamiliar locking mechanism holds it shut.
After a brief inspection, she sets it in her lap unopened. This is something to process on her own.
“Thank you.”

Several minutes pass with no further conversation from Lady Malys, until eventually Jian realizes
that she’s waiting for her to say something on her own. Swallowing, she asks the question that’s
been on her mind almost since she woke. “You say I belong to you now. What does that entail?”

“For now?” Lady Malys shifts her position to stare at a twisted, curving abstract sculpture nearby.
“I have arranged for Valthiel to return to his life as a corsair and rejoin his old companions there.
His most trusted and capable forces from the Kabal of the Ashen Rose will join him in quietly
serving my interests in realspace, while Lady Miarya will take over the majority of power in the
kabal as his right hand and regent. I would assume he plans to have you and the farseer join him.”

“I would like that.” She would like it less if Illyria came along, though. “Where is he?”

Lady Malys laughs again. “Don’t worry, Jian, he’s just fine. Resting and recovering on his own
ship, while the farseer entertains a troupe of my harlequins and you are here, entertaining me.”

“I see,” Jian replies for lack of something else to say. It feels like the lady is going to pounce on
her at any moment, not helped by her hand with its long, manicured nails resting a bit too casually
on Jian’s thigh. It’s obvious where this is leading.

Lady Malys’ next words catch her off guard. “What if I offered you a way out of your
predicament?”

Without waiting for Jian’s response, she continues. “If I gave you the chance to gather your wits
and march down to the chambers where the seer is being held? There, you could take her for
yourself and taste her in every way you desire, proving to her and to me that you are the one on top.
Then, you could bring her with you to the captain with whom you both so clearly belong and be on
your way. What do you say to that?”

“I would say that I don’t want to do that.” The idea is disgusting, horrifying.

The lady withdraws her hand from Jian’s thigh and she leans back to study her, interest flaring
even brighter in her eyes. “Oh? Please, do explain.”

“I don’t want Illyria for myself. Nor do I wish to repeat things I would rather forget from a
different perspective.”

Lady Malys picks up her glass and takes a sip. The hunger returns to her expression, giving Jian the
sense of being a small creature caught between a gyrinx’s paws. “Understandable. But how about a
chance to instantly establish dominance and to make sure that the new dynamic added to your
relationship with your strapping young man does not threaten what you already have?”

“I trust Valthiel,” Jian replies, but inside, hints of that old fear flare in her. She can only hope that
Lady Malys doesn’t see them. “And even if I didn’t, he’s always been capable of adding another
woman or man to our relationship if he wanted to. It’s something I have had ample opportunity to
make peace with.”

“But it is still a concern you harbor, yes? And. . . while you might find my suggestion repulsive,
there is something in it that excites you. The idea of having power and control.” She pauses, clearly
to increase the impact of her next question. “You’re not used to being in charge, are you?”

“I have little experience with that, you are correct.” There’s no point in denying it. It’s written
clearly over her history and demeanor, in the tattoos on her back and in every situation in which she
and Lady Malys have met.

“Mmmm. . .” The lady leans closer again, this time to play with a lock of Jian’s hair. “And what
about my other statements?”

She considers. “I could like having power, I think.” The exhilarating, adrenaline-fueled rush of
killing on the battlefield, the joy of climbing on top of Lynx to take control in the bedroom, even
the small moments where she has been able to use her position as nothing more than a slave to
manipulate others into thinking that she has no will or mind of her own. Those are all forms of
power, yes?

Their knees touch, now, and the lady runs her fingers along Jian’s cheekbone. She fights urge to
pull away as the lady speaks. “And the idea does excite you on some level. Even though your
current fear and revulsion eclipse it.”

Jian’s heart pounds. To her own shame, she’s not sure if it’s from the fear of what Lady Malys will
do to her, or from the ideas that the words plant in her head.

The confusion must show on her face, because Lady Malys breaks into a triumphant smile. “It’s
alright, dear. No one is going to force you to do anything you don’t choose to do. Come with me.”

Shakily, Jian obeys. She’s not sure if it’s her discomfort or the weakness that still lingers that steals
the strength from her legs, but either way, she’s almost grateful for Lady Malys’ hand resting on
her back to guide her forward. They walk along the center of the room, past conversation circles, a
fireplace, a small fountain, doors that lead to other rooms, and more artwork and luxury than Jian
can process. Finally, Lady Malys stops her at the far end of the space, in front of a window that
takes up the entirety of the back wall. The colors of the webway, eternally shifting in patterns that
Jian can’t comprehend, fill the view.

The lady’s hand slides down Jian’s back, brushing the tender, sensitive skin and sending sharp,
burning prickles up her spine. “So,” she says. “Why do you think you are here, then?”

“Well, whatever your reasoning is, you don’t want Valthiel to be here.” Jian’s mind races, looking
for more ways to stall while she gets her wits about her. Talking to Lady Malys is like trying to
balance on constantly shifting sand. Every time she thinks she knows how to conduct herself and
how the lady is trying to manipulate her, it changes.

Lady Malys laughs. “While that might be true, I can assure you that what Valthiel thinks of me is
fairly far down on my list of concerns at this point. But since you aren’t pleased with the first
option, you have two choices left. Hopefully one of those will be more to your taste.” The last
words are said with a smile that sends chills through Jian.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“No, I said that anything that happened would be your choice. You of all people should know that
happy endings are often impossible.”

Jian nods acknowledgement as any hope she might have had evaporates. Foolish, to think of this as
anything more than a play in whatever sick game Lady Malys is playing with her.

“I’m willing to bet that you would like to have your human pet accompanying you on your travels.
So I am giving you the option of going to your chambers back in Commorragh and properly
claiming her as your own. Alternatively, you can simply reunite with her on Valthiel’s ship, if
instead you stay here and spend the night with me.”

“And by claim, you mean?” Isha’s tits, why can’t she have more time?

“Either use pain and suffering to extract her soul so you can feed on it, or sleep with her as you
well and truly dominate every fiber of her being.” The words are flippant, almost bored.

“No!” Jian cries instantly. Only after the word has left her lips does she realize what she’s said no
to – and by extension, what she has accepted.

Lady Malys doesn’t respond right away, simply resting her hand on Jian’s shoulder as she turns to
look out at the warp. It’s clear she’s waiting for Jian to elaborate.

She takes a deep breath and tries to think. She doesn’t want to sleep with Lady Malys. No, she has
been afraid of being consumed by that void ever since she first laid eyes on the woman. But can
she go through with the alternative? If I were to go through with this, the void really would
consume me, wouldn’t it? Could she return from that? Would she be able to live with herself?

“No,” she whispers again, barely audible this time.

“No?” Lady Malys looks back from the infinity outside to watch Jian again. “Why? And what do
you choose, then?”

“No, I’m not – I’m not like you. I don’t enjoy causing pain to others. I choose to stay here.” And
please, do it quickly. I’m not certain I have the strength to hold to this course much longer.

“Hmmm. . . No, I do not think that is the reason at all. I think you refuse because you hate feeling
responsible for horrible things that happen to people who, in your mind, do not deserve it. You
would rather have those dear to you suffer greater harm, as long as they can’t blame it on you
personally.”

Anger flashes in Jian. How dare she? “As opposed to what? Being the one to directly hurt them
because it might be less awful later on?”

“Well, let us look at this objectively.” Lady Malys returns her gaze to the warp. “Illyria is going to
be a spectacle for my harlequins one way or another. Unless you harbor some truly disturbing
desires behind that sweet little face of yours, I’m sure what you do to her will be far less upsetting
than what anyone who decides to take advantage of the situation will do. Don’t you agree?”

She draws Jian to her as she continues speaking, until they are in an intimate embrace. “Your
human next. She could have a pleasurable night with you, her will broken but her body and
emotions soothed. It will be somewhat traumatic for her, of course, but I’m certain you could lead
her through it. Or. . . She could have several of my men burst into her room to apprehend her,
dragging her in chains through the city and up to your ship, where she will sit in a holding cell,
waiting with no explanations until you come to collect her. So it sounds like in both cases, you
have chosen a route that would cause considerably more pain. But at least they will not blame you
for it, right?”

Jian pulls back, trying to extricate herself from Lady Malys’ embrace, but finds herself effortlessly
held fast. Gods, the woman is strong. “Would it not cause them pain to see me every day after
that? To always be reminded of what I did to them?”

“I think that whatever you choose, scars will be left on all of you. That is often the nature of
change. But the difference is that my way sees those scars inflicted by you, an external source for
their suffering and shame. Meanwhile, the choice you have made for them gives no meaning for
their pain, and thus, they will be forced to turn inward, to self-hatred and fear as their illusion of
safety has been lost.”

This, at least, is easy to counter and Jian has to stop herself from snorting. “More likely, they would
just be aimed at you.”

“Perhaps. I know that yours will, at least, and I am prepared to live with that. Do you know why?”
Lady Malys drains the rest of her glass and tosses it aside, letting it shatter on the floor. “Because if
you want to enact change, you have to be willing to embrace the blame. Anyone with the ability to
make choices, to lead and push for their vision of the future to come true will always be the villain
in someone’s narrative. That’s simply the way it is. And until you are ready to embrace that, you
will not be able to attain any level of power, no matter how noble your purpose.”

“You seem happy to cause as much hurt as you can along the way, though.”

Instead of laughing, Lady Malys grows quiet, moving her hand back up to stroke Jian’s face again.
“My dear,” she says softly. “We are the Eladrith Ynneas. Pain and suffering is how we survive.”

“Why are you so bent on trying to convince me of this?” Even now, she is no one against the broad
scale of Commorragh. Why should the archon of such a powerful kabal as the Poisoned Tongue
give a single thought to what she thinks?

To Jian’s surprise, Lady Malys doesn’t have a glib answer ready. She looks away, seeming almost
uncomfortable. But the moment is gone almost as quickly as it came and when she turns back, the
feline smile is back on her face. “Let us just say that I once found myself in a similar position as
yours, and I cannot help but sympathize. I want to help you reach your full potential, especially
since it’s unlikely I’ll ever have children of my own.”

“You want a surrogate daughter?” Not only is this completely unexpected, it doesn’t even sound
plausible.

Lady Malys shakes her head. “I prefer to think of it as a relationship between a mentor and an
apprentice. If you will let me.”

Jian looks down, considering. The fear that’s grown in her heart is mixed with confusion. What the
lady is saying makes sense, too much sense. But in her heart of hearts, it still feels wrong. It is
wrong, even if she can’t talk her way out of the labyrinth of clever words and false choices
presented to her. “Alright. Fine. Take me if you want, I still don’t want to ‘claim’ Illyria. Or
Jaeden.”

Immediately, Lady Malys lets her go, stepping back as though Jian is hot enough to burn her. Her
voice is completely flat as she speaks. “Very well, then. Make me want you.”

Jian isn’t sure if she’s going to laugh, cry, or vomit. She has to make the lady want her?
Mechanically, she pulls the dress from her shoulders, moving it slowly down her body. The silken
fabric brushes across her skin softly, lower, lower, exposing her to the waiting, critical eyes of Lady
Malys.

But as the dress hits her waist, something changes in her mind. This is her choice. She’s not a
hapless victim, not the scared, shivering child who entered the Kabal of the Ashen Rose for the
first time two and a half years ago. She is a warrior, trained in the arts of sword and poison by
some of the finest teachers the kabal has to offer. She is the lover of an archon, survivor of battles
and of hardships, and she is doing this so that others may be spared.

This is an act of power.

Although her eyes remain open, it is not Lady Malys and the luxury suite that she sees before her,
but Lynx, standing in her cabin, arms crossed as she watches Jian critically. Move slowly, draw out
each moment. Allowing your target to imagine what’s coming is almost as important as giving it to
them.

The dress finds its way to the floor and Jian stands naked in front of her opponent. The lady
approaches and Jian steps forward to meet her.

Jian has no idea how long it lasts. Lady Malys takes the lead rapidly, pinning Jian to the floor, the
bed, the couch as she wrings every bit of pleasure from her body. At first, Jian tries to counter her
and turn the assault into a mutual dance, but soon her resolve falters and she can only lie there, eyes
closed and begging silently for it to end.

After what must be hours, it does. Jian lies in the bed where they ended up, fighting back tears,
until she feels like she can move again. With everything that has happened, I am right back where I
started.

She doesn’t get as much time as she likes, though. Lady Malys sits up in the bed, examining the
color of her fingernails as she tosses Jian a small key with her free hand. “Go on. Your work here is
done, and I’m sure the farseer is too. Why don’t you two go find your lover and relieve some of his
anxiety?”

Jian climbs out of bed, fighting to still the trembling in her limbs. Her dress is still lying on the
floor where she left it, wrinkled but undamaged. She puts it on and makes her way out of the suite.

She wanders aimlessly down the hall, too tired and overwhelmed to think about Illyria or Valthiel
or Jaeden yet. Eventually, she finds an unoccupied lounge and enters.

As soon as the door closes behind her, she sinks to the floor and sits, curled up on the rug with her
head between her knees. Everything aches, but not with a physical pain. Lady Malys was far
gentler than she is used to; she doubts she will even have many bruises when tomorrow comes. Yet
not since her earliest days in Commorragh has she felt so thoroughly helpless, so completely caught
in the power of another aeldari.

A single sob rips from her, but no tears come and she clamps down on the emotion before it can go
further. There will be time to grieve for whatever it is that she’s lost later on. Instead, she waits,
focusing on her breathing and trying to find the calm center that she looks for in combat.

And she finds it, hidden away somewhere. This was a mission, a task. A successful one, at that.
She has diverted Lady Malys’ interest from corrupting her and, with a bit of luck, will be able to
avoid seeing her again for a while.

Jaeden’s face floats before her, her maid’s expression changing from excitement to curiosity and
back to happiness so quickly, as the mon’keigh do. If Jian had not made her choice, she would have
spoiled their relationship and taken the light from Jaeden’s eyes. A night of discomfort was well
worth it. And as for Ilyria, she can’t imagine finding it within herself to hurt her like that. She has
made the right choice and, knowing that, she can endure until this is only a mildly unpleasant
memory.

When she’s certain that she’s ready, she stands up, still tired from the long night’s effect on her
weakened body. Slowly and deliberately, she washes her face, straightens her dress, and runs her
fingers through her hair. The results aren’t quite enough to make her look put-together and tidy like
she would prefer, but at least she feels better.

Jian turns to leave, but before she can, she catches sight of her back in the mirror. The white rose
tattooed on her back has become so familiar by now that it barely registers, but the new expansions
draw her eye. It’s the first time she’s had a chance to look at the work Lynx has done.

The rose remains, but now, a green snake wraps around its stem, almost life-like in its detail. Jian
can see how it moves and ripples with her muscles and the way its eye seems to follow the viewer.
Surrounding it is a field of clear, cold blue and silver-grey, twisting in a pattern that almost
resembles the warp, until it fades out just above her buttocks and near her shoulders. At first, she
thinks that it’s merely background decoration, but as she moves, she catches a fleeting glimpse of
something hidden in the design. Twisting and bending for a few minutes reveals the face of
Cegorrach, laughing as always, hidden in the colors.

Jian sighs. It could have been worse, it could have been far worse, but still the sight depresses her.
It reminds her of when the rose was originally set, of how much despair and violation she felt, the
indignity of having her form permanently altered for another’s whim. Even now, she realizes, the
design has little to do with her. If that was the case, Lady Malys would have chosen to mark Jian
with something far easier to see, and likely it would cause pain or at least inconvenience long after
something like this tattoo will have healed.

No, she realizes, that piece of theater was aimed at Valthiel. A reminder, every time he sees her
naked, that Lady Malys owns them both now. Whether in wild sexual conquests or a relaxing bath,
she will be there in their most intimate moments.

Anger flares in her, a hot wrath that presses in her chest. How could she have even thought about
listening to this woman, someone who would use others like this. Use her like this.

It also raises more fears, pushed aside in her focus on her own immediate troubles. She has been in
Lady Malys’ medical bay for days. What has she been doing to Valthiel in the meantime?

She quickens her pace, eager to collect Illyria and go to him. One of Lady Malys’ guards gives her
directions without difficulty and she soon finds herself entering another lounge area. This one
seems to be styled more like a bar than a sitting room. Seating is clustered around tables and a long
counter with racks of spirits behind take up most of the room, while a stage fills the far end.

Despite her initial worries, the lounge is empty apart from Illyria. The harlequins must have
already finished with her and left. Now, she sits alone on the stage, curled into a ball much as Jian
was recently.

“Illyria?” Jian calls as she cautiously makes her way toward her.

“Go away,” Illyria replies without looking up. She’s still nude, her hair disheveled. Most of the
injuries seem to be gone from her body, but it’s clear that she’s still upset. Jian doesn’t blame her.

“Illyria, it’s me, Jian.” She reaches her and sits beside her on the edge of the stage. “Are you ready
to go?”

At that, she sits up and looks at Jian. The faint remains of tears streak her face, but the imperious
expression quickly resets itself. “Ah, it’s you. By ‘go’ do you mean go to meet Valthiel and leave
this gods-forsaken city once and for all? Or does Aurelia have another torment in mind for me?”
“No,” Jian says, feeling slightly annoyed. There’s no need to speak to her like she’s an idiot. “This
ship is docked with Valthiel’s. We should be able to leave as soon as you and I are on board.”
Illyria, she notices, still wears the collar she had around her neck when they rescued her from Lord
Ordai.

“Well, then,” Illyria continues in the same commanding tone. “Take me there at once.”

“I’m not your servant.” Jian’s voice comes out sharper than she intended. “There is no need to treat
me like one.”

“But you’re Valthiel’s servant, aren’t you? You still carry his mark on your back.”

“Not anymore. I am as free as you are.”

Illyria merely exhales through her nose. For a moment, the two women stare at each other, tense,
wary.

Then Jian sighs. If the two of them are going to be traveling together for a while, there is no point
in hostility. And Illyria has been through far worse than she has; some defensiveness is only
natural. “Would you like me to remove that collar for you?” she says in a softer tone.

“Yes, I would.” She seems to have recognized the offer for the peacemaking gesture it was
intended to be. “But perhaps I should do it. My father’s restraints have been keeping me from
accessing the warp for years; you should stand back in case I cannot control myself once the last of
them is gone.”

Nodding, Jian steps further away and watches Illyria remove the metal circle from her neck.
Nothing at first seems to happen, but it’s clear that something is taking place. Illyria’s face takes on
a strained expression and the air fairly crackles with strange energy that sets every nerve in Jian’s
body on high alert. A breeze that wasn’t present before swirls at their hair, and then, just as
suddenly as it started, disappears.

Illyria frowns. “I believe I have regained my control somewhat, but I would benefit from some
additional time to solidify my hold. Would you retrieve me some clothing while I do so?” After a
pause, she adds “. . . Please?”

She’s trying, Jian tells herself. Illyria has been a prisoner for a long time; her pride was probably all
she had to cling to.

“And Jian?” Illyria’s voice stops her as she turns to leave.

“What?”

“Thank you.” Illyria pauses. “For, um. For everything.”

Jian acknowledges her with a nod and hurries away to find some clothes.

In the end, this proves fairly simple as well. Jian flags down a guard, who obliges her in retrieving
a long robe that should suffice to cover Illyria for the moment. The farseer accepts the garment and
puts it on without comment and together, they leave the room and make their way out of Lady
Malys’ ship.

Jian can only hope it’s for the last time.

Ayslinn meets them as they board the ship. Armed and armored, she looks thinner, paler, and more
worn than Jian last saw her, but her strong posture and the set of her mouth remain unchanged.
Before Jian can say anything, Ayslinn wraps her in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” is all Jian can say as she hugs back.

Ayslinn nods into her shoulder. There is nothing else to say. They stand together for a moment,
Jian’s happiness at seeing a friend again warring with her desire to share in the sorrow, until she is
conscious of Illyria’s impatient gaze on her. After another few moments, she breaks the embrace.
“I’m sorry to leave you so quickly, but Valthiel must be horribly worried about us. Would please
do me a favor while I go to him?”

“Of course,” Ayslinn replies. “What do you need?”

“My servant Jaeden was brought aboard by the Poisoned Tongue sometime last night. She should
be in a holding cell somewhere. Would you find her, make sure she’s alright, and explain what has
taken place since I left before taking her up to my new quarters?” Wherever they are.

“Of course. I’m glad to see you’re alright, Jian. Please, give Valthiel my regards.” Ayslinn departs
with a last, sad smile.

Illyria is already moving off and Jian hurries to catch up. Although the ship itself is strange to her –
she assumes that it must be his old corsair ship, pulled from storage to once again be used – she
knows enough about their general layout and about Valthiel to find his quarters fairly quickly.

But she hesitates when she reaches them. She’s not sure if it’s the shame and fear of what
happened to her with Lady Malys, or if it’s the fact that there was a moment when the drukhari
woman’s words had almost convinced her. Either way, she feels as though something has changed
in her.

Before she can fully work through her feelings, Illyria steps forward to open the door, forcing her
out of her mind and into the present. Jian enters alongside her and looks around.

The room’s furnishings remind her oddly of Lady Malys’s residence, although smaller and less
grand. Thick carpets cover the floor and artwork and trophies that Jian assumes come from his
travels decorate the walls. The residence is a single large space with a massive, curtained bed at
one end, moving to eating and living areas in the middle and ending at a desk facing a bank of
windows that look out on the webway. It seems cozy. A place she could get used to visiting.

Valthiel sits cross-legged on the desk, drinking from a bottle of golden liquor as he stares out at the
view. At the sound of their entrance, he turns to look for the source. All of Jian’s worries are
forgotten as he vaults over the desk and races toward her and she runs to meet him, heart suddenly
pounding.

They collide and he picks her up, spinning her around before bringing her in close to rest against
his chest as he buries his face in her hair. “I was so worried about you,” he says.

“I – I’m alright, I think. ” It doesn’t sound convincing, even to her. “Or at least I will be.” That, she
thinks, is closer to the truth. Already, being away from Lady Malys, seeing Ayslinn and now being
safe in his arms, it helps the memories of the night before fall away.

Valthiel squeezes her tight and nods. He understands.

“Are you alright?” she asks, looking up at him. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his
eyes and hair more gray than silver. When was the last time he slept?
“I am now. I know Aurelia’s medical capacity is equal to our own, but Derfahn said you were
barely alive when he found you and until I could see your face again, I couldn’t be sure. . . ”

“I should probably thank him,” Jian says. “But I don’t want it to go to his head.”

He chuckles as he brushes the hair back from her face and kisses her forehead. Then, he looks up at
the third person in the room. “Illyria, I – “

She smiles a bittersweet smile as she approaches him. “I should thank you. Words alone cannot
describe the enormity of what you have done for me; I will remember the risks and sacrifices for
the rest of my life, I am certain. And while I’m not sure yet of how I can offer my support and
loyalty as part of your crew, I am confident that ours will again be a productive partnership.”

Sighing, Valthiel offers her a hand, still keeping the other one around Jian. “I know it may not be
the freedom you or I intended, but I hope that it will be an improvement, at least.”

“It will have to do for now,” Illyria says, but she is still smiling as she says it.

Jealousy flares up in Jian, the longing to have Illyria gone forever, back on her craftworld where
she’ll never have to bother her again. But she tries to clamp down on it, remind herself that they’ll
be traveling together for a long time and she should try to build bridges, not burn them. “Would
you like to have something to eat with us?”

Illyria shakes her head. “No thank you. I cannot remember the last time I had a bath or time alone,
and I would very much like to have both as soon as possible. I’m sure I will see you soon, though.”

“Of course,” Valthiel says. “I’ll have someone show you to the rooms I had set aside for you.”

As soon as Illyria leaves, he wraps himself around Jian again. His hands shake and she can only
wonder if it is merely the worry and exhaustion or if he, too, had to endure a night with their new
mistress. “I’m sorry, Jian. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And while I cannot say I’m
unhappy to be leaving the dark city behind, I wish that it had been under different circumstances.
For us both.”

“Indeed.” There’s nothing else to be said. Fate has taken them where it will, and despite the long,
painful night with Lady Malys, she feels that she has a better understanding of the woman’s mind
that she did before. It quelled the edge of her nervousness, at least.

For a long time they simply stand there, together in an embrace, the only sound the soft rustle of
their breathing. The peace and relative safety calms her, and her mind begins to turn to the future.
Despite all the worries and unknowns, she can feel the life of a corsair calling to her. Adventure,
travel, the thrill of exploring new worlds and ones long lost, fighting all manner of strange
creatures and filling their ships with treasure and resources and the lost artefacts of their people.
Perhaps fate is not always harsh.

She looks up. Valthiel’s eyes have regained some of their sparkle and he smiles fondly at her.
“Shall we face the galaxy head on, my treasure?”

“There’s nothing I would like more.”

****

The two aeldari stand together for hours, watching as their ship hurtles through the twisted tunnels
of the empyrean. Despite the hardships and traumas that still burden them, the cracks in their souls
that let buried pain drip through, it seems as though a weight lifts from both of their shoulders as
 Commorragh grows further away.

By the time the endless shifting colors of the webway are replaced with the glittering stars of an
unknown system, they are smiling as they walk hand and hand to take leadership of their new life.

Chapter End Notes

IT'S DONE.

First off, thank you so much to Ashilaa_A03 and TheLadyNovelist, who have been
beta reading this story and have been wonderful with providing hints and feedback.
The story *might* still have gotten finished without you, but it wouldn't have looked
the same for sure.

Also, I need to thank the readers, the support of all of you has made it much more fun
posting.

Finally, I need to thank my fiancé. This story originated in a roleplay that him and I
were doing together, and many of the major characters were mainly his creation. This
fic was in a way a love letter to him (although our relationship looks nothing like this,
lol), and thus it's very fitting that I'm here, posting the final chapter in the saga (for
now, at least) the night before our wedding. It feels like closing two major chapters in
my life (and opening another one) at the same time.

Speaking of new chapters, I've received several questions about if there will be a
sequel. My response for now is "maybe". I certainly have ideas about where I would
go from here, and how to answer most of the questions left ambiguous (how will
working for Aurelia work out for them? how will Jian deal with the increasing claim
of She Who Thirsts on her soul? what will become of Reena and Lynx? etc.) However,
I don't want to commit to doing so until I've done a lot more prep work, make certain
that said sequel actually adds to the world instead of just being self-indulgence and
that I have a strong plot that I'm happy with. I've also thought about doing a spinoff
involving Bealfor and Ayslinn's relationship development, but it's the same situation
there - I don't want to promise that it's going to happen until I'm sure the result is worth
it.

What I can promise is more fanfic of some kind. Almost certainly even more 40k
fanfic at some point. Now that I've gotten back into writing, I don't think I can stop, lol

Anyway, to wrap this up, please, tell me what you thought? Do you have any thoughts,
both on the chapter or overall? Do you think Aurelia is telling the truth about why
she's interested in Jian, and if not, what *is* her motive?

Thanks,

CleverMird!
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!