Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 42
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“Father, she—” Elan started, but Jae interrupted him.
“Because if you so much as touch me, I will do to you the same as I did to Rannith.” She met his gaze with a stony glare, certain that he, alone among the Avowed, understood how insulting it had been to ask her a question.
“Do not threaten me, Closest,” he said. “You may think you have power, but you have no idea what I can do. You have no right to even speak to me.”
“You have no right,” Jae spat back, allowing the truth to spill freely from her lips. “You can lie to the Avowed, but I know the truth. Abandoning Aredann won’t change anything, because you can’t change anything. You say it takes great magic to change the Well’s flow—but you can’t.”
“Jae—” Elan started, but she ignored him.
“You don’t control the Well, and you never did,” she said. “It always belonged to me—to my ancestors. They crafted it, they controlled it, and I will use it to save Aredann.”
“Enough,” Elthis said. “Be silent, and I will be merciful.”
“Once Aredann is safe, I will break the Curse,” she continued, staring him down. “And I will show everyone the truth—that Aredann was the traitor, not Taesann, and that the Highest started the War.”
“No one will ever believe that,” Elthis said, but his bored expression had crumbled. He was glaring at her now, hatred etched in every line of his body.
“But you believe it,” she said. “You know it—know that the Highest were the usurpers, the rebels, the thieves and liars. You know—”
“Enough!” Elthis finally gave in to his fury, and in that moment she was certain she was right. Elan might not have known the truth about his caste, but Elthis did. He took a breath, but it was too late for him to pretend.
She smiled into the silence.
Elthis turned away from her entirely—and toward Tal. His voice was calm again when he finally spoke. “You, Closest—Tal. You are her brother, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Highest,” Tal said immediately, standing statue-still, Desinn’s hand still on his arm.
“Come here.”
Tal trotted over to him obediently, but his expression was wide-eyed with terror, and he winced away when Elthis produced a knife from his belt. The Curse wouldn’t let Tal go far, and he only fell a step back before stilling again, unable to move.
“What are you doing?” Jae demanded, gaze fixing on the knife. It had a long, sharp blade that glinted in the light as he turned it in his hand, until he was holding it by the blade, offering it to Tal.
“Proving a point. Tal, take this.”
Hand trembling, Tal reached out to take the knife from him, and his fingers closed around the hilt.
“Your hair.” Elthis nodded toward him. “Cut it off.”
Jae swallowed, her throat dry and her stomach dropping. Tal’s hands both shook as he pulled the twist of hair at the back of his neck taut and sawed into it with the knife. Tal’s hair was thick, and while the knife was sharp, it wasn’t made for this, especially not with the awkward angle he had to cut at. He sliced his hand on one stroke and gasped in pain, face screwed up in agony, but he couldn’t stop cutting until it was done and he held the knife in one hand and the severed clump of hair in the other.
Elthis gestured toward the corner. “You can wait over there now.”
Tal moved jerkily, the Curse carrying him while he still clutched the knife. He retreated to the corner and stood so still and scared that he didn’t even try to stop the bleeding. Trembling, Jae turned to face Elthis.
“It’s very simple, Closest,” he said, neutral expression dropping again. His voice was dark and loud, powerful and terrifying, like the one thunderstorm Jae could remember from her youth. “You may control magic, but I control your brother. You will do as I tell you, you will never speak a word of your mad story again, or the next order I give him will be to slit his own throat.”
Lady Shirrad gasped, hand going to her mouth. Elan stared, eyes wide and mouth open, his hand pressed to his shoulder. Even Desinn looked down at the floor. But Elthis’s gaze never wavered.
“Do you understand?” Elthis asked.
“Father—” Elan started, but Elthis silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
Jae looked over at Tal, whose eyes were wide, bright saucers in the dark. He was still trembling, still bleeding. Still holding the knife.
She could see it now, as if it was happening already. Tal was a genius at twisting orders, at interpreting them to meet his own ends in ways the Curse could never punish him for. But there would be no arguing with Elthis, no way around it. He would give a direct order, and Tal’s body would carry it out, no matter how much his mind screamed and rebelled. Without so much as a whimper, he’d draw the blade along his neck—
“Yes,” Jae whispered, staring at Tal. The righteous anger she’d felt burned out, a flame extinguished suddenly, replaced by the cold stones of terror she’d always known. “I understand.”
Elan didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t close his eyes to the sight, either. Tal stood in the corner, the hank of his hair in his bloody hand, the knife in his other. The blade gleamed, wisps of hair sticking to it. It was nothing, Tal was barely hurt, his hair shouldn’t matter. But his free will…
Elan was sick to his stomach. He knew Jae had been violated by Rannith, but that had been almost too much to think about. What Rannith had done was its own kind of evil, something Elan had thought was separate. It had happened because Rannith had been wrong in the head, not because Jae was a Closest. But this—the look of terror on Tal’s face, the silent plea in his eyes that he could never speak out loud, and the crushing, heavy knowledge that he was helpless. His death would be nothing to Elthis, but Tal himself wouldn’t be able to beg for his life, to say goodbye to Jae, to fight back. It was—it was horrific.
It was all the more so because Elan had never seen his father like this before. He’d never seen his father caught off guard, never seen his father let slip any hint of emotion he didn’t want the world to know about. His rage at Jae’s accusations was beyond anger at any insult. It had lasted only a heartbeat, but Elan had never seen his father look so murderous.
“Because if you so much as touch me, I will do to you the same as I did to Rannith.” She met his gaze with a stony glare, certain that he, alone among the Avowed, understood how insulting it had been to ask her a question.
“Do not threaten me, Closest,” he said. “You may think you have power, but you have no idea what I can do. You have no right to even speak to me.”
“You have no right,” Jae spat back, allowing the truth to spill freely from her lips. “You can lie to the Avowed, but I know the truth. Abandoning Aredann won’t change anything, because you can’t change anything. You say it takes great magic to change the Well’s flow—but you can’t.”
“Jae—” Elan started, but she ignored him.
“You don’t control the Well, and you never did,” she said. “It always belonged to me—to my ancestors. They crafted it, they controlled it, and I will use it to save Aredann.”
“Enough,” Elthis said. “Be silent, and I will be merciful.”
“Once Aredann is safe, I will break the Curse,” she continued, staring him down. “And I will show everyone the truth—that Aredann was the traitor, not Taesann, and that the Highest started the War.”
“No one will ever believe that,” Elthis said, but his bored expression had crumbled. He was glaring at her now, hatred etched in every line of his body.
“But you believe it,” she said. “You know it—know that the Highest were the usurpers, the rebels, the thieves and liars. You know—”
“Enough!” Elthis finally gave in to his fury, and in that moment she was certain she was right. Elan might not have known the truth about his caste, but Elthis did. He took a breath, but it was too late for him to pretend.
She smiled into the silence.
Elthis turned away from her entirely—and toward Tal. His voice was calm again when he finally spoke. “You, Closest—Tal. You are her brother, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Highest,” Tal said immediately, standing statue-still, Desinn’s hand still on his arm.
“Come here.”
Tal trotted over to him obediently, but his expression was wide-eyed with terror, and he winced away when Elthis produced a knife from his belt. The Curse wouldn’t let Tal go far, and he only fell a step back before stilling again, unable to move.
“What are you doing?” Jae demanded, gaze fixing on the knife. It had a long, sharp blade that glinted in the light as he turned it in his hand, until he was holding it by the blade, offering it to Tal.
“Proving a point. Tal, take this.”
Hand trembling, Tal reached out to take the knife from him, and his fingers closed around the hilt.
“Your hair.” Elthis nodded toward him. “Cut it off.”
Jae swallowed, her throat dry and her stomach dropping. Tal’s hands both shook as he pulled the twist of hair at the back of his neck taut and sawed into it with the knife. Tal’s hair was thick, and while the knife was sharp, it wasn’t made for this, especially not with the awkward angle he had to cut at. He sliced his hand on one stroke and gasped in pain, face screwed up in agony, but he couldn’t stop cutting until it was done and he held the knife in one hand and the severed clump of hair in the other.
Elthis gestured toward the corner. “You can wait over there now.”
Tal moved jerkily, the Curse carrying him while he still clutched the knife. He retreated to the corner and stood so still and scared that he didn’t even try to stop the bleeding. Trembling, Jae turned to face Elthis.
“It’s very simple, Closest,” he said, neutral expression dropping again. His voice was dark and loud, powerful and terrifying, like the one thunderstorm Jae could remember from her youth. “You may control magic, but I control your brother. You will do as I tell you, you will never speak a word of your mad story again, or the next order I give him will be to slit his own throat.”
Lady Shirrad gasped, hand going to her mouth. Elan stared, eyes wide and mouth open, his hand pressed to his shoulder. Even Desinn looked down at the floor. But Elthis’s gaze never wavered.
“Do you understand?” Elthis asked.
“Father—” Elan started, but Elthis silenced him with a wave of his hand.
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
Jae looked over at Tal, whose eyes were wide, bright saucers in the dark. He was still trembling, still bleeding. Still holding the knife.
She could see it now, as if it was happening already. Tal was a genius at twisting orders, at interpreting them to meet his own ends in ways the Curse could never punish him for. But there would be no arguing with Elthis, no way around it. He would give a direct order, and Tal’s body would carry it out, no matter how much his mind screamed and rebelled. Without so much as a whimper, he’d draw the blade along his neck—
“Yes,” Jae whispered, staring at Tal. The righteous anger she’d felt burned out, a flame extinguished suddenly, replaced by the cold stones of terror she’d always known. “I understand.”
Elan didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t close his eyes to the sight, either. Tal stood in the corner, the hank of his hair in his bloody hand, the knife in his other. The blade gleamed, wisps of hair sticking to it. It was nothing, Tal was barely hurt, his hair shouldn’t matter. But his free will…
Elan was sick to his stomach. He knew Jae had been violated by Rannith, but that had been almost too much to think about. What Rannith had done was its own kind of evil, something Elan had thought was separate. It had happened because Rannith had been wrong in the head, not because Jae was a Closest. But this—the look of terror on Tal’s face, the silent plea in his eyes that he could never speak out loud, and the crushing, heavy knowledge that he was helpless. His death would be nothing to Elthis, but Tal himself wouldn’t be able to beg for his life, to say goodbye to Jae, to fight back. It was—it was horrific.
It was all the more so because Elan had never seen his father like this before. He’d never seen his father caught off guard, never seen his father let slip any hint of emotion he didn’t want the world to know about. His rage at Jae’s accusations was beyond anger at any insult. It had lasted only a heartbeat, but Elan had never seen his father look so murderous.
