Page 13 of Shadowbound

At last we come to a stop in front of another carved door, this one painted green with golden runes on it.

“This is where I sleep and bathe,” Sylvanna informs me. “I am trusting you—allowing you to enter where I am most vulnerable.”

I bow my head briefly.

“I have sworn an oath not to harm you. I won’t break it.” Then I look up, for the stairs we are on continue in a spiral past this door. “Where else do the stairs lead?” I ask her.

A smile twitches the corners of her lush mouth.

“At the very top of my tower lies my collection of magical artifacts. But you will not find The Heart of the Eclipse there.”

“What? Then where is it?” I demand, frowning.

“It presently resides in the City of Night, in the Queen’s own collection,” she tells him. “You’re going to help me retrieve it, but first you must be trained.”

“Why?” I demand. “Why can’t we just go get it now?”

“So impatient, my Paladin.” She shakes her head. “You cannot just go barging into the City of Night—it is surrounded by impenetrable warding spells to keep out interlopers and barbarians like yourself. Unless you wear my collar and tail and prove yourself to be trained to my service, you won’t be able to enter. And then there’s the matter of getting into the palace and from there, into the Queen’s private collection. None of that will be easy—it’s going to take subtlety and grace and right now you’re about as subtle as a firebrand exploding.”

I growl my discontent but I have to admit, it sounds nearly impossible to get to The Heart without her help. Or, I suppose, I’ll be the one helping her. But once we get it, I’m taking it back to the GodKing—I promise myself that.

If Sylvanna hears my thought, she says nothing about it. She only presses her palm to the green door, murmurs a few words, and it clicks open, allowing us to pass.

Within, her chambers are like the inside of a jewel box. The flagstone floor has been covered in rich and expensive looking carpets and the walls are hung with brightly colored tapestries. Even the ceiling is obscured by swaths of colorful silk, artfully draped to hide the bare stones.

Her furniture is plush and low to the ground—a wide velvet couch made of deepest purple sits against one wall. Her bed is grander than anything I’ve seen—even in the GodKing’s Citadel. It’s a raised platform with a thick mattress and I don’t believe it’s stuffed with straw or even heather. Maybe it’s full of feathers of some kind.

It has four carved wooden posts and it looks big enough even for a male my size to stretch out comfortably. Because of my size, I’ve never been able to fully extend my legs without hanging over the edge of any bed I sleep in—not since I got my full growth, anyway.

I wonder if I’ll be allowed to sleep with her—wouldn’t that be strange? I’ve never had a woman in my bed before. Aside from the fact that the Holy Fire within me burns anyone who touches me, I have been told over and over by the priests of the Citadel that my power comes from my Purity. Which is yet another reason, I try not to practice self-abuse. Nothing must impede The Celestial Fire.

To my surprise, Sylvanna produces a stand for me to hang my armor on. I am currently wearing just my breeches and my tunic and carrying the rest.

After I place my armor, she bids me to disrobe.

“Come—I want you naked,” she says.

My heart leaps and I remind myself that I mustn’t give in to the lust she engenders inside me.

Sylvanna gives me a knowing look.

“Don’t worry—I simply need to bathe you before you can take your oath,” she tells me.

Warily, I strip my clothes and stand naked before her for the second time. I have no shame about my body—I am heavily muscled and also heavily scarred. The muscles are from the hours and hours of sword practice and combat. The scars are from my earliest training and my many, many punishments. Some are also self-inflicted—pain is the way I raise the Celestial Fire.

“So many scars,” Sylvanna murmurs as she circles around me, taking me in completely. “I see whip marks here…” She traces her fingertips over my back, causing me to shiver at her touch.

“I was a very willful child,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse. “The Sisters of Chastisement had to punish me often.”

“Yes, I remember seeing that in your memories. Sister Beatrice was especially cruel, I believe,” she murmurs.

I have nothing to say to that, though I feel my cheeks heating with shame.

“Don’t worry, Alaric—I won’t judge you,” she murmurs. “You were a child—you couldn’t help what was done to you.”

“Nothing was done that I didn’t deserve,” I say staunchly.

“Oh? Then what are these markings? They look like burn scars…or brands.”

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