Page 32 of Between Soul and Vessel
He patted my arm. “You fought well.”
“You held up longer than I thought you would,” I acknowledged with a smirk, and although he wasn’t able to see it, he could hear it in my words.
“Fuck you,” he said with a laugh, wincing as he ran his hand over the damage I’d done to his ribs, a wound that wasalready starting to heal.
Servants walked up to us, exchanging weapons for towels.
As I began to dry myself, I felt compelled to glance at the far side of the room. There, sneaking through a back doorway into the atrium, was a priestess who was very,verylate tonight.
My heart drummed heavily in my chest—Avriel.
Her sparkling wine-colored eyes met mine, and she offered me the smallest and briefest of smiles before she forced herself to look away.
I was thankful for my mask, because I couldn’t help but return her smile. Not wanting to put her in danger, I retreated my attention back to the servant who had been speaking to me, although I missed the first half of what they said.Private chamberswas all I caught.
But I didn’t need to hear any more.
I knew the routine.
After every fight, the empress would always request that I return to her chambers. Thosevisits—something Aryx had warned me about—started when I was a young immortal, just a boy by human standards.
I stole one last glance at Avriel and etched her face into my mind, just as I had done hundreds of times before, holding on to her image as I left the atrium and prepared for the next task.
It was the one I hated most.
Shadow
Jasmine clogged my nostrils, reaching like hands down my throat, filling my lungs with its nauseating scent. I stood in the empress’s private chambers, beside a crackling fireplace, doing everything within my power not to toss myself into the flames.
Burning for the rest of eternity would be better thanthis.
I glanced at the sprawling canopy bed, the posts wrapped in silver-dusted filigree. Furs were draped over it—they looked so soft, so luxurious, but I knew that was a lie. The screams of a young boy sounded in my ears, and I forced myself to look away. I hated that bed. I hated this room. I hatedher—
The empress strode toward me, her hips swaying from side to side like a feline on the prowl, her sights set on me. “Do you like what you see?” she asked. The chains draped down her body swayed from side to side, catching on thefirelight as she moved.
“You are the epitome of my desire,” I lied, my voice a sensual purr despite the granite I felt weighing down my chest. With each passing second, the flames looked more and more inviting.
“Such pretty, pretty words,” she said with a breathy, playful laugh. She waved her hand, and in a swirl of soft light, a goblet appeared in it, which she raised to her mouth. As she drank, her lilac orbs watched me over the rim of the glass. Lowering it to her side, she nodded toward me. “Take off the mask. Let me see therealyou.”
I reached behind my head, unfastened the clasp, and took it off, tossing it onto the sofa.
Cool air swept across my skin. It felt so good just to be . . . free.
To not feel the hard, unforgiving mask clamped against my face. It was the only positive about coming here. The empress would often ask us to remove our masks, something we were only allowed to do when given her permission or if we needed to shave or wash our face or eat. With the iron mask no longer on, virgin powers filled my person—ones I knew next to nothing about, regardless of how badly I longed to.
But the rules were clear—unless you were female, a stygian forgemaster, or an Ashamori, magic was forbidden.
“How does that feel?” she asked, swirling her goblet.
“It feels incredible.” I gave her an honest answer, probably one of the only truthful things I would say tonight.
“Are you going to thank me?”
Thank her. . . Thanking her would be like thanking someone who had their foot on your throat and took it off for a brief moment, allowing you a few gulps of air.
She was thereasonmy nearly eradicated gender was forced to cover our faces.
I ignored centuries of pent-up anger and said, “Thank you.”
