Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“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.”
She touches a sensitive spot and I nearly bolt away from her—I swear it takes all my strength to hold still instead of shaking off her hand and running.
“Alaric?” She comes around to face me, her eyes uncertain. “What are those markings? I can feel your trepidation but I can’t see anything.” She touches the jewel at her temple but this time it doesn’t pulse.
“They are…from my early training,” I mumble, looking away.
“They are burns aren’t they? But you’ve blocked them out so thoroughly, you don’t even remember how you got them.” Sylvanna shakes her head. “It’s all right—I won’t touch them if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t,” I say stiffly. I feel like my whole body is reacting to her words…her touch. I’m not used to this kind of stimulation or this level of scrutiny. It’s fucking uncomfortable.
“It’s all right,” she murmurs, petting my arm the same way I might pet a skittish horse. “Be calm, my Paladin. Let’s forget about the past and look to the future. For now I must bathe you so that you may take your oath.”
“I bathed just before our battle,” I tell her.
“Yes, I know—I watched you,” is her reply. “But now I am going to bathe you with my own hands. It’s part of the ritual—the Oath of Submission—which you’ll be taking. By bathing you, I am claiming you as my own.”
I don’t know how I feel about “belonging” to her, but it’s pretty clear this is my only path to The Heart of the Eclipse. So I have little choice.
“Come,” she says and leads me through another doorway into the bathing chamber.
7
Sylvanna
I watch as Alaric looks around my chamber, his eyes wide. I can finally see their color—they are as blue as the cloudless, sunny sky in Solaris. Quite beautiful, actually. They don’t glow like mine of course—he has no need of the special magic we NightBorn have developed to see in the dark of our continuous night. But they are still lovely.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding at the sunken bathing pool I have in the center of the room. It’s large enough for two—even if one of them is as big as my new Blood-servant.
“That is where I shall bathe you,” I tell him.
Leaning down, I tap the metal faucet and murmur a spell. At once, warm water comes gushing out and begins to fill the round stone enclosure. This was one of my mother’s greatest achievements when she built this tower and it was copied in the City of Night in the Queen’s own palace.
Alaric’s eyes grow even wider as he watches the pool fill.
“How is this achieved? What witchcraft calls the water?”
“No witchcraft—this is what we call ‘indoor plumbing,’” I tell him. “I do use some magic to heat the water, but the rest is purely mechanical. My mother, who was a great inventor as well as a great sorceress, devised the system.”
“It’s amazing,” he murmurs.
“It’s extremely soothing—especially after a long day and a hard battle,” I assure him.
He scowls.
“I didn’t even get a chance to battle you before your fucking shadow magic overcame me.”
“Language please,” I say, raising an eyebrow at him. “And you need not feel bad about being bested by me—your magic is uncontrolled and chaotic while I’ve had a lifetime to hone my craft. Until you can learn to control and channel your power, you haven’t a hope of defeating someone who can.”
He frowns and I’m waiting for him to claim again that he doesn’t have “magic”—that he’s just powerful because he’s “God-touched.” But instead he says,