Chapter Four

In Which Orders are Issued, Power is Exchanged, and a Bond Snaps into Place

The cool water of the lake lapped at my naked feet and suddenly I realized how much larger than me Orcus was. To a human, I was a giant, towering over them. I'd grown so used to being in the position of power that I was entirely unfamiliar with the vulnerability I felt next to him.

His hand though, was sure and steady, gently leading me deeper until the light linen dress I wore clung to my body.

"This is a good location. Peaceful," he noted. "Your body should be well protected here, though your mind will be with me."

"Yes," I whispered. I knew some of what to expect. We'd negotiated certain aspects of my captivity, some he'd insisted upon, a timeframe rather than an indefinite period, for example, and some that had been my idea, like ensuring there was a focus on my pain being productive.

We hadn't discussed what exactly I would endure, instead, we'd discussed a framework in which to work. Those I'd harmed by assigning them to the forces of evil had not had a choice as to what pain they'd receive by my orders. Orcus hadn't had a choice as to what pain he'd been forced to inflict. Even now, I wondered if he had a choice in this.

Soft fingers tipped with claws settled on my shoulders, and with a gentle nudge, he indicated that I should lie back. Vaguely, I was aware of how the wet dress clung to me, sheer with the water. I wanted to cover myself, lest he see my form. It was a silly worry, a silly realization. My body could appear however I liked, and it was not as if he was unfamiliar with the human form.

I floated atop the water, seeing past the craggy ceiling of the cavern, the stalactites that hung there, to the valley I'd created beyond. Out there, I knew, the villagers, my protectors, huddled in their thatched roof houses, were eating a somber feast in my honor. Their prayers, and their attention, would aid Orcus in harnessing my own power to initiate my ritual.

My own power would keep me bound, and once he held it, I'd speculated that I'd not be able to regain it unless he relinquished it. Closing my eyes, I cast my mind out, checking the many wards I'd put in place.

The barrier, spanning the globe, would separate the peoples of magic from the humans. And the bubble over my valley, that regulated not only passage in and out, but their environment, granting them a temperate climate instead of the harsh polar weather. All of it was in place. Orcus and I were positioned at the exact magnetic north of my planet, harnessing the very fabric of magic I'd used to craft the world for our work. It was not easy, what I'd asked him to do, though he was nearly my equal in power—I'd made him to be my match, after all—our powers did not mix easily, and this would take both.

Once I was settled, arms floating out from my body, Orcus slipped his hands up through my hair to cradle my head.

"Open, princess," he prompted.

Perhaps someday, following his orders would be simple, something I'd do without thought, but that order, so deceptively simple, initiated an internal battle fiercer than any he and I had ever waged. Tentatively at first, I reached my power toward him, the blue green of my magic appearing around me as tendrils. I focused on opening myself to him, on connecting. Another part of me, however, a baser, and perhaps more powerful part, resisted, whipping the tendrils of power away from him.

I was a god. I'd created this world, and him with it. What was more, I'd created him to be my opposite, my exact balance, and my very nature rebelled at the notion of offering myself to him. What we were doing disrupted the natural order I'd created so carefully. But that was the entire point, so I struggled.

With effort, I harnessed my power. Vaguely, I was aware of his hands wiping sweat from my brow and massaging my temples. I lost track of time, and eventually there was nothing but the feeling of his hands where they grounded me, and the battle within. I'd fought Orcus for years, wielding my powers against him, and it was not ready to be mastered by him. He wiped tears from my eyes and hummed to me when I wailed, my screams echoing through the cavern. He never spoke past the initial command. He could feel, I think, the struggle within me.

It was a test of endurance in the end, that of my will against the magic I held. For perhaps the first time ever, I proved myself worthy of the power I'd been granted as my birthright. When my power's resistance finally broke, it flowed out of me, rushing to fill what it saw as the empty vessel that was Orcus. What I failed to expect was the corresponding rush of Orcus's magic, and how it flowed back into me. Where my magic was vibrant and energetic, nearly bursting out of me with its exuberance, his was slow and intentional, molasses weeping out to impart its rich, deep flavor. It was dark, of course, but I was surprised to find how it didn't suffocate me.

It filled me, seeping into the space opened by the absence of my own, and somehow finding crevices that I hadn't even known existed within me.

In the space of a few seconds, they settled, the initial rush of the power exchange slowing to a churning equilibrium. Our magics danced inside me, inside him, between us, a slow, swirling mass of the purest power. I could feel them both. I held them both, and I opened my eyes with a gasp, blinking his face into focus.

During the time I'd fought my battle, I'd imagined Orcus would be annoyed at the length, but now his mouth fell open, and his hands trembled where they held me. A tentative touch brushed along my magic, gently nudging it to replace the light of the lanterns in the room. Their fires snuffed out, replaced with a glowing teal light that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

"Mine," he whispered. A ghost of a smile crept onto his face, and his eyes sparkled with the reflection of my magic. I felt him explore it, explore me, with the softest touch—no, caress. His physical fingers slipped through my hair, cradling my scalp, the fingers of his magic skated over my body.

Perhaps it seemed odd, a goddess with knots, but I can assure you, I've plenty of stress, and each firm press felt like a revelation. With deft fingers, he was unraveling a thousand years of worries.

And yet, I knew what was to come. With each knot he teased out, a new one formed. The slow realization hit me... this was part of my torture, my punishment. He wanted me languid and pliable; to lull me into a sense of complacency so he could break me all the quicker. It was an odd realization, because it brought with it a sense of peace. After all the wrongs I'd committed, unwittingly or no, I would atone for my wrongs, emerging at the end with a new outlook, and hopefully, a people who'd forged their own path.

"Relax."

It was a command. One which he emphasized with his fingers and magic. I squeezed my eyes shut, dragging in a deep breath and willing myself to do so. After all, if I wanted to make things right, to truly atone for my wrongs, didn't I want to submit to his punishment? Didn't I want him to break me as quickly as possible? For a thousand years of war, people had died at my whim, waging a series of wars for my enjoyment at the triumph. It didn't matter that they'd all be reborn without my influence over the period of my sentence, they'd still experienced the pain I'd caused.

I wanted whatever he would bring me. Somewhere within, I craved it.

He was right; I was his.