Finger curled, the general caught me beneath the chin. Tilting my gaze to meet his. And Goddess, how I wished the look in his eyes was unreadable. Wished I couldn’t see the depravity for what it was… that the Eidolon could silence theknowingas it had silenced everything else, as it had spared me fromfeelingthe sickness I could see writhing behind General Tilcot’s murky eyes.
Clearing her throat, the High Priestess pulled the ancient, shriveled Lotus from its place on the shelf, and said, “The Flourishing, sir?” Letting the clay pot scrape against her desktop as she pushed it toward me.
The general hummed, neither releasing me nor breaking eye contact. Licking his lips. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“I… I thought I had been summoned… to…” Blinking, I shook my head, fighting the wash of infectious apathy creeping up my arm, for in my haze, it appeared as if my veins weren’t flush with molten gold as they had been on the field… but… stained with blackest pitch, inching closer to my heart. In one moment, spiders twisted and flicked beneath my skin, spinning webs ofnothing,but an instant later? Perfectly twisted flesh the same pink and angry red I’d had since the Fall. “… thought I was here… to… to make the vines grow? Like… like they did last time.”
The general exhaled, sour breath whispering over my cheeks. “Just the picture of innocence today, aren’t you? Such a change from the demon in the baths of last night. Or the willful slave on the field, stealing an Elite weapon and igniting conflict with the Rebels. Conflict that is sure to be bloody, I might add.” He thrust me back, setting the base of my spine against the cluttered desk. Fitting his hips against mine. “Did he coach you, hmm?”
The Eidolon clinked against the hardwood as I braced, fingers scrambling to find the desk’s edge in my effortnotto hurl my knee into his groin. “C-Coach me?”
“Did my dearest cousin tell you what it would be like when you belong to me? Did he tell you everything you need to do to help him keep you?”
I shook my head, glancing at the High Priestess’ blotchy, white face. “I don’t—”
“He’ll say anything to avoid the inevitable, I imagine,” he continued, stroking the hair back from my face. “Of course, I suppose I can’t blame the man. Trials are such lengthy, bothersome things, aren’t they?”
Ice splashed down my spine, potent enough to overpower the Eidolon, if only for a moment. “What?”
“Mhm. Yes, but don’t fret. I have no use for such a colossal waste of time and resources.” Pausing, he pressed his thumb to my lower lip, peeling it back to expose my teeth. Daring me to shorten the digit down to the first knuckle. “Though, now that I think of it, I suppose Asher may be more opposed to theconsequencesof losing his Priestess than actually losingyou. A rather homely, damaged little thing, aren’t you?”
“M-My scars are—”
“And that boydoesenjoy his luxuries.” Tilcot smirked. “I expect you’ll do just fine as a breeder. Especially,” he continued, tangling his meaty hand in my silver-blonde mane, “if the sire is of high quality.”
“Don’t… don’t touch me. Please. You don’t…” Vision sparkling, I clutched at the general’s forearm and tried again. “The captain said… by law you can’t—”
“Ah, thelaw,”Tilcot drawled, pressing his nose to my scalp. Inhaling. “So open to interpretation, isn’t it? Laying hands on a bound Priestess is strictly forbidden, it’s true. But”—he grinned, the heat of his over-large body covering me from the nose down—“who among us will tattle, hmm? I certainly won’t say a thing. And my Sasha is such a well-trained, eager fuck-puppet, aren’t you? It’ll be our little secret.”
“No…” I swallowed, fixating on the steady thrumming pulse at the base of his throat. Itching to tear the Eidolon from my wrist andfinallybe done with this pest.“No.”
“Mm. Lucky for you, I don’t need permission. Not from a slave.” He grinned, collecting my scarred hand with a sneer of disgust. Seeming not to care for the humble band of leather that would either send me to the Void, or condemn me to a life of eternal slavery—he flipped my wrist, inspecting the binding.
“My Lord Tilcot,” the High Priestess began, taking a step, face pale beneath the bruises. Palm raised as if to ward off a dangerous animal. But her hooded gaze was focused on…me. “The Flourishing. Please, we must—”
“Yes, yes,” the general said, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Let’s get to your bloody Flourishing.” He stepped back, allowing me to stumble free of the pinch between his hips and the desk, gasping.
Trembling, I met the High Priestess’ battered gaze and wrapped my free hand around the Eidolon. Pressing it deeper into my wrist. Hoping it would be enough to choke the dark petals.
“Alright, dear. Just as before. Touch the Lotus, just there. And—”
A large, rough hand settled between my shoulder blades, pressing my chest toward the desk, hands braced on scuffed wood. “Don’t mind me,” the general cooed, and calloused fingers slid up my back, working at the knot holding my simple dress together. “I’m sure I’ll find some way to amuse myself. Get on with your Flourishing.”
“S-Sir,” the High Priestess stammered. “She must not be interfered with. It—it could affect the outcome, as you are already bound to me.”
He paused, abandoning the ties at my nape to grab at my hips. Pressing the growing bulge in his trousers to my backside. “You mean to say the girl couldappearTrila-Glís, even if she isn’t? The flower is that sensitive, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” the High Priestess replied, voice stronger now. Confident. “Mila is Triloth, and as I am Trila-Glís, my power far outstrips hers. In fact,” she said, “you may have already affected the outcome of this Flourishing. As I said yesterday, this ceremony was a rite of passage for our people. A week of quiet reflection in solitude, followed by cleansing of—”
Tangling his fist in my hair, the general wrenched my head back. “Then I’ll have to be sure to touch her a little…deeperto ensure it blooms, won’t I?”
“It—mylord—”
I almost laughed. This wasn’t about the Flourishing or my Truth, had nothing to do with the suspicion that I was more than I appeared to be, because Asher was right. General Tilcot meant to haveme.
“Perception,” I rasped. “The test. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care what I am,” I continued, straining for breath. “Only that enough doubt is cast to justify killing the captain. The perception of wrongdoing.”
“Nowthatis an outlandish accusation,” the general hummed, and, bypassing all subtly, gathered the front of my dress and tore it down the middle, exposing my chest.
