She shook her head, staring at the cloth of blood she held. “Hazan, this is – That is, I realize I made the decision to do this against your better judgment, but this is so much darker than I thought it would be – so much worse –”
“I did try to warn you,” he said, his eyes heavy.
“I know – I know you did –”
“You can still walk away. You’ve not yet accepted his oath. He will still suffer for a time, but not to the same degree.” He looked away. “But it’s cruel to leave him in agony like this. Even someone like him. Whatever you choose, you must make your decision now.”
There was no decision to make.
Alizeh could not walk away; she’d already made her choice. She’d already promised herself she’d stay the course, that she’d do what was best for her people – what was necessary to secure their future, their safety. She’d already argued this decision to its end, and she knew what she needed to do.
She simply wished she didn’t have to.
Shaking, she shook out the cloak, then whipped the heaving mass of it around her shoulders, where it settled and clung like a second skin, molding to the shape of her back. Her heart was frenzied now, beating so hard it was making her dizzy.She drew a deep, steadying breath, then turned her eyes to the man she would soon marry.
“Cyrus,” she whispered.
He gasped, his body seizing as some new pain assailed him, and then, with a suddenness that shocked her frozen limbs – the cloak melted into her body, flooding her veins with a rush of blood so potent she recoiled with fright.
The feeling soon settled into something altogether pleasurable, leaving her light-headed and steaming, unsteady on her feet. It was with a delicious relief that Alizeh felt as if she’d been set on fire. Her cheeks were hot, her head drowsed and heavy. It was surprisingly intimate, the feel of his blood in her veins, the fever of him now living inside her. She wondered whether this warmth would linger always, for the change within her had occurred with astonishing speed. It was as if something had been hooked inside her soul, tethering her to a heart whose beat she could almost feel. She knew without lifting her head exactly where Cyrus hung in the air above her. She knew that, no matter where he went, she could walk a path to him blindly.
“Your Majesty?” said Hazan, watching her closely. “Are you –”
There was a violent sound, like a gust of wind, and without warning Cyrus was released from his bonds, his limp body hitting the bloodied floor so hard the horriblecrackechoed all around them. Like a desperate moth, his black shroud fluttered as it fell with him, cloaking his naked figure.
Alizeh drew a sharp breath.
She imagined she could feel the pulse of him inside her, the heat of his blood pumping in her veins. She moved toward him with rising fear, not knowing who she’d discover when he opened his eyes.
Hazan, Huda, and Kamran closed ranks steadily behind her, the four of them cautiously approaching his fallen body.
Only his face and part of one shoulder were visible, the rest of him still veiled in black. Cyrus stirred, the metallic locks of his hair glinting in the firelight, his face drawn and pale. He made a low, anguished sound, the pain of which seemed to reverberate in her bones.
“Why does it not help him that I am near?” she said, turning to Hazan. “I thought he would only suffer in my absence.”
“The bond is too fresh.” Hazan shook his head. “I’m afraid you can only quiet his pain at the moment. He will endure this agony regardless; it’s only a matter of how much.”
Alizeh absorbed this information with an ache, then dropped to her knees beside him, sinking into a shallow pool of his blood. She clasped her hands to keep from stroking his hair, smoothing his furrowed brow.
“Cyrus,” she whispered.
He fought to open his eyes then, and when he did, her heart wrenched in her chest. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, his pupils blown out, dilated to a disturbing degree. He still appeared to be suffering despite her proximity, his body rigid with strain.
“Does it hurt terribly even though I am here?” she asked him, searching his face.
He merely blinked at her, the action slow and tired, before his eyes closed once more.
“Cyrus?” She was panicking now. “Cyrus, can you speak?”
“It’s best if you don’t force him,” said Hazan quietly. “For him, the hell of this night has only just begun.”
THIRTY-THREE
CYRUS AWOKE WITH A START.
His principal thought was for the emptiness of his mind, for it was the first time in months he’d not risen from a nightmare. This fact alone was strange enough to occupy his fears for days, but then, as he felt the shape of things around him, he perceived that he was lying in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar space. The room was large and dark, its details vague in the rheumy glow of an unborn sun, dawn pushing against the horizon. This burgeoning light pitched through a pair of windows whose curtains had not been closed, a detail that struck him as strange even as pain throbbed steadily throughout his body. His head was heavy, so disjointed he felt almost drugged, and as he blinked slowly against a rising tide of dread, he realized he had no idea where he was. His cheek was pressed against a strange pillow, his body tucked between the sheets of a bed he did not recognize.
Images of the evening came back to him slowly and with a blaze of feeling, and as he recalled these recent delights of his life he became slowly aware of the fact that, under these linens, he was half-wrapped in his own shroud – beneath which he was entirely naked.
