Page 13 of A Cruel Kindness

The Bond made a quite loud sound of agreement in my head.

With one last look at the bed I was meant to be sharing with Soren, I made my way out to the main hall and tried to ignore how many people were staring at me.

It normally went one of two ways—either people stopped me every inch I moved, begging for a photo or a word, or they gave me a wide berth, plastering themselves up against the wall to get away.

I ignored it. There were more important things to focus on right now.

Especially when I’d never come across anyone who understood what that felt like to be the prized daughter of an Emperor. I was more of a doll used to hold up appearances than a person.

When I walked out and saw a massive crowd of people gathering in the main hall, somehow more imposing than the group that had gawked at me upon my arrival, my chest constricted with a momentary pang of panic.

I wavered for a second, hoping that the confident set of my shoulders made it seem like a pause to scan the room.

I had trained my entire life to make sure my confident mask stayed firmly in place, but I felt it slip when Soren barked, “Didn’t your parents teach you it was rude to stare?” from across the space.

The room erupted like ants scurrying out of the ground, shuffling around and resetting, but most of all, making sure their gazes were planted firmly on the ground instead of on me.

I swallowed thickly, having to fight hard against the heat building in my stomach. It felt like the energy a spool gave off as the strands unraveled in a flurry.

Soren seemed to mistake my momentary lapse in sanity as nerves, because he barked “Bellamy,” at me from across the room. Even though I was sure I was smiling as calmly as possible, I had the distinct fear that I hadn’t done a good job at hiding my wavering nerves at all.

That was silly, though, to imagine that he was stepping in to save me from that jolt of panic. To think that he’d even noticed it in the first place.

Regardless, I walked towards where he was, leaning against the back wall lazily. Everyone parted as I walked through, like water making way for a ship. I really hoped that people stopped treating me like something fragile eventually.

I didn’t do well with pity and careful handling. It felt too … kind. The opposite of everything I’d learned to survive.

I stepped up next to Soren, my mouth opening to tell him that he couldn’t order me around like a dog, but the words were stolen right from my throat. The tightness in my chest immediately released when I got within a foot of him, so powerful I had the urge to collapse into him.

He shifted in his stance, straightening further.

“This is going to be a problem,” I muttered, uncaring if he heard. There would be no escaping the side effects of the Bond. There were too many half-truths I had to manage, and lying about this felt wrong.

If I was going to get through this relatively unscathed, I’d have to approach it head on. If he had a problem with it, if it made his opinion of me plummet even further into the fiery pits of hell, that was fine.

It would be no worse than anything I’d—

“Just stay close,” Soren returned, cutting off my thoughts with the rough scrape of his voice. I turned back to face the room, the move placing me even closer to his body.

Not close enough, that pesky little Bond said. I shoved it away, making sure to send it to a mental timeout while I was at it.

Everyone seemed to have their fill of gawking at us like wild animals, returning to their conversations as we waited for the meeting to begin.

I didn’t need anyone to explain to me what this was.

This was a debrief, as clear as day. Shove all your soldiers into one room and inform them of what to expect for their next mission or assignment, being sure to include a grandiose warning about what would happen if they stepped a foot out of line.

As we waited for our orders, surely coming from Peter or some other General, I scanned the room briefly. Most people were in a similar utilitarian outfit as I’d changed in to.

Those black tactical pants with enough pockets to hide the full gambit of useful items—from spare food to knives to fishing line. Useful to catch fish, but also a nifty little way to strangle someone should the occasion call for it.

The fitted black shirt, sleeveless and made of a water resistant material, which I was sure was made with blood in mind, rather than water.

The exposed arms of those shirts also had the effect of exposing a few Marks throughout the crowd. You could tell who was paired together, and even what level of compatibility they were.

The parasepts, those with only seventy-odd percent compatibility, the bare minimum allowed without immediate side effects, stood in the same general vicinity, but clearly were comfortable being separated by a crowd of people in between. I guess you would be, if only isolated parts of your Marks matched.

The paranovs, in the nineties, were standing right next to each other. I spied one pair of women whose Marks covered their arms. I wouldn’t be surprised if their Match was in the high nineties. I couldn’t see any differences in their Marks, but I’d have to get closer to see whatever little part differed and prevented them from a full blown Soul Match.