Page 17

Cirian fell quiet, the eerie light receding from his eyes, his chest heaving as he stood stark still. My own breath was cemented in my chest. When his gaze finally lifted to meet mine, confusion twisted his features.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shoulders sagging with fatigue. “I don’t… I don’t know what just happened.”

Fear roiled in my gut, twisting my insides and rooting me in place. Memories of Lynette staring back at me with milky eyes set me on edge, but I shoved them down. My mind raced, repeating the words spoken by the ominous voice to try and commit them to memory as best I could.

“A pen,” I said, and Cirian’s expression only grew more confused. “Quickly! I need a pen and paper! Anything to write with.”

Cirian moved then, circling the altar and retrieving a scroll of parchment then rummaging through a derelict chest of drawers until he uncovered a stick of charcoal. I played the words again and again while he searched, hoping that my addled mind wouldn’t muck up the transcription.

Snatching the material from him, I unfurled the parchment onto the altar—the only semi-flat surface around—and began to write furiously.

“What in damnation are you doing?” Cirian asked, hovering over my shoulder.

“Quiet,” I ordered, devoting every bit of my function to documenting the words. My mind had been a sieve since my rebirth, but surprisingly, I was able to complete the set of couplets, only faltering on a word here and there.

“What is this?” Cirian questioned as the charcoal fell from my hand and dusted the lingering residue off on the leg of my trousers.

“I think it’s a prophecy,” I replied, scanning over the smudged, hastily scrawled lines. “Direct from the Source, if I had to guess.”

“The Source?” Cirian echoed, turning to face me. “What are you talking about?”

The absurdity forced me to bite back a laugh. “Are you telling me you don’t remember reciting this, oh great Acolyte of the Source?”

Cirian’s expression turned tortured. “You jest. This is an ill-timed joke, Tobias, so cease this at once.”

“What’s the trouble, Acolyte?” I pushed, the mocking tone welling up from someplace deep within my subconscious. “Proof of your faith in the Source is right here in front of you, and you’re cowering like a mongrel pup.”

Cirian moved with a determined haste, catching me at the wrists and pinning me in place. “I’ve had enough of your mockery,” he growled. “Explain yourself plainly, or I swear on the Source that I will leave you here to rot in this place.”

“They’re your words, you devout imbecile! You looked right at me and spoke them just moments ago! Are you saying you don’t recall reciting them?”

Fear flickered in Cirian’s stygian eyes, his grip on me loosening. “No. I was simply praying. Going through my recitations, and then I was standing, looking at you.”

Was his mind not his own while the Source spoke through him? The thought sent a chill down my spine. Is that where we Adored got the power to control others? Was it the power of the Source itself?

“The words were yours, Cirian. I swear it. I swear it on my sister’s life.”

Cirian held my gaze for just a moment longer before turning back to the altar, dropping his hold on me and rushing forward to seize the parchment. He held it up to the light, his lips moving silently as he read, his hands trembling. When he looked back at me, all I could see were the questions burning behind his eyes.

“Do you know what it means?” I asked.

He shook my head. “Not in the slightest. There hasn’t been a prophecy delivered by the Source in nearly a century. Her Eminence thought the prophets extinct.”

“Well, apparently, her holiness is lying through her teeth. Is that why she keeps you around, Cirian? I often wondered what made her choose a successor before the need for one had arisen. The Cardinal could serve for another hundred years or more before she needed to name a replacement, yet you’ve been at her side since adolescence.”

“Do not speak ill of her,” Cirian spat, his lips curling into a snarl. “If what you’ve said is true, then I trust Her Eminence is just as ignorant as I am on the matter. I must speak with her right away. Come, we can’t delay any longer. We must return to the Cradle at once.”

Cirian moved for the doors of the sanctuary, then paused, turning back to me with a look of mild amusement. “Oh, and I have some clothes waiting for you in the car. I may be the Acolyte of the Source, but not even I can’t explain away an animated corpse wandering down the halls.”

“I’m not a corpse,” I argued.

Cirian’s nose wrinkled. “You certainly smell like one.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, there’s simply not enough time, I’m afraid. Let’s be gone.”

* * *

Walking through the entrance of the Cradle for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, my unease had not abated in the slightest. Even with the clothing provided by Cirian—a set of monastic robes that covered me entirely from crown to sole, complete with a porcelain mask to cover my face—I couldn’t help but feel exposed just existing in this space. The vitriol that the Hallowed carried for those who had “cheated” Death was a weight I could feel in the air. It settled into my lungs like a fine powder, building until it became difficult to breathe.

“Good day, Master Cirian.”

The greeting was expressed by every passing figure, Cirian responding with a polite nod and the occasional thanks. If he felt even a fraction of my discomfort, he certainly didn’t show it. His calm facade of serenity held firmly in place, and Cirian knew better than to allow it to slip.

The ride from the sanctuary deep within the woods had taken nearly an hour, traversing roads that had long succumbed to nature. Cirian didn’t speak much on the way, instead gazing out the window with a contemplative expression that I felt it rude to interrupt.

Once we reached Cirian’s chambers, he moved swiftly to the wall behind his desk, removing a small receiver from the black box that hung there. After a moment, he spoke softly into it, then awaited a response.

My disguise felt suffocating, the heavy cloth of my robes scratchy and unyielding. Sweat pooled in the small of my back, and the stench of my own breath inside the mask was enough to leave me nauseated.

Perhaps Cirian wasn’t too far off with his earlier comments about my aroma. The thought alone of Cirian drawing close enough to take in the scent was enough to make the nape of my neck swelter.

A swift knock on the door, and Cirian quickly hung up the device, snapping to draw my attention. He mimed the stance a monk should take, pointing to the corner of the room he wished for me to stand in. I quickly followed the silent instructions as he spoke, “Enter,” and the Cardinal strode through the door.

“Ah, Your Eminence. I was just trying to reach you. Deepest apologies for my tardiness this morning. I’m afraid my nightly rituals left me feeling rather drained?—”

“Silence,” the Cardinal interrupted, her commanding voice perfectly matched to the intimidating presence of her physical stature. “Adoranda Greene has made her move against the Unseen Rebellion. Their camp was raided last night, and our reports say their numbers are diminished.”

My breath faltered behind the mask. Diminished? What did that mean?

The Cardinal continued, seemingly oblivious to my presence. “The Madame has requested the Church’s assistance with holding one of the prisoners apprehended during the raid.”

“And why would she have a need for such a request?” Cirian questioned, his tone even. “Surely her militia has enough capacity to handle as many prisoners as she’d like.”

“The prisoner in question has been confirmed as a Reviled practitioner,” the Cardinal answered. “The Madame has him contained at her Chateau, but as the law dictates, all Reviled are to be judged by the Church. I will be leaving shortly to confirm the Reviled’s identity myself and carry out their sentencing.”

My pulse rushed in my ears. If Bastien had been captured, did that mean Lynette was taken as well? Had Mother already disposed of her quietly as she originally intended? The room was starting to spin around me.

“A Reviled amongst the Rebellion?” Cirian mused, the slightest edge in his voice. “How troubling. Do you know for what reason they enlisted the services of a necromancer?”

The Cardinal paused, her gaze drifting over to me for a brief moment. I stiffened my posture, pouring new diligence into holding the motionless pose.

“I have my theories,” the Cardinal finally said. “But it matters not. This qualm between Adoranda and the Unseen is finally reaching its end. It won’t be long before the bloodshed will cease and we can return to preparing the Magi for the second Awakening.”

“I look forward to that day,” Cirian replied, bowing his head slightly.

“Now, what was it that you needed to discuss with me?”

Cirian hesitated. “It’s nothing of grave importance. We can discuss it at a more opportune juncture.”

The Cardinal nodded, turning to exit when Cirian called out to her.

“Your Eminence, might you wish I accompany you to Chateau Greene? Adoranda has always had a certain fondness for me, and I should like to witness the first Reviled confirmation since my time as Acolyte.”

The Cardinal pondered the request, her back turned to Cirian. But then she glanced over her shoulder and gave a curt nod. “We leave within the hour.”

Cirian bowed his head once more. “You honor me, Your Eminence.”

Once the door closed behind the Cardinal, I deflated with a sigh.

“Well, that’s piss-poor luck,” Cirian muttered, rubbing the stubble along his chin.

I ripped off the mask, no longer able to contain the gasping breaths that tore from my chest. “What will happen to Bastien?”

“If history has been any indicator, he won’t be leaving Chateau Greene alive, which is a major problem….”

That seemed an understatement. “They’re going to kill him?”

“And since he’s the one who cast the initial revivification,” Cirian continued muttering under his breath, moving to the large bookshelf on the far wall and running his finger along the spines as he searched.

“Cirian.”

He pulled out a leather-bound tome, flipping through the pages quickly as he continued, “What if he can’t perform the rite? Is there an alternative?”

“Cirian, please, don’t leave me floundering.”

He paused, looking up from the tome with a solemnity I’d rarely seen him display. “If he dies before he completes the resurrection rite, then there may not be another option.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll die. Again. And worse, without your own magic to guide your soul back to the Source, I’m almost certain you’ll be lost to the ether.”

Son of the Second, lost in the ether.

The line rang in my ears as if it were spoken again.

Was the prophecy about me? I quickly shook the idea from my head. There were more important things to concern myself with at the moment, like staying alive.

“We have to save him,” I said, a twinge in my chest stifling my breath. To imagine Bastien being put to death was almost too terrible to consider, and I wasn’t convinced it was only because of my own dire fate should it happen.

“Why do you think I convinced her Eminence to let us accompany her? It’s not going to be easy, but we’ll figure something out. At least for now, we’ve got our foot in the door. Now, there’s no time to wait, and we need to make ready.” He set the tome on his desk, crossing to the door in the corner of the chamber and opening it before stepping aside. “Your bath, as promised. I’ll have to fetch you some new garments so you can accompany me as my steward.”

I nodded, in no position to argue.

Cirian gave me a wide berth as I trudged over to the washroom. A luxurious marble setting awaited me, a tub recessed into the floor. Just seeing the promise of a bath made my bones ache with want, so I muttered my thanks and closed the door behind me.

With a turn of the knob, the fixture began to run, steam rising immediately from the stream of water. I reached down, plugged the drain, then worked on disrobing. The heavy disguise fell to the floor, pooling around me, and I shivered as I stepped out of its warmth, my feet bare against the frigid tile. I removed the blood-stained tunic Cirian had lent me next, then the rest of my tattered clothing, piling them all in the corner.

The numbing sound of the rushing water did little to calm the chaos of my mind. Mother had captured Bastien, but to what end? Was she aware of the connection between the two of us? Was I the reason that Bastien had been taken in the first place? Another sacrifice he’d be making on my behalf… they were starting to pile up like the laundry.

Carefully, I stepped down into the tub, blessed relief rolling over me as I sank lower into the nearly scalding waters. A few minutes later, I shut off the stream, exhaling a long sigh as I settled against the curved wall of the tub. The sapphire-like Anima stone that Cirian had created lay on the edge of the basin—I wanted to keep it close, just in case—and after a moment in the water to cleanse the lingering stains, I marveled at how the edges caught the light.

Magic thrummed from within the facets, and as I held it, a familiar tugging sensation pulled at me in the direction of the closed door. Was the stone drawing me towards the one who made it? I let it slide from my hand, settling once again on the tiled ledge.

After some much-needed decompression, I reached for the bar of soap at the edge of the bath, working it into a rich later with the help of the warm water. I started with my legs, scrubbing away the caked-on dirt of our nocturnal traipse about the woods and wincing as the suds touched the plethora of minor scratches and scrapes on my calves and ankles. As I worked over the other parts of my body, the surface of the water became obscured with bubbles. Once my arms were free of grime, my hands drifted down my torso, and I jolted as my fingers brushed against the base of my cock. It responded instantly, stiffening.

Even in the impossible situation I found myself in, the baser needs of my manhood would not be ignored. With the time to reflect and the rapidly growing urge to wrap my fingers around my cock, I couldn’t help my thoughts from drifting back to Cirian and the newly resurfaced memories of the dozens of rendezvouses we’d had after our sparring sessions.

If the worst should happen, if I was going to die a second, even more gruesome death, this may be the last moment of self-indulgence I would be afforded. And so, I decided not to squander it.

The suds clinging to the surface of the water obfuscated my body underneath, making it all the easier to imagine my hand was someone else’s as it wrapped around the base of my cock. A tingling sensation shot up my spine, causing my toes to curl as I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift once more to memories of silken sheets and supple skin, of hitched breath and soft groans, of two becoming one, transcending to something more.

Before too long, I could feel the heat building at the base of my spine as my legs began to quake with anticipation of what could be my final climax, and I pushed forward toward the edge of the precipice, waiting to topple over into?—

The door of the washroom opened abruptly, Cirian stalking in and shutting the door behind him.

I was stunned into immobility, merely staring at him in shock as my hand was frozen around my cock beneath the surface of the cloudy water.

Cirian didn’t say anything as he began to strip his clothes off, tossing them to the side and flexing his back in a stretch as he stood in front of the sink, observing himself in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” I finally choked out, my ruined orgasm evaporating like water on a scalding pan.

Cirian turned to look at me, and I quickly averted my eyes. “I’m getting ready to bathe,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing. “Move over.”

“I most certainly will not,” I told him, pulling my knees to my chest in an effort to hide my exposed body. “Get out. You can bathe when I’m done.”

He moved closer, but I still refused to look at him. “Oh, grow up, Toto. We don’t have time for this nonsense. Are you really that bashful? I assure you that I’ve already seen all there is to see.”

“Fine, then I will leave,” I said, trying to gain purchase on the slippery tile.

“You still reek of the grave,” Cirian argued, sliding one foot into the water, then the other. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you get that close to the Cardinal without a thorough scrub down.”

“I smell fine,” I argued, hugging my knees closer as the lower half of his body sank into the tub opposite me. There was more than enough room for the both of us to bathe and avoid contact, but the realization did nothing to help the fluttering in my stomach. “You’re torturing me. I know how you are. You’re enjoying watching me squirm.”

“I seem to recall you enjoying the squirming as well,” Cirian fired back, pulling his long hair back and tying it with a restraint.

Now that he was partially submerged, I found I could look at him without wanting to immediately combust. “Enough. I don’t want to discuss our past dalliances any longer.”

“I can respect that,” Cirian said, sounding rather rational. Then again, it wasn’t rationality he typically lacked. It was compassion. “However, you do still smell, Tobias. I’m not fabricating that detail.”

“I’ve already washed myself,” I muttered, feeling more embarrassed than when I was only worried about exposing my body.

Cirian let out a sigh, straightening his posture and patting the surface of the water in front of him. “Come here, Toto.”

“I’d rather die again, thanks.”

“I’m serious. I need to make sure you’re not going to blow your cover before I put you in close proximity to the Cardinal. Now, please.”

I hesitated. Was this the first time he’d said ‘please?’ Once again, I forced myself to look him in the eye, expecting a cruel confidence or twisted enjoyment to be staring me back. But when I locked eyes with Cirian, all I found was an earnestness that caught me off balance.

“Okay,” I agreed after a moment, in no hurry to leave the safety of my corner. “Close your eyes.”

“How am I supposed to clean you if I can’t see?—”

“Just for a moment,” I cut him off, fighting the urge to splash him. But that might disturb the layer of obscurity that was protecting my modesty, so I pushed the urge away.

Cirian sighed, nodding his head and closing his eyes. Moving as quickly as I could, I stood, crossing the few steps’ distance between us and crouching back down into the water. Spinning my back to him, I settled under the suds, careful to keep as much distance between us as I could. His hand braced against my shoulder, and I shivered at his touch.

“Was that so hard?”

His voice was softer than before, given our proximity.

“Get on with it,” I ordered, growing increasingly worried now that he was out of my line of sight. Who knew what was going on in his head.

Cirian’s hand appears in my periphery, grasping a bar of soup and a washcloth from the side of the tub. There was only the sound of water sloshing to fill the space, then the scrubbing of cloth against my skin.

Cirian was gentle but thorough in his work. I couldn’t help but feel a bit like a child, having him pass over me with the washcloth and the rich amber-scented soap. A few minutes in, I allowed myself to relax. The tension melting from my shoulders, I no longer flinched at Cirian’s every touch.

I caught myself sneaking glances at the mirror, getting glimpses of Cirian’s body as he worked. His pale skin had gone ruddy in the heat of the bath, his flushed cheeks nearly matching the color of the locks pulled back from his head.

His attention was fully concentrated on me, and as his hands drifted to my hips, then around to my navel, I jolted at the sensation. Memories flared in my mind once again, the ghostly sensation of Cirian’s hands moving across my body, setting flesh alight with heat that threatened to burn me down to the core.

“Apologies,” he said, his hands retracting. “I should have remembered how ticklish you can be.”

I hated how much I missed his hand on my body, even just for that brief moment. But the crushing weight of what lay ahead of me—the reality of the slim odds of my survival—quickly quashed the hesitations that rose in my mind.

If I was honest with myself, I couldn’t deny the fact any longer: I wanted Cirian’s hands on my body.

“It’s okay,” I told him, reaching behind me and taking his hands in mine. I returned them to my hips, doing my best to hide the shudder that shot through me as his fingertips sunk into the flesh. My cock stiffened again, this time with a dull ache as if it mourned the release that never came.

Cirian sucked in a breath, his touch hesitant on my sides. He seemed… nervous. Which was a position I didn’t think came naturally to Cirian. To be honest, it gave me a thrill. Thrill enough to push things a little further.

“You interrupted me before,” I said, eyes trained on his expression in the mirror. “I was going to have the first and possibly last release of my second life.”

Cirian’s mouth opened, then shut again, his eyes boring a hole in the back of my head.

“But I guess there’s no time for that,” I continued, my hands trailing down my sides till they overlapped his around my waist.

He tugged then, pulling my body closer to him and pressing his chest to my back. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me in place as a soft rumble emanated from his chest.

“You’re wicked, Tobias Greene.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

One of his wandering hands drifted down my navel, running along the trail of fair hair till his fingers split around the base of my cock. My hips bucked instinctually, grinding out as much friction between us as I could, a sputtering gasp escaping my throat.

This wasn’t just a memory any longer. I wanted it to be reality. Wanted a moment of reprieve from the pain of my second life.

He paused there, waiting for me to give the go-ahead. Reaching down, I pulled his hand away, only to reseat it along my shaft, closing his fingers around it. He took the hint, pumping his fist down the length of me, causing a ripple of quivering pleasure to stir my bones.

“Yes,” I breathed, one of my arms reaching behind me to hook around the nape of Cirian’s neck and pull him closer. “Keep going.”

He did as he was told, stroking me with a comfortable rhythm that brought me back to the edge within a matter of moments.

My body was on fire with pleasure, heat radiating from my core, building hotter and hotter. With each stroke, my body ground against Cirian’s, pressing his stiff cock into the small of my back.

It seemed I wasn’t the only one enjoying themselves.

“Tobias.” Cirian’s heated breath in my ear nearly sent me over the edge. His voice was desperate. Like he was waiting for my permission. “I-I can’t take much more.”

I halted the movements of my hips, a soft whimper sounding against my ear. I stood, legs trembling beneath me as the slick water dripped from my stark body. Cirian looked up at me, an adoration in his expression that flared to life those memories in my head once more. Taking his face in my hands, I guided him onto his knees.

“Worship me, Acolyte.”

A sly grin spread across his face as he nodded, knowing exactly what I asked of him. Leaning close, he took me into his mouth in one fluid motion, sinking to the hilt as the head of my cock hit the back of his throat. My hands fell to his shoulders, gripping tightly to keep myself upright as Cirian took me again and again, the heat from his mouth bringing me closer and closer to melting.

The memories I clung to molded together with the present until they were one in the same.

“I-I’m close,” I told him, the building heat reaching its apex as the spasm of release gripped me. Cirian pulled off enough that the tip of my cock rested against his tongue, his hand continuing the constant motion that drove me past my breaking point. With a grumbled shout, I climaxed, the fruits of our labor pouring into Cirian’s mouth and running down his chin. He kept his eyes on me the entire time, his opposite hand stroking his own member, and he finished just as my cock stopped twitching, entirely spent.

Sinking into the warm embrace of the water, I laid back opposite Cirian, watching him wipe the mess from his face.

“I think you won that point, Toto,” he said finally, reaching for the washcloth.

The laughter that bubbled up from my chest made me feel lighter than I had all day.