But the certainty that I could, right here, end it, seized me and wouldn’t let go.
He didn’t say a word, but I could feel his stare, drinking me in from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. It’s rare that I could feel that so acutely, just as firm and invasive as hands over my body.
“Welcome,” he said.
His voice was deep, but he was oddly soft-spoken. I wasn’t expecting that, given the domineering force of his presence.
There were a lot of things about him, actually, that did not seem to fit together. Strange layers to his presence that seemed to vibrate in uncomfortable dissonance. Even his clothing seemed contradictory—a dissonant combination of very fine, albeit very old, clothing and battered armor. Clearly he was indeed god-touched in some way, or else he’d befallen some other very unpleasant event with a powerful magic user. Even experiencing people as I did, taking them in all at once rather than with sight, his horns were… disconcerting. And the horns, I could see in the threads, were not the only part of him that had been tampered with, even if he did his best to hide the other darknesses.
“Leave us,” he said to his soldier, who obeyed in silence.
Leaving me alone with the conqueror.
I wouldn’t admit to myself, and certainly not to him, that I was intimidated.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
I rose, carefully, keeping the movement smooth and still even though my legs felt wobbly beneath me. Whatever they’d used to drug me, it was powerful.
“That isn’t necessary,” he said.
“I prefer to meet death standing up.”
He laughed. The sound slithered over my skin like a snake. Then he stepped closer, one step, two. The scent of snow, I realized, was him. Like he’d carried that piece of his homeland all this way, all the way across the sea. Snow and iron. A hint of salt.
“I hear that your kind can see even without your eyes,” he said. “Is that true?”
“Eyes are a very inefficient way to see.”
“Sounds like something a cultist would say.”
“Hypocritical for one of your kind to be calling me a cultist. All of Obitraes is Nyaxia’s cult, isn’t it?”
He laughed again, low and rough. I felt him approaching, and yet I still had to fight hard not to flinch when his fingers brushed my cheek. They were rough and calloused, the nails a bit sharp, coaxing just a hint of pain to the surface of my skin.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “We’ve all made such sacrifices for our goddesses, haven’t we?”
His hand ventured to my blindfold, fingers closing around the fabric, and I grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
“If you get to see me so thoroughly, shouldn’t I get to see you?”
“Sounds like something a conqueror would say.”
He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t move, either, his fingertips still warm against my cheek, pinching the silk fabric of my blindfold.
“Moral outrage from a member of the Arachessen,” he said. “Interesting.”
He released me and stepped back.
“I have no love for your little cult, but I don’t intend to piss them off, either. Tell me where you’d like to be returned, and my second will escort you there. You’ll make it there safely. You have my word.”
What?
He was letting me go?
I didn’t let my expression change, but internally, I cursed.
I wasn’t expecting this turn. I’d miscalculated. I’d been right that my appearance as a member of the Arachessen would mark me clearly as someone who could seer—but hadn’t accounted for the fact that our conqueror might be more risk-averse than I’d suspected. A little funny, actually, that he wasn’t afraid of taking on the Pythora King, but the idea of tangling with the Arachessen scared him.
“It was my men’s mistake that you were taken here,” he went on. “My apologies.”
He didn’t sound all that sorry.
“I’m not a member of the Arachessen,” I said. “Not anymore.”
He paused. I felt his interest—and skepticism—ripple through the air.
I laughed softly. “That’s so surprising to you?”
“People don’t usually forsake their goddesses.”
A question, in that statement. I saw the trap laid before me.
“I have no qualms with my goddess,” I said.
No, he had to know I was still on good terms with the gods. Otherwise, I would be useless as a seer.
“The Arachessen, though…” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You said it. They demand sacrifices. Take them without permission.”
I could feel the little smile on his lips, something between a grimace and a smirk. “Is it really a sacrifice if it’s taken instead of offered?”
It bothered me a bit that this was a reasonable point. I tilted my head, as if to concede it.
“So you’re a former Arachessen. Still devoted to the gods. All by yourself.” He paused, as if lining up all of these incongruent, unlikely facts. “And the Arachessen let you leave.”
“I didn’t give them a choice.”
“You don’t look strong enough to evade them.”
No sarcasm, no double-speak. Surprising, but I could appreciate that.
It was a valid point. The Arachessen did not allow its members to leave their ranks. You joined for life. Death was the only escape, and they would make sure that anyone who did escape did it through that door alone.
“I’ve been running,” I said.
“Yet you’re still here in Glaea. One would think it would be smarter to get out of the country.”
“Your invasion made it hard to leave,” I snapped. “No ships out anymore. So thank you for that.”
His presence shifted. Interest. He leaned forward.
“So you need protection.”
I could sense him thinking. Considering. Did he need a seer so badly that he was willing to risk earning the attention of the Arachessen? Would one escaped Sister earn the same degree of attention he would have gotten from the order if he had kidnapped one of us? That had been too much risk for him, too much trouble.
But this… he was considering it.
It was stupid of him. If my tale had been true, the Arachessen would indeed have thrown as many resources as needed into finding and snipping that loose thread. A Sister carried many secrets. Dangerous to leave out in the world, let alone in the hands of a conqueror.
But his stupidity, at least, benefitted me now.
“Yes,” I admitted, between gritted teeth—like it pained me to say aloud.
“You can seer.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The flap to the tent opened, and the guard returned again, grabbing my arms and wrenching them back.
I tried to pull away, to no avail.
“Get off me!” I snarled, with convincing desperation and a note of fear I was a little proud of. “Let me go!”
The conqueror stood there, his hands behind his back, watching as his men restrained me.
“No,” he said. “We’ll be needing your services.”
“I don’t offer any services,” I spat.
“You will help us,” he said, “or we will kill you. That’s the only choice I offer you.”
He stated it flatly. No dressing up, no games. I knew he meant it.
“But,” he went on, “I’m fair.”