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Something rough poked into Regulus’ back as he groaned awake. He shifted. Metal clanked, aggravating his throbbing head. What was going on? Something weighed down his arms. He pried his eyes open. Pale, early morning sunlight illuminated the trees and meadow around him. The almost inaudible crash of waves sounded in the distance. The blackened bark of an oak tree pushed into his back. He recognized the dull, lifeless black of the tree and the shriveled, charcoal leaves curled on the edges of the branches. He’d ridden past the same thing on his way to the sorcerer’s tower too many times.
Carrick and the sorcerer sat on stumps on either side of a small fire several paces away, turned away from him and eating something that smelled savory and made his stomach growl. Regulus went to move his arms and found he couldn’t. He looked down.
A thick chain wrapped around his chest and the tree several times. Another chain connected to shackles around his wrists, then wrapped around his forearms before also wrapping around behind the tree. The right sleeve of his shirt had been cut off. He strained against the chains, but only succeeded in bruising his chest and making his wrists hurt. He glared at Carrick and the sorcerer, but they continued eating and paid no attention to his grunting and the clinking of the chains.
“Hey!” He tried to use his legs to push himself up, but the chains were too tight. “What am I doing here?”
They finally looked at him. Carrick’s mouth curled into an irritated snarl as he chewed, but the sorcerer just wiped his fingers on his robe, picked up the Staff of Nightfall, and stood. Carrick glared up at the sorcerer, then tossed down the last bit of meat in his hand and followed the sorcerer toward Regulus.
“You are here,” the sorcerer said, thinly veiled fury in his voice, “because of this.” He held the top end of the Staff of Nightfall in front of Regulus’ face.
At first, Regulus didn’t understand. But as he looked closer, he saw the source of the sorcerer’s rage. Two deep, jagged cracks ran through the opal mounted in the top piece. Spots of murky white marred the shiny black surface. The purple, blue, and red flecks looked dull instead of glittery. The sorcerer tossed the staff aside.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” the sorcerer spat. “Every time I use it since I tried to kill you with it, it doesn’t work properly and burns my hand. But perhaps, if I can better understand this,” he bent and placed his fingers between the chains on Regulus’ right arm, on top of Adelaide’s mark, “I can understand exactly what happened and fix it.”
“Well, if you’re hoping I can explain,” Regulus said with a glare, “I can’t. I was unconscious when Adelaide put that there, and I know nothing about magic.”
“Oh, I don’t need you to explain.” The sorcerer straightened. “I know what that is, even if I’ve never seen one before. Honestly, I thought the lover’s bond to be purely hypothetical. First time I’ve been wrong in quite a while.”
The way Carrick clenched his fists and tightened his jaw at lover’s bond lit a satisfied spark in Regulus’ chest. Let the cad try to argue he could win Adelaide’s heart now.
“There are three known bonds,” the sorcerer said. “The servant’s bond, sometimes called the slave’s bond, which I perfected and with which you’re well acquainted.” Carrick frowned at that, and Regulus nearly laughed. “The protection bond, which is the most common but still not widely used because few people are so selfless as to let another essentially borrow some of their magic. Finally, the lover’s bond. Obviously the rarest, since I didn’t believe it existed outside of legend.”
The sorcerer stroked his beard. “But the lover’s bond is also the strongest, the hardest to break, and most closely unites the bearer and the giver.” He sat cross-legged next to Regulus. “So you don’t need to explain what it is or how she put it there, or even how it works because I’m aware your stupid brain doesn’t understand it. But I do want you to explain what you have experienced since receiving it. What are its effects? What changes have you noticed?”
“Let me say this plainly and simply.” Regulus rested his head against the tree. “As Adelaide said: I’m not yours anymore. I don’t answer to you.”
The sorcerer shook his head. “You always make things so difficult.” He placed his palm against Regulus’ chest. The pain was immediate, and worse than anything Regulus had experienced when he had the sorcerer’s mark. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if it was because of the direct proximity of the sorcerer, but he was too consumed with the pain to think clearly. He screamed, struggling against the chains but unable to do more than kick his legs. His boot hit the sorcerer’s side, and the sorcerer’s hand left his chest. Regulus gasped for air as the world tilted and shifted before his vision cleared.
The sorcerer rubbed his side and cursed. “All right. Let’s try this again. Tell me about the effects of the bond.”
Regulus glared. He wanted to tell the sorcerer to go to hell. But he also didn’t want to experience that pain again. More importantly, when what hurt him hurt Adelaide, he couldn’t go asking for punishment. But would that information help the sorcerer fix the staff? A malfunctioning weapon would help Adelaide defeat him.
“This shouldn’t require that much thought, Hargreaves.” The sorcerer stood. “If you won’t tell me, I suppose we’ll just have to do some research. Carrick.” He motioned toward Regulus. “Have fun.”
Carrick grinned and pulled a dagger from the back of his belt. “My pleasure.”
“No, wait.” Regulus struggled to sit up straighter as Carrick crouched next to him.
“Afraid of a little blood, mongrel?” Carrick laughed. “Where should I start? Maybe I’ll reopen that scar of yours.” The blade glinted as it moved past Regulus’ eyes.
He squelched his rising panic. It would be better to pretend to play along, give obvious information, than let them hurt Adelaide. And he didn’t want to be tortured, either. “I heal.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” the sorcerer spat.
“Little things heal, too. Nicks, bruises.”
The sorcerer squinted. “And that’s it? You’re holding out on me, Hargreaves. Do it, Carrick.” Carrick grinned and moved the point of the knife to the top of Regulus’ scar.
“No!” The chains clinked as Regulus fruitlessly tried to raise his hand to stop Carrick. “That’s it, it works like yours, but without the pain! Please! I heal, there’s no pain, she can’t control me, that’s it.” The point of the knife touched his skin. “Don’t! That’s it, I swear. Please!”
The sorcerer held up his hand, and Carrick scowled as he lowered the knife. “Hm.” The sorcerer tilted his head, his gaze drilling into Regulus. “You’re not afraid of pain. You know you’ll heal, so it’s not a fear of a wound. What are you so afraid of?”
Dammit. He met the sorcerer’s gaze and tried to keep his expression closed, to betray nothing. The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “You only have ever begged me to spare others, never yourself. Others... Wait. The mage cried out like she was in pain, but I hadn’t hit her.” He looked to Carrick. “But you hit him.” He looked back to Regulus. “What aren’t you telling me, mercenary?”
Regulus set his jaw and glared right back.
“Cut his face open.”
“Finally.” Carrick brought the knife back up. From the way the corner of the sorcerer’s mouth twitched upward, Regulus suspected he already knew the truth.
“All right!” Regulus lowered his gaze. “Adelaide feels my pain.”
Carrick froze, the point of the knife hovering just above the top of the scar. “What are you talking about?”
“When I’m hurt, she feels an echo of my pain. Not as intense as actually receiving the wound herself, but she still feels it.” Regulus looked up at the dead branches above him. “When we realized, I tried to get her to remove the mark. But she wouldn’t.” He looked back at Carrick. “Please. Anything you do to me, you do to her.”
Carrick tilted his head. “So it doesn’t actually wound her?”
“There’s no mark or blood, no.”
“But she feels your pain? Your injuries?”
“Yes!” He knocked his head back against the tree. “Do you not understand, or do you not believe me!”
“No, I believe you. And I understand.” Carrick’s eyes glinted. “I understand that when I do this,” the tip of the dagger cut into Regulus’ face as he pulled the blade down the length of the scar while Regulus screamed, “she’ll know exactly what is happening to you.”
Regulus clenched his teeth, his chest heaving and eyes watering. Carrick stood and moved back to give the sorcerer an unobstructed view of Regulus’ mutilation. He had cut deeper than the original scar, slicing all the way through the cheek so that the skin curled away from the side of his face. Regulus moaned, the pain like fiery needles over the side of his face. Then the pain faded away. He breathed deeper. The skin curled back and pulled together. Regulus unclenched his jaw and opened his eyes.
The sorcerer stood stroking his beard, expression impassive. Carrick’s brows lifted toward his hairline. Regulus spat blood toward Carrick’s feet. Carrick stepped back, his top lip pulling up.
“Interesting.” The sorcerer tugged on his beard. “All very interesting.”
Regulus sighed. Sooner or later, the torture would break him, and he would have put Adelaide through all that pain, just to give in. He couldn’t let them hurt her. “Please. I’ll tell you anything I can. Just...stop hurting her.”
Carrick looked to the sorcerer, who nodded. With clear disappointment, Carrick crossed his arms.
“You said you were unconscious when she bound you,” the sorcerer said. “That shouldn’t be possible. You should have to agree to a binding.”
“I did, apparently. I don’t really remember.” Regulus glowered at Carrick. “Carrick had run me through with a sword, and I had mostly bled out. Adelaide healed the wound, but I was still fading. She asked me if I wanted to be bound to her for life, and I didn’t really understand what she was asking, so of course I agreed. Then I blacked out. I came to a couple minutes later, Adelaide had passed out, and I had this mark.”
“How long was she out for?”
“About a day and a half, two days.”
The sorcerer clasped his hands. “Any other side effects?”
When Regulus hesitated, Carrick twirled the knife in his hand.
“When we touch—actual skin contact—we can feel each other’s emotions.” Regulus shifted against the tree trunk, but there was no getting comfortable. “Any skin contact, I can sense her emotions. And a couple times, I’ve seen what she’s thinking about when I close my eyes while touching her.”
“Examples,” the sorcerer grunted.
Regulus fixed Carrick with a withering stare. “She was scared and upset, and I was trying to comfort her. I closed my eyes, and I saw her memories, as if looking through her eyes. You know what I saw, Carrick? I saw you. I know what you did.”
Carrick reddened and glanced away, then recovered his neutral expression. At least he had some sense of shame.
“And you.” Regulus turned his attention to the sorcerer. “She has nightmares. About what you did to her, what you threatened to do to her family. I tried to wake her one night and closed my eyes, barely more than a blink, and my mind was pulled into her nightmare.”
“No wonder my spell backfired,” the sorcerer muttered. “This bond is stronger and deeper than I would have dreamed possible. But then, magic born out of self-sacrifice is always strong, because the price paid for it is so high.”
“Sacrifice?” Regulus’ brow wrinkled. “Why, because I nearly died?”
“That’s part of it, yes. You sacrificed yourself for her, but the amount of energy she put into you to create that mark—she was ready to give up her power entirely to save you. She could have killed herself with the effort.”
What? Regulus’ mouth fell into a silent oh. A surge of love and gratitude fought with guilt. No wonder she slept for so long.
The sorcerer crossed his arms and shook his head, his features sagging and weary. “When I used the staff on you, the sorcery in it tried to overpower the magic in you to kill you and failed. All that destructive magical energy had to go somewhere, so it did—back onto my staff.” He snarled the words. “I had hoped it said something about her power, that she might have the strength to repair the staff. But this,” he pointed at Regulus’ arm, his disgust apparent, “this isn’t because of the power of her magic, just her love. It’s a cyclical strengthening based on your sickening affection for each other. Your love strengthens the bond, the bond strengthens your love, and so forth, making the protection magic in you stronger than the destructive magic was in the staff. It’s useless to me, unless I want to use you as a shield.”
“Oh, yes,” Regulus said with a scowl, “how dare something exist you can’t twist to use for your own selfish needs.”
The sorcerer lifted an eyebrow, then waved his hand. “Carrick, he’s all yours.”
“What?” Panic crawled up Regulus’ spine. “I answered your questions! I won’t beg for myself, but for Adelaide? Please. Don’t.” He desperately looked at Carrick. “I’m begging you. Don’t hurt her.”
“Actually,” the sorcerer said, “what I want more than anything right now is to hurt your precious mage for making a mess of all my plans. I’d do it myself, but I’m tired, and need to rest and think so I can figure out where to find my stupid brother.”
Regulus clenched his fists in a useless gesture of defiance. “But—”
“Carrick, don’t cut any appendages off, especially not his head.” The sorcerer sounded bored. “Other than that, go ahead and let all that rage and resentment that’s been making you insufferable out on him.” The sorcerer started back toward the fire, then paused. “And for the love of sorcery, gag him so I don’t have to listen to his screams and protestations.”
“I answered your questions!” The chains dug into Regulus’ chest as he strained against them. “No, you can’t—I answered your questions!”
Carrick pulled off his blood-stained doublet and cut a long, thick strip, paying no attention to Regulus.
He switched tactics. “Carrick, you have to realize this won’t help you win her. She won’t forgive you.”
Carrick shoved the fabric into Regulus’ mouth and tied it behind his head. “I’m not trying to win her heart anymore, mercenary. She doesn’t want me, and she likely never will. She won’t forgive me, anyway.” Uncertainty flickered over his expression. “Not after I killed her father.”
Regulus stopped straining against the chains. Her father... His eyes bulged. Alfred Belanger was...dead? Carrick killed him? Oh, Adelaide.
“He got in my way.” Carrick shrugged, but from the tone of his voice and the pinch of his brows, he was troubled. “I’d kill you, too, but apparently I’m not allowed.” He shifted over to Regulus’ right arm. “I had hoped once you were dead, she would be free to want me. But I see now...” He dug the dagger into Regulus’ forearm and began cutting around the mark. Regulus screamed into the gag. “She’s given her heart too completely to you for it to ever be mine. She could have had my love. Now she will know my vengeance.”
Carrick pried the chunk of flesh bearing Adelaide’s mark, the mark of a lover’s bond, out of his arm. Regulus sagged against the tree, black spots clouding his vision. Bile rose in his mouth but had nowhere to go against the gag, so he swallowed it back down. He closed his eyes and bit down hard on the gag.
Numbing warmth spread over his forearm until the pain faded away. Still, tears soaked into the gag pulling at the sides of his mouth. He let his head fall forward and leaned in exhaustion against the chains. Carrick rubbed at his arm, and Regulus opened his eyes as Carrick pulled his hand away. On his arm, beneath the smeared red, Adelaide’s mark stood out as clear as ever.
“Hm. Unsurprising, but disappointing.” Carrick flicked a spray of blood off the dagger. “I want to be clear, though.” He used the dagger to lift Regulus’ chin, forcing him to look at Carrick’s face. “I’ve admitted I can’t force her love. But I will still have her. I’ve never been one to walk away. My parents said my reckless, bull-headed determination was cute when I was a child, but is...what was it? Boorish now. But then, I was always their least favorite son.” He turned the dagger so the edge sliced into the underside of Regulus’ chin. “I don’t like losing. Adelaide will be my wife, even if I have to keep her collared and chained.”
Regulus pushed his tongue against the gag, trying to force it out of the way so he could tell Carrick off. His face burned from his neck to his scalp. He pulled at the chains, willing them to break even as the shackles cut into his wrists and the effort pulled at his shoulders. He kept his eyes locked on Carrick’s and hoped Carrick could see his rage.
“I never liked you, mercenary. A peasant masquerading as a lord.” Carrick lowered the dagger. “But trust me, at this point, I hate you as much as you hate me.” He stabbed the dagger into Regulus’ thigh. Regulus grimaced, then groaned as Carrick dragged the dagger down several inches. “Maybe His Highness will let me keep you. If Adelaide misbehaves, I can just hurt you.” He twisted the dagger. Regulus shook as he bit back a scream. “Knowing that her bad behavior will spill your blood and cause you both pain might help keep her docile.” He pulled the dagger out of Regulus’ leg with a sickening squelch. “Should help with holding her to her promise.”
Promise? Regulus raised his eyes from his leg to Carrick.
Carrick laughed. “Oh, she didn’t tell you? Before you came barreling in and nearly got yourself killed, she promised me that once she and I are married—and we will be—she will be, and I quote, ‘a dutiful, affectionate wife.’” He sneered.
Regulus felt like he had been punched in the gut. Was that the only reason Carrick had stopped that day? He pulled at the chains, his muscles bulging. He pictured his hands closing around Carrick’s neck. The chain made a squeaking groan as it pulled against the tree. But it wouldn’t break. There was no point, so he stopped struggling and sagged against the chains, his head hanging as guilt crushed him.
“That’s right.” Carrick examined the blood-soaked tip of the dagger. “Be a good mongrel dog and accept your leash.”
