Chapter 34 Part 2-2

He blinked. “What?” “I don’t want to wear a gown,” Sam said. “I want to wear clothes that can be soiled and a sword at my hip.” She laid a hand against his cheek. “Tristan, you don’t want to marry me. You want to marry the idea of me. This person you imagine me to be—she doesn’t exist.” Tristan rolled on the bed, his back to her. “You won’t marry me, will you?” “No,” she said. And then, more firmly: “No, Tristan, I won’t.” *** As soon as Tristan left the room for the infirmary, Braeden collapsed back on his pallet, staring up at the cobwebbed ceiling. He peeled the sides of his robes apart and ran his fingers along the raised brand on his chest. The skin was swollen and tender to the touch—soreness always accompanied a new tattoo, but his efforts to remove it had done him no favors. Six days ago, Braeden had woken up to find a swirl of vivid colors spanning the breadth of his chest. The scarlet and gold wings of a firebird fanned out from below his collar bone to over the tops of his shoulder blades.  The tattoo was a majestic, fearsome creature, its swanlike neck swooping downwards so that the tip of its beak rested just above Braeden’s heart. Three times, he’d taken a knife to it, scraping off layers and layers of skin until nothing remained but raw flesh. And each time, his skin would grow back, the tattoo wholly intact. Though Braeden had no memory of it, there was no question as to who gave him this accursed mark. The tattoo could only be the work of his master, though try as he might, Braeden couldn’t recall the sting of ink or needles. He’d lost a lot of time that night—his first blackout episode since he was a child.  Even when he’d lost control with Sam, Braeden had retained some small part of his humanity. But the High Commander had goaded him beyond his limits. “Don’t be a fool over a woman, Braeden,” said the High Commander. A line of demons separated him from Braeden—he was too close and yet not close enough. Their stalemate would last the night if they both refused to bend. That suited Braeden just fine—it would buy Tristan time to leave the Diamond Coast with Sam. His master continued, “Women are pathetic, as bad as the male of their species.” “You don’t count yourself among them?” asked Braeden, genuinely curious. The High Commander snorted indelicately. “Humans are ruled by their fear,” he said. “Me, I rule fear.” His master stretched his neck forward, the muscles straining. “I can show you how to take fear and shape it into living nightmare. Love, Braeden, is a fickle thing, but fear will never desert you.” “I have already had a lifetime of fear,” said Braeden. “I have no interest in a lifetime more.” The High Commander let his composure slip—“Fool!” he hissed—and then reigned it back in. “You will only ever know fear, Braeden, never love. Your own mother couldn’t stand the sight of you.” Shock ran through him at the mention of his mother. “You knew her?” "Knew her? Your mother was mine to play with—a lesson in the power of fear. Do you know what she was afraid of?" The High Commander let out a singsong laugh. "Me. Would you believe it? And so I fashioned a demon in my liking, or at least the relevant parts. I watched it rut with her until she grew round with you.” His laughter turned discordant. “Your loving mother tried to kill you as soon as you left her womb. And when that failed, she killed herself.” Rage coursed through Braeden, and he felt himself teetering over the edge. “You killed her as surely as if you held the knife yourself.” “Aye,” said his master. “And you, Braeden, were the knife.” With that final push, Braeden tumbled over the cliff and fell into black. Braeden could remember nothing of what happened after that, but the tattoo across his chest was a surety that the High Commander lived. Now, once again, Braeden bore his master’s stamp of ownership. If this tattoo held the same compulsion magic as his last, Braeden was a danger to anyone who crossed the High Commander’s path—doubly so to Sam. He hadn’t dared visit Sam in the infirmary, not while she was so vulnerable—let Tristan think him an inconsiderate ass. A better man than Braeden would have put an ocean between them.  But she was as safe as she could be in Luca, including from him; surrounded by Tristan and thousands of Uriel, even a large demon attack was doomed to fail. Still, Sam was a wanderer and a soldier at heart, and she wouldn’t want to stay in Luca forever. Selfishly, Braeden hoped she would stay for a while—when she left Luca, he would leave her. He would allow himself this one happiness: Sam was awake. Whatever else went wrong—and so much already had—Braeden would be grateful for this one right thing. He desperately, desperately wanted to see her, to confirm with his own eyes that she was alive. Braeden was weak, and it took only a few rhetorical questions before he convinced himself it would be okay to go see her. Consequences be damned, he retied his robes and climbed down the several flights of stairs to the Uriel infirmary. A tall red haired woman stood just inside the sickroom—Addie Branimir, from Tristan’s description. Hiding in his chambers for the past five days, Braeden had yet to meet her. She held his gaze without flinching, and that in itself was a marvel. “So the other one finally shows up,” she said. “Do you also plan to interfere with my work?” “No, Lady Branimir,” Braeden said, “I’m just here to see Sam.” “Call me Addie or Doc; everyone else does,” She jerked her head to the right. “Sixth bed on the left. You’ll find her in the company of her meddlesome betrothed.” The word betrothed dug into him like the cut of a knife. “Thank you, Addie,” he said tightly, offering her a slight bow. The sixth bed on the left was roped off by a velvet curtain, and as he crossed the room, Braeden could hear muffled voices. He gripped the curtain, prepared to pull it open…And then he heard the squeak of a mattress, and Tristan’s voice, loud and clear: “Say you’ll be my wife.” Her answer would kill Braeden quicker than any poison. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, his face was a controlled mask. He turned from the curtain, walked down the room past the five rows of beds, and nodded politely at Addie. As soon as he was outside of the infirmary, he ran.