Soul Bound, page 2
Idris is with me.
Our eyes lock, and we stand in silence for a long, tenuous moment as rage and relief war through my bones. My pulse races, my throat itches. Venomous thorns bury themselves into my skin. I wrestle with the urge to close the distance to reach him, though whether in order to embrace him or beat him senseless … it’s a coin toss. Instead, I force myself to breathe slowly, in through my nose, out through my mouth.
Control my breathing, control my pulse, control myself.
I don’t see a scratch on him. Thank Fate for his sparse mercies.
“Attempt unsuccessful, I’m afraid,” I remark, before whipping back to face Leone. “As I was saying, the budget cannot be reopened. It’s the law. But, Member Strossi, you make an excellent point. We should be considering all angles that might help our city and economy recover from the heinous crimes committed by the traitor Cardinal Bellandi before the Great Rebellion. Perhaps we can all think on possible solutions to the current problems, and bring our suggestions forwards soon?”
“What kind of suggestions?” Ulrico fires off instantly. The man always feels the need to ask some kind of question.
I shrug, hands open. “Whatever you think would serve the interests of our city. Perhaps in a dedicated collaborative session we can come up with some initiatives.”
“When?” Leone demands unhappily.
“Shall we table it for a week? That’ll allow us time to really think through possible options and consider the complexity of the situation.”
“Two,” barks back Ulrico, his voice unusually firm. “I want to consult with the farming and rural regions for their suggestions, too, as aid for them may need to be different than for the city.”
It’s always surprising when a startlingly reasonable and sane suggestion comes out of Ulrico’s mouth. But I suppose he can’t be without all sense.
“Of course, Member Ulrico. We must ensure all ideas for all peoples are taken into consideration. A fortnight it is. Now, Esteemed Members, it is getting late in the day. Shall we draw this session to a close?”
“Agreed,” Maggia and Savino chorus in quick succession, with Ulrico fast to follow. Leone takes a deep breath and stands.
“Agreed,” he answers, collecting his papers from his table.
I vacate the white marble stage, snagging my papers off my table. I try to organise them, but Idris’s searing eyes carve a hole in the back of my head. Our invisible, molten tether is taut and tense, reeling me closer and closer with each beat of my heart.
Don’t go over.
I shouldn’t go over.
I want to go over.
The whispers purr so alluringly that my feet move of their own accord. I succumb, closing the distance. Idris and Savino are talking quietly, but Idris’s golden eyes absorb my every step, my every breath as I step into hearing range. Both go quiet as I approach.
“Interrupting?” I ask from a few paces away, winning the tense fight to keep my voice steady. Proximity seems to be an exponential factor in the intensity of our bond. A few paces, an object between us, or simply not looking at each other all dulls the sharpness of the hot, fierce violence that bubbles between us. Idris and I had spent the months since the Great Rebellion navigating our bond almost daily, and the return of his fire broiling my skull was oddly completing.
My blood is rampant with angry, biting sparks and the urge to scratch away at the bare flesh of my throat. My breath is hot and clammy as it leaves my lips, but I force it to remain even and slow.
Control my breathing, control my pulse, control my mind.
“Not at all,” Idris answers immediately, turning to face me properly. “Savino, old friend, we should discuss further. Meet at my home in an hour?”
“An hour. Perfect. See you then, Idris. Good evening, Renza.” Savino nods warmly and departs. He’s already mastered his new prosthetic foot, his gait betraying no hint of his lost limb.
“Do I want to know what that’s about?” I ask, knowing full well Savino will be giving Idris a rundown of everything that happened in the High Chamber while he was away.
“Still don’t trust me, Di Maineri?” Idris chuckles.
“Now why would you ruin a nice conversation with ugly questions, Patricelli?” I tease.
“Oh, nice evasive answer. You should go into politics.” Idris smirks as the two of us walk towards the exit. Crossing the white and black tiled floor, we fall into silence for a moment.
I soak in the maddening mixture of relief and fury. When he’s gone, my pulse is steady, my shoulders relaxed, my breathing easy. Yet a piece of me is missing. I toss and turn at night; during the day I can’t settle, feeling constantly that something is misplaced or lost. There is a tugging, nagging sensation beneath my ribs, demanding I get to my feet and follow – but in what direction I cannot answer.
Yet with him close, my pulse is wilder than any storm. My muscles tense and jitter. I’m drowning in flames both uncomfortable and familiar. I have to force my breathing to remain calm and fight the ugly, deplorable whispers Fate puts in my head. But there’s a sensation of being full. He brings a satisfaction akin to climbing a high mountain or completing a difficult day of work: tiring and exhausting, but also fulfilling.
The madness screams for me to run far away and yet seduces me to inch ever closer to him all at the same time. It’s a war on every physical, emotional and mental level. Perhaps this is why they say denying Fate brings only misery. There’s certainly a kind of masochistic insanity here.
“How are you?” Idris asks, quiet and serious.
I don’t attempt to put words to the mixture of skin crawling and relief thrumming inside me like a stormy ocean.
“I’m not the one who’s spent the last fortnight at sea. I thought you were only going to be gone ten days.” I force my breathing to slow as I throw him a sideways glance. His face creases in a smirk as he leans closer.
“Worried about me?”
I roll my eyes.
“More like concerned you’d done something stupid, and I’d have to clean up the mess. It’s a mercy no one wants to run for Bellandi’s seat, even if it means we have to risk a split with every vote. I can’t bear the thought of yet another Vote Day,” I groan. Idris barks a laugh.
“It is a lot of effort,” Idris agrees, “particularly when we can’t agree on the candidate.”
“Who says we have to agree? In the end you’ll see I’m right,” I retort, earning a snort from him. “Besides, I have a new suggestion—”
“Oh, let’s not start this again right now.” Idris half groans and half laughs. “I’ve only been on solid land for thirty minutes. Don’t I get some adjustment time? Can’t you ease me in gently?”
“Never. It’s your fault for leaving. So what kept you?” I ask, dropping the mirth from my tone as we exit the chamber.
“Gathering details – what we could anyway.” Idris’s voice drops into that miles-deep whisper that tightens my throat and heats my breath. “We ran into ships from the Holy States. Alfieri’s hunch was right.”
“We’re being blockaded,” I hiss. What little trade remained in this city is being interrupted. This must be the Holy State’s retaliatory plan. Isolate our economy and starve us until the city’s resolve crumbles, then sweep aside the remains.
“Not officially of course, but considering how unfriendly our encounter was… There are definitely orders there. They wanted us to turn around. To abandon our cause. We only slipped through thanks to Barone family secrets.”
The more I’ve learned about Alfieri’s family business these last few months, the less I want to ask questions. The whole thing seems to be practically invisible – at least to the law. I’ve combed innumerable ledgers, studied a thousand documents, but the Barone family secrets are better buried than the foundations of this city.
If the Holy States are casting a net wide enough that even the Barone family’s sketchy dealings are interrupted, we’re in some serious trouble.
The wind rolls over my shoulders, sweeping a stray brunette curl across my face. I tuck it out of the way, turning my eyes from the painted steps of the High Chamber to the gentle blue sky, currently playing host to a number of rolling white clouds.
“Alfieri? Is he okay?” I ask, the breath hitching in my throat.
“Do you think I’d risk Emilia’s wrath and bring him back with so much as a scratch?” Idris snorts gently. My shoulders drop, that hitch leaving my throat.
“Emilia? Wrath?” I snigger. Emilia would move heaven and earth for those she loved, absolutely true. But never with anything I could describe as wrath.
“It’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch. Listen, we need to talk but not here.” Idris gestures around the open courtyard. People bustle about on both sides. Some watch us, covering their mouths to whisper with each other. I hate to imagine what stories they’re concocting.
“Of course.”
“Dinner at my place?” Idris suggests so casually, because it is.
Three months ago, before the Great Rebellion, I maybe set foot in the Patricelli family home four or five times in my life. Now I’m there at least twice a week, or he’s at ours. Strictly for work of course. We couldn’t afford any distractions; our city was in crisis.
The last time I had been distracted, I had been blinded. I had been taken for a fool by someone I thought I could rely on. My childhood companion turned lover turned malicious, manipulative murderer of my family and colleagues. A monster that stalked my nightmares.
Nouis’s evil was dead, but the scars he left and the lessons he wrought don’t need to be taught again. I won’t be found so lacking a second time.
“Can’t,” I answer as I stomp the disappointment I shouldn’t feel deep down in my gut. “I’m meeting the girls at Amica. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, but I have a few things I should sort now I’m back. Please send them all my best. Shall we meet up afterwards?” Idris suggests. I scratch the back of my head.
“I’ll keep a nightcap for you.” Idris chuckles, but I can see there is something serious he wants to discuss. I press my lips together. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t tempt the bond; I shouldn’t tempt Fate. I shouldn’t test my own self-restraint.
Idris steps closer and my heart leaps to my throat as he lifts a hand up to my face. My skin shudders with hot waves as his fingertips brush the soft flesh of my cheek. He drags a stray lock of hair back behind my ear. My ear burns with his touch, my cheeks hot and flushed.
“I’ve been at sea for two whole weeks. Come, let me distract you from your problems for a bit.”
“No distractions,” I remind him and clear my throat. Idris smirks, mischief gleaming in his eyes.
“That’s your rule. Not mine,” Idris answers, trailing his hot fingers down the side of my neck before dropping his hand. “Still, come this evening. To talk.”
“Okay,” I agree. The small victory brings a smile to his face.
“Stay safe, Di Maineri,” Idris whispers softly. “And when it’s time for home, come find me.”
Then he turns tail and disappears into the colourful Halician crowd.
Chapter 2
The Amica has changed drastically thanks to an absurdly good loan the landlady Paula secured from the Di Maineri Bank.
The entire building has been renovated and expanded into the building next door to create a beautiful kitchen, a large, open dining area and several private rooms for events. The inside is open and light thanks to the skylights during the day and lots of buttery candles on every table at night. Crocheted white tablecloths tumble off circular tables, surrounded by comfortable padded chairs and topped with crystal wine glasses.
The humming, warm space glows with amber candlelight. I take off my cloak as I sweep into the building. My lips widen as Paula hurries over.
“Signora, come in!” she says brightly, a stark contrast to the woman I first met when Idris and I secretly met here to fight against Bellandi’s treachery. Paula is warm, funny and an absolutely brilliant cook, and the Amica has quickly become the spot for girls’ nights.
“Paula,” I greet, giving her a warm hug, “thank you for having us again.”
“Thank you for coming, signora. The girls are at your table,” she says taking my cloak and hanging it up.
She gestures through the crowded space to a large circular table. Giulia waves for me like I’d somehow miss my sister’s signature golden hair glinting like spun sunshine.
“Thank you, signora,” I answer before weaving towards the table. Michelle is seated on Giulia’s right, hand lovingly wrapped around her girlfriend’s. Serra sits with one elbow on the table as she holds her nearly empty wine glass and glares daggers at its dregs. Then comes Emilia, dark eyes bright as she flutters her fingers to beckon me over.
“Hi, how was your day?” Giulia beams, her pastel-pink silk dress swinging elegantly as she stands. The burns over her neck and left cheek have softened in the last few months, but the barbed silver snakes still remind me with every move of her head of the hell she’s been through. Purple smudges lurk under her blue eyes; she’s been working a lot of late nights recently. Hopefully girls’ night will allow her some downtime. Moving with ethereal grace, she wraps me up in a warm embrace. I release her and smile.
“Idris is back,” I answer.
“Yes, Emilia said the boys were back.” Giulia chuckles as I sit in the spare seat next to her. Emilia beams, glass of red wine balanced between her fingers. The top half of her dark hair is wrapped elegantly back from her face, and a new set of jewelled silver earrings dangle from her ears.
“I’m surprised you’re here and not celebrating Alfieri’s homecoming,” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows at her.
“He’s got work this evening.” She pouts. “I’ll see him properly later, but look how pretty these earrings are.”
“How did he get those? Weren’t they on a ship for two weeks?” asked Michelle pouring me a glass of wine and sliding it over. As per usual, the slender brunette has her mass of dark curls bundled haphazardly on top of her head as she flashes me a welcoming smile.
“I think they ended up meeting some of Alfieri’s associates on the trip,” I say meaningfully, before sipping on my wine. Emilia sighs, biting her lips as though she figured as much but didn’t like it.
“If you ask for the full story, does he tell you?” asks Michelle curiously, aware that the question is a little personal. Emilia nods, shifting uncomfortably as a brief, troubled look flashes across her features.
“Yes, of course, but I’ve decided most of the time I don’t want to know. I really don’t want to think about it, or the danger he’s in. I can’t talk him out of it. It’s his family…” She trails off, tapping her wine as the thoughts spiral into her inner monologue.
“Oh, forget about that and tell us how the new sea defences are going,” I say quickly to distract her. “Or the new alarm system you designed. It’s ingenious.” Emilia’s small bell towers were being built all over Halice; tall posts, with ropes that could be reached from ground level, that house a glass-box pulley system that can raise and lower a candle inside a large stained-glass container. If you need help, you light the candle and use the pulley system to raise it all the way to the top. That way the watchtowers and City Guard can be alerted to issues sooner and come to handle problems. There were even different coloured glass containers to put over the candle, depending on the emergency and type of aid required. Accident, fire, crime and, of course, enemy soldiers – though those containers had thankfully not yet been used.
“Managing all these sites is a lot, but it’s amazing,” Emilia says brightly. “And I’ve just been asked to consult on strengthening the Old Bridge that goes over the River Vitta. I don’t know how I’ll have time for everything.”
“All that money pouring into the Garden for defence is really paying off,” muses Giulia. “Michelle’s work documenting the Great Rebellion and inspiring Halician pride is just breathtaking!”
“Aww, thank you, love, but you’ll always be the most breathtaking thing in the room.” Michelle leans close and plants a sweet kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek.
“How about you, Serra? Working on anything cool?” I ask, turning to my friend. She flashes a tight smile.
“Stuff,” she answers brusquely, not inviting further questions. The silence stretches for a long moment.
“Let us know when it’s done,” I say brightly, hating the tenseness at the table. “We’ll come and marvel.”
Serra drains her glass in answer and nods shortly, refusing to meet anyone’s eye as she reaches for the wine bottle.
I glance at Giulia who shrugs, worry lingering in her expression. Serra hasn’t been the same since the Great Rebellion. Being arrested on suspicion of treason, and dumped in a dark cell, wondering if she was going to be executed for a crime she didn’t commit, had left marks. She had seemed moderately okay, but this down spell seems to be lasting.
We’ll have to make a concerted effort.
“So, Giulia, how’s the bank?” asks Emilia, moving the conversation on. Giulia sighs, rubbing the burns on her jaw – a habit of hers now when she’s troubled.
“Complicated,” she admits. “We lost a lot of money and with everything … it’s tough to fix.”
Michelle squeezes her hand.
Trying to plug the hole the traitor Bellandi left in our bank’s finances isn’t an easy task. He stole so much money to pay mercenaries to invade our city, to weaken it for a Holy States coup. And with trade dropping and work drying up, things aren’t getting any easier.
“That’s alright. No one expects it to happen overnight,” I say encouragingly, knowing just how stressed she’s been. Sometimes I find her in the small hours still poring over documents by candlelight.
“I’d take overnight in a heartbeat actually.” Giulia snorts ruefully, but whatever she was going to say next falls from her tongue. Her brow pinches as her gaze locks on something behind me and I turn, spying a staff member from our home hurrying towards the table.
