Soul Bound, page 25
I look down at the letter, which seems innocent enough.
“Think it might be a cypher?” asks Tahira, looking over the letter from behind me.
“Keep looking.” As Tahira starts moving through the room, I turn to Agosta.
“Why do you care? Your money doesn’t come from the bank,” I say quietly. Agosta lets out a sharp, offended breath and her hands go to her hips.
“I may not be a banker, but I am a Di Maineri,” Agosta answers hotly. “I thought of all people you wouldn’t throw that in my face, Electi.”
I sigh, and nod once.
“It’s been a rough morning,” I grumble.
“Yeah, arresting your own flesh and blood can do that,” Agosta mutters. “So what’s the punishment? Are you taking the bank from her?”
“Life imprisonment,” I answer. Agosta gasps and her eyebrows shoot up.
“Seriously?” Agosta asks incredulously. “But she’s family.”
“That makes it worse! You want me to go easy on her?” I demand. “She betrayed me, she broke the law, and now she must face the consequences.”
“Says you?” Agosta asks, folding her arms. “If you can really claim you’ve never done something against the rules with a straight face, I’ll eat my earrings.”
“The difference is, I wasn’t caught,” I snap back. “And I didn’t do it specifically to screw over my own flesh and blood. Now get out!”
Agosta shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes.
“Look at you, judge, jury and executioner. You really think you’re the law-maker don’t you?”
“My city, my house, my bank,” I remind her. “I am the law.”
I show her the door and slam it behind her, letting out an exasperated breath.
“I’m glad I don’t have aunts,” Tahira mutters as she starts throwing sheets off the bed and flipping the mattress. I get to work at the bookshelf, leafing through books and emptying drawers. I knock on the back of furniture and test every tile of her floor. We find stacks of letters asking for instructions from her banking branch in the Wheel City, but no personal letters and no correspondence from friends or anyone else. All business and all from the Wheel City.
“Here we go,” Tahira says, upturning a small purse. Coins bounce and roll all over the bed. I cross to it, picking up the familiar currency. Not Hali-Pound or the Aureus of the Holy States. These are stamped with a wheel and patterned around the edge to prevent shaving; they are Kerma, the currency of the Wheel City.
“Hmm, funny little coins,” mutters Tahira, picking them up. “Why do you have so many currencies over here?”
“Banking histories,” I answer quietly. “This is a lot of money.”
“Perhaps that’s why she was hiding it,” Tahira muses. “Though there’s nothing inherently strange about hiding your money.”
“Agreed,” I grumble, throwing them back on the bed as I think about my own personal stash hidden behind one of my mother’s murals downstairs. Tahira and I stand there for a long moment together, looking around the overturned room.
I sigh and sink onto the ruined bed. “We’re no closer to knowing if she bribed your men.”
“No,” agrees Tahira, sitting next to me.
“We could ask her anyway,” Tahira proposes. “Pretend we found something.”
“No, Rialta’s too sharp.” I rub my neck. “She’d see through that in an instant.”
“Then we keep looking.” Tahira nods firmly. “There has to be proof she’s communicating with the Holy States.”
“Unless she isn’t working alone,” I answer quietly. Tahira throws herself back on the bed, deep curls splayed over the immaculate silk sheets and rubs her dark eyes.
“She’s not stupid enough to keep evidence like that in your house, but her counterpart might be,” Tahira says.
“Exactly.”
“Well then, who?”
“No idea. Someone she must’ve met up with.”
“Sounds like a job for your aunt with all the spies,” Tahira jokes, propping herself up on her elbow. The bed jiggles with the movement.
“If we can trust her,” I argue.
“You can test that, too,” Tahira muses.
That’s not a bad plan.
“It’s a shame you’re not in politics. You have the brain for it.” Tahira snorts and shakes her head.
“Nah, not for me. I like to solve my problems the old-fashioned way.” Tahira pats the blade on her thigh. “I’ll leave that to Kaz when he grows up. Perhaps he can learn a thing or two from you and Idris while he’s here.”
“Are you asking me to corrupt the naïve youth?” I chuckle. “I’ll see what I can do.”
That evening, my study crackles with a warm hearth. Gentle heat strokes the sides of my face as I review the first trade proposal for Tahira. It’s good, starting with items she knows she can sell. We can focus on maximising profit later, so long as she brings food on her return.
A knock comes at my study door.
“Renza, is now a good time?” asks Giulia.
“Absolutely,” I call back. Giulia slips inside. The gentle teal of her dress glides like water as she chews her lip. Her golden hair is hanging loose, gleaming like a sunset as she walks.
“What’s up?” I ask. Giulia looks at Father’s chair, her mouth twisting for a moment before she grabs it and pulls it over to the other side of the desk.
“Michelle,” she says. I nod, waiting for her to elaborate. Giulia raises a hand to her jaw, rubbing the scar absentmindedly as her lips thin.
“Are you happy?” I ask quietly. Giulia nods and furrows her brow.
“We’ve talked. A lot,” Giulia explains. “I need advice from someone who’s denied a Fated bond before.”
“Oh?”
“Michelle says she doesn’t feel love for Royah. That it’s not romantic or sexual. That it’s more like finding her best friend or even a sister.”
“What do you think to that?”
“I … I believe it,” says Giulia. “I mean, you and Idris don’t work like we were always told Soulhates should work. Why can’t society’s understanding of Soulmates be flawed, too? What if Soulmates don’t have to be romantic? What if some are truly platonic. It doesn’t have to make them any less crucial or important. Every single relationship between people is different – none is exactly like any other. Why can’t Fated bonds also be unique?”
“Have you spoken to Royah?” I ask curiously.
“I have. She came by Michelle’s yesterday. Michelle refused to speak with her – refused to let her in. But she asked to talk to me,” Giulia explains. “She was very kind, trusting me with that part of herself. And I understand – or as far as I can anyway. She’s … a good person.”
“How does that make you feel?” I ask quietly. Giulia sighs.
“Unsettled?” Giulia offers, but it’s clear the words don’t express her feelings properly. “Unhappy? Not about Royah, obviously. But the situation … I can’t stop thinking about it. I mean, what’s it like to defy a Fate bond?”
“Soulhates and Soulmates are different.” I lean back in my chair and it creaks softly.
“But you’re what I’ve got,” Giulia insists. “Does it … hurt?”
“Yes,” I answer honestly, but not unkindly. “But it might be different for Michelle. Soulmates are different.”
“But they’re just as integral,” Giulia counters quietly. “Would she be happier with Royah in her life?”
“Would you?” I ask without inflection. Giulia hesitates and shrugs, turning her eyes to the fireplace.
“I … I feel so lost. When Michelle and I agreed to try, the terms were that she’d never see or speak with Royah again,” Giulia admits. “But that was before. Now I know it’s not like that … I feel so guilty.”
“Have you said this to Michelle?” I ask. Giulia shakes her head and looks at her lap.
“She’s terrified she’ll upset me, which doesn’t feel healthy for anyone,” Giulia answers clearing her throat. “I don’t want that for her – or me. Or Royah.”
“Giu…” I trail off meeting her eyes. She groans and leans back in her chair.
“I have to speak to Michelle again, don’t I?”
“Sounds like the healthiest option,” I agree, resting my head on my hands.
“We’ve had so many difficult conversations recently,” sighs Giulia.
“Well, before you go in there, really ask yourself, could you be happy with Royah in your life? Would you ever feel safe and secure with Michelle if Royah is around? Before you broach the topic, know what you’re suggesting and where you stand,” I advise.
“Maybe we could come up with rules and boundaries?” Giulia muses. “At least for the start? I don’t want Michelle to miss out on such an integral part of herself, not now I understand.”
“Maybe try in a group setting – invite Emilia and Serra and Tahira as buffers.”
“You’ll come?”
I hesitate before answering.
“Probably best if I avoid Emilia and Serra for a while,” I answer quietly. Giulia sighs.
“That won’t fix things.”
“I’m letting them cool off. We’ll fix things in a few days. Let’s not put too much pressure on one gathering.” I try to dismiss her worries, but the rage in Emilia’s face … will I ever be forgiven? An ache forms between my shoulders. I sit back, stretching to try and relieve it as the flames trickle down my spine. I recognise the symptoms.
“I have half a mind to yell at them myself,” grumbles Giulia. “I might not like what you did but to say such awful things—”
“Don’t go starting fights on my behalf,” I chortle.
“You’re my sister. I’ll happily start fights on your behalf – end them, too.” Giulia grins. A knock comes against the polished wood as Agosta pushes the door open.
“Your Soulhate is here!” she announces in a sing-song voice, grinning at Idris who smiles back in his most charming manner.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Giulia smirks, getting to her feet. “Evening, Idris.”
“Evening, Giulia,” Idris says warmly as the two pass. Each of Idris’s footsteps pounds like a war drum as Giulia closes the door behind her, leaving us alone. The fireplace crackles and the air between us thickens.
I can’t find any words. Fate’s Fury, I can’t even look at Idris. Shame forces blood to my cheeks as I glue my eyes to the desk.
“So, I got your apology letter,” Idris says, tossing the pages on the table. The remaining blue wax of the Di Maineri seal still clings to the page, the lemon tree cracked in half. I nod.
“Good,” I manage to utter.
“You could’ve come to talk to me.” Idris’s deep voice grows tender and quiet, the warmth burrowing into my brain.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to see me…” I trail off. Idris sighs.
“Renza—”
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, the words torn as they leave my lips.
“You have nothing to apologise for. That’s why I came. I’m sorry. I should have checked how you were coping when I saw you struggling,” Idris says quietly.
“My actions are my fault, Idris.” I clear my throat, blinking hard. “I should have had control. I hurt you.”
“No, you didn’t. There isn’t even a bruise,” Idris teases gently. “Are you handling it now?”
I nod as Idris rounds the desk towards me. He leans against the wood and his hot fingers slip under my jaw, gently forcing my head up to meet his golden eyes.
“For the record, I always want to see you,” he murmurs quietly. “No matter what.”
A tear slips free of my lash line. I try pulling my head back, desperate to wipe it away but Idris’s calloused thumb races over my cheek, skittering sparks across my face and up my spine. I swallow before summoning the dregs of my courage for the most painful, crucial question burning a hole in my mind.
“Forgive me?”
“Always,” promises Idris. He lowers his forehead, pressing his blistering brow to mine. His searing fingers slip back to tangle with my dark hair as we sit there, basking in and battling with the bond for a long moment.
My heart races and my veins tingle in revolt as I push my jaw forwards. I capture his lips with mine, my hands sweeping up to grip his neck. Idris groans, the noise eliciting feral satisfaction as he matches my tender, devouring pace. My fingers twist into his blond hair as our breathing clashes and our tongues dance. My stomach warms and clenches, my head pounding and fierce.
“Renza,” Idris breathes against my lips, the tethers of my sanity entirely undone in his presence. The fury with which I claim his mouth is second to none, the need and wanton desire building in me reaching deeper and deeper.
I slip out of my chair, pressing myself against him. He sits on my desk, me between his legs as one hand trails down my back, exploring the dip of my waist and the curve of my thigh. My hands drop to the bulge forming in his trousers and I wrap my hands tightly around his thick, tantalising girth.
Idris half gasps, half growls as he pushes off the desk. A pace later I’m crammed against the bookshelves as my hand disappears down his trousers. He hisses as I begin to stroke, claiming this power, this punishment, this ecstasy for myself. Idris shudders under my grip, panting hard as I bite down on his bottom lip. I stroke, long and languid, enjoying every thick inch of him as Idris fights for control over the warring sensation I evoke.
Idris’s hands leap to my wrists, yanking my hands away and slamming them back against the shelves. I gasp in shock as his mouth moves to my neck.
“What are we doing?” My words are a mangled groan. “We’re Soulhates. We should stay far away from each other.”
“I really don’t care about what we should do,” Idris growls, his hands gripping me tightly. “That’s other people and their expectations. I don’t give a fuck about them.”
“Why is it like this? Why can’t we help it?” I moan. Idris breathes against my neck, his movements stilling as he speaks.
“This bond is ours. Ours to define and ours to navigate. Our Fate to determine. I don’t want to ‘help it’. I embrace it, every excruciating moment. No matter how rough.”
Idris lifts his head, breathing slowly as he hovers over my lips.
“We are inevitable,” Idris whispers, his words like a vow. “I’ve known it for years. I’ll wait until you see it, too. Because you will.”
Idris kisses me before I can answer, long, languid and promising.
Then he backs away, offering me a rogue smile before heading to the door.
“See you tomorrow, Di Maineri. Remember what I said.”
And like that, he’s gone.
Chapter 24
The last week has been chaos – adjusting bank accounts, bringing new numbers to the High Chamber, officially signing the life-imprisonment order for Rialta. Exhaustion wraps its tiny hands around my eyes and squeezes.
Which is why I’m not impressed when I receive an emergency summons to the High Chamber. We only closed the session two hours ago, and now I have to go back? I just want an early night.
A yawn brews in the back of my throat as I stride up the painted steps. It’s a closed session, thank goodness, so I don’t have Agosta and Fiora trailing my every move and offering their unsolicited opinions. Their bickering has triggered more than one headache, and they’re one sparring match away from being thrown out for a few nights, just so I can reclaim a semblance of peace.
I cross the polished marble floors, my steps clipping quietly. The skirts of my dress ripple in shades of burgundy and paprika, my low ponytail dancing along the back of my neck and the gentle dangle of my earrings brushing rhythmically against my neck.
“Ah, Electi Di Maineri,” says Leone warmly as I reach the gate. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”
“Of course,” I answer, stepping inside. My gaze travels around the occupied chairs, again falling on the empty seat that once belonged to Cardinal Bellandi. My eyes jump to Idris’s face which is drawn in shades of buttery yellow. Heat licks down my spine and my throat closes. He clearly didn’t call this session.
I take my seat.
“We have received a response from the Holy States,” says Leone, not bothering with the formalities of calling a session to order. He walks towards the central stage. He looks tired, his usually neat brown hair decidedly rumpled. Black smudges adorn his fingers as he holds up the letter, dark curtains lurking under his eyes.
“They have agreed to meet with one member of the High Chamber,” explains Leone. “They have suggested a spot on their side of the border near the town of Barive. They said their party will contain no more than twenty guards and their speaker, and request we match in number. We need to elect a speaker and send them to negotiate on our behalf.”
That seems perfectly reasonable.
“Did they say who they’re sending?” I ask. Leone shakes his head, his lips pursing as he turns his eyes back to the letter.
“I suppose it’ll be a cardinal. I doubt the Holy Mother would go anywhere with only twenty guards,” he answers. “So the question is, who should go?”
“I’ll go,” volunteers Idris immediately, sitting forwards in his seat. My heart sputters at the thought. I curl my fingers into a fist and dig my nails into my palm. I snap my attention to him, the roaring itching of his presence screaming at me. Of course he’d volunteer, always the first to put himself in the line of fire.
“I think you’re the worst person to go,” Ulrico says curiously. “You have a clear dislike of the Holy States, and you objected to pursuing peace.”
Wow, a startlingly valid response. Nice job Ulrico.
“Perhaps, but should events go sideways, I am the best equipped. This meeting is objectively dangerous. We would be crossing into enemy territory, walking deliberately into the arms of our foes. Any number of things could happen. Should violence break out, I have the experience to handle it.”
“While you have extensive experience on a battlefield, Idris, many people here also know how to handle a blade,” Leone counters levelly. “Besides, the retinue of twenty guards is there for exactly this reason. I’d also argue that going expecting violence will lead to its inevitability.”
