Valence turns to face where Lord Markus had been lying a moment ago. He’s sitting upright, stroking the larnatis which is almost on his lap, his other beasts pressing close. His mouth is still, but the way his face twitches make Valence suspect that he’s somehow conversing with them – his tutor indicated Tamers could do that.

  Valence steps towards them, in equal parts unwilling to start and eager to get it over with.

  Lord Titanbend’s eyes snap to him before he even gets close. Valence controls his shiver at the speculative look in those purple orbs. It’s colder than the usual look he’s used to receiving – the one offered by other nobles who might be wondering what they can get out of an interaction.

  This one feels more as if Lord Titanbend is examining a potential purchase. Valence swallows, wishing to express his outrage over being seen as an object – he’s the heir of House Fell, not some common slave! – but any protest dies in his throat. He put himself in this position willingly.

  But he didn’t expect to lose.

  “Markus,” Lord Titanbend intones, his violet gaze flicking to his heir. Lord Markus looks up – his cerulean eyes are sharp, but they are not nearly as disconcerting as the purple of his lord. “He will be useful.”

  Lord Markus hums noncommittally, but gently nudges the larnatis off his leg so he can stand. Looking at him, Valence might imagine that the battle had never taken place. There are no traces of blood, no rents in his strange-looking armour. Even the sand doesn’t dare stay embedded in the grooves of his attire, falling away with a faint susurrus. Valence feels his own poor state even more keenly – sand and blood coat his equipment, his side is still tender, and his neck is beginning to burn again as the poison continues its work.

  His eyes flicker down to the sand before he steels his will and raises them to meet Lord Markus’ again.

  “You are the winner of our honour duel, Lord Markus,” Valence acknowledges, his voice steadier than he feels. “The rewards of victory are yours.” The formulaic words feel like ash in his mouth. They’re unnecessary – he has lost whether he accepts it or not – but are considered good manners. Given the damage he has done to the name of House Fell by both calling such a duel and then losing so egregiously, he can’t afford not to use all the trappings.

  “Lord Valence of House Fell has lost!” The announcer’s voice draws everyone’s attention. The official has stepped onto the sands once more, his face bearing hints of excitement still – they all know that the matter is not yet finished. “Lord Markus of House Titanbend, as both challenged and winner, you are now permitted by law to attempt to Soulbind Lord Valence. Do you wish to exercise this right?”

  Valence can’t hear what the other noble onlookers are saying, but he can see hints of their reactions through the partially opaque protective barrier. Excitement is dominant – an honour duel hasn’t been called against the Titanbends for generations. For good reason. Many of House Fells’ allies look apprehensive – understandably. They will be wondering about the implications on their alliance if the Titanbend Heir is successful. If Father maintains Valence as heir, they risk being allied to a House subordinate to House Titanbend; if he is replaced, they will have to rebuild their relationships with a new heir.

  Given how selfish he’s been recently, Valence shouldn’t hope that his father doesn’t throw him aside – it would be better for their House to do so. Nonetheless, something inside him shrinks away from the idea of losing his rank along with his freedom.

  It has not yet happened, he reminds himself. I may yet win this next battle. He doesn’t dare entertain the idea that Lord Markus might not choose to engage in it – why not, when there is so much to gain for him?

  Oddly, when Valence dares to glance directly at the other heir, he sees Lord Markus’ mouth is twisted in what looks like displeasure. Why?

  Lord Titanbend leans over to murmur into his ear. The younger man’s mulish look intensifies, then softens slightly into something more thoughtful. His eyes then go to the announcer.

  “I do.”

  Valence’s heart sinks. Apparently hope was hiding inside him despite everything.

  “Then, Lord Markus, please commence when you are ready,” the announcer instructs, an eager note in his voice. Valence grits his teeth at the thought of how many others must be anticipating his humiliation. Surprisingly, Lord Markus looks more grim than eager and the glare that he flashes at the arena audience is fiery.

  Then he levels that gaze on Valence once more. He doesn’t say anything, but Valence is unable to look away.

  Those eyes seem to expand so they fill his whole vision, drawing him in like whirlpools. The arena, the audience, his father…they all fade away completely from his awareness.

  And then, as if he blinked – though he doesn’t think he did – Valence is…somewhere different. Surrounded by grey misty shapes, the only thing that’s clear is Lord Markus, standing ahead of him. Lord Markus takes a step towards him, and then another, sauntering like he’s walking in a park.

  With every step, Valence feels a sense of pressure between them grow, as if he is sinking deeper and deeper below a lake’s surface. When Lord Markus has covered a third of the distance between them, that pressure begins to form itself into something new, something that starts reaching around Valence like invisible roots.

  Lord Markus reaches halfway. Valence hears a clink that sends ice down his spine.

  Not invisible roots; chains.

  Lord Markus’ approach takes on a more sinister air. Instinctively, Valence tries to back away, but he can’t move a step – he’s rooted to the ground. He can’t lift his hands to protect himself. He can’t even blink. Nor is he breathing! Panic bubbles up inside him until he forcibly presses it down – his lungs aren't burning; perhaps he doesn't need to in this space.

  Lord Markus reaches two thirds of the way towards him. The pressure between them transforms into something new. It’s unfamiliar, yet Valence knows what it is immediately: his opponent’s aura. And it’s strong.

  Flight impossible, Valence fights back in the only way he can think of – without physical hands, he reaches to halt Lord Markus with his mind. It’s like he’s triggering a Skill embedded in his armour or sword, but instead of pulling a lever, he’s shoving his opponent away.

  But even that barely gives Lord Markus pause. Valence feels like a child again, trying to push his father away when Father wasn’t in the mood to play. And like that child, when pushing doesn’t work, he tries to attack. Barely even knowing what he’s doing, he imagines he’s wielding his sword again, striking at the approaching figure with all his might.

  Even in his growing desperation, Valence can recognise the irony in the situation; it is now him on the back foot. Lord Markus isn’t brutal about it; he doesn’t respond to Valence’s attacks with violence. But he deflects the strikes with a confidence that was missing in their previous clash. He fights as Valence did at the start of their physical duel – with the calm surety that he will come out on top.

  And unlike Lord Markus, Valence is out of tricks to turn the battle in his favour. With every step the Tamer makes, he becomes more and more convinced that there is no way he can win this. The clinking of the chains encircling him increases; they start passing by close enough to kiss his skin.

  Dread fills him, strong enough it would have sent Valence to his knees if he could move. His attempts to strike become no more than the battering of a child’s flailing fists in truth. Lord Markus doesn’t even bother to deflect them anymore – the ultimate sign of contempt.

  Valence curses Lord Torrent once again. He believed the man's lies and walked with eyes open into the yelna’s den. Now he will be devoured by its sharp-toothed maw.

  Finally, Lord Markus stops – in arm’s reach of Valence. The Heir Fell doesn’t fool himself that it is because of his own resistance. Lord Markus has been in control since the moment they entered this odd space.

  “Why did you demand this honour duel?” Lord Markus asks abruptly, his tone hard. “And don’t lie – I’ll feel it,” he warns.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  An icy bolt of fear goes through Valence. Any thought of being deceptive dies before it can fully form – he can feel the truth of the words as if he were using his Truth Sense Skill.

  Lord Markus clears his throat, his expression darkening at the delay. Valence would swallow nervously if he could, but he’s frozen. Which poses another problem – he doesn’t know how to answer without moving his mouth.

  “Just think what you want to say at me. I’ll hear it,” Lord Markus instructs him, his irritation audible. Just think it? Can Lord Markus hear his thoughts? But it will do him no good to delay any further. Valence controls his panic once more.

  I…. Can you hear me?

  “I can.”

  Right.

  I declared the honour duel because you physically assaulted me for no reason, Valence offers.

  “I told you not to lie to me,” Markus warns, and Valence is suddenly hit by a wave of foreign anger. There’s only one person that could have come from.

  I didn’t lie!

  “Lies by omission are still lies.” Valence’s fear rises again. He can tell that much? The anger pressing against him increases.

  It was Lord Torrent! Valence blurts. A moment later he regrets revealing that information when he had been warned to keep it quiet. Then he tells himself that it’s better to have Lord Torrent angry with him than the man who holds his life in his hands.

  A sense of resignation creeps into Valence. Why even is Lord Markus asking him this now? Valence is no expert in Tamers, but he knows enough to expect that Lord Markus could just complete the Binding and then order him to reveal whatever he wishes to know, whether it be in private or in the middle of that arena.

  That pressing sense of fury draws back and Valence sees Lord Markus looking down at him speculatively.

  “Go on.”

  After we had our…altercation, Valence answers quietly, I returned to my family’s suite and talked to my father about it. We were considering the benefits and disadvantages of taking it to the courts when Lord Torrent was announced. He didn’t ask outright, but it became clear that he was interested in hearing more about what happened. And when he realised that there were grounds for an honour duel, he urged me to challenge you.

  “Did he promise you anything? Threaten you? You understood the possible consequences of losing, I presume.”

  I did, Valence admits reluctantly, knowing he must be truthful. He promised a trade alliance which would greatly benefit our House, at rates favourable to us, win or lose. And he assured me that I would win. That you were an incompetent, weak commoner. Bitterness wells up in Valence at the memory. He told me what I wanted to hear, and I fell for it like a fool.

  He doesn’t bother to say that Lord Torrent didn’t need to threaten them – the consequences of earning the enmity of a Great House are well known. It was probably another reason why his father hadn’t put up too much of a fight, despite his misgivings.

  “Did you want to declare the duel, or was it entirely Torrent’s idea?”

  Again, Valence hesitates, knowing that no answer he can give will paint him in a good light.

  I wanted to, he replies reluctantly, then hurries to expand. At the time, I thought you were a commoner unworthy and unappreciative of what you had been given! I was angry that you had been chosen over someone I saw as more deserving! And I felt…humiliated at our earlier altercation.

  “At being forced to concede to someone you saw as below you,” Lord Markus continues shrewdly.

  …Yes, Valence agrees. He’d lower his head if he could, but he’s held frozen. But I recognise that I was wrong to consider you inferior to me, he quickly adds. You are clearly more than worthy of your position.

  “A single duel changed your mind so quickly?” Lord Markus asks sceptically.

  A duel where I had every advantage and still didn't win. And…you could easily have seen me dead, bleeding out before the healer came to heal me, but instead you ordered her to help me at your own expense. I…owe you.

  Valence feels driven to add the last bit even as he fears for what it may mean. For some reason, Lord Markus seems more interested in conversing than binding him. It has given Valence a hint of hope that he might get out of this a free man still – unfounded as it might be. But if he says the wrong thing, he will seal his own fate.

  Lord Markus hums, and Valence feels a shiver of apprehension go through him.

  “Are you a threat to me?” Lord Markus demands. Valence feels a little off-balance at the non-sequitur.

  I…I don’t understand the question?

  “You have struck at me once, by declaring this duel, regardless of your reasoning. Do you intend to attack me again – face to face, from behind, through influence, by harming those close to me? Are you a threat?”

  There is something animalistic in Lord Markus, his teeth far more like those of a predatory beast than a human; his eyes as sharp as his larnatis’. Valence hurries to assure the heir that he has no such intentions.

  I regret my part in this whole affair, he explains, utterly honest. I let myself be led by my nose. I failed my House. I shall not willingly again set myself as your enemy. It has been very clearly brought home to him that between Torrent and Titanbend, they chose the wrong enemy.

  Of course, Valence thinks bitterly to himself, it’s unlikely I’ll have the choice again.

  “Do you regret assaulting the woman?”

  Who? Valence asks, once again confused by the turn in the interrogation. He hadn’t assaulted any woman. That was clearly the wrong answer – Lord Markus’ expression darkens.

  “The slave,” he spits, his displeasure pressing tightly around Valence and burning him even as its touch sends more shivers of fear down his spine. Valence’s mind races. He needs to find an answer which will satisfy the one who has him pinned in place, but he honestly doesn’t know what he should say. He can’t lie, that’s the only thing he knows for sure.

  I regret that it clearly offended you, he tries cautiously.

  The burning heat of Lord Markus’ displeasure increases for a long moment, and then it abruptly cools.

  “What else did I expect?” Lord Markus mutters, with the air of one talking to himself. Valence’s mind scrambles for something to say – clearly he chose the wrong answer. But it’s too late. He sees the decision firm in Lord Markus’ eyes. If he ever had a chance to avoid this, it’s gone now.

  The Great House heir’s hand reaches out towards Valence’s forehead. As he approaches, Valence feels the chains hovering around him quiver in anticipation. For a last desperate gasp of a moment, he rails against his utter helplessness. But every attempt he makes to push at the chains, or Lord Markus himself, fails completely. And when a finger touches him between the eyes, the chains rush like snakes to wrap themselves around him.

  An image of a slave being sold in the market forces itself into his mind – chains at wrists, ankles, and neck. For one too-clear moment, as he feels these invisible chains wind around exactly the same points on him, he sees himself.

  His being revolts at the thought. Everything he has ever been taught about his place in society rejects the notion. But yet, he cannot deny it.

  You were born to be great, his father’s voice reminds him.

  Yet what greatness is there in being trussed up like a common slave, whether the bindings are visible or not?

  He lets out a great mental cry of anguish, not even caring whether Heir Titanbend – his new lord, his master – hears. Everything of Valence is now his for the asking; he can feel that fact deep in his bones.

  The misty grey space shatters around him and he suddenly realises that he’s in the arena again, warm air filling his lungs with each panting gasp. But despite that, he can still feel the touch of the chains, can almost hear them clinking still. He might not bear a visible collar, but he has been enslaved for his crimes all the same.

  There’s a nudge of something in his mind, like a System notification, but far more invasive. He can hear a murmur, as if a conversation is happening just slightly too quietly for him to make out the words, yet no one around him is speaking.

  “Valence?” Father’s voice murmurs warily behind him. Valence swallows and doesn’t dare look back at him. If he does, he doesn’t think he will be able to keep the tears from spilling over. Bound as a slave he might be, but for now, he is still Heir of House Fell. He refuses to disgrace his father any further than he already has.

  Instead, he steps towards his new master. Eyes dig into him – the beasts’ before him, now filled with curiosity; the nobles’ in the benches above; his father’s. Valence forces himself to ignore them all, to keep his gaze fixed ahead of him.

  Lord Markus’ eyes had left his at some point, but he feels the weight of them as they return, weighing him as he approaches. But there is no wariness in them – and Valence knows there is good reason for that. He feels instinctively that if he made any move to hurt his master, the chains that now connect them will constrict tightly, preventing him from moving.

  He has no intention to revolt. Not when he has been so thoroughly defeated. Instead, an arm’s length away from his lord, he pauses, the irony of the role reversal making bitter amusement well up inside him. There, he summons the last of his courage – the only thing more humiliating than this would be being forced to do it.

  “My lord,” he acknowledges. ‘Master’ would be more appropriate, but he cannot force the word past his lips. Hoping he will not be required to abase himself even further, he forces his reluctant body to dip its head and drop to its knees. Both knees – a position that declares his fall more clearly than words.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here