Blood Bond

I sat in a hollow room where the only sound was the whisper-soft hiss of oxygen echoing from the tube beneath Aunty May's nose. In my hand was a worn book with yellowed pages that crinkled when I turned them. It felt strange to hold something so ancient in the ultra-clean, glass-and-steel modernity of the room. Even the smell of mildewed paper stood out against that non-smell of Blackwood.

I licked my dried lips and continued reading, my finger tracing out the words.

"What's wrong, kid? A bit too young to be losing yourself, aren't you?" Aunty May's voice croaked through the air tubes. "Go on, but skip ahead a bit. I know that part by heart."

I flipped through the dried pages and landed at a few spots. Each time, I'd read a paragraph or just a scene or two; then she would wave me to go on.

Finally, I stopped and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "This book isn't easy to read. I can barely tell what's going on."

I shook my head and pressed on, my finger finding another string of words. "I got a little boy to go for a bottle of cognac but he came back and said he could only get grappa." I frowned, looking back up. "He sure drinks a lot. What's grappa?"

"It's a nice, clear drink. There's a passage in the book about how warm it is, and it is. Makes you forget… We're meant to make love, eat, and drink."

She spat the last word with a bitterness that reminded me of Stonehand, the way he'd stare at the fire and keep raising the flagon to his lips until he bellowed out that empty, bitter laugh.

The memory sent shivers down my arm and I shrugged. "I never heard of it. Must be something old."

"I'm only forty-five, kid!" Her head lifted off the pillow for a moment before dropping back down.

I looked over the wrinkles on her dried-up face. The veins beneath the see-through skin. The threads of hair on her bald head. "Oh…" I quickly flipped the page and found another line of words. "Abstract words such as glory, honor, courage, or hallow were obscene beside the concrete names of villages, the numbers of roads…"

I shook my head again as Stonehand's words came back to me: What good is virtue next to dead and burnt-out villages? I continued reading. "I was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice and the expression in vain…"

Was I embarrassed? I have to believe in what is right, in my father's words. In my family's creed. "...I had seen nothing sacred, and the things that were glorious had no glory and the sacrifices were like the stockyards at Chicago if nothing was done with the meat except to bury it."

I had to stop and close my eyes at the word meat. The sight of all our dead strewn out on the road, the bloodstains over the stone, they swarmed over me. What could I call what they had given their lives for? Vain? Was that it?

"Leo?" A ragged voice pulled me out of my stupor.

"Oh, yeah…" I flipped the pages and found another line. "...so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills."

I was staring at the mirror again, at that monstrous, broken me, with the wild hair, the bloodshot eyes and dirt all over my face. And I killed and killed again, all those who would not break like me.

My eyes found Aunty May's face: the sunken cheeks, the caverns around her eyes. It was the same way I had taken—no, drained—the lives from those people, the elves, the mercenaries, until they were empty husks. It was much worse. I broke with a wrongness that was beyond death, and cancer.

"Leo… come back to me." An emaciated set of fingers found mine, and closed the book. "You ever been to Italy?"

I shook my head, slowly.

"Well, it's a nice place, especially near the Alps. The water's clear, jade at some spots." Her eyes seemed to stare past the ceiling. "The men are beautiful, too, like the mountains. But you'll learn to be careful with beautiful things." Her hand patted mine. "We'll go there one day, and drink grappa together."

—

My fingers traced the edges of a painted miniature. It was a knight on horseback with airbrushed metal armor, its banner bearing the word "Leo" in a gothic font. The figure was a gift from Sam, though Julia had to take it for decontamination first. Thankfully, the process hadn't ruined any of the delicate paintwork.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

Out past the clear glass, I could see Aunty May in her room, lying deep asleep now. The pages of that book still grated against my mind. A Farewell to Arms. I sighed, turning the miniature knight in my hand and wished I could say farewell to what was coming at the Keep. But I couldn't run away. Too much was at stake: Mother, Father, Astrid…

How would I even begin to rescue them? I still didn't have the faintest idea. My research online, including asking an AI chatbot, had yielded nothing helpful—just generic quotes from "The Art of War" like "strike where they are weak" or "be where your enemy isn't." It's not like I could go anywhere in Aetheria; they had me locked down.

I had even reduced myself to asking Kyle for help when they were here. Just like last time, Sam slapped his forehead in exasperation, but I was desperate. And Kyle's tip about the food had helped, I think. At least Stonehand's men seemed to have warmed up to me, though not enough to actually help.

Kyle did his usual theatrics, a few poses, and declarations. He mentioned knowing your own playbook, and trying to figure out what the other team's playbook was.

"You can steal their playbook! It's been done before!" he declared, making a dramatic grabbing motion before spinning around, causing us all to groan. I had a hard time explaining to Naomi why I even needed his advice. The best I could come up with was, "It's just an online game that I'm playing."

In the end, all it really came down to was the other often-repeated mantra "know your enemy." I shook my head as I put down the miniature knight.

"Big sister Leo, is something wrong?"

"No, Annie, everything is fine." I reached over and patted her head. As her eyes stared back at me, a sudden, chilling thought pierced through my frustration: There is a way I can know the enemy. A second, nagging question followed. But what will I do with that knowledge?

"Why are you watching people spinning each other like that?" Annie pointed her little finger at my laptop screen, where a video of ballroom dancing was playing.

"I'm just learning to dance so I don't embarrass myself," I explained. The style in the video was from another world, completely different from the formal steps Meris had drilled into us. Still, the fundamentals—the posture, the balance—felt eerily universal.

I stepped over to the middle of the room and held my arms out as if Kael was standing in front of me again. Forward one step, then to the right…

Part of me didn't care about how well I performed in the dance. This was a farce, a sham of a gala hosted by those who dared to take my father's throne. But there was another part of me that couldn't bear being a laughingstock again, to be surrounded by people laughing and pointing.

"What exactly are you doing?" A sharp voice called from behind me, causing me to falter.

"Big sister Leo is learning how to dance, Julia!" Annie chirped, her legs happily kicking at the edge of the bed.

Julia shrugged as she closed in on me. "I was the national junior's ballroom dancing champion."

"Really?" I could only stare at her, unable to picture her in anything other than a coffee-stained lab coat.

She twirled one hand in the air with a hint of dramatic flair. "It was for college applications."

"Isn't your dad some big shot professor?"

"I used my mother's maiden name," she said dismissively. "He didn't even notice."

Her analytical gaze swept over me. "Your posture is serviceable, clearly you've had training. Your steps are fine." She paused, a thoughtful frown on her face. "But you have no flow. No musicality. You're executing, not dancing."

She stepped forward and took my left hand, lifting it, her grip forceful. "Your right hand on my shoulder blade. Now. Not my back, not my arm—my shoulder blade. That's our point of connection." She adjusted my arm. "Lift your elbows. Elevate. Create a frame, not a cage. Don't be stiff."

Her long fingers touched my shoulder, resting and yet, also steering firmly. "We'll start with the absolute foundation. This is the box step in a waltz rhythm. Six steps. One, two, three. One, two, three. Keep up."

She guided me through the motions, barking out the names of each movement, some of which sounded and very well must be from a foreign language. I followed. A few of the steps from Meris's instructions were similar, others totally incongruent.

But after a while, I started to feel good. Her voice, while hard, had a way of pulling one along and I began to move to the beat of her words.

Annie giggled and clapped her hand after I did a Chassé, and then Julia pulled me back.

"Now, let's try a Natural Turn. You'll step backward on your left foot and..."

She was close now, her chest almost up against mine. This wasn't the warmth of Kael; no, it felt invasive--the way her beautiful, androgynous face hovered over me, her eyes studying me in that analytical, mechanical way of hers. She smiled, one corner of her mouth lifting into a crooked, clinical smirk. "You do know that you've been dancing the follower's part all this time, yes?"

I stuttered a step and had to readjust by shifting my hips. I looked at her in confusion.

"The follower," she clarified, her voice laced with amusement. "Is a traditionally female role."

There were no excuses—I couldn't think of any, at least. After all, I had to practice this role for the upcoming farce of a dance. I looked to the side and forced myself into the next movement.

"I see. That girl of yours, Naomi. She's a strong one, isn't she?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A light chuckle sounded from beside me as I was pulled into another reverse turn. "Don't worry, I prefer to lead as well."

Later, I collapsed into bed, fully exhausted. Julia had put me through the wringer, moving from the Waltz to the Tango, even the Mambo. There was an unnatural glint in her eyes as she did so, a look of pure enjoyment from her torturing me. The sound of her voice still ticked in my head like some doomsday clock.

"Three… Two… One…"