Eryshae

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Lieutenant Rellis

Amir Estate

The hinges groaned as Rellis stepped into the cell again. The torch in his left hand cast a wavering glow across the walls, slick with condensation, blackened in places by time and rot. He let the door shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing them both inside. Mira hadn't moved much. Her wrists were still shackled above her, arms pulled taut. She hung by the shoulders, head drooped low until the torchlight coaxed her eyes open. Blood dried at the corner of her mouth. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.

He didn't speak at first. Instead, he crossed the small chamber and knelt beside her, setting the torch into the iron bracket on the wall. Shadows danced in irregular patterns. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves with practiced ease, then reached into his belt pouch and drew out a short, curved blade, not for killing but for searching.

She flinched when she saw it. But she didn't look away. "You know," she rasped, voice like scraped gravel, "this part's always more fun with wine and compliments." Rellis didn't rise to the bait. He crouched lower, eyes scanning her leathers, what was left of them, for seams, hidden sheaths, or poisoned clasps. She'd already been stripped of her gear once, but with assassins, twice wasn't enough. She could make weapons out of anything. He brushed aside a torn flap of cloth at her ribs and froze.

Scars. Thin ones, small ones. But one in particular caught the light, a long, jagged mark across the inside of her left forearm. Pale and cruel. It hadn't been cauterized. It hadn't been treated well. It hadn't been meant to heal. Rellis stared. "I assume you're not here to ask about my skincare routine," Mira muttered, her tone still biting. "So go ahead. Ask."

Rellis met her gaze. "That one. What gave you that?" She smiled. But it wasn't the smug kind. It was bitter. Old. "That?" she said. "That was the first time I defied a direct order." She shifted, just enough to make the chain rattle. "Ruwan wanted me to kill a child. Said he was a spy. Barely nine years old. Had a doll in one hand and mud on his shoes. I hesitated and couldn't do it." Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through. "So they made an example of me and did it themselves. They used my own blade and cut it deep enough into my arm so I remember next time."

Rellis stared at the scar. "I bled on the dirt while the boy screamed for his mother," she said. "He died anyway. Just not by my hand." He didn't move. Didn't speak. Because there was nothing he could say that wouldn't feel hollow. "And yet," Mira added, eyes hardening, "I stayed. I stayed for years. Followed orders. Became exactly what they wanted. Until one day… I didn't." A beat of silence. "And here we are."

Rellis stood. His fingers hovered briefly near the scar, then curled away. No words passed between them as he finished checking her over. No hidden weapons. No tricks. Just a woman chained to the wall with scars that told stories she no longer needed to explain. He moved toward the door again. Mira's voice followed him. "You think I'm dangerous because I disobeyed," she said, soft now. "But maybe you should be more afraid of the ones who never questioned anything at all."

Rellis hesitated. But this time, he didn't leave. His hand hovered over the iron handle, knuckles tight, then dropped. Mira squinted. "Changed your mind?" she asked, voice hoarse. "Here I thought you had someplace more pleasant to be." Rellis turned without speaking. He knelt beside his satchel at the door and retrieved a small cloth-wrapped bundle. When he approached again, she instinctively flinched, just slightly, just enough for him to notice. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said. It came out stiff. Almost foreign.

She eyed the bundle warily. "That's a first." He unwrapped the cloth, revealing two thin slices of coarse bread and a strip of salted meat. Not a feast. But not nothing. Mira blinked. "You're feeding me?"

"It's part of my job."

"I thought pain was part of your job."

"It still is." He looked her over. "But you won't be much use if you die chained to a wall." She snorted. "What am I supposed to be useful for? Decorating the floor?" He didn't respond. Just stepped closer and raised a canteen to her lips again. She drank slower this time. Less desperate. But still wary. He offered the bread next, and when she couldn't lift her arms to take it, he broke it into pieces and held them to her mouth. Her cracked lips brushed his glove. She hesitated before biting down, pride caught between hunger and defiance. In the end, hunger won. She chewed. Swallowed. Gave him a dry look. "You always hand-feed your prisoners?"

"No," he said.

Mira's brows lifted slightly.

"Just you."

The silence after that stretched taut between them. Then he shifted again, reaching into his satchel for a roll of linen and a small tin. She stiffened. "Don't," she said. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm always bleeding."

"This is salve," he said, ignoring the sarcasm. "From the infirmary. It'll stop the rot."

"I don't rot."

"I've seen battlefield infections take down men twice your size."

"I'm not one of your men."

He knelt beside her anyway. Her wrists were red and raw from the shackles. Bruises bloomed down her arms like ink spilled beneath the skin. He dipped two fingers into the tin and dabbed the thick herbal paste along her shoulder, where an open welt had split across the bone. Mira hissed, but didn't flinch. "You don't have to do this," she muttered. "Your job's to break me, not patch me, remember?" Rellis said nothing.

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The salve spread slow and careful under his touch, and despite herself, Mira's breath hitched. It wasn't the sting of pain, it was the gentleness. So at odds with the steel-and-shadow world she'd been dragged into. He reached for another bandage. "You know what happens if they see you doing this?" she asked, her voice low, a bitter edge undercutting the rasp. "You get reassigned. Demoted. Dead."

He wrapped the cloth tight around her arm. "Then let them try." She stared at him. For a long, breathless second. And then her voice dropped to something low and fierce, something almost reverent. "I'm not one of your soldiers, Rellis." She leaned forward as much as her chains would allow, her gaze steady and unflinching. "I'm your ally, I'm your woman now. And if you don't stop treating me like a fallen rebel and start treating me like I'm yours, you'll lose the only ally in this hellhole who still believes there's a man under all that iron."

Rellis froze. His hand, still on the bandage. His breath caught between two worlds. The silence between them crackled. He didn't know what to say. So instead, he finished tying the bandage. She hissed through her teeth. "Should I stop?" he asked quietly. She met his eyes. For the first time, there was no venom in her gaze. "No." He continued. Gentle. Efficient. Methodical in a way that almost made her want to scream. Or cry. Or both. When he wrapped the linen around her forearm, she spoke again, voice barely more than a breath. "I don't know what you think you're doing."

"Bandaging your wounds," he replied. "No." Her eyes locked with his. "That's not all of it." He didn't deny it. Just finished tying off the bandage and looked up. "You should hate me," she said. "You want to. It would be easier. For both of us."

"Maybe," he said. "But I don't."

"Why?"

"I haven't figured that part out yet." He stood, and this time, she didn't stop him when he moved back toward the door. "Rellis," she said suddenly, the name foreign on her tongue but not sharp. "If you think fixing my arms means I won't still try to escape, "

"I don't," he said, pausing at the threshold. "But at least now, if you try… you won't bleed out doing it." The door closed behind him, but it didn't slam. And Mira… Mira stared at the place he'd stood, something unreadable flickering behind her cracked lips and worn-down eyes. Not hope. Not yet. But maybe the shape of something like it.

The corridors of the Amir Estate felt colder when you'd just tended wounds you were meant to inflict. Rellis walked in silence, his boots muffled against the thick crimson runner stretched down the eastern hall. A few passing servants dipped their heads. A young scribe offered a brief salute. He ignored them all. His mind was back in that cell. On the woman chained to stone.

No. Not a woman.

A killer.

A traitor.

A woman, indeed.

But she hadn't flinched when he touched her wounds. She hadn't begged. She hadn't asked for mercy. She'd eaten, yes, but not like someone grateful. Like someone preparing for the next fight. The next escape. She will try to flee. You know that. And yet you fed her. You eased her pain. Rellis's jaw clenched. His hands flexed at his sides. He wanted to call it strategy. Practicality. Conditioning a threat so he could monitor it better. But the truth gnawed at his spine like rot beneath plate armor. It felt like kindness, and that… was treason.

He reached the upper level, where the private quarters of Emberhold's highest-ranking nobility curled around the central courtyard like a gilded snake. Two guards flanked the double doors to Amir's chamber. Both straightened as Rellis approached. The lieutenant stopped a few paces short. From behind the heavy oak doors came the unmistakable sounds of pleasure, muffled gasps, a rhythmic creak of wood, a soft, sharp moan. A woman's, maybe. Or both. Rellis stood still. Not awkward. Not surprised. Just tired.

One of the guards, a younger man with sharp cheekbones and polished pauldrons, nodded at him. "Lieutenant Rellis. Lord Amir is presently occupied. Shall I announce you?" Rellis offered a crisp nod. "Yes. I'll wait." The second guard turned and slipped into the antechamber beyond the door, vanishing behind thick velvet drapes. Rellis remained outside. Still as stone.

The moans quieted, replaced by a low laugh. A masculine one, smooth and amused. Rellis stared straight ahead, every muscle in his body composed, controlled. But the noise scraped something in him raw. He didn't resent them. Not exactly. But in the shadows of pleasure, he saw the contrast of pain.

One prisoner beneath the estate, bleeding and bandaged.

One lord above, drinking in silk and sin.

The corridor was too warm. His collar too tight.

The first guard shifted beside him. "Rough night, sir?"

Rellis didn't answer. But behind his eyes, Mira's defiant voice echoed:

"You're still doing it."

"You should hate me."

He didn't. And that terrified him more than any order ever had. The hallway outside the Amir's chambers still echoed with soft, rhythmic sounds behind the thick door, gasps, sighs, the occasional giggle muffled by distance and stone. Rellis stood stiffly, expression blank, arms folded behind his back. A few minutes later, the door creaked open and the Amir emerged. Hair tousled, shirt only halfway fastened, he looked like sin wrapped in silk. Lady Nerine trailed behind him, composed as ever, adjusting a silver earring with smug satisfaction.

Rellis saluted. "My lord." The Amir stretched like a cat, then gave a lazy smile. "Lieutenant. Apologies for the wait. These things take… time." Rellis didn't flinch. He descended the last step, smoothing his cuffs. "I have a new task for you. Prepare the prisoner. The assassin." Rellis's brow ticked. "Prepare, my lord?" The Amir's grin widened. "For transport." A pause.

Rellis cocked a brow, voice level. "Transport? To where, my lord?" Lady Nerine stepped up behind the Amir, the edges of her robes brushing against the floor like whispers. The Amir didn't miss a beat. "You will find out later." Rellis's jaw tightened. "She's to be moved outside Emberhold?" The Amir's voice was all amusement now. "Oh yes. My darling will need her little project while we're away. A pet without its leash is so hard to rein in once it slips."

Lady Nerine smiled at that, sharp, indulgent. Rellis's spine stayed straight, even as unease sank into his stomach. "I'll see her ready," he said quietly. "Good man," The Amir said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Make sure she's bathed and presentable. No bruises on display, for now." Lady Nerine gave a little hum of approval. "I'll need her clean, but not too clean. Leave the bindings on. Let her remember who holds the leash." Rellis nodded once, tight. Then he turned, already calculating what it would take to keep Mira safe on the road. If that was still possible.

Behind him, The Amir's voice drifted after him like wine poured over glass. "Oh, and Rellis?" He stopped. "My lord?"

"Smile, for gods' sake. We're heading East." Rellis didn't smile. He walked away. And the echo of Mira's voice, I'm your woman, followed him all the way down the corridor.