Alexios

  Menzoberranzan - 153 Years Ago

  I stumble forward ready to fight back, completely breathless and silk half torn from my body as even more blood drips into my eyes. None of it matters right now.

  The only thing that matters is finding Nykky.

  Through the smoke and masked attackers, I see him. His curls are wild with ash, his golden skin streaked with blood. Nykky is crumbled up on the ground, sobbing.

  The remains of his silk wrap are in tatters. Surrounding him are three masked men dressed in mismatched leathers and scorched armor. One lunges at him.

  “Nykky!” I scream out to him, voice cracking.

  He turns to me, eyes wide and lips parted. For a few quick heartbeats, there is nothing between us except our burning love for one another.

  No Matrons.

  No House Baenre.

  No one else at all.

  Nykky smiles as I make my way over to him.

  “Nykky,” I yell even louder now. “I love…”

  Smack!

  My entire world goes black

  --

  When I wake, the explosions have ceased. Whoever these men are, they attack with no banners, no leader and no name.

  My face is being crushed against blood-slick stone, my body held down by three attackers who have me pinned down by the shoulders and knees while a boot presses down between my spine and shoulder blades.

  I can only see slivers through the curtain of my silver-white hair and a blur of tears. I watch as more of the masked attackers pull Nykky into the open.

  He stumbles, arms bound behind him as his bare feet scrap the stones. The bandages hiding his wrists have been removed. He can’t move against them or fight back. With his curls clinging to his bloodied face, he looks so… fragile.

  Nykky has nothing to offer them but breath now.

  “Please,” I rasp, desperately trying to wrestle against the men holding me down. “Please don’t do this… he didn’t do anything wrong. Please… please. Take me instead. I’m begging you.”

  My voice is raw from screaming, wrists bruised and ripped from thrashing. The masked men don’t say a single word as they pull out their daggers.

  “No!” I scream out. “Take me instead! I’ll give you… I’ll give you whatever you want, just let him go. I’m begging you! PLEASE!”

  The first stab slams into Nykky’s stomach.

  “STOP IT!” I’m screaming out. “No, no, no, no!”

  He gasps, knees buckling as one of them catches him by the hair and holds him upright. The second pierces his ribs while the third drives deep into his thigh.

  These men…

  They aren’t just torturing him.

  This is a sacrifice.

  The wail that leaves my throat rips through, leaving it even more raw and broken. I try to fight like some pathetic animal, but the men press me down harder into the stone, turning my face back towards Nykky.

  “You… will… watch,” one whispers in my ear.

  The twelfth spills even more blood along the stone below him. Nykky is no longer able to stand so the men kneel with him, still cutting into his body.

  The stabs keep coming with the twentieth one breaking through Nykky’s collarbone. By the thirtieth, I know better than to believe there’s even a single sliver of life in him. He is dead, but they keep stabbing anyway.

  Thirty-five.

  Forty.

  Forty-five.

  Fifty.

  I’m still screaming, begging, and pleading, spirit completely broken as I curse the gods and myself for not being able to fight back.

  The gods ignore me.

  At fifty-seven, the final blade slides beneath the curve of Nykky’s ribs and twist slowly. His body is crumbled up on the ground, gore spilling out of him just like the beautiful curls that spill across his head.

  Before I can catch my breath, I’m being dragged forward and tossed beside his body, his eyes empty and lifeless. I’m clutching desperately to his body, burying my face against his shoulder.

  “Please,” I beg, the simple plea tearing out from my soul. “Please… let me go with him. I can’t… I can’t be without him.”

  Then a hand grips my hair tightly, ripping me away from my love violently before a club cracks against my ribs… then across my head and again across my shoulder. My mouth fills with blood as I get kicked and crushed, the world going dark and distant.

  I can’t tell if the blood on my skin is mine or Nykky’s.

  A knee swiftly drives into my gut, stealing my breath and while I choke on the blood, one of them bites down on my neck to mock me.

  Rough hands begin to wander down my body, grabbing and groping to strip the last bit of dignity I have left. Fingernails scrape against my hips as tongues lick the inside of my thighs. One of them lets out a guttural laugh as if the pain they are inflicting on me is just some performance.

  My skin is smeared with blood and spit, and I recoil at the feeling of one of the men licking the side of my face. As punishment for flinching, I’m hit with the club again.

  They whisper vulgar and violent things in my ears while a hand slides lower to cup me possessively.

  My body isn’t mine anymore, but when has it ever been?

  I belong to the pain and to this moment. I belong to these hands that grip and bruise with violent purpose. I am nothing to them but a trophy to claim as victory for Nykky’s butchering and a body to desecrate.

  And even after all of that, these men will not let me close my eyes. I’m forced to taste more blood, their spit and sweat.

  But I am not allowed to taste death.

  --

  My grief has swallowed me completely, the stone of the ground cold beneath my cheek.

  I can’t fucking move, but not solely because of the masked assailants. They’ve abandoned me just feet away from the desecrated body of Nykky. I can’t move because my body simply no longer knows how.

  Everything inside me feels broken and being in my mind is like swimming in the dark, caught in a cruel fight between life and death. Blood has dried completely on my skin, lips dry and split.

  I am barely alive right now… and I no longer want to be.

  Not without him.

  But then…

  There’s a shadow gliding along the stone, but I can’t lift my head to detect the source of it. Not until I feel a cold hand brush some of my blood-matted hair away from my face. Then I hear a voice.

  “Look at how utterly gorgeous you are.”

  It’s a woman this time, her voice utterly dripping with seduction. My eyes flutter open to see what looks like an ancient painting come to life.

  Skin like a bronze coin that’s been dusted in the finest gold.

  Black hair coiled around gilded jewels.

  Eyes glowing like fire.

  She is draped in elegant layers of sheer fabric that clings to her skin but has been cut to reveal her stomach and long legs. Her waist is bound with an elaborate chain as decoration rather than to restraint. Jeweled arm cuffs wrap around her wrists as rings shine on every finger.

  Even through my swollen eyes, I know this woman is a not drow, nor human. Not even some other kind of elf. She is something that should only exist in myths told to frighten poorly behaved children.

  I try to speak, but only blood comes out. She stares at it like it’s water to her and she’s terribly dehydrated.

  “You can be mine, Alexios. But only if you wish it.”

  “Wh… who…” I rasp out.

  The woman crouches down, placing a long nail beneath my chin to tilt my head towards her.

  “I have many names, but in this… city, I wear none. Allow me to save you, beautiful thing.”

  Her lips brush against my torn ear.

  “I saw you weep for the bard,” she purrs. “I could not prevent it… but I can prevent you from falling into death’s grip as well.”

  My cries come out, ragged and aching.

  “I can make you strong,” the woman adds. “I can give you the gift of magic before House Baenre ever opened their eyes.”

  “And… in… return…?” I ask, having to force the words out.

  Her grin deepens, teeth gleaming in the firelight.

  Wait. Not just… teeth.

  I look again.

  She has fangs.

  What the fuck?

  “Obedience,” she answers. “Service to me and the occasional indulgence, of course.”

  She runs a sharp nail through my blood-soaked hair as I swallow in attempt to wrap my mind around this.

  “You will cut down men when I command it. Do you want revenge for your poor lover?”

  I nod, hot tears burning down my face and into my hair.

  “It can be yours, Alexios.”

  I try to sit up as more blood pours from my mouth, but my limbs fail. One of her fingers swipe at the blood on my lips before she slides it into her mouth. Her eyes roll back, sighing in pure pleasure.

  “Yes,” I answer, recoiling in violent pain.

  “Let me drink from you,” she whispers. “Let me make you anew.”

  “What…?”

  “Or let yourself rot here as a forgotten plaything. Just feet away from the bard.”

  A lifetime of being abused and treated like shit every day of my life. Nothing more than a toy for the Matrons to take advantage of and leave my body broken and bruised more every single day.

  Or…

  Undeniable power. Strength. Perhaps even the ability to conquer.

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  “Take it,” I say, hoarsely. “Take… take whatever you want.”

  She leans in, lips brushing my throat…

  Then she bites down, fangs piercing my neck with the precision of someone who has done this for centuries. The pain tears through my flesh and soul but soon enough, different sensations flood through me.

  Warmth.

  Arousal.

  Power.

  My vision goes white as my chest rises and falls rapidly. I can feel my body unraveling even more somehow. She drinks slowly as whatever bit of life I might still have spills into her mouth before she pulls back, licking up a single drop of blood from her lip.

  When she finally pulls away, a fang presses against her thumb before she moves it to the marks at my throat. I gasp, feeling her blood burn into my skin as the bite wound seals back together.

  “Now rest, my precious Alexios.”

  As my eyes grow heavy, the pain that courses through my body has been dulled into some sort of fucked up background noise to whatever thing is pulsing deeper inside of me.

  It’s old…

  And far too hungry.

  When my eyes flutter open briefly, the woman is gone and although something sharp is living in me, the unmeasurable amount of grief lingers there too.

  --

  I wake up wrapped in a long robe far too long to actually be mine. Expecting blood and shattered bone, my eyes shift down to my body.

  But there are no wounds.

  My skin has been cleaned flawlessly, with no cuts or even torn muscle remaining. I blink a few times.

  Where am I?

  How long have I been asleep?

  Hours? Days? Weeks…?

  The ceiling above me now is no longer the stalagmites of Menzoberranzan, but arched stone that’s been flawlessly smoothed down.

  “You have awakened. That is good. I was… concerned you would not make it through your sleep.”

  I turn my head slowly and seated at the end of the bed folding a damp cloth over his wrist is a man draped in a blood red cloak. His hair flows like wheat down to just before his shoulders while his pale skin makes him look almost like a figure carved from stone.

  But every instinct in my body warns me this man is dangerous. I see it in the way his luminous blue eyes watch me too closely.

  The man dips a cup in a nearby basin before holding it out to me, far too comfortably for my liking.

  I scramble away, causing me to nearly fall off the bed.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss. “Where am I? Who are you?!”

  “Please allow me to explain,” the man speaks. “You are still in the Underdark. I have brought you to this home under rather… dire circumstances.”

  My heart pounds like a war drum in my chest and I’m moving off the bed before I even realize it.

  “I need to go,” I choke out. “I have to go back!”

  Strong hands that are much too cold catch me, but I thrash against him.

  “LET ME GO!”

  “You cannot go back there,” the blond man says.

  “No,” I sob. “You don’t understand! Let me go!”

  My body twists violently as more desperate sobs pour out, vision blurring until I can’t even see.

  “Alexios.”

  I gasp sharply, snapping my face toward the man’s voice.

  “How do you know my name?!” I lash out.

  “I saw it,” he says.

  My chest rises and falls rapidly.

  “What did you say?” I whisper.

  “I saw into your mind while you were unconscious,” he confesses quietly. “I saw the boy. He is gone, Alexios.”

  My legs give out.

  “No,” I say again. “You’re wrong! He’s alive. I can still save him!”

  “There was nothing you could have done.”

  I fold in on myself, screaming as I clutch desperately at my chest to keep my heart from ripping out. The room starts tilting violently as I scream until my voice breaks.

  My body shakes so hard that I can’t tell where I end and where the ground begins.

  “I want him back,” I sob out. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just please… give him back.”

  The blond man sinks down to me and it’s enough for me to collapse entirely now. He just holds me while I break apart in his arms, my fists beating uselessly against his chest.

  “You did not deserve what transpired tonight, Alexios. I know this to be true.”

  His words mean nothing to me. Not when Nykky is dead and I am still here, breathing without him.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t see.

  My fingernails rip into my skin like I can pull him from me if I try hard enough.

  “I need him,” I gasp out. “I can’t… I can’t be without him… please… please… gods…”

  As I try to tear away from the blond man, body shaking so hard my teeth are chattering, something… changes.

  My breath stutters, then evens out. The screams are extinguished into total silence. I don’t understand it and I want to panic, but… I can’t?

  My heart is still pounding, body desperate to thrash wildly.

  It can’t.

  “No,” I whisper hoarsely, trying my best to fight against whatever is coursing through my body now.

  As my hands tremble uselessly at my sides and the violent sobs gradually ease up, I feel trapped inside myself, my grief having nowhere to go.

  The blond man’s arms are around me again, guiding me back to the bed.

  “Allow me to help you now,” he says softly.

  I hate him. I fucking hate that my body is listening to him.

  My mind screams for me to fight and tear wherever I am into pieces, but I just want to collapse against him. His hand stays on my back even after helping me sit down on the bed again.

  Through the fog in my mind, I hear hurried footsteps coming towards us before a woman steps in the room. I glance up slowly, curious to see if it’s the woman from before. To my surprise, it’s someone different.

  She says something far too quickly for me to understand, her brunette curls bouncing softly as she talks to the blond man.

  I can only catch fragments in this state, but she’s clearly pissed.

  At me?

  No… not at me. At least, I don’t think so.

  “… too soon… he is barely… you should have…”

  Her voice rises in tone and now I’m somewhat understanding that it’s aimed at him.

  I try to focus as hard as I can to piece the sounds together into whatever meaning, but I can’t. It feels like I’m underwater while the two people before me stand on the shoreline.

  “My love…” the blond man tries to speak.

  She cuts him off while I can do nothing but sit on the bed, letting tears slowly slide down my face as my chest still aches with grief that has no way to claw itself out of me.

  --

  When the woman eventually leaves, the blond man makes his way back to the bed, crouching down in front of me with the cup he tried to give me earlier.

  “Who… are you?” I drowsily ask.

  “You may call me Marquis,” he says with a soft smile. “The contract has been sealed, has it now? I can feel the power inside of you.”

  He brings the cup closer to my face and I flinch, but my body betrays me anyway. I am so thirsty. I greedily drink the water like a dying animal as Marquis holds the cup steady for me. It gives me the perfect opportunity to truly look at him.

  He’s undeniably attractive, with his golden hair, pale skin and eerie composure. But his eyes…

  They are the most unsettling part. He is human and not a day over 45 years of age from what I can tell, but his blue eyes hold the weight of centuries.

  As the cup is placed on the bedside table, Marquis stands and moves across the room to a small corner where more vials and cloths have been laid out. He moves like someone who’s more at home in a palace or even a library than wherever we are right now.

  “You were nearly dead when I was sent to collect you,” he says without turning around to face me. “The pact has been made. I can feel it in you.”

  My eyes narrow as Marquis moves gracefully around the small room.

  “Are you her servant?”

  He laughs softly.

  “I prefer… guardian. And with that, she has intended for me to mentor you.”

  I scoff and roll my eyes.

  “What does that even mean?” I ask him, still swimming in stupor.

  “In time, you will come to understand.”

  What in the hells is that supposed to mean?

  Marquis stands near a few shelves, gracefully adjusting the placement of a few glass jars. Behind him stands more shelves that have been lined with scrolls, bound books, and even a small sculpture or two.

  “You collect things,” I observe.

  Marquis looks over his shoulder.

  “I try to preserve what the world tends to forget. Art. Memories. Beauty.”

  He turns fully towards me now, hands clasped behind him.

  “You believe I am your captor, do you not?”

  “Well, you’re certainly doing a great job keeping me here.”

  He smiles slowly, but there’s an ache behind it.

  “I am attempting to keep you alive, just as she commanded. There is a difference, you know?”

  I pause, taking a moment to study him and those unreadable eyes of his.

  “Are you afraid of her?”

  “I respect what she is,” he says simply. “But I may come to fear what she will do through you. I have seen other warlocks rise and fall, burning cities to the ground just to prove to her that they are not weak. You may be tempted to do the same.”

  “I can control it,” I answer as sharply as I can in this half-dazed state.

  Marquis sighs deeply, stepping closer to kneel in front of me again.

  “Grief can be louder than hunger, Alexios.”

  For a while, we don’t say another word to each other, but then he stands again and walks to another corner of the room, lighting a few candles with just a snap of his fingers.

  “Who is she?” I ask quietly.

  “She is… the Mother,” Marquis says. “She speaks and her husband listens. Always. They are older than time. Together, they are… they are…”

  He shakes his head, his words falling apart.

  “What… what are they?” I plead.

  I have so many questions and so many thoughts racing through my mind, but before I can even let a single word out, he shushes me.

  “Rest now, Alexios. When she calls, you will need the strength.”

  His hand rests at the back of my neck, the fight draining out of my body fully now. Darkness takes me once again.

  --

  “Alexios,” a voice calls out to me through my trancing.

  I wake roughly to find Marquis sitting at the edge of the bed, his pale hand resting on my arm. I sit up, scrubbing my eyes tiredly in a state of confusion.

  “You must listen to me,” he continues. “I retrieved the body.”

  I turn to look at Marquis slowly, not sure I heard him correctly.

  “What?” I breathe out.

  “Nykolai,” he clarifies. “The bard. Nykky. That was his name, yes?”

  I gasp, the sound coming out broken and sharp.

  “You… you what?”

  “I went to collect what was left before anyone could dispose of him.”

  There’s nothing I can do except just stare at him right now.

  “Where is he?”

  I stand from the bed abruptly and Marquis doesn’t say another word. He simply stands and gestures for me to follow. We walk through the hallway in total silence, my hands trembling at my sides.

  Desperate to wash the memories of his murder from my mind, I try to focus on his smile and the way he kissed me for the first time all those years ago instead. So gentle and sweet, just as he is.

  …

  Just as he was, I correct myself bitterly.

  Marquis stops at a door carved with a small symbol too old for me to ever recognize, then pushes it open and lets me walk ahead of him.

  The room has been kept cool as incense burns in a few corners while candles line the shelves. In the center of the room is a low altar draped in deep red linen and a raised platform where a body lies still.

  Only the face remains visible, with the body being concealed with an off-white sheet. My knees nearly give out.

  My beloved Nykolai.

  His features are now a muted shade of gold, his lips slightly blue. Marquis must have attempted to brush his hair and wipe some of the grime away. If I didn’t know better, I would just think he’s simply trancing.

  But he’s not.

  He never will again.

  I stumble forward as Marquis steps back to give this moment the space it so rightfully deserves.

  “Nykky,” I whisper, voice wrapped in grief.

  I fall to my knees beside the platform and reach out, my fingers trembling as I brush a strand of his hair away. It’s still soft.

  Guttural sobs are pulled from deep inside my chest before I can stop it. My whole body shakes as I move to press a trembling kiss to his cheeks, his forehead, and his eyebrows. I even kiss his cold lips like it’s enough to wake him and undo this.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t get us out. I promised…”

  My voice cracks, words drowning wildly in sorrow. As I bury my face against his shoulder, I try not to touch the wounds I know wait beneath the sheet.

  He’s so cold.

  “He wanted to build a home with me,” I whisper as the memory hits me like a fist to the jaw. “I was going to marry him. He wanted music and a beautiful garden. I gave him this instead. I should’ve died first.”

  My shivering lips find his cheeks again.

  The silence behind me almost makes me forget Marquis is still there. When I look back at him, I expect judgment, but all I see is understanding.

  “You deserve to grieve,” he says politely. “He deserves to be remembered as more than what they took from you.”

  He steps away quietly as I continue kissing the skin that will never warm again, whispering solemn apologies into the space between us, wishing more than anything that I could still hold back death.

  Even now.

  --

  I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been kneeling next to the platform. My knees ache and my throat is raw from crying, but Nykky’s face remains soft even now. I’ve memorized every curve of his face and every freckle peppered on his cheeks. I’ve kissed his eyebrows and cold lips too many times to count.

  Somewhere in this lost meaning of time, a blanket has been draped over my shoulder. Marquis must have returned at some point, moving around me while I stayed lost in Nykky to notice at all.

  Eventually, he comes to visit again, standing quietly behind me.

  “We will not be able to stay in this location for long.”

  My body goes still.

  “The Matrons will come looking eventually,” he continues. “There is no doubt they are too arrogant for their own good, but they are not foolish. Besides, others will feel what you have done.”

  I don’t look up at him, choosing to slowly brush against Nykky’s cheek instead.

  “I’m not going to leave him.”

  “I would not think to ask you to,” Marquis replies calmly. “I am simply explaining that we must move eventually. It will be best for us to travel to the surface. You will be safer there, believe me.”

  “I said… I’m not going to leave him,” I hiss.

  Marquis steps closer.

  “Yes, that much I understand which is why I am giving you an option.”

  I look up at him through my tear-swollen eyes. He stands elegantly with his hands loosely folded.

  “Will you allow me to cremate him?” he asks. “It will permit the ability to take him with us.”

  I scoff, my stomach twisting as I glance back at Nykky’s handsome face.

  “I don’t want to burn him, Marquis.”

  “It is understood.”

  “I want to bury him in the sunlight. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere with trees and a soft breeze and…”

  “You will,” Marquis cuts in gently. “But not here, Alexios. Not where decay and violence eat everything.”

  “I wanted to give him a garden,” I whisper mournfully. “A big house. Somewhere we could live safely.”

  “You still can. Allow me to help you carry him to it.”

  My tears drip freely onto Nykky’s face as I press my forehead to his.

  “Fine. Do it.”

  Marquis bows his head, but I remain on my knees beside the altar. I feel hollowed and raw, no longer in denial, but still being forced to accept the ache of a farewell.

  “I will need time,” he says. “The preparations must be done properly.”

  I nod, unable to speak. I stroke Nykky’s hair back one last time, smoothing it back behind his ears the way I used to after every performance then I force myself to stand.

  --

  Marquis leads me into a section of the hideout I didn’t even know existed, opening a side door into a room that contains a wide basin carved into store floor. Runes have been etched around it and at the center is a shallow stone pyre, decorated with ivory and silver.

  When I reach for Nykky’s body, Marquis steps forward to help. I shake my head through tears, silently but politely asking him to let me do this on my own. As I slide my arms beneath him and lift, the breath is knocked out of me.

  He is so light that it feels like I’m only holding the memory of him.

  “I will give you a moment,” Marquis says softly before stepping back.

  As I place Nykky down on the platform, I kneel beside Nykky’s body, fingertips running down the line of his jaw and to his lips that sang lullabies to me in our stolen moments together.

  “You should have lived,” I whisper. “You should have played at our wedding. We should have grown old together. I would have done anything to keep you safe.”

  My voice begins trembling again and I let my lips press against his one last time before pulling the sheet over his face.

  Marquis returns wordlessly, placing small brass bowls around the edges of the pyre and filling each with crushed rose petals, lavender, and black resin. He pours a thin line of oil down Nykky’s covered body, whispering words in a language far beyond my understanding before turning to face me.

  “Fire purifies what the world defiles,” he says. “This will let him be whole again.”

  He kneels and presses two fingers to a small obsidian piece at the base of the pyre, whispering something else I don’t understand.

  The runes glow orange, then gold, then white-hot as the stone itself begins to glow.

  Flame catches, but it’s not some violent roaring blaze. This feels… sacred, spreading evenly across the platform. The oil catches it and even as the sheet catches aflame, there is no cracking flesh. Only light and warmth.

  I watch Nykky’s body slowly turn to ash and I have to press my fist in my mouth just to keep from screaming. Marquis keeps silent next to me, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. He knows there are no words that would even mean anything right now, so he offers none.

  I fall to the ground, unable to watch any longer. When it’s done, there’s no smoke or foul smell. Marquis draws cream colored ceramic case from a velvet-lined covering before carefully scooping the ashes into it. He seals it with wax and twine, then places it between us.

  “He can travel now,” Marquis says, speaking barely above a whisper. “He will feel the sun again soon.”

  I wrap my arms around the urn and pull it tightly to my chest.

  “Wherever I go,” I say hoarsely. “He’s coming too.”

  Marquis nods in agreement.

  “There is an untouched valley on the continent of Delaria,” he says. “A place where no one has built anything. When the time is right, we will travel there. The sunlight is… remarkable.”

  I bow my head, understanding that this grief will never leave, but at least a part of it is contained in my arms.

  For now, it has somewhere to rest.