Page 18 of War Mage

A small crease appears between Urim’s brows. A big reaction for one as unflappable as him. There’s a moment of dark longing in the bond, like he wants to punish me and dominate me for my insolence. I get the mental image of that night in the cell, of his large and powerful hands coming down on my behind, pain mingling with pleasure. My breath hitches as I realize that that’s what he wants to do. For a moment, I respond to his yearning, a tendril of lust escaping along the bond, my arousal spiking. I want to experience that release again. Then he buries that dark emotion and I push down my reaction, the both of us shuttering our emotions to each other. But we both know what happened, what we exposed to each other. I almost expect him to say something cutting again, but after a charged moment, he just leaves, heading below deck. I breathe a sigh of relief, even as I also feel a strange kind of disappointment. For the first time in a week, I am totally alone, without my looming shadow. His feelings are still in my chest, but since they have gone back to that unflappable calm, they are easy to ignore.

I turn back to the rail, looking out at the ocean, the land already far behind us. Something stirs deep within me. I’ve missed the open water. At least I’ll have this voyage before we get to Barakrin to make peace with my almost-certain death.

With that pretty thought, I turn to the wind and close my eyes, totally calm for the first time in a long time.

Chapter 9

Adara

It’s nighttime when I see Urim again, taking our evening meal in the captain’s quarters, where we are staying as honored guests. Captain Ruthford opted to eat with the crew, so after a cabin boy served us our meal, we are alone in the room, which sways softly as the ship pushes through the surf.

We eat a simple meal of stew made from salted pork and potatoes, with a side of pickled vegetables. Standard fare for an Adrikian ship of this size, though it is obvious the captain holds us and our mission in some regard, as we were also given a whole bottle of wine for our meal, though Urim has abstained from drinking it and I have only sipped at mine.

We eat in total silence and ignore each other as I also take the time to study the map of the Onyx Palace that Urim got for me. I chew my stew as I carefully measure the throne room to the outer gate. It’s not a straight shot out of the palace, more of a meandering pathway. To get out, I’d need to walk in a curved pattern in the void.

“Five steps down,” I mutter under my breath, as I make the calculations. “Two steps left, four steps down, one step right.”

“What was that?” asks Urim, breaking into the quiet.

“That’s the pattern I’d need to walk, according to your map to get us out of the palace and past the outer gate,” I tell him. “If the map is accurate.”

“Ah,” the orc responds, then says no more.

Things are awkward and tense between us after our exchange earlier. I don’t know how I feel about what transpired. Should I be angry and disgusted that Urim still wants my body and submission? Even though, ostensibly, that was supposed to be a one-time occurrence to counter the pain of the mating bite? Should I feel powerful, since this hulking, emotionless orc wants me? I suppose there is power in it, the ability to affect him, even though he obviously is trying to hide that effect.

Mostly, though, I’m just confused, both at the orc and myself. Just becausehewants to give me sexually-charged correction doesn’t mean thatIshould want that. It is something I have explored with other bed partners, those games of pleasure, to varying degrees of success, but I have never experienced chemistry like I did that night with Urim. Something woke in me in that cell at High Citadel. A need to challenge and be corrected. To be forced into willing submission. It gave me a release like I have never experienced before and, in the secrecy of my deepest emotions, I want to experience that again.

But I don’t trust the orc in front of me enough to tell him that, to have that conversation. And he certainly doesn’t trust me enough to admit his own dark urges, even if I have felt them through our bond. At least not sober. However, I’m feeling reckless this night, probably spurred by our dangerous mission and looming deaths. So I roll the map up and stow it away, then pop off the cork of the bottle of wine and top off my goblet and then fill his empty one to the brim.

Urim frowns at me, though his emotions remain steady in the bond. “I do not indulge in alcohol,” he tells me.

“Well, tonight you do,” I retort. “We’re playing a game.”

His face stays impervious, but I can tell that I’ve surprised him. “A game? What game?”

“Drunk Man’s Truth,” I say with a grin. “You get to ask me whatever question you want and if I don’t want to answer it I must take a healthy swallow of wine. Then I can do the same to you. If I answer truthfully,youmust drink and vice versa. If you don’t want to get drunk, you must be honest and ask questions that the other doesn’t want to answer. Those are the rules.”

“This seems like a bad idea,” the orc says.

“I think it’s agreatidea,” I emphasize. “We don’t know each other. We don’t like each other. We don’t trust each other. Yet we are about to be alone in enemy territory with just each other to rely on? Explain to me how that makes sense, but us getting to know each other through a game is a bad idea.”

Urim looks at me impassively, digesting my words. He’s obviously weighing the positives and negatives and I can see the moment that I win. He sighs. “Your point has merit. But we could get to know each other without the wine.”

“But it would be far less fun,” I say gleefully. “I get to go first, since the game was my idea.”

The orc doesn’t argue with me, just gestures his hand forward to indicate for me to continue, though he watches me with wary eyes.

I want to ask him about that night in High Citadel. What happened between us and why he left so quickly afterward, but neither of us are drunk enough for that yet. So, instead, I ask, “How are you keeping your emotions so calm all the time in the bond? I hardly ever know what you are truly thinking.”

Urim tilts his head to the side, as if deciding whether or not to answer, and then says, “I have trained extensively for many years to master my emotions. Emotional reactions do not serve me. Calm, logical responses are superior in every way.”

“Emotions like fear and anger I could understand, but joy? Pleasure? Triumph?” I challenge. “You don’t wish to feel those either?”

“I have already answered your question honestly,” he returns evenly. “I believe you must drink.”

I grumble, but that is the rules of the game, so I take a swallow. What a waste of a question.

“My turn,” Urim says. “Who is Cara?”