The wax would leave a mark, but not a scar. And as much as Rassa wants to fling the half-melted candle into the lake, she can not.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers to the soldier standing before her.
“Yes, he does,” Daria hisses sharply from the shadows.
The yellow heart of the flame illuminates only half of Ezren’s face, the side sliced by the Hound’s claws. Four jagged lines from his forehead down over his left eye and cheekbone, nearly to the corner of his mouth. Guilt slices through her, an ache in her chest that refuses to subside.
“I do, Your Grace,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the candle burning down in her hand instead of her face. His eyes dart up, briefly, just before they lower again. “I want to.”
Rassa grits her teeth, biting back her protests. Despite being heir to magic and power, she has no say in this matter. It is not her decision and it is not her body and soul that is being bound.
The brush rattles and Daria steps free. Rassa can barely make out her face in the dark. The stars blaze brightly above, but the sky is moonless and the forest is shadowed. Her silhouette is masked by a thick and heavy cloak, but Rassa would know her gait anywhere, would know the smoky scent of her magic, the lemongrass of her skin.
“This will be excruciating,” Daria says to Ezren, her voice a raspy murmur, barely heard over the sway of the trees around them.
Ezren nods. Rassa swears she sees him pale even further, but in the low light, she can’t be sure.
“Ezren,” Rassa starts despite herself.
“I need this,” Ezren cuts her off. His hand shakes, the wax of his candle encasing his entire palm, dripping onto the leaves below. “I can’t be bound to him anymore. I-”
Rassa’s heart fractures at the rawness in his voice. “I know, I know,” she says. His eyes finally find hers, relief plain in his expression. She clenched her free hand at her side and breathes out sharply. “Let’s do it.”
“Water or blade?” Daria asks, drawing Ezren’s gaze.
He swallows hard. “Blade.”
Daria bows her head and steps forward. “You must be ready, Rassa. You cannot hesitate.” She flings her cloak off with a dramatic flair. Her chestnut brown hair flies around her, the wind rising and swirling around them.
“I will not hesitate,” Rassa says, mostly to convince herself.
Ezren nods stiffly, holding out his free hand parallel to the palm holding the candle. His is nearly burned down completely, the wick barely holding on.
Daria rolls up his sleeves, her fingertips running along the veins of his strong forearms. “Tender is the flesh,” she whispers, lifting her wicked obsidian blade. It cuts into his arm, deep, and Ezren sucks in a breath through gritted teeth.
Blood drips down, pattering on the forest floor like rain.
Daria repeats the sawing motion on his other arm, cutting nearly to the bone.
Ezren’s face twists with agony and his hands shake.
For too many heartbeats, he bleeds freely until he sways and falls to his knees. Daria crouches next to him, holding him upright, one hand on his chest and the other under his arm. She grunts with the effort. He’s gasping now, tears stream down his face, and the sight forms a lump in Rassa’s throat. She bites her lip to keep from crying out, from stopping this madness. Tears wet her lashes as she squeezes her eyes shut.
“Rassa!” Daria’s voice, clear and bright, brings her back to herself.
Ezren’s breath shudders.
She drops to her knees, wet soil seeping into her skirts. She reaches out and grabs his arm. His blood is wet and sticky against her skin and she shudders, revulsed.
Daria’s breath labors.
Ezren falls still.
“Call to him.”
Rassa’s faith wavers, but she lifts her bloodied hand to her throat and lays it over the birthmark on her neck. Her pulse pounds against her skin, his blood slides down the line of her neck and onto her chest. “Illya Ezren,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“Louder.” Daria’s voice is commanding but faraway.
“Illya Ezren.”
A warm hand covers her own, drenched in blood. “Illya Ezren,” they say together.
The night lights within Rassa. It’s as if she is in a forest of torches, life pulsing a rhythmic song around her.
Illya Ezren.
A crow with gilded wings lands on her outstretched hand. Its dark eyes blink at her and Rassa knows. It bursts into gleaming sparks and Rassa opens her eyes as Ezren takes his first breath of free air.
“The oath, Rassa, now,” Daria says, dropping her hand from Rassa’s throat. She grasps Ezren’s wrist, holding it aloft. The flame is gone, but the wick remains. It must have gone out when he died.
“Blood wept freely, I accept your soul, your body, your mind, as my shield, my guard, mine until death part you from me.” She lifts her candle, holding it over his until it ignites. The flames simmer before catching and flying up in a roar of white.
The heat makes her eyes burn but she cannot look away. She grabs his hand with her bloody one, their flames entwining, smoke rising in a twisted curl.
“Neither blade nor illness nor hate part us,” Ezren rasps, his eyes burning brilliant blue in the wash of blazing white flame. “No grave will hold my body down, no matter how far we part, I will crawl home to you.”
Rassa’s breath catches. That was not part of the oath. His eyes burn and he lifts her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “My Queen,” he breathes against her skin.
She untangles their fingers and cradles his cheek instead. The touch sends sparks down her arm and he shudders as their flames, together extinguish and leave them in the dark.
Today’s flash is a theoretical scene from my witch project! When I chose the word oath I knew I wanted to write about the dynamic between these three characters. Rassa, a reluctant queen chosen by a goddess to return magic. Ezren, a soldier bound to a man hellbent on destroying that magic. And Daria, a mysterious necromancer with ties to the heir of magic. Rassa is one of the planned POV characters in the witch project and I wanted to play around with this oath scene.
To break a soul-binding oath, one must die. And since the soul can only be bound once in a lifetime, Ezren must die to bind himself to Rassa, his chosen Queen. Their dynamic is entirely inspired by the song Work Song by Hozier. If you have eagle eyes, you can even catch the direct reference.
As I wrote this, I started to feel inspired and giddy about this project, even if it still is in the puzzle phase of the writing process.
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