To Bind in Blood

Chapter 6

They rested that night, though Jurion could not say they rested well even with Aelider's reassurances. Still, he rested long, and when he woke to sunlight streaming in through the window, he heard a knock on the door.

"A moment," he called, getting out of bed and quickly changing into clean clothes. Rarely was he up so late.

When he was ready, Wrell entered with a tray containing breakfast sent by the servants. She had slept just outside his door and looked just as tired as he felt. He didn't offer a good morning, not in the mood for it when in his opinion it was not a good morning. He would guess Wrell felt the same way.

"General Aelider will be here shortly, my lord," she said, setting the tray on the table. "The others are eating already. If you wish, I can take this out so you can join them."

"I will let them have their peace." They would be too busy trying to gauge his mood and mind their manners in front of him to properly enjoy their breakfast. He would leave them alone.

"As you say, my lord." She bowed her head and made to leave.

He shot a quick glance at the door, making sure it was partly open, then gestured to the table, his words bringing her to a halt. "Please, join me." He then added, "A request, not a command."

She did sit  . . . though warily. Would she ever learn to relax around him? He had a feeling that unless he made an effort to break through that tough exterior, she would remain forever aloof, held back by the bloodbind that made her his servant.

"Help yourself," he said, indicating the assortment of pastries, fruits, and items he couldn't name spread out on the large tray. He lifted a pastry to his mouth and took a bite. Rather dry, in his opinion, and tasteless. He took the cloth napkin Wrell offered with a nod of thanks and wiped the crumbs from his mouth. When she made no move to take any food, he stopped chewing, studying her. Her eyes were turned downward, the scars on her face partially covered by her hair, her mouth slightly turned down at the corners.

He swallowed his food. "Have you no appetite?"

"No, my lord."

"You should eat something, at least."

Dutifully, resignedly, she moved her hand to select something from the tray.

He drew his arms tightly across his chest, a troubled sigh building inside, wondering what he could do to cross this chasm between them. "I would have your friendship, Wrell, not your submission. And if not friendship, then at least a sense of ease. Bloodbound servants are not meant to be so . . . formal, and . . . stiff."

She finally lifted her eyes. "I do not understand why you would want my friendship, Great Lord."

He raised a cup to his lips, feeling a stab of relief, however fleeting. Finally, she spoke with honesty. He set the cup down. "A question I have been asking myself. If this bloodbind is to last, our relationship should be on good terms."

"We are not on good terms, Great Lord?"

"We are on . . . strange terms, when I would have no 'terms' at all." He moved his plate away, the pastry too dry for him to want to finish. "But let us start with you ceasing this 'Great Lord, my lord, Lord Jurion' nonsense."

Her eyebrows drew together. "It's improper for a citizen to refer to you by anything but your title."

"The gap between ruler and citizen is negligible when we are bloodbound to each other."

"We are master and servant."

"But is it not more than that?" he asked, thinking of her supposed friendship with Gaelin. "Bloodbinds are by choice, and usually indicate a strong attachment between individuals, whether that be as friends or lovers or loyalty. The thing that connects us is my family, and you seem to have become close to them."