Filling the Days

[Jaxen Marveet]

Chapter 8: Shit. Okay, new plan. 

He’d never seen the barbaric act performed. It wasn’t needed in the height of his Age, and during the War of Power, it was simpler to obliterate someone then cleave their power. Jole expected it to be unpleasant, and he steeled himself for the ordeal.

It was like getting your spine ruthlessly torn from your back.

He staggered and barely prevented himself from falling; he refused to give Devika the satisfaction as he mentally tested the truth of sensing the One Power just beyond the reach of his grasp. Each breath he took sent searing pain through his ribs like he couldn’t catch his breath, and he wrapped an arm around himself in order to right his balance, but before the shock of the Gentling could fully recede, she tilted his chin again. The look in her eye said she was far from finished, and the One Power surged through his body once more. "Stop. What are you doing?"

In the moments that followed, he remained in silence. He snapped only because he couldn't unleash the tension that gripped every muscle tight, promising vengeance he couldn’t act upon.

Even when he looked away from the woman, he sensed her staring back at him, malevolent and cautious. Instead, he paced, stealing glances at the door that otherwise offered no opportunity for escape, and he rubbed his chin while his mind sifted through the options.

As he turned back, he acknowledged that he’d been outmaneuvered. She’d interpret that as frustration, but mixed with his anger was the smug contemplation of a burgeoning new plan. 

“Hand-Chosen by the Great Lord of the Dark to be a ruler of the world forever.” The announcement was proud but colored with a tone of mockery.

He fixed the dead of his eyes upon Devika’s.

“Forsaken by the Light.”

“Heartseeker.”

“Ashtaroth.”

“These are my names.”

“But my favorite is Jole Addam Messosin.” He listed them one by one, finally bowing with the nonchalant grace of one accustomed to applause upon uttering his birth name. He doubted if history even remembered it; most of the Chosen’s were long forgotten.

He took a fresher breath, steadying himself for what he assumed would be rejection in some form or another.

He began to wander around the room, picking up random objects and examining them before haphazardly placing them back in their original positions. His nimble fingers brushed along drapes, and he ran his hands over the luxurious textures of the décor. He glanced out of the window, surveying the vast expanse below the fortress's towering walls and the distant horizon. A nod of approval accompanied his glance. "I should've been given this room," he declared. It was a significant upgrade from a dungeon, but Jole had never so much as spent a night in shackles.

Then he leisurely sprawled out on her bed, still fully clothed, crossing his booted feet at the ankles and placing his hands behind his head, making himself quite comfortable. Yet he remained vigilant, watching for her reaction. He knew that little might be visible, but he now had an advantage, being able to sense her responses to his provocations.

“I would never have done that, you know.” He squinted thoughtfully after he said it. He did much he never imagined doing, perhaps he ought not to say never, he mused, and shrugged the thought away.

“What do you plan to do next? Hmm? You will need my cooperation at some point, and I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. So, I will make you a deal.”

His lips twitched with a sly smile.