Chapter 32: The Bargain (Aerion POV)
Luxor's realm glittered like an illness. Light everywhere, refracted, reflected, multiplied into a thousand pointless colors. Music pulsed too loud, laughter climbing too high, gods, demigods and lesser beings whirling in excess. It was his birthday, and he was shining as usual. Luxor thrived on this. I tolerated these events because the Pantheon demanded appearances, and even I understood the value of spectacle in maintaining control. But I disliked parties. They were inefficient. Too loud to think, too bright to see what mattered. Disorder disguised as celebration. Inefficient. Wasteful. But sometimes, even chaos-drenched noise reveals what structure requires. Tonight, it revealed her. The Vessel.
My Vessel, creation of the Sacred Heralds, culmination of decades of doctrine, ritual, blood-math, and pain refined into perfect purpose. A living emblem of Order carved into mortal flesh. My gaze found her easily. She did not glow. She did not demand attention. She sat near the edge of the revelry, perfectly still, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, breathing slow and controlled. Not a wasted movement. Not a single sign of disorder. Even here, in this shrine to indulgence, she was Order manifest. Mine. Or she should have been. The Sacred Heralds had outdone themselves. Years, decades, of funds carefully routed, favors called in, scandals silenced, all invested into their "most devout project." No one suspected they had endured. Their survival was my doing, their rebirth my design. I knew their every rite, every milestone. Twelve runes carved into mortal flesh until she became something more than human. A symbol of Order made visible. Their masterpiece. My weapon. The Vessel who would carry my ideology into mortal form. Through the Bidding, she became property. They had meant her for me. Chaos snatching her at auction was not destiny. It was an error in the system. Errors can be corrected.
I moved through the crowd, ignoring those who stepped aside. Someone shouted Luxor's name; he laughed, golden and effortless. For a moment, I watched him. Luxor could have been a satisfactory second in command, if he weren't so devoted to light over structure. He had the spine for leadership, the charisma. But he let compassion dilute judgment. He believed freedom could coexist with order. Naïve.
I turned away from his celebration and went where I belonged: toward the flaw. The Vessel did not look up until I cast a shadow across her. When her gaze met mine, there was no awe. No terror. Not even curiosity. Just… observation. Interesting.
"Vessel," I said.
She inclined her head. "My lord."
Her voice was smooth. Controlled. The Sacred Heralds' discipline in every syllable. I sat beside her without asking. A god does not request permission from an asset. My armor whispered against the bench; my cloak fell in an exact line. I angled my body to claim the space between her and the bench. Up close, she was even more remarkable. Her face was symmetrical, almost unnaturally so. The kind of beauty mortals scream about. Her eyes, however, were empty in the way that only years of training can produce. Nothing wasted, nothing offered without intention. The Heralds had not only carved her body. They had carved her reactions. "Your appearance is… efficient. The bone structure. The symmetry. The way you hold yourself. You were built to be seen."
Her lips curved in that soft, practiced way. "Thank you."
It was like complimenting a finely forged blade. Acknowledgment of craftsmanship, not a personal sentiment. Good. She remembered her function.
"The Sacred Heralds invested well. They spoke highly of this project. Their finest Vessel. Their pinnacle of devotion. The only one to survive all twelve runes. Remarkable." She said nothing. She knew better than to debate her own designation. I reached for the fruit platter, plucked a grape from the polished silver bowl. Rituals matter. Mortals respond to patterns. Feeding establishes hierarchy, intimacy, favor. I turned to her, holding the grape just in front of her lips.
"Open," I said. For a heartbeat, I fully expected the usual. Lips parting, lashes lowering, the small, gratifying surrender of a mortal accepting divine attention. Instead, she reached up, took the grape between her fingers, and popped it into her own mouth.
"I feed myself," she said mildly. The tiniest hitch in the party's rhythm, for me alone. A subtle sign of corruption. Chaos contaminates everything it touches. My fingers tightened briefly in air where her mouth should've been. Juice from the burst grape skin clung to my fingertips, sticky, uninvited. Most mortals scramble to please me. I heard the Heralds brag of her reverence, her obedience, her willingness. But this—
This was neither disobedience nor worship. It was… self-possession. A flaw. Or an asset. I hadn't decided yet. I adjusted. Compliment didn't soften her. So I moved to tactile evaluation. I brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. The strand slid across my knuckles. Expensive products, careful grooming, a body kept immaculate for service. My hand lingered half a heartbeat at her neck. Not a flinch. Not a shiver. Not a lean-in. She simply allowed it. Consent by training, not by desire. Better.
"The Sacred Heralds shaped you well, you have been refined. Pain, discipline, doctrine. They have given you form. Most would have shattered receiving their fourth rune."
"I survived," she said. A fact. No emotion. Correct.
"You remained useful. That is more important." My arm settled across the back of the bench, fencing her in. I turned my hand, sliding my fingers down from the bench to her shoulder, then to her sleeve, then down, down, resting finally on her knee. Warm. Solid. Steady beneath my hand. Testing. She did not jerk away. Did not close her legs. Did not attempt seduction either. Her stillness intrigued me. "You belong under Law. The Heralds did not craft you for Chaos. They made you for purpose. For structure. For me."
Her gaze flicked toward the crowd and then back to me. "I belong to Malvor."
A flaw in terminology. The name tasted wrong in relation to her. "Legally. Temporarily." I pressed slightly into her thigh. Testing, she held perfectly still. Good. Still functional. Still repairable. "A mortal of your caliber should not be wasted on a creature who cannot sustain a vow. He bought you impulsively. Without understanding purpose."
She said nothing. Correct. She knew when she was out of her depth. "It is fortunate, that Old Law binds Chaos. His vow of abstinence from mischief is the only thread keeping you from returning to auction."
Her breath stilled, barely. Controlled. "What vow?" she asked softly.
Of course she didn't know. The Heralds would not have given her unnecessary information. Knowledge weakens obedience. "He made a promise binding enough to cripple his nature. Ten years without mischief." I looked at her, letting the implication settle. "He will fail. When he does, you return to the block. He is barred from bidding." My voice dropped to something almost gentle. "You will not slip from my hands again." Her silence stretched. Heavy. A calculation forming behind her eyes.
The air burned. Chaos arrived. He didn't walk. He stormed as if the realm itself were a costume he refused to remove. His magic pressed against my own like a dirty thumbprint on polished glass. His eyes went straight to my hand on her thigh. Predictable. The Vessel said, clear as a bell, "My Lord of Chaos."
The my was a pebble in a perfect machine. I did not remove my hand. "Vessel and I were having a discussion. About misplacement. About purpose."
"About you touching what's mine," Chaos replied, voice full of honeyed venom. I shifted my gaze to him fully then. Malvor always looked like a joke to the untrained eye. But his eyes were older than his performance, and I had never forgotten that we were forged from the same source. Order and Chaos. Intended balance. He failed his role. I did not fail mine.
"You paid for temporary access. Purpose determines ownership."
"And you think it does for you?" he shot back.
"Yes." I didn't bother to soften the certainty. I let my thumb slide one last deliberate inch up the Vessel's thigh before lifting my hand away. A final note in the test, logged and done. "She is the pinnacle of Sacred Herald devotion. Do you even understand the value of what you haphazardly acquired?"
"I understand her fine," he said, jaw tight. "You're not getting her."
Oh, I will. You will fail. Eventually. Chaos always does. "Old Law disagrees. One broken vow, and she returns to market. You remember the clauses. Or did you agree without thought?"
His magic lunged at mine; the Vessel's hand shot out, resting on his wrist. Her touch anchored him, and that, too, I filed away. She could steady Chaos. That was… notable. It made her more dangerous and more necessary. Time, then, for a different approach.
"You want my warhorse," I said. He hesitated. Just a flicker, but I saw the hunger there. Chaos liked that animal more than he liked most people. A rare and fine divine beast. It was not about the horse. It was about leverage. About establishing precedent. About touching what was supposed to be mine. "A trade. The horse, permanently… in exchange for one night's custodial rights to your Vessel."
The Vessel. My Vessel. My emblem. My order carved into flesh. My perfect tool for tribunals, punishments, rewards, doctrine, spectacle. She had been sterilized, correctly, to prevent unauthorized bloodlines but fertility is a law. Laws bend to me. When I desired more children, she could bear them. I could reverse the sterilization with a breath. Chaos's magic bucked violently. He was one breath from attacking, one breath from shattering his vow and returning her to me.
"You want to rent her?" He snarled his eyes flickering gold with magic. "For a night?"
"Legally, it would be a temporary transfer of ownership. Terms defined. Dawn returns her to your realm." Yes, I considered the physical logistics. Her body was engineered for endurance. She would withstand whatever I required. A night of instruction. Of correction. Of teaching her the feeling of true submission. Not the transactional falsehood of the temples. The thought did not excite me in the way it might excite them. But it would be… efficient.
Chaos's magic surged again, hot and wild. He was one breath away from attacking. From breaking his vow. From freeing her into my waiting hands. The Vessel's fingers dug more firmly into his wrist. "Let me handle this," she whispered. I saw the words in the shape of her lips even if I could not hear them all. She turned her attention to me fully, and for the first time, there was a spark there. Calculation. "You would send the horse here tonight? To Malvor's stables."
"Of course. A god's word is binding."
"The horse, permanently his," she clarified brow raised. "I spend one night with you. Then I return here at dawn."
"Yes. That is the balance." I watched her. Watched the way she measured us both. Watched the way she did not shrink, did not tremble, did not crumble. Her mind was working. That much was clear. Good. I preferred useful tools that could think. She smiled then. It was almost pretty, almost sincere, if I didn't know better.
"Then I accept," she said softly. She angled her body toward Malvor, though her eyes stayed on mine. "You'll get what you want, my lord. Both of you."
Chaos stiffened. "Annie—"
Tomorrow, I thought, she will walk through my gates. Chaos will rage. He will be constrained by his own bargain. I will finally have my hands on what should have always been mine. The Vessel added, voice dipping smooth as silk, "You'll have your horse tonight. Tomorrow morning…" She paused, letting the words hang. "You'll get the ride you've been begging for."
Chaos choked on something that might've been a laugh. Or a curse. I considered her phrasing. It was imprecise, but the intent was sound. Mortals say things strangely. The Vessel would never deceive me. The terms were clear enough. Horse for Vessel. Night till dawn. I ran the arithmetic in my head. My horse was valuable, but replaceable. The Vessel was not. One night would be enough to begin. Enough to mark her, teach her, correct her orientation. Once the first precedent was set, it would be easy to expand. She had been made for me. Chaos could posture. He could preen. He could cling. In the end, he would fail. He always did. Emotion always did. I inclined my head. "Agreed."
Her eyes flashed with something unreadable. I stood, straightening my cloak. "The horse will arrive at your stables before midnight,. I expect you, Vessel, at my gates at first light."
She gave that polite little temple nod. "Of course, my lord."
I turned and walked back through Luxor's glittering mess of a celebration light scraping against my nerves. Already structuring tomorrow in my mind. Tomorrow would be cleaner. Simpler. Controlled. She would come. He would fume. Law would hold. The Sacred Heralds had given me their masterpiece, even if it took the long way 'round. She was mortal perfection. Order carved into flesh. She was his, now, by the letter. Under Chaos, she will drift. Under me, she will fulfill the purpose she was carved for. In the end, she would be mine by design. When that happened, Chaos would finally be removed from the equation.