On her knees in front of Ilian's chair, Faine met his bright eyes once more. She gripped his hand in her own, palm facing towards the low ceiling above their heads, the tip of her knife hovered over the meaty part towards his wrist. "Are you certain you wish to do this?" she asked one last time.

Ilian had already made up his mind. "I don't want to face the threat of a geas anymore. This should've happened a long time ago," Ilian said. He jerked his chin towards the knife. "Do it."

Plenty more factored into the bond they were about to create, but Faine didn't want to go into every minor detail. By giving him her blood, they were risking the opportunity of binding themselves to each other until the end of time, and, even worse, making Ilian serve her until that set amount of days. No part of the blood bond they were about to make could be reversed until one of them took their last breath.

Something in that book had to go into detail about what Ilian was risking, so Faine didn't deem it necessary to go through what he should already know. Anything with magic had a catch, and if he didn't know that already, she wasn't the right person to explain that. Another mortal, perhaps, was the better option. Celestia or Ginevra, the kinder ones he trusted. But not Faine.

Still, Faine couldn't bring herself to cut into the palm already covered in faint scars. The tip of the knife's blade hovered over his skin and barely pressed. Faine blew out her cheeks.

"What is it?" Ilian demanded. "What's wrong?"

"There are risks with this, Ilian." She looked up and met his stare, overcome by the strong line of his jaw. The words were spilling out of her before she could stop them, and Faine hated herself for it. Never did anything happen without her thinking about it once, twice, and then, a third time. This wasn't worth the risk. "I can't risk the chance of what can happen."

She moved onto her heels to back away from him, but Ilian grabbed onto her hand, directly over the knife. "No, please do this. I'm tired of worrying about a geas; it's the last thing the immortals have over me and I want to rid them of that chance. Please. I don't care what the risk is, just do it."

"Do you care about being an eternal slave?"

"What does...that doesn't happen." He scoffed.

Faine nodded and leaned back on her heels once more, distancing herself from his grasp. "There's a small chance that with the binding of our blood, you became an eternal slave—to me." She pressed her palm flat against her chest. "Either that, or we bind ourselves to each other until the end of our days. We become part of each other, and there's no removing that."

"Oh," Ilian whispered, a breath rather than a word. His stare dropped to his lap, and he leaned back in the chair. Faine was all too aware of his hand moving back onto the armrest and out of her reach; he was second-guessing this as much as she was. "I don't want that."

"I don't want that, either. It's not fair to either of us."

Ilian kneaded his shoulder and then cupped that hand over his throat. "I'm willing to take that risk," he blurted. Leaning forward again, he extended his palm towards her, fingers slightly curled. Dirt was caked underneath his fingernails and a bruise covered the middle nail from training. The Silver Willow ring clinging to his knuckle didn't weigh him down, such a treasure made him stronger.

"You are aware of the consequences," Faine sighed. She took his hand in her own and gripped onto the back of it. The claw rings wrapped around onto his palm to hold him there. "I cannot do anything about the outcome. Do you understand?"

Ilian's breath caught for a moment when they stared at each other. His eyes roved over her face, then her horns, then the knife she held over his palm again. "I suppose being an eternal slave is not that bad," he muttered.

Faine's taut lips stretched into a soft smile and she didn't give him a single breath of warning before she sliced the knife into the bottom of his palm and watched the red blood stream out. It dripped down his wrist and Ilian winced but didn't stop the flow.

"This will burn," she warned as she cut into her own palm.

Ilian's eyes widened as if he was shocked that her blood didn't flow a different color or wasn't acid to match that of an otherworldly beast attempting to kill him. The mortal man allowed her to take his palm once more, and she squeezed her hand into a fist over his own. Red blood dripped down onto his skin and over the open wound already clotting.

He hissed and attempted to tug his hand away, but Faine held firm. Instead of trying again, for her sake, he cursed underneath his breath until there was enough blood to puddle into the lowest part of his palm and then some. It leaked over the side and dripped onto the moth-holed rug.

"How do you feel?" Faine asked cautiously. She raised her eyes to his.

"I feel the same."

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The bond wasn't supposed to rip him apart from the inside. Immortal blood was a living thing and would travel through him, providing the smallest bit of protection for healing, but also kept a geas from taking over his mind. It worked silently, and if anything, would heighten Ilian's living experience until the day he died. Maybe, he'd receive a few years from it.

"Are you certain it worked?" He wiped the blood from his palm and wiped hers away, too. It smeared along the handkerchief and soaked into the white fabric; Faine watched his movements carefully, how slow he was around the cut in her palm.

"The only way to tell is to ask someone to put a geas on you. If it doesn't work, then you know the blood is sealed within you. If not...we must do it again." And heighten the chances of him belonging to her, she didn't have to add.

Ilian balled up the handkerchief and set it on the table. That, too, was covered in dust. Was he the only one that used the hidden ledge as his own? "Can't you put a geas on me? Or does your blood give you the ability to do it?" he questioned.

"That is a grey area. No one can say for certain, but it'd be wise to go to someone else instead."

Ilian groaned. "I have to find someone that won't oppose this." He leaned back in his chair and examined the already healing cut in his palm. Faine was overcome with the sudden sense of being vulnerable, sitting before him like this.

She rose and sat in the chair. "Or you could piss off Eliphas to the point of him attempting it. That's easy if my suspicions about his temper are true."

"I'll go to Ginevra." Ilian clicked his tongue and stood from his seat. "She'll just have to deal with it."

The way he jumped off of the ledge and onto the bookcase was as skilled as someone that had done it hundreds of times before. His boots hit the rug and Faine hopped down a second later, ignoring his look of surprise. That was either at the hand of him being shocked about how quick she was, or that she didn't ask for help, to begin with.

Ninety-nine years ago, she was afraid of heights. Leaping from one building to the next or flying on the back of a dragon made Faine forget her fears quickly. Her stomach twisting into knots was one thing, but vomiting into the sky was another. Tyvni had revealed just how much she enjoyed that the first time they flew together. Embracing the heights became a new wave of freedom.

Ilian walked at a fast pace and Faine struggled to keep up with him. They'd known each other for nearly a month now, but he still didn't trust her completely. Was this a ruse, or did she actually save him from ever facing a geas again? He'd figure it out in due time.

Ginevra's chambers were to the back of the third floor and on her door was a feliram knocker. Of course. The horns stuck out wide against the side of the beast's head and its mouth was open wide, seemingly bleeding with the metal ring stuck into its tongue. Faine grimaced but Ilian paid no attention as he knocked once, then twice when the door didn't immediately open.

A series of locks clicked, reminding Faine that she needed to install her own, and the fladline swung the door open. Faine's eyes immediately shot down to her translucent robe and forced herself to turn away. Everything was visible—Ginevra was wearing nothing underneath.

That didn't bother Ilian, though. "Try to put a geas on me," he said with no way of greeting.

Her golden brows drew together. "What? You want me to put a geas on you?"

"Just try it."

Ginevra crossed her arms, pushing her visible breasts together. A gold chain hung against them, underneath the robe. The hallway was more interesting, the feliram knocker held Faine's attention as long as she forced herself to keep it. Ginevra was beautiful and had every right to flaunt what she had, but Faine couldn't take anyone seriously when they were nearly nude. Not even Kaspar.

"You've never wanted a geas," Ginevra countered. "You've specifically told me never to do it."

Ilian rolled his eyes in impatience. "This time, I'm telling you to do it. Please, Ginevra, oblige me." He rolled his wrists out towards her, palms up towards the ceiling, and she did as he asked.

They locked eyes, and the immortal went through the process of putting a geas on those beneath her. A silent ordeal went on inside her head and her golden-brown eyes, dull in the hallway's darkness, glittered when her magic came to life. Ilian remained utterly still, his muscles tensed and his arms rigid at his side. Then, he turned to Faine and grinned.

"It didn't work," he nearly squealed.

"That's impossible." Ginevra looked between both of their grinning faces. "It's impossible for a mortal to avoid a geas."

"As you made me believe." His tone was the opposite of friendly. "You lied to me. You said immortals couldn't halt a geas without the help of a wizard."

Ginevra turned her rage completely on Faine. Now that was a show Faine would pay to see. The reddening of the fladline's cheeks, the claws shooting from her hands, the shift of her weight from one hip to the other as she prepared for her sassy annoyance—delivered on a silver platter and sprinkled with poison.

As the truth went, Faine was having a hard time not smiling. Ilian's glee was extraordinary, she'd never seen him so ecstatic and, to no benefit of her own, it was contagious.

"You used your blood to prevent a geas?" Ginevra hissed. She'd never been so frightening.

Ilian stuck an arm in front of Faine's abdomen to protect her from the inevitable. "She was helping me. I'm a member of Silver Willow and this should've happened by now."

"No, Ilian." Ginevra glared at him. "A geas is the only way we can—"

"Don't say a geas is the only way you can control him," Faine interrupted. She hated that, the sound of it; the predatory nature in Ginevra's tone made her want to snap the cat's neck. "You cannot control an immortal."

"That has nothing to do with it!" Ginevra splayed her arms wide in the doorway. "Mortals are dangerous and we must keep tabs on them."

Faine and Ilian shared a knowing look. The fladline had received that teaching over her years as a member of Silver Willow. That thinking was discrimination, to believe mortals had to have tabs kept on them on for no reason other than their make. They'd done nothing wrong other than comply and attempt to protect themselves.

"Ilian deserves the same respect as the immortals that work for Silver Willow," Faine said and followed the statement with a click of her tongue. "No one should control him, same as you. This was for his own safety and benefit."

Ginevra pursed her perfectly plump, pink lips together and looked Faine up and down. She carried intimidation in the way a warrior carried a sword. It was a weapon best used against her enemies, and the harder she attempted to make herself taller, the scarier she became. Therefore, more intimidating. "You did this for yourself," she suggested. "You did this to gain a foothold on Ilian."

"I've never heard anything more outrageous." Faine scoffed. "You're just upset because you can't control him to be as you wish." With a quick narrow of her eyes and a smirk that pissed off everyone she faced the expression against, Faine continued with, "You're upset for you've never had to worry about Ilian being on a level playing field."

"He's a mortal, he has never been on a level playing field." As soon as the words left her mouth, Ginevra regretted them. She looked to her best friend, eyes wide with shock, and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Ilian, I didn't mean—"

"No, I know what you meant." He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "I've heard that enough in my life, but to hear it come from you...it doesn't seem right."

Faine expected more from him. An explosion of rage that sent him storming down the hall and back to his room to slam the door. But Ilian just stood there and stared at her with failure in his eyes as if he was the one that caused her to say it. He was taking those words in a completely different direction and Faine had been around enough mortals to know what was going through his head.

The mortal standing at her side didn't believe he'd done enough to make himself feared or to make others believe he was as valuable as the immortals. Believing Ginevra's words to be his fault, Ilian's mind was already working to discover who he needed to kill, what he needed to do to earn her respect and that of the others in Silver Willow.

Mortals believed they had to fight for their respect until they could go on no longer. Ilian fell into the same pit as the rest, and though he desperately attempted to climb back out, it was nearly impossible. They'd never look at him differently, not even if he became an immortal mortal and stood up to the test. Once he stood on top, they'd still fault him for something. The world was cruel that way.

"Can't you see, Ilian?" Ginevra's voice heightened, and she mixed it with nervous laughter. "She's trying to separate us."

Again, Faine and Ilian exchanged a look. They were developing a silent language of their own, and the fladline was scrambling to stop it.

"I'm trying to make you realize that Ilian doesn't need such control," Faine tried once more.

Ginevra stuck a clawed finger in her face. "You shut your mouth."

Before Ilian could get between them and before Ginevra could rip out one of her eyes, Faine flicked both her wrists. She'd grown used to the sound of the blades coming free from their hidden slots and relished in the fear displayed in the eyes of those she was opposing. Like a monster was rounding the corner, growling, its steps loud with rage, that's how enemies viewed the sound of those blades. Like they knew what was coming, what they'd face, but didn't know what they'd do in defense other than run for their lives.

"All right," Ilian grumbled, sticking his arm in front of Faine to push her back, deeper into the hall. "I think it's time this ends and we go our separate ways."

When neither woman moved, he took matters into his own hands. He walked behind Faine, placed his hands on her shoulders, and guided her away from the open door. Ginevra glared at them the entire time, her cheeks heated, but she didn't make a move to strike or plead for Ilian to stay. Her mind was working frantically on a way to get him back, but by the time they rounded the corner, the door slammed shut and all was quiet again.

Faine returned her blades to their hidden slots. She never planned on using them, anyway. Without meaning to, she was nuzzling her way into Ilian's life and pushing Ginevra out. The fladline was doing it to herself; she was the one at fault for not helping Ilian. She lied to him, and that wasn't anything he'd soon forget.

Once back in her room, Faine smirked to herself. Efforts didn't stretch for, at least not this one, and by the time she climbed into bed, she wasn't exhausted. No, she'd only gotten started.