Chapter 85: Skye

When I first came to Sanctuary I fought every rule, every interaction, every command. I hated that I'd been sold into slavery to some debauched Warlord. I was determined to hate him and everything around us. But instead of crushing my resistance, as he so easily could have, he'd bowed to my fearful anger and allowed me time. Almost a year of uninterrupted time to get used to the harem, to watch and process everything around me. Silas didn't make a single demand. The only thing he asked was that I have protection and not permanently leave the harem.
Gradually I got to know and love the women. I was baffled by their acceptance of the sexual side of their job. But then I began to understand that the binary, monogamous way in which I was raised isn't the only way. That the women of the harem felt fulfilled in their relationship with the Warlord and the children that relationship produced. It helped my concerns that the women were treated fairly and with respect. They are well taken care of and as happy as a person could be given the world we live in. If they don't wish to be summoned, they have only to say.
After a few months in the Sanctuary, I began to relax around the Warlord. We developed an intellectual relationship first. He appreciated my argumentative fierceness and my uninhibited and unabashed response to everything around me. I would dive headfirst into solving a city problem, then proactively make suggestions on how to prevent future flareups. I was also just as uninhibited in his bed, once I finally consented to his touch.
For his part, I have always loved the deep sense of honour and integrity of our Warlord. His unflinching realism combined with a deep-seated optimism that allowed him to make necessary changes despite the occasional failure.
We had a few good years before his health issues began to show, and even then, I was determined to preserve our perfect paradise. Me at his side, both with a power of our own, the harem surrounding us and the guard at our backs.
Then his illness reached the point that we had to start hiding it. We couldn't allow many people to know how bad it'd gotten, only Silas' most trusted advisors and closest friends. Sadly, as time has passed, it's become more and more clear that my husband doesn't have much time left. The past months have been hard, his deterioration rate speeding up. The last few weeks have been even worse. The hands that sift through my hair are claw-like and jerky.
"Can I get anything for you?" I whisper fighting the tears that seem so close to the surface whenever I'm in his presence these days.
"No, Skye." He savours my name as he says it, his voice a quiet caress. "You are already too good to me, pulling Hannah from her duties to tend me."
I smile and swallow the ache in my throat. "Hannah wants nothing more than to ease your" I stop, unable to continue.
"My final days," he finishes. He cups the back of my head, holding me with his gentle possessive touch. Showing me his love even as life fades from his body. "Yes, she is a balm to me right now. Very soothing to have around."
I laugh and lean into his chair, huddling against his emaciated legs where they lay unmoving beneath the blanket. "Unlike your wild and impetuous head wife."
He buries his fingers in my hair and tugs it until I'm forced to look up. "My favourite wife. I've had eyes for no one else since the day you walked into my world, spitting fire and promising hell and damnation to anyone that touched you."
Again I laugh, the sound bright and oddly fitting in the moment, tinkling through the herb garden and flowing over the Warlord. This is my husband. Wonderful, calm, patient. A better leader doesn't exist. The unfairness of his coming death is sharp. I despise the inevitable. Nothing should be set in stone. We should have choice in all things. Yet, here I sit at the feet of my dying husband, a man not yet fifty.
"How will I survive, Silas?" I gaze up at his dear ravaged face. My heart feels as though it's splintering into pieces, nothing and no one will ever be able to glue those pieces together again. This man, this moment will forever break me.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to seduce the Warlord into falling for me. Seduce him into trusting me and accepting my counsel. Into doing the things I command without question. And while most of those things did happen, something else happened as well. I fell as deeply in love with the Warlord as he fell for me. Since the moment we have declared that love we've been a united force. Inseparable, incorruptible, indomitable. The thought of continuing a life without him feels impossible.
"You'll manage," he says in his positive, realistic way. "Now tell me, lovely wife, what brings you to my side? I'm hearing gossip among our staff that we have guests."
I tip my head down and quickly brush the tears away. Silas has no patience for them and I will respect his wishes. When I look back up at him there is no trace of tears to be found.
"My sister has arrived, she was brought here by the same man who sold me into your harem."
"Taran," he says, surprise tinging his voice. "She's alive?"
He knows about my family. Every detail. From Grandma's ingrown toenail to Grandfather's habit of gambling for cigarettes when we were on the road. He knows that Taran would often drift away in a world of her own thoughts and fantasies. That Taran is the more optimistic, passionate sister, while I am the calculating hard-ass, never willing to give an inch. He has encouraged me often to speak of them, to unload my feelings so he could hug away my negative emotions and replace them with positivity and hope.
"Yes." I reach up to grip his hand. "And she's even more beautiful than I could have imagined. She's still small, like a little wild animal, but she's incredible. Beautiful red hair and an attitude to go with it. You would like her."
"I'm sure I would." He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "And the Outsider?"
He clearly remembers Talon. Though it was a fortunate turn of fate that landed me in the Warlord's harem, he's never liked the men that trade in the sale of women. I've pointed out the hypocrisy in his thinking once we'd starting meeting regularly. How he'd purchased a woman from the type of person he claimed to despise. He then pointed out the hypocrisy in life. Our struggle to survive with the inevitable spectre of death awaiting at the end. The desire to reproduce in an obviously dying world. Hypocrisy abounds in everything around us. At the time it surprised me that a Warlord, men usually known for their crass brutality, could be such a deep philosophical thinker. Now, I'm used to him.
"Dead." Blunt and to the point I tell him the truth. "He threatened to tell about my immunity to the Death Kiss, or more importantly, Taran's immunity."
"So, the aberration does run through your blood, I've always wondered." He allowed light testing once we'd built a platform of trust between us. But he hadn't wanted anyone, including a physician, to know of my peculiar disorder. "Who killed the Outsider, you or Wolfe?"
"Wolfe," I tell him. "But I gave the order."
Okay, I hadn't exactly given the order, but Wolfe knew of my desperate need to silence Talon. He acted on my thoughts, the order I silently gave in a glance. But I know my Warlord's concerns. He doesn't want Wolfe acting on his own, doesn't want him opposing my command. He trusts his second-in-command, but he wants to see me take command and flourish after his death. I don't want him to worry, so I allow him to believe that Wolfe and I are in perfect synchronicity in our thoughts.
"And what is it that brings you here, my wife?" he asks, stroking my thumb. When I open my mouth, he reads my mind and interrupts. "Yes, I know that I am enough for you. But city business keeps you busy. I get to see you when something is bothering your mind."
Guilt eats away at me, but he's right. I'm not the most attentive wife. I'm too driven, too full of life to slow to the pace my husband has reached. So, I send Hannah to him instead. I come as often as I can, but I suspect, as much as he loves me, she is more comfort in his final days.
"My sister," I admit. "Her husband, the Warlord of the Tucson Sanctuary, is here to collect her. I don't want to give her up. I've finally just found her, it doesn't seem fair."
He laughs suddenly, startling me with the surprisingly robust sound. "Sisters that manage to capture the attention of Warlords, both immune to the Death Kiss, and finally reunited. What are the odds?"
I smile at his reasoning. He's right, what are the odds?
Then he sobers, his gaze turning down to me. "He wants her back?"
I nod, tears filling my eyes again.
"And what does she want?" he asks gently.
He already knows the answer, knows that I wouldn't be here, begging an audience if the answer was different.
"She wants her husband," I say quietly.
"My little love," he says, tenderly, turning to me. I grip his leg, not wanting him to topple out of his chair. "Give the girl what she wants."
Unbidden, a sob rips from my throat. He tenderly runs a hand over my cheek, cupping my chin in his big, scarred, shaking hand. He tilts my face up. "Do not deny her the right to love if she does love him. Find the truth and you'll know what to do." He strokes his thumb over my cheek. "I cannot advise going to war with Diogo Fuentes, especially if your desire is just to hold her here with you. Fuentes will crush our resistance and bring down the city. He is a formidable enemy." I blink rapidly and a few tears fall, trailing my cheek to land on his fingers where they cup my face. "Find a way to keep her that doesn't mean war."
I nod and he takes his hand away, falling back into his seat exhausted. I stand, towering over his bent form. I brush the dust of his herb garden from my skirt. "Thank you for your counsel, husband."
He nods and closes his eyes, taking in a sharp breath. "Please send Hannah to me when she's free."