Page 13 of Prior Claim
“The man you are now would rather have died. The boy you were then was still claimed.
“I’m still claimed now!” Sevastyan struggled to breathe through the pain in his chest and tears in his eyes. The bridge of his nose burned with the force of suppressed anguish.
“The claim has cracked.” Ellisandre continued touching him, their tone so certain. How could they know?
“It’s going to finish me, Elli,” Sevastyan rasped. “The only parts that remain are the ones you have. Don’t . . . don’t give them back.”
“Never.”
Sevastyan dropped his head against Ellisandre’s chest. It was strong, had always been solid. Ripcord slender like a model, but dense with depth that spoke to the power sheathed inside. Their biology had never given them much in the way of softness.
“I told you to find me on the other side,” Ellisandre said. “Here you are.”
“I’m not on the other side.” Sevastyan pushed against Ellisandre with his head, needing to feel them resist. “Not like you.”
“Tell me you want to stay.”
“Gods.” Sevastyan pressed his eyes together, more tears falling down to kiss their dissolution in the threads of the scarf around his head. “Ten years, Elli. You don’t know me.” He reared back, breaking contact.
Ellisandre caught him with their fist in his hair. They held him, head bent back, throat arched and unprotected, exposed like an offering for slaughter.
“I know you.” Ellisandre’s lips were so close to his neck they brushed the hair on his skin. There was displeasure in every syllable. Displeasure and pride.
Sevastyan shivered. Danger wrapped in the body of an androgynous god, that was his deity, the one he had knelt for, the one he was crossing.
“How could you?” he whispered. “I don’t know myself.”
Ellisandre struck him across the face, still holding him by his hair. “If you didn’t know yourself, you wouldn’t loathe yourself.”
The sting of the open palm strike sparked across Sevastyan’s jaw and cheekbone. He swallowed through the strum of shrieking nerves. He could not rub away the sensation. That was what it meant to be bound. Every sensation was magnified. Unrelieved.
Ellisandre pressed their palm to where they had struck him. He leaned into their touch. Between their skin and his, heat built and lingered. When Ellisandre’s fingers loosened, he turned his head, pressing his lips to their hand.
“What broke you, Vast?”
“Me. I broke me.”
Ellisandre was quiet. They stood, no part touching Sevastyan. He slumped forward, letting the binding have him. That was the beauty of ropes. You could fall apart in them.
“I don’t believe you,” Ellisandre whispered. “But you believe yourself.”
They touched him then, fingers in his hair, gentle, thoughtful. Sevastyan’s center of gravity turned toward the touch without a conscious thought.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t keep you, Vast.”
Hope and pain blossomed together like a red flower through his chest. The hope died as soon as it bloomed. He said nothing.
They spoke again. “Tell me how long you have.”
“Until tonight.”
“Until tonight, then. I will give you a reason to come back.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me, not with a prior claim.”
“Ten years, Sevastyan.” Ellisandre knelt over his thighs again, their naked body draped over his, their arms gliding over his shoulders, fingers gripping at the ropes decorating his back. “There’s been no one else, beautiful boy.”
No one else? Longing mixed with grief for Ellisandre’s loneliness. He pushed it away. He was going to say something he shouldn’t. Make promises he couldn’t keep.
