The Sleeper and the Silverblood

Kitara regarded the other woman warily. “Like what you meant when you called me Storm’s…soul bond?”

“That’s as good a place to start as any.” The Myragnar leaned forward. “Storm mentioned your auras called to each other, that the two of you are drawn together like magnets. I assume he spoke for you both when he mentioned the phenomenon.”

“Freight trains and miniature suns,” Kitara murmured. “Yeah, it’s been…unusual.”

Ilythia nodded. “First, you must understand—the Myragnar…we dabble in forces outside of reality, in intangible metaphysics we still don’t entirely understand. Maybe it’s magic, maybe it’s not. But at the heart of it is an understanding that everything is connected in some way, that everyone is tied together in a web of unending complexity. As strangers, as lovers, as enemies, friends, acquaintances. But there are a few…rare cases where this connection is so profound, it transcends the theoretical. It manifests almost physically, rising from the etheric tapestry of woven strands to stand above and apart. That’s what we call a soul bond.” Ilythia’s gaze was kind but intense. “We saw them between lovers, siblings, best friends…even sworn enemies. Soul bonds are powerful, and while they can be a source of great strength, they can also bring great pain. I don’t know this for sure, but…I suspect your father and his brother may have shared one.”

The thought weighed heavily on Kitara’s chest. “But…how? If it’s such a powerful connection, how could it become so…toxic?”

A little sorrow clouded Ilythia’s eyes. “Imagine, for a moment, having such a connection with Phoenix. Or even Itzal, had he not been Felled. Would you have forgiven their transgressions for that bond?”

Kitara physically recoiled. “Never.”

“Now imagine such a bond still existing between you. Magnets can attract…but they can also repel.”

Thinking of the first weeks after she and Storm met, it made some sense. “And you think…this connection Storm and I have—it’s one of those bonds?”

Ilythia’s eyes met hers. “I would bet my life on it. After Myragos fell, we didn’t hear of anyone forming new ones. We thought maybe the Fallen catastrophe destroyed those connections. But while a soul bond is not exclusively a lovers’ bond, we saw them present most frequently as such.”

Kitara swallowed hard. “Does he know?”

Ilythia’s expression remained steady and serene. “Yes. I gave him the same explanation. But I thought you’d appreciate a moment without him in the room when I shared it with you.”

“I—yes and no, I guess.”

The Myragnar’s eyes lit with amusement, but she didn’t comment.

“Is it…permanent? Predestined?” Kitara whispered, apprehension and curiosity mingling in her tone. “Do we even have…free will if this thing exists between us? What does it mean?”

“It means your heart and soul know him, Kitara,” Ilythia replied gently. “And his know you. The bond is yours to explore and understand.” She paused for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “But…love is ultimately a decision. The bond might have been the first step, but every day thereafter is a choice you make together. If you should decide your relationship is better suited to friendship, he will become your closest friend and ally, and you his.”

Kitara twisted her hands together. “What if that’s the only reason I was able to unFell him?”

Ilythia tilted her head. “What if it was?”

“It might mean I can’t do it again.” Kitara chewed on the inside of her lip. “I can’t…I can’t fix what my father broke.”

“Your father did not break anything,” Ilythia countered, her tone sharp. “Your father was one of our greatest assets, and perhaps the only reason his brother does not now rule Myragos and Valëtyria.”

Kitara looked up at that. “Itzal said…my father made the formula,” she began. “Tested it on him. And then Shyamal corrupted it.”

Ilythia settled back in her chair. “Cadfael came to us—what remained of our governing council—after Shyamal began the uprising,” she recounted. “Moriah accompanied him—they were new lovers, adoring and so wrapped up in each other.” She smiled a little at the memory, but it faded quickly. “He showed us what he could do, then shared his brother could do the reverse, that many in the Ninthëvel line were gifted with extraordinary abilities like his.”

“Were they—are we—really Myragnar?” Kitara interrupted. “Different abilities, different appearance…”

“Yes. The Ninthëvels, Avensäels, and Liviríels made up the authoritative upper council of the Myragnar government.”

“The Triad of Major Houses,” Kitara recalled.

Ilythia nodded. “I won’t try to explain the workings of our politics—they’ve been obsolete for centuries now—but the Triad presented differently than most Myragnar. The genealogy isn’t as important as the abilities of each House. The Avensäels, those who wield energy; the Liviríels, those who fold the cosmos; and the Ninthëvels” —Ilythia’s eyes met Kitara’s again— “those who touch reality.”

“An impressive group,” she acknowledged.

“Abilities we considered both a responsibility and a gift,” Ilythia answered, nodding. “Cadfael offered to remain among his family, to gather information to help us quell the rebellion, and we agreed. In the meantime, he vowed to create a solution to…compromise Shyamal and the rest of the Ninthëvels. He could not render them all powerless, not when his brother could nullify his power, but something that would give us a chance.”

“The Fallen formula.”

“Ultimately, yes. Cadfael used his own genetic matter to create it—he had to. He wanted only to impact his family, and even then, temporarily. But then he disappeared. We thought Shyamal discovered him, killed him…until Cadfael returned. Different, yet the same. We didn’t know then Shyamal had imprisoned your father and made himself in Cadfael’s image. He made excuses for his absence, and production continued. He pressed for immediate action, then demonstrated how the formula worked by testing it on the prisoner of war we know now was Itzal.”

Kitara startled at that. “Shyamal was the one who tested on Itzal? Pretending to be my father?”

Ilythia nodded. “Your father was not a cruel man, Kitara. That change in behavior is what ensured my survival when everything went to hell.”

“How?” Kitara whispered. “How did you escape it?”

“Moriah swore Cadfael would never experiment on anyone, even prisoners. She knew enough about Shyamal’s abilities to raise suspicion and begged me to reevaluate the use of the formula. Told me something was wrong. It was too late to stop the attack, but I agreed to return to Valëtyria with her.”

Realization dawned. “She saved your life.”

Ilythia nodded. “The Fallen catastrophe revealed Shyamal’s true face. Only a handful of others escaped.”

“And my dad?”

“When the formula was unleashed and Myragos crumbled, he managed to get free of wherever Shyamal held him. He found me and Moriah in Valëtyria, but I knew if the Valëtyrian council discovered him, he’d be executed. So I helped smuggle him to Earth.”

Kitara blinked. “You did?”

“Yes, and when she was unintentionally Felled, I reunited them and ensured their safety. Your father was never a traitor, Kitara. He was not our enemy; he was our greatest asset. I’d argue he is where the Sleeper profession originated.” A bit of amusement crossed her expression. “The first double agent in our history—one vilified to save the rest of us.”

Tears sprang unexpectedly to Kitara’s eyes.

Ilythia reached across the gap between them, her hand warm as it closed around Kitara’s own. “He loved you and your mother very much,” she said quietly. “Your birth…I’ll admit, when Moriah contacted me to tell me—I thought she’d lost her mind. But, corrupted or not, the Fallen formula originated from Cadfael. We hypothesized it was for that reason and that reason only she conceived you. And when you were born…your father began to think there might be a way to undo the long-lasting damage his first creation caused.”

Kitara swallowed hard, her throat constricting with emotion. “In Ostragarn…I remembered they fought about it. I think. He never said anything directly to me.”

“You were a child, Kitara. He did not want you to feel like you were only a tool to be used, reduced to only your ancestry.”

Despite herself, Kitara snorted with laughter. “That’s ironic. Once I entered the AIDO, that’s all I became.”

Ilythia’s mouth twisted in a lopsided smile. “Perhaps. You were a miracle from the start, Kitara. But more than that, you were—and are—loved. Desperately loved.”

“Desperately loved,” Kitara echoed, her breath hitching on the words.

“Kit? Mom?” Storm stood in the doorway again, surveying them with a concerned frown and a mug in his hand. “Everything okay?”

“Of course,” Ilythia said as Kitara nodded. “I just felt Kitara and I needed a moment to discuss things—as women.”

Storm’s gaze flickered between his mother and Kitara. “I see.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Ilythia said, rising gracefully from her seat and patting Kitara’s hand.

“Lady—Ilythia,” Kitara stammered, and the Myragnar turned with a raised eyebrow.

“Did they ever learn why? Why you were…compromised for so long?” she asked.

Ilythia’s gaze shifted to her son and back to the Sleeper. “After speaking with Baylen, a recent mole in the organization admitted to having a hand in it.”

Kitara gaped at her. “Landon?”

“The Ostragonian mole.” Ilythia nodded. “Tried to bribe Baylen with Myragnar blood to spare him, which led to Baylen pressing for his source. Seems Landon had been tampering with the Healers’ work for some time, dealing my essence like a currency.”

“Stars,” Kitara whispered, glancing at Storm. He frowned, but his lack of additional reaction suggested they had discussed this already while Kitara recovered.

Rather than appearing distraught or disturbed by the idea, Ilythia offered a reassuring smile. “Thankfully, I was unaware of his…unsavory actions, and am no worse the wear for it. Besides, Baylen explained in great detail what befell him as a result.” Her smile widened to something Kitara might have described as almost…feral.

“Mom, tone it down,” Storm put in wryly. “You’re freaking her out.”

Ilythia’s lips twitched, an amused spark lighting up her silver eyes. “Well, if comfort is needed, that is more your responsibility, isn’t it?” She left the room, a soft laugh floating back to them.

“Your mother is a little terrifying,” Kitara admitted once they were alone.

“I tried to tell you,” Storm said, grinning as he handed her the coffee mug.

“Terrifying, yet strangely endearing,” she continued, her gaze meeting his as she sipped the hot drink.

Storm chuckled at that, tilting his head as he studied her. “So then…do you need comforting?”

“From you? Always.”

Without hesitation, Storm sat beside her and pulled her against him, kissing her forehead. “How are you?”

“Overwhelmed, I think.”

“Understandably.”

She glanced sideways at him, toying with the handle of the mug. “She told you about the soul bond?”

To his credit, he didn’t tense or betray any anxiety. “She did.” He looked down at her, his expression affectionate. “Though, at this point, I didn’t really need the explanation. Soul bond or not—I would choose you every time.”

“Really?”

Storm caressed her cheek with one hand. “Kit,” he murmured, “how many times do I have to tell you—I’m ruined for anyone but you?”

Despite the deeper emotions bubbling up in her chest, Kitara grinned. “I seem to remember a promise you made involving forgiveness, an eternity of groveling—”

His lips on hers interrupted her as his hand slid along her jaw, scattering all her teasing words. When the coffee mug would have slipped from her grasp, he plucked it from her fingers to set it out of harm’s way on a side table. He pulled away only enough to touch his forehead to hers. “Forever it is, then,” he whispered breathlessly.

Kitara looped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, taking a moment to bask in his company. “I love you,” she whispered. “More than I can say.”

“And I you,” he replied. “Your loyalty, your strength, your integrity, your passion…” Storm placed a gentle hand over her chest. “Your heart, your soul.”

“Those aren’t mine,” Kitara corrected, shaking her head with a smile. “My heart and soul belong to you.”