Chapter Text
Get us a room at the Ten Thousand Delights. I’ll meet you there.
Zrise felt all his senses heighten. His chest tightened and jaw clenched as he returned to the dimly lit abyssal brothel, now it would just be the two of them. It wasn't just how sick he already felt, it was that it smelled of drugs, sex, and blood in here. Drawing him in like the touch of a familiar lover.
There were eyes on him, and he wasn't certain if it was paranoia, or if the touch of his Goddess drew succubi like moths to a flame. No, there was a magic humming and enveloping him. A scent only they could smell. There was a fire in his veins. The spiteful Lady of Lust eager to see retribution done to demons who would use her weapons so clumsily.
Body continuing to alarm him, remembering old habits, he approached Herrax, reaching for the pouch of coin under his armor.
"How much for a room?"
The demoness turned her attention, eyes running up and down his body, taking him in, before offering a smile.
"Well, aren't you brusque? I got the chance to talk to your companion earlier, but he said he wasn't interested. Does that mean you need some company?"
"No. Just the room."
“A man who knows what he wants. It will be five thousand for the room. It’s more expensive but it’s worth it. Our protection is unmatched. You won’t be disturbed. We ensure our clients’ safety.”
Instinctively Zrise kept his eyes off anyone and only on his own possessions as he handed over the coin. Words falling out unthinking. Not quite feeling like any of this was real.
“I’m expecting someone to join me. Half-elf. Bard. Striped pants.”
Gesturing to evoke the glowing insects that usually followed Siavash.
“Butterflies around him. He’ll ask for me...”
Herrax chuckled knowingly, leaning in as she whispered.
“You should know that if you wish to use our room for such activities … and want all the amenities… that will cost you an extra thousand.”
Zrise felt his palms grow clammy. A deep wound rose to the surface. Perhaps this was the moment that Siavash had been waiting for. Having Zrise wrapped around his finger he could use him as he pleased.
“I’ll… pay for that.”
Clasping her clawed fingers together with her jewelry jangling she lit up. It was probably a scam.
“Wonderful!”
With an aggressive wave of her hand she sent some demons to do her bidding. To fetch whatever a pleasure palace in the abyss viewed as luxurious. Zrise pinched the bridge of his nose.
He had bought it in a moment of doubt. Fearing there was something in the collection Siavash would desire to use. No. He never seemed the type to go to a place like this. Siavash seemed… sincere. Zrise hung onto that shred of hope. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if all he feared was proven right.
The muffled distant sounds of pain and pleasure echoed as he was escorted down a long, dark, empty hallway. As he was let into a room where there was a mist hovering in the air, holding a low red tint. The dim purple flames were meant to hide the less desirable aspects of such a place or partner. A large four poster bed. Red silken sheets. Curtains that overlooked a balcony. An undulating blue glow faintly visible from a hookah. It reminded him of the red-light district in Isarn. The Golden Palace.
Despite what outsiders thought, Calistrian temples were not brothels. The Golden Palace was not the temple in the city, that would be the House of Joy. A salon, home to prayer and worship. Gossip, trade, information. That was where he’d spent his time learning; the tenets of the Savored Sting. The deeds of her followers. The arts of trickery, spite, and flirtation. His headmistress had encouraged him to choose whatever study called to him. Explore his options before he decided on a path to take and master.
Knees wobbling Zrise flopped on one of the chairs before pouring himself some wine. Half-heartedly taking a gulp. Not that he could taste it. It was just ashy liquid he swallowed. Staring out at nothing in particular. Unsure and uncaring if this would drown out those old memories or make them float to the surface.
When he had come of age he went against his family’s wishes and followed his mentor. Not to become an assassin, but to do sacred sex work. At first it sounded fun. Oria had sensed his hesitation, his desire for freedom from his family, and had made a good point. You could be a lover instead of a killer. He had been swayed by that somewhat romantic notion. As laughably hollow as that felt now.
Zee, it's your body. You should do whatever you want to! Who cares! They don’t own you. Out here they can’t touch you! You’re free. We’ll protect you.
Oria had always encouraged him to do whatever would make his mother most angry. If Zrise told them that he was not allowed to do something they would drag him into it. It probably came from a place of kindness, at least in the beginning. They wanted him to be proud, to defiantly reject his roots. They had said he never needed to go home, he could stay in Galt. Make a new life for himself.
Zrise remembered meeting their family, sitting at their table, watching them with such longing. Wanting whatever it was in them that allowed them all to be so happy. Smiling and laughing with their mother and siblings. With Relik. Sharing food and joy together. The thing Oria never understood about Zrise; he never felt like he belonged there.
As kind as they could be to him at times. He was always an outsider looking in at their love and warmth. Zrise desperately wanted to be a part of their life in a way that was never allowed. Zrise was always knocking on their door, wanting to be let in. When Oria only wished him to see that there was light in the world, to know he could go find some of his own, be comforted by its existence. They liked to be the idea, the potential, the spark. But Oria did not want to share. They grew to resent each other.
Zrise had always just been someone who needed help. He evoked feelings of pity. Maybe a desire to offer him encouragement. They would never love him. Oria only loved what they could do to him.
Slowly it ate away at his heart. Instead of feeling free Zrise felt unmoored and adrift. Lost and alone. What had been fun and exciting, dulled. Each encounter he had became a drain. Shallow approval that never satisfied him. No amount of people desiring him was enough. Each time he got high or climaxed it was to numb the pain. Feel alive for a moment. Always putting himself in danger so they might spare him a glance. He was looking for something he'd never find. There was a hole inside himself he didn't look at. Until it got hungry enough to swallow Oria whole.
I stab thee with my heart.
All this time it had been so easy. To lock himself away. As much a means of protecting himself as it was a way to shield others.
Siavash slipped through the door and slammed it hastily behind himself against the claws and tentacles that tried to coax him back among the brothel patrons, drawn like flies to his sweet Elysian aura, drooling over all the ways they would defile it. A memory scorched through his mind of the very familiar-looking, hollow-eyed homunculus in striped pants he’d stumbled upon when he brought Camellia here. His stomach lurched.
“Whew, not the ideal venue,” he quipped, spotting Zrise in the armchair.
Though his heart pounded and nausea churned up his throat, he’d made up his mind to keep the tone lighthearted. Zrise needed to know he was all right with this.
Throwing off his cloak he went on conversationally, “I think I managed to kill two birds with one stone by getting the Hand to babysit Aivu for a couple hours. Is it me or is he keeping me on a shorter leash these days?”
Zrise only stared at him with bruised, haunted eyes. Purple lamps cast a sickly hue over his pale skin. A vase with a single, obscene flower sat at his elbow. What a strange touch, Siavash thought. Everything demons do is no more than a twisted reflection. No creativity except for finding ways to desecrate and corrupt.
He glanced around in horror. And this is what they do with love.
Vulgar luxury in place of comfortable intimacy. Lighting made to disguise, rather than reveal. A burning sense in every look, every voice, even in the air itself, that here one was expected to take, not to give; to abuse, not uplift.
Maybe this place hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Zrise had worked in a brothel before, hadn’t he? He looked more unwell than ever. And between him and the bed stood a rack of… torture devices?
Lighthearted.
“Sorry about the suddenness. I wanted to explain but there are too many ears in the Nexus.” Indeed, his hasty, whispered invitation may have been ambiguous: Get us a room at the Ten Thousand Delights. I’ll meet you there.
“So, I suppose you’re wondering what this is about,” he laughed.
Gesturing towards the empty chair to his right Zrise grabbed and began to fill an empty cup for Siavash. As much as his mind was ready to grasp for a more sinister explanation. Zrise felt something within him soften. Siavash seemed so shaken. The toll of the Fane and the Abyss was clear, because of how much he tried to hide it. Spending so much time comforting others. It was like he wanted to forget what had happened to him.
"You could say I was a bit surprised."
Trying to ease the tension Zrise fell back into old habits and attempted to joke.
"I didn't take you for someone who'd pick such a location. Thought of you as more of a romantic."
The regret and embarrassment was immediate. Quickly looking away Zrise tilted back his own drink to try and avoid Siavash reading his expression.
The Abyss had taken its toll on all of them, but since they arrived here, as Siavash watched paralyzed with guilt and fear, Zrise had gone from pale to ashen, his eyes sunken, the sharp blue blade of his glance dulled, spending his time in the Nexus in self-imposed exile far from the campfire, and his time in the city lashing out wildly at any demons who crossed them.
And Siavash had let it happen. He knew exactly what was wrong. Zrise had confided in him about the curse, and he’d stood by and done nothing. The story of his life. But it was a whole new level of letting people down to watch someone he’d come to care about this deeply waste away because of his own cowardice.
Gradually, by disarming his hostility, withholding judgment, offering friendship, Siavash had earned his trust. And more. Fiercely Zrise had taken on every burden on his behalf. He’d become his friend, his Crusade aide-de-camp and his right-hand man, equally gifted at decimating paperwork as decimating hordes of demons. And that painful, hopeless confession of devotion just before the Fane, rewarded with this: left to wither and die.
Siavash told himself it was because he was as worried about what this would do to Zrise as to himself, but the truth was, cowardice played no small part. Some unruly, raging voice inside him that had awakened since he arrived in Mendev had grown louder in the Abyss: I don’t want to be the sacrifice.
He pushed back against that voice and the wound pulsed with pain. His smile faltered.
Zrise—what have I done to you?
Zrise for whom pretense was his only armor against the many cruelties heaped upon him, had dropped all pretense around Siavash. Shown him what tiny, fragile ember of hope still burned in his heart. Given himself so eagerly he would even humor him with a joke when pain was etched so clearly on his face.
He approached and sat, drawn to him yet viscerally frightened of what was about to happen, declining the offered cup. Nausea sat too thick in his throat.
“Zrise, I’m sorry I’ve waited this long. I’ve been a coward.” He laid a hand on his cool forearm, as much to give himself strength as to offer comfort.
With a sharp inhale Zrise briefly coughed and sputtered as he choked on his wine.
“W-What?”
Blinking and staring stupefied Zrise wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. His ears felt hot. Siavash had thought of himself as a coward for this? Was Siavash afraid of him? That’s why they hadn’t shared a bed?
“That-that’s not necessary. You don’t have to-I can wait however long.”
Now his head was spinning. Had he implied that Siavash needed to sleep with him? Zrise had tried to keep any Calistrian activity, and lately lack of, out of his mouth. Speaking now in a near unintelligible rush.
“You-I was kidding about that. Earlier. We don’t have to-I don’t-this isn’t. I mean I wouldn’t say no. If that’s what you want. Just not here. I don’t-.”
“No no—definitely not that—I mean, not here. I mean, not if you—” Heat flooding his face and all diplomacy flying out the window, Siavash removed his hand. He thought the joke meant they were on the same page. Apparently not.
“That’s not what I asked you here for,” he explained hastily, recovering some composure, telling himself they would laugh about this later.
“Listen,” he went on, “I can see you’re not well. I’m sorry I let it get this bad.” He sighed and glanced down at his untouched wine glass, then back at Zrise, pushing the words to make them come out steady even as they stuck in his throat. “I want you to drink from me. Your medicine. Until we can find a solution.”
Oh.
It took a few moments for the words to sink in. That was new. The times Zrise had drunk blood it was always offered for a price. Even if unspoken. Conflicting instincts fought to overwhelm him.
Threatening to drown in it all he couldn’t tell what were his own feelings, what was the truth, or what was that dark thing inside him. Zrise wasn’t sure what would win, or what words would even come out of his mouth.
"Don't take responsibility for a choice I made. If I didn't want to be miserable, I could be."
Sounding harsher than he intended Zrise winced. He should bite his tongue. Siavash meant well. Besides that was only half true. Zrise could be less miserable, in the sense that he wouldn't be in pain, but that doesn't mean he still wouldn't be in some other way. Squeezing his eyes shut he rubbed his forehead. Losing all willingness to sit upright.
"Siavash. I appreciate the offer, but you don't want to do this. It’s obvious you're afraid of me. Which is smart. Listen to that instinct. I'm not worth the trouble."
“No. You are worth it,” Siavash said with intensity, drawing his hand over and clasping it in both of his. “Despite what some people would have you think. Lariel knows you better than anyone, and she believes it. And so do I.
“Please let me do this for you,” he said gently. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Such ugly wretched emotions rose to the surface. Fury and despair. As much as he wanted to stamp them out they were worn plainly in the ferocity of his gaze.
"I don't think you understand."
Recoiling like a wounded animal Zrise retracted his hand. He could not bear this. Zrise wasn't even certain where he'd go. What he'd do. It was all hopeless. No matter what he did. He'd disappoint someone. Hurt them.
"I don't need your pity. Or charity. Whatever this is. You say that my sister believes in me? That's because I'm a liar. That’s because I fucking lie to her."
He couldn't breathe. No matter how much air filled his lungs he felt like he was being pulled down. Crushed.
"When she looks at me I can't stand to tell her how I'm a bad person. Of course she thinks I'm worth it. That you think that. Because you don't know me. She doesn't know me. Neither of you know what I really am. Because-because I hid it from you."
Burning tears welled up. As much as he wanted to smash that bottle against a wall. Get away from Siavash. Run. Anything. Instead he shattered inward. Voice cracking. Indignation manifesting so pathetically as to make him tremble.
"I'm as good as dead."
Burying his head in his hands Zrise crumpled. He felt so helpless.
"I can't ever be that kid that she misses so much. Whatever she sees when she looks at me. I wish I could be. I really do. Siavash. I've hurt everyone I've ever loved. I'm not a good man. I can't let you offer yourself like this when you don't even know-"
“I know enough.”
In shock Siavash watched Zrise collapse in on himself with guilt. He knew the feeling. Faced with this despair he forgot his own fear. “Of course you can’t ever be the kid you once were. But he’s still in there, bruised and frightened—I’ve seen him. It wasn’t you who chose to destroy him. Let him live again. Let me help you. Please.”
“Sia…”
In his tormented affection all Zrise could think to do was beg Siavash to save himself. He was a sinking ship. Zrise got on his knees. Still too afraid to reach out for his hand. But he hoped this would demonstrate how sober he meant this confession to be.
“Selfishly. There’s a part of me that does want to drink your blood. To take what you're offering. Because I’m scared to die. But more than that I really… like you. A lot. And so I want to try and do the right thing. For once.”
Voice grave and eyes pleading.
“Before I was an inquisitor. I worked at a place not too different from here. Well, more high class. But its purpose was the same. I fell in love with someone. We had a terrible relationship. We hurt each other a lot. I was the one to blame. They tried to call it off between us after years. Because they said I had betrayed our Goddess. Probably they just wanted to escape from me.”
A feeble bitter laugh escaped before he sighed. Heart racing Zrise knew that he couldn’t hide the truth anymore. Siavash had to understand what danger he was in. No more vague threats or warnings. As terrified as he was, it was… the right thing to do.
“I did not react well. A conversation that turned into an argument. Then a fight. Their other lover and I brawled. I ended up killing him. I can’t say if it was or wasn’t my intention. I felt so angry and betrayed that I don’t know… My friend then went to get the Gray Gardeners.”
Bowing his head Zrise could no longer look at Siavash. Trying to keep his voice steady but faltering.
“So I killed them too. Because I was too afraid to face the final blades. Too afraid to die. And then like a dog, tail between my legs, I asked my family for help. To cover it up. To get me out of Galt.”
Letting those words wash over for a moment. Zrise shuddered trying to hold back a sob.
“I can’t forgive myself for that. If I let myself forget, I fear I might do it again. I’m not sure if whatever good was left in me died when I drowned, or if I killed what was left of it that night I murdered someone I said I loved. But you… you are… selfless and kind. You already carry so many burdens. Sometimes I look at you and think it all must feel like the weight of the world. And I want to help. I wanted to believe I could be good to you.”
He tried to push through. Tears hitting the cold stone floor as he curled into a ball. Forehead against the ground. Too ashamed.
“Now I see it’s pointless. Everything I love either dies in my hands, or slips through my fingers. Don’t take me back to Golarion. Leave me here in the Abyss. Where I can’t hurt you. I know you’ll take care of Lariel better than I ever could. I’m an awful brother. A worse lover. I’m saying this b-because I care about you. Please, I-I don’t want to destroy you.”
All that was left was to weep.
“I’m sorry.”