Free Exile by Betsy Dornbusch

faces, distorted and distressed.
    “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Draken whispered.
    “It is poison. To touch it means a slow, welcome death from the pain it will cause.” Osias grunted. “Mance magic of a most clever, malevolent sort.”
    “Why didn’t they just kill us, then?” Draken asked.
    “This leaves no evidence. The skin absorbs the web and it tangles your veins,” Osias replied.
    “And what do we do about it?”
    “I shall work the incantation to free us,” Osias said.
    “How long will it take?”
    “Some time. The dead do not come easily to cities filled with life.”
    Setia’s eyes rolled up to meet Draken’s, but she said nothing. A halo of gold around her iris bled into the dark brown.
    “Are you all right, Setia?” Draken asked.
    She answered with the barest of nods. Her arm was around his waist and her breasts were pressed against his chest. Osias’ long, pale arm stretched across both of them and his fingers stroked a soothing cadence into Draken’s tense back. The tangle of limbs felt comforting, but there was the torment of temptation, too. Draken sighed and tried to think of other things.
    Osias guessed what he was thinking. “Perhaps another time we’ll pursue your curiosity. Be at peace, the two of you. My servant draws near, but she resists the wards around the Bastion.” Osias drew in a deep breath and words exhaled in yet another language. But it wasn’t just the words which were different.
    Osias’ voice was breathy, commanding, and came not only from his mouth, but from the air all around. The entire room filled with this Voice; the rafters trembled and the mattress vibrated. Setia tucked her face into Draken’s chest. Draken sniffed. The air smelled like freshly turned earth. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, but he wondered if it were folly to keep looking.
    He had been warm; now he was hot. His chest dampened with sweat where Setia pressed against it. But she nestled closer to him. Trembles interrupted the regularity of her breathing and he tightened his arms around her. Osias’ voice hammered his skull, boiled his marrow. He felt it in every vertebrae.
    The huge web remained perfectly still, a glistening expanse of peril hanging above them.
    The scent fell into gut-twisting decay. Draken’s stomach threatened to rebel and his mind took a moment to catch up with his eyes. A woman appeared in the web, through it, but the web was still whole. She seemed to feel no ill effects from the purported poison.
    But then, a reasonable voice in the back of his head explained, She wouldn’t, would she? She’s already dead, of course.
    Tatters of skin bared her teeth. Her eyes were empty, black holes, the orbs long since rotted away. The disintegrated remains of a once-lovely gown hung in rags. The only reminder of what beauty she once might have possessed was her lush head of hair, loose and shining. Beyond that she was horrid, reviling. Draken stared at her with rapt attention. He could not look away as she reached for the web and tore at it.
    The pattern distorted and then ripped. It fluttered toward her and then she was gone, leaving a ghost of the smell of her decay behind and the echo of her cry in Draken’s head. Osias flipped an idle hand toward the window. The shutters swung open and a breeze carried the odor away.
    Osias put his attention on Setia. “I’ve sent her away, love,” he said. She rolled over, away from Draken and into Osias’ arms. He stroked her face and kissed her.
    Draken had no words to express what he was feeling. He’d run through a gamut of emotions, and he’d only just blinked awake. He set his jaw and tightened his fingers into fists.
    Osias disengaged himself from Setia. “Touch heals our ills, Draken.”
    Draken’s shook his head. “I’m all right.”
    “You’re not.” Osias was already reaching for him. “You were in the proximity of powerful death magic.”
    Most of the lavender had washed from Osias’ eyes and