by A. S. Etaski
I chewed on my cheek rather than draw upon any of my memories right then. “They? Who are they, Majesty?”
“The Dragons, khali.” The Davrin Queen peered above us at the strengthening stars as if she expected to see one flying the night sky overhead. “The most intrinsic magic users in our world.”
“Intrinsic to what, Majesty?”
She blinked. “To all of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As I learned it from the best tutors we had to offer, Sirana, the To’vah are thought to have created the Word, the first language of magic. And if they did, then all spoken focus for mages of the younger races branch off from theirs, including mine.”
I waited, keeping my mind blank. “Do the Dragons all possess eyes like the gold you wear, Majesty?”
Innathi sighed. “That is what they liked to show, as the stories went. I did not meet one in my time, but there is clear evidence that my sister did while I was unaware.”
She watched me swallow. “And… what is your sister’s name, Majesty?”
The mature Davrin’s face first softened then reversed its course. “Her name was Ishuna. She… struggled with hallucinations and terrors in Reverie since she was young, embarrassing our Queen-Mother before Her Court at times.” Innathi lifted her chin imperiously. “I found a better way, though only after our Queen-Mother died. My sister returned from exile and became a Seer for my Court, respected in V’Gedra as she’d never been. Our people bowed to her in fear and awe, and I played her mystique to our Queendom’s advantage.
“With the Zauyrian Godblood allied with us as well, we had the farthest reach in the dunes and beyond them, leading toward Manalar. It was only that the three of us stood together that we could repel the Naulor Queen’s increasingly vicious attacks over three hundred years.”
She paused. “Then something went wrong. V’Gedra fell quickly. I have been told it is no more.”
Cautiously, my eyebrow lifted. “You were…told?”
The Desert Queen chuckled; it held a bitter tang. “I was the first of us to die, khalithan. My assassins came for me in my birthing chambers as I worked to bear my twelfth child. A most cowardly and repugnant tactic, especially as they let my Husband find my body.”
I pursed my mouth. “Did you know them?”
Scarlet eyes darkened. “Not by name. A sisterhood who did not approve of my union, one of many that rose and fell in my reign. These must have had help from within my Court.” She paused. “Or closer to me, so my General has suggested.”
“He blames Ishuna, since she has become the Valsharess.”
Innathi did not speak to this but I watched a burgeon of emotions churn beneath the surface. Then, “I wonder, now. They wore red, like you.”
I feared to imagine. But Fadele wasn’t that old, I didn’t think, but… did I know about how the Red Sisters started? Was it with the murder of a birthing Queen? I hoped not.
“We are the Vloszia Dalnanin, your Majesty,” I said, “and I do not know how we came to be.”
Innathi accepted this honesty. “Hm. A question, if I may? Do you yet know the face of your child, my warrior?”
A chill seeped into my core as I saw the light in her eyes, and I shook my head, hardly thought about the next words to tumble out of my mouth.
“The Black Heart starved it out of me as we fought for control, Majesty. I will never know.”
Her face crumpled in compassion. “Oh! Oh… I am sorry, Red Sister. There is no treasure of greater reward, no way of being complete than to have children!”
If one could gain a House and lose a Queendom by them, I was forced to agree. I knew others who wouldn’t believe so, no matter what.
“I must go,” I said, backing up from the small canyon river and the vibrant Queen standing on its bank. “We shall commune again.”
“Yes. We shall.”
~Wake up. Take me back.~
Home.
Someone held me close, their arm tight around my shoulders. A non-threatening hand cupped my abdomen, and another squeezed my wrist. Someone was whispering in my ear.
“Iyllinath prughethenna vuls…”
My body quaked as I opened eyes in confusion to yet another hand holding a cloth to my nose. I stared at a metallic, To’vah gaze.
Mourn gripped my wrist. The unsheathed, red runed dagger quivered in my cramping hand, its tip was pointed at his throat.
Ohhh, shit.
My eyes slid to look right; I kept still lest the Dragonchild take it as a threat. It was the Naulor who held me upright, Krithannia’s hand which cradled my womb with a warm, comforting hand. She chanted soft and soothing.
“Hm,” Gavin grunted, checking the flow of blood from my nose. “You are awake. Who are you? May we have your name?”
Fair turnabout.
I croaked, “Sirana Thalluensareci. And you’ll burn that cloth, won’t you, Gavin?”
“Hm. If you wish.”
“You will not keep it.”
“Very well. I believe it has stopped.” He wiped more blood away, giving the bridge of my nose a firmer scrub before setting it down by my knee.
Krithannia had stopped chanting and listened to us, though she held me as Mourn clutched my arm with the naked blade. The Naulor’s arm left my shoulder, and she leaned down to press her ear awkwardly to my gut, right into my bladder.
I grunted. “What—?”
“Shhh.”
Mourn’s face had not shifted from his “focused hunter” look up until that point. He finally cracked a ridiculously small smile as I stayed quiet until Krithannia straightened up, sighing in relief.
“All is well,” she said, shifting behind me and closer to Gavin.
No doubt the Naulor meant just my pregnancy because all was not well where Mourn was concerned. I was trapped in the position of having tried to stab him at some point in my trance, and he kept staring at me. We were located near a curtained window rather far from the table where I’d picked up the relic, and my spiders were scrambling to get out of their pouch.
“I won, Melthra’vlos du Vuthra’tern.” I held his gaze; no matter what, I would not blink. “Let me up, Mourn, and I will prove it.”
Tilting an Elven ear toward me, the half-blood gently took my free elbow and helped me to my feet. Pain darted behind and through my knees from the long time kneeling on wooden boards, and tiny, unseen pins pricked the bottoms of my feet as I resettled and grounded myself inside my real boots.
Neither of us had blinked yet.
Slowly, I uncurled my fingers, one at a time so I wouldn’t drop the weight of the relic. Nothing, no voices at all, as I turned the hilt to clasp it with the point aimed at the window. I turned it again, the tip shifting toward me.
Silence.
“Where is the sheath?” I asked.
“Here.”
Gavin handed it out where I could see and reach for it. I thanked him and took it, tugging lightly at my other arm. Mourn still wouldn’t let it go.
So be it.
I brought the sheath up to the blade, had only brief trouble aiming, and slid the dagger home. I paused, drew the sheath off again, and heard whispers this time, but it wasn’t the Black Heart. I donned the sheath without trouble and Mourn loosened his grip with a nod. My arm dropped like the dagger weighed ten times its size, and the blood rushed to my fingertips.
Oh, thank Goddess…
I laughed in astonishment at the immensity of what had been lifted from me. I released my spiders to crawl over me and inspect me to their satisfaction. Mourn’s gaze was on them as they crossed my belly, my heart, around my neck and shoulders. He made a gesture I recognized.
*Introduce us.*
I blinked once but did not hesitate, gathering them into one palm and holding out my hand. Mourn surprised me by lightly touching his claws into my palm, where my guardians inspected him immediately.
~Guardian, like you,~ I told them. ~Morix
xyleth.~
They believed me; my babies rested on his hand where he could have crushed them if ambush had been his intent. Them and me, both.
The Dragonchild studied them, observed me, his pupils shifting first thin then widening. His tail hushed a slow curve along the floor, and he grunted, nodding his satisfaction.
“Well done,” he said. “You won a battle few have, Sirana.”
I grinned broadly, breathing in slow and deep as I grew light-headed from the surge of something pure. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I had hope, now.
Attaching the relic to my belt, I next removed one of my ordinary matte daggers, lifting it up where all could see it and separated the new weapon from its case. My allies watched with curiosity and a sliver of caution as I reversed the grip and pointed it at Mourn’s chest. Made the motion to stab him.
My arm stopped.
Only because my motive was so weak did the real pain and nausea not overwhelm me. Nonetheless, I dropped the blade, clutching my middle and backing away from him, letting them all watch as my brow began to sweat. In time, I straightened, taking a deep breath, and comforting my guardians.
~I cannot harm you. No matter what.~
Whether he could have heard me or not, Mourn understood what I was showing him. I saw the look of concern shared between him and Krithannia, though it was the Guild Mistress who shrugged first.
“The Queen has seen you, my friend,”, she said. “But we knew Sivaraus would not remain ignorant of you forever. There is time yet. We shall make use of it.”
The Dragon’s son nodded in agreement, returning his focus to me. His expression became serious. “Then I have decided, Sirana.”
I swallowed my sore throat with a nod, waiting.
“I will make a bargain with you as well as the Deathwalker,” he said, nodding to Gavin. “I believe we can find terms to defend your body as you’ve asked, and to retrieve your sister, if she lives.”
Oh, Goddess, yes.
“Thank you, Mourn. I-I hope we come to an agreement. I… I need to sit down.”
Gavin turned out a chair for me, and I collapsed into it, my heart pounding. If that surge of hope earlier had been just a guttering candle fighting persistent gusts of air, now it had become like a roaring campfire ready to ignite a whole company of torches.
I wished Jael could see the signal and know to wait for me.
We’re coming, Sister.
CHAPTER 17
Each time Lead Qivni shared the debriefing room with the Prime, she breathed easier with Elder Rausery present. If spoken or signaled, this thought would come as no surprise to any Red Sister, least of all the Prime herself as she smirked and winked at the Lead’s quickly taken position to the right and behind her Elder.
The Lead knew she had done well with her preferred Elder gone to the Surface, not for the first time bearing the smaller abuses either alone or alongside the Elder Sorceress while they accomplished their cyclic tasks. But it was always good when Rausery returned.
Especially when their Eldest had that look on her face.
“Wait…” said the Prime slowly. “She declared what?”
“Elder D’Shea will be working directly with the Confessor—”
“Who?” she growled.
“Our liaison. Priestess. Lelinahdara.”
“And?”
“And the Headmaster to uncover the secrets of Wilsira’s Royal Consort legacy,” Rausery repeated.
Ancient eyes narrowed, the creases making themselves known. “For how long will they need D’Shea?”
“For an unset amount of time. Probably until something useful breaks through.”
The Prime slammed her fist on the mapping table. “Goddess-damned fucking breeders! How in the fuck can that be more important than preparing for mindflayers?!”
“The Valsharess did not say, Prime.”
The subtle reminder couldn’t retain the furious resentment all that much. “I am sick to offal-spewing death of the number of resources the Priestesses get even after their most pompous wailer choked in her own webbing. They don’t matter. The Consorts and their fungus are gone and dead!”
“Except one.”
“Should have gutted him the moment I became aware of him in solitary.”
Indeed, Qivni still wondered exactly how the Elder Sorceress had managed to delay that until he could be moved elsewhere. Not even she knew where D’Shea had taken him. The Lead kept her expression stern and her back straight, while Rausery grinned with genuine pleasure that translated in her tone.
“He’s that rare kind of healer, Prime,” she said. “Worth a hundred wizards in the Tower. Forbidden to kill. D’Shea knew it when Jaunda reported with Sirana.”
The Prime spit onto the floor hearing the novice’s name. “So why isn’t he being prodded in the Palace and sucked dry by the Priestesses right now?”
“Because Wilsira had been keeping his talent secret except to her best allies among the Matrons. D’Shea won him for the Sisterhood for now, specifically for Jaunda while on her mission, which will help us planning for the mindflayers. The Queen also wants to know how Wilsira made the healer.”
The Prime snorted. “What, she wants to make more?”
Rausery shrugged. “I don’t know. Too early to say. But D’Shea was directly involved in Wilsira’s machinations with creating the Consorts in the first place, remember? It’ll go quicker with her on it, and that’s good for the Sisterhood not being left out of this.”
Their Eldest was quiet, resting with her knuckles upon the table, as she recollected something in the last two centuries. She grunted. “Oh, yeah. Shyntre. Fuck. That bua acts like he was born in the Drider Pit.”
“The Forming Pit.”
“Same thing. Just another in a long line of Queen’s pets. They can never be normal, but he’s like a frantic jabrau about living in the Palace.”
Rausery hummed noncommittally.
“So, where is the fuckin’ healer-Consort right now?”
“D’Shea hasn’t told me.”
“Find out, then. Report back.”
“But the mindflayers are priority, right?”
“Right.”
“Got it. Anything else, Prime?”
“Yeah. The Sisters are waiting to have some discipline slapped into them after that pile-up on the Consort in solitary. Don’t think D’Shea has managed to purge whatever the fuck made them lose their minds over one slutty bua.”
“On it, Prime.”
“Get to it.” The Prime flicked her faded eyes to Qivni, who paused her breath, then looked down at the table. “Next time you see Corpora Thena, Lead, send her to me.”
That order was both a relief and a concern.
“Yes, Prime.”
Qivni had been glad to stay in the room with Rausery, but she was more so to be leaving with her. She had been under enough strain with no release that her thoughts had been wandering too often to a place she did not want them to go.
Rausery signed as they walked through the curving, sloping halls of the Cloister. *Thoughts on the lingering effects the Prime has noticed?”
Qivni grimaced. *There is a reason I did not take my turn with him, Elder.*
*But you didn’t stop the others.*
*It was beyond my authority in this case. The Prime encouraged it at first. She thought it would help blow off the last Purge from their minds.*
*But it had the opposite effect, sounds like.*
*Agreed, Elder. It has. They mention him to each other without need, wonder where the Elder Sorceress took him. I do not know yet if any caught from him, but they should be tested soon.*
Her Elder’s eyes widened. *You mean some took his cock up their twats and made him cum?*
*I overheard three bragging, Elder, yes. The Prime is ignoring the possibility. I can name them.*
*Tell me.*
Qivni did, and Rausery narrowed her eyes in thought. *What did D’Shea
say on letting it happen so freely?*
*She was handling another issue and did not get a say before enough Sisters had sampled him without any order. Only convincing the Prime herself would have interrupted it.*
*Which the Sorceress did.*
*Indeed, I remain impressed with her persuasion talents despite how opinionated and stubborn she can be.*
Rausery’s umber red eyes sometimes twinkled when she smiled; Qivni could never show it, but she enjoyed prompting that look. It happened more often when the former Sanctuary servant found something to admire in those most effective using their status without provoking constant fights to prove it. It happened when Qivni chose this way as a Lead.
A pity how something about Sirana had set her teeth on edge. The cait was a sneaky one, definitely of D’Shea’s preferred ilk, not always provoking a fight. However, her long-term effectiveness and self-discipline remained untested.
And may never be, now.
Her Elder stopped in the hall, listening to activity ahead, and jerked her chin toward a storage room as she opened it up. Qivni followed, moving aside so it could be closed quickly; the Lead set a silence-lock spell on the door without being told. Her Elder stepped close, lightly placing her hands on her shoulders. Qivni felt her heart quicken as they met eyes.
Rausery murmured, “So, what’s your reason you didn’t enter solitary, Qiv? Won’t tell. Promise.”
Her well-practiced expression almost cracked. Almost.
“You know why I was sent to you from the Sanctuary,” she whispered. “Why I had to undergo the Prime’s trials. You know.”
The General nodded, her hands sliding from Qivni’s shoulders to her neck, so close to cradling her jaw. “I remember. Is Auslan like that first batch of Wilsira’s that she had to destroy? Can you tell?”
“N-no, Elder, I don’t think he is,” she answered. “He is far less bold. But because of the natural born strength of his magic, I believe he may be as…”