by Sarah Hawke
Selvhara slouched against the wall and balled her hands into fists. A thousand years of guilt festered in the pit of her stomach, and it was far more painful and devastating than the pangs of the Wasting Echo. If she could go back in time—if she could return to the days of her youth—she never would have accepted the One God’s aid. Losing her mind and soul to the moon curse would have been a small price to pay to rescind centuries upon centuries of bloodshed and betrayal…
“Are you all right?”
Selvhara gasped and glanced up to see Jorem and the amazon standing over her. They both looked genuinely concerned.
“Y-yes,” the druid said, standing. “I was just…meditating.”
“Uh huh,” Jorem muttered, frowning. “Since I can’t imagine you’re upset about Val leaving, something else must be bothering you.”
“What do you…?” Selvhara trailed off when she touched her face and felt the cold tears on her cheeks.
“What is the matter?” Kaseya asked.
“Nothing. I just…”
Selvhara cleared her throat and took a deep breath. How could you be so negligent? How could you allow yourself to get so distracted? You should have heard them approaching the instant they left their room!
“Many things here remind of home,” she said after a moment, gesturing towards the pools. “Or at least, what used to be my home. There were sacred pools in the Silverwood and all across Falinor, but so many have been destroyed or corrupted. It occurred to me that I may never see them again.”
Jorem arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder anyway. “You’re sure that’s it?”
“There’s so much more at stake than me being homesick,” Selvhara said, forcing an awkward chuckle and an even more awkward smile. “It probably seems ridiculous.”
“Mourning the loss of your home is not ridiculous,” Kaseya murmured. She glanced away, and for perhaps the first since Selvhara had met her the amazon actually looked…weak.
“Well, we should probably get moving,” Jorem said, glancing between the two women. “How long do you think it will take to reach this buried drow city?”
Selvhara wiped her face one last time. “Not long,” she said. “Though if we want to conceal our approach, it might take longer.”
Jorem nodded anxiously. “Then we might as well get started.”
4
New Alliances
Serrane Starwind headed straight home after the Council finally adjourned, though she had no intention of staying there for long. Since returning to the city after the chaos at Hastien’s Fall, she had been very cautious about where, when, and with whom she traveled. She could feel the eyes of her enemies and her allies alike watching her at all times, and she couldn’t afford to be sloppy. The people of Highwind needed to believe that their Ranger-General was doing everything she could to protect them—and herself. Sometimes even the veneer of professionalism was enough to ward off chaos.
Two of her Duskwatch Rangers stood guard outside her house at all times, and after quickly checking in with them she slipped inside and locked the door behind her. Now it was time for the real challenge—meeting Julian and Tahira on the other side of the city without being followed.
After tossing her ceremonial cloak of office on her bed, Serrane changed into the “urban armor” she had specifically commissioned from the tanners at the Mage’s Guild before the Shattering. The cropped leather breastplate and matching leather skirt had darker browns, greens, and greys that were much better suited for skulking around alleyways and rooftops than the Duskwood. The smell and feel of the leather made her miss her old armor that had been destroyed by the Senosi Huntress, Lasille.
It also reminds you of how pathetically you behaved while you were her prisoner.
Serrane snarled at her reflection in the mirror as she finished strapping the last buckles into place. Even now, almost two weeks since she and Julian had escaped Lasille’s clutches, Serrane was still sickened by how thoroughly her body had betrayed her. It was bad enough that she had been trounced in personal combat, but the fact she had actually enjoyed parts of her capture was downright humiliating.
Hissing in disgust, Serrane grabbed the rest of her gear and stormed back out the front door. Night had already fallen by the time she emerged, and the shadows cloaked her movements as she flit across the street. With any luck, Julian would already be waiting for her by now. With even more luck, he might have even convinced the Silver Conclave to see reason…
The tavern was bustling by the time Serrane arrived, and she kept the cowl of her cloak drawn tightly around her face as she maneuvered through the drunken crowd to the rooms in the back. She still thought it was crazy that Julian had decided to stash Tahira here of all places, but apparently he trusted the owner more than his comrades. He probably wasn’t wrong—desperate people were capable of anything, and the Knights of the Silver Fist were on the brink of total collapse in the wake of the Shattering. It was only a matter of time before the broken paladins turned on one another.
Serrane waited for the halls to clear before she gently wrapped her knuckles on the wood. The sight of his square jaw, stubble-pocked chin, and dark eyes instantly brought a smile to her face, and she stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him the moment he shut the door behind her. His strong hands settled upon the small of her back, and she was seriously tempted to leap into his arms and beg him to take her right here against the wall. She hadn’t felt him inside her in days…
There were times when she still found it difficult to believe she had fallen so thoroughly in love with a human—especially a paladin—but she had never melted into anyone’s embrace quite like this before. If not for the fact that the world was slowly burning to cinders around them, she would have happily stood here holding him all night.
Serrane eventually pulled away and smiled up at him. “How was your day?”
Julian snorted softly. “Much better now,” he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. “But from that furrow in your brow I assume the Council said all the wrong things.”
She sighed. “Loudly and repeatedly.”
“Well, at least they’re consistently stupid,” Julian said. “It makes them easier to predict.”
Serrane grunted and elbowed him playfully in the gut. Her lips were still tingling, and she probably would have kissed him again if the Eternal Priestess hadn’t shuffled out from one of the side rooms.
“General,” Tahira said, her voice as soft and delicate as glass. Julian was convinced that this girl had a deep reservoir of strength, and no one could deny the raw power she had unleashed back at Hastien’s Fall. Nevertheless, she still acted like she was walking on eggshells all the time, especially around Serrane.
“Has anyone given you trouble yet?” the ranger asked.
“No, not exactly,” Tahira said, her eyes flicking over to Julian.
Serrane shook her head. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“The Conclave still thinks that even talking about Tahira’s power is tantamount to heresy,” Julian explained, “but apparently I was able to get through to some of the younger knights. Dame Laurent followed me here about an hour ago, and she was interested in hearing what we had to say. We may finally have an opportunity to convert some of the knights, but it’s a bit of a long story. You probably want to sit down…”
Julian told her everything that had happened—his argument with the Conclave, his discussion with Laurent, and his plan to escort Tahira to the Silver Tower. It was a lot to take in, especially given how little progress they had made in the past two weeks, and Serrane voiced several dozen immediate concerns. Still, all things considered this was much better news than she had been expecting.
“I know that leaving the city is a huge risk,” Julian said, “and there’s obviously no guarantee that the knights at the tower will be more reasonable than the officers here. But I think Laurent is right—we have to try.”
Serrane sighed and ran a
hand back through her long blonde hair before she turned back to the priestess. “How long was Laurent able to channel after you touched her?”
“I could still feel a connection to her for almost an hour after she left,” Tahira said. “After that, her presence weakened and faded away.”
“Do you think you could do it again?” Serrane asked. “More importantly, do you think you could empower even more knights?”
“I…I think so.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
The priestess swallowed and glanced up at Julian. “It all just sort of…happens. I wish I could explain it, but I still have no idea how any of this works.”
“Well, for the moment the ‘how’ isn’t the important part,” Julian said. “It worked with Laurent, and I bet it will work with the others. Right now that’s all we need to worry about.”
He squeezed Tahira’s shoulder in that inspiring, supportive paladin way of his, and the priestess immediately relaxed and smiled at him. Serrane rolled her eyes and repressed a groan. His uncanny ability to placate people was almost obnoxious, and she couldn’t help but be a little jealous. She’d never had a particularly high opinion of the Silver Fist, but Julian was everything a knight in shining armor was supposed to be.
That’s exactly why you love him.
“The North Road is probably crawling with Senosi by now,” Serrane said. “So unless Tahira has figured out how to fire beams from her eyes again, the two of you will be outnumbered and outmatched.”
“I know, but it’s not like we can snap our fingers and conjure an army to escort us,” Julian said. “We’ll just have to hope the Inquisitrix and her goons have better things to do than track two people through the woods.”
“At least the Senosi don’t seem capable of sensing her power for some reason,” Serrane said.
He nodded. “As strange as it may sound, in some ways we might actually be safer in the wilds.”
Serrane arched an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
Julian paused for a moment and scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “I told Laurent to be careful who she talks to, but sooner or later the truth about Tahira will reach Deswick and the rest of the Conclave. A week ago, I would have considered that a good thing—I still thought they were just waiting for tangible proof. But now…”
He grunted and shook his head. “They’re either blinded by faith or terrified of losing their power. Regardless, it’s only matter of time before they do something stupid.”
“You think they’ll come after her?” Serrane asked.
“What I think is that they’re terrified, and terrified people are unpredictable. Highlord Kastrius might have been able to hold things together, but without him the officers are jackals fighting for scraps. I fear they’ll turn on each other long before the Echo finishes them off.”
Serrane nodded absently. Deep down, Julian had probably known all along that the Silver Fist wouldn’t survive this crisis. The Order had grown complacent long before the Shattering, and its leadership had steadily grown more insular and less adaptable every year since she had arrived in the city. Some of the more overtly religious officers, like Knight-Commander Deswick, had been eager to blame the Order’s erosion on the “moral depravity” of its members, but orgies and prostitutes had never been the true source of their problems. Power ultimately corrupted everyone, even the virtuous.
“I’d feel a lot better if I went with you,” Serrane said after a moment, “but I can’t afford to leave the city right now. The Black Mistress sent one of her people to the Council meeting to offer us a ‘deal.’”
Julian frowned. “What kind of deal?”
“A permanent seat on the Council in exchange for her ‘assistance.’”
“Escar’s mercy…” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Crowe and Deswick would rather burn the city down than hand it over to her.”
“They may get their wish,” Serrane muttered. “She already has Constable Mannick in her pocket, and she’s going to try to extort me into supporting her.”
“Extort you? How?”
Serrane sighed. “Her smuggled relics are the only reason Faewyn and Laryssa were able to have their…adventures.”
Julian swore under his breath. “Oh, shit…”
Serrane nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about it yet, but either way I need to be here. We might not have a choice regardless. The Black Mistress has armor, weapons, and soldiers. Crow and Deswick have nothing.”
“Not yet, anyway,” Julian said, glancing back at Tahira. “If this gambit at the tower works…if we can actually restore a few dozen knights…”
“Then we’ll be in a much better position regardless,” Serrane agreed. “Right now, I think the only reasonable option is to stall. I need to do whatever I can to buy you some time.”
Julian took a deep breath, and his forehead creased in thought as he mulled over their limited options. But really, there was only one choice here and they both knew it: he needed to get Tahira to the Silver Tower and pray for a bloody miracle.
“I always assumed I’d have to learn how to be a proper politician eventually,” Serrane whispered. “I just thought it would be during a time of peace, not war…”
He smiled tightly and cupped his hand over her cheek. “If anyone can hold down the fort for a few days, it’s you.”
“That’s a big if,” she muttered. “We also need to figure out how to sneak you out of the city and past the Vorsalosian army. I suppose the Duskwatch tunnels are still the best bet. They can at least get you into the forest.”
“That should be far enough,” Julian said. “It’s the only option I can think of short of catapulting us over the walls.”
Serrane grunted and turned to Tahira. “I don’t suppose you’ve figured out how to sprout wings and fly over the past few days?”
The priestess shook her head. “N-no, I haven’t.”
“Given recent events, it seemed prudent to ask,” Serrane murmured. “If you two are really going to do this, you should probably set out at first light. That doesn’t give you much time to pack up and get ready.”
“We’ll manage,” Julian said, gently brushing a lock of hair from her face. “And there are a few other things we should discuss before I go…in private.”
Serrane smiled up at him, her toes curling inside her boots in anticipation. A small part of her still resented how easily—and how thoroughly—the mere promise of his touch could set fire to her quim. But thankfully that voice was little more than a whisper now, and the rest of her was eager to dance in the flames.
“I’m all ears,” she breathed.
***
Unsurprisingly, their “discussion” involved very little conversation. After half-dragging, half-escorting Cassel into the master bedroom, Serrane closed the door, locked the handle, and leapt up into his arms. She clamped her long elven legs around his waist so tightly she was practically weightless, and he slammed her into the wall and slipped his tongue between her desperate lips.
Cassel was more convinced than ever that he wouldn’t have survived these past few weeks back in Highwind without her. Between his never-ending arguments with the Conclave and his struggles to hide and protect Tahira, he sometimes felt like he was going mad. He was quite literally the only unbroken paladin left in the whole city, perhaps forever, and the burdens and obligations of that responsibility weighed heavily on his mind. He didn’t know what was going to happen in a month; he didn’t even know what was going to happen tomorrow. His only anchor day in and day out was the woman cradled in his arms, and he was determined to let her know how much he appreciated her.
Frantically freeing his bulging cock with one hand, he pushed up her leather skirt and nudged aside her panties with the other. Serrane cried out and clawed her fingers into his back when he nestled the tip against her quivering quim, then again when he heaved her calves up onto his shoulders and plunged his full length
inside her. As always her calid cunt cradled him like a velvet vise, and he pounded into her so hard he was surprised the wall didn’t splinter.
She whimpered softly every time he thrust, and he kept his forehead pressed against hers as they gasped for breath between kisses. Her blue eyes glimmered like sapphires, and her thighs were softer than silk. His cock throbbed inside her molten embrace, desperate for release, and she pulled him in close and began to whisper sweet Elvish nothings in his ear. He didn’t even need a translation; the sweet sound of her soft voice was all it took to push him over the edge.
“Oh, gods!” Cassel blurted out as he exploded deep inside her. Her hips and calves shuddered from her own climax, and when the inevitable wave of weakness crashed over him he stumbled over to the bed and pulled her on top of him.
“Amin mela lle,” Serrane breathed. “Tanya nae elemendiya.”
Cassel kissed her softly, sweetly, and his cock didn’t even wilt inside her. It didn’t seem possible to wilt inside her no matter how many times he had already spilled.
He smiled up at her and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes as they caught their breath. “You know…we should probably start being more careful.”
Serrane arched an eyebrow at him. “Worried we’ll break the furniture?”
“Not exactly,” he chuckled. “I just mean, you know…one of these days I could get you pregnant.”
“It is difficult for elves and humans to conceive.”
“Not that difficult.” Cassel paused and slowly traced his fingers along the sides of her smooth, taut stomach. “You could use a protection spell.”
“So could you.”
“Yeah, well…why haven’t you?”
“Why haven’t you?”
Cassel grinned up at her as she leaned down to kiss him again. Her blonde hair spilled all over him, and his fingers slowly crawled up her back and began unfastening the straps of her breastplate. Serrane withdrew her lips just long enough to remove her armor and toss it on the floor before she dove back in. She was desperate to devour him, and he was desperate to let her. His cock was already hard and throbbing inside her again, and she began slowly, rhythmically churning her hips against him.