by Sarah Hawke
Serrane nodded frantically. “I will not disappoint you, mistress.”
“No, you won’t,” Varassa said, lifting her fingers back to her mouth and sampling Serrane’s nectar with her tongue. “My sister will stay here and continue cleaning up after General Nym. Perhaps by tomorrow her attitude will have improved.”
Laethaarys leaned away, her lips glistening with the general’s seed. “As you command, Matron Mother,” she said, biting out each and every word.
Varassa snickered as she sauntered in front of Nym and eyed his flaccid stem. Her hand flashed with restorative magic as she cupped his testicles, and within seconds his cock swelled back to its full length.
“It’s majestic, isn’t it?” she cooed to Serrane as his member throbbed in midair.
The ranger nodded again. She should have been absolutely horrified at the thought of this brute ravaging her again, but her skin was still tingling with the euphoric echo of her last climax. Even though her mind was screaming at her to fight, her body yearned for more.
I have to fight this. I need to fight this.
“He’s ready for you again, cunt,” Varassa said. “Aren’t you going to invite him back in?”
Serrane leaned up as far as she could with the collar still pinching her throat. “Fuck me again,” she begged. “Please!”
Varassa grinned. “You heard her,” she said. “Give this bitch exactly what she wants.”
***
The old Silver Fist Temple was deathly quiet when Laetharys arrived early the next morning. The laborers had already begun transforming the building from a shrine of Escar—the rivvil god of justice—to a proper temple of the Spider Queen, but the Matron Mother had assigned most of her skilled slaves to renovate the Citadel and the Black Palace first. As a result, much of the damage from the initial sacking of Highwind had yet to be repaired, and the sheer volume of treacherous sunlight filtering in through the holes in the ceiling kept most drow away before nightfall. It was yet another slight against the will of the Dark Goddess that drove Laetharys mad.
“Why are you tolerating this sacrilege?” she whispered, tugging at the cowl of her heavy cloak to better shield her eyes from the searing sunlight. “Why haven’t you punished my sister yet?”
Hissing softly through her teeth, Laetharys stepped over pile after pile of rubble as she moved deeper into the temple. All of the statues to Escar had been pulled down or crushed, but the artificers had been too busy with Varassa’s vanity projects to properly vaporize or teleport away the debris. Reaching the shrine in the center of the building proved no small feat, especially with this accursed child still growing in her belly.
The feeling of weakness would have been intolerable for any drow female, but as a former warrior-priestess, Laetharys found the constant reminder of her own feebleness particularly humiliating. She had spent the better part of the last century waging war in the Underworld while her cunt of a sister enjoyed the safety and debauchery of Vel’shannar. Laetharys had bashed in the skulls of hundreds of foes with her mace; Varassa had lounged around and tormented her pleasure slaves for sport. How could the Spider Queen have possibly chosen such a useless hedonist for her High Priestess?
Laetharys was still seething by the time she reached the newly built shrine in the basement of the temple. This area was shielded from the light, mercifully, and she cast off her cloak and paused to bask in the glorious darkness. The cold air caressed her body, naked aside from a thin belt and dagger at her waist. A few months ago, the rivvin had held their own services here—the chamber was long and wide enough to accommodate hundreds of worshippers. Most of the pews remained, though the altar of Escar had been replaced by a towering statue of a beautiful woman that was a drow from the waist up and an enormous spider from the waist down.
“You have been betrayed,” Laetharys said as she approached the altar. “Every day your children watch in horror as the Matron Mother consorts with half-breeds and highborn. Our armies cannot win you glory while they are led by a heretical whore who does not appreciate your power!”
Her words echoed off the walls, but the statue remained silent. Laetharys sighed and shook her head as she cradled her swollen belly and knelt before the altar. For over a century she had felt the Spider Queen’s divine power coursing through her, but ever since the Zhennu Lassrin—the so-called “Shattering”—Laetharys had been unable to channel the Aether. All that remained was a painful memory…and a yearning hunger that grew more and more ravenous over time.
Varassa’s powers had eventually been restored, though they seemed different somehow. Even now, many months later, the drow armies had only prevailed over Highwind because the Shattering had crippled the rivvin more than it had crippled the drow. The Spider Queen’s temple in Vel’shannar had once supported hundreds of priestesses, but now there were only seven—all of whom, save Varassa, wielded considerably less power now than they had in the past.
Archmage Relvani and his fellow scholars had proposed many theories about the nature of the Zhennu Lassrin, but Laetharys wasn’t convinced any of them were completely right. Still, the winnowing of the Spider Queen’s power was undeniable; the most important question was whether the change was permanent or temporary. If she had merely become trapped inside the Pale like the gods of the old world, perhaps there was still some way to set her free…
There is.
Laetharys gasped and glanced around the chamber. The voice had been dark and undeniably feminine, yet she couldn’t find a speaker. The shrine was just as still and silent as it had been a moment ago…and that was when she realized she hadn’t so much heard the voice as felt it within her.
“Show yourself!” she demanded, plucking the dagger from her belt and slowly pivoting around until she turned in a full circle. “I will not abide treachery in this place of worship!”
Neither will I.
Laetharys hopped at least an inch off the ground. She whirled around again, dagger raised to strike—
And then the statue moved.
At first, she assumed it must have been a trick of the shadows. One of the spindly stone legs appeared to twitch, but that was clearly impossible…or should have been. When she took a step closer to investigate, however, all the legs began moving at once—and the impossible suddenly became reality.
“Oloth dormagyn uns’aa,” Laetharys stammered as the dagger slipped from her fingers and clattered on the stone floor. The entire statue moved as if it were a real drider, from its eight spidery legs to its two elven arms.
The last Avetharri prison has been opened. The seals are broken.
Laetharys trembled in place as the statue’s eyes fixated upon her. They glowed blue like all female drow, but despite the intensity of their light, they didn’t banish a single shadow.
“Mistress,” Laetharys whispered, dropping to her knees and bowing her head. “Your humble servant awaits your command.”
The statue crawled forward until it loomed directly over her. Laetharys froze and held her breath, unable and unwilling to move.
For an eternity I have suffered beyond the walls of the Pale, doomed to watch as my servants falsely invoked my name. They have fought and suffered and wasted away while the spawn of the Avetharri traitors prosper.
Laetharys forced herself to swallow and look up at the statue. “I…I do not understand.”
You will.
An odd chittering sound suddenly filled the room, like a thousand tiny legs skittering across the floor. Laetharys didn’t see any spiders, but the walls were suddenly and inexplicably covered in thick, diaphanous white webs. She opened her mouth in surprise—
And gasped again when the webs lashed out and grabbed her arms, hoisting her off the ground and holding her bound and helpless right before the statue’s eyes.
The Avetharri seals are broken, but the door to your world remains closed. I require an opening—a foothold through which I may return.
Laetharys couldn’t look away from the glowing eyes even as she fe
lt more webs ensnare her ankles and hold her legs apart. “What…what must I do, mistress?”
The child born from an echo of power shall open the way. Nurture her. Protect her. Teach her. Do this for me, and you shall sit upon the throne of my empire for all eternity.
Laetharys glanced down to her swollen belly. She could feel the child within—a child she had hated from the moment its conception was forced upon her—kicking as it yearned to be free.
“I will do as you command, mistress,” she promised.
I know you will.
Laetharys glanced up, lost in the statue’s glowing gaze…
And then inhaled sharply as her own eyes fluttered open. She was no longer suspended in the air—she was kneeling on the floor. The statue of the Dark Goddess was back where it belonged, and the stone was as cold and unmoving as ever. There were no webs, no spiders…
“A lil oloth,” she murmured into the silence. Had she imagined everything that had just happened? Had this all been some bizarre hallucination born of her own impotent frustration?
Taking a deep breath, Laetharys stood and placed a hand upon her belly. She could feel the child kicking again, but this time it seemed…different.
You know your duty, my servant. Protect the gateway at all costs. My return shall set you free.
“I will, mistress,” Laetharys promised, the long-forgotten warmth of a real smile tugging at her lips. “Soon our enemies shall witness the true wrath of the Spider Queen.”
The adventure will continue in Wrath of the Spider Queen #2!
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Also by Sarah Hawke
The Amazon’s Pledge
The Amazon’s Pledge
Mark of the Huntress
The Black Mistress
Daughter of Destiny
Legacy of Winter
Wrath of the Inquisitrix
The Amazon’s Vengeance
The Amazon’s Vengeance
Blood Legacy
Ascension
Wings of the Seraph
Wings of the Seraph
Outcast
Spider Zero
Spectre
The Last Blade
The Elf Slave Series
Slave to the Empire
Unbound
Unchained
Unbroken
Unleashed
The Spider Queen Collection
Web of the Spider Queen
Slaves of the Spider Queen
Bound to the Spider Queen
Vengeance of the Spider Queen
The Dragon Bride Chronicles
The Dragon Bride
Dirty, Filthy Fantasies
The Priestess’s Gratitude
The Headmistress’s Punishment
The Ranger-General’s Submission
The Ranger-General’s Submission
Knightfall
About the Author
Sarah Hawke lives in New England with her two cats, a horse, and a car that actually functions now thanks to the generosity of her readers!