Vassal

by Sterling D'Este

  It was evident in the catlike slant of her smile that Enyo’s pride had been stroked. He wouldn’t dare. Very good.

  Resuming her undressing, she angled herself so that when the top of the dress fell away from her hips, he was afforded a very titillating view. Alphonse hid a rather admirable body beneath layers of unflattering, loose clothing, and demure postures.

  A waste!

  Enyo would never do such a thing, and as she stepped out of the skirts as well, she turned to peer over her shoulder at Tristan with an arched brow.

  Tristan raked Alphonse’s body with his eyes, his crooked grin growing wider. “Now that,” he said, his words slow and admiring, “is not something a man sees every day.”

  Would he just watch, or join? With something like a purr slinking from her throat, adoring those idolizing eyes on her flesh, she sprang from the bank, and with a splash, disappeared into the waters of the stream. It ran deep and true.

  Her head popped out of the water, flinging Alphonse’s tawny locks back with a gasp, dropplets fanning out at the movement. Ember eyes glimmered over the little waves rippling from her plunge and turned to find Tristan standing bare at the stream’s edge. She admired him openly, taking in a muscled chest and scarred arms, his left shoulder tattooed with deep strokes of red and black ink in beguiling patterns.

  He was a good looking male.

  For a human.

  Enyo’s gaze traveled over his tattooed arm and shoulder, greedily taking in the details. Tattoos in the old world had significant meaning. Esha had her signs of fertility, Maoz, the creatures he so adored. Even Alphonse had the faint pearl-white marks on her brow that showed all that she was a healer…

  What did his markings mean?

  Her expression was rapacious, something close to pure hunger as her hand lifted from the water, summoning him.

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  Delyth regretted her choice to agree to the run almost immediately. She had never been very fast, and Enyo’s sudden speed was… inhuman. Behind her, Etienne was quickly left gasping while Tristan tore off with the ease of a sprinter.

  Unwilling to leave Enyo unguarded, the priestess dropped back, told Etienne that she would find him later, and took off, black wings snapping open like sails. In the air, she was no longer a cumbersome thing held back by the tug of gravity, but something graceful and quick. She ceased to have trouble keeping up with the two runners, instead struggling not to outstrip them. Hovering was impossible, so she turned long circles around them, her eyes glued downward.

  Delyth was just starting to really enjoy herself, reveling in the sun on her wings and the wind in her hair when she looked down to find the road empty. Her heart plummeted. Why must she always be chasing after someone?

  Blood thundering with apprehension, Delyth dove from the sky and headed back down the road, flying just low enough to see beneath the branches. She went a mile back in the direction they had come with no sign.

  They had just… disappeared.

  Chest tight with anxiety, Delyth drew Calamity without pausing to calm herself, and the sword played on her anger eagerly.

  Enyo’s wanted him for ages, it seemed to whisper, and now you’ve let them slip away.

  Delyth tore away in the direction the sword pulled her, heart hammering with red words. She would find them. Find them and tear him in two.

  Only, even when the sword pulled her straight down, Delyth still could not see them. The trees here grew thick over the ground below. With a growl, she folded her wings and dropped into them, tearing through leaves and small branches.

  When she got far enough down to see them, Tristan was clothed in nothing but his skin, standing above a river where Enyo swam. Even as she watched, he readied himself to jump.

  Delyth’s grip around the sword tightened, any thought of fighting its pull wholly forgotten. When Tristan jumped, so did she.

  They collided mid-air, the sudden force of Delyth’s leap, throwing them both back, away from the river. Tristan was up surprisingly fast for having been ambushed so thoroughly, but Delyth didn’t stop. She dropped the sword, balled her fist, and slugged him in the mouth.

  Her teeth were bared, eyes wild. She pulled back for another blow.

  But, without the sword in contact with her skin, she could see through the fog. Alphonse was still here. She would see this.

  Tristan spat blood at her feet while Delyth struggled to calm herself. “Alright, you big winged bitch, let’s play.”

  She looked at him, naked and growling, and somehow, her desire to pummel him faded. He was away from Alphonse. She’d got there in time.

  Instead, Delyth just snorted derisively and turned her back on him.

  She stooped to pick up the sword and straightened to find Enyo stepping naked from the river. Her hair was slick and dark from water. Beads of it raced over the pale skin of her breasts and thighs as she moved, catching the hints of sunlight filtered by the branches overhead.

  Gods, Alphonse was beautiful.

  And it wasn’t fucking fair.

  Why did Enyo have to be the one stepping wet and naked into such a mild day, her gaze glued to Tristan?

  Delyth closed her eyes and looked skyward for the unjustness of it all, her shoulders tensed with frustration.

  When she turned to look again, Enyo’s body was brushing Tristan’s, her hand clenched around his chin. It wasn’t an affectionate touch. Even from this distance, Delyth could see Enyo’s fingers flex with force, Tristan’s skin paling around the little points of pressure.

  Gods. She was going to kiss him.

  Delyth halved the space between herself and where they stood, her eyes wild, only to be stopped as Enyo spoke.

  “You’re bleeding,” the Goddess said, and there was a raw, half-starved note to her voice reminiscent of a hunting animal.

  It was the blood. She wanted blood.

  And she had told Delyth, all those weeks ago, that the children of Moaz had virile blood.

  In desperation, Delyth unsheathed her dagger and slid it hurriedly across her palm, opening far deeper a cut than necessary.

  “Taouk,” she said with a grunt of pain. “I would like to make an offering.”

  ⚄

  Tristan’s lips opened in anticipation, Enyo’s mouth only inches away from his. He knew the hunger in her eyes, the ferocity, but he didn’t care. He wanted her kiss. Wanted her.

  Her fingers were bright points of pain, digging into his jaw, but he didn’t mind. Not when she was moving closer.

  He could feel her breath upon his skin.

  And then, she was wheeling away, careening almost drunkenly towards the priestess, her lips still parted. Tristan was dragged stumbling after her, Enyo’s nails catching in the skin of his face.

  Even with the Goddess turned away from him, he understood the sudden hesitation in her frame. Did she want blood spilled in battle, or an offering, willingly made?

  He hardly thought the priestess would have had it in her, but he knew he had lost the moment Enyo’s claws left his face. She all but appeared at Delyth’s side, grinning and breathing deep as she scooped up Delyth’s hand. She immediately brought it to her lips, anticipation no longer enough to sate her. Sounds both carnal and surprisingly placid erupted as Enyo slurped on the blood.

  Tristan wiped a hand across his mouth, smearing red ichor from his lips. Already, four small bruises formed along the left side of his jaw, one slightly larger on the right. He watched Delyth and Enyo with disgust.

  Both women had fallen to their knees, but while the smooth slope of Enyo’s bare back was soft with the pleasure of blood, Delyth was the picture of discomfort. The muscles along her neck were tensed in pain, her face pale and turned away. It was as though she could not bear the thought of precious Alphonse burying her face in blood.

  Served the bitch right. Tristan had never seen a priestess of any God purposefully mutilate her own flesh to stop the God from feeding on another. The Gods took what they wanted, a
nd that was that.

  But then, Delyth wasn’t really a devotee, was she? Just a spiteful, jealous lover.

  Idiot. She fought for the body of a dying woman, soon to be replaced. Let her enjoy what ‘ministrations’ her little bird gave her now.

  Fuming, Tristan turned away and clothed himself. It had been enough of a blow to his pride to be struck down naked. He wasn’t going to wait around and watch Enyo choose the mutt over him. And perhaps, after all, Etienne would be around to toy with.

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  All afternoon, after Delyth and Enyo returned from the woods, Tristan walked at the front of the group. Etienne didn’t mind. The man’s temper was vile, even more so after the morning’s run than before it. He’d stumbled back from some hidden path, face bruised and clothes mussed only to turn on Etienne, spitting insults like poison sucked from a wound.

  For hours, though, all had been strangely calm.

  Enyo was gentle as a kitten, her skin blood-stained, and her clothes disarrayed. At first, Etienne thought she must have gone hunting, but she didn’t seem to be experiencing the sickness that usually accompanied the consumption of raw animal. Besides, that didn’t explain her sudden attention to Delyth. He could see her now, leaning against Delyth’s arm as they walked. His thoughts turned to the meadow, where Enyo had stood naked and tried to convince him to have sex with her.

  Had Delyth given in to a similar offer? Etienne subconsciously touched the burned handprint on his chest, hidden by his clothes.

  But that didn’t explain the blood.

  And whatever it was had certainly pissed Tristan off, though Etienne supposed that could have just been due to Enyo fawning over Delyth. The Goddess even seemed more generous towards him, though he had long been a favorite target.

  “I find your breathing less offensive today, mage,” she purred from where she clung to Delyth, her voice almost Alphonse-sweet though with none of the healer’s sincerity. He had no doubt that this unprecedented goodwill would evaporate if he pressed Delyth about whatever had made the Goddess so pleased, so he resolved to wait. He would have to catch the priestess alone.

  By the time dinner had been served, Enyo had crawled into Delyth’s lap and napped on and off as the others cooked and ate. She looked like a wolf, sprawled out after a long hunt, legs tangled in her skirts and hair untamed and flying every which way. She even twitched in her sleep from time to time, much like a dog chasing rabbits in its dreams.

  ༄

  Delyth ate stiffly, careful not to touch Enyo. She blatantly refused to treat Enyo the way Tristan did when she fawned over him. The sudden approval of the fickle Goddess wasn’t an excuse to put her hands on Alphonse.

  She wasn’t like him in the least.

  Across the fire, Etienne watched her, his eyes dark. She wanted to shake him, to get him to spit out whatever he wanted to say so badly, but in the end, she didn’t have to. “What did you do?” he asked. There was no need to clarify.

  Tristan snorted, his mouth full of stew. “Yeah, why don’t you tell him, Priestess.”

  She ignored Tristan completely. “I gave her my blood.”

  She could see the horror in Etienne’s face. She knew what he was thinking, that she had let it happen again.

  “What?” he gasped. “Why? What would possibly have been worth that? You do realize that Alphonse is starting to remember what Enyo experiences?”

  Delyth just looked at him. “You weren’t there,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

  Tristan snickered. “She didn’t have to do it, though. Enyo wasn’t putting Alphonse in any danger.”

  The warrior rounded on him, teeth bared. “There is more than one type of danger, and I will slit your throat if it’s necessary to protect her again.” Delyth stood up angrily, waking Enyo as she did. “Taouk, wouldn’t you like to sleep in your furs?”

  Enyo looked like a child roused suddenly. She blinked around in confusion and peered up at Delyth with half comprehension. Finally, she nodded and lifted her hands, allowing herself to be hauled to her feet.

  “Will you ward the tent?” she asked, not looking at either of the men as she sauntered to their shared space.

  Delyth closed her eyes and sighed before turning back to Enyo.

  Gods, she missed Alphonse.

  “I always do,” she said simply and held open the tent flap for the Goddess. It had become such a ritual to ward the tent each night that she did it almost without thinking, her mind filled with the image of a new, pale scar across her palm. She didn’t bother wiping off her bloody finger before stepping inside.

  Greedily Enyo licked the finger, though less desperately than she might have before. She smirked and patted Delyth’s cheek in affection before flopping back on her pallet. Enyo didn’t care about things like nightdresses or taking her boots off.

  In less than a minute, she was asleep again, mouth partially opened and breathing deeply.

  Delyth settled in for the evening, stretched out on her pallet. She covered Enyo with a wing like she usually would Alphonse. The nights were getting colder each day, and Alphonse might wake up as herself if she slept well.

  For a long time, Delyth didn’t sleep, but eventually, her thoughts stilled, and her eyes sagged shut against the weight of the day.

  ⥣ ⥣ ⥣

  * * *

  Soft touches drew invisible lines over the hearty bones of Delyth’s wing, down the fold, along the spine…

  Alphonse shifted in the darkness. From what little moonlight she could make out from the tent flap, it was late into the night, perhaps three or four hours from dawn. Her memory of the day before was faltering, gaps missing, but other pieces crystal clear.

  She knew Delyth had been beside her most of the day.

  The thought that the priestess was there with her, even when Alphonse was gone, made the healer happy. Stupidly so. Of course, Delyth had stayed beside Enyo. Not Alphonse. But while her mind argued this was the truth, her heart bleated that it was some mixture of duty and friendship that kept the warrior nearby.

  Shifting on her pallet, she turned to look at Delyth, smiling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could see Delyth’s stark features, those sharp cheekbones, the pointed nose, well-sculpted lips, relaxed in sleep.

  “Delyth,” she whispered, reaching to run her fingers over that ebony hair gently.

  “Alphonse?” the priestess asked, her voice rough from slumber. She was blinking rapidly, reaching out to the smaller woman, her face twisting in concern.

  “Yes, I’m sorry I woke you up, but I didn’t get to see you today.” As herself, she meant. Tentatively Alphonse scooted across the distance between them, coming to lie face to face with Delyth.

  “Did you have a nice day?” she asked, careful to keep her voice soft and unassuming, so as not to jar Delyth into full wakefulness. Alphonse knew it was a silly question, but she wanted just a few minutes with Delyth alone.

  Even if she had to steal them from her own sleep.

  Delyth shook her head in answer, instead of speaking and wrapped an arm around Alphonse’s waist to pull her closer, freehand stroking gently against Alphonse’s cheek.

  The healer chirped in happy surprise and draped her arm over Delyth’s shoulder in a hug. It was easier to talk into the darkness like this, rather than face to face in the light of day. So she barely blushed as she asked, “Did you like the flowers? They were pretty, like you.”

  Never would she have dared be so bold without the velvet cover of night.

  Still, this was all so incredibly new to her, and she didn’t know how to proceed. Some small desperate part of her very much wanted to impress Delyth, but her logical side chided that was foolish. Delyth wasn’t some Master Mage at Moxous.

  She’s more important than that. Alphonse realized with a jolt.

  When had that happened?

  “Yes,” Delyth whispered into the darkness. “They were as lovely as you are.” She brushed loose curls from Alphonse�
��s forehead and pressed a tentative kiss there. “I’m glad you woke me.”

  Alphonse hummed in agreement and leaned into the kiss. Even for a few minutes of sharing breath and time… That was enough for her.

  More than enough.

  Because in the darkness, she could be truthful with herself, if no one else. Enyo had seized control all day, and Alphonse had never once wrested it away from the Goddess. Not even for an instant. The closer they got to her wretched temple, the longer they shared a body…

  Alphonse knew how insurmountable her task was. Even with Etienne and all his magic and all his studies…

  Enyo was a Goddess, protected by Delyth and assisted by Tristan, who was obviously cunning and manipulative.

  Alphonse was a mere human—an adequate healer and not much else. Etienne was impressive with scholarly magic, but he couldn’t face Enyo alone.

  Alphonse wasn’t stupid. Every day that passed with Enyo infecting her mind, her soul, and her heart, was another day Enyo was closer to obtaining full and total return to the physical realms.

  And Alphonse knew, in her gut, that meant she’d be gone. Whatever shred of hope or humanity or magic that made Alphonse who she was would be torn and ripped and sliced until nothing was left but Enyo. She could feel the weariness in her body. She could see the weight disappearing. A mortal wasn’t meant to fight a Goddess forever...

  So the healer would steal these few moments of happiness with Delyth, even if they were limited. Even if they were a fool's hope. Even if it was confusing and complicated and outside the order of things Mother Agathi had dictated was essential.

  Mother Agathi wasn’t here right now.

  But Delyth was.

  And so was Enyo.

  Chapter XVII

  Rhosan, Year 662

  “Mascen.” The reprimanding tone was less effective, coming from Esha. Her naturally mellow voice couldn’t hold the harsh, intimidating timbre required to cow the boy. He hardly listened when his birth-mother, Enyo, scolded, and she could bring down mountains, so it wasn’t particularly surprising when he made no response to Esha chastising him for making a mess in her garden patch. After all, she was a soft Goddess of bounty and fertility. What would she possibly do to keep Mascen in line? His black eyes were unflinching as he turned away from Esha, where she sat in the earth, planting seeds, and instead focused his efforts on his half-sister, Rhaimon.